PorkyThePaladin was everything a man should be and had everything one would want: women, wealth, power, much like Richard Cory without suicidal depression. He had become the CEO of an international megacorporation before his thirties and had more assets than the Rockefellers and Kennedys combined. The business produced billions, a lion's share of which filled his pockets, and plenty extra income was generated by his romantic interests. Indeed, while some rich men bought sex, women literally paid Porky to fuck them as he was that good at literally everything.
He strode across his gilded room, stepping over dozens of spent women - the result of but a single hour of passion, for he was strong and potent enough to satisfy hundreds before the night was through - and walked on over to his greatest possession. It was a statue of gold and silver, protected by a jeweled case, inscribed with the following: "The Bestest Witcher 3 Player Ever." This award made him the source of objective truth and accurate judgements regarding every single aspect of game. He stroked the expensive glass case and gasped - suddenly, he was quite ready to go again. A woman reached for him and he was about to take her hand, when...
"YOU HAVE ONE NEW ALERT ON THE WEBSITE AR-PEE-GEE CODEX," blared an AI notification system Porky designed and built himself.
He sighed and turned to cross the flesh-filled room to his massive supercomputer. The woman that desired him produced a dissatisfied moan, so he knocked the bitch the fuck out. Stupid slut. Anyway, went on his computer and saw that which he came to expect: yet another reply from this "Lithium Flower" faggot.
Fucking. Pathetic.
Porky's eyes ran through the post. It was mostly some dumb shit or whatever, so he ignored all of the text - why would he take the time out of his day to read things? His intelligence transcended the very act. Then, his eyes came across a visual component of the post in the form of an embedded video. Curious, gave a mental command to start video playback and the machine complied.
But it was a folly! For the Dark Lord Sawyer has inflicted Porky with the Curse of Balance. To balance out Porky's God-tier abilities, a seizure devil struck him whenever he was to argue about Witcher 3 on the internet. When possessed by the seizure devil, Porky became blind, deaf, and terminally autistic. Indeed, it was only when Porky was possessed in such way that he was ever wrong about anything.
The devil tricked Porky's eyes, for instead of what was clearly a missed attack, he saw the Drowner's claws connected with Geralt's back. The devil then tricked his ears, and instead of the typical sounds of battle he heard the distinctive sound of a Quen resisting an attack but not breaking. Finally, the devil tricked his mind, and like a drooling retard he typed out the following response:
You might need new glasses, my dude. Do you see that shiny glassy thing around Geralt? That is called Quen. As the fight goes on, he gets repeatedly hit, and only the Quen shield prevents him from taking heavy damage. Now, some people, like myself, prefer not to use Quen, because it is one of the bad things about W3 combat. You can essentially spam it to absorb all damage and remove all skill from the system. So obviously you can use heavy attacks while you have Quen on yourself, since then you don't need to dodge or move or anything. You could just stand in front of the drowner and exchange blows Morrowind style. For those of us who actually rely on skillz and movement, heavy attack is inherently pretty useless.
Within seconds a response from Lithium Flower came, for he had no life:
Yep! I fucking knew you were going to blame Quen! Nevermind the fact that his Quen broke like, what, four times and he performed SIXTEEN heavy attacks (which is a proof of the player's lack of skill more than Quen's power, nevermind the fact that he only started taking damage when he overextended with his whirl like a retard.) So he got off a dozen attacks relying on dodges and footwork alone, but he used Quen a couple of times so this example doesn't count.
Porky smiled as he produced his response. As a true enlightened alt-center classical liberal superskeptic, he demanded that Lithium question his so-called """"facts"""":
And how do you know that he hasn't leveled up his Quen and/or used Quen enhancing equipment? If he did, a single quen could take a ridiculous amount of damage, invalidating your whole argument.
When it came, Lithium's reply shocked Porky. With its stupidity.
...because his broke after a single hit?
Lithium was
LYING. Porky knew what he saw. He the claws rake Geralt's back so vividly that he could almost hear them scrape against the magical protection of Quen in real life.
Porky's riposte was merciless, exposing Lithium's
LIE.
Then, Porky waited, while sating his appetites with the most expensive wine in the world and the cheapest women in the country. He waited for an hour, then two.
There was no reply.
Heh. He really taught that kid what's what.
---
The night was chilly for August, but it didn't bother Lithium Flower, as his mother's basement was well insulated. He sat up like a gargoyle on his computer chair, which strained to accommodate his massive bulk, composed of much fat and practically zero muscle. A horrible smell sagged heavily in the air, much like the adult diaper that Lithium Flower was wearing. They were full, sure, but his mommy was out on some errand and he was in the middle of doing something far more interesting himself: arguing with someone on the internet.
Lithium was the very opposite of Porky. Despite both being over the age of eighteen, the former was a jobless virgin while the latter the closest thing humanity had come to a God.
He was, as he called it, "doing cardio" - watching interracial gay midget cuckold porn - when the a tiny red flag appeared above the "Alerts" tab on his second monitor (he was always logged into Codex, like all of the world's losers.) He was so out of breath that the rush of adrenaline he felt knowing that someone on the internet had responded to him had almost caused his heart to burst. The first thing he thought of after waking up from his heart attack were chicken tenders. The next was the notification he received.
When his fat, greasy fingers finally managed to grab the hold of his thoroughly abused mouse, he clicked on the latest alert.
Porky, the unrequited love of his life, had finally answered him:
You should stop lying so blatantly when it's so easy to prove you wrong. Go to 0:48 in your video. Immobile Geralt gets hit from the back and has the Quen on before AND after the attack. Try again.
After coming to from another heart attack, Lithium screeched so hard his piss jugs shattered
"THAT FUCKING DOES IT!!" he raged, "I-I will show him that I am right, ech!"
And so he did! He reproduced the act of dodging a drowner's attack with Geralt's heavy attacks, not once but twice, before a failed attempt spelt his death. The video was quickly compressed in the shittiest resolution possible because Lithium is a fucking retard, fuck, what format do I even put in the Windows Movie Maker if I record at 1280x1024 resolution? and uploaded the video:
He re-watched his own video over and over again until he was dizzy. Tired and satisfied, he chortled, sending putrid saliva everywhere. After posting the video, he sent a private message to his alternate account:
"Hey
D_X I would appreciate it if you could reproduce this in the vanilla game, just so that I can prove this definitively. I have the softlock disabled, if that matters. Seems like it would be easy enough to do, but I understand if you don't give a fuck about this dumb argument anymore," he typed.
After sending the message, he wondered why he was sending PMs to himself. Then he remembered that he had schizophrenia.
Great thumps were suddenly heard, so great that the house's foundation shook. His mother, herself the size of a barn, had descended the stairs to the basement. She delivered her son a plate of chicken tenders and quickly looked away, as she could not bear watching her child eat.
"Please, God, let me fucking outlive him," she mumbled as she left.