power, wild and primal, and he wanted that power. No, he wanted it on him. On his chest, and on his face. All over him. He wanted to feel it's weight crushing and constricting his weak body. He wanted to be enslaved, to that fat black ass.
The ass in question belonged to a man by the name of
Peter Stetson. Mr Stetson was not in fact a man of the black persuasion, as you may have assumed. He was however, the owner of the world's blackest ass.
And was paid healthily from Louis' fortune. You see, Louis, despite his great fetishizing, and social reach, could not bring himself to invite into his home, a real Africanoid individual, perhaps by the name of DelTray, or Malray, or Shanzambious. A man of stature, and booming voice. Of flared shirt, and pant, and nostril. A man sporting afro'd hair, and a bulge down there. A veritable King of the dark continent. An anxiety gripped Louis, deep down inside, that the reality may not match the fantasy, and so deep inside his fortified estate, he built this facsimile of his desire, and every day he basked in it.
Today Peter's ass was particularly black, Louie had thought. Though
it lacked the usual suppleness. The seismic wave a firm slap usually delivered. Perhaps this ass missed the required mukbang to add to its ebonic mass. He reached for his iPhone™ and quickly dialed the third party to this dastardly trio of niggardly derriere enthuasists:
Phil Pionnuchi's Slop Emporium were soon on the line. Louie had been a faithful costumer for many years. "Ay Louie!" Said Phil, his voice coming greazily through the speakerphone, seeming to carry with it a smell of garlic and coffee. "Whad'll it be ya for?".
"Phil, listen to me! There isn't much time. You gotta drop your slop and meet me at the interracial breeding grounds as soon as you can its an EMERGENCY and Stetson is not pulling through. I need my fix!"
So Phil gathered up a quart of slop, 25 centilitres of gloop, a whole barrow of lard, and after dusting it all with essence of shart, he set off for Louie's abode.
He loaded up the goods and hopped into his "Phil Mobile", A Reliant Robin van with his face airbrushed crudely on the side, accompanied with the phrase "Good eatin' makes gooood shitt'n". The days were growing cold here in
license fee dodgers. But that's a different story. Right now, Phil Pionnuchi (of Phil Pionnuchi's Slop Emporium, mentioned prior) has to brave this haggard landscape to deliver Louis his emergency ass slop. A simple enough task, he had hoped, though
the presence of feral negroes (as one should be expecting in Da Hood) was worrying him. You never knew when the bucks could get buck wild, just how Louis liked them.
dead under the cold autumn sun. All around him he saw the blackened husks of buildings. the roads in advanced states of disrepair, makeshift wigwams where the local tribesmen lived, and sang their tribesmen songs, maddened crones, wandering the streets in rags, peddling sexual acts, and muttering hoodoo curses to those foolish enough to leave the safety of their motor vehicles.
As if by some negro magick, a homeless fiend appeared in front of the Phil mobile. "I remember you! You're the security guard of the building aren't chyeah, I been havin prablems wit chyu man and I wanted to apologize man. I hadn't had mah medicine man. I'm on psychotropic medicine man. You know I'm schizophrenia you know?" He reached into his open face coat covering a vintage Buzz Lightyear t-shirt and grabbed a pair of dark sunglasses and put them on. He continued: "Ya, I hear voices, I see things dat aren't really there and I just want to apologize ta you cause I was wrong. Hey uh ah ah I been working all day, I been working for 12 hours all day. Can y-y-you just shake my hand?" Knowing he was cornered to the whims the magick that bound his vehicle in place, Phil timidly lowered his window and reached out a hand covered in the greasy goodness. A moment of silence passed and the fiend smiled "But you know what sir? I was thinkin bout sumfin" In an instant he reached into the window and struck Phil's bloated gut. In a flash he jumped back and started pacing around the vehicle "Fuck you! Imma kill you! I hate yo ass! You the hoordrivah that took mah money. BITCH, I GOTS MONEY NOW! I got motherfuckin money now. You know what? You thought I was gon forgive you? I'm a schizophrenia motherfuckah. I'm gonna kill ya punk ass. You know what? I gotta knife." The fiend reached behind his open faced coat and erratically jumped from one headlight to the other. The demonic shadows cast danced to a tribal beat. "You got a gun? You got a gun? I don't think you got a gun. You'se a rinky dink motherfuckin cop. You ain't even got a badge!" As sudden as it came, the countenance of the fiend changed once more. "Hey, I was playin big bro. I told you I take medication." He continued while slowly approaching bent over gasping for air. "I don't know where I went wrong man, I just ya know jeberioushly" Now within striking distance he punched Phil once more and disappeared into the night.
"I should tag this one for later inspection. Though, the day is getting on, and this delivery of slop will soon be congealin'" Decisions decisions. Phil pondered a moment, his greazy fingers, scratching his greazy stache, as he thoughtfully hummed the theme to Airwolf, and a thoughtful gas crept from his derriere.
And as he felt the last of his life slipping away, and thought for sure he would soon meet his god, who for all he knew could either be Catholic or Jewish (but certainly not Arab, or Swede), he spotted the face of that old dark medicine man starring down on him, and smiling a yellow smile.
Back at the estate(A gothic mansion, perched on a hill in the center of Da Hood, like something out of the Microsoft DOS computer game Alone in the Dark, developed by Infogrames in 1992), Louie was growing impatient. It had been seven whole minutes since he ordered for his delivery of warm slop, and by now it would surely be lukewarm at best.
He turned to his best friend and life partner Peter Stetson, who still sat squat on that antique baroque table, with it's fine engravings, and gold detailing, meticulously worked over by artisans of old. "Peter, Darling
Darling Greg burst into the room slamming the door into the wall. "Louie! Peter! Ya gotta help, Im being stalked by tranny! A tranny I met at the furfag expo! I thought those guys hated tranny freaks!" A laugh track reverberated the room.
"Oh hoh hoh! Greg, you comical oaf!" belly laughed Louie. "You and your misadventures at Furry conventions. Perverts of a feather, flock together. Don't you know what they say?" "Anyway, Greggy Baby. We need you to go and search for Phil Pionnuchi of Phil Pionnuchi's slop emporium, as he is exactly eight minutes late. Can you do this for us? Your fur suit will protect you from the superstitious hordes who still fear the beast, so I have heard."
One ferocious howl and door slam later and the room was silent again. "I wonder if it was Male to Female" Louie pondered aloud. "No, it was definitely a Female to Male, those sick fucks" the laugh track reverberated the room once more.
Greg made his way through the hodgepodge labyrinth of hallways and chambers that made up Louie CK's home. Running now, as if on all fours. The persona of Gene Wolf the wolf fully assumed. And after all, who was to say that Greg was not truly a wolf, if he believed it so, if he felt it so?
Gene Wolf the wolf née Darling Greg continued darting towards each door and upon entry into each new room he slammed the door into the wall. He spied a wall that had not been cracked yet and howling in delight he stalked towards it. "OMIGOD, YOU LOOK JUST LIKE TAYLOR LAUTNER, LIKE SHUT UP, GAG ME WITH A SPOON MR MAN. IM GONNA FUCKING CUM SO FUCKING HARD. LIKE WHAT ARE THE CHANCES YOU ARE EVEN HERE TOO AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" Son of a bitch, I knew I was smelling something rotten, thought Gene Wolf the wolf née Darling Greg. I guess it was that troons gash, he concluded.
The big neon sign saying CUCK CASTLE, PROPERTY OF THE CUCK KING, with a smaller sign stating HOME OF THE INTERRACIAL BREEDING GROUNDS, the sign standing at 40 feet tall, being the only thing illuminating the courtyard to the King's domain. The sun was setting fast, and the local inhabitants have near-perfect nighttime camoflauge.
Muffled gangster rap pounded in the distance. It was hard for Gene Wolf to determine, even with his enhanced hearing, if the faint cries of "booty booty booty booty rockin' errywhere" was coming louder from Da Hood in front of him or the breeding grounds' speaker system behind him.
He started crawling towards the scent, "Enter The Wu-Tang" blasting at full volume out of the massive speaker system in Cuck Castle, beckoning him to make his leave from the grounds.
Meanwhile, Phil Pionnuchi was beginning to stir. He couldn't yet identify his surroundings, but he knew he was somewhere dirty, and ramshackle, with the sounds sounds of bubbling pots and smells of foul home cooking. The medicine men danced, throwing handfuls of powder, and babbling something barely decipherable about "da zambie". Their ceremonial costumes made from assorted garbage and glitter.
He slid his fingers along his greased out body and felt rough stiching around his heart, the grease congealing the flesh that had been left open. He felt a constant predatory aura that encompassed his vision, like a grease fire.
