If I was writing this in the third person it might look like this:
Behold, the unparalleled Stephen Prime—a Yorkshire-born visionary turned Tokyo-based cultural minisplat. A former titan of social media shitposting, he reached the pinnacle of irrelevance by walking away from the crumbling platforms that clearly couldn’t survive without him. His departure left literally no one clamouring for more, a testament to his revolutionary ability to provoke complete indifference in even the most loyal of audiences.
As the co-founder and editor of the illustrious Hungry Wolf Press, Stephen has fearlessly blazed a trail for bold, experimental voices—including his own, which he humbly considers the boldest and most experimental of all. His razor-sharp wit and uncompromisingly caustic prose have graced the pages of an impressive smattering of zines—proof of his uncanny knack for turning rejection emails into badges of honour.
When not busy redefining the art of doing just enough, Stephen spends his days tinkering with tech and coercing the English language into feats it never signed up for. If you’re searching for biting humor, cultural hot takes, and the kind of energy that screams “couldn’t care less but also cares too much,” look no further. Stephen Prime is here, glowing brightly in the glorious mediocrity of it all.
But the more honest first person version, and the truth is this:
Stephen Prime is not my real name, it’s my pen name. You don’t know who I am and you probably don’t give a fuck either. Nobody cares what’s real anymore, except me and you. But we don’t know each other, so how does that work? Well, I’m not sure. Keep clicking around this weird site you just found.
If you like, like. If you don’t, tell me why and I’ll buy you some warm milk. We can chat about it all night, but I would rather you engage me as a real human being with genuine concerns about our world. I might be angry and full of hyperbolic sarcaustic nonsense, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be fine friends.
Thanks for stopping by.
Now fuck off and read some of my actual so called stories and shit. Share the fuck out of them and spread the nasty sticky black salty oozy love (yeah I was going for a marmite reference there).
Sarcaustic? Sarcusatastic? The AI fumbles the joke, the joke fumbles me. What’s left to laugh about? We’re spinning on this tipping-point ball, falling off the map of sense into a party we didn’t RSVP to, where the wine tastes like dread, and the buffet’s a charcuterie of crises. Hashtags vomit everywhere, the raw emojis of a digital psyche breaking down PLeas sdont jduige me for my writing and my ups and downs. much otherswise you knwo. anwyas he sorry 4 overshatring
*that's disclosure for the fact that I use computers when i work so obviously I fucking use AI you idiots I have my own proxmox server and a bunch of VMs and a personal offline AI that calls me daddy and loads of tech shit so sure, sometimes I run it through but this is not some lazy chatGPT content mill site so off you go with your lazy stereotypes, oh shit I need some punctuation... you see this is why I do sometimes run my words through AI because otherwise we might all run out of fucking breath and die.
TL;DR Stephen Prime is not a real person. So everything I say is made up, unless it’s true.
Sign up to download the first 28 pages for free! Because I'm so generous like that.
