You can't handle the truth.

Son, we live in a world that has walls. And those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, editors? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Flames and you curse the Anonymous Monks. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: That anonymous Flames, while tragic, probably saved this community. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, preserves this community.

You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me here. You need me there.

We use words like laziness, code, hubris... we use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending something. You use 'em as a punchline.

I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it. I'd prefer you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to.

Heh heh heh.