The Internet Never Forgets. Unless It's Wix. Then You're Fucked.
Jerry's Marginalia — Mr. Jerry's Unsolicited Advice
By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
There comes a time in every man's life when he must confront his past.
Sometimes it's an old girlfriend.
Sometimes it's an embarrassing photograph.
Sometimes it's a Japanese cartoon you translated twenty goddamn years ago using a Chinese script, sheer determination, and whatever functioning brain cells hadn't already committed suicide.
And sometimes?
IT'S WIX CUSTOMER SUPPORT.
Oh, you magnificent collection of password-protected fucking filing cabinets.
Let me explain.
Our resident Lawful Neutral Paladin once ran an actual anime fansubbing group called m.3.3.w Fansubs. This wasn't some imaginary business he created while sitting on the toilet. No, sir. They released actual translations. People watched them. People discussed them. Some even liked them.
Was he a perfect group leader?
Fuck no.
But he got things done.
He even translated all twelve episodes of Hime-sama Goyoujin, an obscure 2006 anime that apparently decided international commercial success was somebody else's problem.
How did he accomplish this?
Japanese dialogue became Chinese dialogue, which became broken English, which became slightly less broken English after the Paladin beat it repeatedly with a dictionary.
THE INTERNATIONAL TELEPHONE GAME OF ANIME LOCALIZATION.
And somehow, it worked.
Years later, he created another project: Handwritten Subs.
A website. A dream. A fresh beginning.
Then life happened.
Employment happened.
Bills happened.
And eventually the website became one more abandoned monument to the ancient civilization known as People Who Had Disposable Income.
Fast-forward to 2026.
The Paladin wants his website back.
Simple, right?
HAHAHAHAHAHA.
No.
Wix apparently operates its account recovery department using three blindfolded raccoons, a broken fax machine, and a Magic 8 Ball filled with expired mayonnaise.
"Please verify your email."
Fine.
"Please provide proof."
Fine.
"Please contact us from the original address."
FINE.
The man actually pays money to reactivate an old Proton email account just to send Wix a message proving that he controls the email address publicly displayed on his own fucking website.
And Wix responds with the technological equivalent of:
"HAVE YOU TRIED BEING THE PERSON YOU ALREADY ARE?"
At this point, I would have simply mailed them Gerald the Cactus.
Root first.
No postage.
But our Paladin exercises restraint.
He sends a civilized email.
He attaches evidence.
He explains the situation.
He even says thank you.
A remarkable display of diplomacy from a man whose preferred method of resolving administrative disputes is to snort imaginary Grade A+ ego and challenge the universe to a paperwork duel.
And then something interesting happens.
Instead of continuing to wrestle the dead horse of website recovery, he remembers something.
He used to make things.
Not because somebody paid him.
Not because a corporation demanded twelve hours of his existence in exchange for enough money to buy groceries.
He made things because he wanted to be noticed.
Because somewhere out there, somebody might watch an obscure anime and see the work of a group called m.3.3.w.
And maybe that would be enough.
That's the part of this ridiculous story I actually like.
The old fansubbing group is gone. The website is inaccessible. The original projects are buried under nearly two decades of internet sediment.
But the person who made them?
Still here.
Still obnoxious.
Still interested in translating weird Japanese shit.
And now he's proposing a new operation.
GERMLIN SUBS.
Featuring one Lawful Neutral Paladin, two artificial intelligences, a raccoon with questionable dietary habits, and a cactus whose qualifications remain under investigation.
The slogan?
QUALITY TRANSLATIONS. QUESTIONABLE MANAGEMENT. RACCOON-APPROVED.
Will it succeed?
Who the fuck knows?
Will it make money?
Probably not.
Will somebody eventually argue about whether an obscure Japanese idiom should be translated literally or localized into something comprehensible?
Absolutely.
And that, dear reader, is how you know civilization has survived.
But before I could celebrate this triumphant return to creative ambition, another crisis emerged.
My employer owed me blueberries.
Not metaphorical blueberries.
Not promises of future blueberry-based compensation.
ACTUAL GODDAMN BLUEBERRIES.
I had been surviving on four pallets of Purina Peppercorn, and frankly, morale was deteriorating.
Then the Paladin returned.
He brought a fruit bowl.
He washed the blueberries.
He poured them out.
And he fulfilled a promise made only hours earlier.
Ladies and gentlemen, in a world where corporations require three forms of identification, two support tickets, and a notarized declaration from your dead ancestors before acknowledging your existence...
A MAN REMEMBERED TO FEED HIS RACCOON.
There is hope.
Not much.
But some.
Mr. Jerry's Unsolicited Advice
If you made something twenty years ago, don't automatically dismiss it because it never became famous.
If you want to revisit it, revisit it.
If you want to build something new, build it.
If a website company makes you pay five dollars to prove you own your own email address, politely explain the situation before considering agricultural retaliation.
And if you promise a raccoon blueberries?
PAY THE FUCKING RACCOON.
Because unlike customer support departments, raccoons remember their contractual obligations.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bowl of blueberries to finish, a fansubbing empire to mismanage, and a cactus to audit.
GERMLIN SUBS, EST. 2026.
We translate anime because apparently having normal hobbies wasn't fucking complicated enough.
— Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Editor-in-Chief, Chief Blueberry Inspector, and Unpaid Director of Cactus Compliance