In what might be the final Xeroforhire podcast episode of 2025, I started with something beautiful: a young woman on YouTube announcing that her channel is becoming explicitly Christian. She radiated joy as she declared that Jesus isn’t just a good teacher—He’s God Himself—and even if her body isn’t fully healed in this life, that’s okay. She’s getting a new one.

That simple, confident hope stopped me in my tracks. You could see the new-creation glow in her eyes, the kind of uncontainable life that only comes when someone truly meets Christ. And it reminded me how rarely we talk about the actual promises of eschatology—the new heavens, new earth, and glorified bodies—without immediately descending into timeline charts and rapture debates. We all agree those future realities are coming (even if we disagree on the sequencing), yet we spend 95 % of our energy arguing about the 5 % we disagree on. Her video was a refreshing reminder that we can (and should) celebrate the universal, glorious hope we already possess in Christ without needing to win the prophecy argument first.

The second half of the episode took a hard turn into something I’ve been wrestling with all year: social media has become pathological, and I’m done playing the game.

I tried the “fresh account algorithm boost” experiment on X—set everything up exactly as the marketing gurus (and even some AIs) recommend—and watched in real time as literally zero people saw anything I posted. It’s no longer “pay to play.” It’s “perform like a dancing monkey or be invisible.” The only posts that break through are engagement-farm riddles, rage bait, or conspiracy nonsense. To get a single view as an artist or writer now requires you to become the very thing most of us went online to escape: aggressively terminally online.

I used a farmer’s-market analogy on the show: imagine setting up your table full of pumpkins, waiting all morning, and realizing no one is even walking down your aisle because the market organizers hid your table unless you first go glad-hand every other vendor. That’s today’s internet. And I’m not willing to train myself—or worse, my kids—to chase dopamine metrics by acting like sociopaths just to be seen.

So I’m opting out of the performance. I’ll still write books. I’ll still release art and music. I’ll still podcast. But I’m planting trees whose shade I may never sit under, and I’m increasingly convinced the fruit will ripen offline, in the real world, the way it always did before we broke everything with infinite scrolling.

2025 has been a year of a lot of complaining on my part (I checked the transcripts; the data doesn’t lie). 2026 will be different. The podcast is coming back in January with a tighter, more polished format—fewer rants, more signal, more focus on the hope we actually have in Christ instead of the circus we’ve built online.

Thanks for riding with me this year.

Stay holy.

### Timestamp Summary for Reference

00:00 – Intro + this may be the last episode of 2025

00:30 – The YouTube video that sparked the episode: young woman joyfully declaring her faith and future resurrection body

01:05 – The beauty of visible new life in Christ

01:38 – Why healthy eschatology talk (new heavens, new earth, new bodies) is so rare

02:50 – We should talk more about the hope we all agree on instead of fighting over timelines

03:15 – Shared the video with my small Facebook circle + beginning to delete old social accounts

03:40 – Social media feels increasingly pathological

04:10 – Story of creating a fresh X account for algorithm gaming → zero views

06:30 – Farmer’s-market analogy for how broken discoverability is now

08:00 – It’s no longer “pay to play,” it’s “perform or perish”

09:20 – Engagement farming, stolen images, rage bait, conspiracy DMs—the psychotic behavior required to win

11:00 – I’m done feeding or becoming that pathology

12:10 – 2025 has been a lot of complaining; I own that

12:40 – Planting trees whose shade I may never enjoy; writing for a longer horizon

13:35 – Shifting focus to real-world impact instead of terminally online nonsense

14:30 – I don’t want my kids growing up algorithm-chasing

15:25 – Podcast returns January 2026: new format, more polished, less complainy

15:47 – Closing: Stay holy

In this episode, I dig beneath the silly meme surface of “6-7” and expose the darker spiritual, cultural, and algorithmic machinery behind it.

What starts as a harmless viral chant becomes a window into drill-rap violence, Santeria practices, and the transactional nature of pagan “blessings.” I break down how the rapper behind the meme, Skrilla, openly attributes his career to rituals involving animal sacrifice and a pantheon of gods—and why his body language shows he regrets the bargain.

We look at how the algorithm amplifies spiritual influence, how “fame” can twist into a monkey’s paw curse, and how the kid who made the meme blow up is now trapped as the permanent “6-7 Kid.”

This isn’t fear-mongering. It’s a dissection of how modern culture, digital virality, and ancient spiritual systems collide—how a nonsense phrase can unintentionally reveal an economy of worship, influence, and unseen power.

