Copypasta thread - Mmmm pasta

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Rat Speaker said:
In the golden years newfaggots like you would of been halal'd within the week of registration and sent running back to the safety of your reddit and tumblr pages. To type up gaint walls of text about how the big bad K-Farmers are evil and you totally aren't bad like them, that your curiosity got the best of you. That you've let the rebellious urge to be naughty and edgy run through your veins, but at heart you are truly a good Christian boy.

Newfaggots like you and this kind of newfaggotry like thinking is what is ruining this website. You and your kin are the nail in the coffin of what was once the great Kiwi Farms (tm). You should be ashamed to call yourself a K-Farmer.

In fact, I bet you dont even call yourself one, do you? Your ashamed aren't you? What would mommy and daddy say if they found out? What about your friends, your popularity? No, a newfaggot like you would never feel pride in their interactions with this community. Would never proudly wear their K-Farmer shirts in public. I have 4 official and 1 counterfeit, but thats besides the point because a newfaggot like you would never own a single one let alone wear it outside of the safety of their bedroom!

Fuck off newfaggot, fuck off all of you newfaggots. You sicken me.

Go do a kickflip into traffic.
Click to expand...
 
Jim's email to Sydney. Removed all references to Sydney, cuz she's a bitch.

You see, I have a passion for the weather. It's been something inside me ever since I was a young child.
When I was only five years old, my father had to drag me into the house because I was out on the front lawn worshipping a tornado.
Dad just didn't understand that strong winds are Dod sneezing. But I did. I know what God wants.
He tells me, whispers it to me at night. "Jim", God says, "tell this world about my wonderful weather."

How can I deny God? I'm just a man, a man that loves God's weather.
So that brings me to my project idea. I want to do a forecast.
I want to share my love of the weather and Gods SPECIAL MESSAGE with the world.
So let's do this. Me, you, and God.
 
𝔑𝔬𝔴, 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶, 𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔬𝔴
𝔐𝔶 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔢𝔵𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔩𝔦𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔡 𝔲𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫
𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢, 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔞 𝔪𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱
𝔗𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢
ℑ'𝔩𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔧𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔯𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔶 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔢𝔣 𝔬𝔣 𝔅𝔢𝔩 𝔄𝔦𝔯
ℑ𝔫 𝔚𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰, ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔡
ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔣𝔦𝔢𝔩𝔡𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 ℑ 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔞𝔶𝔰
ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔞 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔷𝔢, 𝔰𝔲𝔟𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔢𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔬𝔩
𝔒𝔠𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔭 𝔤𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔩
𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔞 𝔣𝔢𝔴 𝔙𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔞𝔩-𝔎𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰, 𝔴𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔮𝔲𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡
𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔡
𝔖𝔬 ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥, 𝔶𝔢𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔡
𝔖𝔞𝔦𝔡 𝔰𝔥𝔢, "ℑ 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩 𝔣𝔦𝔢𝔣 𝔬𝔣 𝔅𝔢𝔩 𝔄𝔦𝔯."
 
My mom seems to be one of those boomers that always uses genericized trademarks, I remember as a kid my brother got angry at her for calling his Playstation a "Nintendo". However despite this correction she instead explained genericized trademarks and then repeated the exact same sentence calling it a Nintendo, causing him to throw a fit and storm off. This later stopped with later consoles. I also remember once her mocking him for referring to a store brand bandage as a "band-aid". Anyway she also knows only one Pokémon and obviously it's Pikachu. I got a little annoyed hearing her talk about the "Pikachu cartoon" and "Pikachu movies" when I was kid, but granted Pikachu is a main character in them so I didn't really push it.

Recently when I was with her I was playing Pokémon Go and she would ask things like "oh did you run off to catch Pikachu?" and I corrected her, I ran off to catch an Oddish, not Pikachu. Everytime she made a reference to "Pikachu" I would correct her and say the generic term is "Pokémon". She still kept saying Pikachu stubbornly. I just kept correcting her. Eventually she broke down and just sternly told me it's pretty clear what she means when she says "Pikachu". I'm too much of a fan to let this slide so I stood my ground and said her terminology wasn't correct. FYI I'm like this in general, I get annoyed at people saying they live in "Minneapolis" when they actually live in a suburb for example (I live in actual Minneapolis.)

