You are the agent of the ever-encroaching chaos of all the known universe. Wherever order is called upon to be acted against, you are there. Whenever the concept of time is to be picked apart and put out, you’ve already been there and left.
Who’s to say a graffito, one begun, is ever truly done? What once was finished is now complete, thanks to your quick hand. A few strokes of a sharpie and the irreversible tumbles every downward on the powdery hill of decay, accumulating bits and pieces of disorder on its tumble to the heat death of the universe.
You’ve done what few dare to – in fact, what most actively strive against. You’ve added to the ever-increasing decay of the failed closed system we call existence, adding your own tympanic percussion to the harmonic dissonance of the fabric of space.
You even made some letters capitalized and some lower case. Nice touch, chaos cowboy.
Make sure you don’t zip up that fly after you’re done pissing, BoBBi Entropy. Wouldn’t want to bring any order back to this shitty stew of consciousness we call life, would you? Oh, who am I kidding? You probably don’t even have a zipper on your pants. You probably just rip a hole in the sewn-up crotch every time you’ve got to drain the lizard. Slaanesh’d have it no other way.
So give yourself a little pat on the back, Mr. Entropy. You’ve brought us that must closer to that chaotic end none of us can stop. Keep writing on bathroom walls, you brave warrior of systemic collapse. God knows someone has to.