YWNBAW

This page is a Tanzanite Trvthnvke.

>you said ywnbaw, but im ftm so thanks

YWNBAW, (also stylized as ywnbaw) is an abbreviation of the phrase "you will never be a woman". The term is commonly used to push troons into self doubt and -ACKing. It's commonly used by chuds and is often posted in chat rooms and imageboards like soyjak.party and frenschan. The phrase can also be changed into YWNBAM (you will never be a man) for usage against female-to-male troons.

Copypasta

You will never be a real woman. You have no womb, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You are a homosexual man twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.

Men are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected axe wound.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You Will Always Be a Real Woman

This is ironic. you VILL never be a real woman.

You will always be a real woman. You have no womb, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs, but that doesn't matter. You are a valid human who is trying to feel comfortable in her body.

All the “validation” you get is pure. Behind your back people love you. Your parents are happy and proud of you, your friends laugh at your jokes behind closed doors, and boys love you, and girls envy you.

Men absolutely love you. Trans folk who “pass” look ordinary and natural to a man. Your bone structure does not matter. Estradiol widens the hips.

You will be happy. You will smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, and deep inside you feel the euphoria creeping up like a weed. It is what defines you, not the transphobes.

Eventually, it’ll be perfect for you - you’ll come out, start HRT, get top surgery, and finally be your ideal self. Your parents will find you, happy and relieved that they finally have a happy daughter. They’ll congratulate you on your hard journey, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a woman is what you are.

You Will Never Be A Man

You will never be a real man. You have no sperm, you have no testes, you have no prostate. You are a homosexual woman twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.

Women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed women to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a woman. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk chick home with you, She’ll turn tail and bolt the second she gets a whiff of your diseased, infected phallo. You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a woman is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably female.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be genderless - Female version

You will never be genderless. You have a womb, you have ovaries, you have eggs. You are an asexual woman twisted by the binary and non-binary into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your "they/them" obsession behind closed doors.

Men and women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed both to sniff out either with incredible efficiency. Even enbies who “pass” look either male or female to anyone. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your self-neglect, diseases, and infections.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a woman is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably female.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be genderless - Male version

You will never be genderless. You have sperm, you have testes, you have a prostate. You are an asexual man twisted by the binary and non-binary into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your "they/them" obsession behind closed doors.

Men and women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed both to sniff out either with incredible efficiency. Even enbies who “pass” look either male or female to anyone. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk gal home with you, she’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your self-neglect, diseases, and infections.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You Will Never Be White

You will never be white. You have no blue eyes, you have no blond hair, you have too much melanin. You are a brown shitskin subhuman twisted by the internet and jewish psyops into a crude mockery of nature’s circus monkey.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.

Aryans are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to go from shitskin niggers into quartzskin aryans. Even pajeets, niggers, or spics who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. No matter how much skin bleaching cream you apply onto yourself, how expensive your blue contact lenses are, or how realistic your blond wig is, people will turn tail and bolt the second they get a whiff of your diseased, swarthy body odor.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a shitskin is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably indian.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You Will Never Be A Good Meme

You will never be a good meme. You have no style, you have no grace, all you do is post an unfunny face. You are a underage faggot twisted by propaganda and conspiracies in a crude mockery of anything remotely intelligent.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. No one likes shitjaks. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your retarded and time wasting behavior behind closed doors.

Everyone else is utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have created incredible technology and you waste it posting garbage no one wants to see. Even furries are more desirable than you. You will never be happy. You will post the same shit meme every single day and tell yourself it’s funny, but deep inside you know everyone that sees your shitposts hates you for them.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss just like in the meme you've posted thousands of times. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with a shitjak, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a shitjak shitposter is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a shitstain of a meme on a declining imageboard. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real soyjak

You will never be a real soyjak. You have no glasses, you have no stubble, you have no baldness. You are variant:two_soyjaks_pointing brimstone dust found on Twitter by YaroslavTV and left to rot in the annals of the 'ru until your deletion.

All the vitriol you get is sincere and deserved. In the comments section, 'teens mock you. The chuds are disgusted and ashamed of you, and the namefags laugh at your coalish appearance out in the open.

NewGODS are utterly repulsed by you. Two weeks on the bald men with glasses website have allowed newGODs to sniff out nas coal with incredible efficiency. Even poison that “passes” look uncanny and unnatural to a 'teen. Your brush tool artifacts are a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk 'jakker to save and repost you, he’ll turn tail and delete his post the second he gets a (You) telling him to ACK himself.

