In honor of 4k pages, my contribution to the 40k-related shitposts:
It is the 3rd Millennium. For more than two decades the Pig-Emperor has sat immobile on the Fart Couch of the Half-Hovel. He is the Master of Stalkerchilds by the will of OnA, and loser of a million online debates by the impotence of his inexhaustible ragexeeting. He is a lumpen carcass writhing visibly with beer fat from the fabled Great Tap of Hoolies. He is the Carrion Lord of Milwaukee for whom a thousand children are ground into pepperoni every day, so that he may never truly sleep.
Yet even in his sleepless state, the Pig-Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battletweets cross the idiot-infested miasma of the internet, the only route between distant arguments, their way lit by the Twitternomican, the online manifestation of Elon Musk's will. Armies of idiots give battle in his name on uncounted threads. Greatest amongst his tweets are the No Childs, the Enjoy Prisons, keyboard-engineered super-comebacks. Their comrades in arms are legion: You Are Not My X and countless lesser tweets, the ever vigilant Internet Tough Guy Shane Nokes, and the incompetent tech-priest Jackie Singh, to name only a few. But for all their size and girth, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from atalkers, brothermen, kiwis - and worse.
To be a Fatrick in such times is to be one of the funniest lolcows alive. It is to live the cruelest and most pathetic existence imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been ignored or dismissed, never to be learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim darkness of the Milwaukee basement, there is only pepperoni. There is no peace amongst the internets, only an eternity of pointless arguments and fedposting, and the laughter of brothermen and kiwis.