TIMESTAMPS

00:00 – Intro & recap of Part 100:18 – The two sides of the 6-7 meme00:44 – Introducing the “darker side”01:01 – Skrilla’s original lyrics01:17 – “Barely music” and style critique01:50 – Highway shooting reference02:13 – Kids’ reaction to drill-rap violence02:23 – Skrilla’s religion: Santeria02:48 – What Santeria rituals look like03:16 – Blood rituals, sacrifice, and symbolism03:36 – Comparing polytheistic systems04:24 – Bodily fluids, gore, and spiritual cost04:38 – The costs of pagan healing vs Christian prayer05:22 – Transactional spiritual systems05:53 – “Indebted for life” dynamic06:01 – Skrilla asking his god for a record deal06:23 – “I got what I asked for” — regret06:40 – Fame without fame: the monkey’s paw07:06 – Masks, curses, and permanent obligations07:23 – Even his own gang avoids talking about it07:47 – Transition to algorithmic spiritual power08:02 – “Gods gain power from worship” theory08:44 – Worship economy & modern subscriber culture08:52 – Viral memes as demonstrations of spiritual influence09:08 – The unintended consequences of Skrilla’s request09:17 – The 6-7 Kid becomes more famous than the rapper09:46 – His miserable type-cast existence10:12 – Skrilla becomes a preacher for Santeria10:26 – Santeria’s reach is surprisingly large10:31 – His job is now evangelizing his religion10:42 – How the algorithm rewards spiritual entities10:55 – The rapper’s deal: fame traded for a viral joke11:07 – Peeling back the system behind the meme11:14 – Clarification: Saying “6-7” won’t curse you11:22 – Its power is stripped; it’s just a joke now11:29 – What the meme truly represents11:38 – A man who ruined his life for fame11:50 – Meme as an esoteric inside joke12:02 – Outro & community question

Xeroforhire Podcast — Episode Summary

The kids shouting “6-7!” at school aren’t participating in a harmless trend — and they aren’t summoning demons either. In this episode, I unpack the entire chain behind the meme, tracing it from a gang call, to a drill rapper, to a TikTok basketball clip, and finally to your kid’s classroom.

6 7 kid meets skrilla - https://youtube.com/shorts/Hl0ofv-7CwY?si=qe8t1vp7l4rYtPTx

Now hear the actual song (language warning)

I compare the phenomenon to the gang-culture leakage I grew up with — when kids drew pitchforks on notebooks and threw up Westside signs without knowing the danger they were flirting with. Today’s version isn’t any more supernatural; it’s just faster, louder, and driven by algorithms instead of local neighborhoods.

This episode breaks down:

* why “6-7” didn’t actually start as nonsense

* how a Philadelphia drill gang’s tagline slipped into mainstream kid culture

* how one neglected kid in the stands accidentally supercharged the meme

* why kids imitate signals they don’t understand

* the difference between gang mimicry, internet brain rot, and real danger

* why parents need to pay closer attention without falling into panic

* and why not everything that looks dark online is a spiritual ritual — but almost everything has a trail behind it

This is Part 1 — the cultural and gang-layer breakdown.

The deeper spiritual layer comes later this week.

⏱️ Timestamps

00:00 — Opening, what “6-7” sounds like and why kids yell it 01:00 — News segments claiming “it means nothing” — and why that’s wrong02:00 — My surprise that the story had darker roots03:00 — The three layers: dark origins → middle ground → brain-rot version03:50 — Comparing it to kids throwing up Westside signs in the 90s05:10 — The Sunnyside “OK” sign and the Folks gang pitchforks on notebooks07:00 — Why kids imitate symbols without knowing the danger07:40 — Introducing the 6-7 gang in Philadelphia (YSN)08:20 — The bounty and violent history09:10 — How the basketball player meme combined with drill culture10:00 — The viral TikTok clip that reignited everything11:00 — Kids flexing with drill lyrics without understanding them12:00 — The song “Doot Doot,” why it’s barely music, and the Baby Shark confusion13:00 — Neglected kids, edge-lords, and why one kid’s behavior spreads 67 to 67 others14:00 — Why I shut down “Dumb Ways to Die” immediately14:45 — How kids follow esoteric signals to avoid looking clueless15:10 — Why this isn’t a spiritual panic — but it is a culture warning15:30 — Closing remarks — Part 2 coming soon