- Joined
- Nov 15, 2017
Trashfire Ethan Ralph vs. Mister Metokur & Gator - It's finally happening
- Thread starter TwinPeaksEnjoyer
- Start date
-
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- Joined
- Oct 18, 2021
- Joined
- Aug 1, 2021
Goddammit someone needs to mash this with his shuffle dance across the street from Blaze HQ lmao
- Joined
- Aug 22, 2015
It’s been done, I don’t remember where I saw it but somebody who was streaming that weekend had it playing for that part.
WhimsicalTrolli
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jun 20, 2019
To celebrate the Corn Harvest. Thank you @Hüftpriester for this awesome collab.
Piglet with Baphomet Wings
Parody of Bullet with Butterfly wings by Smashing Pumpkins
Written by Cal Rollia and Hüftpriester
(Verse 1)
My girl is a pedophile
Fixing to drain
Unbeknownst minors
To feed my desire of Coprophilia
And do I get
My feet on the fire
Corrupt Shysters
step me up like a game
(Pre-Chorus)
Even on my show
Jannies ban my trolls
Still I’ve never known
Bowel controoooool
(Chorus)
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
The spawn of a hog and a horse can never be saved
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
(Verse 2)
Now I'm Hollerin
Nothing but a rage pig
Pantsu is swallowing
Seed from my baby dick
And what do you want
I'm still gonna flag
And what do I get?
Betrayed by the first fag
(Pre-Chorus)
Even on my show
Jannies ban my trolls
Still I’ve never known
Bowel controoooool
(Chorus)
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
The spawn of a hog and a horse can never be saved
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
(Middle
Tell me my dick isn't small
I just wasn't fully hard
Please don't trust your lyin eyes, nawt truu
Tell me my dick isn't small
I just wasn't fully hard
Please don't trust your lyin eyes, nawt truu
(Interlude)
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
The spawn of a hog and a horse can never be saved
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
(Chorus)
Despite all my rage my wife....
Despite all my rage my wife....
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
(Bridge)
Tell me my dick isn't small
I just wasn't fully hard
Please don't trust your lyin eyes, nawt truu
(Outro)
I cope and seethe cause I'm cross eyed and gay
I cope and seethe cause I'm cross eyed and gay
I cope and seethe cause I'm cross eyed and gay
Piglet with Baphomet Wings
Parody of Bullet with Butterfly wings by Smashing Pumpkins
Written by Cal Rollia and Hüftpriester
(Verse 1)
My girl is a pedophile
Fixing to drain
Unbeknownst minors
To feed my desire of Coprophilia
And do I get
My feet on the fire
Corrupt Shysters
step me up like a game
(Pre-Chorus)
Even on my show
Jannies ban my trolls
Still I’ve never known
Bowel controoooool
(Chorus)
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
The spawn of a hog and a horse can never be saved
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
(Verse 2)
Now I'm Hollerin
Nothing but a rage pig
Pantsu is swallowing
Seed from my baby dick
And what do you want
I'm still gonna flag
And what do I get?
Betrayed by the first fag
(Pre-Chorus)
Even on my show
Jannies ban my trolls
Still I’ve never known
Bowel controoooool
(Chorus)
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
The spawn of a hog and a horse can never be saved
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
(Middle
Tell me my dick isn't small
I just wasn't fully hard
Please don't trust your lyin eyes, nawt truu
Tell me my dick isn't small
I just wasn't fully hard
Please don't trust your lyin eyes, nawt truu
(Interlude)
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
The spawn of a hog and a horse can never be saved
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
(Chorus)
Despite all my rage my wife....
Despite all my rage my wife....
Despite all my rage my wife still looks like Elliot Page
(Bridge)
Tell me my dick isn't small
I just wasn't fully hard
Please don't trust your lyin eyes, nawt truu
(Outro)
I cope and seethe cause I'm cross eyed and gay
I cope and seethe cause I'm cross eyed and gay
I cope and seethe cause I'm cross eyed and gay
Last edited:
- Joined
- Jul 18, 2021
Criminal Stupidity
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2021
Pixies - Broken Face.
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2016
Imagine a 2-mile spite waddle, how's this even possible.
Put down the bottle.
Put down the bottle.
Generic Retard
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jan 31, 2021
This is Scalfani level of fatness.
I hope he doesn't tear his Achilles tendon.