So am I an asshole and being too oversensitive?
 
Imagine raising a daughter for 19 years, and tripping about her wanting to suck dick like her decisions as an adult have any relevance to you anymore. Have you considered perhaps that she really enjoys sucking dick? I don't know, I wouldn't want to watch or think about my daughter sucking dick, but fuck man - I like to get my dick sucked, fucking love it, I also love to get head - but if my tinder profile said that "I may not be the tallest guy, or have the most money, or a straight nose - but I will let you sit on my face until I require CPR to revive me cos I want you to throttle me with your thighs as I tongue your clit" I bet there are plenty of dads (or mom's) who would see that as hilarious and, as such, a perfectly acceptable standard of masculinity or whatever the fuck instead of just kinda immature, and too much information for them as a parent to be interested in hearing. That's the same reaction that it should be for the daughter, but all this over-protection of the daughters sexuality as if they are incapable of making their own choices is a shitty double-standard, and borders on a creepy-ass obsession for a lot of the "I'll greet my daughters boyfriends with a shotgun" type, virginity "protector" dad's. When I have a daughter, I fully expect her to have had the shit fucked out of her by the time she is 19, and to be able to decide if she thinks it a wise decision or not to advertise her dick-sucking abilities on the internet. And I'll tell you what, I guarantee that the daughter of the person with a non-controlling viewpoint on their daughters sexuality is a lot less likely to act out in a way about their sexuality such as this than the daughter of the shotgun-toting, virginity-protector father.
 
Hey Faggots,
My name is John, and I hate every single one of you. All of you are fat, retarded, no-lifes who spend every second of their day looking at stupid ass pictures. You are everything bad in the world. Honestly, have any of you ever gotten any pussy? I mean, I guess it's fun making fun of people because of your own insecurities, but you all take to a whole new level. This is even worse than jerking off to pictures on facebook.
Don't be a stranger. Just hit me with your best shot. I'm pretty much perfect. I was captain of the football team, and starter on my basketball team. What sports do you play, other than "jack off to naked drawn Japanese people"? I also get straight A's, and have a banging hot girlfriend (She just blew me; Shit was SO cash). You are all faggots who should just kill yourselves. Thanks for listening.
Pic Related: It's me and my bitch
 
I have a good story: the day me and my platoon destroyed an entire shipment of books for no good reason. This all happened back on my float. (Marine terminology for MEU deployment)

Back on the float we used to get care packages of books- every once in a while a mail drop would come with a cardboard box full of them that would get passed from berthing to berthing. There were a few boxes going around the ship, every time a new box came in it would get passed through the berthing cycle (mail clerks would always get the box first because they were dicks).

Anyways, we always got the box last. Every fucking time, because everyone hated us. So one mail shipment we decided to maraud- and take the new book box for ourselves. The heist was simple, and involved entering the mail room and taking the new box from the clerks. They were busy sorting the mail shipment, and the door was left open- so it was easy for two of us to walk in there, bully the stooge sorting letters, and take the box for ourselves. We eloped back to our berthing where we greedily opened our glittering, cardboard prize with a k-bar.

Inside, was shit. We had never actually gotten our hands on a book box before- but it was underwhelming. The contents were, in a word: gay. Science fiction novellas, romances, some flavor-of-the-month paperbacks- it was, aside from a few classics, utterly gay. Setting our sights on the book boxes from afar, when we happened to chance upon them while visitng another berthing, had given us the impression that there would be some real page-turners inside. We were wrong.

So I grabbed a copy of Digital Fortress by Dan Brown, opened it in half, then pulled down my trousers and skivvies and inserted one half between my buttocks.

Let me back up a bit- as I'm sure you require some explanation for why this was my chosen course of action. You see; my ass, is incredible. My rear-end is oddly enough, shaped like an attractive female's hind. My ass could be described as: succulent, juicy, bouncy, bubbly, enticing, or even lusty. In case you haven't gotten the point yet: I've got one fat boypussy. If you cropped out the rest of my muscular frame, and were shown an image of only my behind, you would swear it was taken from the centerfold of Black Men Magazine. Needless to say, I didn't get it solely by means of genetics. I've always taken well to exercises of the legs and gluts, and my physiology shows this. My ass is also incredibly strong, and when I clench it, it's feels like two mounds of titanium. This is why I decided to place the book between these two cheeks of mine.

