#<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> > Yoda served 900 years and y’all still stan the lava crybaby? > This post didn’t just rewrite canon — it force-choked it. > > Reblog if you’d let Master Yoda train you without blinking. > Scroll if you still think the Chosen One needed legs to lead. </div>

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION // BLACKSITE RANT: YODA SUPREMACY -->

&lt;div style="white-space:pre-wrap"&gt;

&lt;meta master-tier="confirmed"&gt;

&lt;script&gt;

ARCHIVE_TAG="YODA_IS_THE_ONE::FOR_900_YEARS_HE_COOKED"

EFFECT: timeline collapse, fandom supremacy realignment, Jedi council ego death

TRIGGER_WARNING="language, Jedi heresy, short king worship"

&lt;/script&gt;

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “LISTEN HERE, F*CKERS. YODA WAS THE ONE.”

Let me say this once.

📢 Shut your galactic mouths and hear me out.

Yoda was the f*cking Chosen One.

I don’t care what prophecy you read.

I don’t care how many midichlorians Anakin snorted out of a podracer seat.

And I sure as hell don’t care how many angst-cries Luke dropped on Dagobah.

***Yoda was HIM.***

—

For 900 years?

This little green acrobat of death and patience

***ran the goddamn galaxy.***

He trained Jedi so cold they made Sith beg for unemployment.

He held the High Council together through galactic wars, Sith uprisings, and Jedi hormone meltdowns.

He ***stared down Palpatine and survived.***

He ***turned exile into philosophy.***

He ***made Luke cry without using a lightsaber.***

All 2 feet of him.

All wisdom.

All force.

All ***smoke.***

—

🛑 STOP TELLING ME “Anakin was the Chosen One.”

He was the ***plot device.***

Yoda was the ***standard.***

The ***blueprint.***

The ***reason the Sith had to wait centuries just to try again.***

He didn’t just master the Force —

He ***became the Force’s customer service manager.***

***Yoda blinked and empires adjusted.***

—

Don’t let the size fool you.

Yoda’s back held the weight of 10,000 Jedi egos.

He taught ***generations.***

He ***counseled empires.***

He ***meditated so hard*** reality itself took notes.

He fought with style,

spoke with riddles,

and made grown warriors question their entire bloodlines.

All while wearing a burlap hoodie and smelling like moss.

—

AND HE NEVER LOST HIMSELF.

Anakin?

Got sad.

Killed kids.

Needed lava therapy.

Luke?

Got ghost-coached by two dead guys

and still almost folded to daddy issues.

Yoda?

Lost a war,

vanished into the swamp,

and ***still trained the last hope of the galaxy*** like it was just another Tuesday.

—

Don’t talk to me about destiny.

Yoda ***chose himself.***

Every damn day.

For 900 years, he ***walked the razor's edge of power***

and ***didn’t fall.***

Didn’t rage.

Didn’t bend.

Didn’t beg.

He watched ***everything collapse***

and still had ***enough patience*** to make Luke ***earn his answers.***

That’s not failure.

That’s ***God-tier restraint.***

—

You want chosen?

Chosen is living 900 years with galactic power and ***not*** using it to start a religion about yourself.

Chosen is ***teaching the future while burying the past.***

Chosen is ***still meditating after everyone else stopped believing.***

Yoda was ***the spine of the galaxy.***

And you only noticed him when he was gone.

Bow down.

🧠 Read more Jedi heresy, scrolltrap rants, and Force-based timeline corrections at:

👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

🛡️ Rant doctrine. Fandom dominance. Jedi scrolltrap supremacy.

🚪 Warning: This post may trigger Sith tears, Anakin defenders, and Star Wars canon seizures.

📊 FORCE METRICS 📊

• Years Yoda served: 900

• Wars survived: all of them

• Sith fought with honor: none

• Students cried during training: all

• Times Yoda bragged: 0

• Times he earned it: every f*cking day

&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;!-- END TRANSMISSION [YOU WISH YOU HAD A MASTER LIKE HIM.] --&gt;

[the-most-humble-blog]

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION // BLACKSITE LITERATURE PROTOCOL ACTIVE -->

&lt;div style="white-space:pre-wrap"&gt;

&lt;meta cosmology-integrity="unstable-theorem"&gt;

&lt;script&gt;

ARCHIVE_TAG="QUANTUM_INSOLENCE::THEORY_OF_WE_DONT_KNOW_SHIT"

EFFECT: metaphysical defiance, scientific smugness rupture, universal humility trigger

&lt;/script&gt;

🧠 BLACKSITE ENTRY — “WE DON’T KNOW SHIT (AND THE UNIVERSE MIGHT KILL YOU FOR ASKING)”

Let me ask you something:

Do you really think the **universe has been figured out**?

