Teacher: okay class, today we are going to finger paint
Kid named finger:
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢠
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⣻⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣫⣽⣾⣻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⡿⠿⠟⠛⣟⣿⣽⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠍⠈⠀⠁⣴⡆⠀⠀⠠⢭⣮⣿⡶⠀⠀
⠀⡴⠲⣦⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣩⣨⣀⡄⣐⣾⣿⣿⣇⠠⣷⣶⣿⣿⡠⠁⠀
⠀⠃⢀⡄⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⢿⣿⣯⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⡟⣿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠣⠧⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢸⣿⠿⠿⠿⣧⠙⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠁⠼⣒⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⣬⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣷⡈⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⠗⠼⠖⠒⠔⠉⠉⠻⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣻⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡀⣤⡄⠸⣰⣾⡒⣷⣴⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢸⣿⣾⣷⣦⡿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢻⠞⣹⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⠀⠘⢻⡿⢿⣋⣤⣤⠌⠉⠛⠛⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀
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More Copypastas
I hate, hate, hate coffee culture
I hate, hate, hate coffee culture. I can't stand people saying, "Oh, I can't do anything until I get a warm cup of coffee in me." Shut up. Being a former smoker, I recognize the addiction and subsequent irritability of coffee drinkers and it bugs me to no end that caffeine gets glossed over as an addictive substance, or even fucking celebrated to some extent. Those people who brag about needing 5 expresso shots (sorry, esssspresso) a day need an intervention, not a nod of approval. Seriously, all you coffee drinkers are the biggest group of fucking enablers I've ever seen.
When doing group activities, like camping, I loathe waiting for others to start their day after a morning ritual that hogs counter space, or propane, or dirties good clean water. I hate the sleepy look in peoples' eyes as they grasp their cup of stimulant that they wouldn't need had they never started drinking it in the first place.
There's an entire fucking cupboard in my kitchen dedicated to stupid coffee mugs and their dumb sayings staring back at me despite living in a household where only one person drinks coffee. Why? And the dishes. Since nearly every person drinks coffee, inevitably us non-coffee drinkers are going to have to clean up after your morning fix. Seriously, I've done so many goddamned cleanings of coffee mugs if I had a dime for every one, I'd probably have enough for a Starbucks franchise.
And don't even get me started on Starbucks. Godamned devil business slanging legal crack for decades, hogging good real estate so addicts have a place to slurp up and get their morning shit in before work.
Lastly, I despise the amalgam of ways people cook up their black powder and then talk up the flavor as though it tastes like something other than a dirty sock. That's your addiction speaking. You want to know why you need to dump half an udder of cream in your cup? It's because cream is fucking delicious and when combined with your filthy water, makes it somewhat bearable.
And your stupid machines that creak and groan through the quietude of my morning can go fuck themselves. Talk about a waste of counter-space. And the spent black stimulant granules that spill over onto the counter, staining the grout drives me nuts.
And lastly, the goddamned keurig cups or whatever they're called are one of humanity's worst inventions, sandwiched between Glyphosate and Joe Rogan. At least the meth addicts don't deposit a plastic remnant that will persist in landfills for hundreds of years spreading micro-plastics into our environment every time they need to get high.
It's not gay with socks on
When I was 13 years old a buddy of mine tried to convince me to fool around. I wasn't into it, and he told me it's not gay if you're wearing socks. I didn't believe him, went home, and asked my dad.
That's 'gentleman's gay', hardly gay at all. Don't see it much these days.
The 50s were a different time. What were we to do? We were typical boarding school boys, rich with vigor, skin slick with drying sweat and gritty earth from a game of pigskin.
At night our young, virile bodies filled the dorm with sweet-musky vapors, like game-meat stewed with apple and peppercorn. You'd awake in darkness to the hushed, melodic rhythm of two pairs of white tube socks, barely visible in moonlight, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
The deep bond of male friendship played like a thousand different human instruments. The wet claps of skin on skin, the gentle thud of heads on backboards, frenzied cries in the throes of climax. Wilbur, so fat and soft like tapioca pudding. His breasts were so like the real thing, what we fantasized of our future wives. Unwilling, defenseless Wilbur, so slow and uncoordinated in the dark. 10 of us would glaze his bare, pink flesh like a giant raspberry danish. He once had the audacity to tell Headmaster Redford. But Redford was a Deerfield boy once, he understood. So he joined us on our midnight hog hunts.
Through college and years after we'd find time here and there, away from the wives at a family lake house. But it's been decades now - the times have certainly changed. If you wanted to do something private with another man, in your socks, it wasn’t ‘gay’. It was just two men, celebrating each other's strength.
Could you help me find my dogs?
twitchquotes:
Hey guys i lost one of my dogs 
Could you help me to find him? Please Type 
(Franker Z) Or 
(Ralpher Z) To find them! Thank you! The Twitch Chat is so intellectula! 
No Copypasterino Wufferino please!!!!!
Could you help me to find him? Please Type (Franker Z) Or (Ralpher Z) To find them! Thank you! The Twitch Chat is so intellectula! No Copypasterino Wufferino please!!!!!
twitch chat
Kripp
Leifman talk the mumble automatically go to awkward
twitchquotes:
Ｗｈｅｎ ｌｅｉｆｍａｎ ｔａｌｋ ｔｈｅ ｍｕｍｂｌｅ ａｕｔｏｍａｔｉｃａｌｌｙ ｇｏ ｔｏ ａｗｋｗａｒｄ． Ｌｅｉｆｍａｎ ｇｅｔ ｒｅｋｔ ｂｙ ｔｈｅ ｋｒｉｐｐ ａｎｄ ｆｅｅｌ ａｔ ｏｎｅ ｗｉｔｈ ｔｈｅ ｃｒｉｎｇｅ． ａｌｌ ｂｅｃｏｍｉｎｇ ｕｎｍｏｄ ｌｅｉｆｍａｎ
twitch chat
Kripp
Surprised Shrek
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⠟⠫⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣩⡍⣙⠛⢛⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿
⣿⠤⠄⠄⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠛⢛⣧⣿⠇⠄⠂⠄⠄⠄⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠄⢻
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⣾⣿⢟⣼⠒⢲⡔⣺⣿⣧⠄⠄⣠⠤⢤⡀⠄⠟⠉⣠⣤⣤⣤⣾
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣀⣬⣵⣿⣿⣿⣶⡤⠙⠄⠘⠃⠄⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢻⠿⢿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⠄⠂⠉⠒⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣡⣷⣶⣤⣤⣀⡀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣰⠄⠄⠄⠄⢾⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⡿⠋⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠉⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠄⠄⠄⠑⠄⠄⠐⡇⠄⠈⠙⠛⠋
⠋⠄⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢠⡇⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠄⢠⡀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠁⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣧⣬⣿⣤⣐⣂⣄⣀⣠⡴⠖⠈⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠈⠈⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣉⡉⠉⠈⠁⠄⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⡂⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠄⠄⠙⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡤⠈⠉⠉⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠠⠔⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠄⠄⠄⡈⢿⣷⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣷⡦⢤⡀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢐⣠⡿⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