BetterFuckChuck
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2022
Better, but less popular, than Cellspex, which aint saying much. That's all I can say about Enter
The Mysterious Mr. Enter / Jonathan Rozanski's "Growing Around" - IndieGoGo Campaign Failed, John going off the deep end, "Turning Red" is ignorant about 9/11 (later retracted)
-
🐕 I am attempting to get the site runnning as fast as possible. If you are experiencing slow page load times, please report it.
AnAccount
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jun 25, 2018
Cellspex is okay. She obviously has political biases, but that's fair enough.
Vida
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2019
Enter talks about his biological father and his shitty writting
theeviloneisyou
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2021
And I thought my dad was a crazy asshole.
- Joined
- May 29, 2019
Make no mistake, Enter's dad is a crazy asshole.
But also why the fuck is he making and uploading a video about his father? To vent? Is it to vent or something?
Honestly, this video looks like it is going to bite him in the ass later.
theeviloneisyou
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2021
Not only that, he claimed in the video that Keith knows where he lives. Making a video like that about someone so clearly unstable is just asking for trouble. Something tells me this is going to get ugly.
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2019
After watching through it, I would say yes, this was made to vent. And to try to protect himself (or leave a trail) if Keith does anything drastic.
- Joined
- Aug 12, 2018
I've thought this ever since the Panini video (although I think the start of this was the Boss Baby video) and this one confirms it - I believe Enter is going through his second insanity arc. The first one was in 2020 when he was making all the politically charged/conspiratorial videos and the Turning Red 9/11 video. The research for the Star Giant expose is what I believe initiated this. Videos from him are going to get more personally charged, which in turn will make them much more embarassing, and I think I'm here for it.
- Joined
- Jun 9, 2019
Enter really just can't help himself when it comes to oversharing personal information or private matters, can he 
- Joined
- May 29, 2019
Guarantee you that someone is gonna find his deets (i can't say the other word, thanks null) and post 'em here.Enter really just can't help himself when it comes to oversharing personal information or private matters, can he
Not really a matter of "if" that happens now, more of a matter of "when" that happens. Not helping is that Keith is obviously an unstable schizo so if Keith finds out about it, shit is going down. If the video gets deleted, we'll all know why.
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2022
I hope every single rightoid groyper-tier faggot cock sucker for Fagentes realizes this is what you get when you harp on and on about fucking prepubescent teen girls and think your child will end up fine or better because she's young.
Enter is what happens when you fuck young you pedo retard.
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2019
Funny he uploaded this on Valentines Day and not Father's Day.
- Joined
- Jul 10, 2017
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2022
I think they were already archived before, but here is a text archive of Enter's recent blogs just in case.
So, I've got a bit of a problem. In the past couple of weeks I've noticed there is... almost a community of disparate people and entities trying to create a narrative of my entire life. Like, in some cases, they've been trying to make a biography-type thing. In other cases, they're a little bit "closer to home" and giving their own account of events. And I want to be upfront as I can - I have no problems with people trying to do this, at least in general. A lot of people have been looking into stuff that I posted when I was Brovania in the 2000's, like the "Today I Learned Pluto Was a Planet" document, and fair's fair. I did post it to the internet myself. It should be noted that 15 years later, I can't always guarentee that my version of events was 100 percent accurate, if there were exaggerations, or I was using words in weird ways as I have a propensity to do. Beyond that though, there have been people who have an "excessive interest" to the point of doing things like browsing Facebook feeds of my friends and family, which I can't exactly abide by. Yes, it's "public", but not really. Honestly, though, one of the most fascinating experiences I've had as a content producer on the internet was watching the people on Kiwifarms put together a family tree of me, and have some of it being like shockingly correct. And other parts shockingly wrong.
I guess there's a fascination. I'm not going to say that I haven't had an interesting life or that I'm not an interesting person. There is a reason I have an audience. But I've noticed there's some misinformation mixed in with the facts, and a lot of it comes from a couple of particular sources. So, maybe against my better judgement, I thought that I'd level. This will be the story of my life, in plain text. As much as I'm willing to let forward. I'm not going to dox myself, and I'll keep certain people anonymous, etc. You can find that information if you look, but as a request, I'd ask you to not go snooping into what I keep hidden. And the other reason as to why I'm doing this will become apparent rather quickly.
Keep in mind, there are aspects of my life that get dark, so... warnings on display.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
My name is Johnathan Rozanski, better known as "The Mysterious Mr. Enter." Since 2015, my public signature essentially has been "Johnathan 'Enter' Rozanski'". I make content on the internet, and that is fascinating to some people, apparently.
I was born on July 21st, 1992 in the city of Springfield, Massachusetts where I spent the majority of my childhood. My parents were Jennifer Rozanski, and Keith Rauh. Both names were made public by my father, and he's a large reason why I believe doing this is necessary. So, when people did try to come up with a family history of me, one thing that I guess tripped them up is that I use my mother's maiden name, and not my father's last name.
Why? In late 1991, when I was conceived, my mother was 15 years old, 16 when I was born. Keith was 18 when I was conceived, 19 when I was born. This was and is a crime in the state of Massachusetts, where the age of consent is 16 minimum. And all of that would be bad enough, but he had left my mother before I was born. And we'll be talking quite a bit about him for the first leg of my life.
This is something that I never had an inkling to make public, but he beat me to the punch. Shortly after my mother died in 2021, he started writing a series of books/memoirs that go into weird tangents about gorilla demons, cyberstalking me, and hating his sister-in-law, but are mostly about how he and my mother were and are "true lovers" even beyond the grave. There are four of them, and a fifth that's a compilation of the first four. And I'll have quotes verbatim as is relevant. Also, he's a terrible writer, so the typos are his, not mine.
"We decided to head back to my house, and on our way, we heard a couple of girls, trying to get our attention, and they sure did." "We were young, and I remember her telling us, we had to be quiet or her parents would hear, and they would get in trouble." "We had a whirl wind romance from the very start, and we both fell deeply in love." "I don't know why, still to this day, but something inside me, said runaway, and run like hell. This was right before, my first son was born, and I was gone with the wind. I have discovered things about myself, like having Asperger's syndrome, that may have contributed to this. I didn't know at the time, and didn't figure it out, till my mid-40s, but I can't say, if that contributed to it, or not, or if I was just scared as hell, of having to grow up."
This is all in a book that he himself published. The only information that's not put in it is that he was 18 going on 19, and she was 15 going on 16. And he seems to have a self-awareness to try and hide that fact. "We even met with a catholic priest, but he refused to marry us. In life's long list of things, that didn't make sense at the time, this was one of them. I now know, as a man of God, and the Angels, he was likely being guided, by forces greater, than we as humans, can fully understand."
The "forces greater than humans can understand" is the law because she was underage and he was not. And by the time that I was born, he was gone, sort of. His parents essentially cleaned up his mess. They took care of his child support payments, I've been seeing them since I was a few weeks old, and as such I've had connections with the paternal side of my family ever since. They even gave Keith plenty of opportunities to connect with me in my life. Even in the same house, I didn't exist to the man. (Until I turned 18 and he had no legal or financial obligations anymore).
The books are the most disturbing pig shit I've ever read, and they'll be relevant again later. But this is largely the reason I go by "Rozanski." Let me put it this way - no kid should look up at a man who is responsible for them being alive and ask "why am I calling this man dad" with like legit reason. Both sets of grandparents basically helped my single mother in her teenage years, going to school and graduating while working a job at the local Dunkin Donuts. And other members of my extended family helped as well, my great grandmother, aunts and uncles, and so on.
When I was two, my mother met another man. This one became my stepfather. I don't remember anything about their early relationship, or why my mother married at the age of 18. There's been speculation that it was out of religious reasons, but there's no proof of that. The more likely reason is that she had a kid that was raising without help from a father. One who, by his own admission, would be in jail by the end of the 90's, for what I can only assume is a drug charge.
My stepfather was abusive, physically and emotionally, I've made that clear before. He was large and intimidating and very immature. He worked as a truck driver before a stint with RCN (a cable/internet company that has since been acquired by Wave Broadband) before working as a truck driver again. I'm keeping his name anonymous for a couple of reasons. Most prominently, I haven't heard from him in 15 years and if someone is out of my life, I don't care. Two, virtually everything he did to me, the blame is shared with Keith for his dereliction of duty.
The specifics of abuse aren't too relevant. Lot of shouting, lot of yelling. There was a belt involved. Grades were largely a catalyst for abuse. Any money that I had gotten from Christmases, birthdays, etc were all placed into a "college fund" that never existed. If you're curious. It led to some psychological issues that I am still dealing with today, but most prominently it led to a social anxiety that I didn't get over until I became an internet influencer. One of the most prominent memories was during fifth grade, after a bad report card (or some shit), I was sat at the table from 5 PM to 8 PM with my stepfather repeatedly slamming on the kitchen table, asking why as loudly and intimidatingly as possible. And the only answer that he would accept was "I'm lazy."
My stepfather and my mother had three kids together - Ashley, Brandon, and Emily in that order. Please do not contact them or search information about them. They are not public figures, let them have privacy. We had several animals as well. Three dogs, Matthew, Daisy, Molly. Matthew was a big lazy newfoundland who passed on first and was replaced by Patrick in the mid-2000's. Daisy was a very nice white Labrador. And Molly was a grumpy I-don't-know. Eventually the girls got cats, I got fish. Brandon and Emily got gerbils and hamsters. And we even found a ferret in the garage. My mother liked animals, and yes, they were all cared for quite well.
