slow claps
steps out of the shadows
Heh... not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Your meme, I mean. It's not bad. A good first attempt. It's plenty dank... I can tell it's got some thought behind it... lots of quotable material... But memeing isn't all sunshine and rainbows, kid. You're skilled... that much I can tell. But do you have what it takes to be a Memester? To join those esteemed meme ranks? To call yourself a member of the Ruseman's Corps? Memeing takes talent, that much is true. But more than that it takes heart. The world-class Memesters - I mean the big guys, like Johnny Hammersticks and Billy Kuahana - they're out there day and night, burning the midnight meme-oil, working tirelessly to craft that next big meme. And you know what, kid? 99 times out of a hundred, that new meme fails. Someone dismisses it as bait, or says it's "tryhard," or ignores it as they copy/paste the latest shitpost copypasta dreamt up by those sorry excuses for cut-rate memers over at reddit. The Meme Game is rough, kid, and I don't just mean the one you just lost :). It's a rough business, and for every artisan meme you craft in your meme bakery, some cocksucker at 9gag has a picture of a duck or some shit that a million different Johnny No-Names will attach a milion different captions to. Chin up, kid. Don't get all mopey on me. You've got skill. You've got talent. You just need to show your drive.
See you on the boards...
What happened to this ad? :(
More Copypastas
Well respected redditor with 197 IQ here chiming in
twitchquotes:
Well respected redditor with 197 IQ here chiming in. Seeing as how you've got a number of viewers would it be too hard to maybe mention reddit.com? It's a place to discuss the latest in dank memes, atheism, my little pony and the friend zone.
twitch chat
Forsen
What's that?
twitchquotes:
"Octavian," weeps a heartbroken Rania, "we need to talk. I'm not happy anymore. Your frail, vegan body no longer satisfies me. I asked you for a child, and all you gave me was this mangy mutt. Well, I've got news for you. I'm pregnant, and I bet you know who the father is. That's right, it's Tanner from Foot Locker. I'm leaving you, Octavian, you've ruined everything. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Kripp lifts the headphone off his ear and glances in Rania's direction. "What's that?"
twitch chat
Kripp
Infinite Cum Part 3
Your release had increased so much that they could no longer contain you. Your cum has consumed the entirety of the cosmos. Humanity is without a shred of doubt, gone.
You are alone in the universe.
If there were aliens, they are dead now.
Itβs over.
In despair, you mourn the death of the scientists, of humanity, of everyone. You realize you'll never hear her sweet and calming voice, see her proud body.
Your sad. Your terrified. Chronicles pass. The last stars in the universe eclipse. You silently watch as the last atoms break into protons, into quarks, into mere beams of weak energy that disperse along the vertical ropes. But the ropes no longer play their docile music. They have gonne silent.
You watch, helplessly, as the Last mozon is engulfed into the ever expanding plane of Cum. Your own creation destroys the very own universe, defying the own plan of existence.
You are alone.
You scream, but nothing comes out of your mouth. You cry, but nothing descends from your eyes. Do you even have eyes? All you can see is the torrid Instotucional white across the whole of the Universe. Entire Gans eclipse before your eyes, but then you realize the horror: The Cum turned against you.
With nothing more to consume, your sons turned against their father, and begin to consume you. You tremble. There's nothing to do. The huge weight impacts you like if whole planets fell onto your shoulders. Your alone. In your last moments, a odd sentiment of peace invades you for the first time since the early days of the universe. It's finally gonna end. You think about all the people that you've met during your stay in this universe. In the end, you think about the researcher. About her arms. Her breasts. You feel... good. For the first time in many hipereons. You jack off it.
It's so.... good, you come at the right time, freeing the constrained cum from your menber. You open your eyes, and behold the bathroom door.
You are Ok. You remember everything. It's all over.
You exit the bathroom after jacking off again, going back to your old life.
The cum stops.
Infinite Cum
Based on fucking what? BASED ON FUCKING WHAT?
Based on fucking what? BASED ON FUCKING WHAT? You fucking cunt, you motherfucker. All I read is "based based based cringe cringe based", can't you fucking come up with anything else? It feels as if I'm talking to people with fucking dementia or something and they keep repeating the same fucking words on loop. BASED ON FUCKING WHAT??? THE BIBLE? THE OXFORD DICTIONARY? MY HAIRY ASSHOLE? OH my God just shut the fuck up it's like you can't form a coherent sentence without using one of these saturated, retarded words that lost all meaning overtime. "BASED BASED BASED CRINGE CRINGE WOKE REDPILL CRINGE WOKE GO FUCK YOURSELF YOU LITTLE BITCH YOU CUNT YOU FUCking asshole you bitch you cunt little shit Based? Based on what? On your dick? Please shut the fuck up and use words properly you fuckin troglodyte, do you think God gave us a freedom of speech just to spew random words that have no meaning that doesn't even correlate to the topic of the conversation? Like please you always complain about why no one talks to you or no one expresses their opinions on you because you're always spewing random shit like poggers based cringe and when you try to explain what it is and you just say that it's funny like what? What the fuck is funny about that do you think you'll just become a stand-up comedian that will get a standing ovation just because you said "cum" on the stage? HELL NO YOU FUCKIN IDIOT, so please shut the fuck up and use words properly you dumb bitch
Based
Amogus 700 years in the future
Imagine, 700 years in the future, through some last vestige of the internet kept in an underground server, a notification miraculously appears on your device (which has been preserved in nuclear dust from the 5th world war). One night, an alien working a late shift at the museum of archeology notices the cracked screen suddenly light up, and upon it, one word arises from the battered code: Amogus. They do not know what this word means. They ponder it deeply. They scour the ancient tomes, desperate to understand its mystifying origin. It drives them mad. Is it a primeval cipher? The motto of a bygone civilization? A message from God? Night after night they study it by candlelight. They flip through pages in books so old, the slightest cough would turn the paper to a fine off-white powder. The answer is nowhere to be found. And then they are struck by a revelation: I was not meant to know this word. Its esoteric nature escapes my grasp for a reason. What if its meaning is too enlightening to bear? With this revelation comes anger. Spite. Despair. Why shouldn't I understand it?! What cosmic forces are there at play to keep me from such knowledge?! In a fit of desperate rage, they shatter your device against a wall and exclaim, arms raised to the heavens: "This is literally 1984!" Silence... Their pleas are unanswered. Sadly, in the end, their inability to unlock the word's meaning drives them to suicide. Its secrets are never known. So I ask you this: is it better to die having never understood the true mind-bending nature of Amogus, or to be driven mad by the little spaceman in his blood-red suit? If you knew enlightenment would render you incapable of living on this mortal earth without making daily references to a game of space mafia, would you accept it? With knowledge comes power, but also endless suffering. Choose wisely, and be wary when standing at the edge of that great abyss we call "the Truth," lest you fall too deep.