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I've been unvaccinated for 9 months now, moving from place to place, keeping ahead of the vaxmaxers, never staying anywhere too long, never letting my face become known. "It's great being vaxmaxed isn't it" the shopkeep says vacantly, to nobody in particular. In keeping with the act I reply to the Heinz Baked Beans Substitute 6 Pack (No Plastic) in my hand, something unrelated, with what I hope is a slightly bemused tone. It takes a lot longer to do my shopping these days, I can't simply march through the shop in an orderly fashion, taking what I need in a single trip, I have to absent mindedly shuffle back and forward between the aisles, never really displaying any intent. As unpresent as they are, the vaxmaxed would notice if I was too focused, too alert. A loud smashing sound in the distance almost blows my cover, I notice, and focus on the sound. The vaxmaxed around me slowly aim their distant gaze on me, but I'm able to save myself, I continue my neck jerk and turn it in to a series of spasms, I drop to the floor convulsing, the vaxmaxed around me quickly lose interest and continue on with their day. "That means it's working" one elderly lady comments to her milk as she passes. I continue the charade long enough to filter out most of the vaxmaxed sharing the aisle. It takes a while, and no insubstantial amount of sweat on my part, but I make it to the checkout. A morbidly obese woman directs the horde at the tills, seemingly oblivious to the cacophony of aberrant scan noises and blinking red lights above the entirely self service super checkout. I wait dutifully, not wanting to be noticed, not wanting to be set upon by the Asda Security Vax Checker team, it had taken all my best bluffing to get past them at the door, I almost chuckled when they believed my vax card was in the post but it was quickly stifled, a chuckled would have given me away, a chuckle would have seen me held down and injected with science juice.

Bear King Michael Burry in the ring, slappin TSLA with a metal chair. His glass eye open wide with rage as he batters TSLA relentlessly. "The valuation..." crunch "makes...." crunch "NO.... " crunch "SENSE!" he roars with maniacal autistic glee. TSLA struggles for the edge of the ring, but coughs blood as each hit lands, and eventually stops moving. Bear King Burry drops the chair. Bear King Burry turns to the crowd "Was this your champion!? Was TSLA supposed to be your chosen one!?" A child in the crowd turns his face into his mother's side and cries. On the side of the ring WSB can barely move. TSLA was supposed to tag them in, but couldn't make it to the side in time. "Get up TSLA" WSB whimpers hopelessly, a single tear rolling down their cheek. "Get up..." Bear King Burry turns to WSB "Now it is your portfolio's turn. Get in here you little bitch." "Excuse me." Someone replies from behind BKB. "I believe I can give you the fight you want." A robed figure is administering smelling salts to TSLA. The figure puts TSLA on its shoulder and carries TSLA gently out of the ring. "And just who the fuck do you think you are?" BKB rumbles ominously. BKB's fingers squeeze so tightly on the chair that metal bends. "Who am I?" the robed figure inquires. The robed figure stands straight and stretches to their full height. They must be at least 7' tall. The crowd stops crying and watches in stunned silence. "Who am I?" The figure repeats menacingly. The figure turns around to face BKB, ripping off his robe. A gleaming light fills the stadium. Before us stands a Golden deity, rippling with muscle. If there is an ounce of body fat it is currently in hiding, only to make way for seemingly endless coiled golden musculature. The figure looks directly into Bear King Burry's eyes. "I'm Goldman Sachs, and i'm here to kill you."

FUCK YOU. I have heard that "lol you must be fun at parties" at least a hundred times. GET FUCKING ORIGINAL. Jesus fucking christ. Stop saying the same fucking thing over and over and over again. Just because you don't agree with me DOES NOT HAVE SHIT TO DO WITH PARTIES. What the fuck. Do you fucking fart at parties or something? If so I don't want to go to your shitty-ass parties in the first place. I'll stick to my wine and cheese dinners, you know, REAL FUCKING PARTIES. I downvoted you because not one thing you said was original. You're just a robot programmed to say these phrases over and over again to feel connected to 1s and 0s on the internet. You've never been to a party. That's why you say those things. WELL I'M FUCKING tired. of it. I'm tired. Say that to me one more fucking time and I will find you. I'm taking a stand. I am so sick of the stupid "parties" comeback. It's not fun. It's not clever. It's really fucking hurtful. Thanks a lot, dick. So what if you don't like what I said. Is that any reason to dismiss my entire comment and quote a little comeback. What's next, you're going to explain to me with crayons or call out my bullshit by how I overcomplicating things? If I see one more fucking party comment, I'm going to lose it. I'm going off the fucking chain and fucking report all you motherfuckers who think it's funny to comment about being fun at parties. Try me. I will do it. I will go STRAIGHT TO THE FUCKING TOP and then I'll be the one laughing while you beg for my mercy. Then you know what I'll say while you come to me crying and begging to die so you can stop the agony? I'll say "You must be fun at parties." So yeah, If you must know, I am pretty fun at parties. Not that you'll ever find out, dick.