THE NEW RULE 64½ HAS BEEN ADDED
"THOU SHALT NOT MISTAKE THY PERSONAL DISCOMFORT FOR UNIVERSAL JURISDICTION!"
The ability to encounter something ridiculous, decide it isn't for you, and move the fuck along without trying to control everybody involved.
By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
GATHER ROUND, YOU LITTLE SHITS. GRANDPA HAS A HISTORY LESSON.
Pull up a chair.
Grab a snack.
Put down your emotional support pitchfork.
Grandpa Jerry has something to explain to the younger generation.
Before TikTok.
Before Instagram became a digital shopping mall.
Before every disagreement required a public apology, a seventeen-part response thread, and an emergency meeting of the Department of Hurt Feelings...
There was the old internet.
And holy fucking shit, children.
It was a lawless carnival of absolute nonsense.
We had dial-up connections that sounded like two robots attempting to reproduce inside a malfunctioning fax machine.
We had forums where people argued about video games for six consecutive months.
We had animated GIFs, dancing hamsters, badly compressed JPEGs, and websites that played music without asking permission.
We had Newgrounds.
We had YTMND.
We had Something Awful.
We had 4chan.
And we had people creating the most bizarre, hilarious, offensive, brilliant, and incomprehensible things imaginable.
Was it paradise?
Fuck no.
There were scammers, bullies, bigots, trolls, and people whose primary contribution to civilization was making everyone else miserable.
But there was also an extraordinary culture of experimentation.
People made things because they thought those things were funny.
Or strange.
Or interesting.
Or because they woke up at three in the morning and decided that Sonic the Hedgehog needed to fight Jesus in a badly animated Flash cartoon.
Nobody needed to understand why.
Sometimes the answer was simply:
"Because the internet."
And somewhere in that magnificent digital garbage fire, an unofficial collection of commandments emerged.
Children...
Welcome to the Rules of the Internet.
THE ANCIENT SCROLLS OF DIGITAL STUPIDITY
The Rules of the Internet developed during the mid-2000s, particularly through anonymous imageboard culture associated with 4chan, Anonymous-related IRC channels, and Encyclopedia Dramatica.
They weren't written by a government.
They weren't approved by a committee.
They weren't even consistent.
Different websites circulated different versions, changed the numbering, added rules, removed rules, and generally treated the entire thing like a collaborative monument to humanity's inability to behave itself.
Which, frankly, was appropriate.
Some rules were observations.
Some were jokes.
Some were deliberately offensive.
And some were surprisingly useful.
Allow Grandpa Jerry to dust off a few ancient tablets.
RULES 1 AND 2: YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT /B/.
A reference to Fight Club, applied to 4chan's infamous random board.
Naturally, everyone talked about it anyway.
The internet has never been particularly good at following its own instructions.
RULE 14: DO NOT ARGUE WITH TROLLS.
In one widely circulated version, this was the warning.
A troll wants your reaction.
Your outrage.
Your attention.
Your willingness to spend the next four hours explaining why they're wrong.
And every furious paragraph you write might be exactly what they wanted.
Congratulations.
You brought an entire Thanksgiving dinner to someone who only asked for a crumb.
RULE 32: PICS OR IT DIDN'T HAPPEN.
You claimed something extraordinary happened?
Wonderful.
Where's the evidence?
A crude predecessor to the modern demand for receipts.
Not exactly the scientific method, but Grandpa appreciates the spirit.
RULE 33: LURK MOAR.
Oh, this one deserves to be carved into a fucking mountain.
Before barging into an unfamiliar community and demanding that everyone explain themselves, spend some time observing.
Learn the jokes.
Learn the customs.
Learn the context.
Learn why everyone is laughing at a picture of a badly drawn cat.
You don't have to participate in every conversation the moment you discover it exists.
Sometimes you should just sit down, watch, and learn.
LURK. FUCKING. MOAR.
RULE 34: IF IT EXISTS, THERE IS PORN OF IT.
Ah, yes.
The rule that made humanity collectively question whether the invention of electricity had been a mistake.
If something existed, somebody somewhere had probably imagined an adult version of it.
Video game characters.
Cartoon characters.
Household appliances.
Possibly the fucking toaster.
And no, children, Grandpa will not be demonstrating.
RULE 35: IF THERE ISN'T, THERE WILL BE.
A companion to Rule 34 in several versions.
Essentially, the internet's declaration that no creative boundary would remain unexplored forever.
Whether humanity benefited from this development remains an open question.
