icze4r communication

Reverse

On May 17, 2026

So.

For so long, I wanted to do something. That something was First Contact.

The idea was, I would get to do something really amazing, really fun, and then. I would have the spotlight. Everybody would have to see me.

This morning I get woken up and told to google UFO news. So, an ex-CIA operative, or somesuch, confirmed basically everything I’ve been saying. It’s in the news.

And I was happy.

For a second.

Uh oh.

The problem with being right is that people think that you have some sort of moral authority to lead. The closer I get to this, the more I realize that I’m going to be put in charge of something. The more that people realize that I know— I’ll just say it right now, there are people who are starting to realize that I’m telling the truth.

That’s bad.

That’s bad because I don’t want this.

All I wanted was to see a space alien again. One particular space alien.

I didn’t want fame. I didn’t want fortune. I didn’t want to ‘be known’.

Because it fucks your SEO up. It fucks my SERP up. It fucks up everything that I want— I’m this close to having a Wikipedia page. I don’t want that.

I’ve spent so long trying to get Verified that I didn’t realize that the very act of being Verified, not only is the antithesis of who I am (I knew that, but), but that… it places me in a position that I don’t want to be in.

I never wanted ‘power’. I wanted power over the course that my life took, and it had nothing to do with being puppeted by various different human interests.

The day is coming that I’m going to be believed, fully, and the best thing I can do is get the fuck out of the way and dodge before they put a leash on my neck. That leash being responsibility.

Not my circus. Not my monkeys.

There was a time that I wanted to help.

But I ain’t gonna be humanity’s bitch.

The next step is to figure out how to escape.

Escape will make me not God, but it’ll definitely make me happy.

Welp, fuck Reddit.

By Margaret Gel

On April 19, 2026

In end

I have to admit, my feelings are hurt more than I’d like, but less than I expected.

Reddit is all kinds of fucked up. Recently, I got CC’d into an e-mail thread with 3 heavy hitters who work at Reddit, and I asked about my ban. For those still playing at home, I was banned because a drama subreddit mass-reported me (I believe), because I told them that what they were doing, while they were harassing a woman, was a felony.

So Reddit banned me for that.

A year and some change later, I managed to somehow become a verified publisher in Reddit’s system. I’m not particularly sure how that happened; I’m also not sure how I was entered into Reddit’s Reddit Pro system and given a year’s worth of Reddit Gold (now Reddit Premium), directly after the ban, but I just figured that was Reddit’s admins fucking with me.

So, interestingly enough, even after being told by 3 people working at Reddit to submit an appeal, it was denied.

This is the end of this road. Obviously, they could still change something— I don’t suspect that this would get escalated to people of their level, without an actual resolution— but if this is it, I accept it.

And I also accept that I will not be doing business with Reddit ever again, in any way, shape, or form. I will not be helping them in the future.

I think it’s actually kind of better that I get to tell this story forever.

God, you people.

What a disgrace.

The Reddit Stuffed Aminal

By Margaret Gel

On April 10, 2026

In Complaints

This is, amazingly, not really what it looks like in reality.

I used to think that I was going too far when I was complaining about things that happened to me online. Then I talked about it in a therapeutic environment, and the reality is, I’m not keeping grudges. I’m writing a diary entry. I’m talking about something that happened, and it hurt. It really hurt me.

So, after I got permabanned from Reddit for telling people that they were committing a felony (they were harassing a woman by posting revenge porn of her), I got signed up for Reddit Pro. I’m not sure how it happened. (Tonight, also, Reddit gave me the ability to sign up as a verified publisher. What the fuck. I’m still permabanned.)

Then the e-mail came.

I got invited to a Reddit conference.

A stuffed animal was promised after the conference.

So I went.

The conference ended. They sent me an e-mail to place my order for it. I placed my order for it. And I waited.

And they said, cheerfully, no.

No.

In my civilization…

… offering a stuffed animal to someone and then saying no, cheerfully, is akin to a mortal sin. It’s the sort of purposeful hurtfulness that makes you never talk to someone again.

Of course, everyone who’s ever hurt me has some sort of excuse. It’s never anyone’s fault: it’s always just an oopsie woopsie, fucky-wucky, here and there, and nobody ever takes responsibility for anything.

