The myriad of idiosyncratic atrocities bestowed on this chat from these juvenile delinquents have caused a monstruous amount of turmoil and I cannot fathom this type of malignancy. These futile behaviors have abruptly penetrated the purity of my dear soul.

The year is 2034. QT lies on his death bed. As he lies there in his last breath he whispers: "Wow, that actually killed me."