School.
I went to Our Lady of Hope. This was a catholic K-8 private school that closed down in the mid-2000's. My stepfather said that it was because I would never survive in the public Springfield school system. However, it is worth noting that my family was slightly religious. The "church on Christmas and Thanksgiving" kind of religious, my great grandmother was actually very religious. She was actually a nun for a time, but after her brother died in the Korean war, I'm guessing that she found a different path and started a family.
I had a hard time connecting with school. I am on the autism spectrum and at the time it must have been apparent. I did see certain therapists, but I was never told what for and we stopped seeming them abruptly. I wasn't allowed to see a lot of things. Like my report cards until third grade. Don't ask, I don't have an answer. But it was one of the many things that caused me to not care about the whole system.
In kindergarten, I took a long time to do assignments. Whenever the kids finished their assignments, they got to play with the games. That time was nearly up by the time I was finished, so I learned quickly to cheese the assignment to get more time with the games. They were also journal assignments, and I didn't like writing about myself. At some point, I just wrote small fictional stories about a dog character (that is long lost), and called it a day.
It also didn't help that at this point, I got a bully. Classic 90's flavor. Made school life a living hell, but the teachers and such didn't seem to take notice. To be fair, it might've been because I was a mental shut-in, and media at the time painted a lot of the life around me as normal. You know, what's my stepfather next to Homer Simpson? What's my mother next to Lois from Malcolm in the Middle? Assholes like this guy are just a part of life, like Gary Oak or Draco Malfoy.
Third grade happens, one of his friends gets the bright idea to bring in pepper spray. He tells me it's pepper spray, tells the teachers it's "mouse spray." Either way I get sprayed in my eyes during recess. It burns for like 40 minutes. The teacher does let me into the bathroom, you know, after not seeing what happens. I'm not sure, but I do think she was fired. And the bully was expelled. I was also held back. Why? I don't know. Could've been grades, it also could have been a reputation thing.
So, during the 2001/2002 school year, I was in third grade again. Nothing interesting happened. Like I'm not even being cheeky or ironic. That year and the next were just boring.
5th grade happens and I actually get some school friends, two of them. And I'm not going to state their names here because, I know how the internet works. But they actually made the next couple of years something really special, even if my academic performance still wasn't all that great (see above). And I could go into deeper memories, but that's not what this about. I was probably still really anxious and insular. I know I had a specific anxiety about the phone, and I refused to use them at all costs, which... was how friends kept in touch back then. I broke my wrist by slipping on ice once. Not relevant, but I thought I'd mention it.
Sixth grade, I move to a different town. However, because it was a private school, I could still keep going to it. So, during this time my family had a Sunday paper route. Two actually. Parents would drive around and construct the papers. Then at 4 in the morning, every Sunday, no matter how cold, we kids would deliver the papers. For 10 whole dollars. Per week. (and money I didn't spend would often go missing).
2005 we're about to begin another round of this, one May. Speeding car goes by, the van we're doing this in gets hit. Hard. In the back. I still have the legal photos, and the door is likely chewed gum. My mother was in the far back, constructing papers at the time. She lived, obviously, but this would start her on painkillers, an addiction that would eventually claim her life. I have to assume. There's been speculation that she had addiction problems before this, thanks to dear old dad, but this is where a very specific addiction started, oxycodone.
The side effects are terrible. You just randomly fall asleep sometimes and are half-lucid. My mother was a smoker. And so she'd be falling asleep with lit cigarettes, some of them just dropping below to a wooden floor. One spring I'm smelling gas because our new house had a gas stove, because she must have fallen asleep at the time. And knowing her habit of half-lucidly lighting up, I'm probably lucky to be alive. And we were able to clear the house of smoke before anything happened.
7th grade was my final year of Our Lady of Hope. It was terrible. None of the teachers I liked, and... okay, so no one ever seems to believe me on this, but I swear to god it's true. 7th grade math class decided to teach us rounding, and 7th grade English tried to teach us nouns and verbs. It was the same subject matter my second grade sister was dealing with. I was mentally checked out at that point, and I spent time reading the backs of textbooks. Because history wanted us to learn the Westward expansion for the 5th time that I knew like the back of my hand, I started reading about things like the Cold War that we'd never ever get to because they wanted to teach the Westward Expansion in slightly more detail for the 5th time.
Also, around this time I discovered that I was asexual. Sort of. Every other student discovered that they weren't, and so it was sex jokes constantly and I hated that more than anything. It was a miserable time, with only brief bits of light. And by the end of that year, Our Lady of Hope was closed down, probably having to do with the above, and I could move firmly on to the teenage years. Next time.
Please do not contact anyone that I have mentioned. That's half of the reason that I'm making these. Let private individuals remain private, alright?
I guess there's a fascination. I'm not going to say that I haven't had an interesting life or that I'm not an interesting person. There is a reason I have an audience. But I've noticed there's some misinformation mixed in with the facts, and a lot of it comes from a couple of particular sources. So, maybe against my better judgement, I thought that I'd level. This will be the story of my life, in plain text. As much as I'm willing to let forward. I'm not going to dox myself, and I'll keep certain people anonymous, etc. You can find that information if you look, but as a request, I'd ask you to not go snooping into what I keep hidden. And the other reason as to why I'm doing this will become apparent rather quickly.
Keep in mind, there are aspects of my life that get dark, so... warnings on display.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
My name is Johnathan Rozanski, better known as "The Mysterious Mr. Enter." Since 2015, my public signature essentially has been "Johnathan 'Enter' Rozanski'". I make content on the internet, and that is fascinating to some people, apparently.
I was born on July 21st, 1992 in the city of Springfield, Massachusetts where I spent the majority of my childhood. My parents were Jennifer Rozanski, and Keith Rauh. Both names were made public by my father, and he's a large reason why I believe doing this is necessary. So, when people did try to come up with a family history of me, one thing that I guess tripped them up is that I use my mother's maiden name, and not my father's last name.
Why? In late 1991, when I was conceived, my mother was 15 years old, 16 when I was born. Keith was 18 when I was conceived, 19 when I was born. This was and is a crime in the state of Massachusetts, where the age of consent is 16 minimum. And all of that would be bad enough, but he had left my mother before I was born. And we'll be talking quite a bit about him for the first leg of my life.
This is something that I never had an inkling to make public, but he beat me to the punch. Shortly after my mother died in 2021, he started writing a series of books/memoirs that go into weird tangents about gorilla demons, cyberstalking me, and hating his sister-in-law, but are mostly about how he and my mother were and are "true lovers" even beyond the grave. There are four of them, and a fifth that's a compilation of the first four. And I'll have quotes verbatim as is relevant. Also, he's a terrible writer, so the typos are his, not mine.
"We decided to head back to my house, and on our way, we heard a couple of girls, trying to get our attention, and they sure did." "We were young, and I remember her telling us, we had to be quiet or her parents would hear, and they would get in trouble." "We had a whirl wind romance from the very start, and we both fell deeply in love." "I don't know why, still to this day, but something inside me, said runaway, and run like hell. This was right before, my first son was born, and I was gone with the wind. I have discovered things about myself, like having Asperger's syndrome, that may have contributed to this. I didn't know at the time, and didn't figure it out, till my mid-40s, but I can't say, if that contributed to it, or not, or if I was just scared as hell, of having to grow up."
This is all in a book that he himself published. The only information that's not put in it is that he was 18 going on 19, and she was 15 going on 16. And he seems to have a self-awareness to try and hide that fact. "We even met with a catholic priest, but he refused to marry us. In life's long list of things, that didn't make sense at the time, this was one of them. I now know, as a man of God, and the Angels, he was likely being guided, by forces greater, than we as humans, can fully understand."
The "forces greater than humans can understand" is the law because she was underage and he was not. And by the time that I was born, he was gone, sort of. His parents essentially cleaned up his mess. They took care of his child support payments, I've been seeing them since I was a few weeks old, and as such I've had connections with the paternal side of my family ever since. They even gave Keith plenty of opportunities to connect with me in my life. Even in the same house, I didn't exist to the man. (Until I turned 18 and he had no legal or financial obligations anymore).
The books are the most disturbing pig shit I've ever read, and they'll be relevant again later. But this is largely the reason I go by "Rozanski." Let me put it this way - no kid should look up at a man who is responsible for them being alive and ask "why am I calling this man dad" with like legit reason. Both sets of grandparents basically helped my single mother in her teenage years, going to school and graduating while working a job at the local Dunkin Donuts. And other members of my extended family helped as well, my great grandmother, aunts and uncles, and so on.
When I was two, my mother met another man. This one became my stepfather. I don't remember anything about their early relationship, or why my mother married at the age of 18. There's been speculation that it was out of religious reasons, but there's no proof of that. The more likely reason is that she had a kid that was raising without help from a father. One who, by his own admission, would be in jail by the end of the 90's, for what I can only assume is a drug charge.
My stepfather was abusive, physically and emotionally, I've made that clear before. He was large and intimidating and very immature. He worked as a truck driver before a stint with RCN (a cable/internet company that has since been acquired by Wave Broadband) before working as a truck driver again. I'm keeping his name anonymous for a couple of reasons. Most prominently, I haven't heard from him in 15 years and if someone is out of my life, I don't care. Two, virtually everything he did to me, the blame is shared with Keith for his dereliction of duty.