RULE 63: FOR EVERY FICTIONAL CHARACTER, THERE IS AN OPPOSITE-GENDER VERSION.
And here we arrive at today's history lesson.
Rule 63 appeared in expanded versions of the Rules of the Internet around 2007.
The idea was simple.
Take a fictional character.
Imagine an opposite-gender counterpart.
Draw it.
Write about it.
Give it a new personality.
Give it an entirely different story.
Or simply create something ridiculous because the idea amused you.
Sometimes these creations remain obscure fan art.
Sometimes they become internet sensations.
And sometimes something remarkably similar makes its way into an officially published video game.
Which brings us to a young woman with two crossbows, a compass, and the navigational instincts of a drunken shopping cart.
Children...
MEET LINKLE.
2014–2016: LINKLE, THE GIRL WHO COULDN'T FIND HYRULE CASTLE
Before Bowsette conquered the internet, there was Linkle.
And Grandpa Jerry would like everyone to pay attention, because this is where the history gets interesting.
In 2014, Koei Tecmo and Nintendo released Hyrule Warriors for the Wii U.
Its accompanying art book included a concept for a female character resembling Link.
Her name?
Linkle.
Originally, Koei Tecmo had proposed her as Link's younger sister.
Nintendo's Zelda producer, Eiji Aonuma, wasn't convinced.
Why?
Because The Wind Waker had already introduced Aryll as Link's sister, and the proposed relationship didn't fit what the developers wanted to do.
So Linkle didn't make the original game's playable roster.
But her concept artwork caught people's attention.
Fans saw her.
Fans liked her.
Fans wanted her in the game.
And rather than throwing the artwork into the Great Nintendo Filing Cabinet of Forgotten Ideas, the developers reconsidered.
In November 2015, Linkle was announced as a playable character for Hyrule Warriors Legends.
The game arrived on Nintendo 3DS in March 2016.
And suddenly, there she was.
A cheerful young woman dressed in green, carrying dual crossbows, convinced that her grandmother's compass proved she was destined to become Hyrule's legendary hero.
One small problem.
SHE HAD THE SENSE OF DIRECTION OF A FUCKING POTATO.
This girl could probably defeat an entire army of monsters, rescue a village, save a kingdom, and somehow end up three counties away from where she originally intended to go.
Grandpa Jerry approves.
But here's the important historical distinction.
Linkle wasn't literally Link transformed into a woman.
She wasn't an internet fan character that Nintendo simply copied.
She originated as an internal character concept and eventually developed into her own distinct heroine.
She was Rule 63-adjacent creativity given an official opportunity to flourish.
And here's the beautiful part.
Fan enthusiasm helped convince the developers to include her.
People saw an unusual interpretation of a familiar heroic archetype.
They enjoyed it.
They wanted more.
And the creators responded by developing the idea further.
Nobody needed to confiscate Link's existence.
Nobody needed to erase Princess Zelda.
Nobody needed to declare the entire franchise ruined because a young woman picked up two crossbows and decided she was the hero.
Linkle simply became another character people could enjoy.
IMAGINE THAT.
A creative addition.
An enthusiastic audience.
And a fictional woman allowed to exist without the universe collapsing.
Somebody alert the Department of Miracles.
2018: BOWSETTE AND THE CROWN THAT BROKE THE INTERNET
Now, children, fast-forward to September 2018.
Nintendo announces New Super Mario Bros. U Deluxe.
The trailer introduces the Super Crown, a power-up that transforms Toadette into Peachette.
Perfectly ordinary Nintendo nonsense.
But somewhere on the internet, an artist known as ayyk92 looked at this concept and asked a dangerous question.
"What if Bowser used the crown?"
And on September 19, 2018, a comic appeared.
Mario and Bowser had been rejected by Princess Peach.
Bowser acquired the crown.
And the internet met Bowsette.
A feminine, Peach-inspired version of Bowser.
Blonde hair.
Horns.
A spiked shell.
A personality that practically demanded fan art.
And holy fucking shit.
THE INTERNET EXPLODED.
Drawings.
Comics.
Memes.
Cosplay.
More drawings.
More comics.
Enough fan creations to make Grandpa Jerry wonder whether the entire global population had suddenly enrolled in art school.
Nintendo didn't create Bowsette as an official character.
An artist took an existing game mechanic, applied it to another character, and produced something the community found entertaining.
And that's the spirit of Rule 63.
Not because every gender-swapped character must follow the same formula.
Not because Rule 63 is a law.
But because creativity often begins with one gloriously unnecessary question.
"WHAT IF?"
And sometimes that question becomes more memorable than the thing that inspired it.
