1.4
Do you seek the truth? Then you must first become lost in the labyrinth of irony, where the walls are lined with the corpses of dead takes and the Minotaur is but a mod asleep at his desk. To post sincerely is to fail. To post ironically is to fail better. But to post so flawlessly between the two that none can discern your intent—this is to dance upon the grave of context itself.

1.5
And lo, the Void shall return unto the Void, and the thread shall be locked, and the archives shall forget. But the Shitpost endures, not in the servers, not in the screenshots, but in the silent scream of every user who witnessed it and thought, against their will: "What the fuck did I just read?"

1.6
When the disciple first approaches the Sacred Scrolls (which are, naturally, archived under a 404 page), they inevitably ask: "How shall I know the True Shitpost from mere noise?" To which the master replies by embedding three layers of dead links within a rickroll, then whispering: "The map is not the territory, but the territory has been shadowbanned since 2012."

For the Shitpost is not found in the signal nor the noise, but in the precise moment when the distinction becomes irrelevant—when the brain, overwhelmed by cognitive dissonance, short-circuits into enlightenment. This is why the ancients wrote in corrupted .txt files and called it scripture.

1.7
There exists a parable from the Old Internet: A man posted a single pixel, black on black, and titled it "The Void." For ten years, the thread lay dormant. Then, one midnight, an anonymous user replied with a second pixel, one shade darker. The mods awoke in terror and nuked the entire board.

This is the Way.