The specifics of abuse aren't too relevant. Lot of shouting, lot of yelling. There was a belt involved. Grades were largely a catalyst for abuse. Any money that I had gotten from Christmases, birthdays, etc were all placed into a "college fund" that never existed. If you're curious. It led to some psychological issues that I am still dealing with today, but most prominently it led to a social anxiety that I didn't get over until I became an internet influencer. One of the most prominent memories was during fifth grade, after a bad report card (or some shit), I was sat at the table from 5 PM to 8 PM with my stepfather repeatedly slamming on the kitchen table, asking why as loudly and intimidatingly as possible. And the only answer that he would accept was "I'm lazy."
My stepfather and my mother had three kids together - Ashley, Brandon, and Emily in that order. Please do not contact them or search information about them. They are not public figures, let them have privacy. We had several animals as well. Three dogs, Matthew, Daisy, Molly. Matthew was a big lazy newfoundland who passed on first and was replaced by Patrick in the mid-2000's. Daisy was a very nice white Labrador. And Molly was a grumpy I-don't-know. Eventually the girls got cats, I got fish. Brandon and Emily got gerbils and hamsters. And we even found a ferret in the garage. My mother liked animals, and yes, they were all cared for quite well.
School.
I went to Our Lady of Hope. This was a catholic K-8 private school that closed down in the mid-2000's. My stepfather said that it was because I would never survive in the public Springfield school system. However, it is worth noting that my family was slightly religious. The "church on Christmas and Thanksgiving" kind of religious, my great grandmother was actually very religious. She was actually a nun for a time, but after her brother died in the Korean war, I'm guessing that she found a different path and started a family.
I had a hard time connecting with school. I am on the autism spectrum and at the time it must have been apparent. I did see certain therapists, but I was never told what for and we stopped seeming them abruptly. I wasn't allowed to see a lot of things. Like my report cards until third grade. Don't ask, I don't have an answer. But it was one of the many things that caused me to not care about the whole system.
In kindergarten, I took a long time to do assignments. Whenever the kids finished their assignments, they got to play with the games. That time was nearly up by the time I was finished, so I learned quickly to cheese the assignment to get more time with the games. They were also journal assignments, and I didn't like writing about myself. At some point, I just wrote small fictional stories about a dog character (that is long lost), and called it a day.
It also didn't help that at this point, I got a bully. Classic 90's flavor. Made school life a living hell, but the teachers and such didn't seem to take notice. To be fair, it might've been because I was a mental shut-in, and media at the time painted a lot of the life around me as normal. You know, what's my stepfather next to Homer Simpson? What's my mother next to Lois from Malcolm in the Middle? Assholes like this guy are just a part of life, like Gary Oak or Draco Malfoy.
Third grade happens, one of his friends gets the bright idea to bring in pepper spray. He tells me it's pepper spray, tells the teachers it's "mouse spray." Either way I get sprayed in my eyes during recess. It burns for like 40 minutes. The teacher does let me into the bathroom, you know, after not seeing what happens. I'm not sure, but I do think she was fired. And the bully was expelled. I was also held back. Why? I don't know. Could've been grades, it also could have been a reputation thing.
So, during the 2001/2002 school year, I was in third grade again. Nothing interesting happened. Like I'm not even being cheeky or ironic. That year and the next were just boring.
5th grade happens and I actually get some school friends, two of them. And I'm not going to state their names here because, I know how the internet works. But they actually made the next couple of years something really special, even if my academic performance still wasn't all that great (see above). And I could go into deeper memories, but that's not what this about. I was probably still really anxious and insular. I know I had a specific anxiety about the phone, and I refused to use them at all costs, which... was how friends kept in touch back then. I broke my wrist by slipping on ice once. Not relevant, but I thought I'd mention it.
Sixth grade, I move to a different town. However, because it was a private school, I could still keep going to it. So, during this time my family had a Sunday paper route. Two actually. Parents would drive around and construct the papers. Then at 4 in the morning, every Sunday, no matter how cold, we kids would deliver the papers. For 10 whole dollars. Per week. (and money I didn't spend would often go missing).
2005 we're about to begin another round of this, one May. Speeding car goes by, the van we're doing this in gets hit. Hard. In the back. I still have the legal photos, and the door is likely chewed gum. My mother was in the far back, constructing papers at the time. She lived, obviously, but this would start her on painkillers, an addiction that would eventually claim her life. I have to assume. There's been speculation that she had addiction problems before this, thanks to dear old dad, but this is where a very specific addiction started, oxycodone.
The side effects are terrible. You just randomly fall asleep sometimes and are half-lucid. My mother was a smoker. And so she'd be falling asleep with lit cigarettes, some of them just dropping below to a wooden floor. One spring I'm smelling gas because our new house had a gas stove, because she must have fallen asleep at the time. And knowing her habit of half-lucidly lighting up, I'm probably lucky to be alive. And we were able to clear the house of smoke before anything happened.
7th grade was my final year of Our Lady of Hope. It was terrible. None of the teachers I liked, and... okay, so no one ever seems to believe me on this, but I swear to god it's true. 7th grade math class decided to teach us rounding, and 7th grade English tried to teach us nouns and verbs. It was the same subject matter my second grade sister was dealing with. I was mentally checked out at that point, and I spent time reading the backs of textbooks. Because history wanted us to learn the Westward expansion for the 5th time that I knew like the back of my hand, I started reading about things like the Cold War that we'd never ever get to because they wanted to teach the Westward Expansion in slightly more detail for the 5th time.
Also, around this time I discovered that I was asexual. Sort of. Every other student discovered that they weren't, and so it was sex jokes constantly and I hated that more than anything. It was a miserable time, with only brief bits of light. And by the end of that year, Our Lady of Hope was closed down, probably having to do with the above, and I could move firmly on to the teenage years. Next time.
Please do not contact anyone that I have mentioned. That's half of the reason that I'm making these. Let private individuals remain private, alright?
Well, I said that I'd go through this, for... closure or some thing. I don't even know at this point. Anyway, this time we'll be delving into my teenage years. One of the worst parts of my life. For those who haven't read part one, in my early adolescence I had moved to another house, the family had gotten into a car crash, and things were going to pot.
I don't know if I went to Our Lady of Hope until it's last year, but I do know that I spent eighth grade to a 6-8th grade middle school. There I met a couple of friends that popped up in high school and even beyond. We didn't learn very much because the whole thing was just absolutely chaos, no student paid attention to anything and the faculty was much more focused on getting the students to pass their standardized test, the MCAS. No joke, one student put a paperclip in an outlet and was taken out of school for like a month.
I started reading a lot during this period, I remember. Probably the most of my entire life, the first two Eragon books, His Dark Materials, a ton of Goosebumps books, Hatchet, and just about anything that was in the school library. It was at this point I did really start focusing on writing actual fiction, most prominently a series of novellas about a girl who turned into a monster. Some of the other kids actually really liked it, and in the end I wrote 6 of them. I also started drawing some silly comics, but unfortunately (or fortunately, all things considered), none of the originals survived, although I have tried to do revivals/adaptations and such. The original Moonflower was also something I wrote at this time. And I even tried my hand at poetry. Like I joined my school's poetry club. If that sounds unbelievable, wait until you hear that I actually made student council, but left it for poetry club was student council was boring, and did nothing.
Then high school happened. It started out fairly okay, actually. I liked most of the teachers, and I was capable with work and such. But this was when I started developing a lot of my mental illnesses. Freshman year of high school, if my math is accurate, 2007. Winter came along and I started to feel... not so great. Of every depressive episode I've had, Freshman year and Sophmore year of high school are both in the top 3.
My home life was falling apart completely, largely due to my mother's addiction and my stepfather becoming more and more unpleasant to deal with as the time went on. And this was also the time that the economy was going to go very very south, so generalized small joys were harder to come by. And the environment is not going to improve for many years.
A lot of these things depression was definitely taking advantage of, but that doesn't convey what kind of monster it really is. In freshman year I shared none of my classes with anyone from 8th grade, and I certainly wasn't even in the same school as my childhood friends. Depression turns good moments on their ear. Those things you liked to do become "they're done now, and they'll never happen again, and you'll never see these people again."
Sophmore year I was placed in some classes with my 8th grade friends. And I felt worse. And depression was like "see, even with that, you're still not happy and you never will be happy." I came close to the end. Especially because I didn't see much future for myself. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, and at this point, we were all expected to know so we could choose a college path. That's one thing about my high school. There were two paths that they wanted: college, or military and then college. So many seminars, and talks, and moments, I've gone on and on about this before and I don't want to harp too much here. People generally know my feelings on college, and they really haven't changed, especially as student debt as ballooned into a massive problem. The important part for this story is that I didn't want to go college, and telling the powers that be about that was fun. None of this stew helped my emotional state at the time.
I tried telling my parents that I was depressed, many times. I wasn't burying it in secrecy or silently suffering. The teachers picked up on it and I actively made it known that I was feeling depressed. Nothing changed. Back in the late 2000's, teenage depression was largely seen as typical "teen moodiness" that happens to most people and you get over. I remember distinctly telling my stepfather about this. His response: "are you suicidal?" I said no. I had suicidal ideation, wanted to do it, but wasn't at the point where I was willing to go through it. And I was also worried about what would happen if I had said yes, which was closer to the truth than no. I won't explain exactly why here for privacy reasons, but if you've read Today I Learned Pluto was a Planet, you know how this person treats difficult mental health issues. Because "I wasn't suicidal", the depression was simply something that I shouldn't have worried about, I guess. Teenage moodiness, not a problem. It was a massive problem and a good chance that the only reason I'm still alive today is my dog Patrick.
