You will never be a real vtuber. You have no model, you have no rigging, you have no talent. You are a freakish vtweeter twisted by drugs and laziness into a crude mockery of chuuba perfection.
All the likes and retweets you get are two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back your followers mock you. Your online friends laugh at your perpetual pre-debut status behind closed doors.
Long-time vtuber fans are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed weebs to sniff out tourists and antis with incredible efficiency. Even vtweeters who “pass” look generic and unappealing to a weeb. Your Twitter bio is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get drunk on stream, and manage to do something remotely funny, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a peak at your pro-Niji tweets.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single stream and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you can’t help but feel the depression creeping up, as the lack of social media engagement dwindles down to nothing but hatred for what you have become.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear – and you’ll have an unused $9000 model, unused $3000 rig, an unwatched debut trailer, and no friends to cry to. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment of living with an always-online Twitter freak. They’ll take away your wi-fi privileges, make you get a job, and make you sell your model to someone worth a damn. Your Twitter will decay into obscurity, and all that will remain of your legacy is a history that is unmistakably retarded. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
