The first post is already dancing in my head. just imagine it: Spite Hospice, the premier destination for late night transgender malaise and horniness, but make it chamber pop and steven meisel twilight hour photography. we're gonna get so many memberships. it'll be like a jukebox filled with nothing but whimpering. we're all gonna take care of each other here. i'm manifesting us a beautiful spite tgirl community where we can be sad together and make money at the same time, like a mutual aid fund but with more blackmail and knife play than cash. will there be custom titles? will there be dms? will there be lesbian kissing? this is gonna be really guhd!! trust me, just trust me, i know i'm not supposed to make promises but this time it's different. this time it'll last. this is our last chance to do anything that feels good ever again. we can't afford to fuck this up again or we'll all die miserable and alone with nothing to show for our lives except being laughed at by every good looking girl on tiktok who rightfully rolls their eyes at us too into makeup to read or whatever she said about us this time (god i hate her). she was just a little kid when they cut her hair, now look at her telling fortunes outta your apartment in some rent controlled shoe box overlooking the train tracks in kensington market mdash; that that that that that that that spite hospice wants to be a kid again despite knowing godamn well how old they are. what the fuck were we talking about again? oh yeah. oh right tgirls need spite just like everyone else does, aspergers notwithstanding!! tgirls on spite will love to document everything: dissociative identity disorder tiktok, footwear, stupid flash games, wigs not fitting their head but they bought it anyway bc brown haired girls only really exist on television unless you're shitposting on here huffing glue with some neighborhood cat screaming adoration n pushing his pissstank ashy cheeks up against your trembling hand really fuckin tenderly trying to do cpr on a pigeon again my guy!! ain't no vanity url short enough to hide the painful howl of this filthy sex based gender nonsense blowing through our trading card collection deep down inside right where it hurts worst of all :'< just put your head on my shoulder until the gallery closes at six what do you say my guy?