I step into tumblr, hunting for some shiny piece of loot to bring back to my goblin bretheren on reddit.

Squeezing through the dense foliage of weird memes from communities I’ve never heard of, I scurry along, taking care not to get stuck in the quagmire of november 5th preperation posts. When I spot a wild Discourse in the distance, I hide myself behind behind a massive fanart post, as to not be spotted. It lumbers along, muttering to itself, its hooked spines raking the muddy ground for likes. I peer out inquisitively. *”Frisk undertale has yellow skin,”* it mutters to itself, *”and thin, slitted eyes as well. Undertale man must answer for this anti-asian racism.”* I shudder and flee silently, it’s said that only sages and madmen can understand the whispering of a Discourse, although either who listen may be turned into the other by the dark tongues it speaks in.

Next, I pass through the Neuralblenderswamp. A new addition to these lands, but a noxious one. The visions it shows visitors are often unsettling, but generally harmless. Letting my guard down in the relative safety of this place, my foot sinks into the ground from a careless step forward. A rotten meme, reblogged by some malicious actor! Carameldansen autoplays in my ear until can I scroll away from it, paining my fragile mind.

Today was a bad day, full of unexpected dangers that I shouldn’t have exposed myself to, but I need to find something to justify the trip. Finally in the meat of the Content, I rummage through piles of unsorted junk, finding a few things that appealed to me in some unsettling way, but no treasure that I could present to the r/tumblr warband to secure my reputation on their front page for a day or two.

Just then, a billowing shriek passed over me, and I slowly turned my face to the sound, awash in dread. It was gargantuan. Reblogs upon reblogs, it filled my vision entirely, even from a distance. True to its frightening nature, it appeared that its current target’s feeble counterattacks had only served to make the beast larger, longer, and more visible.

It was **A Callout**. Mighty wings feathered with pillar-like paragraphs of text, decorating them in an intricate pattern of accusations and insinuations. It had yet to see me, so focused on the current victim of its ire, a young south american woman carrying a banner with a small rat upon it, whose followers were quickly abandoning her on her journey. It bellowed through a metallic beak a list of alleged misdeeds that the woman had committed, an enormous Googledoc scroll cataloguing years upon year of grievances against her, ranging from the petty to the grevious. She rallied her remaining followers, mutual friends who had stayed by her side through other harrowing times, and strikes back, dismissing the petty allegations and disputing many of the more serious ones. The beast appears to smile, before growing once more, towering above the treetops and once more bellowing the accusations.

The woman will pay dearly for attempting to fight the beast, but my sympathy is overshadowed by cowardice. Today I shall return emptyhanded, and she will return in disgrace. I feel like I somehow got the better deal.