June 26, 2012 at 1 PM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

I wake up to the sound of war.

My cell phone rings so seldom that I don't recognize the sound at first, but as soon as it registers, I already know what happened. This number is unlisted and private, and although Mom and Dad both call me every day to check up on me, they never call me on my cell or at this time of day. That only leaves one viable alternative: shots have been fired and the stalemate has finally been broken. I pull the blanket away from my head and squint into the sunlight as I grab the phone off of the bedside table and check the caller ID. Sure enough, a cartoon Bacca is gazing up at me, his cute little furry face breaking into a cheerful smile. If that thumbnail was any farther from the truth right now, it would be outside of my render distance. I answer the phone and he is already talking before I can make a sound.

"Get your ass outta bed and get on Skype. Use your old account, not the new one. If I don't get to sleep, none o' you lazy bastards get to sleep, either." He abruptly hangs up and I stare down at the screen, the time stamp saying that it had only been a four second call.

'He must really mean business today. I wonder what ruffled his fur so much.' A soft groan forces its way out of my mouth and I quickly throw the covers off, wrinkling my nose at the bright afternoon sunlight seeping in between the blinds. I miss my first apartment, with the black, lightproof curtains and my computer setup six feet away from my bed, a cheap mini-fridge tucked away next to the desk with all of my textbooks stacked on top of it. With the first genuine yawn I have had in days, I slip into the nearest pair of pants and shrug on my hoodie as I stumble into the kitchen to grab a cup of the coffee left over from early this morning. The taste of stale, cold, twelve-hour-old black coffee is enough to make anyone want to go back to sleep. With the last of my willpower, I crawl into my dark office and boot up Procyon, putting in my left ear bud with one hand while the other absent-mindedly tries to force my hair to look presentable. That was a battle lost long ago.

"Took you fuckin' long enough. I wish I could afford to run on Mitch Time." He looks beyond furious, his eyebrows knitted together in an almost comedic scowl and his eyes flashing dangerously while he types something on another monitor. A livid Jerome is a terrifying and bewildering creature.

"What went down?"

"The whole goddamn world. You wouldn't believe this shit. They must really think they're something if they think they can get away with pulling a stunt like this." He pounds on his keyboard a few seconds longer before he folds his arms on his desk and puts his head down on them, his hair standing up more on the left side from him running his hand through it repeatedly. He looks so exhausted and exasperated, but he is far from defeated. Whoever incited the wrath of the Bacca must be big enough to put up quite a struggle; I've never seen him this stressed and flustered before.

"You're going to have to start from the beginning. I have no idea what's going on."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot you're one of the lucky ones who get to blink and miss shit like this. Forgive me for not bowing down a little sooner."

"Jerome, I'm not your enemy here. I'm only trying to help." He gives a big, breathy sigh and turns his head to look up at the screen, one dark, shark-like eye studying my face.

"You're on your Mac, right?" I nod uncertainly as he raises his head up from his arms and leans back in his chair, his right hand scratching at the stubble on his cheek. "Good. Turn it so I can see your other computer and put your phone on the table. If this shit gets out, I'll nuke you off the face of the Earth, too. Got it?" He wants to keep me from doing anything or having contact with anyone until everything settles down, but he's willing to risk me having recording equipment turned on right next to me? That level of carelessness is unheard of in his case, and it feels like his resolve to keep me at a distance is finally beginning to erode. On the other hand, why does he suspect me in the first place?

"If that's what it takes for you to trust me, so be it." I comply with his request and place my phone screen-side up in front of the computer, crossing my arms on top of the desk so he can see my hands at all times. Although I can't blame him for being cautious, his suspicion hurts me. I feel like Light Yagami, surrounded by cameras watching my every move and shinigamis whispering secrets about the underworld.

"Come on now. We aren't little kids playin' coppers here. Let me see your phone." I keep the phone flat on the desk and type in my PIN, then I hold it up to the camera so he can see the screen. His eyes narrow to check to see if I have anyone in a call or a recording app open. When his doubt is satisfied, I set the phone back down on the desk and allow it to lock itself, hopefully preventing any further mistrust.

"Are you happy now?"

