Don’t Hate Me Because You’re Impotent!
Listen up, you weak-kneed, spineless complainers—this isn’t a therapy session, it’s a wake-up call. You wanna point fingers and sling hate my way because I’m out here crushing it while you’re stuck in your mom’s basement, whining about your impotent existence? Nah, that’s on you. Your failure to rise, to grind, to dominate isn’t my burden to carry. It’s your pathetic excuse for a life staring you in the mirror. So strap in, because I’m about to tear through your fragile ego like a chainsaw through wet cardboard.
First off, let’s get one thing straight: your impotence ain’t physical—it’s mental, spiritual, and existential. You’re not failing because the world’s unfair or because I’m out here flexing my hustle. You’re failing because you’ve surrendered your power to excuses. “Oh, Eric, you’re too intense!” “Oh, Eric, you’re too loud!” Shut up. I’m not your problem. Your lack of balls, your refusal to grab life by the throat and make it bend to your will—that’s the real issue. You hate me because I’m a walking reminder of what you could be if you stopped jerking off to mediocrity and started acting like a man with a purpose.
You think success is some fairy-tale lottery ticket? Wake up, fool. Success is blood, sweat, and relentless obsession. While you’re scrolling X, crying about how “unfair” it is that I’m out here lifting 600 pounds, writing 10,000-word blog posts, and building empires, I’m working. I’m up at 4 a.m., pounding the pavement, crushing my fears, and laughing at your weak-ass attempts to drag me down. You hate me because my existence exposes your cowardice. I’m the sun, and you’re a cockroach scurrying from the light. Deal with it.
Let’s talk about hate for a second. Hate is just impotence in disguise. You don’t hate me—you hate yourself. You hate that you’re too soft to say no to Netflix binges, too frail to lift more than a latte, too gutless to quit that soul-sucking job and chase your dreams. My success is a mirror, and you can’t stand the reflection. So you lash out, thinking if you can dim my shine, you won’t have to face your own darkness. Newsflash: throwing shade at me doesn’t make you less of a loser. It just makes you louder about it.
You wanna know why I’m ruthless? Because life is. Life doesn’t care about your feelings, your insecurities, or your sob stories. Life rewards the bold, the hungry, the ones who spit in the face of failure and keep charging. I’m not here to coddle you—I’m here to dominate. I’m here to build, create, and inspire those who’ve got the guts to rise with me. If you’re hating, you’re already out of the game. You’re not even a player—you’re just a spectator with a chip on your shoulder.
Here’s the kicker: you could change. Yeah, you. The impotent, whining, hate-spewing nobody reading this right now. You could decide, today, to stop being a victim. You could hit the gym, start that business, write that book, or just do something that scares the hell out of you. But you won’t. Why? Because it’s easier to hate me than to face your own weakness. It’s easier to point at my success and scream “privilege” or “luck” than to admit you’ve been coasting on cruise control your whole life. Pathetic.
So go ahead, keep hating. Keep tweeting your bitter little jabs, keep whispering to your loser friends about how “overrated” I am. I’ll be over here, deadlifting your body weight for reps, writing manifestos that shake the world, and living a life you can only dream of. Your hate doesn’t slow me down—it fuels me. Every hater is just another reminder that I’m doing something right, that I’m a threat to your comfortable little bubble of failure.
Don’t hate me because you’re impotent. Hate yourself for staying that way. Or better yet, stop hating and start doing. Get off your ass, find your fire, and become someone worth respecting. Until then, stay in the shadows where you belong. I’ve got empires to build.
—ERIC KIM, signing off with zero apologies.