It was also at this time that I started developing OCD, although I didn't make the connection until the 2020's (which we'll get there, we're doing the whole thing). OCD tends to work with "themes" - obsessive thoughts about a particular stressor, like thoughts of violence or thoughts of religious condemnation. I still remember my first theme. Messing about in the yard, I ended up getting a bruise. And it never went away. To this day. It might've healed, but there's permanent discoloration (I went to a doctor many years later and he didn't seem concerned about it at all). Mix it with this song, which was popular on country radio at the time, and the fact that one of the most popular shows in the world was House MD, I became paranoid that I was going to die.
Neither of these were fun. They're still not fun. But I don't think anyone truly likes the hand that they were dealt.
Much of my teenage years is defined by conflict with my stepfather. I was dealing with this mental cocktail, and home life was falling apart. After high school began, there was only one thing that he'd ever talk to me about "get a job" or "why don't you have a job yet." And that became his major focus when I turned 16. I was a waste and useless unless I had one. I was going to be either way to him, but then he'd presumably leave me alone at least.
The minimum age to work in Massachusetts, generally speaking is 16 years old. If you've lost track of the score, I turned 16 in 2008. This was the start of the Great Recession. The unemployment rate shot up to 10 percent at some point. People weren't employing adults at the time, nevermind 16 year olds with no work history. And that's just any teenager. I wouldn't have been the best hire, because once again, depressed and wanted to die. Oh, and my stepfather got more and more aggressive as time went on, driving me into a social anxiety that made me more and more unhireable. Because he's an idiot.
Junior year, I did have a reprieve. I joined the school's games club. This is where I was first introduced to Dungeons and Dragons, that was its main focus, but I also learned how to play games like Settlers of Catan or Chrononauts, and I had a lot of fun. Even though D&D was 4th edition then and we only played modules. It gave me an interest that I keep to this day, and it turned out to be a coping mechanism that helped me to improve somewhat.
I was still terrified of my prospects after high school. The economy exploding made it seem like anything I chose to do would lead to disaster, and there was always this looming threat. So, one thing I did in my later half of high school was picked some of the most random and eclectic series of electives, hoping that something would stick and I'd have an interest or a passion that could carry me from here to eternity.
Let's see if I can remember them all. Took a cooking class, a photography class, a piano class, a web design class, two editing classes (yes, I actually took editing classes), creative writing, business management, criminal justice, and probably even more. Some things stuck, and some things didn't. I can still make a 2000's era HTML table, but as far as piano goes I know what middle C is. I don't know how to find it, but I know it exists.
I also did other things in rough attempts to get something to stick. I started making game demos on this engine called the OHRRPGCE. I kept trying to write something, recreating the story I made during middle school and making it worse somehow. This is the second oldest surviving writing I have, and it is throw-it-in-a-fire bad. I even started a Youtube channel under the name Brovania when I turned 16.
So Brovania, I have no idea where I originally got the name. I know it's the name that I called my bionicle Lerahk, but it's really just a random word and it was a word that was never taken on any website that I tried to make an account with, so I could have something without numbers. Brovania is apparently a country in a Goosebumps book, so that might be relevant, I genuinely don't know.
What I do know is that when I turned 18, on my birthday, my cousin showed me this guy called the Nostalgia Critic. The first or second video I saw from him was Free Willy and from there I was hooked. I was really getting into a lot of web series in my later high school years: JoshScorcher, SMPfilms, What You Ought to Know, and some others that we'll talk about in the next one as they're more relevant there. Not the AVGN though yet, cuz I was a prude about his kind of humor. Oh that's another thing, before I became a youtuber I didn't swear. Ever.
I graduated in June 2011, and for the longest time I was basically a NEET. Did nothing productive, except avoid my stepfather as much as possible. Until he eventually he left. Part of it was definitely the shit between us, and the rest of it was the state of my mother. It was either late September, early October.
And then things got... chaotic. Without my stepfather's intimidating presence, my mother lost control of everything going on. Especially because there was no structure. And so my siblings did end up standing up to her a lot. Thanks to the suggestion of a "family friend" though, she started calling the police whenever her children stood up to her. And the cops took my mother's side every time. If you're wondering, I was so lost/apathetic, I was not the one doing any standing at the time, and it's probably a good thing in hindsight, considering that I wasn't a minor and that kind of altercation could have ended very badly. Eventually, I left and moved in with my grandparents by the end of November 2011
If you're wondering "the family friend" is dead, and that's all you need to know about him. Also, I know there's a temptation to "never speak ill of the dead" and I get talking about this might come across as taboo. My policy is "speak honestly about the dead." It's their lives that define them, not the fact that they're dead, which is the least interesting/relevant part of anyone's life, since it's something that's a part of virtually everyone's life.
But I will state that at some point before her death, we did make up like adults. Of the three parents I was dealt, she was indisputably the best of the three. She did keep my stepfather largely in check until she no longer could. She was young and inexperienced and that's always going to lead to complications. I can honestly say she tried really really hard, even as the drug addiction started to weigh her down. Her efforts didn't always lead to the best results, but most mistakes she made were at least understandable. The best way of describing my feelings is "complicated" and that will continue until her eventual death, but that's down the road.
Next time, we'll start on things you all might be vaguely familiar with.
I don't know if I went to Our Lady of Hope until it's last year, but I do know that I spent eighth grade to a 6-8th grade middle school. There I met a couple of friends that popped up in high school and even beyond. We didn't learn very much because the whole thing was just absolutely chaos, no student paid attention to anything and the faculty was much more focused on getting the students to pass their standardized test, the MCAS. No joke, one student put a paperclip in an outlet and was taken out of school for like a month.
I started reading a lot during this period, I remember. Probably the most of my entire life, the first two Eragon books, His Dark Materials, a ton of Goosebumps books, Hatchet, and just about anything that was in the school library. It was at this point I did really start focusing on writing actual fiction, most prominently a series of novellas about a girl who turned into a monster. Some of the other kids actually really liked it, and in the end I wrote 6 of them. I also started drawing some silly comics, but unfortunately (or fortunately, all things considered), none of the originals survived, although I have tried to do revivals/adaptations and such. The original Moonflower was also something I wrote at this time. And I even tried my hand at poetry. Like I joined my school's poetry club. If that sounds unbelievable, wait until you hear that I actually made student council, but left it for poetry club was student council was boring, and did nothing.
Then high school happened. It started out fairly okay, actually. I liked most of the teachers, and I was capable with work and such. But this was when I started developing a lot of my mental illnesses. Freshman year of high school, if my math is accurate, 2007. Winter came along and I started to feel... not so great. Of every depressive episode I've had, Freshman year and Sophmore year of high school are both in the top 3.
My home life was falling apart completely, largely due to my mother's addiction and my stepfather becoming more and more unpleasant to deal with as the time went on. And this was also the time that the economy was going to go very very south, so generalized small joys were harder to come by. And the environment is not going to improve for many years.
A lot of these things depression was definitely taking advantage of, but that doesn't convey what kind of monster it really is. In freshman year I shared none of my classes with anyone from 8th grade, and I certainly wasn't even in the same school as my childhood friends. Depression turns good moments on their ear. Those things you liked to do become "they're done now, and they'll never happen again, and you'll never see these people again."
Sophmore year I was placed in some classes with my 8th grade friends. And I felt worse. And depression was like "see, even with that, you're still not happy and you never will be happy." I came close to the end. Especially because I didn't see much future for myself. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, and at this point, we were all expected to know so we could choose a college path. That's one thing about my high school. There were two paths that they wanted: college, or military and then college. So many seminars, and talks, and moments, I've gone on and on about this before and I don't want to harp too much here. People generally know my feelings on college, and they really haven't changed, especially as student debt as ballooned into a massive problem. The important part for this story is that I didn't want to go college, and telling the powers that be about that was fun. None of this stew helped my emotional state at the time.
I tried telling my parents that I was depressed, many times. I wasn't burying it in secrecy or silently suffering. The teachers picked up on it and I actively made it known that I was feeling depressed. Nothing changed. Back in the late 2000's, teenage depression was largely seen as typical "teen moodiness" that happens to most people and you get over. I remember distinctly telling my stepfather about this. His response: "are you suicidal?" I said no. I had suicidal ideation, wanted to do it, but wasn't at the point where I was willing to go through it. And I was also worried about what would happen if I had said yes, which was closer to the truth than no. I won't explain exactly why here for privacy reasons, but if you've read Today I Learned Pluto was a Planet, you know how this person treats difficult mental health issues. Because "I wasn't suicidal", the depression was simply something that I shouldn't have worried about, I guess. Teenage moodiness, not a problem. It was a massive problem and a good chance that the only reason I'm still alive today is my dog Patrick.
It was also at this time that I started developing OCD, although I didn't make the connection until the 2020's (which we'll get there, we're doing the whole thing). OCD tends to work with "themes" - obsessive thoughts about a particular stressor, like thoughts of violence or thoughts of religious condemnation. I still remember my first theme. Messing about in the yard, I ended up getting a bruise. And it never went away. To this day. It might've healed, but there's permanent discoloration (I went to a doctor many years later and he didn't seem concerned about it at all). Mix it with this song, which was popular on country radio at the time, and the fact that one of the most popular shows in the world was House MD, I became paranoid that I was going to die.