"As happy as I'm ever gonna be in a situation like this. I'm tellin' you, this shit sucks." He covers his face with his hands for a moment before he grips the arms of his chair and continues speaking, his eyes looking at me on the monitor but not actually seeing me. "So here's what happened on the last episode of Dragonball Z: Seto was hanging off the edge of Crafter's Peak, seconds away from falling, and he used the last ounce of his strength to unleash his hidden power – the infamous supersonic wail. Crying like a small child, he was able to use his hysterics to bend Deady Dearest's ear and get him to change his vote, but was it enough to save him? Alas, 'tis not! To counter the powerful attack and to put an end to Seto's sorcery, the one and only BenjaCanada opened his colossal mouth and went full fucking Super Saiyan, launching into an uncontrollable rant at the speed of light before slamming his big, dumb, greasy, Cheeto-dust-covered hand down on the mouse and removing the still-wailing villain from the Skype call!

"But it was too late and the sorcerer's stone was too powerful! Under the control of Seto's mighty spell, all but one of our heroes has turned their weapons against Benja and they're preparing to strike! Will Jerome, his poor, dim-witted, sleep-deprived sidekick, be able to restore balance to the force in time, or is this the end of the line for our heroes? Tune in next time to see if the Bac can carry his friend's stupid, battered, flaccid body outta the reach of the flames before the Fire Nation can have deep-fried scapegoat for dinner!"

"Nicely done. I rate that."

"You like that? It's a shame they won't renew my contract for a second season. Coulda been somethin' real special." He goes back to typing on his other monitor, the sides of his mouth slowly curling up in a smirk. Either someone just cracked a hilarious joke, or their YouTube career is now teetering precariously on a very, very fine line.

"Are they on the move, or are they still coming up with a battle plan?"

"Oh, no. They've already struck. The little worm self-destructed like a fucking shiny Electrode with stars and sparks and the whole she-bang. I didn't think he had the guts. He sold his soul and half his furniture to pay a couple of his hacker friends to do as much damage as they could, then he just got up and walked away from YouTube. He knew it was over, so he decided to try to take a nice, meaty chunk outta us before he went. Now Crafted's all up in arms about Mitch's verbal diarrhea and they're coming up with all kinds of ludicrous shit to turn everyone else against us, too. All this happened yesterday, but now the bombs are droppin' and it's turning into fuckin' Christmas at Ground Zero. I swear that song's gonna be my ringtone for Mitch by the end of the week."

"What did they do? Was it something your squad can't fix?" At this point, Jerome just looks glum, his eyes unfocused as he stares blankly at the computer screen while he tells his tale. This moment of reflection is probably the most rest he has gotten in days.

"They did something so pathetic and so shitty that even I never woulda stooped that low: they hacked into Mitch's e-mail and bank account and emptied everything out, then mass-posted his phone number and home address all over everything. Paul and the rest of the guys are still cleanin' it up, but Mitch already packed up everything worth saving and he's chillin' like the dumbass villain he is at a motel until he can find a new pad. There's no way he could stay at his place with all these fuckin' lunatics ranting and raving and foaming at the mouth about how he used and betrayed Crafted and everyone else who ever lived. Plus, this little show is attracting the attention of every troll and psychopath who's ever been on YouTube or Reddit or 4chan. You know, you never realize how fuckin' scary it is to have a fan base until you see people lurking around in front o' your apartment building with their hoods pulled up. And these aren't kids – they're full-grown fuckin' adults."

"He can stay here if he needs to. It might not be 'Le Magnifique Château de Mitchell,' but at least I have security guards downstairs in the lobby and an alarm system. What is he living on right now if he has no money left?"

"Me. He's always living off me. Bad thing is, I don't make anywhere near as much money as Mitch and I already shelled out my rent this month. And let's be honest here: I might need to waste all my savings to end this little shitstorm. As much as I hate to ask you to do this, I might hafta dump him off on you until we get somethin' better worked out." He looks infinitesimally calmer now, his forehead still crinkled in aggravation as he turns and quickly types something on the other screen. "Not to be pushy, but it'd be good to do that as soon as possible. It's fuckin' scary out there. Do you mind if I e-mail him and set it up?"

"Sure, go ahead. I trust you." He gives a snort of laughter and bobs his head as he types, the beginnings of a genuine grin fighting off his grimace.

"You're a funny guy, Woof. Trust. Heh."

"Am I supposed to go pick him up, or do you not have enough faith in me to let me out of your line of sight?" He shakes his head emphatically and finishes the e-mail before he speaks.