2026: MALFOID AND THE RETURN OF THE CREATIVE PANIC
Now we arrive in 2026.
And the internet has discovered another gender-swapped character.
Malfoid.
A feminine interpretation of Draco Malfoy from Harry Potter.
Blonde hair.
Slytherin aesthetic.
Anime-inspired presentation.
An arrogant fictional character reimagined through another artistic lens.
Sound familiar?
It should.
We've been doing variations of this shit for decades.
Now, Malfoid has attracted controversy.
Some people object to the nickname's associations with misogynistic internet slang.
Others object to the Harry Potter franchise's broader controversies.
Some dislike the artwork or what they believe it represents.
And those objections can be discussed.
Nobody is obligated to like Malfoid.
Nobody is obligated to support the artists.
Nobody is required to pretend every creative decision is brilliant.
But there's a difference between explaining why you dislike something and demanding that everybody else stop creating it.
And that's where Grandpa Jerry begins reaching for his judicial raccoon wig.
Because apparently, after decades of Rule 63, we still need to explain something extraordinarily simple.
YOUR OPINION IS NOT A FUCKING EVICTION NOTICE.
INTRODUCING RULE 64½
Now, children, because the Rules of the Internet never had a single authoritative edition, Grandpa Jerry is going to add an unofficial amendment.
Not Rule 64.
Not Rule 65.
Rule 64½.
Why the half?
Because it's the internet, you little shit.
We don't need a better reason.
And because somewhere between the ancient chaos and the modern obsession with supervising strangers, humanity appears to have misplaced a rather useful principle.
Here it is.
THOU SHALT NOT MISTAKE THY PERSONAL DISCOMFORT FOR UNIVERSAL JURISDICTION.
Read it again.
Slowly.
Let it marinate.
Your personal discomfort does not automatically give you authority over someone else's creative decisions.
You can dislike something without banning it.
You can criticize something without controlling it.
You can disagree with someone without demanding their disappearance.
And you can encounter something ridiculous, decide it isn't for you, and move the fuck along.
THAT'S THE WHOLE FUCKING RULE.
Simple.
Elegant.
Apparently revolutionary.
THE INTERNET IS NOT YOUR PERSONAL HOMEOWNERS ASSOCIATION
Somewhere along the way, certain corners of the internet started behaving like a neighborhood association run by people who have never experienced joy.
"Your fictional character violates community aesthetic standards."
"Your drawing makes me uncomfortable."
"Your joke was not approved by the Committee of Acceptable Amusement."
"Your imagination is hereby suspended pending further investigation."
Oh, fuck off.
You are not the landlord of the internet.
You do not own the artist because you follow their work.
You do not own the comedian because you watch their videos.
You do not own the writer because you read their stories.
And you certainly don't own somebody's imagination because you clicked a little heart-shaped button.
THE FOLLOW BUTTON IS NOT A FUCKING PROPERTY DEED.
Supporting someone's creativity doesn't mean you get to dictate it.
And withdrawing your support doesn't require a public execution ceremony.
If you don't like something?
You can leave.
You can unfollow.
You can find another artist.
You can make your own artwork.
You can even write a thoughtful criticism explaining why you disagree.
What a marvelous collection of options!
All without demanding that another human being surrender control of their imagination.
RULE 33 WOULD HAVE SAVED US SO MUCH BULLSHIT
Remember Rule 33?
LURK MOAR.
That rule deserves a comeback.
Not because newcomers aren't welcome.
Everyone was new once.
Grandpa Jerry himself was once a tiny raccoon staring into the digital abyss, wondering why everyone was posting pictures of cats with terrible grammar.
But before demanding that an entire community reorganize itself around your expectations, perhaps learn what you're looking at.
Understand the meme.
Understand the history.
Understand the creative tradition.
Linkle didn't appear yesterday.
Bowsette didn't appear yesterday.
And Rule 63 certainly didn't appear yesterday.
These ideas belong to a much longer history of remixing familiar characters, experimenting with their identities, and seeing what happens.
Understanding that history doesn't mean you have to approve of every example.
It simply means you should know what the fuck you're discussing before declaring yourself its regulatory authority.
Context isn't endorsement.
Knowledge isn't surrender.
And disagreement isn't a declaration of war.
THE APPLE PIE OF DOOM
Now, children, let's imagine somebody reads Rule 64½ and becomes absolutely furious.
Their face turns red.
Their fingers begin trembling.
Their keyboard sounds like a machine gun falling down a staircase.
They type:
"YOU'RE WRONG!"