Neither of these were fun. They're still not fun. But I don't think anyone truly likes the hand that they were dealt.
Much of my teenage years is defined by conflict with my stepfather. I was dealing with this mental cocktail, and home life was falling apart. After high school began, there was only one thing that he'd ever talk to me about "get a job" or "why don't you have a job yet." And that became his major focus when I turned 16. I was a waste and useless unless I had one. I was going to be either way to him, but then he'd presumably leave me alone at least.
The minimum age to work in Massachusetts, generally speaking is 16 years old. If you've lost track of the score, I turned 16 in 2008. This was the start of the Great Recession. The unemployment rate shot up to 10 percent at some point. People weren't employing adults at the time, nevermind 16 year olds with no work history. And that's just any teenager. I wouldn't have been the best hire, because once again, depressed and wanted to die. Oh, and my stepfather got more and more aggressive as time went on, driving me into a social anxiety that made me more and more unhireable. Because he's an idiot.
Junior year, I did have a reprieve. I joined the school's games club. This is where I was first introduced to Dungeons and Dragons, that was its main focus, but I also learned how to play games like Settlers of Catan or Chrononauts, and I had a lot of fun. Even though D&D was 4th edition then and we only played modules. It gave me an interest that I keep to this day, and it turned out to be a coping mechanism that helped me to improve somewhat.
I was still terrified of my prospects after high school. The economy exploding made it seem like anything I chose to do would lead to disaster, and there was always this looming threat. So, one thing I did in my later half of high school was picked some of the most random and eclectic series of electives, hoping that something would stick and I'd have an interest or a passion that could carry me from here to eternity.
Let's see if I can remember them all. Took a cooking class, a photography class, a piano class, a web design class, two editing classes (yes, I actually took editing classes), creative writing, business management, criminal justice, and probably even more. Some things stuck, and some things didn't. I can still make a 2000's era HTML table, but as far as piano goes I know what middle C is. I don't know how to find it, but I know it exists.
I also did other things in rough attempts to get something to stick. I started making game demos on this engine called the OHRRPGCE. I kept trying to write something, recreating the story I made during middle school and making it worse somehow. This is the second oldest surviving writing I have, and it is throw-it-in-a-fire bad. I even started a Youtube channel under the name Brovania when I turned 16.
So Brovania, I have no idea where I originally got the name. I know it's the name that I called my bionicle Lerahk, but it's really just a random word and it was a word that was never taken on any website that I tried to make an account with, so I could have something without numbers. Brovania is apparently a country in a Goosebumps book, so that might be relevant, I genuinely don't know.
What I do know is that when I turned 18, on my birthday, my cousin showed me this guy called the Nostalgia Critic. The first or second video I saw from him was Free Willy and from there I was hooked. I was really getting into a lot of web series in my later high school years: JoshScorcher, SMPfilms, What You Ought to Know, and some others that we'll talk about in the next one as they're more relevant there. Not the AVGN though yet, cuz I was a prude about his kind of humor. Oh that's another thing, before I became a youtuber I didn't swear. Ever.
I graduated in June 2011, and for the longest time I was basically a NEET. Did nothing productive, except avoid my stepfather as much as possible. Until he eventually he left. Part of it was definitely the shit between us, and the rest of it was the state of my mother. It was either late September, early October.
And then things got... chaotic. Without my stepfather's intimidating presence, my mother lost control of everything going on. Especially because there was no structure. And so my siblings did end up standing up to her a lot. Thanks to the suggestion of a "family friend" though, she started calling the police whenever her children stood up to her. And the cops took my mother's side every time. If you're wondering, I was so lost/apathetic, I was not the one doing any standing at the time, and it's probably a good thing in hindsight, considering that I wasn't a minor and that kind of altercation could have ended very badly. Eventually, I left and moved in with my grandparents by the end of November 2011
If you're wondering "the family friend" is dead, and that's all you need to know about him. Also, I know there's a temptation to "never speak ill of the dead" and I get talking about this might come across as taboo. My policy is "speak honestly about the dead." It's their lives that define them, not the fact that they're dead, which is the least interesting/relevant part of anyone's life, since it's something that's a part of virtually everyone's life.
But I will state that at some point before her death, we did make up like adults. Of the three parents I was dealt, she was indisputably the best of the three. She did keep my stepfather largely in check until she no longer could. She was young and inexperienced and that's always going to lead to complications. I can honestly say she tried really really hard, even as the drug addiction started to weigh her down. Her efforts didn't always lead to the best results, but most mistakes she made were at least understandable. The best way of describing my feelings is "complicated" and that will continue until her eventual death, but that's down the road.
Next time, we'll start on things you all might be vaguely familiar with.
In the fourth grade, I was told under no uncertain terms that Pluto was a planet. There were nine of them: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune, Uranus, and Pluto. If you missed one of them on the exam, you'd be knocked down 11.1 repeating points. You could not get an A on this exam, if you did not know that Pluto was a planet. I was told that Christopher Columbus sailed on three ships to prove that the world was round. Under no uncertain terms were these stone cold facts.
In 2005, scientists decided that Pluto was not a planet. Over the past fifteen years I've heard six different stories about Christopher Columbus in my course of education, and I've gotten another one from the Discovery Channel, and yet another one from the internet that beckons the question of why we learned about Christopher Columbus at all. Or, if we must, why didn't we learn about the diseases that he managed to spread among the Native American people. These uncertain facts were under no certain terms: lies.
And I'm not talking about the fact that every part of science is only the best we know now. I'm talking about the pretension that what we know now is the absolute truth. And I might not know if schools still teach kids that Pluto is a planet, but it's easy to believe when they still use globes that contain the USSR and text books from 1984.
To this day, all of my knowledge of Pluto is irrelevant, and I've never cared about Christopher Columbus. While they told me it was important, they never told me why, as if it was implicitly implied or some kind of in-joke that I wasn't allowed to get. The word curriculum comes from the Latin word, "curriculum" which means race track. This etymology is strange, but it makes a lot of sense.
Every other year in an American school I learned the American revolution. As a young child it got watered down to the point where I didn't care, and every time I got to that point in the race track I had already seen the scenery so I didn't care. The knee-jerk defense: do you want to tell developing little kids about all of the casualties? And to that I say, if time is so limited where we need to cut down art and gym to prep for standardized tests, why are we wasting time with the same repetition? Why are we complaining about kids getting hooked on drugs while doping them up with Ritalin?
I didn't learn much in school. I knew how to read before I attended kindergarten. While attending kindergarten I learned that I got to go to the play area when I was finished with my work. I learned to cheat at the race, cutting corners hoping that I wouldn't be seen. I learned mathematics on my own because I had teachers that couldn't convey basic math to a slightly disabled child. In second grade, I learned to talk to myself because no one else was willing to. In third grade I learned to dodge spit balls and always check my back for kick me signs.
I repeated the third grade to get away from the bullies that had plagued me from the start after an incident where my bully decided to pepper spray me in the face. My eyes were watering and I told the teacher watching the schoolyard, and I was ignored. And I saw how the world worked. My parents constantly told me to "ignore it" when I talked about my bullies or my siblings or any other percieved injustice. I didn't directly tell my parents about this incident, because the best way to solve your problems under no uncertain terms was to ignore your problems.
In fourth grade, I learned that Pluto was under no uncertain terms, a planet. I grew a distate for grades. Despite not being able to see mine until the fifth because children are not to be trusted about things that they are not allowed too understand, I constantly found myself fighting back against them, or ignoring them. I found myself nicking time like an abused child nicking food from the kitchen, savoring the moment and tolerated the regret that came later. The regret was branded into me with a leather belt, and to this day I feel uncomfortable when I see one of them in the room.
The regret was pierced into my soul and my psyche one hapless day. I remember a lot about it, and I don't remember much at all. I remember it started at five in the evening with dinner. I was asked why my grades were terrible. I was asked again and again, and no answer would suffice. My step-father, a well-built man with an intimidating stature. He slammed on the table until this boy was lost in buckets of tears. This boy who was so socially insecure he couldn't tell his family that the house was on fire. This boy who was recently bullied by children and still bullied by adults. They took the food and drink sooner or later, and the boy gave many answers—from "I don't understand the material" (which was an unsatisfactory answer) to "I don't care." The only satisfactory answer was "because I'm lazy." That answer came about at 8 PM and the food was returned, cold and salvaged by flies.
On that day, I learned that college was the course set out for me. I was a kid who didn't know what outfit I'd wear that weekend and the seemed that my life until I was 60 or 70 or 80 was essentially planned out. And it was a route I was expected to walk on my own. Birthday money and award money or any other piece of luck that happened to come my way was saved in my "college fund." That college fund never existed. I grew problems with money. Money that I worked for in a paper route was stolen from me, up to 200 dollars at a time. I spent the money before it could be stolen, habits that still exist in me to this day.
In fifth grade I learned that school was hypocritical. Beyond my grades, making friends was the biggest concern from my educational system. It was normal, and normal was good. The second I had my friends, school did everything in its power to keep us apart. Friends that I did not want to come over to my home for fear that my parents would snap or try to make me feel like an idiot in order to motivate me for something I was not mentally prepared to do.
My step father's favorite tactic to make me feel like an idiot was to set me a task that I had never done before with no instruction, and then berate me when I managed to screw it up.