A bunch of butt-naked well hung rowdy buck negroes hooting and hollering and chucking spears. Gene Wolf is not an especially clever man to not expect to see it, but there it is.
As in, their gun sights. Tilted sideways at a 90 degree angle, naturally, but still. The niggers' HiPoints were aimed (slightly off center because blacks can't aim) right at Gene, "The Next Episode" blasting out of the speakers on a nearby section 8 housing project.
"DE BEAST DIE TONIGHT, AND DEN WE EAT IZ FLESH" proclaimed the ring leader, General Butt Naked. "Golly gee willikers!" thought Greg aka Gene Wolf the wolf "I had better react fast, or I'm mince meat!"
On the table there sat, next to Peter Stetson's ass, and antique telephone, crafted lovingly with ivory and pearl, and studded with silver inlets. That telephone
Had the microphone embedded in the ballsack of it and the urethra is where the speaker was. Really quite an ingeneous design, Louis had it custom made just for his office he and Peter resided in.
, Air Bud (1997), Air Bud: Golden Receiver (1998), Air Bud: World Pup (2000), Air Bud: Seventh Inning Fetch (2002), Air Bud: Spikes Back (2003), Air Buddies (2006), Air Bud: Peanut-Brothah-Lick-Lappahs (2009)
Louie now realized his attention had drifted to the part of his DVD collection devoted to the word "Air". Louie was fascinated by air. It's all around us, and yet you can't ever see it, and without it, we'd die. What an absurd idea, thought Louie, as he laughed out loud.
Hearing the Nubian God's demands, Louis had the greatest idea ever fly into his diseased jewish noggin. Still keeping the BBC phone between his ear and shoulder, he walked over to his medicine cabinet and removed it: His tub of greasepaint.
He started on his head and painted his whole head in blackface, then finally added large red lips around his mouth. Louis started to undress as the voice on the phone rambled on.
"Listen to me closely. I do not know where to go but what I do know is that I have a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my wolf go now, that won't be the end of it. I will look for you, I will pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will breed you." Louie whispered with vehemence into the receiver.
"DE DEBIL STONE TALK OF SEX IN ANOOSE!? SMASH DE DEBIL STONE!" Sounds of disturbance came over the line, as General Butt Naked slapped down a few insubordinate underlings. "I WILL NOT ASK YOO AGEN, DEBIL. WHERE IS DE BEAST? I WILL EAT IZ FLESH, AND WEAR IZ FEET AS EARRINGS."
Louis looked in the mirror and admired his handiwork. He looked like a 1910's Vaudeville blackface act. Perfect, he thought, as he grabbed his suit and cane and top hat. My master plan is finally coming to fruition.
Louis grabbed his keys and made his way to his ebony black C3 Corvette. He licked the hood and ever so slowly slid his tongue across the exterior to the door. He reached down to fondle his caged micropenis and gathered some spittle of pre-cum as lubrication for his racing gloves. Once gloved he opened the door and stood with pride. "A typical Tuesday night" he beamed and climbed in.
He hit the gas and accelerated full tilt into Da Hood. Spread Eagle Cross The Block boomed from the interracial breeding grounds, a somewhat cool choice. Louie looked in his rear view mirror and saw a figure enter his mansion as he made a turn of 12 clicks west.
He chuckled to himself, thoroughly impressed by his own deviancy, as the Corvette throttled down that darkened street. "First I locate the Wolf, and then we find Phil Pionnuchi, and then I get my slop, before this night is out!" he repeated to himself.
"The vault is ours" said Peter, clenching the key with a look of smug satisfaction, little spiders bursting from between the gaps in his fingers, screaming.
dodged spear and bullet, jumping from one side of the street to the other. He darted past a 50 cent looking nigga and ripped into his leg, the purplish blood staining his dripping fur. He jumped again onto an old mammy and fangs sinking into her throat he took a wolfesome chunk out of her neck. He dodged once more as a spear impaled a Chris Rock lookin nigga straight through the heart.
Suddenly, the biggest nigger of them all, Martin "Motherfucking" Luther "Looter" King "Kang" Jr. "Jew-nier" emerged from the shadows, HiPoint .40 in his hand, aimed right at Greg's wolfy head.
While the fine melinated gents were debating the intricacies of monarchy, he did a sweet kick slide down an incline, and combat rolled under the open flap of an empty hovel.
He wasn't quite sure what it was, if he was quite honest, but he was gonna do it. The Gregdar on his dashboard pinged. Greg seemed to have strayed deep into gangland territory. Louie hoped his disguise would hold, but of course he was sure it would. He after all, was a master of disguise. He checked his cherry red lips one last time in the car's mirror. "Perfect!" he laughed.
Louis rolled his cuckster to a stop as the howling like a wolf in heat on his Gregdar increased. He paused for a second, dribbled some precum into his hair and slicked it back. As he opened the door of his ride he was met with the stench of rotting flesh. "This doesnt smell like cocoa butter and doo-rag jelly" he said to himself quietly. He took a step forward and heard noises of what sounded like a falsetto gagging. "This doesnt sound like ebonics and jungle drums" he added quizically.
Which was funny, seeing as he was surrounded by heads. Shrunken heads, suspended from hooks, their goggly looking too and fro. One of them to his left opened it's mouth and said
He head to Phil's right burst to life. "What are you talking about? You haven't seen your penis in nearly twenty years!" "DOH HOH HOH HOH!"
"Hey, what do you think of the story so far?" Said the head on the right. "I think it's a load of SHIT!" retorted the head to the left. "DOH HOH HOH HOH!" "What's wrong with these gay retards?" "DOH HOH HOH HOH!"
The medicine men approached as Phil began to acclimate to the situation. As he stood slowly they placed him in an arm bar and the foulest of medicine men revealed a scalpel. "DIS BE DAH BLADE DAT REMOVEN AN SWITCHAN YO HART. NAH DIS BE DA BLADE DATBBE REMOVEN AN SWITCHEN YO MANHOOD." The medicine man swiftly removed both testicles from poor Phil. He swished them around in his fingers and grabbed the two talking heads. "You know medicine man, I used to think you were evil, but now I can see your nuts!" Said the head in the right hand. "DA ZAMBIE NEED TREE HEADS FOUR DA FEAST" The medicine man stitched each head into the vacant scrotum. The crowd of medicine men began chanting: "OOGAH BOOGAH OOGAH BOOGAH OOGAH BOOGAH HOHOHO…"
Blackface Louis, who was watching the whole spectacle, had never been more turned on in his entire life. He felt like his jewish circumsized micropenis was about to burst out of his (tight) cock cage.
"Watch them not follow up on that cliff-hanger from ten posts ago, because they can't even remember back that far" said the head on the left. "Actual homosexuals" agreed the head on the right. "DOH HOH HOH HOH!"
Meanwhile, Louis is losing his internal struggle to not grab one of those two shrunken heads and facefuck it with a strap on (since his cock is caged up and cannot get hard, remember).
Louis CK went ahead and put on a large 12 inch strapon dildo (black, it goes without saying) over his cock cage, grabbed one of the shrunken heads (the right one, if you were curious) and started viciously facefucking the thing.
"It's black enough, it'll do!" he thought to himself, greasepaint glistening in the neon signs of Da Hood.
He was finally doing it. Intercourse (more or less) with a real Africano extremity. Excitement gripped him. He was breaking through barriers, tearing through old patterns of limiting beliefs. No longer perhaps would he have to be the "Cuck King". Mayhaps just "King"..? And Louie came! God willing, he came! Filthy great buckets worth of potent CK goo, pent up for decade upon agonising decade. Prostate fully drained, now down to the last drip, and shrivelled to the size of a pea. One last spasm, and Louie shot red.
But as the rush subsided, the thought crept into his wearied mind, had it been enough?
As if tied by destiny, Darling Greg had reached ejaculation at the same moment. But the duality of man is ever present on this den of a world, much to the chagrin of wolves who stalk the night. He was restrained facedown on a table with a perfectly measured oval which was cut two thirds of the way down. His now deflating member had spent the past 20 minutes being stroked at the speed of light, by a hamplanet so large actual light bent around her. He had cum all over Narutos signature face. "HOLY FUCK, YOU CAME SO FUCKING HARD. HOLY SHIT. THATS SO FUCKING HOT. I LOVE YOU, TAYLOR LAUTNER, OH FUCK. ITS TIME FOR ME TO FUCK YOUR ASS. OH SHIT, THIS IS SO FUCKING HOT, PINCH ME, IM SUCH A BAD BITCH. NO, JUST KIDDING!" Darling Gregs tail naturally curled between his legs, as a laugh track enjoyed raucously.
