Let me make this crystal fucking clear: This is my life. Not a suggestion box. Not a community poll. Not a cute little open forum where strangers, nobodies, haters, ex-friends, insecure family members, narcissist bosses, or failed influencers get to cast a vote on how I should exist.

This isn’t a fucking democracy. Your vote does not count. You do not get a say.

I do what I want. I look as I want. I act how I want. I write, rant, build, destroy, love, or ghost whoever the hell I want. As long as I’m not hurting anybody unless I choose to and knowingly accept the consequences, I will do whatever the fuck I want. Within the limits of the law and ethics, and that’s all that matters.

If that makes you uncomfortable, hug a fucking cactus, you miserable fuck.

You see, most people live in this cowardly little sandbox of permission. They’re waiting for validation from their parents, their followers, their coworkers, or some pathetic sack of a dreamless cunt whose only purpose in life is to piss on someone else’s fire just to feel the briefest flicker of relevance.

Let me say it louder for the dream crushers in the back, in case I wasn’t clear: You’re dog shit on the sidewalk. I acknowledge you long enough to step around you and keep walking. No fight. No explanation. Just a glance and a clean dodge.

You don’t like what I’m doing? Tough shit. You think it’s weird, cringeworthy, stupid, too much, or not enough? Fantastic. Scream into the void with the rest of the irrelevant fuckers.

We live in a world where relevancy is mistaken for value. Social media platforms TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, X, and Pinterest have turned people into dopamine addicts chasing likes like fucking rats pressing levers for pellets. The moment you stop being “relevant,” you disappear. Vanish. You become a digital ghost. You’ve seen it. Millions of followers one day, and next week? Crickets. Because relevancy is a trap. It’s the world’s most useless currency. It evaporates the second the algorithm stops stroking your ego. Your whole existence is at the mercy of a fucking code.

And here’s the thing that drives those types insane: I don’t care. I have a blog no one reads. I post on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest every damn day, and I don’t give a flying fuck who sees it. Because I’m not doing it for them. I’m doing it for me. For the sheer, unfiltered pleasure of saying precisely what I think, and watching the silence swallow it whole.

This isn’t a job application. This isn’t a pitch deck. This isn’t me begging for followers, clout, or digital hugs. This is a middle finger to every person who thought they had a say in my story.

Don’t like what I wear? Don’t like what I create? Don’t like what I believe, say, eat, post, or scream into the void?

Cool. You’re not invited to vote. You’re not even on the damn ballot.

This is not a democracy. This is not up for discussion. This is my life, and I’m not looking for approval; I’m looking for freedom. Unfiltered, uncensored, and un-fucking-apologetic.

So here’s your final memo: Your opinion is irrelevant. Your judgment is background noise. Your vote is void, rejected, ignored, shredded, and set on fire.

I own this life. I run this shit. And the throne only seats one.