In sixth grade, I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Like every preteen-young adolescent boy answers, I wanted to be a game designer. As I played Spyro the Dragon the thousandth time, I was coming up with stories to string each level together. I played Age of Empires II with strategies that conquered all I faced. I played Baldur's Gate and Silent Hill and learned how to structure a narrative. This wasn't realistic.
You see, all of my life the people who "had plans for me" were leading me away from things. Never towards something. Nothing that cultivated my interests. They just wanted to go to college and after that, screw you. By the time my interests finally were of consideration, my only interest was to avoid going to college. At points I'd specifically check out jobs that didn't require degrees. People kept saying that education was the key to the lock of the best jobs out there and I ended up seeing it as the lock itself.
In the entirety of seventh grade, I learned literally nothing. My seventh grade math class "taught" us about rounding—the same thing my second grade little sister was learning. My seventh grade English class was teaching us what a noun was. The parent-teacher meeting at the end of report card season that year finally had a definitive answer. Why wasn't I doing anything in class? Because I didn't fucking care. Instead I was cultivating my interest in writing. At the time I was coming up with nothing more than rip-offs of the Hobbit, or Silent Hill, or whatever I was in to, but it grew like a weed much to the gardener's chagrin.
In eighth grade, I learned about standardized tests, specifically the MCAS. It was the judge that determined the winners and the losers of the race track. This was the only time that school confused me. Throughout my education, I knew the answers: they were all in the text book. Later on in life, I realized that you cannot learn something new if you do not become confused. Confusing gets you to seek answers that can't be found in a text book.
For the 10th grade MCAS, if you did not pass, you would not graduate from High School. You could take it many times, but you could not graduate. I've seen promising teens and kids give up because they were piss poor test takers. They might have been scientists or philosophers or politicians leading us on to world peace if they didn't lock up under test anxiety made a million times worse (roughly estimated and accurately rounded) with the prospect of their future hanging in the balance.
Never once in my life have I studied for a test. It was always a waste of time, and as the years went by, I was able to retain information the first time that I heard it. If school was doing its job properly, then this is a method that they'd encourage. The way a test works is that you do not take in the information that's told to you because you're passively writing notes. You do that instead of processing it. Then you cram the night before the test, and the next day after the test (or sometimes, five minutes before the test) you forget everything you've learned. If kids and teens actually retained the information in tests that they've learned, no one would ever have to study for a final exam.
The MCAS was a tool to see if children were learning properly. That was the idea. Instead of the bow and the arrow, it became the target and everyone missed their marks, learning rote. Even if it could be retained, it was never given any context because that was never on the exam. Because students didn't take this seriously, the consequence of not passing High School was added.
This standardized test was to make sure that everyone was on the same level. I passed it my first time without studying. Meanwhile kids ten times smarter than I, ten times wiser, could not pass the test despite studying for weeks and taking the test upwards of ten, maybe twenty times. That's when the confusion came in. How could something made for everyone be so incredibly unfair? Strange how the No Child Left Behind Act was doing nothing other, in my perspective, then preventing well-deserving students from graduating because they had trouble taking a test that they'd never need to do in the real world. In most cases, these students could make up testwork through homework or other less stressful methods of education, but working harder doing all of the extra credit because of something you cannot control is apparently grounds for failure.
I was far from the model student. I wasn't a delinquent, but the only time I ever got detention was because I didn't turn in my homework. After a gave up on this educational bullshit, my parents were still just as harsh at me. When your parents keep demanding you to move further and that further is constantly out of reach, you realize that you'll never reach their standard and soon you'll stop trying. I got the exact same response. It just took less effort, and to this day I no longer speak to either of them.
In ninth grade I wanted to kill myself. Every friend I had made was taken from me by this system that demanded I had. The only thing I distinctly remember learning about was algebra, something that's only seen real-world practicality twice in my entire life. One was helping my younger siblings with their algebra homework, and two was one of the worst tabletop RPG's of all time: FATAL. And one of the many criticisms lobbied at the game was that the algebra was too complex for a mainstream audience. And the mainstream we're talking about here is a tabletop role-playing game audience. These people are constantly doing math, adding up the roll of a d20 to their dexterity modifier and rolling two d8s, but because they missed the roll, they need to divide that score by two. And they get to do this once per turn.
During this time, my psyche almost collapsed in itself. I don't know if it was stress or hormones or some combination of both. Due to my Asperger's Syndrome, no one ever noticed how sad I was. I couldn't make my expression sad and when I tried people thought I was tired. I was tired. I was tired of life. Simple berating run around your head and make you think that your parents don't love you anymore, not helping was the fact that this fact was almost always up for debate.
By this time, my parents had given up on my grades and were constantly on my sister about it. They had people diagnose her from everything to bipolar disorder to schizophrenia when she started acting out. When she finally got away from people drowning her to do better in school she started making honor roll, doing extra-curriculars and is now in college working to be a pharmacist, while working a counter job at a pharmacy.
There was only one creature that I felt loved me at this time, and that was my dog. This is the same Patrick, who died a couple of years back. And under no uncertain terms do I consider this a fact: that dog saved my life. It wasn't that he loved me. It was that I was able to love him back. The only thing keeping me from pulling the final string was the worry of what these terrible people who do to him once I was gone. To my step-father at least, he was a waste of space. Strange how he accidently sat on this waste of space for half of a 90 minute movie without noticing what he was doing.
In tenth grade, I learned how to deal with people. I followed my interest of being a game designer to a games' club. My mother literally laughed. Not only did it become my solace from the world, it gave me a sense of comradery that the educational system stole from me. I learned to play Chrononauts, Settlers of Catan, Dungeons and Dragons, Risk and several of its spin-offs, but the main draw was Dungeons and Dragons. It was fourth edition. I decided to play a bard, and in that edition, they are considered "leaders." Even when I wasn't playing a bard though, people looked to me for the strategies I had developed playing games like Age of Empires II. I essentially learned to be a leader. Technically I learned it in school, since that's where the club took place, but it was outside of education.
And slowly I grew more reasons for living. I did this on my own, and I'm very lucky that I was hit with the events and opportunities that let me do so. People have given up on life, become shut-ins, or even committed suicide because of educational demands without educational guidance. You can always rely on your parents to give you the destination, but never the car when it comes to education. You may be fortunate enough to pay for you to go to education, but they'll never help you get good grades; just berate you when you don't.
Possibly due to the stolen money or the jading, I've come up with a strange morality. If a parent wants to go to college but isn't willing to pay for what THEY want, there's something immoral going on. Maybe they'll hit karma when they co-sign for a student loan, and there perfect little kid goes to get the perfect degree whose field has entirely dried up, and the student finds themselves unable to even get a job at McDonalds because they're now overqualified and the manager there fears that she'll run off the second something worth paying off that crushing debt comes up. When the shit hits the fan, their umbrella of a child won't protect them completely when the loan starts eating at their social security and retirement. One thing I always wanted to be able to say, is that my parents or even my grandparents told me never to buy something you weren't sure if you could pay for. One thing I want to do is become successful unrelated to college, attend a university and get a degree, crumple it up and throw it in my mother's face. She's the one who wanted it, she can keep it. But for now, it's just a fantasy.
In the tenth grade, I discovered the internet and the scary prospects of college. The scenario I presented to you is as hypothetical as me getting a job that I'd enjoy and make me over a million dollars. I can't hold onto one-hundred dollars for long. With a million, provided I wouldn't always be working and never getting time to enjoy it, I'd be seeing the world, fat as fuck, and dead broke as I am now. I don't measure my success in money, most likely because my step-father always measured his success in money. And nothing about that man was successful. Literally pregnancy-trapped into a marriage with three kids he had no qualms with saying that he did not want in a house owned by his wife's parents.
These facts confused me, and so I began to learn. I dove into my own history and put this story together many times, but I wasn't concerned with the past. I was concerned with the future. High school is a roller coaster ride, and looking into the future I saw the point where everything ran off the rails into the abyss. Graduation was two years away, or I could sell my values and my soul to extend the track for four more years before it lead to the same result. If I didn't figure out what I wanted to spend the next forty years doing, I'd be absolutely screwed.
Throughout 11th and 12th grade, I learned many things. I took out many different extra-circulars, even ones that remotely interested me. I learned to cook, learned about psychology and sociology, video editing (yes I actually took a class, two actually, on video editing), web design, networking and PC repair. Some of the stuff stuck, and some of it I don't remember. I was finally able to learn on my own, and I finally got skills that I use in my every day life.
I heard so many things about college. Guidance counselors told me that it was good for meeting people, even though I barely socialized at all. If I went to college I would have met maybe ten cool people who I would have forgotten afterwards. Because I didn't go to college, I speak to literally 100,000 people on a near-weekly basis and meet new people all the time. I talk to people who helped pull me further out of my depression as I discovered YouTube shortly before my 16th birthday, and I've actually been able to make true, true friends.
If I went to college straight out of high school, I would have become an English teacher. A year later, a Psychology. A year later, Game Design. And now, animation. Money always comes back into play. Most people don't want to become businessmen and women figuring out how to water down the works of artists or screw over consumers, lawyers shouting at people back and forth in a courtroom while being a target for every hack comedian on SNL, or a doctor dealing with the thought of maybe being able to save that patient you lost the last night and worrying how predisposed your son or daughter is to leukemia. However, being an English Teacher or a Psychologist becomes a paradox: why would you pay for something that does not give you a return on your investment. No one becomes an English Teacher to turn a profit, but you need to attend an expensive college if you want to actually get a job doing it. And that's for people who have the interest stick. The wise parent will tell you to focus on the education of your business or law degree because a passion project very rarely needs a degree. It just needs passion and talent, and meeting the right person and not pissing them off. My favorite person in the world, Weird Al, is the world's greatest parody artist. He has a degree in architecture.