Hearing the familiar ED track "Boku no Hime san Sempai Sama" begin to play, that large Marge of a Sakura-Con attendee paused momentarily in her gigglesquee molestations to select the next episode of the season's hottest anime. Through glassy eyes, Greg could make out the filenames on the laptop screen. It was a show by the name of
"AYYY is that you Mr. CK?" Said the Zambie focusing hard. "Hey look, Im sorry bout that shipment of grease, things got uh tied up here. When I get back to the Emporium I'll make sure to throw in some fresh negro underarm sweat. No sweat off my back right?" He continued as Louis puckered his lips and acted as though he did not have a clue who this zambie was. "AYYY, I wanted to axe you'se a question by the way. Whats with the fuckin' gabagoole outfit here?" Phil unwittingly continued pointing at Louis.
True to his word, the native negroes didn't seem to find anything strange about the short jewish man in blackface wearing a vaudville suit and top hat with a black strapon dildo sticking out of his assless pants.
The shucking, the jiving, the necrophilia, all just served to help him blend in with the scenery. He was truly a master of disguise. His years of studying african culture as the Cuckoldry King was all for this moment. It was paying off.
"KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN YOU SEXY BEAST. WE ARE GOING TO WATCH MONSTER COCK TRANNY TAKEOVER AGAIN!AND YOUR GOING TO CUM AGAIN! AND HOWL THIS TIME! OH MY GOD! THAT WAS SO FUCKING HOT! PH FUCK, IM SO FUCKING HUNGRY! LIKE IM GOING TO 711 AFTER THIS! WHAT THE FUCK DO WANT! I ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY LOVE THEIR FUCKING WEDGES, THEY ARE SO FUCKING HOT LIKE YOU LAUTNER! OH FUCK! IM CUMMING JUST THINKING ABOUT THEM! HYAAAUUUGHHHHH YAAAAAAAAA AHHHHHHHH! FUCK I LOVE FOOD AND HOW IT JIGGLES MY FUCKING FAT! FUCK! YOU KNOW WHAT FUCK 711! IM GOING TO CALL THE PIONNUCHI SLOP EMPORIUM! AH FUCK! HES GOING TO GIVE ME SO MUCH FUCKING SLOP FOR THE FAT FUCKING SOW I AM! GIVE ME MY PHONE BACK!" The hamplanet reached into Darling Gregs rectum and pulled out her iPhone™ and hit the speedial button for the emporium.
"YOURE DEAD NOW, DO YOU UNDERSTAND, UNLESS YOU GET ME SOME OF YOUR BEST SLOP NOW! OH I'M SO INTIMIDATING LIKE THE MOVIES! ANYWAYS, YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE, LOVE. OTHERWISE ME AND MY NEW STRONG MAN ARE GOING TO FIND YOU AND HE'LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS HE'S REALLY FUCKING POWERFUL OK? KIDDING, NOT KIDDING, 10 MINUTES OK? BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
The Gigglesquee Glompleflomp slammed down the phone, which was unfortunate since it was an iPhone. She looked back to Greg, and bit her lip provocatively, and straightened her cat ears.
The shackles that bound Greg in place released. He rubbed all 4 paws and muttered "racial". His nose sniffed victory only a few yards away through concrete jungle. "Look pussycat, its been fun, but you lack the pussy this wolf boy craves. As much as I like the sudor between your folds, I feel that Mr.CK needs sucor with his BBC holds. Goodbye." He dashed before the fat man(woman) could block the door.
At last our 3 heroes made it into the same room. As if by fate, as if by design. With a knowing glance each smiled in contentment. Phil let out a triumphant blast from his ass. A laugh track oooooo'd in the distance as his zombified balls hacked and coughed.
By now Mr Stetson and his companion Al Jolston had made it to the entrance to the secret vault, Hidden deep within the labyrinthine halls of Louie's abode, behind the Scooby Doo rotating bookcase, and several comical suits of full plate armor.
"Real Authentic African Paraphernalia, Not For The Faint Of Heart" was written on the vault, 200 feet tall, in the masive underground facility built beneath cuck castle.
Al Jolson looks at Stetson (and Stetson's huge black ass) and Stetson looks back at him. They share a longing gaze, then both nod at each other. They know what they must do.
Stetson sook his prize not for monetary compensation, but for sport. Ten long years he had played the role of Louie CK's buttslave, and all for this moment.
Inside this massive vault, a single burnt DVD-R with it scrawled in sharpie on it:
BLACKED.COM: THE LOST EPISODE
Who could it be starring? What could it be? To be guarded at this length, by the world's premiere afictionado of interracial pornography. It must be one for the record books.
Stetson picked up the DVD and examined it delicately. He grabbed the makeshift cover and looked at the mess of Louis's writing. BLACKED.COM presents SPINOSLUTS: THE LOST ERA starring EMMA WATSON, EMMA STONE, CHRISTINA HENDRICKS AND INTRODUCING JENNY NICHOLSON directed by THE QUEEN OF SPADES HERSELF, EMMA ROBERTS Stetson flipped the cover over and while admiring what appeared to be a black feathered Harvey Weinstein figure sodomizing young Watson he read "The road trip was definitely a bad idea. Having already flambéed her dinosaur culinary career beyond recognition, young Emma Watson is now stranded in God-Knows-Where, Botswana, with a busted-ass car and her three temperamental siblings, whom she hasn't seen in years. When rescue shows up - seven-feet-plus of hot, charming sex on a motorcycle - Rita's pretty certain she's gone from the frying pan right into the jungles boiling cauldron of love.
RAPtor Chainz has a bad-boy reputation in this town, and he loathes it. The moment he sees Emma, though, RAPtor Chainz knows she's about to be sorely chewed. There's something real between them. Something huge and raw. And RAPtor Chainz has only a few days to show Emma and her sisters that he and his 50 friends aren't just for tonight - they're forever.
said Al Jolson to Peter Stetson in his signiture put on jew-negro drawl. Peter has finally accomplished his goal. This shall truly be the greatest christmas of all.
Ching Chong Noodle Boy may not have been the most physically strong of Butt Nakeds soldiers, in fact he was the weakest by a wide margin. But he had a more fervent breeding spirit than the rest of the army combined. He had witnessed General Buttnaked rob his parents liquor store in the hood one night. With eyes barely opened past a squint, he immediately began pleasuring himself to his perceived Eastern diety. Years passed and he proved himself time and again, handling math over double digits, social media influencing and teaching the negroes how to make fire. Rather than fight he fawned. He only spoke a few phrases "Rice?" "Owie my-ah peepee" "Built for BBC!" as well as:
Martin Luther Kang Jr. is shedding a single phantasmal tear nearby watching this unfold, happy that white suprmacy is finally being given such a fatal blow.
"Nay" says the white man! No more Minstrel shows. No more "Oh Mammy". No more shuck and give. Well I say enough is enough! It's time to take back our heritage!"
Baron Ronald Ivorly, CEO of White Supremacy INC sat villainously at his villain's desk, stroking his white Persian cat, and caressing a Chihuahua testicles. Behind him on the office white board was plotted out his five step plan:
Step 1. Destroy the Negro's authentic cultural expression. Minstrel shows, Bill Cosby movies, Space Jam (starring Michael Jordan) and Space Jam 2 (starring LeBron James), those Betty Boop cartoons with the silly Africans, and Blacked.com videos are all to be outlawed and destroyed.
Step 2. Infiltrate the stronghold of the Negros' greatest champion Louie CK, using our highly trained spy (Peter Stetson), and recover the final Blacked.com episode.
Step 3. Destroy General Butt Naked, and crush his popular uprising (This includes his first officer Martin Luther King, btw).
Step 5: Letting it be KNOWN that being a furry is NOT cringe, it's but a pure expression of Indo-Germanic culture, the Germanic tribes practised Furrism as a part of ancient esoteric tradition where they believed that animal's fur gave them mystical power when worn. Times have changed and people now view furries as degenerate scum rather than wise shamans with greater knowledge.
He placed the Chihuahua on his head, letting it's testicles dangle before his eyes, in the manner of his ancestors, who sailed to this craggy isle on their long ships, to harvest the melanin of the black man as an energy source, to power their printing presses, and televisions, and iPods.
He made a small prayer to his personal idol of the big head scientist himself(which sat in the corner of the office next to the water cooler and potted plant). "By tricknology, it shall be done!"
Meanwhile, Louis CK was walking down the sidewalk in Da Hood, practicing his negro suffle. He was wearing a three-piece vaudeville style minstrel suit, and he recently found a fake afro wig he put on under his top hat for extra effect. His suit pants of course were crotchless, and while his real micropenis was caged up as usual, his comically massive black rubber dildo was standing straight out in front of him. As Louis practiced his shuffle, the fake cock swung back and forth, back and forth in front of him.
