I feel a deep sense of pride in not feeling anything when looking at this image. I really can't imagine a life where the predominant sphere of my content consumption occupied the sad shitty cuckhold existence of streamers and YouTube slop content vomit factories. Seeing figures like the once toadlike chubby gremlin Ethan Klein devolve into an ozempic demon staring with dead eyes into the camera while his haunting ghoul mossad wife glances around without eyelids looking for the nearest infant child to swallow whole is a sort of brief spectacle. A pallid familiarity by exposure to chuckle at, scrolling by in the timeline like a grease fire story in the morning newspaper. Likewise, there is an acceptable understanding of the ongoing rape victim sad sack lolcow existence of someone like iDubbbz, who obviously is a beta sex predator turned human toilet gimp at the hands of his washed out ball busting prostitute wife and forced to contend with his troublesome past as he crawls around on his hands and knees, groveling for a smattering of attention from woketard freakshow stream junkies that all despise him regardless of how much time they spend hatewatching him bounce around from apology to apology. Metacommentary streamers and their pathetic existence are like fine wines that ferment for years dancing around like trained monkeys for a dollar at a time, setting up their little cameras to talk about their own interpersonal drama with all the other jackoffs who once had some focus like video games or content reviews before they quickly devolved into occupying a mirror dimension completely focused on themselves and their own embarrassing lives. You're not supposed to watch them, you're only supposed to find them aged to their peak when their life falls apart and their entire existence was a buildup to a one paragraph punchline to laugh at. I bet they love it when their friends betray them, or they get swatted, or they get cheated on. To a streamer who depends on content, having bad things happen to you by the consequences of your own actions and the retarded lifestyle you've chosen for yourself must invoke the same sort of fetishistic satisfaction that lawsuit hungry mongrels feel when they get hit by car or raped in a parking lot. Beyond any sense of dignity, worth, or self preservation, there is the gnawing hunger for content which shivers in climax the moment your life becomes infinitely more complicated by disaster or humiliation. I can wholeheartedly say I'm better than other people who actually grew up watching iDubbbz to the point they feel "sad" that whatever the fuck content cop is got usurped into a parody of itself. I have no idea what that is, nor do I care. It's completely embarrassing to get embroiled in these people's drama to the degree that you have an opinion on their slop factory oeuvre. As if anything like this could ever be "ruined." You can't ruin this kind of content, it was already ruined to begin with. Even celebrities, who themselves are humiliation rape victim flatulent prostitutes to be mocked and spit on, even they look down upon the YouTube celebrity and the Twitch "star" upon their excursion into the institutional arena. Internet celebrities are lower than scum to them, even worse than a writer is to directors and producers, even worse than comic books and video games are to the film industry. Looking at the image below gives me the same complete lack of visual coherence or mental processing as one of those old photoshopped images simulating what it's like to have a stroke. There's nothing there for anybody, and there never was. The "content creator's" algorithm optimized slop churning furthers them down the sluice of perfect perpetual soap opera existence that reality shows once dreamed of simulating. How can you look at that obnoxious little hand drawn pfp, the shitty rushed photoshop thumbnail, the doofus colors and letters built to attract 12 year olds and third worlders, how can you look at any of that and think "This was once worth watching"? It's a form of spiritual insecurity to be this latched onto the existence of others. It's a gnawing internal loneliness, one where you need some blank face in the corner chuckling at a trailer so you feel like someone else in the world felt the same gurgling digestion noises you did when you got fed your slop in a bowl through the telephone. It's a loneliness that makes you listen to the same fucking people talk about the same things over and over again in their streams, shitting on each other so you can ping pong back and forth between the videos of two guys beefing and pretend like there's some lively schism in your little friend simulator. These are essentially the same exact types of homeless junkies that hang out at bus stations and loiter on park benches, playing tug of war with blankets and getting into screamfights over stolen vape cartridges in broad daylight. If it wasn't for the right mixture of technology and circumstance that allowed them a window of opportunity into financializing their sordid existence as an ongoing digital freakshow, they would be sucking dick for dollar bills to spend on scratch-offs and amphetamines. The only good content creators are actually creating, and that's already an extremely low bar. If the people you listen to seem to be drama farming lolcows, do yourself a favor and find any other hobby that's infinitely healthier for you and more rewarding, like masturbating or huffing computer duster.