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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.

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.

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.

I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking. I never wanted to breed with anyone more than I want to with Nolan Grayson. That perfect, shredded body. The perfectly trimmed mustache. The planet conquering skills of a literal god. It honestly fucking hurts knowing that I'll never mate with him, have him pass his genes through me, and have me birth a set of perfect offspring. I'd do fucking ANYTHING for the chance for Nolan Grayson to get me pregnant. A N Y T H I N G. And the fact that I can't is quite honestly too much to fucking bear. Why would Robert Kirkman create something so perfect? To fucking tantalize us? Fucking laugh in our faces?! Honestly, I just fucking can't anymore. Fuck.

The year is 2030. It's a rainy Saturday afternoon. You've just finished mining 30 obsidian ore playing Crypto Crush Saga, a match-3 mobile game. You open up The Elder Chains Online and feel a rush of excitement. Your school buddy has spent years becoming a Master Blacksmith, and he has agreed to turn 10 obsidian into an Obsidian Battlestaff, a HUGE upgrade over the Mithril Mace you’ve been wielding for the last months. It’ll take him an hour or so. In the meantime, you log into Clash of Guilds, and use the remaining obsidian to upgrade your town hall to the next level. That should keep your village safe for now. You wish you could fast forward time to tonight. Your Guild has plans to go for a deep run into the wilderness in Old School Rune Chains, and your prospects of a successful run (and great loot) have never been better. All guild members have been spending the past 2 weeks grinding for better weapons, and you’ve agreed (through a vote) to use the Guild treasury to buy everyone a new full set of Red Dragonhide Armor. Tonight’s objective is to kill the level 128 Frost Giant hiding in the Cave of Sorrow. He has a 5% chance of dropping an Immaculate Orb of Brilliance, of which there are currently only 4 in existence. The Orb can be used as a power source in an upcoming space exploration game, and should give your guild a great advantage in reaching distant galaxies first. A 5% drop rate is low, but you’re feeling optimistic. In the distance, you hear a faint 'BloCkChAIn doEsNT bRiNg AnYtHiNg nEW tO gAmES'. You shrug, and join your friends in the Discord voice channel. Life is good.

Please stop spamming random copy pastas like some machine, it's ruining my Twitch chat experience. Don't conform to standard like everyone else, think for yourselves!

I (15M) was walking from school to home today and a girl (15F) kicked my leg. So yeah I was walking to home today and that bitchass girl kicked my leg. It didn't hurt too much it was more like a fly landing on me as my super muscly body protected me. But anyway, as a person that believes in gender equality I punched her a lot harder with my super muscly manly man fists and knocked her out, kidnapped her to my school's chemistry lab at night, then with my super smart brain I composed HCl (hydrochloric acid for those uneducated inferior peeps) with my super chemistry knowledge. I then dipped her in my glorious acid just like any gender equality believing sigma male would. Equal rights equal fights my dear superior reddit using sigma male friends.

Bear King Michael Burry in the ring, slappin TSLA with a metal chair. His glass eye open wide with rage as he batters TSLA relentlessly. "The valuation..." crunch "makes...." crunch "NO.... " crunch "SENSE!" he roars with maniacal autistic glee. TSLA struggles for the edge of the ring, but coughs blood as each hit lands, and eventually stops moving. Bear King Burry drops the chair. Bear King Burry turns to the crowd "Was this your champion!? Was TSLA supposed to be your chosen one!?" A child in the crowd turns his face into his mother's side and cries. On the side of the ring WSB can barely move. TSLA was supposed to tag them in, but couldn't make it to the side in time. "Get up TSLA" WSB whimpers hopelessly, a single tear rolling down their cheek. "Get up..." Bear King Burry turns to WSB "Now it is your portfolio's turn. Get in here you little bitch." "Excuse me." Someone replies from behind BKB. "I believe I can give you the fight you want." A robed figure is administering smelling salts to TSLA. The figure puts TSLA on its shoulder and carries TSLA gently out of the ring. "And just who the fuck do you think you are?" BKB rumbles ominously. BKB's fingers squeeze so tightly on the chair that metal bends. "Who am I?" the robed figure inquires. The robed figure stands straight and stretches to their full height. They must be at least 7' tall. The crowd stops crying and watches in stunned silence. "Who am I?" The figure repeats menacingly. The figure turns around to face BKB, ripping off his robe. A gleaming light fills the stadium. Before us stands a Golden deity, rippling with muscle. If there is an ounce of body fat it is currently in hiding, only to make way for seemingly endless coiled golden musculature. The figure looks directly into Bear King Burry's eyes. "I'm Goldman Sachs, and i'm here to kill you."

FUCK YOU. I have heard that "lol you must be fun at parties" at least a hundred times. GET FUCKING ORIGINAL. Jesus fucking christ. Stop saying the same fucking thing over and over and over again. Just because you don't agree with me DOES NOT HAVE SHIT TO DO WITH PARTIES. What the fuck. Do you fucking fart at parties or something? If so I don't want to go to your shitty-ass parties in the first place. I'll stick to my wine and cheese dinners, you know, REAL FUCKING PARTIES. I downvoted you because not one thing you said was original. You're just a robot programmed to say these phrases over and over again to feel connected to 1s and 0s on the internet. You've never been to a party. That's why you say those things. WELL I'M FUCKING tired. of it. I'm tired. Say that to me one more fucking time and I will find you. I'm taking a stand. I am so sick of the stupid "parties" comeback. It's not fun. It's not clever. It's really fucking hurtful. Thanks a lot, dick. So what if you don't like what I said. Is that any reason to dismiss my entire comment and quote a little comeback. What's next, you're going to explain to me with crayons or call out my bullshit by how I overcomplicating things? If I see one more fucking party comment, I'm going to lose it. I'm going off the fucking chain and fucking report all you motherfuckers who think it's funny to comment about being fun at parties. Try me. I will do it. I will go STRAIGHT TO THE FUCKING TOP and then I'll be the one laughing while you beg for my mercy. Then you know what I'll say while you come to me crying and begging to die so you can stop the agony? I'll say "You must be fun at parties." So yeah, If you must know, I am pretty fun at parties. Not that you'll ever find out, dick.