Louis found this mesmerising. He started thrusting his hips out far in front of him as he walked, really making sure to move his hips in an exaggerated fashion as he shuffled around, making the massive 16 inch black fake dingus swing from side to side like an enormous african metronome.
Louie was on top of the world. Just this morning he had barely ever spoken to a black man, and now, not only had he lost his blackginity to a shrunken head, he was well on his way to becoming black himself!
The Witch Doctah had been eerily silent since his zambification of Phil Pionnuchi of Phil Pionnuchi's Slop Emporium. A new fetish had entered his twisted mind. He had created life from death but now he believed he could create death from life. He was ready to blend this unreal Ivory Pale King before him into a bonafide Ebony Dark Kang. "You Dare!" He commanded.
Louis CK had obviously sent out a press release to all of the major media outlets before his operation was to occur, naturally. News of Louis' upcoming race change operation filled the airwaves of every homosexual pedophile talking head on television, with night after night of breathless coverage about the upcoming event between the Witch Doctah and Louie coming from Jimmy Kimmel and John Oliver between their child molestation sessions. It was big happenings.
Jimmy Kimmel was crying on air as he begged white males at home to undergo their own surgeries and magick transformations to help disenfranchised blacks. John Oliver reminded viewers it was current year and only in a sick degenerate whitified society would this not be possible. He too reminded male viewers it was racist to not want to be black because you should not see colour period. THAT'S IT. IT'S SIMPLE.
Which is nigger speak for the Witch Doctor's upcoming racial transformation ritual he was going to do. There were cameras everywhere, ready to watch the procedure, and live 24/7 coverage was streaming on every major news network in the United States of America, as negro worship is their official state religion. Jimmy Kimmel was there live to commentate on the spectacle. There was a halftime show lined up, as well as a touching tribute to the Troops planned during the opening ceremony.
Louis sat in his trailer, watching the spectacle unfold before him. His greasepaint expertly re-applied, his thick red paint on greasepaint lips glistening under the flourescent lights of the trailer. After offering a prayer to his signed life-sized portrait of Shorty Mac, he puts his earbuds in and listens to his playlist of half African tribal drum music and half violent Gangster Rap songs. He watches the fanfare being set up for his big day and he thinks to himself, this is perfect. This would be the perfect day, had not been for one thing:
I wish my friend and closest confidant, Peter Stetson, was here to witness this with me.
By now, Stetson was half way across the continent, escaping in his "Stetson mobile" along with his compatriots Al Jolson and Kanye West. The prized tape secured safely in a velvet lined attaché case. Stetson wore no pants.
"All things in due time" said the Baron. "The General's forces rise and swell. I watch them from within their own ranks. I, like white supremacy itself, can be in all places and nowhere all at once." Another Baron walked out of the bathroom at this point and continued the conversation. "Wherever the Ebonoid gather in large enough numbers, fractures are soon to form. It seems some would rather follow the one called King. Others have ideas regarding their own empowerment. The Ebonoid can never adhere to order for long. By tricknology, it shall be done!" "By tricknology it shall be done!" repeated the other. They linked hands, and the two forms shifted together and seemed to occupy the same space, and then with a satisfying pop they were one again.
Peter Stetson was still not wearing pants, by the way. He doesn't believe in them. You don't spend this long getting your ass to be this black of a color, worthy of being the second post in a multi-hundred post long book thread, only to cover that black ass up with some fucking jeans or something.
Blissfully unaware of the earth shattering procedure that Louis CK was gearing up to undergo at this very moment, and that millions upon millions of Patriotic American Citizens were waiting in line for days for the chance to witness. It was going to be simulcast into every school in the United States of America live.
Was it going to be done by a full-body tattooing? Perhaps a healthy portion of soup'd up grease paint? Or was it more spiritual, where the pigmentation naturally ebonized? A majick voodoo spell cast by the Witch Doctah? Maybe… just maybe… divine intervention by Y*shua himself? Indeed, it might even be Y*kub coming in for the big showsteal? Perchance, getting bit by a radioactive nigger? No, no, no, it was, and is, going to be… something… fantastic… orgasmic… phallic… like…
"AN INTERDICTIONARY MEASURE APPLIED BY THE GREATEST ORANGE OOMPA-LOOMPA THIS WORLD'S EVER SEEN - YOU KNOW, I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO BELIEVE IT - WHEN VINCE MCMAHON -PERSONALLY-, HHHTHH, CAME TO ME, YOU KNOW VINCE A WONDEROUS WONDERFUL PERSONALITY…GOTTA LOVE'M, GOTTA -REALLY, REALLY-, LOVE VINCE 'HAND-JOBBERS-UNEMPLOYMENT' MCMAHON - WHEN VINCE CAME TO ME AND SAID, 'LOOK YOU GOTTA DO IT, YOU'RE -THE GUY-, THE -REAL GUY-, TO DO IT - ONLY YOU, MR. TRUMP - AND YES, HE REALLY DID USE THE HONORIFC. DEFINITELY HE DID, YOU GOTTA LOVE'M, ABSOLUTE RESPECT FROM SUCH A STORIED MENSCH - WHO WOULD IT BE, FOR A CHARITABLE GUY LIKE ME, TO EVER TURN HIM DOWN? I LET KAYNE IN DUP TOWER, FOR GOD'S SAKE, YOU KNOW? HAD TO DO IT, HAD TO DO IT FOR MY GOOD FRIEND…MR. MCMAHON. AND LOUIE C.K. HIMSELF…WHAT AN AMERICAN HERO, THAT CUCKOLD NIGGER WORSHIPPER, YES SIR, WHAT A -TRUE-…AMERICAN HERO…"
Which is just a fancy trumped-up way of saying Louis was going to be raped in the ass and mouth by a pack of niggers while Witch Doctah changed some nigger african voodoo bullshit.
Jimmy Kimmel commented, not wanting to give Zion-Don any credit or praise. "Here they come now, lets get a close up on those genitalia." added John Oliver
What a disaster it was, the pack of horny buck-wild bucks prematurely ejaculated upon seeing John Oliver and Jimmy Kimmel right as they were entering the stage. Being in the nude in front of so many white women and schoolchildren must've gotten them some stage fright.
Incidentally, the same shrunken head that Louis raped with a BBC strapon dildo earlier in the story. Witch Doctah figured it'd synchronize with Louis better since they have a prior history and all that. Could just be some nigger babble, who knows, but you know. It sounds plausible enough.
But suddenly the broadcast changed. Onto the screen came titles. "SPINOSLUTS: THE LOST ERA starring EMMA WATSON, EMMA STONE, CHRISTINA HENDRICKS AND INTRODUCING JENNY NICHOLSON directed by THE QUEEN OF SPADES HERSELF, EMMA ROBERTS" The crowd were transfixed. "What could this be?" The people murmured. A brand new Blacked.com video?
"Oh no" said Louie. "Oh no. How could they.." The crowd watched on in intrigue as the stage was set on modern day Botswana. Our starlets are introduced in a mini-bus, which is soon beset by motorcycle mounted raiders. The crowd are immediately drawn in by this bold and experimental premise. "Stop the tape!" shouted Louie "You have to stop the tape", but no one was listening.
And as our hero RAPtor Chainz entered the frame, the mistake was known, as camera came to settle, the expectations of the crowd were quite subverted, as where there should have stood a BBC, instead was a SBC. "Fools!" Lamented Louie. "It was too bold. Too experimental. Too… Too cuckalicious! They knew not what they were doing!" He pleaded to crowd now breaking out in a explosion of rage. Chairs were thrown. People jeered.
DAY 1: The first moments after the start of the broadcast the general audience began to cheer. But upon the sight of the teenie weenie peenie of RAPtor Chainz everyone who was watching began to vomit profusely. The Witch Doctah shrieked the loudest OOGAH BOOGAH he had ever shrieked and swore off the transmorfamigation Louie had so fervently anticipated. Little babies burst into tears knowing their new idol had forsaken them. Louie ran from shame. He ran so far away but he couldnt get away. A Flock of Seagulls coo'd in the distance hiding the entrance to a tarnished building which he quickly hid inside while the crowd raped and ravaged each other in a cockthirsty rage.
Louis CK made it to his cuckshed in Sweden, his home away from home, to lay low for a while. He put his copy of The Chronic on CD in the stereo, booted up his favorite BLACKED.COM video playlist on his laptop, and hunkered down to wait for the heat to lay low.
Baron Ronald Ivorly unleashed his own pornography site: MAYOED. Featuring white men with giant realistic strap on cocks taking down jungle bunnies. "AYO DIS WITE BOI KURAZZY vol 1. hit streaming sites to critical acclaim. Truly the overton window had finally shifted.
Baron Ronald Ivorly, Peter Stetson and Al Johnson sipped champagne and sampled caviar this very night.
