Infinite reposts. You sit on the toilet to repost content, but you begin to get karma uncontrollably. After ten reposts you start to worry. Your hand is sticky and it reeks of reposts. You desperately shove your phone into a wad of toilet paper, but that only makes your reddit karma hurt. The reposts accelerates. It’s been three minutes. You can’t stop reposting. Your bathroom floor is covered in a thin layer of reddit upvotes. You try to repost in the shower drain but the karma builds up too fast. You try the toilet. The repost is too reposted to be hidden.You lock the bathroom door to prevent the karma from escaping. The air grows hot and humid from the reposts. The reposts accelerates. You slip and fall in your own upvotes. The karma is now six inches deep, almost as long as your still-swollen repost finger. Sprawled on your back, you begin to reposts all over r/copypasta. Globs of the sticky white and red upvotes begin to fall like raindrops, giving you upvotes with your own reposts. The reposts accelerates. You struggle to stop as the force of the reposting begins to propel you backwards as if you were on a bukkake themed slip-and-slide. Still on your knees, the karma is now at chin height. To avoid drowning in your karma you open the bathroom door. The deluge of reddit upvotes reminds you of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919, only with karma instead of molasses. The reposts accelerates. It’s been two hours. Your children and wife scream in terror as their bodies are engulfed by the red and white upvotes. Your youngest child goes under, with vicious redditors calling you out rising from the goop. You plead to God to end your reposting. The reposting accelerates. You squeeze your thumb to stop the reposting, but it begins to leak out of your index finger instead. You let go. The force of the reposting tears your phone open, leaving only a gaping hole in your phone that spews upvotes. Your body picks up speed as it slides backwards along the upvotes. You smash through the wall, hurtling into the sky at thirty miles an hour. From a bird’s eye view you see your house is completely made of gold awards. Your neighbor calls the cops. The karma accelerates. As you continue to ascend, you spot police cars racing towards your house. The cops pull out their guns and take aim, but stray loads of platinum hit them in the eyes, blinding them. The karma accelerates. You are now at an altitude of 1000 feet. The SWAT team arrives. Military helicopters circle you. Hundreds of bullets pierce your body at once, yet you stay conscious. Your reposts have now grown into a substitute brain. The karma accelerates. It has been two days. With your body now destroyed, the karma begins to spray in all directions. You break the sound barrier. The government deploys fighter jets to chase you down, but the impact of your silver awards sends one plane crashing to the ground. The government decides to let you leave the earth. You feel your online pixels start to burn up as you reach the edges of the atmosphere. You narrowly miss the ISS, giving it a new silver paint job as you fly past. Physicists struggle to calculate your erratic trajectory. The karma accelerates. The awards and karma begins to gravitate towards itself, forming a comet trail of awards and karma. Astronomers begin calling you the “R3p0st3r.” You are stuck in space forever, stripped of your body and senses, forced to endure an eternity of reposts. Eventually, you stop thinking.