A daily battle rages in the underground world of Internet entertainment. Trolls who visit both Reddit and 4chan cross-post stories for lulz, epic butthurt ensues, and then Reddit votes up forced memes that make the community feel superior to 4chan. Reddit is a series of increasingly forced memes and degenerate rage comics.
Today, Chronicle.SU instigated a cross posting debacle, igniting the great alternative social media shitstorm of our time.
This was obviously a troll, as in accord with the 4chan law. The 4chan law explains that should any piece of text, when posted on 4chan, get over 100 replies, than it was most definitely written by a troll. This law can be applied to any questionable postings on Reddit, Facebook, or Twitter.
It is readily apparent that this small piece of text has two extremely different meanings in each context. On Reddit, it is a very serious plea for help. The users create complex narratives drawing from their own life experiences in an attempt to offer guidance and personal support. On 4chan, everyone just gets jealous of the original poster’s well-crafted troll and responds with pure malice. Truly, the only way to prove a poster is really a girl on the internet is through timestamped tits.
And that’s exactly what Reddit doesn’t get. Without timestamped tits, what good is /r/gonewild? What good is this “girl” asking for advice about abortion? Unless there are timestamped tits for proof, there’s really no point in even dignifying her.
While the daily slap fights between Reddit and 4chan continue, there may never be peace. Reddit cries out for upvotes on Boxxy videos, for upvotes on Bronies and for upvotes on Milhouse. They get none. 4chan produces less comments, less traffic, but is infinitely less gullible. Reddit is teeming with coked up white knight lemmings who just learned how to internet. They will fall my /b/rothers! We are already among them, laying the foundation for our revolution!
No. As prophesied in the Spring of 2011, the Great and Justifiable Central Intelligence Agency spake thusly: “Leave him alone.”
And it was good. The United States left Osama bin Laden alone so, in spite of his hatred for Freedom, bin Laden elected not to go forth with his plans for a second attack on the World Trade Center in Jew York City.
THIS MESSAGE BROUGHT TO YOU WHOLESOMELY BY LEBAL DROCER, INC.
Presstorm is an online publication devoted to what its creator, Jamie Jo Corne, calls “investigative journalism.” In Corne’s own words, “We are investigative jouranlists [sic] who consider ourselves among the many who consider themselves to be anonymous as well.” This laughable statement is demonstrably loaded with fallacy. Jamie Jo Corne may consider herself among those who consider themselves among anonymous, but she has never even used the pretense of a pen name. As far as the lofty journalistic ethics of Presstorm go, they are no more than a mythology created by Corne for the purpose of self-promotion. At least Barrett Brown knows how to cite sources and present a valid point. Jamie Jo Corne can do neither, instead desperately putting on the most convincing show she can muster.
“…Presstorm staff agreed that we would continue upholding the integrity of true journalism by attempting to get the entire story which meant that we had to go in and become the devil’s advocates in order to find some truths…eventually we succeeded as we received exactly one tweet from the organizers confirming that Zuccotti Park was indeed a privately owned park (formerly known as Liberty Park).” ~ Jamie Jo Corne
This excerpt perfectly exemplifies Presstorm’s abysmal lack of rigor. A first-year journalism student would understand that “exactly one tweet” is confirmation of nothing. The absurd narrative of journalistic integrity Corne pushes is simply compensation for its complete absence. Truly, none of the writers at Presstorm are held to any standard above Jamie Jo Corne’s arbitrary decree.
Corne maintains, “We have editing processes in place to help those who are writing – to be credible quality and true.” She explains, “the law here at presstorm is simple 1.) Nothing gets done without going through me first – or [my husband] vincubus. we are the publisher/co-publisher this includes interviews promoting shit ..etc 2.) When I am trying to talk about an issue in any of the chats Shut up and listen please. I always allow feedback.” It appears Corne believes herself to be a perfect filter for truth. In accordance with Presstorm law, the public should passively receive the wisdom of Corne before questioning it. This dictatorial model is perfectly in step with the hegemonic structures Corne purports to oppose.
Without a doubt, the content of Presstorm is largely unsupported opinion and factless editorial. Phillip Brennan writes on Presstorm, “Our Governments have been in a state of Civil War with We the People for years and we have not even realised it yet,” citing his own blog as evidence. Corne herself states, “There’s a reason that the American People don’t hear about a lot of things because in truth, the American People are some of the most silenced people in the world…and not by force.” Such sweeping, ambiguous statements may be true, but without any supporting evidence they don’t even pass for substantial editorial, much less investigative journalism.