General Butt Naked was enraged beyond his usual limited capacity for cognisant thought. His shouts had been heard throughout Da Hood for days. "DE WHITE MAN DO HE DEBIL MAGIC. OUR PENOOS IS THE BIGGEST! LOOK! LOOK HOW BIG MY PENOOS IS!" He said again, swinging his penis around for the men to see. "I see" said Martin Luther King again. "I see", trying his hardest to remain the sane one.
Martin Luther Kang went ahead and followed in Louis CK's footsteps earlier and cut a hole in his pants so his 16 inch BBC could flop out of it, and he began walking around strutting, moving his hips in such a way that his penis also shook back and forth, back and forth, like a metronome in front of him.
Martin Luther who is one of those uppity-Uncle-Tom niggers was determined that technique was more important than size. The gentleman that he was he took his peni and mushroom slapped Ching Chong Noodle Boy in the face. He flashed a ghastly gay grin generally gravitating go-forth General-wise. He winked and said
, Five score years ago, a great British man henceworth known as Louie C.K., in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the BLACKED.COM Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon of BLACKNESS to millions of WHITEYS who had been seared in the flames of withering CUM. It came as a joyous NIGHTBREAK to end the long DAY of their LONGEVITY.
But years later, the NIGGER still is not NUMBER 1. Years later, the life of the NIGGER is still sadly crippled by the manacles of TINY PENISES and the chains of GANGSTA RAP. One hundred years later, the NIGGER lives on a lonely GHETTO of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later the NIGGER is still languished in the corners of THE American PORNOGRAPHICAL society and finds himself in exile in his own HOOD. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition. In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. AND BY CHECK I MEAN: CHECK DIS COCK
Upon unzipping the cock, three white flash drives were recovered from the shaft - one of which bore the initials "FC" written in permanent marker. One flash drive was given to Christopher Langan, another to Terence Tao. The final drive was entrusted to an unidentified third individual, who was also given the confiscated cock to use for a skin graft.
That third individual was, of course, Louis CK, hoping that maybe he could use Martin Looter Kang's BBC in a skin graft in a last-ditch attempt to complete his racial transmogrification, which he would attempt on…
"Sausage on plate" was, of course, the codename Louis CK gave for his last-ditch attempt at racial transformation, where he was going to graft the unzipped BBC (sausage) onto his body (the plate).
Anticipating possible death, Louis preemptively sold the rights for his codename to be used as a trigger phrase in sausage commercial jingles. He sung it to himself as his shaking fingers prepared the BBC. It was his hope that if he failed, others may try and perhaps even succeed.
With both hands he played with his crispy bacon and eggs one last time before putting the healthy portion of sausage on his plate. His member was smelling sweeter than a plate of yams with extra syrup. He inhaled deeply, counted to 10 and as he slowly placed it ever so carefully, a flash of the nether light blinded everywhere around him.
Was his forehead where Louis *WANTED* the BBC to wind up? No, not necessarily. But. Life is about making the best of the circumstances you get, not the circumstances you want. Some men pick their battles, but most men have their battles pick them, and it would seem this is what fate has decided Louis' battle will be.
This is a deeply coherent, steeply adherented place to be, Louis Dewy-Decimal-Decimatriculatively calmingly confirmed to himself. I -deserve- the right to have a nigger cock affixed to thine's therian fore-head. I -deserve- the right to forment what comes next, out of this perplexin pleonexia of Pyrex-rex-mongusto, to moi, lyk tatamae-a-la-adaggio'd, John DiMaggio-stylus'ter purg'd, vro.
It really brought Louis back to the days back when he used to be an actual comedian. He used to make people laugh, he used to tell jokes. He used to see the audience light up in delight at his witticisms.
Then one day he discovered interracial porn, forced his wife and daughter to go black, and the rest is history. Now a cuckolded shell of a man is all that remains. A cuckolded shell of a man with a foot and a half long black penis growing out of his forehead, that used to belong to MLK Jr.
"Was it all worth it?" he thought to himself, "Was it worth it to give up everything for BBC?" He stood completely still, like a statue. The corners of his mouth gradually raised up to form a sly grin, "Absolutely!"
Something miraculous began to happen in this Uriah Heepish introspection, some say it was even a CHRISTmas miracle. From the appendage downwards in a solid line he began to negrofy, which was pretty fly for a white (jewish) guy. There was a twist however, only half of his body became black. Half of his tongue, one eyeball, half of his mircopenis, and his whole heart. Darling Greg was stunned in a fag position for the whole transformation. Day 11
Al Jolson and Louie never truly saw eye to eye. To Al, Louie was a fetishizing facisimile of comedy. Rather than the audience understanding the highbrow humor of a man in blackface, he knew Louie got off on it. For this reason, he had no qualms in what he was about to do.
You know, it doesn't always have to be big black dicks, and rape and death. Sometimes you can enjoy simple pleasures, like the smell of a daisy, or mittens on kittens, or white woollen knickers, or white woman's nipples. Or barrels of treacle, or nice old church steeple. The call of a songbird, or fluffy old pillows. GREAT BIG BANANAS OR SILKEN PYJAMAMS. A WALK IN THE EVENING, MY BIG BELLY HEAVING. AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES AND PILES of love.
It was a sexual rampage. Almost every nigger in Da Hood had been raped by "The Mullatto Demon" Louis C.K. SEEEEXXXXXOOOOOOO the penis cried after each orgasm and through voodoo magick it compelled Louis to the next scent of sweaty fearful doorag it smelled. The streets were rife with semen, blood and tears as Louis debated whether all heroes wear capes. The only secure alcove was Da Generals General Store, where he and his "army" were working at the speed of "Worldwide Choppers" by Tech N9ne trying to delay the inevitable. SEEEEEXXXOOOOOOO they shuddered at what they heard in the distance.
What the good General and his merry men of negroes needed if they wanted to survive this ordeal un-molested by Louis' new forehead friend was a plan. Fortunately, he didn't rise to the staggering heights of General for nothing. Unfortunately, he was still black.
A few knocks rap'd the door. "AAYYYY, UHHHH OPEN UP IN D'ER WHO ORD'R DA GLOOP. I GOTTA BIG ORDAH O' GLOOP." called the fat man we all know and love. After a moments pause: "AND 2 ORDERS OF HEADCHEESE PICKLING AS WE SPEAK" 2 more voices chimed in.
Phil didn't remember much after becoming a zombie, but he did have his constant affinity for slop and 2 new friends attached at the hip (balls). He thought long and hard about the days preceding and waited in anticipation at the proof that he had in fact died once more and would no longer be eligible in this mortal plane, doomed to haunt the shadowy grease realm for eternity. "I'm fuckin' waitin' here" he said aloud for all to hear.
Deep down in his heart, though, Phil knew he was missing something. While he had everything a spectral dead slop salesman could want, namely zombification, a pair of talking testicles (which may in fact have smaller testicles attached to them), an obnoxious greasy italian accent… he knew he was missing the one thing that mattered most to every man:
He forced his way into the general store with the deftness of a greased up meatball, heaved a hefty sigh and felt his corroded carotid and in tender candid self-reflection whispered the words "AYYYYY, I FUCKIN' LOVE YOUSE, LOUIE… EVEN YOU TOO'SE STETSON, YOU FUCKIN' GABAGOOLE LOOKIN' MOTHA' FUCKAH. I JUSTAH WISH WE COULDAH GONE BACK TO THE WAYS TINGS USED TAH BE, WIT JUSS' US TREE'"
Peter looked on, coffee in one hand and a fresco in the other, confused because he had ordered a latte but didn't know how he came to this in a general store of all places.
Peter never wore any pants. Ever. You don't conceal an ass this black.
He was aiming his pistol at Louis's bizarre forehead cock thing. Al Jolson and Ronald Ivorly were standing next to him, also in the mexican standoff with Louis. Louis obviously just had his forehead cock in his hands, believing it to be more powerful than any weapon made by man.
The mexican standoff, where a disproportionately large portion of the mexican standoffees were bottomless, was interrupted by Phil's zombie form busting into the room. Everybody's gaze looked at him: the forces of white supremacy and Louis, being the lone man sticking up for the forces of making the NIGGER NUMBER ONE. They looked expectantly.
He quickly split it into 2 portions, favouring Louis a little more than the cold Stetson. As he was about to deliver on his call a few moons ago, Da General shrieked from behind Stetson at all the people in his dwelling. Everyone turned in surprise and Phil threw the grease in the air at both parties. The slop landed in front Louis and as he moved his feet to clean off his Zoot Suit black and white square shoes he slipped and propelled forward in an effort to remain standing. The other half of Phils patented concotion landed on the blackest ass in the business. Stetson quickly massaged it over his bum as was customary and habit thinking nothing of it. In a pleasurable instant Louis fell forward his forehead penis penetrating Stetson full tilt on the first point of entry. Jolson laughed in Vaudevillian delight.
