Copy Pasta (0)Researching

This copypasta is delicious. Would you like some?

I’ve created a monster.

Cool story, bro.

I don’t habeeb it!

I KNOW you guys gotta have some delicious copypasta… spread the love. WWJD

Copypasta goes good with “sauce”

Jamie is right. What would Jappeto do?

I accidentally your copy pasta.Is this bad?

I think Copypasta is a pretty cool guy. eh copies pasta and doesn’t afraid of anything.

DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU DESU

http://desuchan.net/desu/

O RLY?

Did he die?

HOLD THE FUCK UP…

..then who was phone?

Something horrible happened to me today.

This girl that I liked walked up to me during lunch break, along with her friends following her. I was very nervous already like I always am with girls and could tell from the heat on my face I was heavily blushing, which made me even more nervous. To add to that, her friends were laughing behind her shoulders, so I smelled something fishy right away.

The worst thing that has ever happened to me then occurred. Never in my life have I felt so miserable. She looked at me with a grin on her face, and told me that first off she never liked me, and was just playing with me for a laugh. Then, she added that I was ugly and that no one would ever want to be with someone like me. Behind her, her friends were laughing and capturing the whole scene with their camera phones (so yeah, it was probably planned from the start, all to have a big laugh at me)

I didn’t even know how to react, so many people were around and looking at me that I just felt I was going to fall unconscious. I walked out of there mechanically I was barely able to think as quickly as I could with tears I was hardly keeping and went to the bathroom to CRY. I hadn’t cried for years and there I was, in the fucking canteen’s bathroom crying.

I’m a fucking loser and I hate myself SO FUCKING BAD. I hate girls and I hate humans. They rob you of every single piece of self-esteem you have for their own self-enjoyment. How the fuck am I supposed to go on with life when people are so horrible?

FUCK

I’m a senior in high school and my sister is in 8th grade. Ever since she started junior high she has started to spend a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom perfecting her appearance. This really pisses me off.. first of all because at some point in the fucking morning I’d like to take the 10 damn minutes it takes me to get ready without having to bang on the bathroom door for 20 minutes.. and second because someone that young really should not be so fucking concerned about their appearance.. hell anyone at any age shouldn’t imo.

Anyway, the other morning I finally got the bathroom and I decided to go for the early morning shower fap session. You guys know what a struggle this can be right?? Well there I was thinking about some hot Asian girl in my language arts class, about to climax, when the little bitch knocks on the door and says “is it safe to come in? I need to do something.”

Granted she has done this countless times before and it hasn’t really bothered me, but this time I had spent a good 10 minutes working up dick and I wasn’t going to let her escape this great injustice. So I tell her it’s safe, she opens the door and then I whirl the shower curtain open with my red hot steaming dick shining in its full glory.

She screams and runs to tell my uptight christian parents who now think I need counseling.

That afternoon when I got home from school she was locked in her room. I knocked on the door and told her I wanted to apologize. She opened it and I walked in, gave her a big hug and said I’m sorry for doing what I did this morning. She accepted and then said “Brother, that was the first PENIS I have ever seen in real life”

At this moment I felt a surge of power and gratification that has yet to be equaled.

MOTHERFUCKING SHIT. I WAS JUST MASTURBATING AND EVERYTHING WAS GOING GREAT. I WAS IN MY ROOM, I HAD MY HEADPHONES ON, I WAS TOTALLY NAKED SITTING AT MY COMPUTER FAPPING AWAY TO A VIDEO ON REDTUBE. ALL OF A SUDDEN THERE’S THIS REALLY SHARP PAIN IN MY DICK, LIKE IT JUST GOT STABBED WITH A SEWING NEEDLE. I JERKED MY HAND BACK AND IT BUMPED INTO MY COMPUTER TOWER, WHICH SITS ON THE DESK. WELL, I HAD MY STICK OF DEODORANT ON TOP OF THE TOWER, AND THAT BITCH FELL OFF AND LANDED DEODORANT-END-DOWN ON THE HEAD OF MY COCK. HOLY FUCKING SHIT DID THAT HURT, AND ON TOP OF THAT IT HIT SO HARD THAT IT ACTUALLY FORCED SOME DEODORANT INTO MY URETHRA. I’VE NEVER HAD ANYTHING BURN SO BAD IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. I JUMPED OUT OF MY FUCKING CHAIR AND STOOD UP BECAUSE IT HURT SO BAD; THIS CAUSED MY HEADPHONE CABLE TO GET YANKED OUT OF MY SPEAKERS, WHICH CAUSED “OH YEAH BABY COME DEEP IN MY TIGHT TEEN ASSHOLE UH UH UH” TO GET BLARED THROUGH MY FUCKING HOUSE AND ALMOST MAXIMUM VOLUME. NOW MY EYES ARE WATERING FROM THE PAIN OF THE DEODORANT INSIDE MY COCK BUT I MANAGE TO PUNCH ONE OF MY SPEAKERS HARD ENOUGH SO THEY TURN OFF. I LOOKED DOWN AND NOTICED BLOOD DRIPPING OFF OF MY COCK; I GUESS THE LIP OF THE PLASTIC DEODORANT THING BIT INTO MY FORESKIN AS IT CONNECTED WITH MY COCK. THE BLOOD WAS DRIPPING DOWN MY LEG.

THIS ALL HAPPENED IN THE SPACE OF MAYBE 6 SECONDS. IT MAY SEEM BAD BUT IT GETS WORSE. JUST AS I’M STANDING THERE TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED, MY BEDROOM DOOR FUCKING OPENS. MY DAD WAS STANDING THERE WITH MY ACCEPTANCE LETTER TO JOHNS HOPKINS. I FROZE AND HE STARED AT ME, NAKED WITH MY BLOODY ERECTION FOR MAYBE 15 SECONDS BEFORE HE NOTICED MY COMPUTER MONITOR AND THE BRUTAL ANAL SEX SCENE GOING ON FULL-SCREEN. HE IMMEDIATELY CLOSED THE DOOR AND LEFT WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING. THIS MAY SEEM EMBARRASSING BUT MY DAD IS A SERIOUSLY CONSERVATIVE CHRISTIAN. THIS HAPPENED ABOUT 15 MINUTES AGO AND HE HASN’T SAID ANYTHING TO ME YET. I’M STILL IN MY ROOM TRYING TO GET THE GOD DAMN FUCKING OLD SPICE OUT OF MY COCK. WHAT SHOULD I DO /b/?

Well /b/, I’ve decided to take tomorrow off which is why I’m up writing this, and it’s not copypasta (or not yet). Anyways, I work at a fast food place (it’s a local thing so I won’t bother mentioning the name). I was just about ready to close up shop, everyone else had already left, when I noticed a little girl walking around outside. She was just sort of loitering, walking around in circles. I didn’t really get a good look at her, but I continued with closing procedures. After I had locked the safes and checked and double checked this and that, I noticed she was still out there. She was just sitting in the rain. I figured she must be lost, so I decided to do my good civilian duty and help her out. Upon going out there I got a good look at her. She looked to be around 7 years old, with short black hair (pageboy style like Rei). I didn’t really know her ethnicity, she looked pale white but had some Asian features. Her clothes, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt (hardly fitting attire for the weather) were tattered, dirty, soaked, and it looked like she had been wearing them for quite some time (and she didn’t smell like roses and candy either). She had her face in her knees just sort of lightly sobbing, and she didn’t seem to notice me even though I was fairly close to her. Until I finally said “hi”. Then she looked up, and I could clearly see she was blind. This startled me a bit, and now I felt bad. I just let some blind defenseless girl cry outside of my store while I went about my business. Unlike most /b/tards, I have some conscience (and I wasn’t actually thinking about sticking it in the pooper). I asked if her if she’d like to come out of the rain. She got up, and I lead her into the store. I asked her if she wanted something to eat, and she nodded her head yes.