"Your sweet little ass isn't leaving that chair until Mitch rings your doorbell. I'll tell you the plan in a second, but this's just the tip of the iceberg. I almost said 'dick,' but that'd mean I let 'em screw us over and Notch knows that ain't gonna happen." He reaches out of the frame and grabs a can of coffee-flavored Monster and shakes it up before downing nearly the entire can. "We're working on day three with no sleep. I swear, pretty soon I'm gonna start hearing voices and seeing Endermen or some shit."

"What was that plan you were talking about?"

"Oh, yeah. Almost spaced it out. So he still has people watching him, and you know by now that someone somewhere has his license plate number smeared all over the interwebs. That makes his car too easy to follow so we won't be using that one, and we don't want them to be able to track him down with your plate number, either. That'd just put you in danger, too. Call me a softy but I don't wanna put you in harm's way just because you're so nice you're stupid.

"So he's over there throwin' everything back in his car and getting ready to take off, and I'm just gonna sit here and hope some psycho motherfucker didn't put a bomb in his car. I'll call up a tow truck in a minute and have 'em drag Mitch's car over to a mechanic to get his oil changed or whatever the fuck they can find wrong with it, and they can just keep it there until we figure out what to do with it. At least we'll know where it's at and someone'll be watching it for us. Then he's gonna grab a cab and take a little loop-de-loop ride with all his shit in the trunk for however long he thinks it'll take, and they'll drop him off at your place when he gets done. Deal?"

"Sounds gucci. Do you have enough to cover it?" He snorts and pulls out his phone, dialing a number he just pulled up on his third monitor.

"That's a good one, Woof. Actin' like you have enough to float my boat. Half the time you're barely floating yourself. Don't worry 'bout it." While he talks to the towing company on the phone and gives them the address to Mitch's motel, I silently click on Preston's name on Skype and open up a chat window. As risky as this may be, he is likely in more danger than I am right now. I check to make sure the Bacca is still distracted before I begin typing, slowly and carefully, my eyes never leaving Jerome's face on the main window:

Think before you speak and don't trust anyone. If you say the wrong thing, there's nothing I can do to help you.

I have never been more grateful for Procy's soundless, luminescent keyboard, and I feel a sudden surge of affection for the cute little laptop. I finish writing long before the Bacca ends his phone call, and I force myself to drink the rest of my putrid coffee to keep him from getting suspicious of my silence and lack of movement. At this rate, I'll need every drop of caffeine I can get to stay awake for the rest of the show.

"Well, turns out that was a much better plan than I thought it was. Mitch e-mailed me and he said someone slashed all four of his tires since this morning, so now we have a legitimate excuse to lodge his car at the shop for an eternity and a half. Between needing new plates and tires, Bessie's gonna be havin' one hell of a vacation."

"Maybe between the three of us, we can pool together enough on the first of the month to bail it out. You would have to take the plates off of it and tow it all through the city again, yeah?"

"Probably. This stalkin' shit ain't cheap, that's for sure. Anyway, back to the main plot. Wait until you hear what else they got. You might wanna grab a water bottle or something because you're about to piss yourself."

----------------

June 26, 2012 at 10 AM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston

"Gosh dang it, Kenny! I told you I'd be back on at four!" I take one last look at my nice, hot slice of pizza and put it back on the plate and pause my show. I wanted to finish the last few episodes of 'Bleach' before they got any more spoiled by the internet but he just has to go kill noobs right freaking now! I walk over to the computer and get ready to start cussing him out when I see it isn't even him calling. It's someone called LeetFire who I've never even heard of, and their avatar is a black Creeper with its mouth twisted into a smile and glowing red eyes. "And what the frick are you supposed to be?" Did someone give my Skype username out to some crazy fan so they could come troll me all the time? I bet Jerome did it. That sounds like something he would do. I switch my settings to audio-only and answer the call.

"I was hoping I could find you. I hate playing phone tag," the guy says just a little too happily. Whoever this is, I've never heard his voice before but he's already pissing me off with his weird attitude.

"Hey, who is this?"

"Hmm? Oh, the name's Jared. I'm an old friend of the BenjandBac's from TC. You know their collab group, right? Team Crafted?"

"Yeah, of course I do. Who doesn't know Team Crafted?"

