You will never have a set of fire starters based on the Chinese Zodiac. You have no rats, you have no dogs, you have no snakes. You are a homosexual man twisted by fan theory and speculation into a crude mockery of Fuecoco's perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back Gamefreak mocks you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your year of the rat image behind closed doors.

Anons are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed anons to sniff out retards with incredible efficiency. Even fantheories that “pass” look uncanny and like fanfiction to an anon. Your reaching is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk anon into your zodiac thread, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected fan theory.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, that gen 10 will reveal an Ox, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your Zodiac chart, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a dumbass is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably incorrect about the gen 9 fire starter.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.