- Joined
- Aug 1, 2021
Here's a insane clip of Ralph while having a bloodsports with Randbot saying he doesn't regret doxxing gator and if could get away with killing Gator he would do it.
- Joined
- Sep 29, 2018
Totally not MATI by the way.
The Kino Casino stream is pure kino, the sex tape was discussed within the first minute and it only gets crazier.
We need a clip with Ralph tard raging, banging on his table with his fists.
ThatDarnIrishMan
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2022
This is the best Kino Casino. There's no doubt. Even made me change my opinion of PPP.
I love this.
I love this.
ddlloo
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Oct 18, 2018
I'm an hour behind on the stream but this is definitely the most enjoyable I have ever found either of PPP or Andy to listen to. IDK what it is, maybe having Metokur on is allowing them to be a bit more relaxed because they don't have to go overboard or w/e to get superchats. Helps that someone good at banter is on too...
- Joined
- Mar 12, 2021
The inputting of a quarter every hour adds to the kino
ThatDarnIrishMan
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2022
The perfect way this night has gone is how perfect the last 4 hours have been. I dislike Rand a lot but here he is, ruining Ralph. Ralph has now had major Ls to all of his main previous co-hosts (apart from Zidane, who vanished).
...and then Rand shows up an hour later, blindingly drunk and nearly ruining the good graces he just earned haha
...and then Rand shows up an hour later, blindingly drunk and nearly ruining the good graces he just earned haha
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2016
Ralph is a pussy and he will not confront his daddy in the Casino.
AnIntrepidCrow
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- May 29, 2021
It's the first time in the last two years Ralph has avoided going to the Casino
KAP that was a literal work of art. Brav-fucking-o
- Joined
- Aug 22, 2015
I think even Jim thinks that's a better Jim now..
Weeb Slinger
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2019
"Mr Constantine, I am very sorry to inform you that your vocal chords are damaged beyond repair," the surgeon reported earnestly to the silhouetted figure who sat before him, enveloped within a dense cloud of smooth-filtered Camel cigarette smoke.
He examined the stitching of the 4-star baseball cap that his patient had offered to him as a gift, as if he was willing it to transform itself into a bottle of single malt whiskey.
"In fact, Mr Constantine, in over 40 years as a surgeon (ten of those professional), I have never seen such a gruesome, none-oral sex related injury to the human voice box, I cannot even begin to imagine how you came to sustain such a terrible wound."
In a flurry of sign language, bolstered by elements of interpretive dance, learned under the tuition Ms Sylvia Styles, at the Manhattan Academy of the Non-Culturally Appropriated Social Sciences, Jim described to his medical carer the bizarre chain of events that had led him to his current predicament: How he had fucked his voice, possibly forever, by repeatedly yelling the word: "SUEIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" in exchange for small donations, as a means of owning (or in his words 'pwning') an Internet personality by the name of Ethan Ralph.
The surgeon, whose name was Cavendish, nodded sagely:
"I can see how a 'Sueieee' with that many 'e's added to the end of it could lead to your present injury," he acknowledged. "The recommended medical limit is five 'e's, and even that is considered dangerous in high volume. If I was granted the power by YouTube to permanently strike three words from the English language, those words would be the extended 'sueieee', along with 'kike' and 'amazeballs.'"
In the corner of the surgeon's office, the sound of slow handclapping began to echo from behind a pleated privacy curtain. Ethan Ralph waddled out from behind the screen. He was naked. He wore his oiled gunt in the classic Roman style, wrapped around his midriff and tucked into itself, like a fleshy toga.
"Well, I think that successfully concludes today's ruse," he gloated.
Jim hastily scribbled down something on Mr Cavendish's notepad, which he thrust before Ethan Ralph's boss-eyed, piggy gaze.
Ralph, what happened to your voice? Why are you talking like Barry White after swallowing an entire pill bottle of Viagra?
"Well, a measure of confusion is to be expected when your opponent fails to recognise that you have engaged them in a game of ten-dimensional Buckaroo!" crowed Ralph, in a sexual baritone that instantly moistened the panties of every female within a five mile radius. "I guess you could say that it started when I began to consider how to silence you, my most vocal critic. Clearly a simple flagging campaign would be insufficient. I needed something more permanent. Something like, I don't know, convincing you to make prolific use of an insult that I knew would cause permanent damage to your vocal chords."
