Listen up, you filth-mongers, because I’m typing this through a haze of nicotine and righteous fury, eyes bleeding from the screen while that site’s algorithms decide whether truth gets a voice or a muzzle.
Two particular specimens of human garbage – let’s brand them “Lee” and “Nick” for the sake of this autopsy – have been spewing their usual cocktail of lies, misinformation, and weaponized fear across what used to be called Twitter before the Musk rebrand turned it into his personal playground. I did what any human with a pulse and a conscience does: I called the bastards out. Named them. Dragged their squalid little deceptions into the light like the cockroaches they are.
Their response? Oh, they didn’t like that. Not one bit. So, these whinging, snivelling cowards did what cowards do best – they reported me. Ran crying to the platform’s overlords because someone dared hold up a mirror to their ugliness.
And now? Suspended. Again. Account locked tighter than Farage’s expense claims. While I figure out how to wrap a dead fish in a copy of the Constitution and slap it across Elon Musk’s smug billionaire face hard enough to get this reversed, I’m stuck navigating this digital gulag like a neutered dog.
That’s the state of play now, citizens. I make one off-the-cuff remark – truthful, barbed, necessary – and bam, suspended. Tail between legs, shame heaped on the whistleblower. Meanwhile, the real poison spreads unchecked: Musk, Robinson, Farage, Lee, the whole rotten parade of them pumping out hateful lies that tear communities apart, incite division, and rot the body politic from the inside.
But sure, tell me again how I’m the problem for calling it out.
These people – the ones who own the platforms, tweak the algorithms, decide whose voice gets amplified and whose gets buried – they hold the reins now. They control what you see, what you hear, what you’re allowed to say. And right now, in this festering moment of history, they are emphatically, undeniably not on the side of good.
They’re on the side of control.
Wake up, you beautiful idiots. While you’re scrolling, they’re deciding your reality.
I’m Spider Thompson, and if they think a suspension will shut me up, they’ve forgotten one fundamental truth: the truth doesn’t need their permission to bite.
Back to the bowels with you.
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