Get triggered by my bara-tiddy worship,
a can’t-unsee in your rule34 search –
the SFM McHanzo ship too stronk
for a bronze-tier tinder dudebro. Yeah
I’ll find someone like you raging on
a dell fit for CS:GO.
You’ve programmed me to be a lurkr,
an NPC following custom Dank Souls
rules, forever fucked in the faget spam –
teabags with the hacker’s headshot
(git gud) (deal with it), and
crackles of your e-peen playback
from a booth-babe Razer headset.
Are you in a monochrome cult classic
closed convention for the nerds who
grew up gains, and for those devolved
into fedora goblins – pimple neckbeards –
double-teaming G.I.R.Ls just so long
as you can common ground the cleavage
of Lara Croft’s supple poly prisms?
(I’ll bet you’d find them moist)
I can just feel your hands now: sticky –
bad handling of the pre-cream n’ tissues –
glossed over with the dirt of Doritos
and a fine Mountain Dew finish,
ready for some low-key ERP
STR8 hero fapfests in a hetero World
of Warcraft –
your fantasy; you know we’re living
a testosterone conundrum:
dat male blood-elf ass barrage,
all deez beefs and swole, and waves
after endless waves of orc cock
capping your daily quest logs.
But you’re salty. You can’t even
reality; butthurt that Bioware bitches
can warp the conversation wheels
and mod a man from your head
canon into the nope-depths
of the online dark side.
Welcome. Login
to the Grindr app crossover –
your sacred mancave backdoor’d
by the furfags and double rainbows;
you know what it means. ParTy up
and protect your fragile masculinity
from my emoji raids, encrypted:
inb4 the Tumblrina cries, inb4
the Reddit downvote karma-fire,
before the 4chan trolls swarm,
doxx and DDoS with unsolicited
rootkit dick pics. GTFO
or get rekt.