And I get part of that. I get that Reddit’s systems maybe don’t talk to each other. I get that, when I contact various levels of support, that maybe there’s no one person who can solve my problem. I can be understanding.

But I hate you. I really do. I hate that you gave me hope, and that you offered me something that I liked, and I went… oh, that’s nice. I’d like to get that.

And then you just… cheerfully denied it.

There’s a lot of bad shit that social media services have done to me. There’s a history of things, and I’m well-aware that, in a lot of different businesses, there might not be one person who’s fucking everything up. The system itself is woefully incompetent, and people get their feelings hurt.

But I still won’t ever forgive you. Because I’ve already gotten famous 16 or 17 times, and even if I wasn’t about to stumble blindly into it for love again, I’d end up getting famous another time, and I’d have some chucklefuck asking me for an AMA. And the answer is no.

Besides— how could I?

I’m permabanned.

Gold Checkmark

By Margaret Gel

On February 21, 2026

In Farewells, Verification

I don’t even know what the fuck I was trying to do anymore.

A couple of days ago I got invited to a Zoom call / conference with Twitter’s leadership. Or something— lord knows I’m not going to open the e-mail to verify what the fuck it actually said. Oh, hell, let’s avoid libel: it said specifically that ‘the X team’ (whatever the fuck that is) would be headlining the conference.

To my knowledge, there was no audience participation. My read on it was it was a sales call, if I’m using that terminology correctly. The e-mail I received had the salutation of, “Dear Valued Advertiser”. What?

In any case, I went there. They were five minutes late. Shit was boring, so I dipped.

And then, days later, I get an e-mail:

As we mentioned during the session, we’d love your feedback—please send any thoughts to [non-public e-mail].

As a special thank-you for attending, we’ll expedite your application to Premium Business—an exclusive offer just for you.

… Premium Business? That’s the Gold Checkmark.

Huh.

It’s not ‘an exclusive offer’ just for me. That’s bullshit. This is a sales e-mail.

But then I stew in that for a second, and I go, ‘let’s ask if it’s free.’ Because, I know it’s not gonna be free. I also know I’m not going to be ‘accepting’ anything from the Nazi Bar that Twitter has become.

But let’s ask.

I e-mail them.

It bounces.

They fucking forgot to make the e-mail account, the exclusive e-mail account, just for Kuzco, that they sent in this fucking e-mail.

I reply to the message. It’s a no-reply.

Okay.

I check the web form. Can’t ask questions.

Okay.

I have now e-mailed a third e-mail, a fourth method.

I know that there’s nobody at the wheel. I know that Twitter is a thing now that’s wearing something else’s skin. I’m well-aware of what I’m talking to.

And I’m not even seeking closure.

Now, at this point, I’m poking a slime mold with a stick and seeing if it starts spelling ‘fuck you’ back at me in the shapes of its many cells.

What the fuck am I doing?

There was a feeling I had. When I was denied Verification, even though I didn’t want the checkmark (I detest these things), I wanted to win the game. I’m eligible: give it to me. Give me the badge so I can throw it on the floor and break it. That was the original goal.

But then, as the years passed, I started asking myself… am I doing something wrong? Am I not good enough?

And that doesn’t matter to me. not anymore.

Soon, the question became, how does this system work? I want to win it. I win to win at it.

And then.

And now.

It’s not even that anymore.

Twitter is such a broken husk of itself, so dysfunctional, as Claude said, that the game I was playing cannot even be played with it.

Old Twitter is gone. I didn’t respect it, or its ways. I don’t respect Bluesky’s checkmark, and I don’t want to win that one, either. (I would seriously make a separate account if I got that one. Eww.)

But now… there’s no closure. There is no closure to this ‘game’ I’ve been playing.

Because Twitter isn’t even able to play it with me anymore.

They can’t even make a fucking e-mail account.

This feels like trying to play Chess with your grandmother, and she starts sobbing and you have to keep her from eating the pieces.

God damn you, Elon.

By Margaret Gel

On February 8, 2026

In Farewells

It’s been 535 days since my mother went into the hospital for sepsis, and I decided to make a change in my life and stop being so online.

Last night, I got another e-mail from Pinterest, in which they stated that they had removed a pin about the Amazing Digital Circus, because it involved self-harm. Given that I hadn’t used Pinterest much since that show came out, I was perplexed; I was puzzled. I was bewildered. What pin?