I placed on half of the book between my cheeks and gripped the other half with both hands. With only the force of my ass to hold the other end, I yanked as hard as I could until I ripped the fiction novel in half. Right down the binding, it split in two. The rest of the berthing was intrigued. If I could manage it, why shouldn't they?

Hands lept into the book box, grabbing paperbacks for the other Marines' own trials. Cammie trousers and skivvy shorts came off, and soon a total of about twenty marines were standing in the berthing- open books clenched in their buttocks. (This is where the 0_o comes in)

The berthing was silent, but the air contained the palpable energy of concentration. Every once in a while a stifled grunt, or moan could be heard as the men wrestled with their literature. First, a large Puerto Rican Marine managed to split Brother Odd by Steve Koontz, and let out a primal, triumphant scream. Freakonomics was next, then Frankenstein, and then American Psycho. One by one the berthing tore the entire contents of the box to shreds, using nothing but our powerful asses.

After we were done, we threw the ruined books back in the box and forgot about it for the rest of the day. Until a female sailor knocked on our berthing door, and asked for the box. We obliged, and handed her the box full of books- their pages ripped, and moist from our butt-sweat. She and her berthing-mates later attempted to complain to our SgtMaj about the incident, but he knew better than to investigate. One unspoken rule about our MEU: you don't know what goes on in our berthing, and you don't want to know.

So that was one of the more 0_o moments in my military career. Being on a boat for long periods of time can lead to some interesting occurrences.
 
I almost had sex earlier today

I went to the supermarket earlier today, to buy some cheese and bacon, you know? So I went up to the girl working there and she said: "Good morning, how can I help you?"
I couldn't believe this naughty bitch was offering herself to me at 7 am, but I managed to keep myself calm and said: "Good morning. I want 300g of mozzarella cheese and 300g of bacon please."
She started working on my order, and after a while she came to me and said "Sir, I acidentally put 350g of cheese instead of 300g. Can I leave it or do you want me to take some off?"
Holy fucking shit. I couldn't believe what this cum-addicted slut just said. She knew I only wanted 300g of cheese, but instead of giving me what I asked for she decided to try to have sex with me. I'm gonna explain it to you: what's the difference between 300g and 350g of cheese? That's right, 50 grams. What else has 50 grams? Yes, that's the average weight of a condom packaging, and also the average amount of sperm expelled during a sexual act. And worst of all, do you know which sentence has 50 letters? "Oh daddy please destroy my pussy and cum in my little slut ass".
I was shocked at the audacity of this whore, but I was better than this. I told her to take a little bit of cheese off, and she said: "is 308g alright sir?" I was shaking and sharting at this point. I couldn't believe she was humiliating herself like this. Do you know what has 8 letters? "I love you". But I didn't love her, I didn't love this attention deprived thot back. So I just said: "I'm not going to give in to your schemes. You should value yourself more, you are better than this".
As I was paying for my products at the cashier I could hear a great commotion, and I saw that the girl and all the other female employees were crying in unison. I left the supermarket knowing that I did the right thing.
 
So, my buddy is in the driver's seat of the Humvee and I'm the gunner up in the turret and we're rolling blacked out with NVG's on at the NTC as a QRF force (HA! POG's as QRF!! some of these guys can barely shoot marksman on the range!) cause our bro's went to secure an HVI/HVT/HIV whatever roleplayer and got into some massive shitstorm. In order to simulate real life we've been eating nothing but MRE's for like 10 days now (HA! more like contracting fucked up and forgot to send the MIPR so we could eat in the chow hall) so when we were offered real fucking food from the roleplayers we fucking took it and ate it like the miserable starved dirty animals we are. My buddy did this with a whole chicken picking the bones clean and guzzling tea a few hours before this mission was given. We're halfway to the objective when I hear FUCK! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! SHIT! ASSS! FUCKING! GODDAMNIT! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! followed by the most pitiful sobs I've ever heard from a man. This wakes up the VC and I hear a storm of the most creative curses followed by sobs and "IM SORRY SERGEANT! IM SORRY! PLEASE DONT NJP ME!" I radio down to the VC using my MBITR and I get the following: "LCPL FUCKNUTS IS SHITTING EVERYWHERE! OH MY FUCKING GOD BOY WHAT DID YOU EAT??!?" We pull off and radio our situation to everyone in the TOC and as the convoy stops and "pulls security" we can hear everyone laughing over the radios. We put on our flashlights to inspect the damage expecting a Marine with shit stained pants. What we find is much worse. We were all gagging from the stench initially, some of us had put on our gas masks inside the vehicle to block it out. What the lights revealed was far worse. There was liquid brown shit in the driver's seat stretching from where your ass is up the seat to about lower back area. Some of it was dripping or....slithering..or something..onto the floor. There were specks of it on the radio, it covered the slave cables, the steering wheel, under the seat, some of it had dripped onto the Doc's boots since he sat directly behind the driver and liked to sprawl or, somehow stretch his legs since he was a big dude. Anywhere the shit could have reached, it was. There was even shitty fingerprints on the windshield. The stench was horrible, like a rotting animal who had been left in the sun for a month inside a quadcon with rotten eggs inside it with spoiled milk sprayed everywhere with rotting garbage strewn about for good measure. A few guys (including the company gunny) vomited upon opening the door to the vehicle. He was forced to ride in it to the objective, complete the mission, then RTB where he cleaned the vehicle interior from top to bottom. All night. Then he was allowed to shower and change out of the shit encrusted pants.

And, just in time for Valentine's Day!
 
Hhhh! I-is that a... a female girl? H-n-nuuh... I must sniff... SNNNNNNNNNNHHHH... HNNNNN... AAAAAAhhghnh... MMMmm... OH GOD, ARRAARGHH... EUHHH, kkhh, AAAUUGH, mmmhOH FUCK, OUUUHMMMM HHHHNN SNNFHN HNNNN sNNFH OOUURRRGHHH RRMMMMMM SHHNFFN HNNN SHHNF HNNN WWUUUUOOOO....AAAAAAAAh...
I'm...COOMING (COOM) I'm..hhnnh (COOM) COOMING (COOM) I'm...C-COOMING (COOM) I'm...(COOM) COOMING (COOMING) I'M COOMING (COOM) AAAAAAAAUUAUAAAAA (COOM) OH FUCK, AAAUUUU, COOMING!! OOOOHHHHH AAAAAaaAAAAAAA (COOMING) NOOOOO (COOM) NOOOOaaooOOO OH FUCK IT'S EVERYWHERE (COOM) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...EUUUGHH, OOOOHHHH, RRHGHGNEHG


OOh fuck! UOOOh! Oh fuck! Oh jesus...gosh, oh fuck, fuck, oh fuck, oh...ooh...
There you are, my slippery white gift to the world. My son...I'd say...oh fuck...o fuck...Hm.
 
Gimme gimme chicken tendies,

Be they crispy or from Wendys.

Spend my hard-earned good-boy points,

on Kid's Meal ball pit burger joints.

Mummy lifts me to the car,

To find me tendies near and far.

Enjoy my tasty tendie treats,

in comfy big boy booster seats.

McDonald's, Hardee's, Popeye's, Cane's,

But of my tendies none remains.

She tries to make me take a nappy,

But sleeping doesn't make me happy.

Tendies are the only food,

That puts me in the napping mood.

I'll scream and shout and make a fuss,

I'll scratch, I'll bite, I'll even cuss!

Tendies are my heart's desire,

Fueled by raging, hungry fire.

Mummy sobs and wails and cries,

But tears aren't tendies, nugs or fries.

My good-boy points were fairly earned,

To buy the tendies that I've yearned.

But there's no tendies on my plate!

Did mummy think that I'd just ate?

"TENDIES TENDIES GET THEM NOW,

YOU FAT, UNGRATEFUL, SLUGGISH SOW!"