The Camel cigarette smoke was beginning to settle around Jim. For the first time in recorded history, elements of his features, that had once been as mysterious as the bottom of the Mariana Trench, were visible to the naked eye. He was not the chaotic-neutral, high elf warrior-mage that he was so often depicted as in fan art. Nor did he possess an actual third eye located where his pineal gland should have been. He was just a normal man. The kind who you might see in any branch of Walgreens or Taco Bell.
"Of course I had some assistance," elaborated Ralph.
The door to Mr Cavendish's office opened. A gaunt simpleton, sporting a well-trimmed beard, entered the room leading a horse by its bridal.
"Presenting two-times Academy Award nominee, Mr Robert Downey Jnr," announced Ralph, proudly. "He was so committed to playing the role of my supposed Portuguese nemesis, Mr Adam Warski, that he voluntarily contracted full-blown AIDS on no less than three separate occasions. And I think that you already know my other half - May, the mother of my pig-foal, better known as Winning Colors, who romped home to victory in the 1988 Kentucky Derby. Sadly my younger biological sibling, Joshua Moon Ralph, who also helped out, cannot be with us this evening. By the way, have you met my accountant?"
Mundane Matt sidled genially around the door to the office.
"Actually my real name is Steve and I am considered to be quite an interesting guy by my peers," he said.
"The thing that surprised us all really," said Ralph, "is how you never realised that Jade was an inanimate doll, manufactured entirely from felt salvaged from rescued Las Vegas Blackjack tables."
Jim stared across the room at his wife who was in the midst of streaming a degenerate, 600-episode anime on her Huawei phone. Suddenly the 'Dealer must draw to 16' tattoo on her arse made sense. In hindsight he should have realised that something was amiss when he was forced to attach Velcro pads to his ancient penis, so that she could maintain sustained contact during their customary Wednesday evening hand job sessions.
He scribbled something on the Surgeon's pad and showed it to Ralph.
The cancer?
"Well, about that Jim," gloated the morbidly obese manlet. "Short-sighted medical professionals, like Mr Cavendish here, might categorise what you have as cancer. More enlightened gentlemen, who have embraced the realities of an advanced technological age might describe it as a gunt transplant. That's right, Jim. I had a piece of my gunt removed and implanted into your body. It was the least that I could do for an old friend."
In a sudden burst of movement, Jim's arm shot over the desk. His fingers fumbled to open the top drawer, where he knew Mr Cavendish kept the gun that he used to shoot out tumours. As he held the revolver to his head he caught sight of Ralph shaking his head. His finger tremored millimetres from the trigger, unable to pull it. Finally, he put the gun down on the desk. Guided by a primeval and malevolent force, that was millennia older than his dick, he approached the TV mounted on the wall. He flicked through the channels until he found one that was screening live Indian Women's Tennis.
Ralph waddled over and handed him a mobile phone with the betting app open.
"Who do you like?" he enquired.
Jim took a few minutes to follow the action unfolding on the court, assessing the form and relative merits of the two players. Eventually he bent down over Cavendish's notepad and wrote:
I don't know. They both look they should come into the bathroom with me right now and suck my dick like the dirty whores they are.
He handed the pad to Ralph, who nodded his approval.
"That's mah daddy Jim," he said.
He examined the stitching of the 4-star baseball cap that his patient had offered to him as a gift, as if he was willing it to transform itself into a bottle of single malt whiskey.
"In fact, Mr Constantine, in over 40 years as a surgeon (ten of those professional), I have never seen such a gruesome, none-oral sex related injury to the human voice box, I cannot even begin to imagine how you came to sustain such a terrible wound."
In a flurry of sign language, bolstered by elements of interpretive dance, learned under the tuition Ms Sylvia Styles, at the Manhattan Academy of the Non-Culturally Appropriated Social Sciences, Jim described to his medical carer the bizarre chain of events that had led him to his current predicament: How he had fucked his voice, possibly forever, by repeatedly yelling the word: "SUEIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" in exchange for small donations, as a means of owning (or in his words 'pwning') an Internet personality by the name of Ethan Ralph.
The surgeon, whose name was Cavendish, nodded sagely:
"I can see how a 'Sueieee' with that many 'e's added to the end of it could lead to your present injury," he acknowledged. "The recommended medical limit is five 'e's, and even that is considered dangerous in high volume. If I was granted the power by YouTube to permanently strike three words from the English language, those words would be the extended 'sueieee', along with 'kike' and 'amazeballs.'"
