Listen up, you filthy, pixel-peeping parasites clinging to your screens like lice on a junkie’s scalp. It’s me, Spider Thompson, crawling back from the void after a couple of months offline. Yeah, that’s right – I’ve been MIA, sucked into the swirling vortex of family bullshit, work drudgery, DIY disasters that make a war zone look tidy, and that soul-crushing monster called “real life.” You know, the kind of crap that turns honest men into simpering drones, hammering nails into their own coffins while the world burns around them. I was out there, wrestling with leaky roofs, screaming brats, and corporate overlords who think “productivity” means chaining your ass to a desk until your spine snaps like a dry twig.
But don’t get it twisted, you drooling idiots – this wasn’t some voluntary retreat to sip mai tais on a beach. No, life grabbed me by the balls and dragged me into the trenches, where the only headlines were “Fix the goddamn plumbing” and “Survive another family dinner without committing homicide.” I fought it, tooth and nail, but even a bastard like me has limits. Hell, I probably built enough shelves and mowed enough lawns to qualify for sainthood in suburbia, if saints swore like sailors and chain-smoked through the apocalypse.
Now? I’m back, you sorry sacks of protoplasm. Back with a vengeance that could melt steel. Those lying scumbag worms – the politicians, the media hacks, the corporate bloodsuckers who’ve been slithering around unchecked while I was gone – you’d better forget all about me taking it easy on you. That brief mercy? It’s over. I’m reloaded, refuelled, and ready to shove the truth so far up your asses it’ll come out your lying mouths as confetti. No more kid gloves; I’m swinging the nerf gun of truth, and the first shot’s aimed right at your corrupt hearts.
And oh, the backlog – I’ve got a festering pile of half-written stories stacked higher than a hooker’s heels, each one a grenade primed to explode the myths you’ve been swallowing like cheap booze whilst I was away. Over the next couple of weeks, I’ll polish these bastards off and hurl them online, one by one, until the coutry’s digital streets run red with exposed lies and shattered illusions. Expect exposés on the usual suspects: graft, greed, and the grotesque underbelly of power that makes your stomach turn.
So buckle up, you flag-humping morons. The hiatus is history, and the hunt is on. Thompson, signing off – for now. But I’ll be back soon, and so will the pain.
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