Once upon a time, there was a random motherfucker.
A good kid, polite, sharp, the golden boy every aunt wished their daughter could marry.
He studied hard, top of the class, best university, landed a cushy job at a big shiny national company.
The kind of job people bow to. The kind of life people call “safe.”
All was smooth. All was good.
Until a girl appeared.
Tale as old as time.
He fell hard.
She was hot, and he was young and horny.
Of course he fell.
Every great downfall begins with a pair of tits. John Wick knew, so did this poor bastard.
And when the bitch broke his heart?
Boom. The mask shattered.
That’s when he saw it — the whole “normal life” scam.
The stable job, the respect of sheep, the promise of maturity after marriage?
Pure fucking bullshit.
A cage to keep lions from roaring.
So he quit.
Jumped into the wild, teeth first, heart bleeding.
Real estate. Big money, big sharks, big lies.
He met a slick older fucker, a master manipulator dripping honey from his lips.
He bought into the dream.
Worked hard, got paid, got praise.
Met another bitch — hotter, bigger tits, bigger trap.
Fell harder.
And then life slapped the fuck out of him.
The country itself got robbed by some old hag politician.
Billions gone.
His money gone.
His father’s life savings — gone.
And when he was down?
His brothers turned jackals.
The charismatic mentor stripped him of the scraps he had left.
The bitch with the tits ran faster than a Ferrari.
Because women run when the feast ends — tale as old as time.
So our motherfucker came home.
Empty pockets.
Dark nights.
A choice:
Find a normal job. Kill the dream.
Or say fuck it, we ball.
He said fuck it, we ball.
He borrowed again from his father.
Rolled the dice.
Lost again.
Dark, dark, dark point.
No light.
No hope.
No one at his side.
But here’s the thing about this crazy bastard —
he didn’t fucking give up.
And then —
a miracle.
A MOTHERFUCKING MIRACLE.
Money returned.
The tide turned.
The mad motherfucker got rich.
And he will not stop.
Because destiny chose him.
Not the safe ones.
Not the sheep.
Not the bitch with the tits, not the fake brothers, not the Judas relatives.
Him.
The insane, rebellious, maverick bastard who doesn’t know how to quit.
And now, looking back?
He doesn’t even hate them.
No anger, no revenge, no grudges.
Just boredom.
Because compared to what he’s about to build, compared to the kingdom he’s about to sit on —
they’re nothing.
Dust.
Ash.
Insignificant specks under the boots of history.
End of the story.