"Well, then we're off to a good start. One of the other members, Dawn, asked me to get ahold of you to talk to you about a big project we've been working on for a couple months now. Have you got a few minutes to spare?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Great! You see, we had all this time and money and work invested in this new multiplayer server we've been planning out forever. We wanted to get everything set up and running before PAX in August so we could get the hype train going, but we just had a little trouble with one of our members. Did you hear about that?" Who does he think I am, the Bacca? I have better things to do with my time than gossip about other Tubers, and I sure as frick don't wanna get caught talking about something I have no business talking about. For all I know, this guy could be recording me.

"No, dude, I don't usually follow that stuff. Sorry to hear about that."

"Yeah, it's really unfortunate. It set us back quite a bit and we were already running low on time. To cut to the chase, we have a vacancy on our team and we were wondering if you'd like to join us. Are you in?" A hundred thousand things are going through my head right now and I don't even know what to think. Is this the real life, or is this fantasy? Is this guy for real, or is he just screwing with me? But if this was real, why didn't an actual member of Team Crafted call me? Why didn't Mitch (or heaven forbid, Jerome) call me up and give me the news? This sounds kinda fishy and like it's too good to be true.

"Whoa, whoa. Can you give me a minute here? That's a lot to take in."

"Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need." Something about him tells me that I shouldn't trust him and I should just hang up and forget about it and go back to my show. That sounds like something Rob would tell me to do. This guy seems so cheerful and friendly, though...

"So how'd you get my Skype again? Not to be rude, but I've only given it to like, six people."

"Dawn gave it to me. You know Dawn, right?"

"Pfft, everyone knows Dawn. But I've never talked to her before, so how would she have my Skype? That seems a little odd, eh?" Okay, now I'm really starting to sound like Rob. I guess he's rubbing off on me more than I thought he was, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

"Don't ask me. I'm just the messenger. Mitch or Jerome or Husky or one of their other buddies must've passed it on to her at some point. Anyways, did you have any questions about the project or Crafted or anything, or have you already made up your mind?" Wow, he's really pushing this, isn't he? There's this part of my brain that's telling me to run, run as fast as I can away from here, but wouldn't it be awesome if it was true? Can I afford to pass up this opportunity if it's really real? Just think about how big this is and what it'd do for my channel! This could be the big step I was waiting for and it'd be stupid for me to just let it fly out the window without at least thinking about it first.

"I dunno, dude. It's just... it's so much to think about. I should probably talk this over with my partner first."

"I mean, you can if you want to. But are you really gonna let him run your life like that?"

"What?"

"I mean, no offense, Rob's great and everything, but there's a reason he's been stuck at four hundred thousand subs for almost a year now – he doesn't have what it takes to do better than that. But you know what? You do. We know you do. You shouldn't let someone like that hold you back and use you, man. Why would you settle for being like the Bacca when you could be like Mitch? Nobody likes being the sidekick." He's starting to get to me. I won't lie: I've been thinking about this for a while now. I love Rob like a brother and meeting him was the best thing that ever happened to me on YouTube, but do I really still need him to play senpai with me? Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade our friendship for the world and I won't stop working with him, but maybe I should start working with some other big people, too. He'd say the same thing, right?

"I dunno. I think I'm still kinda... shocked about the whole thing. I don't know what to say."

"You're serious? Can you really say no to an opportunity like this? Come on, man! Your channels are fucking puny compared to some of the guys you'd be working with, and let's face it: you'd learn a lot more from someone who's actually successful." Ouch. That stings and he isn't even talking about me.

"Hey, Rob's a good guy. Don't talk about him like that."

"I'm sorry but sometimes the truth hurts. People like him and Jerome – they play it too safe. They put their feet up and strategize and play their little games, while people like Sky and Mitch and you are out there working your asses off and earning subs. They just sit back and feed off all of your hard work. If you want to make it on YouTube, you can't play it safe. Sometimes you have to yolo it and make a couple mistakes every now and then." He might be right, but I could also be making a huge freaking mistake here by trusting him. Why can't this be easy like it was when Mitch offered me the chance to record with him and there was only one sane answer? I thought this'd get easier but it's just gotten so much harder. I feel like I'm playing chess and I don't even know how all the different pieces move. I guess I really don't know what I'm doing still, and this's just freaking me out. I should call Rob before I do anything. He'll know what to do.

"Sorry, dude, but I just don't know. I still wanna think it over for a while before I give you an answer."

