I’m mad.

I’m not the sort of person to care about her place in a hierarchy. I do like titles and ranks; but I don’t pull rank. I don’t tell the younglings to pipe down, because I’m a greymuzzle. (God, what a stupid fucking title.) And I don’t scold witches when they quote the old magicks to me. I am perfectly chill and egalitarian.

I didn’t care about Twitter Verification until about 2014 or so, when I finally had a real shot at it. In a heartbeat, I had become world fucking famous. Or, infamous: they tried to make me infamous. Funny how I’m always branded as a domestic terrorist when all I’m tryin’ t’do is protect innocent people.

I didn’t pursue it because I wanted to lord it over others. I didn’t even pursue it because I wanted the ‘status’; I don’t give a shit about being above anybody, and I largely think that Verified accounts are lame, since they’ve spent a dog’s age huffing their own asses. They think they’re really great; and I didn’t want to be like them.

But I had a plan.

I had a really funny plan, and it would’ve been really funny, if I had gotten to do it, way back when.

Here was the plan: I was going to get Verified, and then tweet something specific. And then, I was going to protect my account, and remove the checkmark.

Oh, I’d archive it. I’d archive it, alright; just like I archived my tweet that got over 256,000 favorites; 50,000+ retweets.

Just like I archived that tweet before I fucking deleted it.

It isn’t about remaining on the top. It’s about getting to the top; seeing what it’s like; and then fucking off.

Oh, there are motivators beyond this. I also made a bet with my late father that I was going to manage to get Verified. And, in point of fact, the bet’s off; I lost. I don’t lose gracefully. I don’t lose often. And I never admit it, when I do.

But Verification on Twitter has changed. The form’s gone. And after 42 fucking attempts at it, I’m empty-handed.

I pursued it in part because I finally had the media mentions necessary to get it. Unfortunately, I never did. Why? That, my friends, is a mystery. But it’s probably because a major stakeholder at Twitter was sexually-harassing my friend, and I humiliated him while he did it. The guy then told me— you will never be Verified on Twitter!— and, God bless his hat, the fucker was right. I will never be Verified on Twitter.

The game is over, now. I managed to get Verified on YouTube— but does that even matter? Is having an Official Artist Channel even being ‘Verified’? I mean, Cher has it. But does any of this shit even mean anything?

I don’t know. Oh, I know; but I don’t want to admit to any of it all.

Time’s not running out. Time’s not nearly up. Time’s not running out, because time has already run out. I failed. I lost. I couldn’t figure out how to make the fucker on the other side of the screen, press the little button. And so, I never got Verified on Twitter.

I suppose it doesn’t matter. It never meant anything; and I would’ve stopped using the account, if I had been successful in my little endeavor.

But it irks me. I had all the qualifications. I submitted 42 fucking times. Did I really get blacklisted?

What a crock of shit.

In any case, the reason I say the game is up, is because, with the Verification Request form on Twitter taken down— you can’t even submit anymore; it just says, “No.”— soon, the system in which you can pay this fuckhead $8, it will be up. And it apparently is going to require zero authentication. Just, they’re just gonna let anybody in. Got a tenner? Saddle up, motherfucker! You’ve got dipshits to impersonate!

I thought about buying it. But then the little shithead decided to illegally layoff a bunch of workers. And these people, some of them, I don’t like. There are probably people who treated me like shit, who got fired in this roundup. (Motherfucker Thanos Snapp’d the goddamned company. Who does that? A prick, that’s who.) But…

… when my Dad got laid off, twice, it ruined our lives. We’re still digging out from the damage that shit did to us.

So, I have to wonder. Were the guilty cocksuckers who laid off my father, and ruined our lives, just like Elon Musk?

I think that they were.

And in that case, why the everloving fuck would I ever give a shitbird like that money?

There also stands to reason one thing, that my friend Villyne said:

And so, the game has now concluded. Barring some sort of ‘exploit’ in which I can get it to proc, this is it. I don’t even think I want to try for the exploit. No, I won’t; don’t admit to terrorism on your blog, Margaret!

Actually. If I could just press a button without paying and get it, I’d be fuckin’ hard-pressed not to do it for the laffs.

But it’s probably not gonna happen. Hey, isn’t that a bug bounty, these days? Not terrorism?

Anyways.

We are now brought to my stunning final conclusion. And that is,

this motherfucker took away my game.

You don’t submit for Verification 42 fucking times because you think, this is the one!! I’ll surely get it!!. You do it because you think you can game it. And, quite honestly— some people got lucky. A kid with no Internet presence got the `mark for about 6-8 months. I never could, though.

I had myself an idear to get Verified on Twitch. Didn’t pan out. But, given that being Verified on YouTube wasn’t enough, I’m betting I never was going to be allowed this, anyways.

It’s a strange game. I don’t want the mark; but I want to figure out a way inside the house. I want to figure out how to get the thing they won’t let me have.

But I don’t actually want it.

It’s a pet peeve of mine. Hell, I hate the term ‘pet peeve’. It’s an itch. It’s maddening. I did everything right; I helped everyone that I could. I defended people. And, I never got rewarded. I never got anything but grief.

… at least, here. Here, no good deed goes unpunished.

If I had gotten it, would it have been enough? Would I have stopped being angry at Humanity?

… nope.

I’ve wasted so much time.

When you play to win, winning is never enough.