Because of my Asperger's Syndrome, every couple of years or months or weeks I find a new thing that I want to do with the rest of my life, and this was always the case. Even if that was the case, I can't understand how neurotypical people are willing to do the exact same thing that's not their core passion for 40 years of their life, and paying for the privilege to do so for at least a quarter of that. But maybe I'm just thinking too far into the future; the thing that school and society has begged me to do since I was ten-years-old.
The world is changing every day, but I've never learned about anything past World War II in any history class. And despite 9/11 now being in the text books, kids will never reach that or anything else that has shaped the world they directly live in now, thus making the connection and learning why they're learning history, because they're too busy learning the Great Depression for the third or fourth time. My high school's curriculum literally demanded us get only a single semester of world history, but two full years of American history. I understand the patriotism, but any patriotism shown by that decision shoots itself in the foot by making the implicit claim that more has happened in the past two-hundred years in one country than the rest of the world in at least 4,000.
A school that's designed to prepare for the future constantly focuses on the past while sidestepping the finer details that take more thought and prove that no real conflict is as one-sided as the books they forced us to read while never focusing on the future. The internet is as significant an invention as the printing press, and concepts like net neutrality, concepts that allow it to exist, must be explained by internet comedians.
They expected me to figure out what to do with life, while shielding me from 99.9% of it. Everything of value, I've learned on my own design, outside of the school curriculum. Except for Pluto. I learned that Pluto is the 9th planet from the sun.
In 2005, scientists decided that Pluto was not a planet. Over the past fifteen years I've heard six different stories about Christopher Columbus in my course of education, and I've gotten another one from the Discovery Channel, and yet another one from the internet that beckons the question of why we learned about Christopher Columbus at all. Or, if we must, why didn't we learn about the diseases that he managed to spread among the Native American people. These uncertain facts were under no certain terms: lies.
And I'm not talking about the fact that every part of science is only the best we know now. I'm talking about the pretension that what we know now is the absolute truth. And I might not know if schools still teach kids that Pluto is a planet, but it's easy to believe when they still use globes that contain the USSR and text books from 1984.
To this day, all of my knowledge of Pluto is irrelevant, and I've never cared about Christopher Columbus. While they told me it was important, they never told me why, as if it was implicitly implied or some kind of in-joke that I wasn't allowed to get. The word curriculum comes from the Latin word, "curriculum" which means race track. This etymology is strange, but it makes a lot of sense.
Every other year in an American school I learned the American revolution. As a young child it got watered down to the point where I didn't care, and every time I got to that point in the race track I had already seen the scenery so I didn't care. The knee-jerk defense: do you want to tell developing little kids about all of the casualties? And to that I say, if time is so limited where we need to cut down art and gym to prep for standardized tests, why are we wasting time with the same repetition? Why are we complaining about kids getting hooked on drugs while doping them up with Ritalin?
I didn't learn much in school. I knew how to read before I attended kindergarten. While attending kindergarten I learned that I got to go to the play area when I was finished with my work. I learned to cheat at the race, cutting corners hoping that I wouldn't be seen. I learned mathematics on my own because I had teachers that couldn't convey basic math to a slightly disabled child. In second grade, I learned to talk to myself because no one else was willing to. In third grade I learned to dodge spit balls and always check my back for kick me signs.
I repeated the third grade to get away from the bullies that had plagued me from the start after an incident where my bully decided to pepper spray me in the face. My eyes were watering and I told the teacher watching the schoolyard, and I was ignored. And I saw how the world worked. My parents constantly told me to "ignore it" when I talked about my bullies or my siblings or any other percieved injustice. I didn't directly tell my parents about this incident, because the best way to solve your problems under no uncertain terms was to ignore your problems.
In fourth grade, I learned that Pluto was under no uncertain terms, a planet. I grew a distate for grades. Despite not being able to see mine until the fifth because children are not to be trusted about things that they are not allowed too understand, I constantly found myself fighting back against them, or ignoring them. I found myself nicking time like an abused child nicking food from the kitchen, savoring the moment and tolerated the regret that came later. The regret was branded into me with a leather belt, and to this day I feel uncomfortable when I see one of them in the room.
The regret was pierced into my soul and my psyche one hapless day. I remember a lot about it, and I don't remember much at all. I remember it started at five in the evening with dinner. I was asked why my grades were terrible. I was asked again and again, and no answer would suffice. My step-father, a well-built man with an intimidating stature. He slammed on the table until this boy was lost in buckets of tears. This boy who was so socially insecure he couldn't tell his family that the house was on fire. This boy who was recently bullied by children and still bullied by adults. They took the food and drink sooner or later, and the boy gave many answers—from "I don't understand the material" (which was an unsatisfactory answer) to "I don't care." The only satisfactory answer was "because I'm lazy." That answer came about at 8 PM and the food was returned, cold and salvaged by flies.
On that day, I learned that college was the course set out for me. I was a kid who didn't know what outfit I'd wear that weekend and the seemed that my life until I was 60 or 70 or 80 was essentially planned out. And it was a route I was expected to walk on my own. Birthday money and award money or any other piece of luck that happened to come my way was saved in my "college fund." That college fund never existed. I grew problems with money. Money that I worked for in a paper route was stolen from me, up to 200 dollars at a time. I spent the money before it could be stolen, habits that still exist in me to this day.
In fifth grade I learned that school was hypocritical. Beyond my grades, making friends was the biggest concern from my educational system. It was normal, and normal was good. The second I had my friends, school did everything in its power to keep us apart. Friends that I did not want to come over to my home for fear that my parents would snap or try to make me feel like an idiot in order to motivate me for something I was not mentally prepared to do.
My step father's favorite tactic to make me feel like an idiot was to set me a task that I had never done before with no instruction, and then berate me when I managed to screw it up.
In sixth grade, I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Like every preteen-young adolescent boy answers, I wanted to be a game designer. As I played Spyro the Dragon the thousandth time, I was coming up with stories to string each level together. I played Age of Empires II with strategies that conquered all I faced. I played Baldur's Gate and Silent Hill and learned how to structure a narrative. This wasn't realistic.
You see, all of my life the people who "had plans for me" were leading me away from things. Never towards something. Nothing that cultivated my interests. They just wanted to go to college and after that, screw you. By the time my interests finally were of consideration, my only interest was to avoid going to college. At points I'd specifically check out jobs that didn't require degrees. People kept saying that education was the key to the lock of the best jobs out there and I ended up seeing it as the lock itself.
In the entirety of seventh grade, I learned literally nothing. My seventh grade math class "taught" us about rounding—the same thing my second grade little sister was learning. My seventh grade English class was teaching us what a noun was. The parent-teacher meeting at the end of report card season that year finally had a definitive answer. Why wasn't I doing anything in class? Because I didn't fucking care. Instead I was cultivating my interest in writing. At the time I was coming up with nothing more than rip-offs of the Hobbit, or Silent Hill, or whatever I was in to, but it grew like a weed much to the gardener's chagrin.
In eighth grade, I learned about standardized tests, specifically the MCAS. It was the judge that determined the winners and the losers of the race track. This was the only time that school confused me. Throughout my education, I knew the answers: they were all in the text book. Later on in life, I realized that you cannot learn something new if you do not become confused. Confusing gets you to seek answers that can't be found in a text book.
For the 10th grade MCAS, if you did not pass, you would not graduate from High School. You could take it many times, but you could not graduate. I've seen promising teens and kids give up because they were piss poor test takers. They might have been scientists or philosophers or politicians leading us on to world peace if they didn't lock up under test anxiety made a million times worse (roughly estimated and accurately rounded) with the prospect of their future hanging in the balance.
Never once in my life have I studied for a test. It was always a waste of time, and as the years went by, I was able to retain information the first time that I heard it. If school was doing its job properly, then this is a method that they'd encourage. The way a test works is that you do not take in the information that's told to you because you're passively writing notes. You do that instead of processing it. Then you cram the night before the test, and the next day after the test (or sometimes, five minutes before the test) you forget everything you've learned. If kids and teens actually retained the information in tests that they've learned, no one would ever have to study for a final exam.
The MCAS was a tool to see if children were learning properly. That was the idea. Instead of the bow and the arrow, it became the target and everyone missed their marks, learning rote. Even if it could be retained, it was never given any context because that was never on the exam. Because students didn't take this seriously, the consequence of not passing High School was added.
This standardized test was to make sure that everyone was on the same level. I passed it my first time without studying. Meanwhile kids ten times smarter than I, ten times wiser, could not pass the test despite studying for weeks and taking the test upwards of ten, maybe twenty times. That's when the confusion came in. How could something made for everyone be so incredibly unfair? Strange how the No Child Left Behind Act was doing nothing other, in my perspective, then preventing well-deserving students from graduating because they had trouble taking a test that they'd never need to do in the real world. In most cases, these students could make up testwork through homework or other less stressful methods of education, but working harder doing all of the extra credit because of something you cannot control is apparently grounds for failure.
I was far from the model student. I wasn't a delinquent, but the only time I ever got detention was because I didn't turn in my homework. After a gave up on this educational bullshit, my parents were still just as harsh at me. When your parents keep demanding you to move further and that further is constantly out of reach, you realize that you'll never reach their standard and soon you'll stop trying. I got the exact same response. It just took less effort, and to this day I no longer speak to either of them.