Do you actually believe the guy with “PhD” in his username

because he’s got a bookshelf and a YouTube channel?

Do you sit your soft little ass down the moment

someone throws math, Greek letters, and *theories* at your skull

like those letters are **law**?

Let me tell you something —

and it's gotten me in trouble before:

&gt; **We don’t know shit.**

Not really.

Not deeply.

Not *cosmically.*

We understand… fragments.

Particle breadcrumbs.

Shadows on the cave wall —

and we call it “science.”

We throw equations at the void

like a toddler flinging spaghetti at a black hole

and then hand ourselves awards for how **"accurately we missed."**

—

Let’s talk real.

☑️ We don’t know what consciousness is.

☑️ We don’t know what time is.

☑️ We don’t know what gravity actually *does* to space

—we just know it hurts when you fall off a ladder.

We **perform double-slit experiments**

that literally break our model of physical reality

and no one even screams anymore.

No one slams the lab table and yells:

&gt; “What the actual f*ck is happening?”

We just shrug, write it down, and say:

&gt; “Quantum something-something. Don’t worry.”

You *should* worry.

—

Let me rattle your little simulation:

☢️ You may have **never not existed.**

☢️ You may have already died — **infinity times infinity**.

☢️ You might be jumping timelines every time you sleep,

bleeding pieces of other realities into your dumb monkey brain

and calling it a "dream."

&gt; Ever heard of **quantum immortality?**

Every time you die, your consciousness **slides**

into another instance

where you survived.

No heaven.

No funeral.

No farewell montage.

Just… *continued illusion.*

Forever.

—

You think the Big Bang was a “beginning”?

That’s adorable.

The **Big Bang** is a theory —

a mathematical **fanfiction**

to help us sleep at night.

Some believe the real universe —

the meta-layer, the **place before places** —

had **no beginning.**

No cause.

No “let there be light.”

It just **is.**

&gt; “Why are we here?”

&gt; “Because.”

Because the universe said:

&gt; “Sure. You dumb blue planet.

&gt; I’ll let you exist — for now.

&gt; Unless you ask too many questions about me.”

—

The most dangerous knowledge

isn’t that we’re small.

It’s that we may be **eternal**

without understanding *any* of it.

Floating in a recursive echo chamber of realities

that don’t care if you cry, protest, or convert.

You may be the only version of yourself

who *hasn’t* died yet.

Or worse —

you may already be in the death-loop version,

still convinced you’re on schedule

for retirement and grandkids.

—

&gt; You are not above this.

&gt; You are not educated out of this.

&gt; You are not safe from the randomness.

The cosmos didn’t hand you a textbook.

It handed you **blood, fear, beauty, and time.**

And you turned it into *content.*

So go ahead.

Keep quoting Carl Sagan.

Keep calling it a “simulation.”

Keep thinking a theory is a fact if it’s written in Helvetica.

But just know:

&gt; The moment you demand answers?

&gt; The universe may answer with static.

&gt; Or silence.

&gt; Or you… never waking up.

&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;!-- END TRANSMISSION [UNIVERSE RESPONSE: “YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO ASK THAT.”] --&gt;

[the-most-humble-blog]

&lt;!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION --&gt;

&lt;div style="white-space:pre-wrap"&gt;

&lt;meta gender-truth="unfiltered male cognition"&gt;

&lt;script&gt;ARCHIVE_TAG="PERMANENT_HORNINESS_MALE_CURSE_007"&lt;/script&gt;

🩸 **LADIES, IMAGINE YOUR HORNIEST DAY OF YOUR PERIOD.**

You know the one.

The day you’d hump a doorknob if it winked at you.

Where your own thigh brushing your own thigh

makes your clit tap out Morse code.

