It took a while due to a couple computer issues and a lost password that turned out to take forever to figure out, my editor finally got his Twitter account up and running, and we could start posting the blogposts we've been making since last October.
Report this, please. https://t.co/m6TyfnFLz5 pic.twitter.com/i5wUBJ2Eld
— Jessie Tentacles • 🇺🇦 🏳️⚧️ 🇪🇺 (@TheJessieKirk) June 25, 2022
As the post title notes, I'm better than him in every conceivable way. I freely admit he'll never be able to be as good a man as I am, and even if he was just a garden variety faggot who didn't cut off his balls he'd still have the disease of his lifestyle choice weighing him down. Yet if even hearing that causes him such distress?
There are men better than me. Sean Connery is dead, but there's still Clint Eastwood. I'm sure a couple more examples could come to mind. Steven James Anderson, and....well, if we work hard we'll come up with a few more. The point being, if an example of a man who was better than me was brought up, my response wouldn't be to slit my wrists. For ass pirates like Jessie Kirk, that's not the case.
I don't know how I'll die. BBQ fire, duel with another mathematician, lung cancer, or firefight with some nigger trying to steal my car. There are a lot of possibilities. Unlike Jessie Kirk, the answer won't be AIDS, monkeypox, or suicide. We all die from something, it's only a matter of time.
Curing his illness, not covering up the truth about it, is the only way to cure him.