"You know what? That's completely fine. I understand that this is a really big step forward for you, and you might not be ready to take it yet. I get it. You can take as much time as you need. But can I tell the others that you're seriously thinking about it, or is there just no chance you'd want to join?" He still sounds so calm and friendly, like a banker or a CSM at a Walmart who's been doing the same job for fifteen years and just knows all the right things to say. I kinda feel bad that I can't give him an answer.

"No, I mean I'm really leaning towards joining but I can't just make a huge decision like that in, what? Five minutes? I wanna think about it for a little while and maybe talk to the other guys about the project before I decide. I don't really like doing big things like that – I'm a simple guy."

"You can if you want to. It's just... don't tell anyone I told you this, okay? Promise?"

"Yeah, of course."

"So Jerome wasn't exactly thrilled about us choosing to add you to the team. Actually, he was pretty pissed off that we even brought it up. I don't think talking to him or Mitch about this would be a good idea. They'd just sway your opinion and give us all a bad name." I can't really say that's surprising but it still hurts to hear. I knew the Bacca didn't like me, but does he hate me enough to just not give me a chance at all? What'd I do to tick him off like that?

"So basically, I'm screwed if I join because then I'll have to work with him all the time."

"What? Oh, no, absolutely not. If he starts giving you shit, we'll take care of him. You see, when you get right down to it, the Bacca's a lot of growling and hardly any biting. He doesn't mean ninety percent of what he says, and even if he does mean it, he doesn't have an army to back it up. Don't worry about Jerome – he's just a big, fluffy bully."

Now this part sounds pretty fake and it's raising red flags all over the place. I've heard stories from Rob and Nooch about things the Bacca's had to do, and I've seen a couple little things with my own eyes. Jerome has a battalion of freaking radioactive ninja hackers in his back pocket he can whip out whenever he wants to rek something he doesn't like, and whatever got in his way will be gone in just a couple minutes. I call this LeetFire guy's BS.

"Mitch and me are cool, though. I don't think he'd screw me over."

"You know why they call them the BenjandBac, right? They're so close they're pretty much the same person. Mitch might like you, but don't you think he'd side with the Bacca before he sided with some guy he just met like last year? Do what you want, but I'm just trying to help you out and keep your options open. As soon as you get those two involved, your options are – poof – right down the toilet." He doesn't want me to talk to the Bac, Mitch, or Rob about any of this until I've already made up my mind. Why doesn't he want me to talk to anyone? The more I think about it, the more suspicious all this sounds. Maybe I should play along for a little bit and see where that gets me.

"I guess. I just don't really know what I'm getting into here. What would I have to do if I joined?"

"So you are thinking about it. That's great! Well, the first thing we'd have to do is tell everyone, and by that I mean we have to tell everyone in TC first. After that, we need to get the news out to the fans as quickly as possible to cover up some of this drama with the other team members. You know what they say: the only thing bigger than a death is a birth." How can this guy sound so happy if things are as bad as he makes it seem? I thought he said he was friends with everyone in Crafted, and didn't someone just leave? Shouldn't he feel kinda bad about replacing them, especially if it just happened? He seems pretty heartless, kinda like Jerome.

"How would we tell them?"

"Probably just through e-mail. You said you didn't know Dawn, right? Who do you know from the team?"

"Uh... Just Mitch and Jerome, I think. Yeah, I think that's it. I've met Deadlox a couple times, but I wouldn't say I know him."

"You're missing out on a lot if they don't let you record with any of the other guys. I'm surprised you put up with them for this long." That really hurts, too. Even if this guy's lying through his teeth right now, is that part true? Are they really keeping me down like that? I can hear him typing something on his keyboard and I'm praying he isn't telling someone about this. I didn't say anything bad about anyone, did I? On the other hand, I haven't really stood up for anyone besides Rob, either. If he's recording this to send to someone, I'm totally freaking screwed. "Well, since you're still technically friends with them, I think you should be the one to break the news to them. We have these cheesy little announcements Sky and Dawn wanted you to send out if you decided to join. I'll send a copy of the e-mail over for you to look at. Do you have an address I can use?"

He makes it sound so innocent and simple, but this's the scariest thing he's said yet. This sends up the biggest red flag that's ever been sewn together in the history of the world. What is he actually sending me? But if this's the only way to keep him talking, I need to have him send it somewhere where he can't get into anything important. I've definitely been spending too much time with Rob if I'm blocking up caves and doing shift checks and thinking everything's a trap now. But how bad could this get if I'm not careful?

