ImVerySorry
I love you
- Joined
- Aug 8, 2024
- Posts
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It all started when one day i was minding my own buisness (While being hot and sexy ofc) and i came across a certain thread, made by the one and only stinker @fashioncel as soon as i opened the thread it was like opening the gates to india, all the poop particels and stink rushing into my nose like cocain on epstein island.
Fash's threads are like an olfactory trip through the sewers of the Internet—stinks so bad you can practically taste it. A true cultural experience. i mean the threads smell like a combination of hot dumpster juice and expired Axe body spray—truly a sensory assault. You know it’s bad when scrolling through Fash’s posts feels like wading through a septic tank with no boots on i mean his takes are so rancid, I’m surprised they haven’t been declared a biohazard by the EPA.
But anyway, as i ventured deeper and deeper into the shit infested thread i discovered something odd
this NIGGER was being racist.
And so,
The saga started.
But lets be for real here guys, the real tragedy here isn’t the racism—it’s that Fash had to live knowing he got verbally bodied by a sexy, hot protagonist living rent-free in his head like a luxury penthouse. Fash arguing with you is like a raccoon fighting a washing machine—it’s loud, messy, and somehow he’s the one covered in suds at the end.
Like the chad I am, I won our argument about race dating statistics, leaving him looking like a soggy McDonald's fry—flimsy, limp, and absolutely useless.
And after the argument, we kept trading jabs on multiple other occasions, like two raccoons fighting over the last piece of trash—messy, relentless, and weirdly personal.
But alas, it didn’t end there—we kept arguing with the kind of sexually frustrated energy that would make Freud light a cigarette, unloading our pent-up rage like two overly dramatic telenovela rivals. Then, like a sniper in the night, I delivered the message that broke him: crazy for WHITE COCK.
Fash tried to laugh it off, but I know it stung—stung deep in his hairy, swarthy, and unshowered cheeks. It stung so bad you could almost hear the echo of his dignity shattering, and he couldn’t let it go. MULTIPLE DAYS LATER, my words were still doing laps in his head like a cursed theme song he couldn’t stop humming. The thought of him being dicked down was lodged in his brain like gum in a bad haircut. No... this all started with the white domination of Arabia, and history, as they say, repeated itself—with Fash taking another L in the chronicles of humiliation.
Fash trying to laugh off the 'crazy for white cock' comment was like someone getting hit in the face with a dodgeball and pretending it didn’t hurt—eyes watering, pride shattered, but still trying to act unbothered.
Honestly, the way Fash got obsessed with that one comment, I wouldn't be surprised if he’s drafting a dissertation titled 'The Impact of Internet Roasts on My Existential Crisis'. This whole saga reads like a Shakespearean drama: betrayal, fury, and Fash spiraling into a poetic obsession. Act III: 'The White Cock Monologue.' We gotta give Fash credit for consistency, though. Imagine being so dedicated to being wrong that it becomes a personality trait. Some men are haunted by their past mistakes; Fash is haunted by the ghost of a metaphorical white phallus. Truly, a timeless tale.
Awwww, sowwy widdwe Fashy—humiliated by white pp and still out here trying to save face like a kid who got caught eating candy before dinner. Just let it go, fam, we all saw the meltdown.
Keep my name out of your mouth ... BOY
@Neucher @Volksstaffel
Fash's threads are like an olfactory trip through the sewers of the Internet—stinks so bad you can practically taste it. A true cultural experience. i mean the threads smell like a combination of hot dumpster juice and expired Axe body spray—truly a sensory assault. You know it’s bad when scrolling through Fash’s posts feels like wading through a septic tank with no boots on i mean his takes are so rancid, I’m surprised they haven’t been declared a biohazard by the EPA.
But anyway, as i ventured deeper and deeper into the shit infested thread i discovered something odd
this NIGGER was being racist.And so,
The saga started.
But lets be for real here guys, the real tragedy here isn’t the racism—it’s that Fash had to live knowing he got verbally bodied by a sexy, hot protagonist living rent-free in his head like a luxury penthouse. Fash arguing with you is like a raccoon fighting a washing machine—it’s loud, messy, and somehow he’s the one covered in suds at the end.
Like the chad I am, I won our argument about race dating statistics, leaving him looking like a soggy McDonald's fry—flimsy, limp, and absolutely useless.
And after the argument, we kept trading jabs on multiple other occasions, like two raccoons fighting over the last piece of trash—messy, relentless, and weirdly personal.
But alas, it didn’t end there—we kept arguing with the kind of sexually frustrated energy that would make Freud light a cigarette, unloading our pent-up rage like two overly dramatic telenovela rivals. Then, like a sniper in the night, I delivered the message that broke him: crazy for WHITE COCK.
Fash tried to laugh it off, but I know it stung—stung deep in his hairy, swarthy, and unshowered cheeks. It stung so bad you could almost hear the echo of his dignity shattering, and he couldn’t let it go. MULTIPLE DAYS LATER, my words were still doing laps in his head like a cursed theme song he couldn’t stop humming. The thought of him being dicked down was lodged in his brain like gum in a bad haircut. No... this all started with the white domination of Arabia, and history, as they say, repeated itself—with Fash taking another L in the chronicles of humiliation.
Fash trying to laugh off the 'crazy for white cock' comment was like someone getting hit in the face with a dodgeball and pretending it didn’t hurt—eyes watering, pride shattered, but still trying to act unbothered.
Honestly, the way Fash got obsessed with that one comment, I wouldn't be surprised if he’s drafting a dissertation titled 'The Impact of Internet Roasts on My Existential Crisis'. This whole saga reads like a Shakespearean drama: betrayal, fury, and Fash spiraling into a poetic obsession. Act III: 'The White Cock Monologue.' We gotta give Fash credit for consistency, though. Imagine being so dedicated to being wrong that it becomes a personality trait. Some men are haunted by their past mistakes; Fash is haunted by the ghost of a metaphorical white phallus. Truly, a timeless tale.
Awwww, sowwy widdwe Fashy
—humiliated by white pp and still out here trying to save face like a kid who got caught eating candy before dinner. Just let it go, fam, we all saw the meltdown.
Keep my name out of your mouth ... BOY
@Neucher @Volksstaffel
