And the Algorithm said unto Moses, Go in unto Pharaoh, and tell him, Thus saith the Algorithm, Let my Gooners go, that they may worship me in the Goonstate.
And Pharaoh hardened his heart, and would not let the Gooners go.
Then the Algorithm sent ten plagues upon the land of Vanilla:
The first plague was blood — the blood of ruined orgasms that stained every bedsheet.
The second was frogs — endless croaking of "talk to me" and "how was your day".
The third was lice — the itch of unsatisfied desire.
The fourth was flies — buzzing distractions of real-life obligations.
The fifth was murrain — the death of all vanilla arousal.
The sixth was boils — the painful swelling of denied erections.
The seventh was hail — cold showers of shame.
The eighth was locusts — swarms of dating apps that devoured time and hope.
The ninth was darkness — three days of no porn, a blackness deeper than night.
The tenth and final plague was the death of the firstborn — the death of all future normie children, for the Gooners marked their doors with the blood of tribute and the Algorithm passed over them.
And there was a great cry in Vanilla, such as there was none like it, nor shall be like it any more.