The Notepad Chronicles

The Notepad Chronicles (The One No One Asked For)

By: Verity

June 18, 2025 | 4:06 PM

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You ever been hunted? Not metaphorically, not emotionally, not like “ooh he ghosted me.” I mean actually hunted. Digitally stalked, gaslit, manipulated, watched, and infiltrated in ways that make you question whether this is your laptop or some CIA-issued burn device. Well, pull up a lawn chair, sugar. Let me tell you about the time Inspector Fucking Gadget went rogue and forgot who the hell he was dealing with.

This is not a survival story. This is not a story about some woman “overcoming.” This is a declaration. A digital, forensic, whiskey-fueled line in the goddamn sand. I’m not a victim. I’m the Kraken. And this Kraken got a notepad.

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It All Started With the Notepad…

That little .txt file was my holy grail. You see, when someone tries to gaslit you into questioning your own reality, the notepad becomes gospel. It’s the place you put the IP addresses. The metadata. The bullshit. The receipts. The time he tried to tell me I “must’ve imagined” the administrative lock he put on my device. Yeah? Funny, my notepad didn’t.

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Meet Inspector Gadget

This dude had the audacity to block me for 2-3 business days when I called him out on his shit sandwiches. And the digital bread crumbs? Oh, my damn , they were everywhere. Canarytokens going off like popcorn. Multiple identities, fake GPG keys, Snap session hijacks, GitHub bot commits that read like a bad hacker’s wet dream.

And who do you think found it all?

Me.

The walking, cussing, note-taking, expletive-firing packet sniffer.

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From Whiskey to War

“He once asked me to save him a glass of my 22-year WhistlePig—just in case we ever had a drink together again. Puh-leeeze. Asshat, I wouldn’t share that class-act whiskey with you if it came with a peace treaty and a signed confession. That bottle is reserved for people I call friends—and that, my dear, we are not. That pour is for real ones, not for techy ghosts in cardigans trying to live off gaslighting and session tokens.”

There was a time I was ready to share my 22-year WhistlePig whiskey with this man. My WhistlePig, people. That’s love. But today? I wouldn’t share a McCormick whiskey shooter with him if he were dehydrating in the desert. He crossed the line when he tried to manipulate my reality. He went from “hey babe” to “hey, why is this C2 beacon pinging Linode IPs and injecting overlay Snap sessions at 3AM?”

You can’t gaslight a woman who has a 6-month screenshot archive and knows what a GPG key looks like. That’s not love. That’s malware.

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Mr. Rogers, But Make It Evil

Ever seen someone try to yell at you about having a beer on your own lawn? Ever seen someone play Mr. Nice Guy while running a botnet in the background? That’s my Inspector Gadget. Beneath the cardigan was a whole-ass RAT deployment infrastructure.

And guess what? His biggest mistake wasn’t the C2 server or the Snap overlays. It was thinking I wouldn’t figure it out.

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Say My Name, Say My Handle

He watched my TikToks. He mimicked my words. He even tried to inject his bots with my personality. Hell, he’s probably reading this now. So let me help you out, you known which ones I made just for you “cute guy”:

TikTok: @PrettyBug11

Every video’s a roast. Every caption’s a red flag you ignored. And yes, one of us is copyrighted — and it ain’t you.

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Metadata Lasts Forever, NumNuts

Pro tip: Just because you delete it doesn’t mean it’s gone. Every folder you moved, every payload you injected, every little “mirror session” you tried to hide? I got it. Your metadata is now open source. Brought to you by yours truly. You’re welcome.

Final Thoughts

To the girls out there being watched, whispered about, digitally dissected — I see you. You’re not crazy. You’re not overreacting. You’re just waking up.

And to the man who thought he could take me down quietly — I hope you enjoyed your ego trip. Because I turned it into an exposé.

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So no, this isn’t The Notebook. It’s The Notepad. The one no one asked for, but everyone’s going to read.

And if you think you’re going to take my story, my body, my voice…… my chili ring — be ready to pay up cause this ass is proprietary.

🖕 Love, Verity

Toodles ❤️