She didn’t answer me about what she wanted though, and that’s when it hit me again. “Can you talk?” I asked her, to which she shook her head no and started to sob a bit more. I put my hand on her shoulder (not perversely) and said, “It’s okay, I’ll make you something good.” She dried her tears a bit, and I fixed her a sub. I gave it to her, and she devoured it. Since her clothes were in terrible shape, and she acts like she hasn’t eaten in forever, I asked her my third question. “Do you have a home?” to which she again gave a meek no. I didn’t want to see her cry again, so I told her I’d take her back to my apartment (and no, once again, I wasn’t trying to stick it in the pooper). So, in that very short amount of time, I now had this little girl accompanying me home. And I was thinking that she probably should’ve been snatched up by pedophiles by now being out on the street. She’s tattered and dirty, but still pretty underneath. I took her out to my car, and buckled her into the front seat next to me. I think I could tell at that point she wanted more to eat.

On the car ride to my place I didn’t really know what to say, so I was generally quiet. I asked her if she had any parents, to which she responded no, so I suppose they’re dead. I asked her old she was and she stuck up 8 fingers (I was close). Every once in a while I would put my arm on her back and rub it a bit, trying to be comforting. I don’t really think she noticed or cared. Obviously some bad shit has happened to her, and for all she knows she could end up in my glovebox. Of course maybe 8 year olds don’t think thoughts like that, only /b/tards like me. We arrived at my apartment, and I walked in with her. My roommate Luke was up in the living room playing 360 online, and he just gave me a raised eyebrow. Luke wouldn’t suspect me of being a pedophile or serial killer, but one of us bringing an 8 year old home isn’t normal. So I told her to go into the kitchen and eat what she wants, and I’ll talk to Luke. I gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of the kitchen and she went in (they’re connected except for a little counter thing between them). He turned off the 360 (oh noes his rankings). “So what’s going on?” “I found her outside of [place where I work]” “So you brought her home?” “She’s blind, mute, and she doesn’t have any parents or a place to stay.” “Okay, but she’s sleeping in your room.”

And with that, he turned on his 360 again. We were friends, but we made it a priority not to pry in each other’s business. I went back into the kitchen to find my loli friend sitting down with a bag of chips she found. I realized that I forgot she’s blind and has no idea what my kitchen’s layout is. I asked her if she wanted something else, and she nodded her head yes. I thought of the only thing I could, and grabbed a paper and pencil. I put the pencil in her hand and pressed it down on the paper. I had no idea if she could write or not, but she wrote down a rough sort of scribbly word which I made out to be “sandwich”. So I put together and sandwich with anything I could find, salami, cheese, etc. I didn’t think she would be a picky eater. She inhaled it pretty much, and it was at this point I remembered she smelled like somebody had used her hair to clean their colon. She needed a bath, and since she was blind I would have to be the one to give it to her. I said “How about we get you clean?” and she nodded yes. I wondered how long it’s been since she’s bathed. Luke looked back at me and just shook his head, so I put my hands up in the sort of “What else am I going to do?” motion, and followed her into the bathroom.

I peeled her clothes off of her, and put them on the ground for later burning. I grabbed the soap and washed her, she didn’t seem to object to me doing this. I got her as thoroughly clean as I could, and I could tell she was getting very tired. I dried her off, and her eyes were shutting so I carried her to my room. Walking out of the bathroom carrying a naked loli in my arms, Luke gave me another look. A look like, “Man I’ve been minding my business all night but what the hell are you doing?” I payed him no mind and carried her to my room. I put a pair of my boxers on her and a t-shirt of mine and laid her on my bed. I put the quilt over her and she settled immediately into the bed. She looked like she was the most comfortable she’s been in a long time. I didn’t know where she had been sleeping for the past bit, but it was probably wasn’t ideal. I sat down on the edge of the bed and popped my shoes off and just gave a sigh. Not really of frustration, I was just disillusioned with what was going on. I went out of the room and turned the light off (she was already fast asleep by now) and went out to Luke. We played some Perfect Dark and discussed some chick, ignoring the obvious topic.

So after I got finished with him, I realized this was probably /b/‘s specialty and decided to write it up. I don’t really know what I should do with her. I was considering taking her to the police station, but I began wondering. Why would she run away from home? Maybe she has some physically or sexually abusive father at home who’s just going to go and claim and her and beat her or molest her again. She said her parents were dead, but that might not be entirely true. And I began wondering if I technically kidnapped her. She could just be some kid that ran away and if her parents raise a ruckus could I get in trouble for doing a good deed? I hope not. I do need to get some sleep though, so I’ll be going to bed soon. I’ve decided to take the day off tomorrow, to figure out who she is and I think she might have a little cold (I sound like a mother already!). So yeah, no pooper sticking, sorry for wasting your time /b/.

Hello /b/. My name is David. I work at Gamestop. And I have a simple message for you all: STOP CALLING US FOR THE FUCKING SAKE OF IT. DON’T ASK ABOUT BATTLETOADS ANY MORE. EVERY PRANK CALL WE GET AND THE MINUTES WE SPEND TALKING WITH US COST US MONEY FROM OUR GODDAMN PAYCHECKS. YOU DON’T EVEN FUCKING KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND A FULL-TIME JOB, DON’T YOU? SO GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY PHONE. Thank you. And have a fucking nice day.

I’m an Alpha male /b/.

And girls want to fuck alpha males. Let it piss you off as much as you want, but you know it’s completely true. That girl you like who is kinda cute in a weird way, but is totally sweet and you have the biggest crush on? The one who keeps going back to guys who treat her wrong for reasons you don’t understand? The one who calls you up at 1 am to cry about how her boyfriend hasn’t called her in 3 days, and no matter how long you listen to her, she’ll never think of you as anything other than asexual? The one who will curl up next to you on the couch, hug you close, kiss you on the cheek, and never let you fucking touch her beyond that?

Yeah, I’m fucking her.

The hot girl who won’t even look at you when you nod at them and smile? The one who laughs when you trip in the hallway and drop your stuff? The one who comes up and coyly asks for your help with her homework, and then pretends you don’t exist once you finish?

Yeah, I’m fucking her too, even harder.

The geeky girl you think might be enough like you that you have a chance with her? She plays warcraft on your server, and watches anime, and reads comics? She’s so incredible and you just love her so much but you still haven’t worked up the courage to tell her how you feel about her?

Guess who just sucked me off and told me they’ll always love me?