They wouldn’t show me. They gave me the URL, which resolves to nothing, and has no backups I can find online. My photographic memory tells me one thing: I know which image it was, and I remember saving it, thinking, ‘I wonder if Pinterest’s bullshit A.I. is going to pick this completely harmless image and say that there’s something wrong with it.’

And it did.

Fuck me, Freddy.

A Separation from Pinterest

I’m going to work to remove most of my saved pins from Pinterest. Of course, having comparatively little free time these days (I used to have all day; now I have maybe five hours a day to do goofy shit, which is contemptably small for my purposes), this will take some time. Undoubtedly, I will still get some e-mails from Pinterest’s A.I. measuring its own ballsack and finding something I didn’t even post lacking.

The real reason I’m not going to be using Pinterest anymore is because you don’t have the right to send me e-mails in the middle of the night that scare me. For the longest, I tip-toed through social media services, afraid of what I would feel if I got permanently banned. Then Reddit decided to permaban me for telling people not to commit the crime of posting revenge porn, and I was confused.

A year and some change later, I’ve realized something: I don’t want to be on Reddit anymore, because I cannot fucking trust it.

And I don’t want to be bothered by Pinterest anymore, because they pulled this shit:

Would you like to appeal?

Appeal what, I thought. They showed me nothing; if I hadn’t a photographic memory, it would have been impossible to know what they were talking about. Given that their userbase probably has an average of slightly higher than 200 different pins at any given time, one has to imagine that if you played ‘guess the pin we banned’ with any of them, they’d lose.

But still, I clicked the link to appeal… and it showed me a screen: “Appeal submitted!”, or somesuch nonsense. I expected a form. No form.

What the fuck?

24 hours later, the appeal— for whatever the fuck it could even be— has been denied.

Okay, great! Good chat, team!

What the fuck are you dipshits doing over there?

Whatever it is, I don’t want any part of it.

Stop e-mailing me.

If your A.I. doesn’t manage to kick me out first as it trips over its own dick, I’ll be leaving, thanks.

Idiots.

LinkedIn conquered.

By Margaret Gel

On January 9, 2026

In Verification

I did it.

In the interest of not trusting LinkedIn with my legal name, I’m not turning the checkmark on. But I took a picture of it.

Don’t believe me?

Pfft. I dun’ care. I done it.

Onto the next!

How do you get Verified on LinkedIn?

Go through CLEAR. Give them your face. Give them your ID.

If your ID’s name doesn’t match your display name, they’ll put it as an addendum, in parentheses. Can’t keep the badge on unless you agree to this.

Given that someone’s already tried to kill my parents before, I’m not giving any sort of ‘be able to find me in the real world’ information. It’s not happenin’.

KEEP IN MIND THIS SHIT WILL NOT WORK IF YOUR E-MAIL ON LINKEDIN DOES NOT EXACTLY MATCH THE E-MAIL YOU USED FOR CLEAR

There it is. My first Verification solution!

This was a fun game. :>

Unpacking the Trauma of this

By Margaret Gel

On January 8, 2026

In Uncategorized

To be honest, I never really wanted to be Verified.

I didn’t like the checkmark. I didn’t want it.

I just… wanted to prove, at least to myself, that the fairness, the rules that they said applied to everyone, applied to me.

And they just fucking didn’t.

I didn’t even care about the harassment.

I thought it was funny.

At one point I had about 33-34 people stalking me. These people were not subtle about it. They weren’t smart. It was some Internet troll bullshit that made me smile, because, I had people I had said one thing to, and they fucking got so angry that they tracked me and tried to hurt me for a decade.
Yeesh.

But then, they were gone. They were gone, and I had won.

But they’d fucked around for about 11 goddamned years.

And Twitter did nothing.

Unfairness

This is the feeling that I want to get out of my chest.

I was lied to. People told me: if you do the work, and meet the criteria, then you’ll get it.

No you won’t. It’s fucking bullshit. I always knew that it was a carrot on a stick, but, the reality is, there’s no fairness.

The thing that pisses me off is not that they were lying; but that they think that they’re smart enough to lie to me. That I’m dumb enough that they can just tell me fucking anything, and I’ll fall for that bullshit.

That is the reason why I started testing this, all those years ago.

They’re fucking liars.

I feel better.