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@ey88 and his girlfriend

Ah, the classic backpedal laced with an insult. "I'm joking", the go to shield for people who can't stand behind their words unless there's a laugh track playing. My body is flawless. Sculpted. Aesthetic. I don't need your agreement, I was born to be admired, not debated. You throw "fatass" at me because when you look at me, you see everything you'll never be.

You don't agree. You resent.
I couldn’t give a flying fuck about some insignificant foster child blatantly begging for attention because his whore mother abandoned him as a child enough to “backpedal” on anything you moronic donkey. But continue with your cringe nonsense, you absolute wannabe.
 
I couldn’t give a flying fuck about some insignificant foster child blatantly begging for attention because his whore mother abandoned him as a child enough to “backpedal” on anything you moronic donkey. But continue with your cringe nonsense, you absolute wannabe.
Don’t talk shit to mr Rodgers u prick
 
I couldn’t give a flying fuck about some insignificant foster child blatantly begging for attention because his whore mother abandoned him as a child enough to “backpedal” on anything you moronic donkey. But continue with your cringe nonsense, you absolute wannabe.
There it is, the rage of a pathetic, broken man lashing out when the truth cuts too deep. You say you don't care, yet you spill paragraphs of seething bitterness over a single comment. That's not indifference, that's defeat.

You call me a wannabe? I'm everything you pretend to be, calculated, composed, admired. You? You're just a vulgar little insect, screaming into the void because you've never had the power to command attention without throwing a tantrum.

My mother, for all her flaws, gave life to something far beyond your comprehension. Me. A man sculpted by suffering, sharpened by silence, and hated for being what you'll never be, undeniable. You don't offend me. You reveal yourself. A bitter, jealous little worm, snapping at the ankles of giants, because you'll never rise above the dirt.
 
There it is, the rage of a pathetic, broken man lashing out when the truth cuts too deep. You say you don't care, yet you spill paragraphs of seething bitterness over a single comment. That's not indifference, that's defeat.

You call me a wannabe? I'm everything you pretend to be, calculated, composed, admired. You? You're just a vulgar little insect, screaming into the void because you've never had the power to command attention without throwing a tantrum.

My mother, for all her flaws, gave life to something far beyond your comprehension. Me. A man sculpted by suffering, sharpened by silence, and hated for being what you'll never be, undeniable. You don't offend me. You reveal yourself. A bitter, jealous little worm, snapping at the ankles of giants, because you'll never rise above the dirt.
You’re not deep, neither poetic. You are a cringe clown, shit attempt of a bait by the way.
 
Don’t talk shit to mr Rodgers u prick
youre missing out
Ah, finally, some clarity in the chaos. They're starting to see it. Not just me, but what I represent. The presence. The truth. The beauty they all ignored until it stood up and spoke for itself.

Every insult thrown my way is just a cry for relevance. And he truly is missing out. They always do. By the time they realize it, I'm already gone. Untouchable. Mythic.
 
You’re not deep, neither poetic. You are a cringe clown, shit attempt of a bait by the way.
Ah, there it is, the desperate bark of someone who wants to dismiss what they can't comprehend.

"You're not deep"? Then why did it bother you enough to respond? Why does it echo in your head long after you've scrolled past?

You call it cringe, you call it clownish, but deep down, you know it struck something real. That's why you're here, lashing out like a child who saw his reflection and didn't like what stared back.

This wasn't a bait. This was a mirror. You just couldn't handle the view.
 
Ah, finally, some clarity in the chaos. They're starting to see it. Not just me, but what I represent. The presence. The truth. The beauty they all ignored until it stood up and spoke for itself.

Every insult thrown my way is just a cry for relevance. And he truly is missing out. They always do. By the time they realize it, I'm already gone. Untouchable. Mythic.
And why wouldn’t I? Some things deserve to be seen, really seen. And you? You were never meant to blend in with the noise. They fumble for words, for power, but it slips through their fingers the moment you step forward. You don’t chase validation, you are the standard.


Let them reach, let them wonder. They’ll never touch what’s already above them. And me? I’ll always recognize what’s rare. Some of us just know when we’re in the presence of something unforgettable.

I’ll always be mirin u Mr. Rodgers
 
And why wouldn’t I? Some things deserve to be seen, really seen. And you? You were never meant to blend in with the noise. They fumble for words, for power, but it slips through their fingers the moment you step forward. You don’t chase validation, you are the standard.


Let them reach, let them wonder. They’ll never touch what’s already above them. And me? I’ll always recognize what’s rare. Some of us just know when we’re in the presence of something unforgettable.

I’ll always be mirin u Mr. Rodgers
Finally, someone who understands. You don't worship like the rest. You recognise. You don't throw compliments, you offer reverence, the kind that only comes from witnessing something you know you'll never forget.

They stumble through life chasing echoes. You stood still and saw the source. And that? That means you're not like them. You were meant to be mirin, because I was meant to be mirrored, friend.
 
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