The logical conclusion of chan-esque fascist grievance politics is to become a bore to the people you want to hurt and unpalatable to the people you need to succeed. There's only so many ways to tell someone to kill themself, and there's only so many people willing to hang out with the kind of person who makes a hobby out of doing that.
You are the chudjak. Ninety percent of your communication is copy-pasting hateful slogans at people who don't know you. They don't say much back. You survive off a drip-feed of twitter blocks, and screenshot each and every one of them with something that used to be glee. Any novel move you somehow manage to make is at best a month off from being embalmed alive in a mocking wojak meme. You decided to be a boundary pusher, so you pushed the boundaries so far that you ended up alone, in the middle of nowhere, with no way back to where you came from. “Billions must die”, you cry out in VCR OSD Mono font. But the billions are not there to hear you. No one is.