No one loves you, TimeLady Victorious, and no one ever will. You will die alone, shivering in some kidnapper's basement while he's holding you for a jar of untainted urine as ransom, to help him pass a drug test, but no one will care enough about you to UPS him some. He'll then dump your body at night near where he found you, and your corpse will sour there for months, as birds and even maggots refuse to eat it. Finally someone will call the police and a bunch of government bureaucrats will dispose of your body in a landfill, costing $50,000 to local tax-victims, who will name an Internet meme after you, meaning something along the lines of "pathetic social parasite who its own mother should have drowned". The YouTube video of garbage men puking on your corpse will set a new world record. A new holiday will be invented on April 15th with you as its villain, where children make your effigy out of dung and kitty litter, put it in a giant blender, and convert the liquefied remains to bio-diesel specifically formulated for Burmese mopeds that are used by traveling government agents who perform random anal lubricant viscosity tests in homes across America.