Written by Evan B. 08/26/2022
Me moments before bludgeoning a government elected official to death in Minecraft (image from Pxhere)
[Editor's note, I don't understand any of this...]
Alright you deserve to know, what does the B in Evan B. stand for? Well, what most people don't know is that my name is a pseudonym, meaning that I don't actually exist. The B is the only connection to my real-life name, but I won't give it away that easily.
A pseudonym (credit to Flickr)
It started during my pilgrimage to Mecca, during my morning prayers I realized how much I didn’t know about life. There was so much more I could do for people, like writing satire articles. So, I decided to leave my bed-ridden brother in search of meaning. And there I found it, in the wonderful land of Rhode Island.
I was given a name forged by the indigenous people of that land; they asked many questions, like "who the hell are you" and "stop ordering only waters and nothing else at our diners." From that point on my new identity was revealed.
I gave up my older name of Antionio de la Vieja, in favor of a much cooler name. One which would accurately describe me in one. Single. Word. Like the Bees’ Knees. My new name would be Evan Bee's Knees, for I am the bee's knees.
A bee's knees (image from Wikimedia Commons)
Such a drastic change affected my life greatly. To help with this I spoke with groups online who've undergone similar experiences, struggling with the transition from their old identity to their new badass one. Although I am unaware of the terminology they shared, such as HRT and gender dysphoria, I was still thankful for their support.
So, to clarify: NO, IT DOESN'T STAND FOR Evan B****! IT STANDS FOR THE BEE'S KNEES, BECAUSE I AM COOL. STOP CALLING ME EVAN B*TCH!
Anyway, that's all for today, now you know the truth. It may alarm you, and I may have doxed myself yet again, but for the people, they should know. You, the reader, should know.
So, I just woke up.
I'm writing this at approximately, 5:21 and 20 seconds post meridiem British Standard Time. I am hungover after drinking a glass of eggnog, spiked with about 1.23 grams of Benadryl. Life is unrecognizable, and shadows are following me. The shadows are large, and consuming everything in the room, much like your mother. I just need a lozenge; I should be fine. Anyway, editor you got this.
Credit to Depositphotos
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