Over There are good reasons why I'm an asshole - perhaps if you take the time and read this, you'll understand

BigJimsWornOutTires

BigJimsWornOutTires

Zephir
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I'm a bankrupt billionaire that lost everything in 2016, including my gaddam heart. I was one of the original investors in cryptocurrency and had purchased 128,032 units in 2009 for pennies on the dollar. I would also sell, buy, trade, and invest in other stocks in the following years and became quite good at it. But crypto was my fodder. THE CHAIN BLOCKER is tramp-stamped on my lower back. I made 3.4 billion dollars. But I had a brilliant strategy of keeping all my eggs in one basket that would later lead to an unforgiven act.

I carried my 3.4 bil in one device that included a text file of my bitcoin transactions, banking account routing numbers, and copies of my passports and social security card. I also had a separate file labeled Emergency Funds for my safe deposit box code. I ingeniously concealed and embedded that digital wallet into a black MP3 player I wore around my neck attached to a 24K yellow gold chain with 150 carats of diamonds. I also had custom diamond cut lettering on the player that spelled Jackpot. I was always one step ahead. But one night, I would give my heart to a roastie thot that I underestimated.

I had a private island with turquoise lagoons and sparkling waterfalls but mostly rough wilderness terrain. I named it, Stay TF Out! Yes, the exclamation mark included. And no, nothing like that sick twisted pedophile Jeffrey Epstein's Little St. James. Ugh. That name itself makes me cringe. I was never into unclean people anyway. Thus skanky jailbaits. But Nora was exceptional. She was 26 years old. I pet peeved her, Bunny. Because, well, that's something private I rather keep for myself. But it had a lot to do with the moment we fell in love and how she bounced on my crotch.

She was finishing a lapdance, so I generously overtipped her five crispy Franklins. "$500? Okay, you get me for the night." She accepted the lover's union. I became her boyfriend.

After several weeks of hot passionate lovemaking, I dedicated a section of the island to her. I called it, Run, Bunny, Run! Adventure Park. It was like a themed exhibit inside a hidden warehouse. I spent nearly 700 million dollars replicating the inside into Taylor Mountain forest.

I invited Nora to the island a year after the park's completion. I covered her eyes with my hands when we approached the front entrance. I was excited! I let go.

At first, she was a little confused seeing the giant lettering with her pet peeve name, making her feel like a star. But then, she inquired, "Run, Bunny, Run?"

"It's a surprise," I guaranteed her with a suspicious wink and walked her to the entrance.

So we entered the warehouse, and she skeptically browsed with dullness. "Wow. It's huge." Seeing the massive 80-acre structure. Twelve-story elevation ceiling with dozens of fans and motorized components.

"You have no idea, Bunny. I had contractors clear the land first but later discovered they hired subcontractors. Ugh. So that cost me more. Then the contractors erected the warehouse structure. I had an African Chinese climate company that specialized in replicating hurricanes install a special ceiling. Then I had these trees and boulders you see flew in from all across the world. But ugh again, it was a doozy getting them into the warehouse. So the contractors cut out a section of the building to move the trees and boulders through. They later resealed it with a King Kong wall which cost me even more."

"So you spent hundreds of millions of dollars duplicating the outside of this warehouse minus your King Kong wall? And to be honest, those stones clearly don't go together with the aluminum warehouse." She indicated my Kong wall was out of place.

"Not exactly. Close," I reached for a cigar in my shirt pocket but declined. "but no cigar."

"Um. Why couldn't you just build the warehouse around the natural resources to save all that money?" Sarcastically, she said.

"Well, where would the fun be in that?" I assured her. She remained puzzled—a typical female persona. Not like their geniuses. Ugh.

So I led the way to a shoebox resting on an end table in the middle of six lit tiki torches not far from the entrance, which is also the exit. If the fire department knew there was only one way in and out, I would be in Fineville. Luckily, the island was in China's territorial sea. I reached into the box and manifested a starter gun. "Get ready to run for your life!" I aimed the gun at the elaborate ceiling machine and then looked at my Rolex to get a countdown going. "10...9...8-" she interrupts.

"What are you doing, Jim?"

I ignored her during an awkward pause and continued counting in a disturbing calm manner. "7...6...5-" she interrupts again.

