 I've heard that word thrown around so many times, simp, but all the time it has someone using it. It's not even close to what the actual definition is. Like hold up, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, he's saying good morning to a girl that he just passed by? Uh-uh, simp. Oh, he got his girlfriend flowers for their anniversary. Oh, bro, why are you simping, bro? He texted his mother happy birthday on her birthday, the king, the king of simps. Like, shut up. You don't know what a simp is. I know what a simp is. Mostly because I actually used to be one. Yes, the chat, the God, the womb wetter you see here today wasn't always the same kneecaps he used to be. Believe it or not, I used to be a fucking nerd, bro. A low-life bottom-feeder whose only social achievements in school was having a top score for the most wedgies we've seen, and because of that, I was never good with women. They called me Simpus Supremus, you know, at first it just started with me adoring them from afar, watching them get off the bus, watching them walk down the stairs, watching them chew their food at lunch, and then I started getting more and more physical, picking up the strands of their hair that dropped on the floor any time they readjusted their curls, stealing pencils off their desks whenever they went to the bathroom. After school, I'd hide in the janitor closets, wait till everyone left, and then lick the butt residue off of every female seat, and as bad as that sounds, it got even worse, so back to the point where, you know, any time my girl passed by me, I'd intentionally try to suffocate myself because I knew for a fact I wasn't worthy enough to breathe the same air around here, and after I woke up from passing out, I'd pray to the heavens, rejoicing that God allowed me to catch a glimpse of something so holy, something so divine. I was at my lowest, the peak of my greatest fall, you know, I knew I was a loser, but I didn't know how to fix it, and as I stood in my kitchen late at night, mixing Kool-Aid with the toilet water from the girl's bathroom, I broke down, and I started to cry. No, no one will save me, I'm irredeemable. But oh boy was I wrong, cause someone did come and save me, my best friend, Hentai. It was an elixir, a medicine, it cured my symphony, and I made sure to take it every single day. Early in the school mornings, I'd watch it and beat my dick off so hard, I'd beat it so hard, to the point where it'd fall off, and I'd have to reattach it with a hot glue gun. And when I walked into school, any time I passed by females, I felt nothing, nothing, no divine energy, no urge to fall down and praise at their feet, and you know why? Because something changes, yeah, something changes in you when you see an anime girl get a solar system-sized sausage stuffed up her ass so hard, to the point where she can't breathe anymore, something changes in you when you see a demon from the underworld conquer the human race and turn every human into, let's call them workers, alright? You think I'm gonna see all that and be impressed by some high school humans? No, if anything, it made me mad at them, at women, for knowing that this stuff existed and hiding it from me. In fact, I'm mad now! How dare they? How dare they make me grovel at their feet? How dare they trick me into donating them half of my yearly earnings? How dare they make me trick myself like a sub-human? How dare they? I want revenge against women kind, I want to show them the hatred deep inside me. In fact, oh man, the next woman that I meet, I'm just gonna, I'm just gonna- Me-Caps! One second, guys, my mom just walked through the door. I got some business to take care of. Me-Caps, w-w-w-would you get those boxing gloves from?