What happens when a casual Fleetwood Mac fan learns the lore of Stevie and Lindsey and develops full-blown brain rot?

What happens when said casual fan starts obsessively trying to figure out what's been happening since 2018... and then keeps going?

What happens when that same fan tries to determine whether they hugged for three minutes or made out for three hours at Christine's memorial, depending on who's telling the story? (The 'made out' version is mine. Obviously.)

What happens when you start wondering how many chances two people can get before they finally run out? Three hundred million and one, perhaps?

This is what happens.

You and a group of like-minded fools decide to write how you think it happened.

You research harder than you ever did for your degree.

Months disappear. Whole careers are quietly paused while theories are formed, mind maps are drawn and spreadsheets are born.

An account is created (RIP quillbot). Then the 'friends' abandon ship, claiming to have lives. Fools.

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS.

Mental illness, documented in real time. Sit back and enjoy the downfall.

Also, a quick disclaimer: I'm British. I'm sorry we gave you Mick, but that's probably why I enjoy tormenting him so much.

I do my best to write in American English (I even have my laptop language set to US English), because honestly, there's nothing worse than a Brit trying to write about Americans and getting all the words wrong. Still, the occasional rogue spelling sometimes slips through my coffee-fueled haze.

- Kate