In the corner of the surgeon's office, the sound of slow handclapping began to echo from behind a pleated privacy curtain. Ethan Ralph waddled out from behind the screen. He was naked. He wore his oiled gunt in the classic Roman style, wrapped around his midriff and tucked into itself, like a fleshy toga.
"Well, I think that successfully concludes today's ruse," he gloated.
Jim hastily scribbled down something on Mr Cavendish's notepad, which he thrust before Ethan Ralph's boss-eyed, piggy gaze.
Ralph, what happened to your voice? Why are you talking like Barry White after swallowing an entire pill bottle of Viagra?
"Well, a measure of confusion is to be expected when your opponent fails to recognise that you have engaged them in a game of ten-dimensional Buckaroo!" crowed Ralph, in a sexual baritone that instantly moistened the panties of every female within a five mile radius. "I guess you could say that it started when I began to consider how to silence you, my most vocal critic. Clearly a simple flagging campaign would be insufficient. I needed something more permanent. Something like, I don't know, convincing you to make prolific use of an insult that I knew would cause permanent damage to your vocal chords."
The Camel cigarette smoke was beginning to settle around Jim. For the first time in recorded history, elements of his features, that had once been as mysterious as the bottom of the Mariana Trench, were visible to the naked eye. He was not the chaotic-neutral, high elf warrior-mage that he was so often depicted as in fan art. Nor did he possess an actual third eye located where his pineal gland should have been. He was just a normal man. The kind who you might see in any branch of Walgreens or Taco Bell.
"Of course I had some assistance," elaborated Ralph.
The door to Mr Cavendish's office opened. A gaunt simpleton, sporting a well-trimmed beard, entered the room leading a horse by its bridal.
"Presenting two-times Academy Award nominee, Mr Robert Downey Jnr," announced Ralph, proudly. "He was so committed to playing the role of my supposed Portuguese nemesis, Mr Adam Warski, that he voluntarily contracted full-blown AIDS on no less than three separate occasions. And I think that you already know my other half - May, the mother of my pig-foal, better known as Winning Colors, who romped home to victory in the 1988 Kentucky Derby. Sadly my younger biological sibling, Joshua Moon Ralph, who also helped out, cannot be with us this evening. By the way, have you met my accountant?"
Mundane Matt sidled genially around the door to the office.
"Actually my real name is Steve and I am considered to be quite an interesting guy by my peers," he said.
"The thing that surprised us all really," said Ralph, "is how you never realised that Jade was an inanimate doll, manufactured entirely from felt salvaged from rescued Las Vegas Blackjack tables."
Jim stared across the room at his wife who was in the midst of streaming a degenerate, 600-episode anime on her Huawei phone. Suddenly the 'Dealer must draw to 16' tattoo on her arse made sense. In hindsight he should have realised that something was amiss when he was forced to attach Velcro pads to his ancient penis, so that she could maintain sustained contact during their customary Wednesday evening hand job sessions.
He scribbled something on the Surgeon's pad and showed it to Ralph.
The cancer?
"Well, about that Jim," gloated the morbidly obese manlet. "Short-sighted medical professionals, like Mr Cavendish here, might categorise what you have as cancer. More enlightened gentlemen, who have embraced the realities of an advanced technological age might describe it as a gunt transplant. That's right, Jim. I had a piece of my gunt removed and implanted into your body. It was the least that I could do for an old friend."
In a sudden burst of movement, Jim's arm shot over the desk. His fingers fumbled to open the top drawer, where he knew Mr Cavendish kept the gun that he used to shoot out tumours. As he held the revolver to his head he caught sight of Ralph shaking his head. His finger tremored millimetres from the trigger, unable to pull it. Finally, he put the gun down on the desk. Guided by a primeval and malevolent force, that was millennia older than his dick, he approached the TV mounted on the wall. He flicked through the channels until he found one that was screening live Indian Women's Tennis.
Ralph waddled over and handed him a mobile phone with the betting app open.
"Who do you like?" he enquired.
Jim took a few minutes to follow the action unfolding on the court, assessing the form and relative merits of the two players. Eventually he bent down over Cavendish's notepad and wrote:
I don't know. They both look they should come into the bathroom with me right now and suck my dick like the dirty whores they are.
He handed the pad to Ralph, who nodded his approval.
"That's mah daddy Jim," he said.
Last edited: