Three Letters to Hasan Piker

To: Hasan Doğan Piker
Date: May 2, 2026
From: Pelican Bay State Prison

Dear Mr. Piker,

Let me start by saying I’m a MASSIVE fan. Like, top of the tumbril chop fan. HasanAbi is my most-viewed Twitch channel by far. No other BreadTuber comes close. Hours I’ve dedicated to your discourse. My screentime is at least 75% of just you. Before a rando redditor pointed me in your direction, I was ignorant, a sap, a cog, a working dog, a lumpenprole. But now I’m awake. No sheep am I. You’ve jolted my class consciousness. Once I was lost in the consoomerist void, but now I’ve found common cause. I’m no longer a slave to the zionist cattleherders. I am your comrade-in-arms, great HasanAbi! My undying loyalty to you and the Proletarian Revolution is absolute!

My allegiance should be above suspicion, HasanAbi. Because, as a champion of the downtrodden, a lifter of the weak, an empowerer of the small, I pledge my troth to you in the fight to overthrow the bourgeoisie, not just in word, but deed.

Hence my dashing this desperate missive to you at a time of great need. Your steadfast soldier is in peril. I’m sitting inside a rotting cell in an oppressive prison, no doubt constructed on the backs of the working class and financed by swinish billionaires. And the guards, I suspect, are former IDF, given their inhumane disregard for us captives. HasanAbi, cherished ally in the crusade against moneyed fascists, I beg you: HELP!

I ask not out of prolelish want, but in sincere militant conviction. I am a political prisoner. The only reason I’m shackled here is because I put righteous class warfare into praxis. No armchair activism here! You see, I’m a barista—a working dreg dumping dregs for predatory suites, carving an almost-life off their spare coin and whatever my porker of a boss decides is “fair” pay. I should say I “was” a barista. I’m no longer “employed” by the bondsman. In fact, my so-called “boss” is dead. That’s right, HasanAbi! I finally realized that all the manifestos and comments and flyers and marches mean not a thing. All airy proclamations! To quote the Chairman, power comes from the smoking gun. And as you’ve wisely observed, CEOs commit “social murder” by underpaying we unappreciated toilers. Every meager check I was handed after slaving before a hot milk steamer was a stab to my dignity. I could take no more. My worth, and the worth of all wagies worldwide, was on the line. So I expropriated my father’s 357 and struck a blow for all workers.

In solidarity, I’ve snuffed that wage-garnishing Goliath. It happened just as you said. The streets ran with his blood and brain matter! Or at least, the spackled walls of his tiny office did. No matter! One mortal shot to a machine man gives hope to all men!

Unfortunately, the zionist-controlled press has silenced my story. The local ABC outlet called it an act of “workplace grievance.” But it was so much more! I have yet to see any other headlines, not even in the Jacobin, of my liberatory bloodletting. Marx knew, as you know, the power of publicization.

That’s why I require a rigorous defense based in the ethic you espouse every day, dear HasanAbi. I’m not personally pleading for your money, as I know, as a fellow sharpened sword in our liberatory war, you are no profitmonger, and thus have little in funds. But if you could use your popular stream, your portal into the zeitgeist, to potentially solicit financial support for my defense, I’d be even more in your service.

Please, HasanAbi! The law of Wall Street weighs heavy on my neck. The silver-toed boot of the overclass presses hard. I’m no genuine third-worlder like you, but a miserable white middle-classian fighting the good and necessary fight. I know you’d never let a fellow red down. You aren’t just my new Lenin, but the new Vozhd.

Make me the new Luigi Mangione.

Yours in the struggle,

Jim @killallcaps Bivens

To: Hasan Doğan Piker
Date: May 6, 2026
From: Pelican Bay State Prison

Dear HasanAbi,

I fear my time grows short. This oppressive caging wears on my body. I haven’t had a full meal in days—the commissary offers no vegan options. The meat-gnashing capital class again! Everything on offer is fatty processed sludge, pumped full of disgusting zionist chemicals to render the radical spirit soft and pliable.