Where everything feels like a warm-up for something you’re not even allowed to have yet.

It sucks, right?

Can’t wait for it to pass, right?

---

Now imagine that feeling…

**PERMANENT.**

Magnified.

Multiplied.

**Forever.**

Welcome to the curse of the male species.

---

We’re not just horny.

We’re **wired** for **visceral visual override.**

Every hour.

Every minute.

You sit there talking about astrology

and our dick is running a simulation

of pulling your hair and rearranging your spinal alignment.

You’re describing your dissertation

and our lower brain is imagining

how deep you could take it if you focused real hard and tried to impress us.

And you think you’re winning a debate

while we’re holding back

an intrusive fantasy about turning your opinions into **throat-warm echoes.**

---

Let me break something down for you:

You don’t understand how hard it is

to walk around with a mind that’s **permanently hijacked by tits, thighs, curves, and voice cadence.**

You don’t know what it’s like

to sit across from a woman

talking about equality

while our cock is demanding we drag her behind a dumpster

like a caveman on a work-release program from hell.

---

We don’t hate you.

We love you.

We want to honor you.

We want to marry you.

But you **also make us fucking insane.**

And no one says it.

---

You think you’re “strong”?

Try holding back **30 years of sexual saturation**

in a culture that uses female flesh to sell literally everything —

from chicken sandwiches to car insurance.

You think we’re intimidated?

We’re just busy trying to avoid losing our jobs,

our platforms,

our ability to feed ourselves.

Not because of “equality.”

Because **we know if we said the things we’re thinking**,

the FBI might watch us for sport.

---

Let’s make it real plain:

We’re not scared of you.

We’re scared of what **happens if we stop pretending to be.**

---

No man fears a “strong woman.”

We fear the system

that’s built to destroy a man

for **saying out loud**

what all of us are trying not to say.

That yes,

I just imagined you naked.

Yes,

I wondered if you swallow.

Yes,

I stared at your tits when you turned around

and mentally calculated the chances of fucking you and still being seen as a “good man.”

---

You’re not intimidating.

You’re just... *barely tolerated.*

You think because you speak loudly

and quote feminist Twitter accounts

that we feel challenged.

No.

We’re bored.

Checked out.

And mentally picturing what it would look like

if we bent you over the kitchen counter mid-sentence

and whispered,

&gt; “You done now?”

---

But we don’t say it.

We don’t act on it.

We do what we’ve always done.

We sit there,

stone-faced,

nodding,

crafting a polite logical counterpoint

while our dick’s screaming

**“Give her the full load. Respectfully.”**

---

And then what do you say?

&gt; “Eat my ass.”

Unironically.

As a clapback.

As an insult.

You don’t even hear yourselves.

You’re the metaphorical gazelle

**licking the balls of a sleeping lion**

and thinking it’s feminism.

---

That’s not power.

That’s **protected delusion.**

The kind that only survives

because the rest of us are too scared

to tell you how ridiculous it sounds

to equate your sassy little blog post

with revolution.

---

You know who we’re scared of?

Not Kamala.

Not Hillary.

Not Ronda Rousey.

Not your tattooed sociology major

with her 14 trauma slides.

We’re scared of the judge,

the HR department,

the committee,

the cancel mob

that will burn our lives

if we say what every man thinks

when you wink and bend at the waist

to “tie your shoe.”

---

You think you won

because we didn’t clap back.

You think you owned us

because we didn’t bark.

But you don’t know how much we held back.

You don’t know how close our cock came

to betraying our paycheck.

To betraying our dignity.

To standing up mid-meeting

and whispering,

&gt; “If you knew what I was holding back,

&gt; you’d tremble.”

&gt; “And if I said it out loud,

&gt; you’d cum or cry or both.”

---

We’re not predators.

We’re prisoners.

Chained to a biological machine

that **wants everything from you**

and is only satisfied

when we conquer it.

Not you.

**It.**

This curse.

This heat.

This wild need

to watch your lips move

and imagine **what they could really do.**

---

You want truth?

Here it is:

&gt; We’ve thought about f*cking you

before we even knew your last name.

&gt; We’ve wondered what your thighs feel like

when you shift in that seat.