"First thing, it should've been like 5, 4, 3 since I used up a good three seconds asking that question along with your long ponder pause. And I know you're not actually reading a countdown from that watch." Observing the timepiece, it only had arrows and a blank face plate. She continued, "Do you want to chase me like Ted Bundy had his victims?" Noting a bulletin board near the door. "This happens to be a replica of the area he did most of his disturbing crimes," looking at the pegboard of vintage pictures of crime scenes, Taylor Mountain forest postcards, various images of Ted Bundy, and a title scrawled at top reading, Ted Bundy's Victim Location for Run, Bunny, Run! Adventure Park.

"3...2..." I pulled the trigger. POW!! "Run, Bunny, run!" I screamed like a raging roidster.

But she stood there sighing with an attitude, shaking her head, and a hand on her hip, shifting her weight to one leg. I tried nudging her with my shoulder, but she winced with bitchiness.

Everything I did for her failed. I spent all that money for nothing. As if that very failure was foreshadowing an ominous event yet to come.

Later that evening, smoking a Gurkha Black Dragon and sipping a vintage 2005 Chateau Lafite Rothschild, I peeked through my fabric flaps and saw her outside by the Avengers Infinity War-themed pool. She was giggling with my private pilot, Hulio Mario Hernandez Gonzales Roberto Smith III. A good feller. And so I thought. Unironically, I wasn't thinking at that moment. Blank. A typical night of pondering the void.

During the dark hours, Bunny would steal my wealth that I usually laid on the kitchen counter. She left the island with Hulio. I would never see either of them again. I tried tracking my money, but the police said it's impossible since cryptocurrency is non-traceable without the transaction codes. They also informed someone withdrew my remaining money from my multiple banking accounts and even managed to take my emergency funds that were inside a safe deposit box using a code.

But how did she decrypt my fodder bank? I wondered. Then remembering back, my gad, she was clever.

Several months prior, we were on vacation in Italy and visited Lecciona Beach. It was a public nudist seaside. So she's reverse cowgirling my rod as families covered their little one's eyes and shouted gibberish at us. Ugh. Perhaps they need to learn English, I assured myself. Then Bunny spoke, "Um, Jim. In case something ever happens to you, lord forbid such tragedy, how do I access your Jackpot so I don't end up on the streets being sexually assaulted and passed around in the black community like a glass rose?"

"Ugh. You are a very clever girl indeed," I said, embracing her hips while watching the show below. "Jackpot can be accessed from only airports, coffee shops, or hotels through a public wifi connection. See, that's the clever part. A thief would never imagine such ingenuity."

"Oh," she said, then paused. I couldn't see her face but imagined it was astonishment at my intelligence. Then she spoke, "Okay. And what about the password?"

"Jackpot," I answered. She was speechlessly shocked at my ingeniousness again. How many hackers do you know that would think of using the device's name as the password? Boom, shocka-shocka-shocka, boom. I rallied to myself. At first, she didn't say anything. Then,

"Oh my gad, I love you so much!" She ground harder, which led to the loudest orgasm I'd heard.

I lost everything, and as months passed, I couldn't pay the rent on my multiple homes, as well as yachts, the island, and the weather modification service I was paying China for. So I had them replicate a dark cloudy, but not stormy, breezy, perhaps a slight drizzle here and there' atmosphere for the park that consumed half of the ceiling to the warehouse.

So try not to judge me so much, Looksmax. Understand what I've been through and perhaps, have a little gaddam respect.
 
Magical Apple

Magical Apple

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I'm a bankrupt billionaire that lost everything in 2016, including my gaddam heart. I was one of the original investors in cryptocurrency and had purchased 128,032 units in 2009 for pennies on the dollar. I would also sell, buy, trade, and invest in other stocks in the following years and became quite good at it. But crypto was my fodder. THE CHAIN BLOCKER is tramp-stamped on my lower back. I made 3.4 billion dollars. But I had a brilliant strategy of keeping all my eggs in one basket that would later lead to an unforgiven act.

I carried my 3.4 bil in one device that included a text file of my bitcoin transactions, banking account routing numbers, and copies of my passports and social security card. I also had a separate file labeled Emergency Funds for my safe deposit box code. I ingeniously concealed and embedded that digital wallet into a black MP3 player I wore around my neck attached to a 24K yellow gold chain with 150 carats of diamonds. I also had custom diamond cut lettering on the player that spelled Jackpot. I was always one step ahead. But one night, I would give my heart to a roastie thot that I underestimated.

