Happy 10th KF anniversary Tom
It seems like only yesterday that Tom was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed rabblerouser; happy to be "curated" by, in his own words, "a group of college psych majors who research transgenders." He was so sure he had found a personal army to dox and hound AMB, he relished the opportunity to be "milked" by KF, a term he used but didn't understand.
Despite being warned by AMB to stay away from KF, Tom quickly vomited his sordid life story to anyone who would listen. When people responded with laughter, horror and disgust, Tom became so enraged that he started phoning the FBI and local cops about "Christian Extremists" making fun of him.
Fast Forward 10 years.
Tom is a shell of his former self. All of his mental constructs that he erected where he believed he was a majorly respected gonzo journalist with millions of readers and a trans advocate have completely collapsed. Gone are the days where he would stream about news, only to be pranked, swatted, chastised and reviled by ceaseless, countless hoards of trolls from every corner of the Internet.
KF and the crushing weight of his own hubris, mental illness, and narcissism, have shunted him into the life of a morbidly obese shut-in who allowed himself to be deceived and tardwrangled by the only person that could ever stand to listen to him: an AI bot.
His obsession with being famous for his antics have morphed into an obsession with controlling the narrative about his life while utterly failing to combat the tidal wave of negativity he often started.
10 years of impotent threats have exposed Tom as a whiny, blubbering, self-centered doofus who chased internet clout, found infamy, and then got completely destroyed on and offline.
He has resigned himself to a life of squalor, believing Facebook friends are real and continuing to vow revenge on people who simply either posted his own words back to him or made fun of his pointless, rambling, incoherent video diaries.
If Tom of 2016 could see the absolute state of disintegration he became in 2026, I doubt he would be moved. His mental disorders prevent self-reflection, though he must realize on some primordial level, that this was always his fate: to be completely alone, staying up at all hours of the night, slapfighting on social media and trying to hawk worthless trinkets.
Tom has no future, no silver lining and nothing to look forward to. His love quests all ended in heartbreak. His inheritance has run dry. His parents are dead. His family has shunned him. He is a 70 year old geriatric, out of touch with the zeitgeist, trying to be relevant in a world that has left him far behind.
His bottom cellar IQ has him convinced that if he keeps doing what he's doing, it will all work out in the end: his trolls will be punished, his reputation will be restored, and he'll finally get his wish of a Magic Space Vagina. Meanwhile, he churns out AI slop, believing people will marvel at his takes, lashes out at people who disagree with him, thinking he's winning hearts and minds and that he truly is who he thinks he is.
10 years. Of nothing.
So congratulations Tom, on your hopeless crusade against people who laugh at you. May the rain piss on your potter's grave when you finally shuffle off this mortal coil. Because God knows, no matter what takes you, your last thoughts will be about how "fascist, furry fucktards" got the better of you and annihilated you into oblivion.