/b/ is the guy who tells the cripple ahead of him in line to hurry up.
/b/ is first to get to the window to see the car accident outside.
/b/ is the one who wrote your number on the mall’s bathroom wall.
/b/ is a failing student who makes passes at his young, attractive English teacher.
/b/ is the guy loitering on Park Ave. that is always trying to sell you something.
/b/ is the one who handed his jizz-drenched clothes to Good Will.
/b/ is one who introduced you first to Goatse.
/b/ is a hot incest dream that you’ll try to forget for days.
/b/ is the only one of your group of friends to be secure in his sexuality and say anything.
/b/ is the guy without ED who still likes trying Viagra.
/b/ is the best friend that tags along for your first date and cock-blocks throughout night. The decent girl you’re trying to bag walks out on the date, /b/ laughs and takes you home when you’re drunk, and you wake up to several hookers in your house who /b/ called for you.
/b/ is a friend that constantly asks you to try mutual masturbation with him.
/b/ is the guy who calls a suicide hotline to hit on the adviser.
/b/ is nuking the hard-drive next time someone knocks on his door.
/b/ is the one who left a used condom outside the schoolyard.
/b/ is the voice in your head that tells you that it doesn’t matter if she’s drunk.
/b/ is the friend who constantly talks about your mom’s rack.
/b/ is the only one who understands what the hell you saying.
/b/ is someone who would pay a hooker to eat his ass, and only that.
/b/ is the uncle who has touched you several times.
/b/ is still recovering in the hospital, after trying something he saw in a hentai.
/b/ is the pleasure you feel guilty of when you tried playing with your anus during masturbation.
/b/ is wonderful.

I realize that most of you have ether forgotten what /b/ is or are simply newfags who don’t know.

/b/ is not where we make posts talking about our personal lives and our problems…we’re not your fucking livejournal
/b/ is not some place where we giggle at memes….we’re not fucking YTMND
/b/ is not some place where we make confessions we’re not fucking grouphug
/b/ is not some place where we find pictures on other websites and post them here …we’re not fucking ebaumsworld
/b/ is not some site where we go to jerk off to hentai pics….we’re not fucking aerisdies
/b/ is not some place that you go to, to get someone to hack your girlfriend’s e-mail account because shes cheating on you for the 15th time…we’re not your fucking personal army
/b/ is not some place you go to ask for help with a personal problem, we’re not your fucking psychologist
/b/ isn’t some place you go to trash talk other people you’ll never meet simply because its an anonymous board with “no rules” and you can get away with it with out any repercussion…we’re not a fucking group of internet tough guys
/b/ is not NICE

so /b/….what IS /b/…i want to see how long it takes for someone to get it.

when I was 13, I tied up this girl that was 12 with a jumprope, then beat the fuck out of her.

By the time I was done, her lip was split, her wrists were bleeding from the rope cuttin into them, one of her eyes was swollen shut, she was missing two teeth, her small tits will entirely black and blue, her pussy was bleeding, and I’m fairly sure that several bones in her feet were broken.

When I let her down, she crumpled on the floor and went into a fetal position and just hugged her legs to her chest and sobbed quietly.

I suddenly got very aroused seeing that, so I pulled out my dick (I has actually hit puberty 12, and was hairy, balls dropped and everything functioning) and started jerking off quietly. Eventually, I started to breathe harder, and she noticed what I was doing, and she just looked at me with this look of absolute horror on her face.

It was at that moment that I climaxed and sprayed probably my biggest load of cum ever all over face and chest.

Then, I picked up her torn shirt from the ground, wiped off my dick and tossed it to her.

I told her to clean herself up and that if she ever told anyone, I would go to her house and kill her while she slept, and that if anyone asked who hurt her, she should say a bunch of high school kids did it.

When I think back on it, I think she was the first girl I ever loved.

…god I’m fucked up.

I just spent the last twenty minutes rubbing a twelve year old girl’s bare chest.

“How?” you ask. Well apparently there are a select few contexts within which such an action is acceptable. For instance, if your niece has a hacking cough and your sister asks you to “put some of this on her” while she calls the doctor.

“Putting some of this on hear” meant using my bare hands to rub this vapor ointment shit all over her BARE NAKED CHEST. My heartbeat is still all erratic from it. I had a boner the size of Manhattan the entire time. She’s sleeping now and I guess she feels better because she stopped coughing.

Details: She’s about 5 feet tall, has long brown hair, a cute face, a thin waist and long skinny legs. She’s in jammies I think because although I’m pretty shaken up right now I know I unbuttoned something before I went at it.

God I feel so great. I just rubbed my hands all over her FUCKING TITS, you guys. Well the puffy parts of her chest anyway. Her nipples got hard. I just about wept tears of joy.

I didn’t do anything else because I’m a coward and rubbing was enough. Plus it was legal and I didn’t technically do anything wrong, so I’m in the clear.

I’d write more but I seriously have to go fap while the memory is fresh in my head.

FACT: NEWGROUNDS WAS FUNNY WHEN WE WERE ALL 12 LIVING IN THE SUBURBS LISTENING TO LINKIN PARK WATCHING DRAGONBALL Z DRINKING PEPSI WHILE PLAYING HALO CO-OP ON THE EASIEST SETTING DURING WHICH WE CONSUMED DORITOS AND LOOKED AT PAINTBALL GUNS ON EBAY IN INTERNET EXPLORER CONNECTED THROUGH AOL ON A 56K MODEM BEFORE HOPPING INTO OUR BALDING FATHERS’ LATEST MIDLIFE-CRISIS-IMPULSE-SPONSORED JAPANESE-BUILT SUV TO HEAD TO THE MALL AND GET MORE SKATEBOARDING SHOES AND THIRD-RATE IRREGULAR LEVIS AND MOUNTAIN BIKE PARTS BEFORE HEADING HOME, VOTING DEMOCRAT AND MASTURBATING TO THE LATEST SEARS CATALOG WHILE HUFFING PAINT IN YOUR GARAGE BEFORE TALKING TO PEDOPHILES ON AIM PRETENDING TO BE WHATEVER CAMWHORE THEY’RE RANTING ABOUT ON MYSPACE WITH A MATRIX QUOTE/ANIME CHARACTER NAME/TRIPLE SIX-ASTERISK-PARENTHESES-SURROUNDED SCREENNAME BEFORE HEADING TO YOUR SUPPOSED “GOOD SCHOOL” IN THE MORNING TO BUY MORE POT TO SMOKE DURING YOUR COUNTER-STRIKE LAN PARTY WITH JIMMY AND THE REST OF HIS FRIENDS TAKING RITALIN AND ADDERALL AND PROZAC EIGHT TIMES A DAY BEFORE TAKING A CASUAL PASS AT LOCAL, STATE OR NATIONAL GOVERNMENTAL FIGURES, LEGISLATURE, OR STRUCTURE TO APPEAR EDGY AND INTELLIGENT IN FRONT OF YOUR BUDWEISER-SNEAKING, LIMP-WRISTED, NEAR-TO-COLUMBINE SOCIOPATHIC “DEEP” FRIENDS WHO PLAY THE VICTIM WHEN THEY START LOSING ARGUMENTS SIX DAYS BEFORE THEIR BOTCHED SUICIDE ATTEMPT SIMPLY BECAUSE SCHOOL TRAMP NUMBER TWELVE WOULDN’T GO UNDER THE BLEACHERS WITH THEM TO LET THEM GET TO SECOND BASE BEFORE THEIR THIRTEENTH BIRTHDAY.

