Come here, kiddo, sit down. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. I just want to talk. Okay, comfortable? Good. We need to address the copypasta problem. Don’t look at me like that, you know what I’m talking about. Yes, I know what copypastas are. Listen to me. Do you know why your mother and I created that family group chat? That’s right, so our family could communicate, even when we’re not together physically. These are trying times, and we thought that some connection could help bring the family closer. You know where this is going. You decided to spam the family group chat with long, copied and pasted paragraphs about random topics. Of course you didn’t type them, they came in too fast and too frequently. Oh, quit with the victim act. You have rendered our main group chat unusable. You look confused. What do I mean by “main group chat?” I suppose nobody told you. Since you demonstrated your inability to communicate like a normal person, your mother and I created a second chat, and invited the rest of the family. Excluding you, of course. Yeah, now you’ve put your phone away. Finally. No, don’t talk, I’m not done. These “copypastas” of yours have done irrepairable damage to our family. You heard me correctly. See, while I understood that, whether you were successful or not, you were trying to be funny, your grandparents thought you were typing out all those messages, and meant them sincerely. They repeatedly asked what certain words meant, why you were suddenly using such obscene language, why I wasn’t punishing you. I couldn’t explain. Every message I typed out was whisked away in the river of text you were flooding our chat with. Your grandfather had a stroke last week, did you know that? No, you didn’t. When he sent out the message, your copypastas overtook it. Did you know that your cousin made a home run on Tuesday? Do you know how long he has been practicing, how many hours he has spent, to get to that point? Just for you to ignore and ridicule it with your disrespectful behavior. You have been doing this for weeks. Weeks. Did you think we’d find it funny? Even two days after you started sending the messages? What about the next day? The next week? Do you understand how fucking angry I am? I already told you not to fucking play the victim! I. . . am trying. I am trying to keep this family together, to recover some semblance of closeness. Did you know your sister was suspended on Monday? Of course not. Her text was only visible for a second before you sent another fucking copypasta. Don’t move that chair another inch, you rat. You have no fucking idea how angry I am. I am THIS CLOSE to throwing you at a fucking wall. You have spat on our family name, and disgraced your mother and I. Your grandparents think we’re terrible parents. And, you know what else? I got an email. Yeah, let me pull it up. I got an email from your teacher. See that? What’s that say? You’ve been sending those fucking copypastas to your goddamn teachers? Do you understand how out of line your behavior has been? Oh, you won’t do it again, I’m sure. You won’t do it again because you will be PHYSICALLY UNABLE to do it again. From this point forward, that phone is mine. Your computer is mine. If you need a device to do schoolwork, you’d better use one during school, because you are NOT TOUCHING A FUCKING PIECE OF TECHNOLOGY UNTIL THE DAY YOU DIE. No more games, no more texting, no more fucking copypastas. Are you crying? Are you fucking crying? You disgust me. You have caused more suffering than anyone I’ve ever known, within the span of a few weeks. Your mother says we need to send you to some sort of special school. Do you understand? You probably won’t see any of your friends again. I don’t agree with her about the school, but. . . If this trend continues, I don’t think I could find a reason not to agree with her. Your mother and I talked about this last night. She argued very strongly for shipping you off to one of those places for special kids. Not good special. I disagreed, we argued more, we fought- fuck. You. . . you’re tearing my life to shreds. Everything I had. . . you are a problem. You’re disturbed. You’re fucking insane. She wants a divorce now. Do you comprehend the situation you have plunged our family into? You and your goddamn copypastas? Do you see what a FUCKING DISGRACE you have been? I can’t. . . I can’t even understand your motivations. I can’t even begin to understand why you did what you did. Leave. Go to your room. Leave my presence. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night.