In ninth grade I wanted to kill myself. Every friend I had made was taken from me by this system that demanded I had. The only thing I distinctly remember learning about was algebra, something that's only seen real-world practicality twice in my entire life. One was helping my younger siblings with their algebra homework, and two was one of the worst tabletop RPG's of all time: FATAL. And one of the many criticisms lobbied at the game was that the algebra was too complex for a mainstream audience. And the mainstream we're talking about here is a tabletop role-playing game audience. These people are constantly doing math, adding up the roll of a d20 to their dexterity modifier and rolling two d8s, but because they missed the roll, they need to divide that score by two. And they get to do this once per turn.
During this time, my psyche almost collapsed in itself. I don't know if it was stress or hormones or some combination of both. Due to my Asperger's Syndrome, no one ever noticed how sad I was. I couldn't make my expression sad and when I tried people thought I was tired. I was tired. I was tired of life. Simple berating run around your head and make you think that your parents don't love you anymore, not helping was the fact that this fact was almost always up for debate.
By this time, my parents had given up on my grades and were constantly on my sister about it. They had people diagnose her from everything to bipolar disorder to schizophrenia when she started acting out. When she finally got away from people drowning her to do better in school she started making honor roll, doing extra-curriculars and is now in college working to be a pharmacist, while working a counter job at a pharmacy.
There was only one creature that I felt loved me at this time, and that was my dog. This is the same Patrick, who died a couple of years back. And under no uncertain terms do I consider this a fact: that dog saved my life. It wasn't that he loved me. It was that I was able to love him back. The only thing keeping me from pulling the final string was the worry of what these terrible people who do to him once I was gone. To my step-father at least, he was a waste of space. Strange how he accidently sat on this waste of space for half of a 90 minute movie without noticing what he was doing.
In tenth grade, I learned how to deal with people. I followed my interest of being a game designer to a games' club. My mother literally laughed. Not only did it become my solace from the world, it gave me a sense of comradery that the educational system stole from me. I learned to play Chrononauts, Settlers of Catan, Dungeons and Dragons, Risk and several of its spin-offs, but the main draw was Dungeons and Dragons. It was fourth edition. I decided to play a bard, and in that edition, they are considered "leaders." Even when I wasn't playing a bard though, people looked to me for the strategies I had developed playing games like Age of Empires II. I essentially learned to be a leader. Technically I learned it in school, since that's where the club took place, but it was outside of education.
And slowly I grew more reasons for living. I did this on my own, and I'm very lucky that I was hit with the events and opportunities that let me do so. People have given up on life, become shut-ins, or even committed suicide because of educational demands without educational guidance. You can always rely on your parents to give you the destination, but never the car when it comes to education. You may be fortunate enough to pay for you to go to education, but they'll never help you get good grades; just berate you when you don't.
Possibly due to the stolen money or the jading, I've come up with a strange morality. If a parent wants to go to college but isn't willing to pay for what THEY want, there's something immoral going on. Maybe they'll hit karma when they co-sign for a student loan, and there perfect little kid goes to get the perfect degree whose field has entirely dried up, and the student finds themselves unable to even get a job at McDonalds because they're now overqualified and the manager there fears that she'll run off the second something worth paying off that crushing debt comes up. When the shit hits the fan, their umbrella of a child won't protect them completely when the loan starts eating at their social security and retirement. One thing I always wanted to be able to say, is that my parents or even my grandparents told me never to buy something you weren't sure if you could pay for. One thing I want to do is become successful unrelated to college, attend a university and get a degree, crumple it up and throw it in my mother's face. She's the one who wanted it, she can keep it. But for now, it's just a fantasy.
In the tenth grade, I discovered the internet and the scary prospects of college. The scenario I presented to you is as hypothetical as me getting a job that I'd enjoy and make me over a million dollars. I can't hold onto one-hundred dollars for long. With a million, provided I wouldn't always be working and never getting time to enjoy it, I'd be seeing the world, fat as fuck, and dead broke as I am now. I don't measure my success in money, most likely because my step-father always measured his success in money. And nothing about that man was successful. Literally pregnancy-trapped into a marriage with three kids he had no qualms with saying that he did not want in a house owned by his wife's parents.
These facts confused me, and so I began to learn. I dove into my own history and put this story together many times, but I wasn't concerned with the past. I was concerned with the future. High school is a roller coaster ride, and looking into the future I saw the point where everything ran off the rails into the abyss. Graduation was two years away, or I could sell my values and my soul to extend the track for four more years before it lead to the same result. If I didn't figure out what I wanted to spend the next forty years doing, I'd be absolutely screwed.
Throughout 11th and 12th grade, I learned many things. I took out many different extra-circulars, even ones that remotely interested me. I learned to cook, learned about psychology and sociology, video editing (yes I actually took a class, two actually, on video editing), web design, networking and PC repair. Some of the stuff stuck, and some of it I don't remember. I was finally able to learn on my own, and I finally got skills that I use in my every day life.
I heard so many things about college. Guidance counselors told me that it was good for meeting people, even though I barely socialized at all. If I went to college I would have met maybe ten cool people who I would have forgotten afterwards. Because I didn't go to college, I speak to literally 100,000 people on a near-weekly basis and meet new people all the time. I talk to people who helped pull me further out of my depression as I discovered YouTube shortly before my 16th birthday, and I've actually been able to make true, true friends.
If I went to college straight out of high school, I would have become an English teacher. A year later, a Psychology. A year later, Game Design. And now, animation. Money always comes back into play. Most people don't want to become businessmen and women figuring out how to water down the works of artists or screw over consumers, lawyers shouting at people back and forth in a courtroom while being a target for every hack comedian on SNL, or a doctor dealing with the thought of maybe being able to save that patient you lost the last night and worrying how predisposed your son or daughter is to leukemia. However, being an English Teacher or a Psychologist becomes a paradox: why would you pay for something that does not give you a return on your investment. No one becomes an English Teacher to turn a profit, but you need to attend an expensive college if you want to actually get a job doing it. And that's for people who have the interest stick. The wise parent will tell you to focus on the education of your business or law degree because a passion project very rarely needs a degree. It just needs passion and talent, and meeting the right person and not pissing them off. My favorite person in the world, Weird Al, is the world's greatest parody artist. He has a degree in architecture.
Because of my Asperger's Syndrome, every couple of years or months or weeks I find a new thing that I want to do with the rest of my life, and this was always the case. Even if that was the case, I can't understand how neurotypical people are willing to do the exact same thing that's not their core passion for 40 years of their life, and paying for the privilege to do so for at least a quarter of that. But maybe I'm just thinking too far into the future; the thing that school and society has begged me to do since I was ten-years-old.
The world is changing every day, but I've never learned about anything past World War II in any history class. And despite 9/11 now being in the text books, kids will never reach that or anything else that has shaped the world they directly live in now, thus making the connection and learning why they're learning history, because they're too busy learning the Great Depression for the third or fourth time. My high school's curriculum literally demanded us get only a single semester of world history, but two full years of American history. I understand the patriotism, but any patriotism shown by that decision shoots itself in the foot by making the implicit claim that more has happened in the past two-hundred years in one country than the rest of the world in at least 4,000.
A school that's designed to prepare for the future constantly focuses on the past while sidestepping the finer details that take more thought and prove that no real conflict is as one-sided as the books they forced us to read while never focusing on the future. The internet is as significant an invention as the printing press, and concepts like net neutrality, concepts that allow it to exist, must be explained by internet comedians.
They expected me to figure out what to do with life, while shielding me from 99.9% of it. Everything of value, I've learned on my own design, outside of the school curriculum. Except for Pluto. I learned that Pluto is the 9th planet from the sun.
- Joined
- Apr 26, 2022
Since it's relevant I wanted to share (again) this video of Keith arguing with his wife and kid. He posted this to his Facebook in 2022 then deleted it a few days later.
theeviloneisyou
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2021
As an aside, it now makes sense why Enter put so many songs about underage relationships in that list he made of worst Billboard Hot 100 songs. He was the product of a statutory rape.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
I hope for the best for this guy. I also hope he has a gun, so he can do the necessary if it becomes necessary. I doubt he does, though.
Also remember this is the ONLY guy who once had a subforum here that we deleted because it made US look bad. By our own standards.
Also remember this is the ONLY guy who once had a subforum here that we deleted because it made US look bad. By our own standards.
Soyjak Enjoyer
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2022
edit: this post is completely inaccurate my bad I got the names confused
So Enter makes videos verbally airing out the family's dirty laundry for no good reason. His father writes books airing out the family's dirty laundry for no good reason. Then his Step dad just fucking films the dirty laundry straight up for no reason??? How do all 3 of them independently think this is a good idea, and how is the yell at spongebob guy the one who does it in the least retarded way?
Last edited:
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
Because he's the one who didn't knock up an underage girl, abandon her, then stalk and harass every member of the family afterwards after the mother of the child he abandoned died. He literally danced on her grave and wrote three "books" about how he was totally the hero in this situation.
I mean Mr. Enter is fucked up, but I can now sympathize with why. And he's never groomed a child and knocked her up and then abandoned her only to come back and start stalking his own offspring who for utterly understandable reasons wants nothing at all to do with him.
How is this hard to understand?
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2022
The cadence in his voice is an exact match for Enter. Holy shit this bloodline is cursed. Thank fuck Enter will never breed