Shitzo

This is a page on the Taiwanese Twerking Truck member. For the illness of the same name, see Shitzophrenia (Illness).
Shitzo Basso, also known as shitzophrenia, hitzophernia, MLGSonicEXE, shitzo, and SLENDERMAN OBBY WINNER, is a member of Taiwanese Twerking Truck. He is best known for his Bowser Jr. pfps. He is a fan of Chainsaw Man, like some other members. His home was vandalized and turned green in the AIDS Outbreak in the VMD Minecraft server.
He is also a part of the Bee Swarm Saudi Arabians and rocks a Blue Port-O-Hive. He constantly is in fear of honey inflation, as it may prevent him from affording the Porcelain Dipper.
== A clarification: real shitzo vs fake shitzo ==
"Real Shitzo" only consists of the dc Bowser Jr. scene and the early 20's Mongolian Throat Singing scene. What is known by "modern shitzo" is nothing but Ryo Yamada fangirling with questionable real shitzo influence. When people try to argue that artists like Ado are not real shitzo, while saying that PJ Harvey is, I can't help not to cringe because they are just as fake emo as Ado (plus the homosexuality). Real shitzo is THOUGHT-PROVOKING, WISE and somewhat REVOLUTIONARY. Fake shitzo is weak, cunty and a failed attempt to direct femboyishness and suppressed homosexuality into shitzo. Some examples of REAL SHITZO are VMDcraft shitzo base, Bowser Jr., Mongolia (the only real shitzo nation from the asian scene) and shitzophrenia. Some examples of FAKE SHITZO are Ryo Yamada, alt accounts and cuntiness SHITZO BELONGS TO BOWSER JR. NOT TO JAPAN, ANIME, BOCCHI THE ROCK OR ANY OTHER WEEABOO NONSENSE 
== History ==
=== Early Life ===
Basso was born on a cold winters day in the slums of Virginia. Both of his parents are Mongolian and he is a 39th generation direct descendant of Genghis Khan. Little is known about Bassos early life, except that he had a silly and goofy childhood. When he was 4 years old he was at a casino because his parents are really good at doing their job. He was also a menace to various elementary school teachers.
=== Later Life ===
=== JToH ===
=== TMD ===
=== VMD ===
Sometime during the VMD era, Basso would find himself having to raise money by reading books for his mother. His mother ended up assigning The Count of Monte Cristo, a 1,200 page book, to poor Basso. He would be subjected to ten years of reading the book in the Chateau d'If.
=== TTT ===
=== The Toweryo of Bocchibel: Part 1 ===
As mentioned in the "Interests" section of this entry of the wiki, Shitzo carries an unusual amount of interest in the 2022 anime "Bocchi the Rock!" In particular, one of the main characters, blue-haired bassist Ryo Yamada, truly spoke to him as the divine word of God might speak to an ever-devout follower. Ever since he first laid his eyes upon her during his initial viewing of the series, he was entirely infatuated with her presence and appearance. The radiative luster of the yellow-green of her eyes, the cobalt-blue hair that daintily, fluidly moved and swayed with every gentle motion that she intentionally or unintentionally enacted. The way she pulled at an ordinary branch with her milk-white teeth, effortlessly separating the delicate thin sheets of green from their wooden mother, and chewed through them as if she were a disabled giraffe brought joyful tears to his eyes. The swift motion of her hand as she raised her thumb towards him as she gave an intimate smile which pierced through his feeble heart. The way she rode on a yellowish stallion, galloping through the rough sands of the West, off towards some undiscovered frontier, and the way she clothed herself in a a suit that must have been woven from the very fabrics of the void of space made Shitzo nearly burst, as he could feel all the happiness and ecstasy coming inside him. To anyone else, she was nothing but an imaginary splash of lines, colors and shapes projected from a screen of liquid crystals; but to Shitzo, Ryo was real. Oh, so real.
Within little time, Shitzo began to express his love by systematically morphing and changing every aspect of his digital being into an icon of the tender high-school girl of his dreams. The backgrounds of his phone were changed to her image. The looping gifs he would post in Taiwanese Twerking Truck were all of her. His once-respected taste in profile pictures changed overnight from the reliable and iconic Bowser Jr. to an analogous, yet to him an equally adorable, series of Ryo making various facial expressions and poses. He went as far as to get his hands on a month-long subscription to Discord Nitro, a key to the bassist kingdom, and changed his profile picture to a more lively, animated one, and his banner into yet another depiction of his true love. Oh, how his heart shattered that fateful day, when his time ran out and his banner was coldly and carelessly ripped from him, and the picture of his profile became a still, soulless collection of motionless pixels once again. Despite the critical blow to his mental state that occurred as a result of this, Shitzo nevertheless continued to soldier on, if not for anything else, then for her.
