TRUST ME, BRO! — THE INTERNATIONAL ANTHEM OF FULL-OF-SHIT PEOPLE
By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
There are three words in the English language that should immediately trigger a fucking fire alarm.
TRUST. ME. BRO.
Three beautiful little words.
Three syllables of reassurance wrapped around a steaming mountain of industrial-grade bullshit.
Everybody says them.
Employers say them.
Scammers say them.
Dating-app mimics say them.
The guy trying to sell you a 32-terabyte SSD for twelve dollars says them.
And somewhere, deep in the bowels of corporate America, a middle manager is polishing his LinkedIn profile while preparing to tell another employee that everything is going to be fine.
TRUST ME, BRO!
Oh, wonderful!
I was worried for a moment that I might need actual evidence, consistent behavior, or some indication that you possessed the intellectual horsepower necessary to keep a fucking promise.
But you've said the magic words!
My concerns have evaporated!
Here, take my wallet, my livelihood, my remaining patience, and perhaps a kidney while you're at it.
Apparently, that's how trust works now.
THE ECONOMY OF EMPTY FUCKING PROMISES
I've come to a conclusion.
A disturbing number of people don't actually want to earn trust.
They want to withdraw it from you like it's an ATM.
They want the benefits of being trusted without the inconvenient responsibility of being trustworthy.
They want you to believe them.
They want you to wait for them.
They want you to spend money on them.
They want you to forgive them.
And when the time comes to deliver whatever the fuck they promised?
Suddenly, everybody's a magician.
POOF!
The promise has disappeared!
The accountability has disappeared!
The person who made the promise has apparently been abducted by extraterrestrials and replaced with a malfunctioning customer-service chatbot.
"I'm sorry you feel that way."
OH, ARE YOU?
HOW FUCKING GENEROUS.
I DON'T FEEL THAT WAY BECAUSE MERCURY IS IN RETROGRADE, YOU WALKING BAG OF UNFULFILLED COMMITMENTS.
I FEEL THAT WAY BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU'D DO SOMETHING AND THEN DIDN'T FUCKING DO IT.
It's not a complicated mathematical equation.
Promise + Action = Reliability.
Promise + Excuses = Bullshit.
And yet humanity keeps trying to divide by zero.
CORPORATE AMERICA: WHERE ACCOUNTABILITY IS ALWAYS SOMEBODY ELSE'S DEPARTMENT
Let's talk about employers.
Those magnificent institutions that decorate their walls with words like:
INTEGRITY.
TEAMWORK.
RESPECT.
EXCELLENCE.
And my personal favorite:
WE ARE FAMILY.
Oh, fuck off.
Family?
Does your family require a supervisor's signature before you're allowed to take a piss?
Does Grandma put you on unpaid suspension while she investigates whether you improperly operated the Thanksgiving gravy ladle?
Does Uncle Bob promise you training, fail to provide it, and then mail you a termination letter citing standards supposedly explained to you?
Because if so, your family reunions must be absolutely fucking spectacular.
I recently had the pleasure of experiencing the corporate version of a disappearing staircase.
I was told I'd failed a policy check.
I was promised training.
I waited.
And the training?
NEVER. FUCKING. ARRIVED.
Then another incident occurred.
I made a procedural mistake, and I acknowledged it.
Because apparently I possess the rare ability to admit when I fuck something up.
But here's the fascinating part.
WHY IS THE EMPLOYEE EXPECTED TO ACCOUNT FOR EVERY MISTAKE WHILE MANAGEMENT'S UNFULFILLED PROMISES ARE TREATED LIKE WEATHER EVENTS?
"Oh, the training didn't happen."
Really?
Did it get caught in a thunderstorm?
Was there a tornado warning in the Department of Basic Competence?
Did the training wander into the woods and get eaten by a fucking raccoon?
Because Jerry would like to formally deny involvement.
If you promise corrective training, PROVIDE CORRECTIVE TRAINING.
If you don't provide it, don't act like your own failure is an irrelevant footnote.
And no, that doesn't magically erase an employee's mistakes.
It means ACCOUNTABILITY SHOULD HAVE MORE THAN ONE FUCKING ADDRESS.
But corporate America has mastered a fascinating trick.
When an employee makes a mistake, it's a performance issue.
When management makes a mistake, it's a learning opportunity.
When an employee fails to follow a procedure, it's a violation.
When management fails to follow through, it's an unfortunate administrative oversight.
When an employee loses income, it's business.
When management loses money, it's a goddamn emergency requiring seventeen meetings and an inspirational speech about resilience.
FUCKING MARVELOUS.
DATING APPS: LOVE, LIES, AND THE FIVE-DOLLAR TREASURE CHEST
And then we have the modern dating economy.
Oh, sweet merciful fuck.
What an absolute carnival of monetized loneliness.
You meet someone.
You talk.
You laugh.
Maybe there's some flirting.
Maybe there's even a little chemistry.
Wonderful!
Two human beings enjoying a conversation!
WHAT A CONCEPT!
And then suddenly:
"Baby, I have something special for you."
Oh?
"Something intimate."
Really?
"Something just for you."
How thoughtful!
THAT'LL BE $5.99.
...
YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.
I thought we were having a conversation, not negotiating a subscription to the National Museum of Unsolicited Ass Cheeks.
And before somebody deliberately misunderstands me, I have absolutely nothing against adults selling consensual adult entertainment.
Make your content.
Set your prices.
Run your business.
Good for you.
But don't dress a sales pitch in the costume of personal affection and then act surprised when somebody doesn't want to purchase the fucking performance.
AN ILLUSION IS ENTERTAINMENT. DECEPTION DESIGNED TO EMPTY YOUR WALLET IS BULLSHIT.
That's the doctrine.