I screech while hurling into her eyes,

My foul, bowel-dwelling diaper surprise.

For she who is un-pooped on is she who remembers:

Never forget my chicken tenders.
 
Calling all BBWs and SSBBWs! Help make a dream come true! This is America, god damn it, and I'm an American, and there is no reason in the world why my freakiest fantasy can't be fulfilled. I recently sold my pool table in my rec room to make space for Operation Heavenly Hogpile. I covered the floor with 6 layers of foam padding, and 1/4" rubber shower liner on top. I've got 3 cases of baby oil, half a dozen strap-ons and several days' worth of classic bluegrass music piped through a kick-ass sound system. I've even prearranged to have Dominoes deliver buffalo wings, pizza, and cheesy bread every hour all weekend. All I need is 8-12 big (BIG!) lovely ladies to join the fun. Get naked, get oiled up, consume what you want, wrestle around, make a great big tangle of jiggly womanhood. I want to roll around on a cellulite sea and stick it in every hole, crevice and fold you've got. Applicants must be prepared to remove every hair on their bodies, including head hair. Eyebrows are ok, but not a single follicle anywhere else.

If you're not heavy enough to get fucked in a fold of elbow fat, don't bother responding. If you're over 18, have a minimum BMI of 35, and are ready for the best fucking time of your life, send me a photo.

Google 'calculate BMI' to find out yours if you don't know it.

God bless.
 
ProgKing of the North said:
Gimme gimme chicken tendies,

Be they crispy or from Wendys.

Spend my hard-earned good-boy points,

on Kid's Meal ball pit burger joints.

Mummy lifts me to the car,

To find me tendies near and far.

Enjoy my tasty tendie treats,

in comfy big boy booster seats.

McDonald's, Hardee's, Popeye's, Cane's,

But of my tendies none remains.

She tries to make me take a nappy,

But sleeping doesn't make me happy.

Tendies are the only food,

That puts me in the napping mood.

I'll scream and shout and make a fuss,

I'll scratch, I'll bite, I'll even cuss!

Tendies are my heart's desire,

Fueled by raging, hungry fire.

Mummy sobs and wails and cries,

But tears aren't tendies, nugs or fries.

My good-boy points were fairly earned,

To buy the tendies that I've yearned.

But there's no tendies on my plate!

Did mummy think that I'd just ate?

"TENDIES TENDIES GET THEM NOW,

YOU FAT, UNGRATEFUL, SLUGGISH SOW!"

I screech while hurling into her eyes,

My foul, bowel-dwelling diaper surprise.

For she who is un-pooped on is she who remembers:

Never forget my chicken tenders.
Click to expand...

Dramatic reenactment
 
Once when I was driving by the mall, I saw a group of millennials arguing among each other. I watched on in excitement as they were about to fight, but my smile quickly turned into a frown when I realized that instead of a real fight, they were having a dance battle. I stopped my car, got out and walked straight up to the one in the middle doing what appeared to be a fortnite dance, and i punched him square in the face. He fell straight down slamming his head to the ground, knocking him out. His friend nearby let out a blood-curdling scream. So i backhanded him which sent him flying backward. Then three millennial boys (i'm calling them boys, because they didn't act like men) approached me and tried to actually use physical force against me. Three millennials against one boomer? No problem. I decided that today will be the day i teach them what being a real man is like. After a few seconds of back and forth, I easily had all of them on the ground, moaning and wincing in pain. One girl nearby, watching the whole spectacle seemed to be in shock. I asked her if she was okay. She said that she never felt so attracted to someone when she saw me fight. She complained that she was tired of dating feminist libtards. I told her that if she wants to be in a relationship with a real man, then she should either stop dating millennials or move to another country. She agreed and left, as I sucker-punched another millennial who tried to attack me from behind.


I know some of you think i'm being too hard on them, but someone needs to teach these millennials. If we don't do it, who will? A few years after that incident, i received a letter in the mail from one of the boys i fought. He thanked me for giving him the ass-kicking he deserved. He said he stopped playing fortnite. He grew some facial hair and is not gay anymore. I feel like a proud father.
 
