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I do not give a shit i simp for pokimane and I'm a tier 3 sub fuck all those amateur's i wanna smell those pretty feet of yours pokimane you know when i was a little boy i used to slap girls ass when i was young and some of them liked it some of them didn't well guess what i wanna do that to pokimane and make her moan "daddy harder" but heh listen i have way more dirtier plans for pokimane heh i bought every single merchandise pokimane has you know i've come soo far don't mess it up you pussy's ok! I will continue to simp i will continue to slap girl's asses and i don't care if it's sexual assault i WILL DO IT. And i could do it to boys too heh well that's it you understand the whole reason why am writing this.

An Afghan, an Albanian, an Algerian, an American, an Andorran, an Angolan, an Antiguans, an Argentine, an Armenian, an Australian, an Austrian, an Azerbaijani, a Bahamian, a Bahraini, a Bangladeshi, a Barbadian, a Barbudans, a Batswanan, a Belarusian, a Belgian, a Belizean, a Beninese, a Bhutanese, a Bolivian, a Bosnian, a Brazilian, a Brit, a Bruneian, a Bulgarian, a Burkinabe, a Burmese, a Burundian, a Cambodian, a Cameroonian, a Canadian, a Cape Verdean, a Central African, a Chadian, a Chilean, a Chinese, a Colombian, a Comoran, a Congolese, a Costa Rican, a Croatian, a Cuban, a Cypriot, a Czech, a Dane, a Djibouti, a Dominican, a Dutchman, an East Timorese, an Ecuadorean, an Egyptian, an Emirian, an Equatorial Guinean, an Eritrean, an Estonian, an Ethiopian, a Fijian, a Filipino, a Finn, a Frenchman, a Gabonese, a Gambian, a Georgian, a German, a Ghanaian, a Greek, a Grenadian, a Guatemalan, a Guinea-Bissauan, a Guinean, a Guyanese, a Haitian, a Herzegovinian, a Honduran, a Hungarian, an I-Kiribati, an Icelander, an Indian, an Indonesian, an Iranian, an Iraqi, an Irishman, an Israeli, an Italian, an Ivorian, a Jamaican, a Japanese, a Jordanian, a Kazakhstani, a Kenyan, a Kittian and Nevisian, a Kuwaiti, a Kyrgyz, a Laotian, a Latvian, a Lebanese, a Liberian, a Libyan, a Liechtensteiner, a Lithuanian, a Luxembourger, a Macedonian, a Malagasy, a Malawian, a Malaysian, a Maldivan, a Malian, a Maltese, a Marshallese, a Mauritanian, a Mauritian, a Mexican, a Micronesian, a Moldovan, a Monacan, a Mongolian, a Moroccan, a Mosotho, a Motswana, a Mozambican, a Namibian, a Nauruan, a Nepalese, a New Zealander, a Nicaraguan, a Nigerian, a Nigerien, a North Korean, a Northern Irishman, a Norwegian, an Omani, a Pakistani, a Palauan, a Palestinian, a Panamanian, a Papua New Guinean, a Paraguayan, a Peruvian, a Pole, a Portuguese, a Qatari, a Romanian, a Russian, a Rwandan, a Saint Lucian, a Salvadoran, a Samoan, a San Marinese, a Sao Tomean, a Saudi, a Scottish, a Senegalese, a Serbian, a Seychellois, a Sierra Leonean, a Singaporean, a Slovakian, a Slovenian, a Solomon Islander, a Somali, a South African, a South Korean, a Spaniard, a Sri Lankan, a Sudanese, a Surinamer, a Swazi, a Swede, a Swiss, a Syrian, a Taiwanese, a Tajik, a Tanzanian, a Togolese, a Tongan, a Trinidadian or Tobagonian, a Tunisian, a Turkish, a Tuvaluan, a Ugandan, a Ukrainian, a Uruguayan, a Uzbekistani, a Venezuelan, a Vietnamese, a Welshman, a Yemenite, a Zambian and a Zimbabwean all go to a nightclub... The doorman stops them and says “Sorry, I can’t let you in without a Thai.”

That's right. I am the IMPOSTER. I just killed my boss. I now had to convince everyone that I wasn't the imposter. "Chad is the imposter!" I randomly yelled out. Another coworker said "Well, I did see him running towards the stairs/elevator. "Wait, think about this!" Chad stated. "How do you know I'm the murderer? It could be him!" "Hmm.." My coworker, John, said. "Why do you think it's him, Darrius?" "Well," I started, "The same reason as you. I saw him running towards the elevator when the killing happened. "Wait, wait, wait!" Angelica proclaimed. "How do we know it happened on the top floor?" Another coworker, Adam, pointed out the window towards the paramedics wrapping up my boss' mangled corpse in a body bag." Oh!" Angelica said." That's a bit sussy," I said. "I think it must have been Angelica, she's pretending she doesn't know anything?" "Hmm, you might be right." My coworker Dave spoke up. "But I think that it might be you, Darrius." "Wait woah woah, why is it me?" I defended myself. He said "I saw you enter the elevator right before the murderer hit!" He said. Shit. he's onto me." Woah, you could be lying! I was in my cubicle doing my office work!" I yelled back." Oh really, what were you doing?" Dave said." I was uh.. scanning for viruses on my computer!" "Hmm.. okay." "I think that we should get rid of Liam." Angelica proclaimed. "Woah woah woah, pretty lady! Why do you think that?" He quickly hopped to his defense. "I haven't been a part of this discussion at all!" "Well, you're pale, and you work on the closest floor to the boss." Angelica replies. "Yeah, that's sus, Liam." I said. "We should get rid of him." "I agree." Chad said." Me too!" Adam said." Me three!" John said. And so we decided to throw him out the window.

