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can he shut the fuck up for once ? I fucking hate this guy i want to fuck his wife so fucking bad i probably will end up doing so, and lock him in a room and whip his fake hair with a beef nerve and make him eat my dick just so he gets reminded that he was a bullied child this fucking white monkey wannabe smart try hard loser with huge self confidence issues full of virtual money and virtual fame how the fuck does it feel Elon that every normie with 115 IQ follows you but no real scientist take you seriously ? How does it feel being the autist of hollywood you fucking broken baboon ? Now what, you try to be the world leader ? You think you’re a visionary telling yourself hey i’m the space reddit guy i will live on mars i’m the leader of earth fuck yeah i post 4chan memes they love me GUESS WHAT THERE ARE PEOPLE ON EARTH THAT WILL OVERPOWER YOU IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE YOU’LL GET MY DICK IN YOUR ANUS AND YOU WILL SCREAM WITH JOY

I finally did it. I out pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life. After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out- pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha-- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger. A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. Mom, Dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi--" A single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty country road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone. At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one. With a free side order of pain.

Dost thou ponder if yoshi's constitution becomes discombobulated whence eggs are excreted afore Mario's gaze? My sincere apologies if thy bristles were tussled, however I believe this to be quite amusing. And, I am curious to perview a charcoal etching of this event, if only for a rousing chuckle. I'm also perplexed whence trying to place what eldritch odor would arise. This is only for a gaff, a ruse, merriment per se, I would like to smell them.

Short story-time for amusement reasons only: some days ago, I went to my bank (Austria). I am the owner of quite a number of GME shares and my broker app is actually just the bank-intern bond trading app, where I need to pay transactional feed everytime I buy (what is sell?) GME shares. I informed myself about the reasoning of those transactional fees beforehand and found out that by paying them, I have the right of consultation by my bank about the shares they‘re trading/I‘m buying. So, I went to the main national building of my bank, they were really friendly at the beginning, enthustiatically, I mentioned GME to them and that I wish for professional consultation about the financial details involved with that stock (I am not a financial guy, actually, I don‘t exactly know what‘s going on, it‘s all pretty crazy to me). Suddenly, their posture and mimick changed pretty suddenly. I was told, they are not allowed to consult about GME. To my question, why this was the case, they told me, because GME is „too irrelevant for the big stock market“. They are „aware of the past short squeeze, but one should no longer focus on GME“. They acted as if GME was some „childish financial playground“ that should be forgotten about. When I confronted them with the huge recent naked short attacks and if they could explain to me possible effects of them if they were not covered, they just repeated themselves how „GME is not relevant, please focus on stocks like Apple or Amazon to be safe“. I left the bank, buying more GME shares.

The year is 2021. You look at the television. SIlver fox President Biden announces a vaccine mandate for employees. You clutch your limited edition Trump Funko Pop. It has begun. You gather up all your belongings, and jump into your truck, hitting the highway for the airport. Out of your rearview mirror you can make out a sleek black Prius pursuing you. You make out the numbers “1” “9” “8” and 4” on their license plate. You are able to lose the Prius and arrive at the airport. You are almost free. At airport security You see a young man being dragged away screaming. The guards yell something about him having more than 3.4 oz of liquid. Thankfully you only have an AR 15 on you. The guard inspects it. “It’s for hunting,” you say. They hand it back to you and wave for you to move along. You breathe a sigh of relief. “One more thing.” You turn to see a Guard staring down at you with their beady soulless eyes. “I need to see your vaccination card” It is too late. You try to run away, but you feel someone press a cloth against your face. Reality fades away. You wake up in some kind of lab, chained down to an operation table and gagged. The room is undecorated except for a single poster of Harry Styles in a dress on the wall. A single figure stands in the corner shrouded in shadow, fiddling with a syringe. As they step out of the shadow, you can make out their face, the roguishly handsome Gavin Newsom. He positions a large surgical headlight above you and turns it on. He holds up the large syringe to the light and chuckles, staring into your pleading eyes. “Don't worry, it will all be over soon” He removes his mask to reveal his serpent's tongue, flickering in amusement. He plunges the syringe straight through your “socialism is for figs” shirt into your arm. “Nighty night” Your world fades to black once more.