- Joined
- Aug 5, 2025
- Messages
- 32
- Time Online
- 1h 38m
- Reputation
- 48
On the forums of Looksmax, dark and vast,
Where mirror-wars and jawlines clashed,
Lived iluvodegaard, bold and brash,
Posting cope and dreams in flash.
He praised the Norse, the Nordic bone,
Claimed “Odegaard’s looks are carved in stone!”
A temple thread for every mood—
“FaceRatio 10,” his daily food.
He spammed with graphs and tier charts drawn,
Of canthal tilts and midface fawned.
“Subhuman,” he’d cry at pics unseen,
Mods grew weary of this machine.
Warnings came in modly prose:
“Chill with the blackpill, let’s not implode.”
But iluvodegaard doubled down,
Posted five threads on “Hunter brow.”
Then one fine morn, the banhammer fell,
Like Zeus himself had heard the yell.
“Permabanned: Eternal Cope,”
A fate too raw, too steep a slope.
No more threads on eye gap width,
No more cries of “It’s over with!”
He’s locked away, behind the gate,
Where jawlines no longer dictate fate.
Yet in the archive’s dusty lair,
His threads live on, still full of flair.
And newbies whisper in the dark:
“He once was king—then missed the mark.”
Where mirror-wars and jawlines clashed,
Lived iluvodegaard, bold and brash,
Posting cope and dreams in flash.
He praised the Norse, the Nordic bone,
Claimed “Odegaard’s looks are carved in stone!”
A temple thread for every mood—
“FaceRatio 10,” his daily food.
He spammed with graphs and tier charts drawn,
Of canthal tilts and midface fawned.
“Subhuman,” he’d cry at pics unseen,
Mods grew weary of this machine.
Warnings came in modly prose:
“Chill with the blackpill, let’s not implode.”
But iluvodegaard doubled down,
Posted five threads on “Hunter brow.”
Then one fine morn, the banhammer fell,
Like Zeus himself had heard the yell.
“Permabanned: Eternal Cope,”
A fate too raw, too steep a slope.
No more threads on eye gap width,
No more cries of “It’s over with!”
He’s locked away, behind the gate,
Where jawlines no longer dictate fate.
Yet in the archive’s dusty lair,
His threads live on, still full of flair.
And newbies whisper in the dark:
“He once was king—then missed the mark.”