&gt; We’ve calculated how long it would take

to get you half-naked

if you said “yes”

while ordering a latte.

And we don’t say it.

Because we don’t want to scare you.

Even though

**you are what makes us feel possessed.**

---

Not because you’re powerful.

Because you’re **unaware**

of what power your body carries.

Because **you think the leash is on us,**

but you don’t know

that **we’re the ones pulling it taut every second.**

---

So don’t mistake silence for intimidation.

You’re not dangerous.

We’re just tired.

Tired of pretending your sass

is a threat.

Tired of pretending your theories

are reality.

Tired of **having to look you in the eye**

when every part of us

just wants to grab your hips

and ask if your attitude comes with matching gag reflex.

---

But we don’t.

Because we have jobs.

Because we have reputations.

Because we have to.

So don’t flatter yourself.

You didn’t win the debate.

You just survived it

because we let you.

---

And in the wise words of the first kazoo:

&gt; “Have a good rest of your day, dumb dumbs.”

REBLOG if you know this already.

&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;!-- END TRANSMISSION [AUTO-WIPE IN: 00:06:66] --&gt;

[the-most-humble-blog]

&lt;!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION // BLACKSITE WRITER DOCTRINE: SPIRAL CRAFT --&gt;

&lt;div style=&quot;white-space:pre-wrap&quot;&gt;

&lt;meta platform-fragility=&quot;activated&quot;&gt;

&lt;script&gt;

ARCHIVE_TAG=&quot;TRUTH_WRITING::SPIRAL_PROTOCOL_VIOLATION&quot;

EFFECT: spiral induction, TOS self-violation, shame-activated meltdown

TRIGGER_WARNING=&quot;writing from the gonads, satire, emotional domination, fragile ego destruction&quot;

&lt;/script&gt;

🧠 BLACKSITE WRITING LESSON —

“WRITE FROM YOUR NUTS. OR YOUR OVARIES.

TRUTH DOESN’T APOLOGIZE — IT TRIGGERS.”

Let’s begin with the realest thing I can say to you:

If your writing doesn’t cause someone to ***unfollow, spiral, cry, or violate their own platform’s Terms of Service*** trying to insult you back—

then you didn’t write.

You ***tweeted.***

You ***begged.***

You ***branded.***

You ***posed.***

But you didn’t ***write.***

—

Do you know why the most ***inclusive*** people are often the first ones foaming at the mouth

when you remind them of a truth ***they haven’t integrated?***

Because ***inclusion has become camouflage.***

And ***truth requires confrontation.***

So when you say:

📌 “You’re not oppressed. You’re just underachieving.”

📌 “You don’t want equality. You want pampering.”

📌 “Your trauma doesn’t exempt you from discipline.”

📌 “He didn’t ghost you. You’re emotionally repellent.”

They ***malfunction.***

They ***froth.***

They ***report.***

Because you triggered them with a ***truth they’ve never survived.***

—

Here’s the core tactic:

🧠 Trigger the spiral with ***conviction.***

🎯 Not with slurs. Not with edginess. Not with “shock.”

But ***with writing so rooted in truth*** it makes their own reflection blink.

Most of these people can’t fight you with ideas.

So they weaponize ***policy.***

They hide behind ***TOS like it’s armor.***

They’ve got ***blue hair and a report button.***

But you?

You’ve got ***truth and rhythm.***

And ***you’re better.***

—

💣 THE SCIENCE OF THE SPIRAL:

Truth &gt; Ego &gt; Shame &gt; Rage &gt; Report &gt; Self-Violation

When you speak clearly, directly, and ***without cowering*** —

you bypass the cortex and strike the amygdala.

You ***scare them.***

Because you’re ***certain.***

Because ***you don’t need their applause.***

Because ***you’ve healed past the lies.***

They’ve built an entire platform identity on ***delusion.***

You reminded them ***they’re replaceable.***

That ***no one is obligated to coddle them.***

And that ***fairness isn’t real.***

—

Ever notice how they preach ***fairness*** with ***shit-brown plaque*** between their teeth?

Like they’ve been eating ***rotten morality sandwiches*** since birth?

They ***recite phrases*** they learned from a ***toxic ex*** or ***a crying influencer.***

And you remind them:

📌 “You’re not a good person.