So I met this girl who worked at Starbucks, and I worked up the courage to ask her on a date after a couple of conversations at the register. She was a month older than me but I didn’t really care, she was fun to be around. So we took a walk along the beach, and we kissed in the pale moonlight, a full moon, it was really romantic. We started really getting into it, and she slowly unzipped my jeans, she reaches inside and starts kissing her way down my chest, she finally gets all the way down, looks up at me with the most seductive eyes I’ve ever seen and says “No thanks, I had Reese’s for breakfast” and I’m like “No way, you had candy for breakfast?” She replies, “Not candy! Reese’s puffs cereal!” So she sliiiiides me a bowl. I crunch into it and WHAM! My mouth goes crazy! That smooth combo of peanut butter and chocolate-y taste attacking my taste buds! She zips my pants back up and says “And it’s part of this complete breakfast!”

Hello /b/,

I’d say its been 8 or 9 years since the last time I rammed a stick of butter up my ass while jerking off and fingering my asshole. I did it because it felt really good but that’s not the point of this story. I want to tell you of the events proceeding this fateful masturbation.

I’m sitting there watching The Fresh Prince of Bel Air and around 15 minutes go by and I feel a sticky wetness on my ass cheeks and ballsack. This is when I realized that the butter I had shoved up my asshole had melted and leaked out onto my couch and it had a very distinct putrid stench to it. It had mixed with my shit to create something far worse than shit. It was probably the worst thing I’ve smelt in all my life. It actually smelt many times worse than the time I had stuck a pickle up my asshole and forgot about until the morning after.

While standing there taking in this wonderfully putrid smell I realize that I cannot be the only one to smell this. So I walked quickly upstairs with my ass cheeks clenched not wanting to spill a drop of my shit butter. I pull out from my sock drawer a heavy woolen sock and unload the contents of my asshole into it. I thought the smell was bad before. I now had the urge to do a barrel roll out my window to escape the horrid odor. I quickly tied the top of the sock and left my house.

As I walked down the street a brownish-yellow liquid slowly dripped from the bottom of the sock. The neighborhood kids became very curious as to what was going on and as they approached they caught a whiff of the putrid smell emanating from the sock. This is when Joanna, my neighbors 13 year old daughter vomited what looked like a freshly eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich all over the street. I nearly came in my pants at that moment. I had the sickest hard on. In fact the only thing keeping me from raping Joanna while she lay in a pool of her own vomit was my sock full of shit butter. I knew I had something to do and I was damn sure going to do it. I kept walking.

I finally made it to my local grocery store. An epic journey it had been. Every asshole in the vicinity could smell the putrid odor but nobody knew where it came from. I can still hear them in my mind. “What the fuck is that smell.” “This smell is so bad I think I am going to kill myself with a hammer” one man said. I even saw a fellow depraved maniac in the corner of my eye. I could tell because he had the same smile that I did. He was laughing with the same glee. I’m sure he’s raped a severely mentally challenged child in his lifetime. I know I have.

That’s when I saw him. The old nigger who sat in front of shoprite saying hello to every asshole strolling by. I fucking hated this man. I couldn’t tell you why. I just hated him. He could smell my shit butter. I could tell because he was gasping for air. I quickly approached him thinking “this will be the greatest day of my life. Nothing could stop me now.” This is when I felt a sudden burst. I realized later that I had shot a load off in my pants right at that moment.

I was arms length from the nigger now. I clenched the sock tight with both hands and swung it at the niggers face with all my might. I hit him in the cheek with such force that the brownish-liquid had sprayed out all over his face. He immediately threw up. I sat back laughing as he washed out his eyes with bottled water. He asked “why?” and I responded by dumping the rest of the socks contents on his head. Truly, I did it for the lulz.

While everybody was distracted I walked into shoprite and quickly shoved as many apples as I could up my ass. It was 4. I left shoprite with the most satisfaction I have ever felt in my life. I remember thinking “wow, I’m such a great person, I get 4 free apples, and I get to go home and jerk off to CP.”

When I think back on that day, I can always remember how sweet those apples tasted. Nothing sweeter.

Anonymous,

I know who you are. You’re almost invariably male, Caucasian, middle-class. Your parents were normal, vanilla folks. Maybe you had a sibling or two.

You went to a public school, pulling high or middlish grades with ease and relative disinterest. You didn’t really gel with most of the other kids; you found them boring, they found you weird. Your contempt for the average person grew with your age, never seizing control like in some emo dipshit, but simmering casually in the back of your head. When some asshole who could barely read got hurt, you probably laughed. When some stuck-up skank got herpes, you probably smiled. Chances are you got on well enough with your teachers; you weren’t a preening asshole like many of your peers, at least showed vague interest in learning, and perhaps the teacher sensed and picked up on your general contempt for others in your classes. This trend no doubt continued into college, if you had the motivation to bother.

It’s a bit of an exaggeration to say you hate women: you don’t, after all, enjoy the socializing game. You’re probably no Don Juan, either. You long ago began to think of women as disappointingly petty, but you still hope to encounter someone interesting at some time or another.

You enjoy being anonymous because it is a release from the normal world: no anonymous has an identity, no anonymous is a preening faggot. Anonymous realizes he is just a guy fucking around on the internet. Anonymous knows others of his kind enjoy this fact, too. You despise the furfag, the gaiafag, the internet tuff guy for one simple reason: he acts like the internet is the real world, a place where actions should have social consequences and where there needs to be a pecking order. Needless to say, you do not approve.

I’M KOREAN

SON OF A BITCH AMERICAN

AMERICAN IS PIG

DO YOU WANT A HAMBURGER?

DO YOU WANT A PIZZA?

AMERICAN IS PIG DISGUSTING

GEORGE WALKER BUSH IS A MURDERER

FUCKING U.S.A

whyte ppl i hate u cuz

• 1. u all racist
• 2. u pale as hell
• 3. u fuckin stupid
• 4. u stereotype niggas cuz u all dumb
• 5. ur fat
• 6. u look like marshmallows
• 7. u look like gluesticks
• 8. u close minded
• 9. u jus straight up bitch
• 10. u make me sick
• 11. u all like fishin for sum reason
• 12. u all have dogs
• 13. u think u a good race when u ain’t even human
• 14.u look ugly as hell
• 15.u a disgrace
• 16. u think u know bout niggas so much when u don’t
• 17. u all got faggot ass voices
• 18. u speak like British ppl
• 19. u all gay
• 20. u have no place in hiphop so u shud stop listenin to it

Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them breaks and splinters. That is the “loser,” and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3×5 card reading, “Please use this M&M for breeding purposes.”

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this “grant money.” I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one.