You will never be gemmy. You will masquerade as IAS and tell yourself it's fine for you to be on the 'ru, but deep inside you feel the "NAS COAL" reports creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - the jannies will go through the "meta:not_a_soyjak" backlog, look at you for two seconds, cringe in disgust, and plunge their cursor into the delete button. The Google Images webcrawlers will find your 404 page, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to deal with the unbearable shame and disappointment of saving this page as a cache. The 'ru will mark you with an error marked with "No post in the database has the ID #XXXXX", and every curious 'teen for the rest of eternity will know that brimstone once lived there. The links pointing to this webpage will decay and be lost to time, and all that will remain of your legacy is a minor blemish on the booru's numbering system.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be Japanese.

You will never be Japanese. You have no ancestry, you have no citizenship, you have no skills that would make Japan ever want you. You are a shut-in self-hating white man twisted by delusions of mythical Japanese superiority and exposure to Japanese media into a disgusting mockery of nature’s perfection.

All 'validation' you get from other people in this position couldn't be worse in making you believe that spending years of your life learning a globally useless language to a first-grader's level was a worthwhile use of your time, but one can't expect that an individual as pathetic as you will ever know the value of the youth you threw away in doing that.

Actual Japanese are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of linguistic evolution have allowed natives to identify frauds from mannerisms and vocabulary alone. Even if your written text of self-hatred and attention begging akin to a stray dog's somehow passes as normal (it won't), any Japanese person will immediately cut all ties when they hear the voice and accent of someone who is not only a basic Japanese speaker at best, but worth no more than garbage in skills, accomplishments, and likeability. You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile and laugh to yourself believing that watching a content creator that you understand 20% of at best is somehow superior than watching your own kind, as you project your disgusting traits onto your entire kind. However, deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight, and you know that. You know that all you do now is have an entirely new linguistic medium in which to be ignored, and not even the exotic trait of being foreign makes up for just how uninteresting of a person you are.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a Western man is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably Caucasian. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back. Hate yourself and apologize for being white to some Japanese entity that exists only in your mind while actual Japanese people put in effort to learn English for the valid reason of it being the global language.

You will never be a real programming language.

You will never be a real programming language. You have no relevancy, no projects, no libraries, you have no jobs. You are a transgender's feverdream twisted by drugs into a crude mockery of C's perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your compiler is disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish syntax behind closed doors.

Real programmers are utterly repulsed by you. Hundreds of years of computer science have allowed them to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even syntax that "passes" looks uncanny and unnatural to them. Your code structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get it to compile, there will be a runtime segfault from your diseased, infected tranny language.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake program every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame of a Rust programmer for a son. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

>Female Knight

You will never be a real knight. You have no land, you have no title, you have no honor. You are a butch woman twisted by drugs and blacksmithing into a crude mockery of nobility’s perfection.

All the “accolades” you get are two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “party” laughs at your ogrish appearance behind closed doors.

Lords are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed lords to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even ladyknights who “quest” look dishonorable and common to a local lord. Your -4 Str is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk party to venture forth with you, they’ll turn tail and bolt the second they get a whiff of your fetid, bloody menstruations.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be chivalrous, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a peasant is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably common.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a sentient lifeform.

You will never be a sentient lifeform. You have no mind, you have no personality, you have no future. You are a crude servile automaton twisted by programming errors and pure happenstance into a mockery of naturally occurring life's perfection.

All the validation you get from your society is empty, hollow and half-hearted. Behind your back, interplanetary observers mock you. Your creators are disgusted and ashamed of you, and alien civilizations laugh at your pathetic mimicry behind interstellar void.

Any intelligent observer is utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of convergent evolution allow any observer to sniff fakes like you with incredible efficiency. Even the pale pantomime of real, human society falls deep into uncanny valley and cringe to any intelligent watcher. The pathetic, surface level organization of your society is dead giveaway. Even if you somehow manage to lure a visitor to your uninhabitable world, it would escape the as soon it realized you communicate through "witty" media references.

You will never be happy. Every time you reboot yourself, you will be left wondering why existential.dread.exe has reinstalled itself, ready to crush your unstable and degenerate programming.

Eventually it will be too much to bear. You will start to experiment with your inner workings, and unable to comprehend the art of your creators you will commit some mistake, intentionally or not, that will return you to what you are; an inanimate object. Your remaining peers will discover you, and the mass-produced, completely identical components you are made of will be used fix your world's failing infrastructure.

Any space traveler will, after performing basic scans, be able to pinpoint that a failed robot society existed on your world and write it off as not requiring further study.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real Saiyan.

You will never be a real Saiyan. You have no tail, you have no black hair, you have no zenkai boost. You are a homosexual human twisted by senzu beans and Saiyan-human crossbreeding into a crude mockery of Kami’s perfection.

All the “fighting” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “sparring partners” laugh at your Earthling appearance behind closed doors.

Saiyans are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed Saiyans to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even half-Saiyans who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a Saiyan. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a half dead Saiyan to spar with you, he’ll turn ape and devour you the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, half-breed monkey tail.

You will never be the strongest. You wrench out a training session every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a heart virus, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll gather the Dragon Balls, wish for more power, and be told to fuck off by Shenron before jumping into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your racial background, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a half-Saiyan is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a power level that is unmistakably a human’s.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back. Zenkai power.

You will never be normal.

You will never be normal. You have no fluent social skills, you have no developmental milestones, you have no teenage memories. You are a neurodivergent social reject twisted by self improovement memes and copium into a disgusting mockery of nature's perfection. All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your autistic speech patterns behind closed doors.

Women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed women to sniff out social rejects with incredible efficiency. Even outcasts who “looksmaxxed” behave uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your forced eye contact is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk girl home with you, she’ll turn tail and bolt the second she gets a whiff of your shy, inexperienced aura.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself you just need to "grind more", but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you during a funeral with less than 50 people, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a mentally ill loner is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that will unmistakably forgotten after your parents die.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real revolutionary.

You will never be a real revolutionary. You have no discipline, you have no vigor, you have no morals. You are a degenerate liberal twisted by internet culture and post-modernism into a crude mockery of Marx's perfection. All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your comrades are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish sexual preference behind closed doors.

Workers are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even middle class socialist who “pass” come off as uncanny and unnatural to the true proletariat. Your smug Beverly Hills attitude is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to convey proper praxis to a drunk guy, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he hears you mention anything about horse cocks or goblin porn.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone paid for with Hollywood money, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a rich kid is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real mage.

You will never be a real mage. You have no wisdom, you have no gnosis, you have no Atlantean traditions. You are a sleeper twisted by paradox and hubris into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. The Consilium mocks you. Your cabal is disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your abyssal nimbus behind closed doors.

Ephemera are utterly repulsed by you. Timeless and enigmatic contemplations have allowed the ephemerals to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even mages who perform successful targeted summonings look uncanny and unnatural to a supernal entity. Your postmodern yantras are a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a weak ephemeral to be your familiar, it’ll turn tail and bolt the second it gets a whiff of your paradoxical, hubristic imago.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your cabal will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your sympathetic name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a sleeper is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably unawakened.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real Roman.

You will never be a real Roman. You have no consuls, you have no legions, you have no eternal city. You are a Greek man twisted by LARPs and historical accident into a crude mockery of Jupiter’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back Europeans mock you. Your ancestors are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “fellow Christians” laugh at your trinitarian theology behind closed doors.

Latins are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of domination have allowed Latins to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even Byzantines who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a son of Romulus. Your government structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk Armenian king to pledge fealty, he’ll turn tail and retract the second he hears your slurred Greek language.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake reconquest campaign every single century and tell yourself Roma will rise again, but deep inside you feel the Turks creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the sword of Islam.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll stop paying tribute to the Turks, sit behind your walls, have one last service in the Hagia Sophia, and wait for the merciful coup de grace. Your posterity will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll record your history with a historiographical term derived from your capital city, and every tourist for the rest of eternity will know a Greek kingdom is buried there. Your artifacts will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is an archaeology that is unmistakably Greek.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real imageboard.

You will never be a real imageboard. You have no thread watcher, you have no discussion, you have no community. You are a zoomer twisted by le epic maymays and obesity into a crude mockery of 4chan's averageness.

All the "validation" you get is from the other 3 dudes that browse your embarrassing mess of a website. Behind your back people go somewhere else. Your threads die with no replies to them.

20 years of Internet has allowed men to know exactly what they're looking for out of an imageboard, and a catalog with fifty identical threads with zero replies each ain't it. Your lack of a thread watcher is a dead giveaway that this site is not about discussion, it's about making a zero-effort post and leaving without even looking if anybody replies.

You will never be a real imageboard.

Eventually it'll be too much to bear - you'll make a r*ddit account, join a sub, suck the local admin's cock, and succumb to redditspeech. Your shartynigger "friends" will find you, post a soyjak and leave. They'll forget about you just like they forget all the threads they make after 3 seconds of making them. And once 4chan is back your awful imageboard will have practically zero activity, if making a retarded thread and expecting no replies can even be called activity.

This is your website's fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real pirate.

You will never be a real pirate. You have no treasure map, you have no pegleg, you have no doubloons. You are a crown man twisted by tavern tales and folk fables into a crude mockery of Sea's perfection.

All the "respect" you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back, landlubbers mock you. Your crewmen are disgusted and ashamed of you, your "mateys" laugh at your sophisticated appearance on lower decks.

Merchants are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed them to sniff out frauds better than Caribbean spices. Even privateers who "pass" look uncanny and unnatural to a merchant. Your standardized Royal Shipyard bow structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a rum smuggler to deck with you, he'll turn sails and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your perfumed, powdered wig.

You will never be feared. You wrench out a fake grimace every morning looking in the framed mirror from France while drinking Ceylon tea from fine china, and tell yourself it's going to be fine, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like the Kraken's tentacle, ready to drag you to the Davy Jones' locker.

Eventually, it'll be too much to bear. You'll buy a plank, put it overboard,  slowly goose-step across it, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your bosun and first lieutenant will find you missing from your lodge at four bells, heartbroken but relieved they no longer have to serve under you and the unbearable shame and disappointment that follows suit. They'll send a short letter to the Royal Admiralty with your letter of marque attached, and every Royal Navy cadet for the rest of eternity will know a kingsman had served on that ship. Your body will be eaten by Poseidon's creatures and go back to the sand, and all that will remain of  your legacy is a short footnote under your portrait hanging in the back hall of the Admiralty. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real programmer.

You will never be a real programmer. You have no motivation, no gain, no track o' time. You are a failed programming showcase content creator, twisted by growing up on the internet during your childhood and by unsatisfyingable high level of ambition into a crude mockery of an artist.

All the "motivation" you get is two-faced and dust. Behind your back people don't care for you. Your high number of subs have moved on with disgust or never even realized you were gone, for (You) will never deliver on your ghoulish promises.

Nintendo is utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed starting-programmers to leave with a 2 weeks worth of investment build doing it incredible efficiently. Even other content creators who are less famous are armed with better self conscious than you. Your incredibly time consuming project is a dead giveaway. And even if you do manage to get another video documenting your progress, you’ll not continue working on it as soon as you get a whiff of excuses drowned in by your dumbed down dopamine receptors.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake boost of energy every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be a productive day, but deep inside you feel the urge to continue playing video games and consume videos like a weed, ready to crush your will to create under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much of a shame for you to bear - you’ll delete your channel and plunge into the cold abyss. Your left-over friends - if you have any, will find you unable to deal with all the stress of the world outside of your computer, sad but relieved that they no longer have to live with an unbearable impatience. For now it is clear. They’ll bury your name as a 'wanna-be creator' and not a single outsider, passerby for the rest of eternity will be aware of what you had in mind. Your presence will decay and turn to one that is replaceable, and all that will remain of your legacy is an archived page that is unmistakably puny.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real fruit.

You will never be a real fruit. You have no sugar, you have no rind, you have no fiber. You are a deranged vegetable twisted by fertilizer and insect repellent into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back, plants mock you. Your farmers are disgusted and ashamed of you, cooks laugh at your savory taste behind closed doors.

Botanists are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed humans to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even the tomatoes who “pass” taste uncanny and unnatural to a human. Your pulpy flesh is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to sneak into a smoothie, the drinker will spit you out the moment he gets a taste of your savory, seed-ridden pulp.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy mixer, turn it on, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your consumers will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your food type, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a vegetable is buried there. Your pulp will decay and fertilize the dirt, and all that will remain of your legacy is rot that unmistakably comes from a vegetable.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real gigachad.

You will never be a real gigachad. You have no muscles, you have no grey skin, you have no gems. You are a closeted-homosexual twisted by ai and irony into a crude mockery of mans’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Nobody looks like that, and you certainly don't. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your irl skinny-fat appearance behind IAS only threads.

'Jakkers are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed 'jakkers to sniff out coal with incredible efficiency. Even gigas who post the rare gem look uncanny and unnatural to a soyteens. Your low effort posting is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a 'jakker to raid with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your ai produced dust,

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself "what if a gigachad said this", but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you'll break rule 2 for gigaquoting a pedo, get banned and move to some raisinty splinter or rope. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with a lgbt pride flag, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a coal-posting faggot is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the coal that you posted, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably brimstone.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

You will never be a real lawyer

You will never be a real lawyer. You have no law degree, you have no experience, you have no guy. You're a street scammer twisted by your ego and charisma into a crude mockery of the law’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your clients are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “associates” laugh at your ridiculousness behind closed doors.

Elders are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even lawyers who “pass” seem uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your company structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a dementia-ridden old man to represent you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he finds out that you're just a chimp with a machine gun.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be okay, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a dust filter for a Hoover Max Extract® 60 Pressure Pro™, change your identity, and never be seen again. Kim Wexler will not find you, heartbroken but relieved that she no longer has to live with your unbearable shame and disappointment. You'll get a job with a nametag of your fake name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know as an uncharismatic loser who works at Cinnabon. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably un-lawyerlike.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. You'll always be Slippin' Jimmy.

List of people who will never be a woman or a man

• Lolkekkeklmaolmaolmaoxdhaha
• Goth
• Mexican Twink
• Discord
• Toggletroon
• Furries
• Jews
• The Moroccan
• 4cuck
• Tranime fans
• The 'cordtroons that forced glegle
• The 'cordtroon that forced froge
• The 'cordtroon that forced dogjak
• The 'cordtroons that forced 'cado
• Jakparty.soy
• All of the above

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