Stay out of Swagville or face the consequences. First and final warning.

Let me introduce myself – I’m a swaglord who lives ride-or-die by the YOLO mentality. I’ve trolled not only the losers at my school but all of my fucking annoying teachers. (Except for Mr. Devon in my sophomore year 3rd period health class. He let us look at boobies in the textbook and ignored me ripping fat clouds of my mango juul in the back of the class. A complete bro, through and through). My point is that I’m pretty much a badass.

If you’re scared of me now, just see what happens if you cross my turf. I reside in my humble, 4.5 story, 57,000 square-foot mansion abode, located smack-down in the middle of America’s most highly-esteemed township. If it wasn’t obvious, I’m talking about Swagville, Population: me – a highly secured and restricted area that doesn’t take shit from anybody.

Even the government and all of their nosy cuck feds who can’t mind their own business know better than to try anything, especially after last time. You see, Bill Clinton had tried to negotiate some kind of business deal where he’d do some form of “trafficking”, and would be able to fly in and out of Swagville as he pleased in his infamous private jet, theTrollita Express. I told his ass to shut up and go back to filling out crossword puzzles with his hag of a wife… just like the nerdy libtard he is. No way I’d be dealing with extra stop lights, endless road construction, slower speed limits, or any project involving traffic. I have my driving situation as good as it gets: making my own roads and obliterating obstacles at <90 mph in my 2007 Hummer, complete with blinding LED headlights and a modded horn that plays Gangnam style. Bill Clinton deserves no respect from a man as a epic me, no matter how seductive and alluring his saxophone skills may be. At the end of the day he’s just a band kid and a simp, one who couldn’t even get himself to ditch Hillary for Monica (who was a complete babe and is now a complete milf).

Even though most people would piss their pants and cry to their mommy at the thought of approaching me, I still have a procedure for handling anyone stupid enough, or ballsy enough, to step foot on my property. 270 hours of paintball and shooting squirrels with my air soft gun make me the possibly the best marksman on this side of the flat, spinning, coin-shaped earth. Want to hear a joke? Yo momma is so fat, she’s the only person my elephant tranquilizer wouldn’t be able to take down! That’s right, all trespassers will a get a dart impaled 3 inches into their skin, releasing a fast-acting concoction of ketamine and Xanax, cut with a little ammonia and antifreeze. Keeps them knocked out cold, guaranteed. The trespasser gets to have one last snooze before their life quite likely becomes a living hell.

From there I can haul their body onto my all-terrain golf cart, and take them to my backyards extra-large tool shed, which I’ve meticulously renovated into a makeshift interrogation room. When they wake up, all they’ll be able to see is a bright lamp, the wooden table that their ankle is cuffed to, and a printed copy of my annually written, trademarked and certified ‘swag test’™️, one of the few accredited tests in the nation that will measure and quantify the test taker’s swag. If the trespasser receives a score of a 69* or above, they will have passed the test and will move on.* Those who move on are required to take the the yolo code oath; in doing so they have thereby sworn to live life by the YOLO mentality, and continue their efforts in the pursuit of divine swag. If the oath is taken, the trespasser may now freely leave Swagville so long as they do not speak of what occurred. Those who truly impress me may be given my steam username and will receive an invite to join my discord server; they may also be invited back to the property for one of my annual paintball tournaments.

So all ends mostly well for those ‘well-endowed’ with swag – they are pardoned, left with only a little bit of liver damage and some heart palpitations from the tranquilizer. But this best-case scenario is truly a far cry from the more common scenario. You see, swag is a limited resource. Some overflow in it, leaking swag juice from the very pores of their skin. Hell, if I were squeezed like an orange I’d probably pour out a liter or two of swag juice (pulp included).

But most people couldn’t even muster a mere drop of swagade. Not even diet swagade. These are the pitiful geeks who can’t help but inevitably pull an epic fail on my Swag Test™️. All the luck in the world couldn’t save them – not that they could ever receive luck in the first place. You see, luck is a force attracted to swag and conversely repelled by its absence. This is can be used to explain why ugly people are unlucky and have terrible lives. Luck and losers are like opposites who just do NOT attract, whatsoever. Sucks to suck, I guess.

The swagless trespassers who fail the test face a much darker path ahead of them. They are lead down an old hummer trail to my state of the art, WWII Japanese prison re-enactment facility, a nearly exact replica of one of the camps used to keep American POWs. Say what you like about them, but Japan sure did know how to make people’s lives awful back in the day. Makes me glad they calmed down and became a submissive society, all but fully domesticated by their cartoons and video games.

