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I'm actually a pretty advanced bait station designer. While my formal education is a bit lacking, my cad and computer animation skills are really good, and I have some truly paradigm shifting ideas for bait stations, both vr and non vr. currently in the beginning stages of seeking VC funds, really trying to move my operation from San Antonio to Austin, a second location could triple my revenue right now. Obviously right now all our orders are high end custom stations, way out of reach for the avg wsb user. Its my dream to one day be able to produce real bait stations in a production environment. Right now my company is in talks with several engineering firms out of Seoul to take our cum recycling system and some how use the energy from the spent cum to recharge the batteries. While the technology is new. It has huge applications. Imagine when you go to charge your tsla, its powered completely by cum. No longer must we let our nonbiological female prostitutes flush our GOLD down the toilet post coitus, that shit is going to drive our new society. The money we save as a society on sock costs alone is tremendous.

In honor of Pride Month, I am here to say that it's morbin' time. Today, my fellow morbheads, we rise. I am proud to come out and express my true morbdentity to the world at this very morbment. I am a morbphile and I identify myself as morbsexual. My pronouns are morb/ius.

The year is 2021. You look at the television. SIlver fox President Biden announces a vaccine mandate for employees. You clutch your limited edition Trump Funko Pop. It has begun. You gather up all your belongings, and jump into your truck, hitting the highway for the airport. Out of your rearview mirror you can make out a sleek black Prius pursuing you. You make out the numbers “1” “9” “8” and 4” on their license plate. You are able to lose the Prius and arrive at the airport. You are almost free. At airport security You see a young man being dragged away screaming. The guards yell something about him having more than 3.4 oz of liquid. Thankfully you only have an AR 15 on you. The guard inspects it. “It’s for hunting,” you say. They hand it back to you and wave for you to move along. You breathe a sigh of relief. “One more thing.” You turn to see a Guard staring down at you with their beady soulless eyes. “I need to see your vaccination card” It is too late. You try to run away, but you feel someone press a cloth against your face. Reality fades away. You wake up in some kind of lab, chained down to an operation table and gagged. The room is undecorated except for a single poster of Harry Styles in a dress on the wall. A single figure stands in the corner shrouded in shadow, fiddling with a syringe. As they step out of the shadow, you can make out their face, the roguishly handsome Gavin Newsom. He positions a large surgical headlight above you and turns it on. He holds up the large syringe to the light and chuckles, staring into your pleading eyes. “Don't worry, it will all be over soon” He removes his mask to reveal his serpent's tongue, flickering in amusement. He plunges the syringe straight through your “socialism is for figs” shirt into your arm. “Nighty night” Your world fades to black once more.