Listen up, you drooling digital vultures, because I’m about to carve through the steaming pile of bullshit clogging up your feeds. I’m Spider Thompson, and I’m here to shove the truth down your throats until you choke on it. This ain’t about your feelings, my feelings, or the internet’s collective hard-on for outrage. This is about facts, and I’m so sick of wading through the rumour-soaked diarrhoea you call “news” that I’m ready to burn my keyboard and move to a cave.
Let’s talk about Stephen. Yeah, that Stephen – the racist, coke-snorting prick who’s currently the poster child for “how to fuck up your life in 48 hours.” This walking landfill decided it’d be a grand idea to clock some poor bastard hard enough to send him to a major trauma centre. Not a playful jab, mind you – a hit that left the guy eating hospital Jell-O while Stephen hightailed it out of the country like the spineless coward he is. Real hero material, right?
Enter a reporter – God bless her for trying to do actual journalism in this cesspool – who tracks down this human dumpster fire. And what does she get for her effort? Stephen, in all his coked-up glory, calls her a “slag.” Classy move, you piece of shit. I bet he thought he was being charming while he was at it.
Now, the internet’s got video – oh, you better believe there’s video. It’s splattered across every corner of the digital sewer, showing Stephen prancing around like a peacock on a bender while his victim’s sprawled out, lights out, on the concrete. And because this story wasn’t already a three-ring circus of idiocy, Stephen’s got the balls to set up a crowdfunding page the next morning, whining about “self-defence” like it’s his personal gospel. His fanboy posse – those brain-dead sycophants – swear he called the ambulance himself. Cute little fairy tale, except it got debunked faster than a flat-earther at a NASA convention. No dice, dipshits.
Here’s where I’m supposed to say something profound, but fuck that. My point is simple: I’d love to see this prick dragged back to a cold, grey cell in His Majesty’s finest concrete hotel. But – and this is the part that makes my skin crawl – if Stephen’s somehow innocent, he deserves a fair shot in court, not a public crucifixion by keyboard warriors high on their own outrage. Right now, the internet’s a circus of fleas jumping from one conclusion to another. His drooling fans are screaming “self-defence” with zero evidence, just blind devotion to their powder-sniffing messiah. Meanwhile, the haters – myself included, if I’m being honest – are watching that video and thinking, “Yeah, this asshole hauled off and decked a guy for shits and giggles, then ran like the spineless fuck he is.”
But here’s the deal, you data-junkies: I don’t give a rat’s hairy ass about what feels true. Feelings are for suckers and poets. I want the facts. The cold, hard, ugly truth. Right now, what we know is this: Stephen’s a racist twat who hit someone hard enough to land them in a trauma centre, mouthed off to a reporter like a petulant child, set up a pathetic “give me money” scam, and his mates are lying through their teeth about him playing Good Samaritan. It’s a shit look for a shit human.
But I’ve said it before, and I’ll scream it until my lungs give out: the truth is what matters. Not your hot takes, not my bile, not the internet’s frothing rage. So let’s stick to what we know, dig deeper, and either nail this fucker to the wall or clear him with the facts. Nothing else will do. Now get off your asses and demand the truth – or at least stop clogging my feed with your half-baked guesses. I’ve got better things to do than babysit your stupidity.
Spider signing off to try and hunt down someone who has a clue.
+ There are no comments
Add yours