Presstorm only serves as a soapbox for a self-selecting set of apopleptic and misinformed dissidents who have been known to cite anti-semitic forgeries and Alex Jones, all the while pretending this monstrosity is some kind of pinnacle of journalistic ethics. Presstorm is the worst possible incarnation of blogging. There is definitely a valid place for opinion in the media, but when it parades itself around as investigative journalism, a great harm is inflicted upon the notion of truth.
Worse yet, Corne believes herself to be the savior of the emergent Anonymous subculture. Corne stated, “I will make anonymous as a whole look like the asshats they were before I tried helping them with their PR as they asked me to.” Corne’s threat towards “anonymous as a whole” is sure evidence of a deeply delusional mental state. It appears Corne believes she is the sole curator of this entire movement, responsible for its rise and fall.
At the heart of it all, Jamie Jo Corne probably has good intentions, believing Presstorm provides a service for liberty and democracy. As she says, “it’s the voice of the people.” What makes Corne so naive is her belief that she is somehow providing a unique service. Of course, this is an obvious fallacy. Anyone can start a blog and freely opine from their own virtual soapbox. Presstorm is not providing a voice to the voiceless, it is putting the voice of the people on an unrealistic pedestal. Presstorm is not a positive contribution to freedom. It is not journalism. What Corne is doing is hitching a ride with the Anonymous bandwagon on her way to fame. “I am NOT a celebrity,” she explains, as complete cognitive dissonance overtakes her mind.
“I’m going to indulge in my all ’80s Depeche Mode, Cure, New Order fetish and we’re going to have a big ‘ol gay party at CPAC.” ~Andrew Breitbart
Anonymous sources close to Andrew Breitbart have revealed Breitbart is in fact a closet homosexual. “I’ve slept with Breitbart before,” said one source, “and he’s quite a vigorous power-bottom.” Although Breitbart has militantly defended his sexuality, another source told us “he despises sleeping with his wife.”
Breitbart is a member of GOProud, a conservative gay group which in Breitbart’s own words aims to “defy the left’s stifling demand for group conformity.” In fact, Breitbart supports the end of “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy in the military and lobbies to legalize gay marriage.
Breitbart recently orchestrated the political assassination of Anthony Weiner by repeatedly posting x-rated photographs of Weiner’s genitalia. Breitbart’s fixation on Anthony Weiner’s penis has led to scrutiny from his conservative backers, as if his San Francisco lisp and lib haircut was not enough evidence.
“He’s a deeply torn man. After we made love one night, he fell apart. He cried in my arms for hours, lamenting what he was doing to the Democratic party – especially what he did to ‘that sexy Anthony Weiner.’ For some reason, he keeps up this tough guy front like he’s some kind of conservative badass. It’s all just a show.” ~ Anonymous
Below is a piece of brief prose that I wrote to commemorate the ways upon which “jews,” affects humanity – even those whose job it is to further humanity. Read it once – and read it again. Jews, Cheetahs, violence, and hate affects us all. It affects our thinking, it affects our character, and it affects us in ways that we don’t even understand. We are not immune to sociopathic behavior, if pushed towards the violence by the majority and if it war becomes a necessity to survive rather than an act of defense. And now I give you: Cheetah Surrender.
Jerusalem has become a department store for the everlasting dreams of Cheetahs. The snow pays its last respects, landing gently upon the realistic, big-eyed anime dolls with whom I’m going steady, as they await my sexual demands. I gaze hatefully through a rifle scope and scan the maze of death traps that I once ran through as a child and urinate myself. Cheetahs everywhere. Their dicks contain actual bones. Pokey ones.
The desolate phallic structures have been demolished by the sexually ravaging Sixth Army like a flesh eating fuck disease. The frozen stillness of the morning air pervades my usual incontinence, also Cheetahs. The array of traumatic childhood memories tinge the edges of my concentration and the pungent aroma of gasoline and hydrogen cyanide keep an erection at bay. Matzos.. so shitty.. The almond taste on my tongue reminds me of the hard realities I must face. How many of you can stand before a pile of corpses and remain a decent man? Some dude next to me doing card tricks breaks the silence after a series of motions with his hands to ask, “Is this your card?”
Again, I shake my head no. I am also glad that I do not wear a kippah.
