I met 40oz irl

I saw 40oz in real life.

I was late to an appointment with a law firm that I almost totally forgot about. I wanted to discuss a complaint I filed about doomworld back in 2016 and wanted to see if I had any legal leverage to shut the website down. They kept telling me no, but after calling them 38 times, they agreed to set up an appointment 6 years later, which happened to be earlier this week. My car was out of commission so I had to order a Lyft.

My driver arrived, and I got in and he started driving. He asked if I wanted music or no music. "Music is fine" I said. He furrowed his eyebrows "I don't like music" he said. Then he asked if I liked audio books. I was perturbed, but I answered. "It depends."

Without further questioning, my driver proceeded to orate Jordan Peterson's famous novel "12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos" starting from the publishing information on the first page. At first I chuckled, and continued laughing to myself as he recited the table of contents from memory and then later into the opening paragraph. It was silly but when he kept going I was a bit annoyed. I don't really need Jordan Peterson's common sense life coaching right now, I was already on my way to accomplish something fantastic -- to destroy doomworld once and for all. The driver would not stop even though I acknowledged his joke. I told him "Okay yeah I get it" but to no avail. He continued uninterrupted. I was confused, but the anxiety set in. I felt the air getting thinner, and the odor of dirty laundry fuming from his febreeze car fresheners. I found his continued reading to be so repulsive that I asked him to stop over and over but he persisted, unflinching, as if he could not hear me at all. I held back coughing as the air got thinner and thinner and my blood stood still. Under my eyelids, i saw flashes of my bedroom being disheveled. CLEAN YOUR ROOM I kept hearing the words ping-ponging in my head, in the distant echoes of Jordan Peterson's kermit the frog voice.

Still a great distance from my destination, I was conflicted between an emergency evacuation, or sitting still and surviving this $26 car ride from hell. The decision was no contest, I gripped the door handle, strangled it with all my might, and opened the door of the moving vehicle, and tumbled violently out on curb into a broken tequila bottle, gasping in relief.

I brushed the broken glass shards and taco bell wrappers off my jacket. I was free but also stranded. I was in a long forgotten rampart of west Philadelphia outside of a liquor store. The neon sign flickering "24 hours" in the window. And to the right was a dumpster with some poor fellow rummaging inside. His hair was all greasy and knotted. His filthy hands, black as coal were both clammy, and cracked. He had the names of classic megawads like "Alien Vendetta" "Requiem" and "Scythe 2" tattooed on his face. He was shoveling fervently through the refuse until eventually excavating a styrofoam box filler, half coated in moldy tomato sauce. He inspected it from multiple angles and grinned ear to ear. His shoulders were hunched forward, legs crouched, and head twitching sideways as if to itch his ear with his shoulder. I didn't recognize him, but I heard him muttering to himself which piqued my interest.

hmm hmmhuh UH YES the colors, hmmunuh this could be a map. hmmunuh And so COULD this!

He shoved his hand into his old rucksack. When he yanked his hand out of the bag, it was now dripping, covered in yellow mustard. He coated the other half of the styrofoam with the yellow mustard and danced in his filth.

NYEE HA HA YES! Red and Yellow! Red and Yellow it's never been done before! No one has played a red and yellow Doom map! Its my idea! its mine! all mine! HEE HOOHOO HA

He spun in circles holding the styrofoam up towards the sun, the old condiments dripping on to the bridge of his nose. But then he froze when he saw me. I also froze as we locked eyes. We stood still and suddenly the hustle and bustle of the city fell silent. His eyes glowed yellow, and he hissed and then dissappeared like a cat into the shadows of the alley.

I don't remember how I got home that day. I never did talk to that law firm. I just get a busy tone when I dial their number now.

Anyway, I was shocked to know the real truth about 40oz. He thinks he's like some kind of public servant for the doom community. He looks so professional when he's working on the doomer boards projects, but his doomer boards posts are all just words on a page. The real 40oz is a smelly, depraved, desperate maniac with a droopy bottom. He's so confident that he will always have ideas for new doom maps and projects, but to what end? He's completely lost his marbles. But all I see is that hideous freak whenever I look in the mirror anymore.