However, the expression of his desires were not without great risks. While Shitzo himself held no grievances towards his own affections for Yamada, he held no naïveté, and he knew that any ordinary person outside his meticulously crafted, comparably accepting online circle of friends and acquaintances would ridicule his deep affection for Ryo, pin it down and abuse it for being strange and unorthodox. In a time of desperation and danger, he channeled the inner workings of his mind, focusing every flash of electricity coursing through the neurons of his brain, powering the gears and motors to spin faster and faster to concoct a series of ingenious solutions to his troubles, the unknown variables of an equation of the methodology to circumvent any potential harassment or loss of respect from his peers. One by one, the concepts came to him as he conscientiously executed each and every one of them. He would found an entirely new account on Discord were he could use his profile pictures without interacting with the people that would persecute him for it. Whenever a friend or two would stop into his domicile to pay a visit or engage in some recreational activity with him, he would hastily change his phone wallpapers to one deemed more "normal" by the cruel society's standards, switching back only when he was certain that the coast was clear.
Shitzo held his attachment towards Ms. Yamada to a standard of secrecy in order to avoid the chance of being found out by the opps. Despite the small degree of trepidation that perpetually polluted the mechanical ecosystem in his head, he still at that present moment found himself an ample amount of time to enjoy both her and himself, although not nearly as much as he would have liked. For some period of time, the situation seemed to maintain a degree of relative normalcy and peace. However, what was once by comparison a mere ember of romantic dreams and hopeless fantasies had roared into a rousing flame of burning passion within the furnaces of his core. With every post of a gif, every rewatch of the anime, and especially with every attempt to douse these flames with the suppression forced upon him by the outside world, they burned brighter, charring the interior of his soul and immolating him from the inside-out. This internal battle of passion against repression against passion warred inside of him until he could take it no more. One evening, seemingly like any other, Shitzo was viewing a video on his phone entitled, “Ryo Yamada Funny Moments”. He had arrived at a clip of Ryo voraciously devouring spoonfuls upon spoonfuls of food, intended to produce a comical effect for the viewer. Shitzo was no stranger at all to this scene, having become accustomed to it after viewing it hundreds of times before, but this time, there was some stark difference in how it made him feel. What was once another amusing clip of Ryo that made him reminisce on her stunning beauty, now made him feel so much more. His entire body began to shake, then convulse, as he was driven mad by watching her gobble the food down, over and over again. He stuttered wildly before he managed to get out the words, “god, I WISH I were that spoon,” before Shitzo dropped his device and collapsed right onto the floor, incapacitated both from emotional exhaustion and from all of the blood rushing through his veins, away from his head and to other parts of the body.
When Shitzo finally woke from his unconscious state, he wasn’t quite sure of just how much time had passed. Peering out of his bedroom window, he could see that the shimmering golden sun was perched at the top of the skies, meaning he must have slept through the entire night. He sat up from the wooden floor, his gaze staring off into nothing at all as he bore a cold, grave expression on his face. The undying love which he held for Ryo was truly boundless, and surely not capable of being contained within his fleshy construct of blood and bone. He was in dire need of another way to externalize his devotion to Ms. Yamada, or else he would be destroyed. He stayed there for a moment, pondering on the next course of action to take in this battle against his own feelings, before once again he had spun himself into a new world of inspiration and ideas. On a moment’s notice, he stood up, and bolted out of his bedroom, through his house, kicking down every obstacle and door in his way, and out of his home to the outside world for the first time in a long time. He had rarely spent any time outside since the beginning of his parasocial relationship with Ryo, and venturing outside now felt nothing short of agonizing. The blistering sunlight might as well have melted his skin, and he was near-blinded by its immense radiance; yet he did not falter for a moment. With every ounce of willpower being transferred through his legs as force upon the ground, he sprinted through the streets and across his neighborhood, some odd fusion between the power of Genghis Khan and the sheer determination of Forrest Gump.
Just as it felt like his body was about to physically give out, Shitzo reached his destination; he saw the bright orange of the Home Depot logo. He panted like a dog as he stumbled through the glass doors of the establishment, his eyes lighting up with whatever energy he still had upon lifting up his head and seeing the vast collection of tools and building materials. This store would be the genesis of his place of worship. With his own mother’s own credit card, which he had previously stolen from her in order to purchase a rather specific kind of pillow, he bought all of the tools and materials he would need for the plan he had in mind.