I had a private island with turquoise lagoons and sparkling waterfalls but mostly rough wilderness terrain. I named it, Stay TF Out! Yes, the exclamation mark included. And no, nothing like that sick twisted pedophile Jeffrey Epstein's Little St. James. Ugh. That name itself makes me cringe. I was never into unclean people anyway. Thus skanky jailbaits. But Nora was exceptional. She was 26 years old. I pet peeved her, Bunny. Because, well, that's something private I rather keep for myself. But it had a lot to do with the moment we fell in love and how she bounced on my crotch.

She was finishing a lapdance, so I generously overtipped her five crispy Franklins. "$500? Okay, you get me for the night." She accepted the lover's union. I became her boyfriend.

After several weeks of hot passionate lovemaking, I dedicated a section of the island to her. I called it, Run, Bunny, Run! Adventure Park. It was like a themed exhibit inside a hidden warehouse. I spent nearly 700 million dollars replicating the inside into Taylor Mountain forest.

I invited Nora to the island a year after the park's completion. I covered her eyes with my hands when we approached the front entrance. I was excited! I let go.

At first, she was a little confused seeing the giant lettering with her pet peeve name, making her feel like a star. But then, she inquired, "Run, Bunny, Run?"

"It's a surprise," I guaranteed her with a suspicious wink and walked her to the entrance.

So we entered the warehouse, and she skeptically browsed with dullness. "Wow. It's huge." Seeing the massive 80-acre structure. Twelve-story elevation ceiling with dozens of fans and motorized components.

"You have no idea, Bunny. I had contractors clear the land first but later discovered they hired subcontractors. Ugh. So that cost me more. Then the contractors erected the warehouse structure. I had an African Chinese climate company that specialized in replicating hurricanes install a special ceiling. Then I had these trees and boulders you see flew in from all across the world. But ugh again, it was a doozy getting them into the warehouse. So the contractors cut out a section of the building to move the trees and boulders through. They later resealed it with a King Kong wall which cost me even more."

"So you spent hundreds of millions of dollars duplicating the outside of this warehouse minus your King Kong wall? And to be honest, those stones clearly don't go together with the aluminum warehouse." She indicated my Kong wall was out of place.

"Not exactly. Close," I reached for a cigar in my shirt pocket but declined. "but no cigar."

"Um. Why couldn't you just build the warehouse around the natural resources to save all that money?" Sarcastically, she said.

"Well, where would the fun be in that?" I assured her. She remained puzzled—a typical female persona. Not like their geniuses. Ugh.

So I led the way to a shoebox resting on an end table in the middle of six lit tiki torches not far from the entrance, which is also the exit. If the fire department knew there was only one way in and out, I would be in Fineville. Luckily, the island was in China's territorial sea. I reached into the box and manifested a starter gun. "Get ready to run for your life!" I aimed the gun at the elaborate ceiling machine and then looked at my Rolex to get a countdown going. "10...9...8-" she interrupts.

"What are you doing, Jim?"

I ignored her during an awkward pause and continued counting in a disturbing calm manner. "7...6...5-" she interrupts again.

"First thing, it should've been like 5, 4, 3 since I used up a good three seconds asking that question along with your long ponder pause. And I know you're not actually reading a countdown from that watch." Observing the timepiece, it only had arrows and a blank face plate. She continued, "Do you want to chase me like Ted Bundy had his victims?" Noting a bulletin board near the door. "This happens to be a replica of the area he did most of his disturbing crimes," looking at the pegboard of vintage pictures of crime scenes, Taylor Mountain forest postcards, various images of Ted Bundy, and a title scrawled at top reading, Ted Bundy's Victim Location for Run, Bunny, Run! Adventure Park.

"3...2..." I pulled the trigger. POW!! "Run, Bunny, run!" I screamed like a raging roidster.

But she stood there sighing with an attitude, shaking her head, and a hand on her hip, shifting her weight to one leg. I tried nudging her with my shoulder, but she winced with bitchiness.

Everything I did for her failed. I spent all that money for nothing. As if that very failure was foreshadowing an ominous event yet to come.

