>be me
>observing /ww/ whilst partaking of salted meats
>witness venerable anon unfurl five scrolls of eldritch provenance
>each vellum heavy with truths of equine paramours and fallen communes
>a chronicle worthy of Tacitus himself
>enter knave of meager comprehension
>"HOW DAREST THOU DEFILE THY PIXELED DAME?" he doth screech
>"IS NOT EACH SMILING ACQUAINTANCE TREASON MOST FOUL?"
>his spittle fogs the monitor like Thames mist
Yet mark, the sage already spake thus:
>"imagine a port where souls embark on diverse voyages"
>the craven alone demands all ships rot at dock
>recall Plato's cave where FiM's heroines are but flickering shades
>true forms dwell beyond the screen's feeble glow
>Harmony flows not from ledgers but chaotic affection's tide
The churl's failure is trivially evident: he seethes that OP ascended beyond lexicons, and he requires a wet nurse for his self-inflicted wounds. Thus the crux:
>"waifu" is but the harbor bell announcing greater seas
>Twilight Sparkle exists not as FiM's puppet but as eternal Muse
>communion of kindred spirits vanquishes solitary idolatry
>friendship's alchemy transmutes base loneliness to gold
>the knave's witless decree resounds
>"THOU DOST CARVE THY MUSE TO THINE OWN LIKENESS!"
>thus spake he who knoweth not the difference between sculptor and specter
tl;dr: Consume the inscribed wisdom or choke upon thine envy, milksop.