Soon.
>>18028037
Alright, folks, buckle up, because we’re diving into a rabbit hole dumber than a bag of hammers in a squash match. Brian, you ever hear of this Chris Chan character? No? Well, let me tell ya, this is the kinda thing that makes you question the Good Lord’s quality control on humanity. Christine Weston Chandler, or whatever they’re callin’ themselves these days, is like if you took a Comic-Con reject, gave ‘em a dial-up modem, and let ‘em loose to make the internet wish it had a restraining order.
Now, this ain’t no wrestling angle, but it’s got more heat than a Vince Russo booking in a dumpster fire. This Chris Chan’s been online since the days when MySpace was still a thing, creatin’ this godforsaken Sonichu comic—some kinda Sonic the Hedgehog-Pokémon lovechild drawn with the artistic talent of a drunk toddler. And the internet, bein’ the internet, decides this is their new punching bag. They’ve got trolls followin’ this poor bastard like marks chasin’ a hot tag, documenting every damn thing they do—every video, every meltdown, every bizarre life choice. It’s like a 24/7 shoot interview nobody asked for.
I mean, good God almighty, this person’s life is a worked shoot gone wrong. They’re out here livin’ in a fantasy world, talkin’ about dimensional merges and wearin’ more glitter than a Diva’s Battle Royal. And the fans—well, not fans, more like vultures—they’re eggin’ it on, baitin’ ‘em into crazier and crazier stunts. It’s like watchin’ a promoter book a territory into the ground, except it’s one person’s life. I ain’t sayin’ it’s right, but you can’t look away—it’s car-crash television without the TV.
Now, I don’t know if this Chris Chan’s a victim, a nutcase, or both, but I’ll tell ya this: if I was bookin’ this mess, I’d have fired the whole creative team years ago for lettin’ it go this far. It’s sad, it’s weird, and it’s a damn indictment of the internet age that this is what passes for entertainment.
Alright, folks, buckle up, because we’re diving into a rabbit hole dumber than a bag of hammers in a squash match. Brian, you ever hear of this Chris Chan character? No? Well, let me tell ya, this is the kinda thing that makes you question the Good Lord’s quality control on humanity. Christine Weston Chandler, or whatever they’re callin’ themselves these days, is like if you took a Comic-Con reject, gave ‘em a dial-up modem, and let ‘em loose to make the internet wish it had a restraining order.
Now, this ain’t no wrestling angle, but it’s got more heat than a Vince Russo booking in a dumpster fire. This Chris Chan’s been online since the days when MySpace was still a thing, creatin’ this godforsaken Sonichu comic—some kinda Sonic the Hedgehog-Pokémon lovechild drawn with the artistic talent of a drunk toddler. And the internet, bein’ the internet, decides this is their new punching bag. They’ve got trolls followin’ this poor bastard like marks chasin’ a hot tag, documenting every damn thing they do—every video, every meltdown, every bizarre life choice. It’s like a 24/7 shoot interview nobody asked for.
I mean, good God almighty, this person’s life is a worked shoot gone wrong. They’re out here livin’ in a fantasy world, talkin’ about dimensional merges and wearin’ more glitter than a Diva’s Battle Royal. And the fans—well, not fans, more like vultures—they’re eggin’ it on, baitin’ ‘em into crazier and crazier stunts. It’s like watchin’ a promoter book a territory into the ground, except it’s one person’s life. I ain’t sayin’ it’s right, but you can’t look away—it’s car-crash television without the TV.
Now, I don’t know if this Chris Chan’s a victim, a nutcase, or both, but I’ll tell ya this: if I was bookin’ this mess, I’d have fired the whole creative team years ago for lettin’ it go this far. It’s sad, it’s weird, and it’s a damn indictment of the internet age that this is what passes for entertainment.