One day jerma got so angry at the one guy in chat who was being mean and spamming residentsleeper, he quite literally stuck his hands into his screen and yanked really hard. Out came this 5'9 brown haired highschooler who instantly began begging for his life. However, jerma growled really loud and started chanting the lyrics to "I'm a Walrus" by the beatles. The mods, the chat, no one could stop what happened next. Chat was spamming PauseChamp. Then Jerma just grabbed the poor highschooler by his neck and lifted him off the floor and began to spin him really fast.. His guts came flying out with the sheer force that jerma used to spin him. The camera was stained with blood and chat was all spamming monkaW and "LULW typical One guy moment". After a couple of moments jerma wiped the red marking from the camera and sat back down as if nothing happened. The weirdest part was that he started talking about soy milk and how he wasn't a sponsor with any soy milk company. He seemed quite annoyed that he wasnt a sponsor but continued to elaborate on how much he loved soy milk, but only that one specific brand of soy milk. I'm telling you, the one guy residentsleeper spammers are annoying as hell. EDIT: Unfortunately that segment of the VOD was deleted due to DMCA issues with Jerma singing The Beatles.

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.

Donald Trump shuffled toward the entrance of his suite with considerable effort, swiping at his brow and rubbing his fingers together in vexation. All he could think about was Joe Biden's clever, biting remarks about his person and his dress shirt, which has gotten too small for him over the course of a month and now chafed uncomfortably around his shoulders and his stomach. Surely he had won the debate, he thought as he tightened himself around the plug that his wife had wedged inside of him; he was louder than good ol’ Sleepy Joe, and if that is not an indication of winning, then nothing is. He stopped just outside of his room and attempted to fish out his key card from his breast pocket, resisting a strong urge to tear out his hair in vexation as he realized that he had forgotten the damned thing in the room. His secret agents stopped a couple respectful feet behind him, the silence felt almost mocking. He turned around. "What is your name again, Demetri? Surely you have a copy?" He said, the strength in his words petered out as he scrutinized the expressionless faces of the men before him. Though they were dressed impeccably, Don could not find Demetri – or whatever that secret fanfiction poster’s name was – among the men before him. Odd. Did they give him a memo regarding this change? He almost stumbled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he spun around and found himself face to face with Joe Biden. Oh, the bastard's followed him all the way up here. Don began. “Listen, mister, I don’t know what you are doing following me to my room, and if you don’t stop my man will....” Joe laughed. "Men, stand down and stand by," Joe said with a drawl. Don's tiny pig eyes widened with surprise, but he swallowed all insults and protests bubbling at the back of his throat as soon as he felt something resembling the muzzle of a handgun wedged under his collar and into the back of his neck. Don dared not to yell and merely gasped as he felt Joe’s perspiring hand crept up his wrinkly auburn neck, tugging at his tie. Speechless at the scene unfolding before him, he squeezed his eyes shut as his remaining braincell struggle to come up with something, anything that can make Joe stop. Joe handed his gun to the nearest agent. "Keep your eyes on him, folks." Don almost sagged in relief, but tensed at another hand tracing a careful line from his trembling chest to his half-awakened member and froze as he sensed Joe nuzzling into the top of Don’s head, burying his nose into Don’s flowing blonde curls. Joe sighed and sniffed at his hair; it was a harsh, rattling sound that made Don quiver and whimper. “Will you shut up, man?” Joe said, tilting his head up and crushing his lips into Don’s with such a passion that made Don’s knees weak with desire, a lust that crackles at the point of contact and shots down to his groin, a rippling pleasure unlike any he had felt before in his senile spine. He moaned into the kiss and lifted a tiny orange hand, carding his sausage fingers in Joe’s hair as the kiss deepens, eagerly drinking in the taste of his biggest political rival— peppermint, moth balls, and something that is so deliciously and uniquely Joe that made him shudder at every flick and twirl of Joe’s tongue. He let out a muffled keen as Joe began to suckle on his tongue, making vulgar, wet noises that seemed to reverberate in the hallway. They separated, both dizzy in the heat of their exhalations. Don bit down on his paper-thin bottom lip to suppress another moan, grasping at Joe’s dress shirt with his timid yet desperate little hands. He managed to get his stubby fingers on the first button of Joe’s garment before Joe swatted his hands away, grasping his wrists and pinning it on the wall behind him. “Get the f— fuck off of me, Sleepy Joe,” Don whined, straining against the restraint. Affected by a myriad of permanent health consequences of COVID-19 and breathless from