But, HasanAbi, rest assured, I’m not deterred. Your soldier stands at the ready to march. I’m ready to see this out until the capitalist porkers are stuck by their own money clips. But what I need in our greedy, grubby, gorging world is what the real Marxian men lack: funds. The court system is corrupt, as you well know. Tainted with the poison of profit. I require an attorney to make a real case for me. The so-called “public” defendant is actually suggesting I plea. Cop to a crime which isn’t even a crime, but a righteous reaction to our unjust shekel-spinning world. Can you believe it? That’s why I need a real defense—one versed in the exploitation of struggling workers like us.

This is an opportunity to stir thousands—maybe millions—of dormant consciousnesses, awaken them all the swelling revolution against the oligarchs keeping us bogged down in plastic, planet-polluting misery. We can’t miss it, HasanAbi. Consider the first bullet fired, the first nail struck. My fellow wage slaves saw the aftermath, the final terminus of our being held down. But they also saw vengeance. Redemption. LIBERATION! They saw the blood in the office! Now they must see it in the streets if we’re to have any hope!

So, please, my Vozhd, I implore you. Publicize my plight. Turn my fight… NO… our fight, into a viral case. You helped create Luigi Mangione the Martyr. He wasn’t even a fan of yours. And he didn’t even have UnitedHealthcare insurance. I’m a true believer, a BreadTube native, versed in the dialectic of those historic forces that are slowly rusting our fetters. The spark is yours to light. The powderkeg is right here, in cell D-4-205. Together, I know we can blow up the corrupt, irredeemable order and build the world anew.

By the way, my celly is a fan of yours, too. Or, more like knows of you. But he’s also a nut. In here for tweaking and slitting his dealer’s throat. Says you grew up rich and live in a $3 million LA mansion. I don’t believe it. Not for a second. You’re prole to the marrow, HasanAbi. Hence your pull with the angry masses. Please. Broadcast my fight so we can finally dig the blade into those luxurious fatcats just begging for the final stab.

Yours forever in the struggle,

Jim @killallcaps Bivens

To: Hasan Piker
Date: May 11, 2026
From: Pelican Bay State Prison

Dear HasanAbi,

This is my last, last, final, urgent request. Please, HasanAbi. I don’t care that you come from money—though I was shocked to learn that you are indeed the son of an actual pocketwadded businessman. A real-life cutthroat executive. My dad was a pathetic middle manager at a restaurant supply company. He never forgave my renouncing the rapacious system that took his hair and grayed his skin. Called me an ungrateful snot. I countered, “Better to be a snot than slave!” I hope you concur, despite your comfortable and coddled upbringing.

Regardless, it’s a cruelty of this world we can’t choose our parents. But now I ask you again, Comrade HasanAbi, spread my case. Make it bigger than my one small act of brain-splattering defiance. Turn it into the first shot in our final charge to disembowel the asset class. Only you have the reach and following to turn one man’s justifiable sacrifice into a real, bona fide movement. I offer myself as a Martyr in the killing fields of this late-stage capitalist hellscape. Use me, HasanAbi.

My time has almost ticked off. Sentencing is tomorrow morning. My so-called “public defendant” is forgoing a jury trial. I suspect he may be right. No doubt the jurors’ consciousness are still mired in materialistic want. This is why I need you, HasanAbi. We can still create a public awakening. Together we can scream YA BASTA! to all who extract our labor for their own gluttonous profit!

Oh, HasanAbi! Why won’t you answer your fellow revolutionary??? I forgive your bougie birth. I truly do. This is your last chance to have an even bigger Martyr at your disposal. I am ready to sacrifice myself for the great communist cause. I’m yours at the ready.

Should I be sentenced to a lifetime stint in the clink, or worse, the zionist-crafted death injection, my actions, noble and messy as they were, will be for nothing.

HasanAbi, please. Together, we can hasten the twilight of capitalism. The new equal world awaits. Why won’t you help your fellow red ally????

Yours in the struggle to the end,

Jim @killallcaps Bivens