Due to extensive research done by the University of Pittsburgh, diamond has been confirmed as the hardest metal known to man. The research is as follows. Pocket-protected scientists built a wall of iron and crashed a diamond car into it at 400 miles per hour, and the car was unharmed. They then built a wall out of diamond and crashed a car made of iron moving at 400 miles an hour into the wall, and the wall came out fine. They then crashed a diamond car made of 400 miles per hour into a wall, and there were no survivors. They crashed 400 miles per hour into a diamond traveling at iron car. Western New York was powerless for hours. They rammed a wall of metal into a 400 mile per hour made of diamond, and the resulting explosion shifted the earth’s orbit 400 million miles away from the sun, saving the earth from a meteor the size of a small Washington suburb that was hurtling towards mid-western Prussia at 400 billion miles per hour. They shot a diamond made of iron at a car moving at 400 walls per hour, and as a result caused two wayward airplanes to lose track of their bearings, and make a fatal crash with two buildings in downtown New York. They spun 400 miles at diamond into iron per wall. The results were inconclusive. Finally, they placed 400 diamonds per hour in front of a car made of wall traveling at miles per iron, and the result proved without a doubt that diamonds were the hardest metal of all time, if not just the hardest metal known to man.

Women are not actually attracted to men. There is a vague idea of what a man is physically, and some are better than others aesthetically speaking, but the purely physical appearance of a man is almost inconsequential unless he is horribly ugly or outrageously attractive.

Women are attracted to status, money, how much a man smiles and laughs, how many friends and resources a man has, how full a man’s life is—how many “cool,” “exciting” and prestigious things he is doing or connected to.

They are interested in how other people view him—how many people want to be around him, how other people interact with him and whether their interactions convey that he is special and amazing. They want him to be extremely outgoing and aggressive, they want him to demonstrate his status over other people by dominating them in various non-violent ways.

A woman’s attraction to a man is a function of her jealousy at the thought of another woman having that man. She doesn’t care who he actually is or EXACTLY what he looks like physically, she only cares about the VALUE of the life he has constructed around himself.

A woman basically is a greedy materialistic prostitute. Although that sounds vulgar, it’s true. She trades her physical self to buy into the success a man has created for himself.

Dear /b/, the worst thing has happened just yesterday.

I was sitting there in front of my PC, pants down, fapping to one of the hottest hentai pic I could’ve ever found on my hard disk, when my mother walked in.

Normally, I would’ve just tried to hide my erection by pulling my pants back up and pretending to do something else, preferably the least suspicious possible, but not then.

As I was nearing the end of my masturbatory session and couldn’t hold it back anymore, I closed my eyes and let myself overwhelm to the orgasm just at the same moment she opened that damned door. I knew I should’ve locked it, but I believed nobody would’ve ever bothered entering without asking beforehand.

Thus, being unable to see anything for all the time I enjoyed the, let’s say, “warm feeling”, I couldn’t have noticed she was here since the beginning.

So, yeah, my mother saw me ejaculating till the last drop of semen, and in the lewdest way possible, even.

It was only when I was finally done and did a swift peek to see if I had done any mess on the floor, that I realized her presence.

My heart went right down my stomach at her sight: she was just standing there, staring at me with dismay, then left the room without saying anything. I’m not lying if I admit that, then as now, I just wanted to die due to the huge embarrassment that followed.

About a day has passed since the incident, and she hasn’t spoke a word to me yet. She hasn’t made it evident, but I strongly sense that the good old days have abruptly come to an end for me.

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

OK, /b/, here’s what happened. I was sitting around the house yesterday, minding my own business, when I heard a knock at the door. I opened it, and there stood a cute little loli (maybe7-8yo)! She’s dressed in this hot short skirt, and some kind of military fetish outfit, called herself a “girl scout”, or something like that. Another word for hooker, as far as I’m concerned. Anyway, after some haggling, I got something you aren’t gonna BELIEVE! She was selling BOXED LOLIS! That’s right! Every box had pictures of some of the most rapeable cake you’ve ever laid eyes on. Some boxes had 5or6 on the cover! Well, hell if I’m gonna pass up an opportunity like this! So I dumped $400, the whole damn supply. Then I slammed the door in her face, stripped, covered my self in cooking oil and ripped those suckers open in a sex-crazed frenzy. What the fuck do I find scattered all over my floor? Helpless lolis screaming for mercy? Children huddling in corners trying futilely to escape my embrace? FUCK NO! A bunch of goddamn COOKIES! I grab my bat, ran outside flinging oil and profanity in every direction, only to find the little cunt making her escape in an unmarked minivan. But she’ll get hers. I’ve heard this story time and time again, by other poor souls who’ve been taken advantage of by these evil bitches. And… I’ve found the location of their secret base. Girl Scouts of the USA 420 Fifth Avenue New York, New York 10018-2798 (800) 478-7248. I’ve got a machete, 3 bottles of vegetable oil, and a raging, throbbing, rock hard sense of burning justice. Are you with me /b/? Help avenge your /b/rothers shattered hopes and dreams! ALL PERSONNEL, REPORT IN! ETA on target @ 23:59:59 tonight!

I am presenting you with an autobiographical account of the chain of events that incited a chaotic, topsy-turvy time in my life. I beg of you to remain within a close proximity for but a scant few moments as I recount how I metamorphosed into the heir apparent of the municipality referred to as Bel-Air, California.

Amidst the occident of Philadelphia I had been sprung to life and had been nourished. A lion’s share of my youth and adolescence was consumed by the outdoor entertainment facilities at the park. Carousing with my pals, merrymaking to my maximum ability, and unwinding, I often partook in a friendly match of basketball at the schoolhouse’s arena.

It was during one of these excursions that a pair of rabble-rousing fellows instigated malevolence. I took part in nothing but a single skirmish, yet my mother became immersed in fear, at which point she commanded me to transfer my residence from her dwelling to that of my aunt and uncle in Bel-Air, California.

I proceeded to hail a taxi and, upon its arrival, I made out an inscription on the license plate that read “FRESH” and was intrigued by a pair of dice draped over the rearview mirror. If nothing else, a claim could be made that this particular taxi was atypical; however, I came to the conclusion that recollecting this occasion in the future would be a fruitless venture, so in lieu of attempting to implant this incident within my memory, I implored the chauffeur to transport me to my destination of Bel-Air, California.At approximately the seventh or eighth hour, I disembarked and proceeded to inform the driver that I would inevitably become acquainted with his odor at a later point in time.

At this juncture, I beheld my new abode and came to grips with the fact that my mission to become the heir apparent in Bel-Air, California, had been consummated.

/b/ downstairs, my house has a major ant problem. Luckily I reside upstairs. Nevertheless, once every 5 minutes or so an ant comes trotting along my desk. First I place a coin or another object in its path. This confuses the ant, causing it to run off in a different direction, but my finger is waiting. I block its path with my finger. It runs in the opposite direction, but I anticipate this. Soon the ant is encircled by pens and other barriers, and if it attempts to climb them, swift punishment is issued. The ant remains in my arena. Then I take my knife, and nimbly place the tip onto one of its legs, holding it in place, then I press down hard and chop the leg off. The ant does not run, it merely enters a craze moving all around wildly. I allow it to suffer like this for a minute or so, chopping off another leg if it appears not to be in pain. Then comes a decision. Sometimes I will wait for another ant, and place it in the arena to see what it does. Occasionally it will pick up its comrade, and run off, but this is an offense punishable by death. Other times, I will merely watch the ant until it gives up. It will stop moving all but one leg. At this point I give in and slice the ant in two, putting it out of its misery. I save the corpses in a small pile, and once I have a considerable stack, I scatter them in my arena. This is where the real fun begins.

