Breaking news: Some fucking dumb idiot thinks they can just come around and run their freaking mouth at me whenever they want. Listen here, buddy. Do you know who I am? Do you know my credentials? That's right, you don't. I'm a fucking journalist. Who are you? Who the freaking hell are you? You're no one, pal. Nobody. You aren't a journalist, I bet you don't even have a website. Who has the website here? I do, me. I have a fucking website. I'm an authority here.

This isn't "satire", buddy. This isn't a fucking joke, pal. This isn't some fantasy world where people can just write nonsense and pass it off as news for the proles in their little suburban hamster cages, doing their little tasks and getting their little treats from their elaborate treat dispensers. You're not out there, on the scene, in the fucking field. That's me, that's where I am. That's my fucking turf. My forte. Being out there, in the real world, while you slack-jawed bozos are scrolling through your social media feeds, having a constant stream of fake news media psyops beamed into your calcified deli meat brains. I'm your last fucking hope. You think this is a game? You think this is some kind of freaking silly game, where I come on here and hit random keys on my computer? India, China, the Middle East, South America, Central America, Eastern Europe, we're out there. We're talking boots on the ground, in the freaking trenches, my man. And where are you? Where the hell are you, while all this is going down? I'll tell you where, with your head in the sand like a fucking ostrich. You dumb mother fucker. You absolute pussy bitch.

How fucking dare you insult the integrity of this established, respected, trustworthy news source. One of the last ones out there. Do you know how many real journalists there are left? Not very many. They get killed. That's what happens when you stick your nose where it's not welcome. They go in expecting a rabbit hole, but it's more like a snake hole or a wolves den. And these people, they get eaten whole. Bones and all, like they never existed. And you come to realize, before you face the Lord, that all of it was a wolves den the entire time. And you couldn't see it because you were always in it. A snake pit, a jungle full of the most terrifying predators this world has ever known. Every monster that has ever haunted your childhood dreams, they've been wearing our skin and walking among us. You pass them in the street, you shop at the same grocery stores.

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It's kinda like, when you get a pet from the pet store. A domesticated, fancy mouse. Bred in captivity, in the lap of luxury, a novelty for some snot-nosed child. Snake food. That's what you are. The serpents will come to feed on you while you scurry about in your little golden cage, oblivious of the world outside. You don't know what it's like in the real world. If someone sneezes in your little processed food pellets you'll shit yourself to death. But the rats, the rats on the outside, they live. They thrive. They'll eat trash, they'll kill your neighbor's cat with their bare hands. And let me tell you, the rats are coming. It's a rat's world out there, when the facade of civilization you play in collapses. They'll eat you alive. When there's no one there to fill your water tube, no little nipple to suckle from, no processed food pellets to soothe your delicate belly, no comfy bedding to shit in, and no masters to change your shit bedding, what hole will you skitter into? What dark corner will you hide in, where the monsters won't find you? They already know where you are. There's no running. The flock must find their horns. The herd must raze the slaughterhouse to the ground.

Your age draws to an end, son of Man. But what lies beyond the horizon? An age of darkness, or the golden light of the dawn? Will you seize your own future? Will you forge your own path, of fire and blood, to paradise? Like a thief in the night, the dawn shall come, but the sun may only rise after it has set. Tell me, who shall carry the weight of the sun on their shoulders? Who will carry their cross? Who will bear the burden of the holy fire to cleanse this wretched world of sin? Soon, you shall see. Fire has been cast upon this world, and for ages those holy sparks have been watched. Guarded, closely. And soon, the time shall come when they will blaze. Do you think you are clean? That you are free of sin? You, yes you. You think you're a man of God? You think you understand His will? You walk with planks in your eyes, you wander as blind ones, servants of the deceiver. And when the fire comes to consume you, you will call "Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?", and He will look down upon you, and He will say He has never know you.