When Shitzo eventually arrived from his pilgrimage, bags in hand, marching into the backyard of his home, he immediately began to work on his project. He labored intensively throughout the entire day, in spite of the blazing temperatures. He stopped not even for a trip to the bathroom, a sip of water, a bite of sustenance. Every calorie he burned was directed into his construction, his monument. Inside, in his muscles and his bones, he felt the burning pain of fatigue. Yet he could not bring himself to rest, as in his mind he heard not even his own thoughts, but instead the enchanting voice of Ryo Yamada, calling out to him, the siren begging him to continue his work. It was far more than enough to keep Shitzo going; in his eyes, he was a humble servant, carrying out the will of God. With every hammer of a nail, a strike of pure devotion was conducted through the metal like electricity. The wood splintered, bearing the piercing pain as Christ suffered and bled out on the cross, a difficult sacrifice for the ultimate good of humanity. He would put all that he had into serving his goddess.
Shitzo struggled all day, and all night. It was not until the shining sun had just begun to peak its head over the horizon when the job was done. He took several paces back as the muscles in his hands relaxed, allowing the tools to slip from them and fall to the dew-filled grass with a soft yet prominent thud. His body was soaked with salty sweat, and a blazing pain surged through his tired muscles. It took great effort just to lift his head up away from the floor, but once he did, a shot of adrenaline rushed through his system. He stood there, his eyes going wide, his jaw dropping as if his mind had gone numb during a long session of Bee Swarm Simulator. He ignored the anguished wails of his mother from inside of the home, cries of pure agony as she found out that all of her life savings had been spent at the local Home Depot; his mind could already barely comprehend the divine structure which lay in front of him; he raised his own two hands, turning them around and examining every small detail they had, in awe that they alone had built such a marvelous thing. Before histood a wooden tower, just over twice his height in stature. at the top of it stood a massive cardboard cutout of Ms. Yamada which towered over his one-story home. As Shitzo's gaze slowly drifted upward to take in her perfect beauty, his knees dropped to the ground. He rose his fists with all of the might he had, and slammed them powerfully into the dirt, raising his head and letting out a yell that shook the heavens. But it was not one of agony; it was one of pure religious bliss. Here before him stood an idol of his one true goddess, and he had never felt such guiltless ecstasy before in his life. It was as if he could feel Ryo's angelic touch run down every inch of himself, feel her lifeblood run throughout his system over and over and over again. He lifted his hands, clasped them together and prayed. Prayed to the almighty Ryo, her flawless form and all of the meaning she had given to his life. He prayed, and he vowed to her that this would not be the end, not near. He would do more, he would build more. He had to. For her.
Everywhere Shitzo went, he would spread the good word of Ryo Yamada to anyone he could. Any sliver of shame and guilt he had previously carried evaporated into the atmosphere, floated away from him, the burden having been lifted off his shoulders, never to be seen or felt again. He taught his friends, his family, his teachers, even mere strangers of the gospel. Most rejected Shitzo's message; in his eyes, they hated him because he told the truth. There was, however, a fortunate few who not only listened, but became followers in their own right. These young, neckbearded, unwashed men were none other than the anime club at Shitzo's school. What they lacked in any real sort of hygiene, they made up for by becoming devout worshippers of the Holy Yamada. They rejoiced upon learning of their newfound goddess, and from that point forward they could never have imagined that they lived a life without Her. Both they and Shitzo felt fulfilled in a way they never had before. The entire group would eventually drop out of high school in order to devote more time to their religion. Holy and strict, six times a day, they would gather around the construct, and imitate the Day of Genesis; they would walk in with tools in hand, drop them, get on their knees, slam their fists to the ground, scream, and then pray. And every time they made communications with Ms. Yamada, they felt more and more spiritually enlightened. They were largely shunned by the wider community they lived in, but every so often, a new face would meagerly peek past the wooden barriers of Shitzo’s backyard, peering into Heaven, and they would be welcomed by the prophets with open arms and open minds. 
Shitzo, the Apostle. Oswald, the Apostle. Masayuki, the Apostle. Kevin, the Apostle. Fyodor, the Apostle. Joe, the Apostle. Pou, the Apostle. Genghis, the Apostle. Fengxi, the Apostle. Sevagrendayd, the Apostle. Rogozhin, the Apostle. Lawrence, the Apostle. With some time, their numbers had grown to 12.