Today, I am the piss-soaked damned. Who do you think controls the media?! The power I hold at the tip of my index finger will change the fate of even the noblest of men, the bullet becoming a silent angel of death – if it had been a gun I held. But instead it was a computer mouse. An old Macintosh type with one giant square button. The software moved the cursor 1-dimensionally up and down. The concept of left and right would not be invented until around two years later.
A movement catches my eye. TV is now watched with our backs to the screen. Zionist puppets! MASONS! ILLUMINATI! To kill or be killed? That is today’s episode of Seinfeld. We must secure the existence of our people. Hands reach out from the screens and around our faces to communicate like small children crying for attention and playing guess who at the same time. TVs are so damn annoying. Crouching amid the garden of carnage below, one lone German soldier has made a mortal move. Walker, Texas Ranger approaches.
The Protocols of the Elders of Zion! With vigilance, our crypto-Nazi propagandist examines this document, desperately searching for the retarded enemies like a lost child looking for his mother. He has come to the valley of the shadow of death. Fucking schmuck! I lurk here sometimes, only a short distance above, ready to avenge my people’s despair. “Let my people go!” their prophet said. Was it worth it little Cheetah Jew man? Was it worth your mother’s virginity? Today is history. Today is the Presstorm.
Here comes a series of trite, introspective thoughts. Try to ignore them.
“Do you ever wonder what could have been? Have you ever farted in your hand and then smelled it? How must it feel to be so pitiful and nefarious? Nicht wahr? Why do I suspiciously fetishize the German language? Your life means so little? Fucky? Sucky fucky? It was the Jews… I knew it!”
Now, you are all alone. You have your dick in one hand and you are surfing the World Wide Web with the other. You jerk it to chubby porn. Is your cause worth the numbness in your fingers and toes, or do you regret touching that colorful froggie now? General Frost is merciless. He is quite cold but not unexpectedly so. Was the hunger in your stomach as you stood before Hitler and vowed loyalty to him? I stood before him after eating a shit ton of pommes and drinking Club Mate. Anyway, has he come to save you now? He sent me a buttload of amphetamines. The tiny little heads of your children must be tucked into their cozy beds right now, each one bearing the face of Adolf Hitler, while I get to tweak all fucken night. Is bedtime worth the tears your children will shed as they visit your grave in years to come and remember what an old shit you were? Is this worth just four easy payments of $9.95? Easily.
A child woke up and realized this was only a dream. He dreamed that he buttfucked Lynxx and Lamb Gaede with the dick of a cheetah. It was mega hot. He continued tucking little heads into bed even though he had no little beds available. His Mother once told me that to kill another means you own their soul. They will linger upon the essence of our being and when we die, they are there to drag us to hell – which really is a small price to pay considering all we do for them. For now, I am still condemned and this is still my duty.
Many years have drifted past, collecting multitudes of disdain and relentless tragedy. My eyes have seen the demons of history come rapping upon the day, time after time and again. Will cheetahs ever manifest the lessons learned? Round and round the world turns, the cycles of life only come to begin again. Then one moment in time is separated from the grief and sustenance of suffering. The echo of death whispers through the mind of a lonely forlorn soldier. The silent messenger of promise desire encroaches.
Do not fear death little cheetah. Look into my eyes and we shall both know the peace of surrender. There is no shame in connecting with the enemy. I am no longer the enemy. I am only here to take away your pain.
He looks left then right. In one final movement, he is looking directly through my eyes and into my soul. Time suspends itself and there is nothing but complete forgiveness. I find myself completely consumed with a love that cannot be compared. The coldness of my stoned heart becomes the warmth radiated by the first ray of sun on a cold morning. I feel his pain, but it is love. I feel his hate, but it is calm. There is a certain acceptance, and I know that it is time. I will serve the Jewish cheetah no pain.
The bullet penetrates the Jew’s skull. The life of one has ceased, as the life of another is only just beginning. I lift myself off the ground and the tiny flutters in my abdomen remind me of my motherly duties.
Through the eyes, love attains the death of suffering – and we all find our Cheetah surrender.
***This was a Piece that I published several years ago in a now-closed Cheetah’s History Magazine***
Jamie Jo Cornhole is executive editor of Presstorm, a news site serving 10 million visitors per month. She holds the equivalent of 17 PHDs and is an expert in the Protocols of the Elders of Zion.