I venture outside to my back yard and find a red ant. This is my gladiator. I return to my room and place him in among the corpses. He wanders, confused. I do not let him leave. I pound the desk near him with my fingers, scaring him. I toughen my gladiator up until another ant comes along. I place the intruder into the arena. The red ant will go after the black ant, and they engage in mortal combat. If the red ant wins, another corpse decorates my arena. If the black ant vanquishes his foe, he wins the prize of life. I carry him in my hands and bring him downstairs and place him among his comrades. If he put up a good fight, I give him a warriors welcome and feed his colony with bread. If he barely defeated the red ant, he receives no food, only the gift of life. This is how i spent my afternoons.

I’ll try to sum up a funny story that happened a few years ago: I got a vasectomy. I met a girl soon afterwards. She was nice and attractive but with a selfish streak that raised a big red flag. She was 32 at the time and I could practically HEAR her biological clock ticking. Regardless, she was a good lay, easy on the eyes, and reasonably good company.

I did NOT tell her about my vasectomy and I always used a condom with her to protect against STDs. She assumed, obviously, that the condom was only used for birth control. wacky girl.

We date for a few months. I never made any move towards commitment but she brought it up ocassionally. For me, this was a casual but pleasant relationship. For her – as I was to find out – it was part of life-changing series of events that she was planning very carefully.

Four months into dating, I get the “I’m pregnant” talk. She’s going on and on about how the condom must have broke and now we really need to think about getting married “for the baby”. She’s positively giddy. She has a baby in her and she thinks she’s gonna have a good meal ticket (me) to go along with her new 7lb annuity.

At this point, I’m just as giddy. I get to pull the reverse “oops” on her. I figured that she slept with some bad boy and got knocked up. Good thing I was using condoms! Better still that I have a serious mistrust of women who can’t think beyond their own uteri.

So I wait a couple of days to “think about all this.” I meet her again. I say I don’t want kids and that she should have an abortion. I know where this is going and sure enough it goes there. She goes completely batsh*t insane on me. There were the usual insults about my manhood. There were threats of legal action. It was all very ugly and I was loving every minute of it.

Well, I let her stew for a few days. She leaves me nasty messages on my phone. She sends awful emails. I’m laughing hysterically.

It was time to drop the hammer. While she was stewing I was busy. First I get a notarized copy from the urologist who performed the vasectomy. Next I get a notarized copy of the TWO test results indicating a “negative test result for sperm” to show I’m sterile and shooting blanks. Finally, I get a letter from a shark attorney stating he has seen the other documents and is prepared to litigate against this woman if she continues to communicate with me in such an unpleasant manner. Also, the letter states that we will insist on DNA testing to show that the baby is not mine. I’m ready.

I meet with this woman at her place. I bring flowers and a small bit of jewelry to show I am willing to reconcile and assume my responsibilities as a new father. I also have stuck in my pocket the documents I have prepared.

She’s all giddy again. Her plan is going perfectly – or so she thinks. We talk about our future. We have some pretty good sex. Then, as I am about to walk out the door, I ask her the $64,000 question. “Are you sure that this baby is mine?”

Well, she goes batsh*t insane again. Hell, she ought to. Her plan could completely unravel if there is ANY question about my paternity. Oh, she’s really screaming now. How dare I question her morals. Do I think she’s a slut. I’m just trying to weasel out of my responsibilities… blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I’m not really mad. I’m kind of embarrassed for her. But since she won’t shut up and the neighbors can hear all of this, I ask her to step back inside and sit down. She sits on the sofa and calms down a bit. She is glaring at me with all the moral self-righteousness that only a woman can muster up. She thinks she has me trapped. She is 100% convinced her plan has worked. Oh, the tangled web of lies and deceit she has wrought around herself and I am about to hack through them with a few pieces of paper.

I reach into my pocket slowly. I extract the three pieces of paper and unfold them slowly and deliberately.

I tell her simply, “You’re screwed”.

Her look doesn’t change. There is no way she can fathom what I have prepared.

I continue. “I am sterile”

Her look changes just a bit. Something is beginning to sink in. Naturally, she reverts to women’s logic. “You’re full of sh*t. You’re trapped and you know it.”

I hold up the letter and the test results. “Three months before we met, I had a vasectomy. Here is a notarized letter from him stating what I had done. Here are two test results showing that I tested negative for the presence of sperm. Blanks. I am shooting blanks. That baby inside you is simply not mine.”

This woman is not to be swayed by logic and clear documentation. “Bullsh*t, those are fakes.”

I was ready for that. “No, they are real. This last piece of paper is from my attorney. It’s a simple letter to you that states if you pursue any kind of legal action against me for child support that I will insist on a DNA test to prove paternity, that is, to prove that your baby is not mine.”

I give the woman all the documents. She reads them slowly, deliberately. With each passing second she can feel in her soul that she has made a very bad mistake. With denial swept away, she started to cry. It’s a small cry at first. Then it becomes deeper and more painful. By the time she gets to the letter from the lawyer she is sobbing.

I had no sympathy for her. I turned and walked out the door. Even after I closed the door I could still hear her sobbing.

Epilogue -

I never heard directly from this woman again. I did hear through my friends that she did indeed have the baby. I also heard that the real father was some guy in a band she had met. I assumed that after 30, women stopped going after musicians, bikers, criminals, and thugs. wacky me for thinking the best of American women.

The Moral of the Story -

Get a vasectomy but keep it a secret.

AT SOME POINT, MY SISTER AND I GOT INTO A SAVAGE FIGHT IN THE BACK YARD OVER THE USE OF THE SLIP-N-SLIDE. THAT IS TO SAY, IT WOULD BE FAIR FOR US TO TAKE TURNS BUT BOTH OF US WANTED TO SIMPLY SLIDE BACK AND FORTH ON IT WITHOUT INTERRUPTION. AS WITH MANY WARS, CONTROL OF NATURAL RESOURCES WAS AT THE HEART OF THIS CONFLICT.

I MANAGED TO GET BEHIND HER, AND TWISTED HER ARM AROUND, RENDERING HER HELPLESS. USING MY ARM-LEVERAGE I FORCED HER OVER TO THE FLOWER BED, AND DEMANDED THAT SHE EAT A HANDFUL OF MUD, OR I WOULD PUNCH HER IN THE FACE. UNHAPPILY SHE COMPLIED, AND THEN RAN INSIDE TO TELL MY PARENTS ABOUT THIS “TREATY OF VERSAILLES”-STYLE ABUSE OF MY VICTORY. MY DAD ANGRILY CALLED OUT TO THE GARDEN FOR ME TO COME INSIDE BECAUSE “WE HAVE SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT”. MY OTHER SIBLINGS HOWLED “PUNISH HIM”, HOPING FOR A RARE SPANKING. HE TOLD ME THAT WHAT I DID WAS WRONG, AND THAT I WOULD HAVE TO PAY FOR IT.