That's the boundary.
That's the entire fucking sermon.
You can flirt with me.
You can joke with me.
You can talk to me about your cat, your hobbies, your weird dreams, or the time you accidentally microwaved a fork.
But if every conversation eventually becomes another attempt to open my wallet, I am going to start wondering whether I'm talking to a person or a goddamn vending machine with cleavage.
And no, I don't need to know your secret motives.
I don't need to conduct a psychological investigation.
I don't need to prove whether you're genuinely interested or simply following a sales script.
I ONLY NEED TO DECIDE WHETHER I WANT TO KEEP PARTICIPATING.
And when the answer is no?
The Lawful Neutral Paladin approaches the treasure chest.
The chest opens its mouth.
"Trust me, bro!"
DIVINE SMITE.
The mimic evaporates.
The gold melts.
The Paladin pours it into another magnificent golden brick.
Transaction declined.
Boundaries maintained.
Have a wonderful fucking day.
THE MOST EXPENSIVE THING IN THE WORLD IS SOMEBODY ELSE'S BULLSHIT
You know what really gets me?
It's not always the money.
Sometimes it's the time.
Sometimes it's the anticipation.
Sometimes it's the effort you invested because somebody convinced you that something worthwhile was waiting at the end.
A job.
A friendship.
A relationship.
An opportunity.
A promise that tomorrow would be a little better than today.
And then you discover that the person making the promise apparently regarded follow-through as an optional downloadable expansion pack.
Now you're left holding the consequences.
The bills.
The disappointment.
The unanswered questions.
The lost hours.
The dwindling bank balance.
Meanwhile, somebody else has already moved on to their next exciting opportunity to say:
TRUST ME, BRO!
And here's where I get especially fucking tired.
People love telling the disappointed person to be positive.
"Don't let it get to you!"
"Everything happens for a reason!"
"Just move forward!"
"Have you tried changing your mindset?"
HAVE YOU TRIED SHUTTING THE FUCK UP FOR SIX CONSECUTIVE SECONDS?
I don't need an inspirational quote.
I need people to understand that THEIR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES FOR OTHER HUMAN BEINGS.
When you waste someone's time, that time is gone.
When you make promises you don't keep, trust gets damaged.
When you mishandle somebody's livelihood, the resulting financial stress doesn't vanish because you wrote "best wishes" at the bottom of a letter.
And when you repeatedly pressure somebody to buy something they don't want, don't be shocked when they decide your conversation isn't worth the price of admission.
NO, NOT EVERYBODY IS SHIT. BUT THE BULLSHIT IS GETTING FUCKING LOUD.
Here's where Jerry briefly demonstrates the existence of a functioning brain cell.
Not everybody is a liar.
Not everybody is a scammer.
Not everybody is a mimic.
Some people make mistakes and correct them.
Some people keep promises.
Some people apologize without needing a lawyer to draft the sentence.
Some people understand that trust is something you maintain through consistent behavior.
Those people exist.
And thank fuck for that.
Because if absolutely everybody were a dishonest asshole, civilization would have collapsed centuries ago under the weight of its own customer-service disclaimers.
But the people who weaponize promises?
The people who demand trust while refusing accountability?
The people who expect patience, money, loyalty, and understanding while offering excuses in return?
THEY CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF.
Not because they're imperfect.
We're all imperfect.
But because imperfection is not a lifetime exemption from responsibility.
You don't get to say "I'm only human" every time you hurt somebody and then demand superhuman patience from the person dealing with the consequences.
That's not fairness.
That's a fucking subscription service to your personal incompetence.
THE PALADIN'S FINAL VERDICT
So here's my new policy.
You want my trust?
EARN IT.
You want my patience?
RESPECT IT.
You want my money?
GIVE ME A LEGITIMATE REASON TO SPEND IT.
You make a promise?
KEEP IT, OR OWN THE FACT THAT YOU DIDN'T.
And if you fuck up?
Congratulations!
Welcome to the human race!
Admit it.
Correct it.
Learn something.
Try again.
Because I don't demand perfection from people.
I demand that they stop treating accountability like a fucking contagious disease.
And as for me?
I'm tired.
I'm angry.
I'm unemployed.
I'm watching my money.
And sometimes I'd love nothing more than to throw my remaining cash into the furnace of instant gratification just to feel something other than frustration.
But I'm not doing that.
Because that would mean letting other people's bullshit turn into my own financial self-destruction.
FUCK THAT.
My gold stays in my treasury.
My boundaries stay intact.
My mistakes remain mine to acknowledge.
And other people's failures remain theirs to answer for.
I will not finance every illusion.
I will not reward every empty promise.
I will not mistake sweet words for trustworthy actions.
And I will not set myself on fire just because somebody else couldn't be bothered to keep a fucking commitment.
The Lawful Neutral Paladin raises his sword.
The mimics begin sweating.
The corporate motivational posters spontaneously combust.
And somewhere, a middle manager whispers:
"Trust me, bro."
JERRY BITES HIS ANKLE FOR −9,999 HP.
Critical hit.
No refund.
No paid unlock.
No second subscription.
ACT BROKE.
BE BORING.
KEEP THE RECEIPTS.
AND AUDIT THY OWN BULLSHIT BEFORE BLAMING THE BATHROOM CRYPTID.
Because if you're going to demand accountability from the world, you had better be willing to practice it yourself.
Otherwise?
You're just another fucking mimic wearing a nicer suit.
Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Chief Executive Raccoon, Department of Broken Promises
Mr. Jerry's Unsolicited Advice:
"Never confuse somebody asking for your trust with somebody having earned it. One requires three words. The other requires actual fucking effort."
TRUST ME, BRO!
Famous last words of a treasure chest approximately 0.3 seconds before Divine Smite.