BigJimsWornOutTires
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- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
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The gay lounge, except for a lone booth in the eastern corner reserved for Big Jim, was crowded with guys, some wearing women's dresses. The banner above the bar, where a man dressed like a female bodybuilder stood, cleaning a glass, read, Welcome to Looksmax. Ugh. I felt cheated. I felt misled. The name of the dive on the outside suggested heterosexual misogynist Chads. Thus, Chad's Bar. But obviously, I was catfished, as many others were too.
Scanning the many faces, I noticed a reserved booth on the western side of the bar. They had a banner that read, 4chan Pol. Ugh. Once again, things were not what they seemed. I decided to drain the crocodile, thus my big fat penis, and went to the restroom. Before stepping into that smelly abomination, I noticed a broken door to the south end of the hallway. There was a nameplate on the broken door, Reddit. It appeared someone had busted into that room. So being a creepy nosey snooper, I went to investigate.
Peeking inside the colorful room full of children's balloons and sex toys, I noticed those people's advertising lures. There were children's tricycles. Rolled-up posters sticking out of a box with a Hannah Montana one illustrated. That's how I knew the rollups were the same. Perhaps, they weren't. Oh fucking well. I say they were! Something moved in the corner of the room. It was an overweight bald man eating a tuna fish egg sandwich with extra mayo. However, it would be challenging to know the contents to untrained eyes. But my vision is highly trained to detect these things. I announced myself, "I thought you child molesters got hacked. So why you're still here?" But ugh, he didn't say anything and kept eating. So I decided to get the o' crocodile drained. But I instead not use that bathroom. So I relieved myself in Reddit's room. Ah, yes.
A tap on my shoulder startled me. I turned to see it, and it was Clara Oswald from Doctor WHO. She said, "Oi, matey, what are you doing creeping inside my head?"
Ugh. My stomach wanted to retch bile because she used 'Oi' as a word. I replied, "You're a worn-out ugly fucking roastie that sucks at everything you do, yet you dared to show those weak saggy tits in Room At The Top, and yet you're questioning my creepiness?" Her eyes welled up with tears. Her lips pursed. I continued, "Your acting talent is equivalent to a homeless panhandling bum that harasses good working folks every day at a red light begging for money. So I say to you, as I say to them, leave this Earth!" She cried and ran down the hallway, cussing herself, I hate this world, I hate men, I hate myself!
Reentering the bar, I noticed a suspicious older feller sitting on a stool, looking gloomy. I approached. "Hey, feller, why the long face?"
"Eh. We blew up the Nord Stream pipeline a while back, and now the cat's out of the bag. People think the USA are terrorists," he scratched his head.
"Ugh. Well, to fix a pickle, you need more pickles."
"Tha-that doesn't make any sense."
"MY STORY!"
"Okay."
"This is what you do," I said and creepily patted his back. I gently rubbed it too. "Distract the people with balloons. Send them up on Superbowl weekend but don't identify them. Claim you have no idea what they are. Then shoot them down. The people will want proof. So be sure to shoot a few down over deep waters or wilderness. Or mix it up! That way, it'll take weeks to months to locate the wreckage. That will buy you time to stage another event. Good luck." He smiled and tried to shake my hand, but I recoiled as if that would look suspicious. He ran out hysterically while screaming Britney Spears was born a male.
Ugh. At that moment, I decided to end this story with a cliffhanger.
Scanning the many faces, I noticed a reserved booth on the western side of the bar. They had a banner that read, 4chan Pol. Ugh. Once again, things were not what they seemed. I decided to drain the crocodile, thus my big fat penis, and went to the restroom. Before stepping into that smelly abomination, I noticed a broken door to the south end of the hallway. There was a nameplate on the broken door, Reddit. It appeared someone had busted into that room. So being a creepy nosey snooper, I went to investigate.
Peeking inside the colorful room full of children's balloons and sex toys, I noticed those people's advertising lures. There were children's tricycles. Rolled-up posters sticking out of a box with a Hannah Montana one illustrated. That's how I knew the rollups were the same. Perhaps, they weren't. Oh fucking well. I say they were! Something moved in the corner of the room. It was an overweight bald man eating a tuna fish egg sandwich with extra mayo. However, it would be challenging to know the contents to untrained eyes. But my vision is highly trained to detect these things. I announced myself, "I thought you child molesters got hacked. So why you're still here?" But ugh, he didn't say anything and kept eating. So I decided to get the o' crocodile drained. But I instead not use that bathroom. So I relieved myself in Reddit's room. Ah, yes.
A tap on my shoulder startled me. I turned to see it, and it was Clara Oswald from Doctor WHO. She said, "Oi, matey, what are you doing creeping inside my head?"
Ugh. My stomach wanted to retch bile because she used 'Oi' as a word. I replied, "You're a worn-out ugly fucking roastie that sucks at everything you do, yet you dared to show those weak saggy tits in Room At The Top, and yet you're questioning my creepiness?" Her eyes welled up with tears. Her lips pursed. I continued, "Your acting talent is equivalent to a homeless panhandling bum that harasses good working folks every day at a red light begging for money. So I say to you, as I say to them, leave this Earth!" She cried and ran down the hallway, cussing herself, I hate this world, I hate men, I hate myself!
Reentering the bar, I noticed a suspicious older feller sitting on a stool, looking gloomy. I approached. "Hey, feller, why the long face?"
"Eh. We blew up the Nord Stream pipeline a while back, and now the cat's out of the bag. People think the USA are terrorists," he scratched his head.
"Ugh. Well, to fix a pickle, you need more pickles."
"Tha-that doesn't make any sense."
"MY STORY!"
"Okay."
"This is what you do," I said and creepily patted his back. I gently rubbed it too. "Distract the people with balloons. Send them up on Superbowl weekend but don't identify them. Claim you have no idea what they are. Then shoot them down. The people will want proof. So be sure to shoot a few down over deep waters or wilderness. Or mix it up! That way, it'll take weeks to months to locate the wreckage. That will buy you time to stage another event. Good luck." He smiled and tried to shake my hand, but I recoiled as if that would look suspicious. He ran out hysterically while screaming Britney Spears was born a male.
Ugh. At that moment, I decided to end this story with a cliffhanger.
