Shortly after softcorigami went live last year, a yellowed, crusty envelope smelling strongly of pot and unlicensed strip clubs arrived on our doorstep. It contained only a blurry picture and this note:

Listen, fuckheads,
     Im’a bout to do you a big damn favor, so get your hands off your junk and pay some goddamn attention. Tits, tattoos, THC, I can dig this kinda shit. But anyone looking at this bullshit ‘blog’ has clearly spent way too long staring at a bunch of fucking blinking lights in a box, ‘stead of taking a minute to make some deserving sack of shit in a pink polo and greek letters doubt his sexuality. While you’re in here filling your gym socks, masses of humanity are just yolo’ing their way through life, totally unassailed by reason and decency.
     And, since I’m low on scotch and blow, I’m gonna teach you drooling husks how to deal with these meathead fucks. You’re going to send cash. Weekly.
     break something.
          –thefallenprankster

Naturally, we assumed these were the words of some deranged madman surviving on dirt and his own feces in a well-armed bunker in the woods. We still haven’t ruled that out.
Nonetheless, we’ll be bringing you the angry ramblings of the Fallen Prankster.
We’re sorry. He made us.

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