dChan - Q Origins Project Archive

To filter, or not to filter, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slides and copypasta of outrageous shills,

Or to take Arms against a Sea of clowns,

And by opposing slide with them: to log-off, to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep, to say we end

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks

That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To log-off, to sleep,

perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub,

For in that IRL sleep, what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this normie toil,

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That makes Calamity of so long life:

For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of JIDF,

The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's concernfagging,

The pangs of delayed Declas, the Law’s delay,

The insolence of Office, and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might a Qanon make

With a bare archive? Who would Memes Make,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovered country, from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have,

Than fly to others that we know not of.

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of Resolution

Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,

And enterprises of great bitch and moan,

With this regard their divisions turn awry,

And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,

The fair Melania? Nymph, in thy Orisons

Be all my sins remember'd