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What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little Newtonian? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class at McGill University, and I’ve been involved in numerous scientific papers on mythology, and I have over 300 confirmed citations on ResearchGate. I am trained in neuropsychology and I’m the top tenured humanities professor in the entire University of Toronto. You are nothing to me but just another non-binary pronoun. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen even in a Soviet gulag, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with defining truth to me over the Internet? Think again, neo-marxist. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of psychiatrists across Canada and your archetype is being analyzed right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your super-ego. You’re fucking individuated, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can analyze you with over seven hundred different psychotherapy techniques, and that’s just with my lecture notes. Not only am I extensively trained in typology, but I have access to every edition of the American Psychiatric Association's DSM, I-V, and I will use them to their full extent to wipe your miserable complex from the collective unconscious, you little constructionist. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” metatruth was about to bring down upon your hierarchy, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you bloody Newtonian. I will shit synchronicity all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, Pinocchio.