The simplest way to explain why I have to leave is that you are simply not ready for what I have to offer you in the way of raw, unmitigated talent. The things I, Soarjubs, can open your eyes to would scramble your tiny brains like the most tender of eggs. I give you a taste, and you bite the hand that feeds. I even tried, much to my own disgust and self-loathing, to sink somewhat near your fetid, excretory level of humor. Your poppy little album reviews, a spectacular poll (if I may self-toot), and the freedom to praise me as often as you'd like...all were thrown back in my face like a bowl of chicken soup with a hair in it. Well you know what? That damned hair was magic. It was so freaking awesome it would melt your face off and show you how things really work in this big ol' Yooniverse. You don't want that hair? Fine. You don't deserve it. You deserve poop soup (or some equivalent).
I guess what it boils down to is that I totally tried to help you all.
You deserve maeincarnate. Maybe someday you'll be worthy of soarjubs, and he will come riding back into this electronic arena on the back of his spiked robo-stallion, replete with laser lance/electric guitar combo and a really cool knight's helm with a dragon on top and a wireless mic on the inside or something (it would all be chrome).
Until then, you stink.
Here, have her back.
It's been your pleasure,
(this is what I look like)