There's a lot of fucked up and weird people, on this comedy forum website, who do not ever post jokes, do not enjoy jokes or indeed even laughing, and have coined a derogatory term for people who make jokes. They're all missionaries drawn here by the allure of the fertile lands of videos of a severely asthmatic man playing Megaman games, and interesting philosophical quandries posted by the fake PTSD guy about the nature of doors and windows in Dungeons and Dragons. They are wise men here to educate a savage, uneducated, indigenous sort. It is a sonorous, musical form of education; a greasy collective amasses on the front line of the battle against social injustice, the video game subforum on a message board that has a drop down menu that makes light of the holocaust on every single page, and sings a shrill harmony that permeates the very aether, making my pets feel unsafe, when a video game muscle man calls Catwoman a bitch. They have picked their battles well, and I note from my foxhole that I am running out of ammunition, chiefly in the form of the increasingly finite number of ways I can frame this absurd situation with the English language. I clench my fists and yell "anime" towards an uncaring, absent God, and swear solemnly to press my thumbs into Chocolate America's eyeballs until he is blinded, to directly emasculate sporting figures, to beat the shit out of tumblr users with baseball bats, and to quietly appreciate what Waylon Smithers being gay means to me.
 
I'm a long-time hikikomori, and every midnight, I make a fighting pose in my room. Even though I laugh at myself later for how stupid I must look, I strike that pose with a straight face

I do this as my declaration that I'm not ready to die just yet

In Japan, almost 3,000 people die every day (including old age and illness). That number amounts to 150,000 worldwide

As my victory against those that died today, as well as my proclamation of war against those who will die tomorrow, I, a jobless hikikomori, make a fighting pose with all my strength

俺は長期ひきこもりだが真夜中になると部屋でファイティングポーズをとる
自分でも後で笑っちゃうんだが、真顔でポーズ決める

その意味は「俺はまだ死なねえぞ」って意味を込めてる

世界では病死や寿命含め１日約１５万人 日本だけだと１日約３千人が死亡する

今日死んだそいつらに対しての勝利宣言と、明日死ぬあいつらに対しての宣戦布告の意味を込めて、無職ひきこもりの俺が本気でファイティングポーズ決める
 
They targeted gamers.
Gamers.
We're a group of people who will sit for hours, days, even weeks on end performing some of the hardest, most mentally demanding tasks. Over, and over, and over all for nothing more than a little digital token saying we did.
We'll punish our selfs doing things others would consider torture, because we think it's fun.
We'll spend most if not all of our free time min maxing the stats of a fictional character all to draw out a single extra point of damage per second.
Many of us have made careers out of doing just these things: slogging through the grind, all day, the same quests over and over, hundreds of times to the point where we know evety little detail such that some have attained such gamer nirvana that they can literally play these games blindfolded.
Do these people have any idea how many controllers have been smashed, systems over heated, disks and carts destroyed 8n frustration? All to latter be referred to as bragging rights?
These people honestly think this is a battle they can win? They take our media? We're already building a new one without them. They take our devs? Gamers aren't shy about throwing their money else where, or even making the games our selves. They think calling us racist, mysoginistic, rape apologists is going to change us? We've been called worse things by prepubescent 10 year olds with a shitty head set. They picked a fight against a group that's already grown desensitized to their strategies and methods. Who enjoy the battle of attrition they've threatened us with. Who take it as a challange when they tell us we no longer matter. Our obsession with proving we can after being told we can't is so deeply ingrained from years of dealing with big brothers/sisters and friends laughing at how pathetic we used to be that proving you people wrong has become a very real need; a honed reflex.
Gamers are competative, hard core, by nature. We love a challange. The worst thing you did in all of this was to challange us. You're not special, you're not original, you're not the first; this is just another boss fight.
 
So does this dudes son have enough childhood homosexual incest rape privilege or whatever to say his dad raped him or is he furthering his homosexual child rape upon your special little Trans community by saying his male father raped him and killed himself in a hissy when Uncle Sam wouldn't cut his fucking pud off and turn that little child raping penis inside out and therefore into a Trans approved vagina and slap some bolt on tits and horse hormones into him?