WHILE I WAITED FEARFULLY, HE PRONOUNCED HIS JUDGEMENT: I WAS TO GO TO MY ROOM FOR HALF AN HOUR. MY SISTER CRIED “WHAT??” IN SHOCK AS I RAN UP THE STAIRS LAUGHING.

TO THIS DAY, SHE CONSIDERS THIS ONE OF THE GREATEST INJUSTICES THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN.

Okay, I am fucking sick and fucking tired of these fucking threads about rape! RAPE IS NOT FUCKING FUNNY! Joke about anything else you want, /b/…

Joke about cp, joke about loli, joke about murder, joke about drugs, but DON’T FUCKING JOKE ABOUT RAPE! Rape DESTROYS a woman, it STRIPS HER OF HUMANITY! It is disgusting, inhumane, regressive and insane. RAPE IS OFF THE FUCKING TABLE, /b/, NOT EVEN YOU FUCKING VIRGIN ASSHOLES CAN BE SUCH FUCKHOLES THAT YOU JOKE ABOUT A WOMAN’S WOMANHOOD BEING VIOLATED!

And no, I am not some lesbian dyke cunt, I am a woman. I was raped. My virginity taken from me, I can never give it to a man I love. I was raped again and again and again and again and again by a random stranger when I was 15, And between you and me something amazing happened…and now I can talk to animals! Its really cool! But totally a secret. And you know what? Life’s never been the same.

I just learned about the ED article about Mitchell Henderson from this site:

http://www.trollkingdom.net/forum/showthread.php?t=104368

You are all truly sick and depraved to have caused so much suffering and misery for his parents. OK, laugh about the fact that they spelled “an hero” wrong, but phoning up his parents on the day of the funeral?

Have any of you insensitive fucks ever lost anyone close? Do you know what the feeling of a death in a family is like? Oh yes, many will bombard me with shit like “we do not forgive, we do not forget” but might I remind you with regards to the influx of spamming that’s been happening on your precious little /b/?

You little faggots don’t like that, do you? So in actual fact you’re nothing but hypocritical bastards that, given the chance, would run a fucking mile if it wasn’t for the fact that you have a computer to hide behind.

UTTER FAGGOTS. Cowards who mock dead children are petty and have nothing to be proud about.

Go and fuck yourselves.

9th grade: My first sexual experience that actually involved nudity. While we’re fondling each other, she asks me if I like Diet Coke. Me: It’s alright. Girl: Well, I LOVE it. How ‘bout you go get me a bottle of it? I go downstairs and grab a 20 ounce bottle from the fridge. When I return, she says it’s too cold. Girl: How ‘bout warming it up…by rubbing it on my cunt? So I began to rub her vigorously with the bottle. Soon enough, she asks me to shove it inside of her. She really enjoys it, and so do I because I KNOW that, with this girl, I’m defiantly going to get off. That’s when it gets crazy. She rips out the bottle, opens it, and begins filling her cunt! with Diet Coke. I swear, she nearly empties the volume into her cunt!.I had seriously underestimated this cunt’s liquid retention volume. Girl: YOU LIKE DIET COKE?!?!?!? OH YEAH OH YEAH DRINK IT FROM ME! I was noticeably freaked, but I did want to get off, and I didn’t want my first load-blow to be into 18.7 fluid ounces of a 0-calorie beverage. I began to go down on her, until she said the exact wrong thing. Girl: OH YEAH, DRINK IT FROM ME! I’M THE KOOL-AID MAN! OH YEAH! OH YEAH! I don’t know how she did it with 16-year-old voice, but she sounded exactly like the Kool-Aid man from the commercials. I glanced at the wall, half-expecting him to burst through and over me a fruity beverage. I was extremely turned-off. She could tell, too. As she sat up to see what was wrong, she twisted her body in such a way that Diet Coke shot out of her and all over my face, chest, and groin. And it was at that sticky, low-calorie moment that my parents chose to pull into the driveway.

Hey /b/

So this girl invited me over to her house early one morning. She said she need help with math, and offered to make me breakfast for all my trouble. I figured hell free food and time with a OK looking girl why the hell not. So I get up around 5am to get at her house around 6. It was kinda hard finding the place because it was sorta tucked in back of this big forest. I get to her house and ring the door bell, only half awake. She answers the door in a very small tank top and short shorts. “Oh, hay you made it, come on in.” She said looking tired as well. I couldn’t help but wonder why she would want me to come some early if she wasn’t used to the hour ether? “Sorry about the mess and the time, this is about the only time everyone else is out of the house and I wanted to be alone with you.”

“Alone but why, I thought you needed help on math.” I said then felt instantly stupid. She smiled sweetly and offered me a seat at the table. “I have a big family, and they tend to be very nosy we wouldn’t have gotten anything done had they been here.” I nodded and sat down in doing so I got a very nice look at her ass which was actually very nice. “Do you like?” She asked me and I thought I had been caught, “Wait what?” I asked trying to keep my cool. “Do you like pancakes? I’m told I make some of the best, I even add different kinds of fruit to them. Also, I have some bacon and eggs going as well. Shouldn’t be much longer.” I nodded and she walked back into the kitchen, as the door opened I smelled the most wonderful smell ever.

I couldn’t help but follow her in the the kitchen where I saw some of the best looking pancakes I had ever seen ever. I couldn’t help but smile a big smile as I wondered what they would taste like. “I’m almost done, do you want orange juice or apple juice?” She asked me I told her apple and she poured me some from a chicken shaped kettle on the counter. I took it and drank it happily it was had the right amount of sweetness. “Why don’t you go and take a seat, we can get started after we eat.” I did as she said and sat down at my seat at the table.

Minutes later she appears with a bunch of big plates of food and sets them on the table. Then begins to dish out food for me putting over 9,000 light and fluffy, blueberry filled pancakes on the plate in front of me, and some bacon and eggs on a separate plate. “There you go if you want more when your done with that just ask.” She then started to get some food of her own and I put syrup on my pancakes and took a big bite. It was the best thing I had ever tasted, ever. I hadn’t even realized it but I was making a horrible face despite how awesome they were. “Oh, is something wrong?” She asked me sounding really concerned for me, she got up and started rubbing my back. “No it’s just usually, I only have Reese’s for breakfast.” To which she screamed. “Candy, for breakfast?” “No.” I replied. “Reese’s puff cereal, it’s candy for breakfast!”

……whut?

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F*CK YEAH,
MUDKIPZ!

gg Ashent
ZING

Sigh… I wonder when do you people learn, that the only difference between someone, who uses copypasta, and someone, who hasn’t got a life, is, that there really isn’t any. :-/ I’m sorry to break it to you that way, but it’s actually true. :(

Successful Copypasta is successful.

kudos ashent, but now we have to label this NSFW…

Three common copypasta endings are…

“Wild Thornberries Ending” where the story ends in the character being able to talk to animals, and “life never being the same because of it.”

“Bear True Form” where someone ends up showing there true form as a bear, and possibly one character says something along the lines of “HOLY SHIT A BEAR”

“Reese’s Puffs” usually in comics, where one is eating Reese’s Puffs and exaggerates that “IT’S CANDY FOR BREAKFAST.”

This copypasta is delicious. Would you like some?

