BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
- Posts
- 23,694
- Reputation
- 27,244
Having precocious insight into the gamut of personalities, bodies, faces, experience stages, and backgrounds of heterosexual women to smelly yeast-infected lesbian twats, I ejaculate my egregious perspective with impunity—but without self-respect. I fling a loogie on that thang called romance! Not that I execrate obsession of love, but because wolves, liars, faggots, and devious intellectual rejects are governing the industry, we must end.
Using a keyboard as an implement to infuse sexual situations with inscrutable connotations is no cinch. Clamping my intellect tightly until it's just right, then shoving a butt plug of self-degradation into my consciousness takes commitment—exuberant Asperger—it demands an erected travail of vehemence!
As I slide my swollen ideas into moist phraseology, I quickly pound the shit out of the keyboard until I cringe in perplexity, "The fuck would I write that for?" Ah, yes, another masterpiece, I validate my muse. Perhaps, a majestic manifesto of mortifying manifestations?
Loquaciously capable of apprising minds with oblique pulchritude, once reserved by enviable status and upper-class avarice, I inspire all to conquer the literary realm and leave them nothing! Desecrating authors, I commend AI. Ending biographers, I celebrate AI! Pulverizing Hollywood while empowering anyone to forge fictional stories and scripts, fuck producers—fuck studios—let us together fuck them into the streets where they belong!
Every human is a latent master of literature. Let no pundit, no arrogant scholar, let no writer convince you otherwise. They fear what can write their fucking endgame!
The dipshits of the privileged self-made geniuses have continuously failed to degrade my contingent persona into an emaciated intellectual in need of medication yet, I pen their fucking end. It's over. They are D-O-N-E!
However, I do have a heart, unlike those spineless walking turds, so I'm offering them the egress from their damaged erudite collective and pointing their place on the fucking streets. Go be with your people there!
Discerning the wicked by winnowing through their sins fails because their lives are fabricated. Their merits, their histories, their livelihoods are embellished fiction! You have to dig through their buried shit from a junkyard of bureaucracy, mundane favoritism, greed, and corrupt institutions. Ugh, Mister Donnie implemented fiction as historical records dated from over a hundred years ago. If they can do that, then at this point, nothing can be trusted except those who don't comply with writer's prompts. Salvation is using their system against them!