arousal, he huffed with parted lips as Joe leaned in, whose breath fanned hotly over his already churning face. Joe chuckled. “Riled up, aren’t you?” He said. Joe sneaked two pale fingers under the sweat-drenched fabric of Don’s partially unbuttoned top and squeezed at one of his saggy man tits, rubbing and twisting his nipple until the bit of flesh between Joe’s fingers swell with interest. The strange sensation made Don struggle against Joe’s hand once more, aching to lay his hands on his fully hardened member. Yet Joe’s vise-like grip only tightened minutely in response, the other hand explored his squirming form, palming his thighs and cupping his ass, squeezing and touching anywhere but his cock. "I – Let me –" Don said, panting with exertion and watching with desperation as Joe freed his erection from the confines of his own slacks instead, stroking it languidly. Joe said with a chuckle, "What did I say about using your big boy words, eh Donnie? What's the magic word?" Joe let the tip of his index finger graze the exposed patches of pale, wrinkly skin, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as Don arched into his touch. Don gulped audibly, his cheeks burning with shame as he heard himself say, "let me touch myself." "You forgot to say the magic word." "Please," Don said, almost inaudible, and his whole body quaked at Joe's hand nimbly undoing his fly and grasping loosely around his inadequate length, giving it a few purposefully lackluster pumps before it slid down and under his wrinkly ball sack. He felt Joe’s fingers pause as it touched the smooth, circular base of his plug, tracing around it inquisitively. “Naughty, naughty boy, wearing his little toy to a presidential debate, huh?” Joe said, fingers digging between the base of the plug and Don’s skin and gave it a violent twist, shoving his index finger alongside the plug. The sudden movement made Don clinch down on the newfound fullness that was almost painful, which sent a pang of humiliating ecstasy that churned hotly in Don’s stomach. Joe hooked his fingers around the base and pulled the plug out completely, giving Don hardly any time to breathe before sending it back in with a cruel thrust; the lines deepened with a smirk on Joe’s wrinkly raisin face as Don moaned wantonly, bucking his hips back toward Joe’s hand impatiently as he began to fuck Don with the toy at a torturously slow pace. Joe leaned in, nibbling Don’s earlobe after licking a smoldering stripe on the shell of Don’s ear. “Your little cock is leaking, Donnie boy, so eager, so desperate for more,” he said in a rumbling, guttural whisper as he took out the plug, which parted with Don’s hole with a moist pop. Don whined at the sudden vacancy inside him, his watery blue eyes filled with tears of yearning and humiliation, looking at the passionless face of his political rival through the haze of arousal, unsure if he wanted to plead or wanted to kill. He tightened his hole again and felt the loss, the lack. He knew what he had to do. “Please,” Don rasped, tasting the word as it took form as if he was saying it for the first time. Joe mercifully complied without further biting comments, spreading Don’s legs and without a warning, slid into Don’s slick, loosened hole with relative ease. Don groaned at the intrusion, clenching around the familiar width and rutting his hips to the rhythm. Joe cursed under his breath and finally let go of Don’s wrists, lifting Don’s thighs and spreading him out further before he snapped his hips and slammed his cock inside of Don at a relentless pace. Don could do nothing but to hold onto Joe’s forearms as the latter used him, moaning and wailing at every reentry as he worked his tiny hand about his equally tiny dick with fervor. Climax hit him at the rate of the increase in unemployment rate during his mishandling of a global pandemic and every subsequent plunge in his overstimulated hole made him see white, and Joe too came all over Don’s ruined suit after a few irregular thrusts. Don yelped as Joe let go of him, his tub of lard body slammed into the ground with a painful thud. He sat there dazed as Joe tucked himself back in and mumbled lowly. “I am going to fire all of you, and I will sue you, I am suing every single one of you –“ Joe laughed mirthlessly. “Republitard seethe, Joe Mama 2020.” Don’s unfocused gaze seemed to be locked on the floral pattern of the carpet beneath him as the men departed. The door beside him creaked open and from which Mel emerged. “Donald? A good fucking I hope?” He didn’t look at her; he simply grunted in response. Mel sighed with exasperation, tapping the wooden frame of the entrance impatiently. “Can you at least clean up? I arranged a cuckholding session with the Mexican hooker and I want you as a part of it.” “Okay,” Don said. And when he finally looked up, the woman’s face was a stiff, strange marble form upon which a scowl was etched eternally, bearing nothing more than a semblance to the woman that he had briefly loved. As the author I would normally delve deeper into the emotional landscape of our victim as it brings the story to life, but it is hard to imagine that such a two-faced, immoral, unintelligent animal like Don would have the heart and soul necessary for feelings beyond insatiable greed and rage.