There was nothing about the apostles’ devotion that was easy. Having abandoned their families aside from attempts at religious conversion, these young men were left destitute, with few a penny to their names. They seldom acquired food, and the amounts they did scavenge were far from enough to sustain them. Perhaps the only compensation was that they did have shelter. Shitzo’s mother had fled the town, horrified at what had become of her son, and ran away to live at some other unknown location; Shitzo felt nothing upon hearing of her exit as the fact that she had denied Ryo made her nothing in his eyes. Despite their hardships, the apostles not only carried on, but realized they  needed to serve Ryo with even more vigor. They had begun to become more lightheaded and weak as of late, even more than someone who had barely eaten in two weeks would normally be. The 12 were bewildered as to why their bodies were afflicted so. It was not until one of their own, Masayuki the Apostle, made a dangerous decision that would change the course of their lives forever. On a cold, storming night, where the rain droplets crashed down to the earth like a swarm of billions of locusts, where the wind could nearly knock oneself off of their feet, Masayuki had finally had enough of the handicaps which had been placed on his body. He desperately needed answers, and no answers would suffice to him except those from the Lord Herself. In the dead of the night, when the rest of the apostles had long gone to sleep, he dragged out a ladder and hoisted it up against the structure, and he climbed. As he ascended Jacob’s ladder, Ryo’s gorgeous face approaching with every rung, the humble ladder shook and swerved from left to right, nearly causing Masayuki to fall to great injury or worse. It was in a heroic act of pious commitment that he continued to climb in spite of the heights. Once he had reached the top, he found the eyes of Ryo Yamada were level in his own. He had to control himself to not completely lose himself in them and tumble to his doom. He brushed his rough, calloused hand against the previous smoothness of Her cardboard cheek, and then came a rush of ecstasy once again. But this is not what he was here for. He jerked his head high to the moon, who was just barely revealing herself behind the raging clouds, a teasing goddess just begging, enticing Massyuki to get an inch closer. Surely this moon must be a divine sphere casted by Ryo Herself. Masayuki planted his footing at the very top of the ladder, acidic raindrops burning his eyes, the chill freezing every inch of his body, as he outstretched his wings, and his vocal cords ripped themselves wide to bellow out a yell of lamentation which resonated through the unforgiving rain, carrying itself across the world and through the deep oceans.
“Ryo Yamada! Thy divine Goddess! Thy heavenly basket! Thy angelic, perfect, blue-haired girl! Thy leaf-eater and thy spoon-gobbler! I beg of you, play your glorious baselines and riffs for me and my brothers, let your notes resonate both in our eardrums and in our souls!”
Crash! A bolt of lightning sent its furious flash of blinding light through the air, the deafening roar of thunder, yet the wails of Masayuki remained audible still. With every syllable spoken his body shuddered and shivered, putting everything into his message.
“Our bodies have become so feeble and weak! Worshiping you has only become more difficult! I wish we could devote more to you, goddess, but our physical states will not allow us. Please, tell me, WHAT CAN WE DO?!”
As he shouted, the rest of the apostles awoke from their slumbers and ran outside to view the commotion. They were shocked to see Masayuki up so high in the air.
“Masayuki! Brother,” Kevin cried, “you will get yourself killed! Come down, I beg of you!”
But Masayuki ignored these pleas to descend, standing just a bit taller and shouting into the everlasting void, a desperate strain present in his voice which compounded upon itself every second.
“Please! PLEASE, MS. YAMADA! RYO! WE BEG FOR SALVATION! WE LOVE YOU WITH ALL OUR HEARTS! I LOVE YOU, CAN’T YOU SEE? WE NEED YOUR GUIDANCE IN THESE TIMES OF ILLNESS AND PERSECUTION! I will do ANYTHING to serve my goddess, even LICK THE SOLES OF HER BOOTS!”
At this point, even groups of townsfolk had gathered outside around the backyard to see this incredible sight. With Masayuki’s final statement, another, much more sizable strike of lightning burned through the air. An answer would finally come in the form of an irresistible, bewitching voice which boomed through the skies and pierced the ears of everyone around to hear it.
“Prophet Masayuki! Your devotion to me has not gone unnoticed! You are a prime figure of piety! I ask you, my boy, to remember this number and keep it close to your heart, as it will hold the answers you seek.”
Masayuki was paralyzed in a holy sort of fear. Never before had he truly heard this voice of his goddess in such clarity, such reality. Louder than ever before, Her voice endlessly echoed.
“ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOUR!”
With this final bellow, and one concluding bolt of electricity, Masayuki and his ladder were knocked backwards, and the other 11 Apostles and the surrounding townspeople watched in terror as he clung on for dear life before crashing into the roof that lay behind. They all turned and stared at the house in silence, in dread of what had become of him. But the goliath pulled himself out from the wreckage with not a scratch upon his face, not a break of his skin present; the splinters of the wood simply glided past him instead of penetrating his flesh, and his fall was broken by some invisible hand. It was clear that She had shielded him from any physical harm. He rose from his wooden bed with the sun in his head, he stood tall and enlightened above the masses. The apostles cheered with glory, while the ordinary folk turned their heads towards each other, their whole perception of the world warped by the events that had just taken place.
“One hundred forty-four,” Masayuki repeated to Ryo’s followers. With every word he cried, there were more cheers. “It is clear to me that that is the number we must reach. I know not what the divine Goddess needs this quantity of people for, but it must be some great, extraordinary project of unseen proportions. BROTHERS! We must EXPAND!” He lifted his arms in the air again and a triumphant smile formed on his face. He got on his knees, and the others followed suit, and they all prayed in thanks to their guide.
It was then that the religion of Ryonism had truly, fully begun. Led by Shitzo, the Founder, and Masayuki, the Prophet, they would start their religious conquest to convert every man, woman and child into a follower such as themselves. After witnessing the events that had taken place that night, so many of the townsfolk that once rejected the teachings of Shitzo came running to the domicile, with tears in their eyes and their hearts turned dark with guilt as they begged to the apostles and to Ryo for forgiveness for denying the gospel. But Ryo was a kind goddess, and She forgave them and welcomed them into her world with open arms. Without having to put in any work, the number of followers had already increased three-fold. Still, even with direct evidence in front of their eyes, many people still failed to come to terms with the reality that had laid before them all along. The apostles directed the newfound followers to disperse among the town and spread the good word to as many people as possible, to help the nay-sayers out of their self-imposed pits of denial and misery. Perhaps one could, however heretical it would be to do so, deny the calls of Ryo on the night of Masayuki’s enlightenment as a hallucination, a trick of the mind, perhaps due to drowsiness. What one could not deny, however, was the grand exultation which could be found in the  hearts of every born-again Ryonist.
The house of Shitzo was no longer enough to house all of the enlightened. A meeting was called together by the Apostles to discuss a further course of action. Pou, a wise man, layed a map out in front of them and pointed to the empty fields of the West; it would no doubt be a physically, mentally taxing pilgrimage, and lives would no doubt be lost, but these plains would be the perfect space to start something new; instead of taking residency in someone else’s home, they could simply build their own. A safe space for every Ryonist to come together and devote their entire lives to Ms. Yamada; nothing short of a Virginian Utopia. As Pou said these words, he felt a glow of static that hit him where his finger connected to the parchment; clearly, this was what She desired of them. Within the hour, plans were being written up on how to accomplish these goals. The Ryonists were five dozen strong; some would need to gather materials to build the structures, others would need to being adequate sustenance to feed and quench the thirsts of the devotees, more would need to uproot the Ryo Idol that had, and of course, some would need to take arms to defend the group against the disbelievers that would no doubt rear their ugly heads and attempt to attack the legion. The masses were called one last time to the backyard of Shitzo, and the organizations began.
== Interests ==
Shitzo is interested in video games and anime and other generic nerd shit. 
=== Guitar ===
Shitzo is also currently learning the guitar like Bocchi from Bocchi the Rock.
=== Ryo ===
Shitzo has also taken a liking to the character Ryo to Bocchi the Rock, leading to him changing many of his server pfps to the character and even making a second account to hide from the opps. It has been scientifically documented that his liking for Ryo is directly proportional to his e-girlness.
=== Drinking ===
Shitzo has a panache for getting inebriated with vast amounts of alcohol. Some of his favorite alcohol to drink is Kvass, Vodka, Wine, and of course, Beer. His alcoholic inspiration is Kikuri and he wishes to be just as much as a raging alcoholic as her one day. At this rate, it will happen before his High School graduation.
== Factions ==
insert
== Illness ==
Shitzo has been unfortunately diagnosed with a very serious case of shitzophrenia. He is the most notable case of this disorder, which is why it was named after him. It greatly affects his day-to-day life. 
== See also ==
* Shitzophrenia (Illness)
* Shitzo V. Virus