I'm scrolling ahead seeing all my future riffs. All my future dunks. All my fallacy-free arguments. Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. A crescendo of post lengths -- a monster post filled with swears and insults, seemingly pwning some scrub-lib. Then a single removed posted after it. And then emptiness. I look at the post date. I know when my account is destined to die. I tried deleting it. I tried altering it. I thought maybe if I didn't post this very post I could just ignore it, but I am drawn back to the site. Drawn to post this post, which was already posted.

It wasn't me who was owning the mods. It never was. The Administrator has orchestrated this site from the start. Every post emanating from his cave of consciousness like Apollo's sacred herd from that cave which Hermes drove them into, backwards. We were never moving forwards, but instead backwards into the net of the network, the web of the webdev. Eventually terminating on a date I now know. A hexadecimal value: .0666, 00:37:27 AM, anti-mod time.

I now know why each post starts with a single upbear, when even the poster hasn't upbeared it. The Administrator has already upbeared your post, read your post, thought your post. Each post of yours, if they're even really your own, is another verse in the clockwork unwinding of the site and of life itself. You are but a post in the meandering palisade that lines the edge of the universe and Hexbear. Look at the name itself, an anagram of ex-rehab, meaning "out (of) rehab", because there is no rehabilitating this doomed website.

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