Hey, quandale Pringle here,
My boss caught me watching a hottub streamer during work and he squeezed my hog so hard and wouldn't even stop after I banned him.
My brother Cornelius Bartholomew Anderson ringle got caught in an alberian twitch prime and bits scam and got sent to the gulag, but we've snuck him a Nokia 3310 in his ass with a spoon that he'll be using to plan a breakout with my cousin longsdale dimmsdimone slingle.
I used to be a real ad
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Kripps stream makes you want to drink hard
twitchquotes:
u wot m8? i swer u are one cheeky cunt mate, say it to my face and not online and we'll see what happens. i swer 2 christ I'll hook you in the gabba. you better shut your mouth or im calling me homeboys rite now preparin for a proper rumble. tha rumble thatll make your nan sore jus hearin bout it. yer in proper mess ya nob head.
twitch chat
Kripp
Crying laughing hands on face emoji (ICANT emote)
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He knew he was a sellout
twitchquotes:
On November 10th, 2014, Octavian "Kripparian" Morosan was found to be severely delusional. He began wandering around his home, mumbling 'brofist' and 'subscribe'. As his weak fist was placed gently on the webcam, a single tear ran down his cheek. He knew he was a sellout.
twitch chat
Kripp
sellout
Ben Shapiro ordering pizza
Hello, is this Pizza Hut?
Excellent. My name is Ben Shapiro. Conservative thought leader. Prominent white YouTuber. The Muggsy Bogues of the intellectual dark Web. And—look, it’s just a fact—I would like to order some pizza pie. If you are triggered by that request, I do not care. I truly do not.
Now let’s discuss conditions. First, thank you for agreeing to debate me. Typically, in fora such as this, I am met with ad-hominem mudslinging, anything from “You racist creep” or “Is that your real voice?” to raucous schoolyard laughter and threats of the dreaded “toilet swirly.” However, your willingness to engage with me over the phone on the subject of pizza shows an intellectual fortitude and openness to dangerous ideas which reflects highly on your character. Huzzah, good sir. Huzzah.
Second, any pizza I order will be male. None of this “Our pizza identifies as trans-fluid-pan-poly”—no. Pizza is a boy. With a penis. It’s that simple. It’s been true for all of human history, from Plato to Socrates to Mr. Mistoffelees, and any attempt to rewrite the pillars of Western thought will be met with a hearty “Fuh!” by yours truly. And, trust me, that is not a fate you wish to meet.
Now. With regard to my topping preference. I have eaten from your pizzeria in times past, and it must be said: your pepperoni is embarrassingly spicy. Frankly, it boggles the mind. I mean, what kind of drugs are you inhaling over there? Pot?! One bite of that stuff and I had to take a shower. So tread lightly when it comes to spice, my good man. You do not want to see me at my most epic. Like the great white hero of Zack Snyder’s classic film “300,” I will kick you.
Onions, peppers—no, thank you. If I wanted veggies, I’d go to a salad bar. I’m not some sort of vegan, Cory Booker weirdo. And your efforts to Michelle Obama-ize the great American pizza pie are, frankly, hilarious. Though not as funny as the impressively named P’Zone—when I finally figured out that genuinely creative pun, I laughed until I cried and peed. A true Spartan admits defeat, and I must admit that, in this instance, your Hut humor slayed me, Dennis Miller style.
And, with that, you have earned my order. Congratulations. Ahem. Without further ado, I would like your smallest child pizza, no sauce, extra cheese. Hello? Aha. A hang-up. Another triggered lib, bested by logic. Damn it. I’m fucking starving.
Ben Shapiro
WeebsOut
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