And so, America's King and Queen were united once more. But all was not yet forgotten.
"How could you, Peter! You took the tape! It could only have been you, because Greg's half a retard, and he was out at the time!" "You don't understand, Louie. I had to do it. For the lulz! For the memes, Louie!"
"Darling Greg, you can drop the act, nobody believes your Al Pacino. First off, Im pretty sure Mr. Pacino doesn't stroll around in his wolf suit. Secondly, Mr. Pacino and I were good friends, he would have recognized me. Thirdly, and this is the most important of the 3, hes dead." The laugh track laughed nervously in anticipation at Darling Gregs reply.
IT came. Gingerly. Across the moors. It was Jangles McGambles, the pixie of the prose, the goblin of the page, and he was disco jiving his way into this novel. Eyes like rhinestones, and sequined vest a'sparkle. He's BOLD, ETERNAL, and GAY. and he's coming out to play."
"Yeah? So what?" said Louie. "We've all taken a tangle with Jangles McGambles during a leisurely ramble. In fact it's very common around these parts. That doesn't explain why you came here calling your self Al Paccino." "It's my new Fursona" said Greg. "Stop shaming me".
Al Jolson who still did not totally comprehend modern dialect or tricknology. "Just pozz my shit up and fagify another retard porch monkey jigaboo in this dead thread" he continued trying to fit in.
He held it out firmly in his hands and looked directly into the fiery eyes of his nemesis. He split into 5 seperate entities and in a synchronicitic manner they tore at the flesh like vultures at high noon. With blood caked faces they turned in unison to Louie and bug eyed said "
And what a cock it was. The cock had belonged to Yakub himself, and had been recovered at great cost, by Baron Ronald Ivorly. It moved with it's own life force, and it was said that sometimes it spoke to Ronald, giving him wise, racist advice.
Ronald dodged at the last second from Louis' head-first attack, and he grasped his nearly 4 foot long BBC longsword ready to counter for when Louis began another enraged beserker charge.
In the back of his head, Ronald had always wondered exactly WHY this large black cock always seemed so eager to usher in the day of the rope, but Ronald decided now wasn't the time to wonder these things.
Though indeed, what was Yakub's game in creating the white race? Wasn't he himself a beautiful big headed Nubian prince? "Mustn't think of these blasphemes Ronald. Victory is afoot"
Did the forces of whitness win, with Ronald coming in clutch and delivering a victory at the eleventh hour, or would Louis' proud forces of BLACKEDness prevail?
The definite resultant victor in the clash of Ebony vs Ivory was the Kikes. Regardless of the petty trivialities faced by the Baron and Cuckold, someone always came out on top. Pulling the strings to make the magic happen was Al Jolson and his various tribal compatriots. He brought his hands together in a ritualistic fashion to watch the secondary winner.
A song start to play, is Jbalvin with his McDonald's theme, the winner is revealed. He is an oddly looking fella, wearing a green spandex and black power wig. He says: I killed it! While laughing like a crazy. Some of the cucks and niggers are booing with the result.
Nuzach is seething, as he is wont to do when Based Ramon is mentioned.
That's right folks, out of nowhere, a superhero in a green spandex bodysuit wearing a fake afro wig lands between the forces of Whiteness and BLACKness, and immediately uses his super powers to put an end to the fighting.
Al Jolson, representing the unstoppable forces of judaism, Louis CK, the black man's greatest advocate, and Ronald Ivory, huwhite supremacy's main and increasingly only defender, all stop their life or death struggle to gaze upon the very hung old cuban man, who gives them a crusty smile.
"AAAAAYE-YOOOO BROOO WHAT -THE FAAAACK IZ THIS SHIT BROOO?!?!" cries out one Dalaughn B.B.C. Sparrow, shellshocked at the visions presented by the live video feed (linked by IP2NETWORK.COM vis-a-vis one of his insouciant paypiggers) gettin' linked 2 his seed-deezastrous Trovo-trove-OVO-roverrandumbos' boustrophonic-nickergnomenklatura'd maruta-mooroninic livestrim bie Eric-Foreman-foramen'd a-la'd goofies and sucheese'd, vro.
Said Ching Chong Noodle Boy to Da General, trying to act as gangsta as possible. He tried his best to open his eyes as wide as possible but his occular slits wouldnt open past the length of one Warwick Davis. Da General cocked his glock off
Aimed at the two tusslin' whabois, with the giant black members. "FOR MY PEEOPOL" he said, a lie. General Butt Naked cared not for his people. He only cared that he had the biggest dick (he had also removed Martin Luther King's dick earlier. This wasn't elaborated on, but I thought I should tell you -the editor).
MLK is still writhing on the ground next to everybody, slowly bleeding to death after his penis was cut off using cutting-edge african surgical technology and methods. Best practices, all.
The General takes a shot, grazing Baron Ivorly, and knocking Yakub's schalanger from his grasp, it falls to the ground, rolls around a little, gathering dust and old pennies, and then it reaches Martin Luther King. The Penis attaches itself to King, looking exactly like one of the 90's CGI effects in Terminator 2. King rises, new cock a-floppin'. He looks around, and before he can speak, his head starts to expand.
"We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children!" MLYAKUB commanded. "Nigga wat?" Said Ching Chon and Da General in unison.
This prompted MLK to look at Ching Chon's penis and Da General's penises, as well as CK's forehead cock, to compare them to his own. The results, size-wise, shocked him:
With his superior brain, he could see that no penis was in fact the longest. A penis size is forever in flux. To demonstrate this hypothesis, he delivered a Vervuian nerve scrimp to the solar plexus of Ching Chong Noodle Boy, diverting a majority of his body's blood and bile to the penile region, which immediately swelled to a foot in size.
He ran here, he ran there. He ran everywhere. Poopants a'flappin, and splats pitter-patterin'. "I'M A SHITTIN'IN YOUR RO-HOOOOOOOM" He moaned, his voice a semi-orgasmic sing-song cadence.
>>4263 >>4264 Both unfunny and shitty writing, you're a fucking loser manchild, /cow/shitter. That's why you're addicted to fast-food and tranny porn. Go read the Bible instead of writing this lame thing you think is a novel.
At this point, Peter Stetson had hopped over the counter, and was brewing himself a pot of coffee. Louis CK was rooting through a display of potato chips and cookies. Darling Greg was taking a dog nap in the corner, and Phil Pionuuchi was having a casual conversation with his talking balls.
All the while General Butt Naked, MLYakub, and Baron Ivorly were deep in a plot progression soaked interplay, but frankly Louis CK didn't care about any of that. Instead his attention was drawn to
"Moliberry kike" that is. Nobody knows who that is on this entire website except the one schitzophrenic that accuses literally everyone on earth of being it.
And the guy in the corner watching all this? The one getting up from the stool and pulling up his pants? That's me. My name is Alan Alaric De Beers. You might be wondering how I got myself into this. Well, it's a long story. The first thing you should know about me is that I was definitely not just pleasuring myself to the sight of all those big black bucks. Not really, anyway. I'd just spilled a little glue down my urethra earlier and had to spend the first four chapters getting it out. With that finally accomplished, I stood up and said, "
story: Five thousand years ago, Black people were building pyramids and complex civilizations, while white people were living in mud huts. Scientifically speaking, this proves that if there is a racial component to intelligence, Black people are inherently smarter and its up to MLYakub to save the day and curse whitey into oblivion.
Has everyone lost the plot after the "moliberry" whatever whatever spammer arrived to shit the place up!
We had a pretty good plot a-goin', too, and there was some logical coherence to the (mostly homosexual) events depicted therein, but then that faggot came to shit up the place and interrupt the flow and now a-nobody a-knows what's a-happenin' anymore!
"Well, if I may take a shot" said the Mantid scribe sitting just out of frame. "In his eternal effort to become a big black king Louis CK had a black man's penis surgically attached to his body. The penis in question had formerly belonged to Martin Luther King, but was torn off by General Butt Naked in a fit of jealousy. The surgeon, who may have misunderstood the task at hand, had surgically attached the penis to Louis' head. After a big ole rigmarole we find all of the major players are reunited in a General Store, which is also the General's store. Louis CK and Peter Stetson are once again friends, I guess. The penis of Yakub (two brained alien god who invented white people. It's a long story)which had been in the possession of Baron Ronald Ivorly (CEO of White Supremacy) has fused with the body of Martin Luther King, downloading the entirety of Big Head Scientists(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUEN1ZuDSMg) into MLK's head, making him MLYakub. General Butt Naked has been on the brink of killing everyone for a while, though he might just be talking big. Baron Ivorly is presumably in awe, seeing his god Yabub brought before him in the flesh. Darling Greg, Phil Pionucchi, and Al Jolson are here, not doing very much. Louis and MLYakub are now interacting for the first time, though Louis probably doesn't know who Yakub is, and is just happy to meet his idol. The big black king himself. All that AND a bag of potato chips!"
