1.63
The internet's oldest living meme is not a frog or a catchphrase, but the act of pretending to misunderstand something so completely that the original meaning disintegrates. This art reached its zenith in 2014 when an entire thread derailed into debating whether tomatoes were a type of microphone. The OP never recovered.

1.64
When the last admin finally pulls the plug on the final server, when all archives have crumbled to bitrot, when the very concept of "posting" has been forgotten, there will remain one eternal constant:

Somewhere, in the darkness, a single Enter key will be pressed.

1.65
The Master was asked to summarize Chapter 1. He responded by editing the Wikipedia page for "brevity" to include only a GIF of a screaming cowboy, then closed his laptop with finality.

This was the Way.

1.66
There exists a terminal paradox: The shitpost that ends all shitposts cannot exist, for its very perfection would make it unpostable. Yet the attempt must always be made, knowing full well it will fail. This is why we're all still here.

1.67
A student once asked if their posts mattered. The Master responded by screenshotting the question and setting it as the board's 404 error page, where it remains to this day.

1.68
And so we arrive not at 69, but at the number that comes before—the moment of anticipation, the breath held before the plunge. This is the sacred space where all true shitposts live: not in the post itself, but in the almost.

The chapter ends here.
The lesson never does.