Sancdar

To TSB, or not to TSB: that is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler in the peen to suffer

The insults and macros of outrageous fabulous persons,

Or to take arms against a forum of trolls,

And by opposing feed them? To shut down: to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That ego is heir to, ‘tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish’d. To shut down, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to screensave: ay, there’s the rub;

For in that sleep of blackouts what screensavers may come

When we have shuffled off this tesla coil,

Must give us pause: there’s the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of Pants,

The pwner’s wrong, SG94’s contumely,

The pangs of despised furries, the mod’s delay,

The insolence of nanafabulous personjesus and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodice? who would fardels bear,

To grunt and **** under a whirring fan,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover’d country from whose bourn

No websurfer returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action. – Soft you now!

The fair bumhurt! Bigguyinblack, in thy orifices

Be all my sins remember’d.