Wow. One billion.
I'm at a complete loss of words. So naturally, I'm going to dive into an overly long monologue. I never in three million one hundred and forty-one thousand five hundred and ninety-two years thought I would be crowned Lord of Substack. But here we are. I couldn't imagine that all those late nights I spent shitposting about—oh, you guys know, you're the ones who resturgled them all 100,000 times! That's right, one-eighth of the planet reads my Substack—suck it, MrBeast, go throw another train down a well or something.
If you're not reading my Substack, then you're probably a baby or a bat that somehow managed to sneak onto the census. First and foremost, I have to thank all the bots for their unwavering support—literally, they put a stipulation in my contract that if I didn't, they'd "drive me off the Internet," whatever that means. Oh, and the Substack algorithm, working closely together with the bots. Without the ceaseless, unending following and subscribing by my bot army, none of this would have been possible.
Huge shoutout to my mum, who's looking down on me from heaven, bless her heart, probably created a few hundred million accounts just to make me feel special. Some of those were from fellow deceased people—oh, and thanks to Biden and Hillary for the idea. Mums always manage to make you look so cool, so much cooler than you deserve.
To that one bloke who accidentally hit subscribe while trying to close the plethora of subscribe-begging pop-ups I have, thanks for staying the course, Brian. You'll always have a special place in my farts. Fate brought us together, and I promise to get you to move your lips in a way that almost mimics that of a smile at least once a month, which is more than you're getting laid from what you're telling me—whoops, he said not to mention that—I'll edit it out in post.
We can't forget all the dogs and cats of Dogstack and Catstack, as well as all the other Substack pets who inadvertently walked, hopped, or laid on keyboards and subscribed their unwitting owners. Sit, Ubu, sit—good dog.
In all seriousness (or as close as I’ll get), thank you to everyone—however many of you there actually are. You’ve made it possible for me to dream about doing this full-time one day. As I walk through the shadow of the valley of butchered verses, I am beset by the inequities of Substack growth bros and the tyranny of Sexstacks. But, for now, we march on.
That's it for now.
As always,
Good luck,
Stay safe, and
Be well.
See ya!
@Braeden
Here's to making it