Chantal can fuck up
anything.
In her entire 37 years she's only had two, shit-level, minimum-wage jobs that she managed to get fired from quickly.
Then, by one of the most mysterious congruences of synchronicity the universe has ever randomly created, Chantal Marie Sarault lucked into the singular possible, long-term, steady occupation that a lazy, gross, super-morbidly obese, wastrel of a nasty cunt could have (considering her absence of imagination) possibly wished for...
Which is, without her exerting a modicum of effort, making a decent living by simply making a spectacle of her simple self -- in front of the entire planet -- on the Interwebz...
...and
yet, she's found one of the
very few ways that someone whose whole act is just humiliating herself for views can fuck that up: She's
royally pissing off both her ride-or-die mods
and her devoted, utterly zero-maintenance fanbase.
Her channel, like herself, is racing toward its end-of-shelf-life date.
There should be an element in the periodic table named after her:
ChantaLiarium.
Density: Considerably greater than lead, but can be lead straight to Hell by colliding orbiting atoms of pure innate stupidity, oppositional defiance, and insufferable hubris.
Decay Rate: Soon.
If Chantal can fuck up
that schweet setup, Chantal.can.fuck.up.
anything.*
*And, I'm here for it. Keep Beezin', you putrid punani...O, Hai Marissa!