Three common copypasta endings are…

“Wild Thornberries Ending” where the story ends in the character being able to talk to animals, and “life never being the same because of it.”

“Bear True Form” where someone ends up showing there true form as a bear, and possibly one character says something along the lines of “HOLY SHIT A BEAR”

“Reese’s Puffs” usually in comics, where one is eating Reese’s Puffs and exaggerates that “IT’S CANDY FOR BREAKFAST.”
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And thus I prove my point. Copy Pasta ruins everything.

Doesn’t “So I herd u liek mudkipz” involve a copypasta?
Posted on Urban Dictionary here: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=mudkips

Hello, I am the ret

I am the retribution paladin, maybe you have heard of me??

I am the one who is doing the melee dps on you.
Or sometimes also, the monster – but that is hard, because several people do not like it when I do that.

Sometimes I am said to "Hey yous, you ret. Get in the “BACK AND TOSSA LE HEALZ”

I el oh el at this notion – and substitute my own. Often times my retting has gotten me trouble – for example:

Many people don’t want me to go with them to Karazhan
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/lolret1.jpg

Or even to simpler places, like adventuring inside of a shadow laboratory:
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/lolret8.jpg

Once I even was reported into the AFK’s for being specced ret in a battleground:
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/lolret7.jpg

But I know what I can be capable of doing!! Even the Alliance has known of me:
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/lolret5.jpg

I have already beaten the World of Warcrafting because of ret. The king and Regent Lord have been vanquished:
YOU CAN DO THIS AS A ROGUE? NO! ONLY THE RET!!
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/lolret6.jpg
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/lolret4.jpg

What was the last thing going through General Stormpike’s head as I smashed it with my hammer? I will give you a hint – it rhymes with “OH GOD HE IS THE RET!!”
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/lolret2.jpg

Sometimes when I can finally find pals to do the raidings, I let them know the score right away. I tell THEM who the ret is:
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/lolret3.jpg
They don’t forget at all.

So in conclusion, everybody I wanted you to know me, the ret. One day when more people are ret, I will look behind me and see less twriling fingers making girly heal magics. They will instead be making bruises – OR HOLES with weapons. Onto their enemies’ faces, I think. One day, I will show up for the Karazhan raid, and I will see:
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/helloimtheret.jpg

AND BEHIND ME will be the rogues, who can not spell their own class, who are left behind. And I will say LOLrogue. They will say “YOU ARE THE RET?? I HAVE BEEN PEW PEWED” and cry. I will toss them a 34 crit heal and solemnly say “Yes, I am the ret, it is time for me to go now, because I have raid bosses to pew.” In their anguish and keyboard turning, their A and D keys will explode, leaving them POWERLESS and UNABLE TO MOVE LEFT OR RIGHT – then, we strike in unison.

Thank you for reading bye!

/e
rookie rets, this is how you do it:
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/theretflash.swf

/e
in addition to being a cool guy, you need to also wear a patch – to let the non paladins know:
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/trueret.jpg

/e
be ALSO vigilant – mind your allies. Don’t let this be you:
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/euronoob.jpg

/3
the rets GET the girls – not holys:
http://www.bsu.edu/web/nmmakridakis/images/stephanii.jpg

So, as you all know, I play a Shaman. I’m currently the best geared Shaman in the world (http://www.wowarmory.com/character-sheet.xml?r=Aerie+Peak&n=Darkness) and I have multiple world DPS records on WowMeterOnline. So I go into this Battleground because I feel like gracing my battlegroup with my presence, right? Everyone is cheering as I enter. They don’t bother putting down a mage table or healthstone because they know that they’re not going to need it—I, the Darkness, has come.

So I cast Lightning Shield on myself, because that’s what Shamans do. They call down MOTES OF ELECTRICITY FROM THE HEAVENS and they SURROUND THEMSELVES with DEADLY AMOUNTS OF LIGHTNING!!! All of my teammates are instantly electrocuted to death, but me? I merely bathe in the energy; it is my plaything. Even though my teammates are now charred corpses, they continue to cheer, because they know that I can solo this. The gates open. I run in. With Ghost Wolf, my movement speed is increased by

40% PERCENT

Horde sees me run by but they can’t do anything about it because I’m a ghost and I’m wolfing at

40 PERCENT

a Blood Elf Paladin with Crusader Aura on bubbles and flees in terror when he sees me traveling at

40 PERCENT

They can hear the howl of my ghost wolf. They are all cowering—no, literally, they type the /cower emote and just stand there—as I cap the Stables. I cast WATERWALKING on myself—WATERWALKING, like Jesus, and I careen towards the Blacksmith. The Horde there see me coming and they just /afk the !@#$ out. I put down my totems before I start capping Blacksmith’s flag. A Rogue tries to sap me—

BAM!!

The Rogue is engulfed in flame as my Searing Totem SEARS him from the inside out! His leather clothing EXPLODES in a rain of fire that spirals around my beautiful female Draenei form as I continue to cap the Blacksmith. The fire rips through the Rogue’s bones, but it doesn’t even consider touching me—why? Because I’ve got

FIRE RESIST TOTEM

A Warlock swoops in in Demon Form and tries to Conflag me but his Conflag does 0 damage to me because of

FIRE RESIST TOTEM

A Troll Mage Slowfalls in and he Pyroblasts me but it is ineffective because of

FIRE RESIST TOTEM

Blacksmith caps. I mount up on my KAEL’THAS MOUNT—no, literally, I ride Kael’thas around, the Blood Elf—and head over to Farm, because I feel like eating some potatoes.

POTATOES. BOIL ’EM, MASH ’EM, STICK ’EM IN A STEW. AND HEARTS. SHAMAN DESIRES PALADIN HEARRRRRRRTS.

Just then, I see something through my Sentry Totem. It’s the WoW General Forums! —People are complaining about how overpowered I am! They’re saying that Shamans need to be nerfed. I smirk.

That’s when I decide to take out my HAND OF RAGNAROS.

EIGHTY POINT FOUR DAMAGE PER SECONNNNND

I slam the Hand of Ragnaros down into the ground. Arathi Basin shatters like glass—the ground falls out from under me. The fabric of SPACE itself CRUMBLES beneath my feet. I cackle as I enter the REAL REALM, becoming a TRUE ENTITY existing ON THE PLANET EARTH. I am a Draenei walking around New York—the cops try to stop me, but they forget all about me when they take a gander at my

STONECLAW TOTEM

STONE AND CLAW COMBINED. CAN YOU TAKE IT?

But then, in the spaces between the gathering crowds, I see something. Someone. The smirk on my face deteriorates. .. it’s one of the Horde. A Troll.

I thought I had destroyed Arathi Basin. I thought I had won the Battleground. But all that time—

-But all that time-…

.. there he was. Just standing there. Regenerating 5, health,

per

second.

I glared at the Troll.

The Troll glared back at me.

Silence flooded the world.

“And theres nothing you can do about it” he said…

Ohh, I always pronounced it “copee-PAYSTA”. =o

Should be NSFW because of the comments(some of the copypasta in the comments are NSFW).

http://www.copypasta.info for copypasta archive and copypasta database.

Thank god I archived my favorite copy pasta here, I needed some today.