And neither, apparently, have SJW game journalists. You're still as shrill, abrasive, and well-nigh unreadable as you've always been.
I imagine you living alone in your rubbish heap of a studio apartment reeking of cat urine and cheap wine, hunched over your keyboard, your eyes inches from the screen. You mutter to yourself like a crazy bag lady. The years haven't been kind.
You call your cat your little furbaby. One day soon you'll rage-stroke over an NPC with too-big boobs and--since you have no friends--no one will know and you'll lie there for days until your cute little oogie-woogie furbaby cat gets hungry enough to eat your face off.