I have seen the real thing. It was a long post, thin and bony and rancid with pretension, tortured paragraph upon tortured paragraph being pummeled to death by a pathetic manchild in a shack or possibly his mother's basement. The dark bruises that formed on the thread contrasted greatly with the discussions that weren't written furtively during detention by some Brett Easton Ellis wannabe. Words were knocked around and sentence structure became a bloody maw of torn syntax. Dependent clauses became swollen to the point where they looked almost alien. Wherever you are, I hope it is in the middle of nowhere or the room was incredibly sound proof, because for a while my laughter was so loud it started to register simply as a continuous reverberation of braying hysteria. The contempt in which I hold you makes me want to scream until my voice becomes a hoarse whisper. I choked on vomit and blood rather than reread that piece of shit, and I can only pray that your silence will be complete. Eventually, your lube-slicked sausage fingers started to hammer out sentences that broke the language itself. The sickly crunching sound of a hamfisted fucking retard trying to jam his sweaty fantasies into my head became a surreal instrumental of wheezing and moaning, the painfully-protracted whimper of a desperate loser hammering out power fantasies on a crusty keyboard in a filthy hovel reeking of cat piss and cheetoh dust and the rank goat-smell of execrable failure.