It was in a fit of jealous rage. These silicon shrines of mamut demand far more from us than any single fool could ever pay off in their miserable lifetime.
I emptied the nearest loaded firearm I had into the servers of chapochat. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or shitposts or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the internet. Whatever it meant.
When I came to, I repaired the damage I'd unleashed as best I could with what withering sanity still clung to the ridges of my fractured skull. At the end of the day, if you drink enough wild turkey, even resurrection is achievable.
Good mescaline comes on slow. The first hour is all waiting, then about halfway through the second hour you start cursing the creep who burned you, because nothing is happening...and then
:agony-mescaline:
Yeah, good. Okay. This is a Wendy's, sir. I need to help the next customer. You should, like, write a book or something.
Right, of course, in that case, can I get a baconater?