You “hackers” make me laugh. And when I say “hackers” I mean “cheaters” because that’s really all you’re doing. The real hackers were skilled software developers who would hack security systems and the like, not to cause damage but to highlight vulnerabilities. You guys cheat at a game - that’s all. Ok, that was your first free lesson.

So having established that you’re talentless wankers, let’s explore your idiocy at bit deeper. You say that you’re all naturally gifted players, able to fundamentally own anybody on any server with one hand tied behind your back (or more likely wrapped around your nubbed penises in a loose fist), and so you cheat “for fun”. You don’t need to cheat because you’re already so great, and have conquered the game like no man ever before you, but somehow making the game even easier (by cheating) miraculously makes the game (more fun). I can imagine you guys playing Monopoly and the game getting a bit boring:

“I know!” one of you would chirp up, last vestiges of a soggy SAO biscuit flying frop your lips “Let’s cheat!”. And then you’d reset the board, give each other all the money that’s in the bank and giggle like schoolgirls about how fun you’d made the game! I bet if you went go karting, you’d be so awesome that you’d have to make it all the more fun by making the “track” one big straight with no corners so you could “own” those lap times. “Hey, let’s play paintball, but instead of having any challenge whatsoever by having forts, obstacles and semi-darkness, let’s make it more fun by just standing there in an empty room with all the lights on taking pots shots at each others testicles!”. The object of any game is that you overcome the challenge with skill. Once you’ve done that, you move on to the next challenge. The analogy about taking vitamins as being the same as cheating is retarded. Effectively, what you idiots are claiming in the context of that analogy is that you’re already world class athletes at the top of your game, and have somehow made everything more fun by removing all the hard work. Like if you’d just become Mr Universe, you’d find it all the more fun to benchpress a broomstick with 2 feathers on the ends, or you’re an AFL footballer on a million dollar contract who’s invented a way to make AFL “more fun” by making the oval 10m in diameter, with goalposts 5km apart. “BWAAAAMP BWAAAAMP BWAAAAMP - wanker alarm sounding!”. There’s free lesson two out of the way.

So trawling further through the textual excrement in these posts, and then filtering through various spell checking software (I guess you guys naturally “rage hard” at spelling so well you run some moron-hacks to crap-o-rise your posts), I’ve gathered that your actual challenge (given that you’re more awesome that anyone else already) then becomes to try and piss other people off. Right, so instead of being good at the game being the source of your fun, the only enjoyment you gain is from the dissatisfaction you cause other people trying to play the game legitimately. The more people you’re pissing off, the more fun you guys are having, right? So, using your same analogy again, you rock up to the Mr Universe contest (which you’d pwn because you’re immesurably brilliant) and you benchpress your feathered broomstick. Then to make it more fun, you “rade hard” at the other competitors by trying to stab them in the faces with the samurai sword you got your mum to buy from e-bay! The fact that all the other competitors think you’re a wanker doesn’t register in your dullard brains, nor does the fact that the judges think you’re f**kwads and kick you out of the competition. All your primate intellects can muster is to bash your two functioning neurons together to form the thought that “we’s having fun lol!” and that’s really all you care about. Like the deadshit that pisses on a public toilet seat, or scrawls some lamer tag on a some grandmas front fence, haw hawing in asinine mirth at the though of her wasting her pension cheque on having it removed. You’re like the cretins that press their chewies into movie seats, and slash bus seats, and stick razor blades on waterslides, all because you get some kind of idiotic enjoyment about wrecking something for someone else. By all of society’s standards, you fail, regardless of what your your little self-created bretheren thinks of you. You can sit around and pat yourselves on the back all you want, give each other secret little handjobs table all you like, but by all sane measures, you guys are just stupid little children cheating at a game.

Your assertions of brilliance don’t work because they fail on any logical level as I have outlined above. You cheat because you’re crap, and because you like to annoy people. Because you measure success at how annoying you can be, and you want to try and deny any of that success to admins, you clain that their actions don’t annoy you at all. If they ban you, you claim that you hardly raised an eyebrow. You just dip into your magical bucket of endless BF2 keys and grab another one. Despite investing every gaming moment cheating, and creating websites to promote how great you are at it, you defy logic by then claiming that cheating and games isn’t the focus of your life because you own corporations already, and have all the money you could ever want. You occasionally leave your mansion to travel the world, and when you’ve finished gazing on the pyramids, no doubt convincing yourself that you could have done it better and then had more fun doing it by making instead a small wooden square the size of a matchbox, or having seen the sun set from the summit of Mount Everest thinking you could have “raged hard” against all the other climbers by instead ascending the withered nub of gristle that is your own mother’s wizened nipple, you return home once again, to fit the missing piece of your life’s jiqsaw into place - cheating at an online game. Against all critisisms that it all seems a bit far-retched and lame, you simply disengage the clutch on your one speed cranial gearbox and start trying to loft textual tomatoes at anyone not on your side. “Yeah but I own companies, I bet you’re just a cubicle jockey!” flies from your stubby fingers as they mash your hackster keyboard. Soon soon for you, and not soon enough for everyone else, these verbal stabs, carrying all the weight of popped corn fly back into your pudgy little faces, labia-pink at the thought that your awesomeness is in question, your own sanity only kept in check by the baby’s blankie of your own inept ignorance you’ve managed to wrap around your own delusions. You’re lot l337, you’re not awesome, you just a pack of stupid f**kmuffins chewed up and spat into the urinal tray of life by people who defy your “wrecking the game if fun” idiocy and who devote their spare time to making the game more fun for the overwhwlming majorify who correctly believe that cheating is lame. That’s the hatrick! Lesson three free for you!