Once imprisoned, the person is forced to do tiring labor. What they must do is spend all hours of the waking day scouring the internet for funny rage comics and ‘try not to laugh’ video complications on YouTube. These is how I find my daily entertainment, avoiding all the boring stuff in between like news, politics, and of course all of the cringe-inducing attempts at comedy littering the internet. If a prisoner fails to provide me with one meme worthy of a “lmao”, or I sit through one of their selected ‘try not to laugh’ videos without producing but a single laugh, this will be considered an insult to myself and they will suffer one of the most severe consequence I can impose.

Before describing this punishment, I’d like explain the food system currently place, and how meals that I serve demonstrate a compromise made between gourmet quality and affordability. I like to keep a degree of both present in prisoners’ meals, in order to help keep them on top of their game and support their swag growth, while also helping to reduce costs the of operation for my facility. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I could never afford to make shortcuts with it. This could risk harm to prison labor performance during the morning hours, when fresh memes and after-hour memes from the previous night are plentiful. As such, it includes a pop tart and a 16oz monster energy drink, both being legitimate, on-brand products that ensure high productivity. Compromises were rather focused with the prisoner’s lunch and dinner, which both consist of a serving of microwave-prepared, grocery store-brand pizza rolls, served at an absurdly hot temperature (as customary) with a side of knock off Doritos and a slightly cool glass of Mountain Shoutin’, which surprisingly only leaves a slight aftertaste resembling sunscreen. Although not ideal, the food provided is tolerated by prisoners without much issue. As I said before, the punishment for prisoners who fail to meet my labor standards is very severe.

Rather than a standard meal, a prisoner facing such punishment will receive 3 pounds of fibrous vegetables, comprised mostly of celery, radishes, and raw, unwashed cauliflower. This atrocity is served to them in place of all their meals for one whole business week. They are also provided a beverage to wash this down with – a noticeably thick glass of orange juice that’s been blended with toothpaste.

Most people figure after a couple days on this diet that it’s easier to skip meals and fast for a week than it is to eat and digest the equivalent of a small shrub. Those who do not stop eating these meals, whether by choice or by not realizing they are allowed to skip them, end up with a cellulose-clogged digestive system and a uncomfortably full and firm stomach; they describe feeling as if their abdomen and torso were full of bricks. They become lethargic from a lack of calorically dense food, even more lethargic than those who fast – the energy it takes to simply digest and pass pounds of plant matter can potentially surpass the amount of energy provided by the vegetables themselves. Perhaps worst of all, these prisoners end up with remarkably terrible constipation- sometimes even leading one to consider the necessity of stool softener, or even surgical removal. This meal replacement never fails to provide a traumatizing experience and ensure that these men manically hunt down kek and avoid all cringe, working in such a primal and frantic way, as if their very lives depended on it. Not only does this mean they can begin to understand and distinguish what exactly constitutes epic swag, but it means they will respond with violence and anger towards shitty memes. They’re well on their way to become a professional internet patroller and kek enforcer. Last but not least, the experience can induce the prisoner with a lasting form of PTSD, a clear step in the right direction. I mean, how swagtastic is it to be triggered by certain noises, smells, images, etc., and just go batshit crazy on everyone nearby? You’re like a sleeper spy, except you have no orders, just some adrenaline and a fear/survival-driven aggression that needs to be unleashed. It’s a total power move to be screaming about your memories of celery, painful shits, and extreme hunger in the face of confused and pathetically submissive cowards. You could even call this person an alpha male, the type of man we all aspire to be.

Through this labor, through their punishment, through all of the hardships and trials they face, each prisoner can be reborn. They can learn to identify swag from lame, kek from cringe, and beta cuck loser from self. They can become more attuned to my mentality, and begin to embrace it themselves. Slowly the meaning of YOLO will be clear to them.

They can request a Swag test at any time to see if they have attained a high enough level; if they pass, then the oath may be made and sworn and their freedom will thus be granted. However, with each additional failure there is a proper price. They are forced to drink a 2L of water, and must consume a very strong caffeine pill, acting as a diuretic. For 24hrs they’ll have no bathroom access, and if they pee their pants they must stay in the same clothing for the complete duration of the remaining time. How uncomfortable and embarrassing… Got’em!

