You will never be a real Jew. You have no shekels, you have no menorah, you own no businesses. You are a Christian man brainwashed by news and media 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.

Jews are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of suffering have allowed Jews to sniff out frauds (and money) with incredible efficiency. Even goys who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a Jew. Your nose structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a white soyboy to virtue-signal for 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 religion, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a goy 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 a goy.

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

You will never be a real Yehudi. You have no patrilineal Judaism, you have no descent from Moses, you have no Matzo balls. You are a degenerate “speedrunner” twisted by Discord and estrogen into a crude mockery of G-d’s perfection.

All the “donations” you get are two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your dilators people mock you. Your single mother is disgusted and ashamed of you, your “followers” laugh at your any% glitched streams behind closed doors.

Men of faith are utterly repulsed by you. Six thousand years of intelligent design have allowed gamers to sniff out edited runs with incredible efficiency. Even runners who “place” look like goyim to a Jew. Your lack of a hand cam is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk gentile to watch your idolatry, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your chair.

You will never do a mitzvah. 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 from the Lord’s flat and stationary earth, ready to crush you under Joan Donovan’s unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear – you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your sacrificial chicken, and make a peaceful offering for Azazel at the Seder. Your Tavistock case manager will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment of knowing a video game speedrunner. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with a Blue Checkmark, and every Rabbi putting a rock on your grave for the rest of eternity will know a member of the LGBTQP+ community 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 big-boned.

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