I revolutionized digital security. Before me, people were logging into banks with “cat,” “1234,” and the name of whatever child they loved least at the time. Civilization was teetering like a folding chair in a tropical storm.

Then I arrived. A visionary, a prophet, a man with both foresight and a mild grudge against convenience. I gave you the structure and discipline you so desperately needed. And what did I get in return? Reddit threads three thousand comments deep. Support tickets written entirely in caps. Bitching—endless, whiny, bitching.

Enough. Today, I’ll reveal the genius you mistake for cruelty.

Must Include at Least One Uppercase Letter

It’s called gravitas. “pizzalover99” is a drooling stoner. “PizzaLover99” is a mensch who commands respect in the boardroom, even with his fly down. People complain it’s arbitrary. Of course it’s arbitrary! All authority is arbitrary—your laws, your gods. And still you stop at red lights, trembling before a coloured bulb like it’s the Second Coming.

Must Include at Least One Number

I used to think algebra was hot. And frankly, I still do, in moderation. The number rule was my gift to you—another lock on the gate. And what did you do with it? You all picked the same “7,” like sheep. Or “69,” like sheep who think they’re edgy. I see the logs. I read them late at night when I can’t sleep. You’re the degenerates who scratch fake phone numbers into bathroom stalls: Call Amber for a good time. I did. It wasn’t.

Must Include at Least One Special Character

I wanted your login credentials to scream like a Norwegian death-metal band. That’s it. Pure aesthetics. Every time you type “$0ulCrus#er,” you should feel like you’re defending Valhalla. You think it’s annoying? Imagine me in 1998 trying to convince shareholders why “percent signs and ampersands” were the future of cybersecurity. They laughed. But I got the last laug#, which, you’ll notice, includes a mandatory special character.

Must Be at Least 12 Characters Long

This one’s about sheer endurance. If you can’t string together twelve characters without fussing like a raccoon locked out of a bolted dumpster, what business do you have safeguarding financial data? What business do you have safeguarding anything? It’s a stress test I had the pleasure of disguising as policy. Passwords are a crucible. If you can’t endure the crucible, you don’t deserve the fire.

Must Not Match Any of Your Previous 25 Passwords

Pure spite. Humans cling to their sentimental talismans—“BlueHonda2006,” “ILoveJenna,” “PulpFictionRules”—but I’m here to remind you that everything ends. The car rusts, Jenna leaves you for Tiago the spin teacher, and Tarantino’s foot thing becomes impossible to ignore. Move on. You’ll thank me later for making you grow up. (Though none of you ever have.)

Must Expire Every 90 Days

Entropy. That’s all. Entropy and a consulting contract that paid me by the rule. It was a beautiful period of my life—I bought a recliner and a year’s supply of Treasurer Luxury Black cigarettes. Never heard of them? Figures. They weren’t priced for people like you. I’ve been smoking the last pack for five winters. Every drag tastes like a vanquished reCAPTCHA.

Must Include a Haunting Memory

Nobody asked me for this one, I just thought it would be funny. And it is. Watching you hover over the keyboard, trying to decide whether “DadNeverCameHome1994!” is too bleak to type at work? Priceless. “MomStillThinksImSpecial07?” Equally good. And no, “ILoveMyDog4Ever!” does not count. Dogs forgive too easily. I want passwords that linger, passwords that slice, passwords you type in and then sit there blankly, logged in, but still locked out of what matters.

Must Contain Something You Can’t Admit

This was a draft rule, never ratified, but I bring it up because people whine that my rules lack humanity. As if locks should love you. As if gates should care. You want humane? Fine. A door that opens only if you admit you peaked at nineteen. A lock that demands you confess you’re more tired than successful. A vault that won’t budge until you hum your estranged kid’s favourite lullaby. Too far? Maybe. But that’s the thing about power—you only find the line once you’ve already crossed it.

Must Include an Onomatopoeia

You think this one’s a joke, but I was dead serious. Certain noises carry weight. Wham is solid. Splort is filth. Zap works if you’re under thirty; Ka-Thoom if you’re a middle-aged virgin. Clang boasts industrial strength, while Meow is a disgrace. Personally, I use Tick-Tick-Tick—because I enjoy reminding myself that time is running out for you losers.

Who’s It Gonna Be? Me or the Bulgarian Teenager

Sure, I’ve made your lives harder. That was the point. Easy passwords are easy to crack—I fixed that. It’s the only thing standing between your bank account and a Bulgarian teenager in a basement reeking of Red Bull, lit only by the glow of stolen monitors.

But still, somehow, I’m the villain. You don’t remember the data breaches I spared you, only the hoops I made you jump. And yet one good thing did come from all my thankless toil: You’re forced to think of me every ninety days. Jenna never even gave me that.