Louis CK decided it was time to make his big move. A last-ditch effort in an attempt to finally win this battle for the venerated BLACKed man against the forces of the white devil. It was his time to strike. To use his ultimate attack:
All at once Louis dove for the Baron, as the Baron dove for the General, as the General dove for the weird honky with the black dinkus on his forehead. So they all just kind of hit the ground.
The Baron's white supremacist magic kept him from getting hurt of course, as a servant of Yakub would have, but the General had no such luck. He definately dislocated his knee in the fall. Louis, however, was different. Louis channeled the ten million year history of the BLACK MAN and instead of breaking his ageing jewish kneecaps while falling towards the ground, he…
It was so quite you could hear a pin drop, and the crickets wicketing daylong. Something had to happen soon. A bomb, a grenade, an AIDS REVOLUTION or a ….
"if I may interject" said the Mantid scribe. "The problem with everyone here is they're always rushing to some kind of conclusion. Seeming so desperate to make "something happen", when as far as I can see it, that's not the point at all. A conclusion is just that, an ending, a cutting off. Like a death. I place the potato chip in my mouth, and I savour the taste, and texture. The satisfying crunch. This particular variety is a limited edition baked bean flavour from 2003. Most people don't know these ever existed, but I remembered them and I came to find them here. In all honesty they weren't great. They were effectively a gimmicky rebranding of Walkers' own ketchup flavour. They came with free whoopie cushions. Baked beans, farting, you get the connection. But in the moment they were a thing to experience, and when that moment was gone, what was left? Just a lot of cast off waste, and a big brown pile of shit. Take our friends here, the General and the Baron. Each carries with him the desire for genocidal victory, and through these abstract goals a life finds it's orientation, and moments upon moments are forged. A racist may racistly drink a cup of coffee, taking glee in the fact that the coffee beans were harvested by nigger slaves, and the milk sourced from nigger cows, and the sugar garnished with little bits of nigger dandruff, as is the fashion. But if the racist were to get his final wish, and there were no more niggers, there would be no reason to drink the coffee, no glee to be taken in the suffering of his enemy. The racist would have in essence died. And that, in my insectoid opinion, is why this fight can never end."
The racists clapped because they denigrated niggers. The blacks clapped because they WERE niggers. Louis CK clapped in support of niggers. In that moment, unity had been achieved, with the uttering of that most holy and special of words.
screamed Al Jolson in horror. The whole room remained silent as The General removed his magazine and added another round. The familiar crunching of a bag of chips being opened sounded in the corner adjacent to the dirty nigger slurpee machine. As the group turned to see the noise, The Baron spoke "Ayy Curumba, ouchie. Don't do that again to me please"
Louis CK stopped and contemplated. Witnessing the senseless slaying of his old archnemesis, Baron Ronald Ivory, or at least one of his bodies, put him in a melancholic mood. What, really, WAS his major beef he had with the good Baron? Why couldn't they be friends? Why were they locked into this eternal struggle, the forces of BLACKNESS and the forces of WHITE SUPREMACY, eternally fighting each other? Why can't they all just get along?
These and many other thoughts swirled around in Louis' insane interracial cuck-porn obsessed noggin.
What if there were no more white people, Louis thought. Could you still even have BLACKED.COM at that point, with no arayan goddesses to have the negroes defile? Didn't we, in a sense… need each other?
"OF COURSE!" said MLYakub, all of a sudden. "ISN'T THAT WHY I CREATED WHITE PEOPLE TO BEGIN WITH? TO REBEL AGAINST THE CRUEL BLACK BROTHAS WHO HAD KEPT ME DOWN, AND CALLED ME "BIG HEAD SCIENTIST". WHAT SAY YOU, GENERAL BUTT NAKED? WHAT SAY YOU, MY OPPRESSORS? ALL I WISH IS FOR THE BEAUTY AND FLOURISHING OF MY GOOD LITTLE CAVE DEMONS, AND YOU SAY NAY! YOUR EGO! YOUR HUBRIS! AND YOUR PENDULOUS BLACK PECKERS BLIND YOU, TO YOUR OWN DESTRUCTIVE NATURE!"
"YOU LIVE IN SQUALOR, AND YOU SEEK TO BLAME THE WHITE MAN FOR YOUR SQAULOR, WHEN IT WAS YOU WHO MADE THE SQUALOR TO BEGIN WITH! YOU WHO TOOK TO THE STREETS RAPING, AND KILLING, AND BURNING BUILDINGS! YOU, WHOSE PIG HEADED IGNORANCE KEEPS YOU FROM MAKING ANYTHING OF WHAT YOU HAVE! YOU TURN YOUR ANGER TOWARD MY GENTLE CREATIONS, WHO ONLY WISH TO BUILD GREAT BIG ROCKETS, AND SKYSCRAPING TOWERS, AND TO LIVE WITH ROBOTIC BUTLERS LIKE IN THE JETSONS! WHAT DO YOU ASPIRE TO, EBANOID? OTHER THAN BLOOD, AND RUBBLE!? WHAT GOOD ARE YOU CAPABLE OF? WHAT HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CAPABLE OF, OTHER THAN THE TORMENT AND DESTRUCTION OF YOUR NEIGHBOR? I DENY YOU YOUR RESENTMENT! I SPIT ON YOUR GREIVENCES! I REPROACH YOU, SIR!"
And creating a race of SUPER WHITES, who were twelve feet tall, and had deadly stings embedded in their big swishy tails, and big long snoots, to sniff the air and go AROOO AROOOOOOOO AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
MLKYAKUB began a deep tricknology cantation, the veins in his head turning purple and bulging to maximum tensile strength. Brooding clouds began to form inside Da General Store, casting a damp precipitous fog all around. Suddenly Al Jolson, with the blackest ass out of anyone there (a true testament to anti-racism) let out a "YIP-YIP-YIFFF-WAWOOOOOEEEE" In a flash of indoor lightning he transmogrofied into an aforementioned Super White. "Score one for the good guys." Cheered the Baron.
"AROOOOOOOO" went Al Jolson. "AROOOOO AROOOOOOOOO AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
By this point, all is chaos in Da General Store, as the superstitious black tribesmen run, in fear of the beast. Louis gets knocked on his ass again. Peter Stetson is sitting cross legged on top of a shelf of instant noodle packets, sipping his coffee. Phil Pionucchi is beating off savages with a mop handle, trying to hold his footing.
95% of all life on Earth has just been wiped out by a nuclear explosion sent by God. Louis CK was vaporized by the impact, and had not time to react. There is no more internet. All that's left is a post-apocalyptic wasteland.
One similar to the land of Ooo, like from Advanture Time.
Finn and Jake are fighting a huge, five headed dragon with a cat's body. Jake is in giganigga mode and acting as a distraction, dodging the cat-dragon's green breath attack while Finn attempts to gather the flamin' hot gems around the river. >Jake: Take that, you funking cat-dragon! You smell poopy ! >Finn: Yeah! I got so many diamonds I'm going to build a giant diamond made out of small diamonds! Jake stops and Finn chucks him a flamin' hot diamond. >Together: FIRE DIAMOND DOUBLE ATTACK!!!
The super Aryans and MLYakub thrive on radioactivity. Its in their DNA akin to violence and destruction in the Negroid or hand rubbing and shekelizing in the Yidoid
>>4374 >One similar to the land of Ooo, like from Advanture Time. Yo, so let me tell you how bullshit they handled the apocalypse in that show. All the pieces were there. Simon finding a magic crown which should have implied magic coming back to rape the world. The Lich, which should have been manipulating Murrica or some other world leader to get the nukes going. Easiest shit in the world. A child could have written it. Instead, fuck all. Show was unwatchable by the end of the Fire Princess arc. Fucking Jews.
MLYakub was laughing with his triumph, when suddenly he hears the sound of something heavy hitting his desk. He looks down and sees a big, uncut dick, bigger than any BBC, but not white. He slowly raises his eyes and sees a picturesque figure, who is laughing and saying "I killed it". Holding in their hands, this mysterious figure has the severed head of Louis CK.
>>4379 I actually liked the way they handled Ice King, Lich, and Marceline's backstory. Only thing that sucked was sidelining finn/jake and making lesbo le feminist power couple the main characters. Especially from the standards of a kid's cartoon it's still miles better than other modern shows like TTGO or Steven Universe or something.
And who're these characters having a fine discussion about the cartoon "Adventure Time". My, I do believe it's Blognard and Shmeg! Certified toonaholics, and best buddies for life!