Later that evening, smoking a Gurkha Black Dragon and sipping a vintage 2005 Chateau Lafite Rothschild, I peeked through my fabric flaps and saw her outside by the Avengers Infinity War-themed pool. She was giggling with my private pilot, Hulio Mario Hernandez Gonzales Roberto Smith III. A good feller. And so I thought. Unironically, I wasn't thinking at that moment. Blank. A typical night of pondering the void.

During the dark hours, Bunny would steal my wealth that I usually laid on the kitchen counter. She left the island with Hulio. I would never see either of them again. I tried tracking my money, but the police said it's impossible since cryptocurrency is non-traceable without the transaction codes. They also informed someone withdrew my remaining money from my multiple banking accounts and even managed to take my emergency funds that were inside a safe deposit box using a code.

But how did she decrypt my fodder bank? I wondered. Then remembering back, my gad, she was clever.

Several months prior, we were on vacation in Italy and visited Lecciona Beach. It was a public nudist seaside. So she's reverse cowgirling my rod as families covered their little one's eyes and shouted gibberish at us. Ugh. Perhaps they need to learn English, I assured myself. Then Bunny spoke, "Um, Jim. In case something ever happens to you, lord forbid such tragedy, how do I access your Jackpot so I don't end up on the streets being sexually assaulted and passed around in the black community like a glass rose?"

"Ugh. You are a very clever girl indeed," I said, embracing her hips while watching the show below. "Jackpot can be accessed from only airports, coffee shops, or hotels through a public wifi connection. See, that's the clever part. A thief would never imagine such ingenuity."

"Oh," she said, then paused. I couldn't see her face but imagined it was astonishment at my intelligence. Then she spoke, "Okay. And what about the password?"

"Jackpot," I answered. She was speechlessly shocked at my ingeniousness again. How many hackers do you know that would think of using the device's name as the password? Boom, shocka-shocka-shocka, boom. I rallied to myself. At first, she didn't say anything. Then,

"Oh my gad, I love you so much!" She ground harder, which led to the loudest orgasm I'd heard.

I lost everything, and as months passed, I couldn't pay the rent on my multiple homes, as well as yachts, the island, and the weather modification service I was paying China for. So I had them replicate a dark cloudy, but not stormy, breezy, perhaps a slight drizzle here and there' atmosphere for the park that consumed half of the ceiling to the warehouse.

So try not to judge me so much, Looksmax. Understand what I've been through and perhaps, have a little gaddam respect.
tales
Protect Computer Server Room
 
Mogpogs

Mogpogs

Noveau Bitche
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A bitch gave me such a bad bj in 2019 i still have bite marks on my dick
 
BigJimsWornOutTires

BigJimsWornOutTires

Zephir
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He is reaching the shitpost singularity it seems.
I bring turds of words as an effigy for looksmaxxing. Seeing yourself in the mirror and condemning that gift of life because you've fallen for prosperous society's gloat and deception, ugh. Perhaps my feces can fondle your consciousness like a Stacy feeding me tequila then unfastens my jeans with one hand and the other holding on to a testicle clamp. As if saying, "This is going to be a long night."
 
BigJimsWornOutTires

BigJimsWornOutTires

Zephir
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how i envy the paypig woman of big jim, what an easy existence.
Cryptic. Any woman I long for dominates me. I was created to serve Woman. Yes, I'm a bitchboy. Simp. Pussy whipped. But I was never an orbiter. And never, a chaser! That's no man — chasing a woman. Ugh. The man is supposed to be the quarry, for she's the cougar. And that title is of any legal age. But not all women are strong. Thus lesbians and today's feminists. Those aren't substantial vaginas. Weak bitches.
 
Verse

Verse

NO LONGER NT
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I'm a bankrupt billionaire that lost everything in 2016, including my gaddam heart. I was one of the original investors in cryptocurrency and had purchased 128,032 units in 2009 for pennies on the dollar. I would also sell, buy, trade, and invest in other stocks in the following years and
This was too long to read so I didn't, good luck though
 
BigJimsWornOutTires

BigJimsWornOutTires

Zephir
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This was too long to read so I didn't, good luck though
A new season. That writer's gone. Now it's me. Whoever that may be.
 

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