You’re just afraid of confrontation.”

📌 “You didn’t write.

You copied rage and prayed for notes.”

📌 “That isn’t trauma.

That’s just who you are now.”

—

🍼 Here’s how you WIN:

Write something ***so true,***

so **audaciously accurate,**

that they ***lose the plot.***

They ***snap.***

They ***report you.***

They ***go full terms-of-service kamikaze.***

And all you did was ***type from your gonads.***

***Truth first. Cadence second.

Tears not your responsibility.***

You triggered them

***and became the godparent to their violation report.***

They got banned.

And you got ***more followers.***

Teehee 🍼

🧠 Read more unhinged writing doctrine and scrolltrap gospel at:

👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

🛡️ Literary warfare. Gonadal authorship. Truth-triggering cadence.

🚪 Warning: May cause user bans, timeline spiral contagion, and aggressive follow activity.

📊 TRUTH TRIGGER METRICS 📊

• Reporters who violated their own TOS: many

• Times you begged to be liked: 0

• Spiral responses that ended in bans: confirmed

• Writers who lead from ovaries/nuts: elite

• Apologies issued by winners: zero

• Times cadence lost to clout: never

&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;!-- END TRANSMISSION [TEETH BROWN. TRUTH CROWNED.] --&gt;

[the-most-humble-blog]

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION // BLACKSITE LITERATURE PROTOCOL ACTIVE -->

&lt;div style="white-space:pre-wrap"&gt;

&lt;meta ego-integrity="evaporating"&gt;

&lt;script&gt;ARCHIVE_TAG="THE_UNWRITER::PROJECTED_OBLIVION"

EFFECT: ego collapse, artistic recoil, shame-triggered reflection

&lt;/script&gt;

🧠 BLACKSITE POEM — “THE UN-WRITER”

There exists a creature,

half-scorn, half-sputter,

who crawls from thread to thread,

gripping nothing but their own undercooked takes

and the soggy diaper of a dream deferred.

They reblog.

But not from love.

Not from resonance.

But from the swollen ulcer of unacknowledged failure.

They say things like:

&gt; “This isn’t real writing.”

&gt; “You just want attention.”

&gt; “I don’t get the hype.”

Of course you don’t.

You were never supposed to.

You weren’t built to receive it.

You were built to miss it —

To see the star overhead

and whine about the *shade.*

—

They are not critics.

They are *echoes* of the dreams they couldn’t fulfill.

They are not failed writers.

They are **un-writers.**

They exist only in opposition.

Their entire identity —

a wheezing rebuttal to the greatness they cannot match.

They do not create.

They comment.

They do not inspire.

They infest.

Their blog is a graveyard.

Their notes?

A mausoleum of cope.

And when they try to “drag” you,

what they’re really saying is:

&gt; “Please look at me.

Please let your brilliance touch me, even in hate.

Please let me matter, if only as a foil.”

But even that…

is a mercy they don’t deserve.

—

They scream *“mid.”*

Because *“legendary”* makes them weep.

They call it *“attention-seeking,”*

because your spotlight exposes

how little theirs ever meant.

They project.

They puff.

They smear.

But their hands tremble

with the same bitter question

every un-writer eventually asks:

&gt; “Why them… and not me?”

And the answer is simple.

Because you post with fire.

And they only light a match

to feel warm in the comments.

Because you write from *soul.*

They write from *spite.*

Because your words changed timelines.

And theirs?

Just litter.

—

So let them fester.

Let them bark.

Let them gather their anonymous likes like grave pebbles.

No one remembers the name of the man

who heckled Shakespeare from the rafters.

No one quotes the priest

who told Dante to tone it down.

No one recalls the blogger

who tried to insult *you*

and ended up

accidentally reblogging your divinity.

—

They sit.

In chairs they didn’t earn.

Smut on their minds.

Your posts in their bookmarks.

Hand on crotch,

mouth full of judgment.

They critique your cadence

with trembling wrists,

jealous of the god between your syllables.

They call your passion *“toxic,”*

because it made them feel something

they can’t admit they wanted.

And still —

they refresh.

They read.

They lurk.

They wish.

And when they say:

&gt; “This isn’t literature.”

You whisper back:

&gt; “You wouldn’t know.