Jet

Fucking lol. I didn't have to go to no fancy fucking college to know turning a homosexual child rapists dick inside out doesn't make a Vagina. Or a woman.

Fuel

You are all horrible monsters for playing into this child raping motherfuckers insanity and referring to the sack of shit as a woman. It makes for a laugh, certainly, all of you people do, and anything that cuts a child rapists dick off is usually A-okay by me, but this is entirely untenable.

Doesn't

There's no big deal de-dicking-dumbass-deadbeat-dads-doing-dimes-in medium security. It's the fake tits and frankengina and costly vet medication and pain killer costs that rational people don't want their tax money going to.

Burn

It makes so much more sense to take this child raping asshole outback and put a bullet in his head but this country has more thirds of flipper baby and autism than Apache or Cherokee or whatever. So instead now in the year of our long ago having foresaken us lord twenty fucking fifteen this kiddy diddler sad brain suicide success story is cause célèbre for the most insufferable mentally ill fucks on planet earth.

Hot

I guess in 2015 we mourn dead child rapists suiciding for lack of access to medically unnecessary, traumatic, cosmetic, procedures and meds.

Enough

I for one want to be the first to thank him for killing himself, and sincerely encourage a fuckload of yougoddamn abominations to grab your bed sheets and follow your fucking martyr.

To

Not just Trans people, child rapist defenders. Motherfucking child rapist defenders.

Melt

Every sentence uttered about this guy should start with "This homosexual pedophile raped his own son. JFC. Look: this is a child rapist, nothing worth mourning. You fucking "people".

Steel
 
I'd been a member of the association for about four months when Joe joined. He was in his early twenties, slightly chubby, dark hair, quite attractive. I ignored everything but the first point, because everyone else in the assoc was 50+ and strangely cliqueish, so hard to talk to.

So we got chatting at the monthly meetings, then over MSN, then started texting/calling each other etc. etc. He seemed like a really nice guy, just a bit introverted, and we had plenty of common interests besides bees.

We went on a few dates and got on nicely; things seemed to go well and progressed normally if a bit slowly. The major alarm was that he didn't really seem to be interested in doing much physical. This was doing horrible things to my self-esteem (since I am about 40% uglier than the average bear), but he assured me no, he thought I was attractive and everything was OK. This conversation led to some clothes-on heavy petting and would have gone further except, well, Little Joe was suffering some sort of systems failure.

I didn't mention it. I figured it was embarrassing enough as it was, and whether or not we had sex didn't really bother me.

About another 2-3 weeks go by. He starts asking me some odd questions about my pain threshold and I mention casually that I quite enjoy having injections/giving blood because, well, I do. What? Not in a sexual way, although in retrospect I should have pointed that out.

After our next date, he tells me his parents aren't home and asks me if I want to go home with him. I say yes. We end up sitting in the field behind his house where his family keeps their 12-ish hives and we're pretty much close enough to hear the buzzing. I think this is a bit weird, but the sunset's pretty and it's warm so who cares. Insert some cuddling and extremely light petting here.

I glance down and notice that Little Joe is extremely ready for action. I still haven't quite made the Joe + bees = physical arousal = disgust connection, so I ask if we can go up to his room.

Joe: "No, we can't."

Me: "Well, I thought we might...you know...oh, sod subtlety, I don't think either of us want to be exposing our sensitive parts within spitting distance of 300,000 bees."
Joe: "You don't?"
Me: "......I'm sorry?"

Joe then dons this 'helpless puppy' face which I have never trusted on anyone else since.

Joe: "Well...I thought...you were saying that stuff about needles and I thought you might be like me."
Me: "Um, I'm sorry again. Can you define 'like me'?"

And at this point he stands up, pulls down his trousers and reveals what I can only describe as an erect penis which is absolutely covered in bee stings.

Joe: "We have so much in common, I thought this is something we could share....at least try it once, then you'll know."
Me: ............

I took the bus home. He did not come to any more association meetings.

Thallium's revenge: Oh fuck no, I'll just be happy when the image of his Beenis fades from my memory.
 
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