The Shitposter
- by snallygaster

"lololol cry moar faggot this isnt your safe space"

/u/polesmoker1488's fingers hovered over the mouse, a cigarette scalding his lips in await of its handlers. No. Not good enough. He slid his hands back to the keyboard and typed with a vigor that quaked the cliffs of grime that were growing between the keys in monument to his dedication. No. Not good enough.

"awwwww, did I hurt your wittle fee fees? cry moar faggot this isnt your safe space"

The desk chair groaned in agony as /u/polesmoker1488 leaned back to inspect his work once more. He was an artist, and good art could not be rushed. Though, to him, this was no more than a bathroom scrawling in a gallery of porcelain sculptures, a pause in a campaign of Greatness. His journey had taken him across the Internet to bustling social media sites and desolate special interest forums. He had pioneered new ways to anger communists, fascists, and everyone in between. His kill count, according to his memory, was at least five reddit accounts, and he had authored nine full articles on Encyclopedia Dramatica that remained to this day unedited. /u/polesmoker1488 had lost track of the years he spent refining his skills, a natural consequence of how completely his path had consumed him. Memories of the days before he'd assumed the craft were hazy and sparse, and sometimes he wondered if they were real memories at all. He was /u/polesmoker1488, master ruseman and expert rabble-rouser, and to him, that's all he had ever been. But, for now, the master was dabbling in the lesser arts.

"Fugthis."

/u/polesmoker1488's voice was a foreign addition to the dim whir of the computer fan and the protests of the chair that kept him company day after day, and he recoiled in surprise. His muscles too seemed to vocalize their discomfort as they received their unexpected workout. How long had he been hunched over his monitor? When's the last time he had spoken? The days and hours seemed to bleed and melt into a shapeless thing of time as he fed from the warmth and glow of the screen that punctuated the dark and chill of the room where he had trapped himself. The screen was his sustenance, the maternal canvas on which to make his Art, his teacher, entertainer, and friend. The answer to the troubles of life in the flesh, the land of success and opportunity. He wrapped his fingers around the cigarette and took a drag, relaxing as he watched the smoke meet the darkness. Time once more to shape his creation.

"awwwww, did I hurt your wittle fee fees? cry moar fa this isnt your safe space"

/u/polesmoker1488 tapped the backspace and the insult was no more. It was tired and lazy, and /u/polesmoker1488 felt a creeping shame as he reflected on using it. Was he losing his edge? It had been a long time since he'd done any work that was truly magnificent, now whittling down the days with political slapfights and bait-laying. It had become so easy to stir the pot, too easy. And while it offered him gratification, the shallow and fleeting satisfaction of making someone mad, it felt meaningless. What is the value of an artist who traces the lines drawn by somebody else? Why have talent if it is squandered on only the most banal and vacant of efforts? /u/polesmoker1488 pondered these things as he took another drag from his cigarette, and while he found no answers, he discovered the resolve to rise above.

With a firm inhale, he opened a tab and traveled to a place he had long forgotten: thesaurus.com. Although it had been months since he'd visited the website, the search bar was a welcoming sight, and he typed his query with lightening speed.

"idiot"

/u/polesmoker1488's eyes grew strained as they hovered over each synonym for many seconds. He would give nothing less than careful consideration. His choice had to be balanced; nothing too common, nor anything too obscure. He didn't want to come off as a try-hard, after all. He dragged his cigarette to its filter, making his final decision as the butt joined the mountain in his ashtray. He moved his pointer to the previous tab while a grin curled the corners of his mouth. Perfect.

"awwwww, did I hurt your wittle fee fees? cry moar cretin this isnt your safe space"

The shitposter looked upon his creation, and he saw that it was good. He pressed send and awaited a reply.