yue
Exponent
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2021
- Posts
- 386
- Reputation
- 434
Yes, the born Chad is the triumphant winner; he succeeds with little resistance. Not just human chads, but any animal. Growing up more fit than their peers, they pass on their superior blood. Ah, yes, that immutable blood your parents gave you.
Damn it! Methinks it better SPILLED upon the ground than in my veins. THE ROPE, give me the rope. Tie the noose and set up the chair. Au revoir, dogpills and whores, Instagram likes, and Snapchat scores.
Goodbye, goodbye clown world.
But before I kick the chair, there appears a spirit.
After recognizing the figure, my blood boils. I cry out, "ARE YOU HERE TO MOCK ME IN MY FINAL MOMENTS?!"
But caging did not come; instead, I saw in his perfect hunter eyes... Tears well up. He gazes upon me with pity, as an equal, as a brother gone astray.
I realized then that me and him were tied in the everlasting pursuit of pussy and pleasure. both a hole, paradoxically more empty after every fill.
I took off the noose and got down from the chair.
We will struggle, brothers; we will fail, but round after round, we will get back up. The complacent spectators will look upon our beaten bodies, and they will mock us, saying "He has lost". They will return to their wagie cages; in their minds, they are free, reassured of their own inaction by what they have seen. The saints of the world, the Mahers, the Gandys, they’ll go on in their complacent consumption of pleasures, of pussy, of praise. Everyone has left the arena, spectators and saints alike. We’re the last souls left. There is nothing to think about but our rejections, nothing to do but lick our wounds, and nothing left to do but cope.
Damn it! Methinks it better SPILLED upon the ground than in my veins. THE ROPE, give me the rope. Tie the noose and set up the chair. Au revoir, dogpills and whores, Instagram likes, and Snapchat scores.
Goodbye, goodbye clown world.
But before I kick the chair, there appears a spirit.
After recognizing the figure, my blood boils. I cry out, "ARE YOU HERE TO MOCK ME IN MY FINAL MOMENTS?!"
But caging did not come; instead, I saw in his perfect hunter eyes... Tears well up. He gazes upon me with pity, as an equal, as a brother gone astray.
I realized then that me and him were tied in the everlasting pursuit of pussy and pleasure. both a hole, paradoxically more empty after every fill.
I took off the noose and got down from the chair.
We will struggle, brothers; we will fail, but round after round, we will get back up. The complacent spectators will look upon our beaten bodies, and they will mock us, saying "He has lost". They will return to their wagie cages; in their minds, they are free, reassured of their own inaction by what they have seen. The saints of the world, the Mahers, the Gandys, they’ll go on in their complacent consumption of pleasures, of pussy, of praise. Everyone has left the arena, spectators and saints alike. We’re the last souls left. There is nothing to think about but our rejections, nothing to do but lick our wounds, and nothing left to do but cope.