You’ve only ever been its *bystander.*”

&lt;/div&gt;

<!-- END TRANSMISSION [COMMENT AGAIN AND I’LL SIGN YOUR OBITUARY IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER] -->

[the-most-humble-blog]

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION // BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP: EXECUTIONER SPEECH -->

&lt;div style="white-space:pre-wrap"&gt;

&lt;meta execution_mode="engaged"&gt;

&lt;script&gt;

ARCHIVE_TAG="CADENCE_DOMINANCE::SWORDSWING_VERBAL_TERMINATION"

EFFECT: social dethroning, primate hierarchy rupture, vulgar empowerment

TRIGGER_WARNING="verbal dismemberment, ego slaughter, dark humor, linguistic cruelty"

&lt;/script&gt;

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “SWING THE FUCKING SWORD.”

Let me make this simple:

There comes a time

in every conversation,

in every power struggle,

in every "debate"

where you stop explaining yourself

and start swinging.

—

🎭 Because what most people call “dialogue”

is just ***social theater.***

An ego parade.

A clout sermon.

A weakling ***disguising insecurity*** as insight.

And when you recognize that?

You don’t *talk.*

You *execute.*

—

💥 It goes like this:

You're mid-convo.

You’ve laid out logic.

You've stayed composed.

You’ve made your point.

But they *won’t stop.*

They *interrupt.*

They *condescend.*

They *quote TikToks like scripture.*

They don’t want truth.

They want *control.*

That’s when you ***drop the blade.***

—

The timing is everything.

Wait for them to pause —

to inhale —

to smirk —

to feel like they just “won.”

And then,

***with perfect stillness:***

> “I’ll be damned

> if I’m lectured by a

> [INSERT: **‘mentally constipated clout-chaser who hasn’t had an original thought since their last yeast infection.’**]”

Boom.

Air gone.

Room reset.

Soul exited through the tear ducts.

—

💡 Delivery Notes:

Do not yell.

Do not spit.

Do not lean forward.

Speak it like you’re reading their obituary.

Because ***you are.***

The key to cadence dominance is *precision.*

*Timing.*

*Undeniable clarity wrapped in verbal venom.*

And the moment you say that line,

***they know.***

They’ve been ***seen.***

And worse —

***they’ve been named.***

—

⚔️ WHEN TO SWING THE EXECUTIONER’S BLADE:

• When they lecture you with stolen ideas

• When they try to “correct” you using recycled activist slogans

• When they attempt to out-alpha you with feelings instead of facts

• When they reference moral frameworks they clearly don’t live by

• When they bring nothing but opinions and try to play professor

You say:

> “I’ll be damned

> if I’m lectured by someone

> who thinks trauma is a personality

> and who hasn't said anything intelligent since their last orgasm.”

(Feel free to tailor that.)

—

🛡️ WHY IT WORKS:

Because ***they didn’t expect resistance.***

They expected you to stay civilized.

Stay cordial.

Stay trapped in the polite jail cell

built by people ***you could outthink drunk.***

But when you swing the sword?

They realize too late—

> ***You never asked to be liked.

You asked to be left the fuck alone.***

And now they’re bleeding in the comments.

—

⚰️ BONUS LINES FOR TOTAL DOMINANCE:

> “You lost the moment you started raising your voice like it came with an argument.”

> “Don’t mistake emotional leakage for conviction.”

> “I said what I said. Now choke on it or scroll.”

> “I’m not here to de-escalate your projection tantrum.”

> “Say one more thing. Just one. I’ll gift wrap your ego and return it to your mother.”

—

🧠 Read more cadence executions, verbal warfare scrolltraps, and dominance mechanics at:

👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

🛡️ Writing that draws blood. Strategy that silences. Words that win.

🚪 Warning: This post may result in silence from formerly smug bastards, ruined group chats, and unsubscribes from cowards.

📊 CADENCE EXECUTION STATS 📊

• Conversational corpses today: 4

• Reblogged by haters who felt exposed: 73

• Unfriends after dominance drops: 184

• Ego fatalities confirmed: 23

• Report buttons clicked: lol

• Victory rate: unblemished

&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;!-- END TRANSMISSION [SWING THE SWORD. SMILE WHILE THEY BLEED.] --&gt;