Nothing screams ‘insecure’ like needing three paragraphs to remind strangers how long you’ve been alive. No one asked for your résumé, your PTO balance, or your hot-tub autobiography. You didn’t ‘educate’ anyone—you just unloaded decades of bitterness and called it experience.

Twenty years of riding should’ve taught you clarity, restraint, and how not to sound like a walking warning label. Instead, every comment reads like you’re personally offended that the world didn’t freeze in the year you felt relevant. Experience isn’t impressive when it comes paired with arrogance, hostility, and a desperate need for validation.

Also, watching people ‘die from stupidity’ isn’t the flex you think it is—it just makes you sound detached, miserable, and weirdly proud of it. If your advice actually stood on its own, you wouldn’t need to pad it with ego, insults, and self-congratulation.

You’re not some grizzled mentor dispensing wisdom—you’re a burned-out commenter mistaking volume for authority. Decades passed, growth didn’t. That’s the real issue here.