Dear Mark Zuckerberg,

Goddamn, you're shittin' gold these days. So many fuckin' feexinz. No one even knows what a WhatsApp is, and you still finessed that shit straight cash for 19 billion dollars. Damn Zuckerberg, stunt on them h8rz. The WhatsApp dudes celebrated being bought out by popping Cristal. You, being the most stuntastic tech bro alive, probably celebrated by popping the Hoover Dam. In 2001 you sat in the lobby of Apple and waited. Now you walk in the building, buy out the only smartphone messaging service currently enjoying more of a market share than Facebook Messenger and scream, "WE MADE IT!" at the top of your lungs.

Seriously Zuck God, you just stunted so hard the faces on Mount Rushmore crumbled off. Might as well buy it and replace them with the faces of your h8rz, then make it rain so many smartphones on them that their visages crumble and wither. Then Instagram pictures of the dog you made by bestowing life to a North Fest thermal woven from the Golden Fleece itself. You're so money your prostate's got an IPO.

Right now, I imagine your minions are hard at work in your Farmville garden, cultivating digital kush that you can then 3D-print out and roll into blunts using Montecristo No. 2's instead of Swishers. You probably had Google handcraft you a pair of Google Glasses with a built in filter to screen out the h8rz. Think Rap Genius caked on getting a $15 milli investment? You're the Scrooge McDuck of this tech shit, swimming in a sea of Bitcoins. You have so much money you probably only listen to opera. All these fuccbois are shrimps compared to the abject power you have dangling from your chain right now, swinging like the lost hopes and dreams of everyone who's never been as good as you.

You are French Montana buying a baby tiger. You are Justin Bieber buying a baby monkey. You are Mystikal staring intently, flashing your jewelry, while watching over a smaller version of yourself, also flashing your jewelry, on the cover of Ghetto Fabulous. You are Soulja Boy driving a diamond-encrusted remote control car chain, except yours is just a diamond-encrusted Murciélago with a necklace attached to the license plate. The world is your sex dungeon at his point, so fuck it. Buy WhatsApp, dare a h8in ass anti-trust lawyer to intervene the thrive. Silicon Valley is one giant ditch, perfect for laying the corpses of h8rs to rest, never to be found.

Fuck a Winklevoss, bruh. You built this city on digital rock all by your lonesome, baby. Fuck Eduardo Saverin. And fuck Justin Timberlake. Oh yeah, while you're at, I’m pretty sure your next move should buying up every Blu-Ray of The Social Network and invent some sort of Blu-Ray cannon to shoot them out of when you launch your militia-style takeover of the free world. Shit's finna be like Skynet in Terminator, but you'll be lord of all the robots.

You are the straight up Sith Emperor Palpatine of Silicon Valley. You can only outstunt yourself at this point. I hope you buy the Moon next, so you can set up a space colony for the h8rz to emigrate to because Earth is no longer a safe place to flourish if you're butthurt over the gawd. Better yet, fuck around and revive Flappy Bird by porting it to Facebook so the h8rz have something to do other than h8. Otherwise, it's about to be a cold quarter for the enemies of the almighty Zuck.



Drew Millard's high score in Flappy Bird is 19. You can read more of his work on Noisey and follow him on Twitter here.