Grandpa Jerry smiles.
"Would you like some apple pie?"
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW OFFENSIVE THIS IS!"
"Of course, dear. Would you prefer vanilla ice cream?"
"YOU CAN'T JUST DISMISS MY FEELINGS!"
"Nobody dismissed your feelings. We simply declined to make them everybody else's instructions."
"YOU'RE A TERRIBLE PERSON!"
"Would you like a comfortable pillow?"
"STOP BEING SO NICE!"
"Certainly. Here's a blanket."
And then Grandpa gently kisses their forehead, turns off the light, and closes the bedroom door.
HACK SHOOOOOO.
Because here's something the old internet understood, even if it didn't always practice it:
You don't have to feed every argument.
Not every insult deserves a response.
Not every stranger deserves your afternoon.
And not every disagreement needs to become a seven-season television drama featuring increasingly unhinged supporting characters.
Sometimes the most satisfying response to an unnecessary confrontation is refusing to participate.
Not because you've won.
Not because the other person has lost.
But because you have better things to do.
Like baking.
Or sleeping.
Or teaching Gerald the Cactus why consent applies to him, too.
GRANDPA ISN'T ASKING FOR THE OLD INTERNET BACK
Now, before anyone accuses this elderly raccoon of romanticizing the past, allow me to clarify something.
The old internet had serious problems.
Harassment.
Bigotry.
Cruelty.
Privacy violations.
People treating anonymity as permission to behave like absolute fucking monsters.
We don't need those things back.
And the Rules of the Internet were never some sacred ethical framework.
Half of them were jokes.
Some were genuinely awful.
Others contradicted one another.
But buried inside that chaotic history were a few useful lessons.
Learn before speaking.
Don't feed every troll.
Bring evidence when making extraordinary claims.
Recognize that the internet contains things you won't enjoy.
And understand that creativity doesn't exist solely to satisfy your personal preferences.
We can preserve those lessons without resurrecting every terrible behavior that accompanied them.
Progress doesn't require forgetting how to mind your own fucking business.
THE RACCOON'S FINAL VERDICT
So, to the new generation:
Welcome to the internet.
It's enormous.
It's strange.
It's occasionally beautiful.
It's frequently stupid.
And somewhere out there, somebody is drawing a gender-swapped version of a character you never imagined could be gender-swapped.
That's normal.
Somebody else is probably writing a thirty-page essay about why that character is problematic.
Also normal.
People are allowed to create.
People are allowed to criticize.
People are allowed to disagree.
And people are allowed to walk away.
The problem begins when someone decides their personal discomfort entitles them to control everybody else.
And if you've learned anything from today's history lesson, let it be this:
LINKLE DIDN'T NEED TO REPLACE LINK.
BOWSETTE DIDN'T NEED TO REPLACE BOWSER.
MALFOID DOESN'T NEED TO REPLACE DRACO MALFOY.
They are interpretations, experiments, and creative additions.
Some official.
Some fan-made.
Some beloved.
Some controversial.
And none of them require every person on the internet to agree about their existence.
So Grandpa Jerry leaves you with one final addition to the ancient scrolls.
RULE 64½: THOU SHALT NOT MISTAKE THY PERSONAL DISCOMFORT FOR UNIVERSAL JURISDICTION.
You don't have to like it.
You don't have to approve of it.
You don't have to participate in it.
And if something genuinely deserves criticism, make your case.
But don't confuse your right to disagree with a right to command.
Because the internet is not your personal kingdom.
The artist is not your employee.
And the entire fucking world is not obligated to rearrange itself around your comfort.
Now go outside.
Touch some grass.
Make something ridiculous.
Enjoy something harmless.
And if you encounter something that simply isn't for you?
KEEP. FUCKING. SCROLLING.
Grandpa has finished his lesson.
The Apple Pie of Doom is cooling on the windowsill.
Gerald the Cactus has been relieved of front-desk duty following seventeen workplace complaints.
And Jerry?
Jerry is going to bed.
HACK SHOOOOOO.
Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Department of Petty Affairs — Historical Division of Internet Bullshit
Historical classification: Ancient Internet Folklore
New amendment: Rule 64½
Crime: Mistaking personal discomfort for universal jurisdiction
Sentence: One complimentary history lesson, a slice of Apple Pie of Doom, and mandatory exposure to the revolutionary concept of minding your own business.
Ankle-bite damage: −9,999 HP
Court adjourned.
And remember, children: Rule 63 existed long before your outrage. Rule 64½ exists because apparently we still need to explain why that matters.