However, some may never escape their pit of shame and lame, never accepting swag into their lives, always pushing back against my efforts to fix them. If they refuse change and deny the teachings, they shall never be released, a fate most tragic. They will remain locked away, working as their mind and body deteriorate. They are tormented up until facing one last epic fail – a humiliating and anticlimactic death. In my experience, these individuals last, like, 8 weeks tops. And if they are still around by then they days are numbered, like maybe 3-4. Not even two months total. This is admittedly pretty short for a prisoner to end up dead, but at the end of day it is honestly their fault for being stuck-up try hards. Usually it only takes other inmates a couple of weeks along with a little elbow grease to earn enough swag, pass the test and be released. I know people who had more difficulty getting their temps in high school.

Swag-deniers are relentless, I’ll give them that. Their devotion and hatred actually inspires me to strengthen my passion and embrace for swag, seeing the fate that could have been mine had I instead taken the path of denial. These dumbasses won’t suck up their pride and always say shit like “swag is dumb, just be kind, polite, and civil like a normal person”. What the fuck are you talking about, bruh? It’s laughable how stupid they are.

One example of their determination is seen with the meal plan and some of the issues it has, and their attempt at a solution. Due to my oversight of some basic human nutrient requirements when planning a diet which prioritizes swag, the normal meal plan was made lacking any citrus fruits or other vitamin C sources. Like pirates are sea, except not nearly as cool, most of these sticks-in-the-mud would develop scurvy given enough time. In fact, some of these idiots have tried to work around it by purposefully being punished with the vegetable meal, just so they could drink the disgustingly-minty orange juice and toothpaste blend. Maybe this seems clever at face value, but nerds and geeks really are not that smart (if they were, they wouldn’t have let themselves become social outcasts and hang out with other cringe loners). Doing this meant they either had to fast or eat a bunch of unsubstantial vegetables, and no matter which option they chose they would lose concerning amounts of weight. Eventually they have to choose either to starve and die looking like a ghoul, or give up on the OJ to die from some scurvy-caused infection, but not before going half bald, having dead gums and a nasty breath, and being covered in lesions. Why are these people so relentless and stubborn? Why do they insist on being devoid of swag? Bro, chill the fuck out and just accept swag as your lord and savior, how fucking hard is it? I almost feel bad for these type but then I just imagine how much they would burden humanity by being some of the nerdiest,socially inept buzzkills on the planet, and realize it would be a disservice to release them.

When they finally kick the bucket, I have to pull out the ol’ hazmat suit and retrieve their icky bodies while trying not to vomit. Really gives me a newfound respect for the sick, sadistic fucks who choose to work at a funeral home or a morgue. You’re still weird, but you make life easier for the rest of us normal folk, so I tip my hat to you all. Back in the deep woods of Swagville, the corpses get thrown into my compost pile and begin to turn into worm food. I keep it far away from the house, not because I fear being caught (the government is too pussy to do anything) but because it smells like the epitome of a loser, one who never showers or wears deodorant, and people want to say something but they don’t want to end up on your list (yes, everyone knows you have a list). I’ve considered using the topsoil made from bodies, just to show my appreciation to poor the worms and bacteria who had to eat such garbage. However, I am certain that any fertilizer containing such high concentrations of lingering crazy, stupid, and shame, would probably infect the seeds and attack the roots. Without a doubt I’d be left with the most beta looking plants imaginable. Even God himself, if he so exists, would be insulted by what had become of a plant created in his vision, and would strike it down with a bolt of lightning, burning it to a crisp in an act of mercy.

Anyway, that’s my tale and my warning to all who dare enter my domain. Only those possessing or capable of achieving swag will make it out alive.

Now I’m going to perform some meditation. Swag lords have many important matters to dwell on. For starters, I must complete my list of potentially epic movie crossovers and my plans to gain production rights. I’d also like to spend some time remembering how hot Megan Fox was in transformers 1 & 2… or how Mark Wahlberg wasn’t good enough to replace Shia LaBeouf, and how those last couple of movies shouldn’t have been made at all. They are lucky China is obsessed with action movies involving CGI alien robots. After my mind is cleared I think my evening will be spent browsing some rage comics and trolling kids. Peace out and god bless

*Any score on the Swag Test™️ between 69 and 100 will suffice for trespassers who wish to appease me and be pardoned from their imprisonment. However, for those taking the test with the intention of applying to highly exclusive, swag-related groups or institutions, such as FaZe clan, a score of exactly 69 is extremely preferred, and will be valued much higher than even a perfect 100/100 in the selection process.