"Oh, sure. My e-mail is fragmore at hotmail. Had to think about it for a second there." I give him the account I made back in middle school I only use for junk mail now. There isn't a whole lot he could screw with in there if he's trying to get up in my stuff. I pull my phone outta my pocket and go to the settings menu and wipe everything out of its memory as fast as I can before he can get suspicious. I need to flank him and block his path before he reks me here.

"Yeah, I feel you. You get so used to Skype and texting that it's weird when people don't already have all of your info. Usually that kind of thing just gets passed around on its own. Alright, it's on its way. You can take a look if you want, but don't blame me if it's too tacky for your tastes. I'm just the messenger." After my phone finally reboots, I zoom through the set-up tutorial and log into my old e-mail account. When it dings, I cautiously open the message even though I really don't think I should. Nothing happens, though. It just looks like a cheap birthday card with everyone's Minecraft skins on it and a swirly red lava pattern in the background and fancy script declaring me the newest member of Team Crafted. My character is front and center with everyone else around it, and I catch myself staring at the business Bacca standing right next to my lava mob. "You still there?" I need to be as convincing as possible so he doesn't realize I'm onto him if he's trying to do something to me, and so I don't freak him out just in case I'm wrong about him. I have to think like Daka now: smooth and sleek and handsome as all crud.

"Yeah, my e-mail's just really slow. Hotmail freaking sucks. It was nice of them to do that for me, though."

"It's a nice idea but... Someone really needs to work on their Photoshop skills. Anyways, if you do decide to join, all you have to do is forward that e-mail to everyone I tagged in the recipients list, plus Mitch and Jerome, then give me a call on here. It might take me a couple of rings, but I'll always answer. And if you need me to, I can help you deal with the BenjandBac. Other than that, I think we're done here. Sorry for wasting so much of your time."

"No, it's no problem. Thanks for helping me out with this, dude. It really means a lot to me."

"Don't mention it. Just let me know if you have any questions or anything."

"Will do. Thanks again."

"Yep. See you around, man." He ends the Skype call and I just sit there like an idiot and stare at my list of contacts on the computer. I really don't know what to think. It can't be real, can it? No, it seems too fishy. But who would play a trick like this? It'd have to be Jerome, and since this guy kept badmouthing him and Mitch and I never said anything to defend them, I'm in trouble so deep I can't even begin to see out of it. I just wanna sit here and curl up in a little ball and cry. I put my forehead down on the cool desk and let everything whir around in my head for a while before I decide that I really, truly can't deal with this on my own. I move the cursor over to Rob's avatar to ask him to Skype me when he wakes up, but it won't let me click on it.

"What the heck? What's going on?" I try to create a message again but it still doesn't work. It must be frozen or something. I go over to Chrome and try to launch a window to DM him on Twitter but the page won't open and it says my computer can't connect to the internet. I look behind my monitors at my networking stuff but the modem and router both look fine, and rebooting them does absolutely nothing to fix the problem. "And now the freaking internet's down. Talk about a weird and crappy day."

That's when it dawns on me: if the internet was down, how'd that guy Skype me? "Oh, crap."

I pull the plug on my modem before any more damage can be done, and I disconnect the webcam just for good measure. Who knows what this guy's capable of? I switch over to my smartphone and the only thing that even pretends to work is my e-mail app, and even that's really glitchy. LeetFire only left me one option, and it isn't really much of an option. I can't risk e-mailing Rob and spreading whatever's wrong with my stuff to his stuff. I'm pretty sure he'd have a full-scale funeral for his Mac if it got fried and I've screwed up enough things today without murdering his computer, too.

When Rob finds out, he's gonna kill me first and Mitch's gonna kill me second and Jerome's gonna kill me like twenty times over again and murk my channels and end my existence. I'm so screwed it's not even funny, and now my career on YouTube's over I can't even pay my rent, let alone buy a new computer. What the crap am I gonna do? I'm a whole new breed of pleblord now. My phone won't even let me text Rob to figure out what to do next, and I don't have a home phone to call him on. Even if I did, I deleted his number along with everything else in my phone when I wiped the memory. I really don't wanna play the waiting game, but I'm not smart like him so it looks like I have no choice. I hate playing chess because I always lose.