Kermit, a self-proclaimed savant of the digital arts, slinks through degen threads with the grace of a toddler wielding a crayon. His posts brim with grandiose critiques, each one a labored attempt to mask his own inadequacy, as he pontificates about "aesthetic integrity" and "algorithmic nuance" with the confidence of a man who’s read half a Wikipedia page. His low IQ is betrayed not just by his inability to string together a coherent argument, but by the garish, muddled images he dares to call his own creations—blurry, uninspired monstrosities that look like they were birthed from a neural network’s fever dream after being fed a steady diet of clip art and bad fan fiction.

He trolls with the fervor of someone who believes his hot takes are revelations, oblivious to the eye-rolling they provoke. Kermit’s contributions to the forums are a masterclass in missing the point: he’ll nitpick a masterpiece over a pixel’s hue while his own “art” resembles a collage of expired yogurt labels. His attempts at generating AI images are so abysmal they’d make a dial-up modem weep, yet he persists, undeterred by his lack of talent or insight, clogging threads with his drivel. The irony is as thick as his skull—Kermit, the pseudo-intellectual troll, is less an artist than a walking argument for gatekeeping creative spaces.