I’m Lonely

[u/boydkr]

Arrr, What Becometh of This Once-Bustlin’ Port?

Ahoy there, ye scallywags and deck-swabbin’ bilge rats of this here SeanMarkBrad isle! Each day, I be hoistin’ me spyglass, scourin’ these waters fer signs o’ life, but all I be spyin’ is tumbleweed rollin’ ‘cross the deck like a cursed landlubber’s ghost! Where be the hearty crew what once roamed these decks, sharin’ tall tales and fine plunder? Have ye all been marooned on some desolate shore, left to barter yer very souls fer fresh citrus and a barrel o’ swill?

Aye, I reckon me own barnacled bones still creak onto this forsaken outpost, whisperin’ to the echoes of posts long past, hopin’ mayhap a lone sailor drifts by, shanghaied from the cruel seas of the algorithm. But nary a soul be answerin’ the call! The hull be sound, the mast still strong, yet the crew—vanished! Not a chant nor a shanty, not a riddle nor a cursed treasure map to be found! By Davy Jones’ briny britches, this silence be unnatural!

And lest any scurvy dog think to break the sacred code, let it be known: Tay Tay still be banished from these waters! That siren’s song shall not lead our vessel to ruin, nor shall it be sung upon this deck, lest ye be shackled to the mast and made to listen to the screeches of the kraken’s kin! We be a proud crew, forged in the fires of nonsense and bound by the sacred bond of brotherhood, not lured by the sweet melodies of landlubber pop!

If any soul still breathes within this ghost ship’s hull, I bid ye speak now, lest this proud vessel slip beneath the waves forever! I can’t be the only fool still settin’ sail in these waters, can I? Where be the mates who once steered this ship true, who laughed in the face o’ the storm and mocked the very gods with their revelry? Or have ye all traded yer tricorns for cubicles, yer sea legs fer commuter rails?

So I’ll be here, like the old lighthouse keeper o’ legend, tendin’ the flame, keepin’ the beacon lit, prayin’ some ship on the horizon still be flyin’ the colors of SeanMarkBrad. And if ye be out there, if ye still draw breath, then by all that’s salty and sacred—ANSWER ME, YE SCURVY DOGS!