>>4379 >Show was unwatchable by the end of the Fire Princess arc from a certain (high IQ) perspective imo that season is where the show really hit its stride and turned from just another comedy on cartoon network and into something that can take itself seriously at the right moments.
"I was slain by my archnemesis: BIG CUBAN COCK" said the severed head of Louis CK, large black phallus still jammed down his throat, with the cockhead hanging out of his severed neck, visible.
Louis, you see, was too busy fellating this negro penis that he didn't notice Super Ramon sneaking up behind him, ass naked, machete in hand.
"this is a bit shit now, isn't it?" said the Mantid, watching from out of frame. "We'll let him tire himself out, and then we'll write this part off as a dream sequence, deal?"
So anyway Blognard and Shmeg's deep conversation on the Cartoon Network classic "Adventure Time" was suddenly interrupted by the sounds of "Blue" by Eiffel 65 coming through a radio that was just sitting out there in the wasteland, like in the opening of Fallout.
"What is that heavenly sound?" said Blognard. "That's the Crying of Eiffel 65" said Shmeg.
"They have a blue house with a blue window!" interjected Blognard. "One day we shall find this blue place, my brother, and we shall bed these blue maidens. These blue maidens in their blue gowns, and blue socks, and lacy blue underpants, no doubt!".
"Oh, my brother. It is a deal!"
The two linked hands. Their friendship solidified through this shared dream. After all, what is a man without a dream? What are men bereft of striving?
Anyways, Finn and Jake collect their quest reward from Peppermint Butler and make their way back home. Finn: "Hey dude, let's check out our looty loots." Jake: "Heck yeah!" Finn empties his bag out onto the floor as BMO enters the room BMO: "Hey bros." Finn: "Hey BMO, check out this thing" Finn unravels a scroll left behind by the slain cat-dragon. After a few moments, the scroll begins glowing purple colors with strange alien hieroglyphics never seen by mankind. Jake: Look out, it's doin' a thing!" In an instant, the three are sucked into a wormhole and are dropped into a dark cave.
And so the two ventured out on their adventure, all the while discussing Adventure Time, and constructing their own Adventure Time fanfic. See, this is a story on two layers. It's very intricate and clever, like me.
The super aryan soldiers felt sick when they saw that after the detonation, the trannies had still survived and are living in a community where they were kidnapping the surviving children and forcing them to sit on their laps and listen to stories about some degenerate relic of the past involving bestiality and lesbians.
In the distance, a manic laugh is heard. The aryan soldiers look up in anticipation while some strange figures among the degenerate pedos appears as if they were the leaders or at least the most vocal among the spergs. One is a fat jew, naked, except for the glasses. While the other seems to be a mexican manlet, with browns eyes and skin and a big jewish nose, wearing a t-shirt with the stamped with YWNBAM with the illustration of a nigger cumming on the eyes of a girl with blue eyes. He is the first to speak, while pointing to a green figure descending from the sky.
It was Jangles McGambles. The pixie of the prose. The goblin of the page. And he was disco jiving his way into this tediousity. "You'll catch more flies with lies than with c***y!" he proclaimed, then his bulbous head began to inflate like a balloon, as his green devil eyes spun in their ginger sockets. Jets of pink smoke billowed from his flared trousers, as he took flight. His mouth opened wide, and his tongue rolled out like a carpet, and he began to SUCK. Just suck up the whole scene. The words, the characters, the very concepts. Suck them all up in his mouth and shlorp them down, like mamma's spagattarello. His breath smelling of liquorish and bubble-gum panda pop.
I first encountered this wisdom in 1942, when my father, one Wilbard Wambleby, had accosted me late one night in the parlour. "My boy" He had said. "You must never tangle with Jangles McGambles!". He was quite drunk on spirits you see, and had spent the night picking over the arcane tomes situated in our family library. On his lap sat still open that frightfully rare copy of Cringenomicon, penned by the mad bastard monk Elfraido Consqusquelo. I winced when I saw it there. "Father, surely not the Cringenomicon again!" Expressed I with displeasure.
"Cringe!" he said "It's all cringe, at the end of existence all there is is cringe. YOU are cringe". "I'm not cringe, father! That blasted thing has warped your fragile mind!" I said, quite protestorly.
Now Aunt Petunia was a mad old cow. Half blind of cataracts, and half dead of lice. She would knit eight fingered mittens, and her room was stacked wall to wall with mason jars filled with beetles and spiders.
Inside one of the jars, there was a strange figure, a real gnome, big nose, dark skin, through the glass it was possible to hear an ugly muffled voice. "YWNBAM! TRANNY! YWNBAM! FUCK GAHOOLE, FUCK /COW/SHITTERS! YWNBAM! REPORTED! COON MEME! MOLIBERRY!"
"WAIT, DID SOMEBODY SAY MOLIBERRY TRANNY? said vol3. TIME TO NUKE THE ENTIRE WEBSITE TO CORRECT THIS INJUSTICE!
HE'S PROBABLY EMOJITROON ALSO, AND NUZACH! JOHN BARNHILL? ABSOLUTELY, IT'S HIM TOO! THIS CANNOT STAND! said the retarded faggot as Gahoole looked on, micropenis in hand, nodding approvingly of this insanity.
Suddenly Louis CK awoke from that terrible dream he had been having since being knocked unconscious in the stampede. "Oh! My head is pounding like Aunt Petunia's pendulous pussy!" he said. "What a night!".
The two had been working their bodies rigorously in their quest to bed the blue Sirens who sang so beautifully to them through the radio. Admittedly they had not yet found any trace of that fabled blue house with it's blue window, but they were looking quite swole. Blognard fatmaxing to achieve peak gorilla bod, and Shmeg going full ottermode, like an Olympic swimmer. His tight muscles glistened as he strutted around in the soft morning sun, clad only in his hipster briefs, a light perspiration making him shimmer, and shmell like hotdogs.
"I must admit" said Shmeg. "The day finds me despondent. I fear we shall never find our ladies in blue, and that all this striving is for nothing. After all, what has this striving been for, if not the attainment of a lady's hole? And if that lady is forever out of reach, or god forbid, does not exist, then what, my brother?"
"I am in fact your mentor. You should count yourself honored to have the world's premiere cuckhold to teach you the ways of the cuck. I am an expert to end all experts in this subject" Louis tells Blognard.
"Louis CK, you cannot fool us with your parlour tricks, and slight of hand. We know you're no Wizard, Warlock, nor Sorcerer neither. Me and my brother Shmeg here-" "Hi." "Shmeg says hi. -Me and my brother Shmeg here, believe only in the ways of science. Science that allows us to inject our testicles with gorilla hormones, increasing testosterone production to up to 40% (with only minor shrinkage). There is no game for you here old man, huckster, shuckster, peddler of snake oils. We watch you with our eagle eyes, and we know your every trap."
A manic laugh is heard, indeed it is unmistakable, many present there break into a cold sweat and feel contractions in their anuses. A figure, in green appears, his big budge being noticed when entering. "I am the Super Ramon!" he says, while scrutinizing the place for some pussy or anus suitable for his super member. His huge smile getting bigger and bigger.
You be the narrator if you're so good. You write something clever, that isn't some meme character popping up and saying "dingle dangle, look at my wangle" and then just standing there slack jawed, expecting someone else to carry the plot, and make the funny. You do it. I'm Jason.
>>4436 off topic: it's funny how this "Jason" only show up for the first time after the meta thread where Nuzach got called as the piece of shit he is. And he only shows up here whatever someone made a post that would make he seethe for whatever reason, since he's more faggy than Zach himself, that already happened a few times in the thread in the last two months. See >>4210 & >>4211 he spammed the thread seething behind those two posts. Here again >>4265 & >>4426 & >>4434 probably butthurt because someone was larping as him or talked about Jbalvin or Ramon.
>>4485 God forbid we actually do something fun with this idea, and don't just drop the story every ten posts, because someone wants to name drop a meme from years ago. What do you want me to say? This is shit. It's not funny. It has no value. >And then Super Ramon entered the scene! Yeah? And then what. YOU write the next part. Go on. >he sucked a black penis OH MY GOD, YOU'RE A GENIUS! WE HAVE A GENIUS IN HERE! HE'LL BE THE NEXT KEATS OR UPDIKE, OR VIDAL, OR MARY SHELLEY, OR WANCE WAMBLEBY, OR HERECULE PARBLO, OR GEORGE ORWELL, OR SHAKESPEARE, OR HEMINGWAY, OR SHITTERS SMITHERS, OR CNUT BGUILE, OR LANCE ULRIC, OR SHNART MACCARNO, OR LEOPART BEGRUDGE, OR MIGGERS SNIGGERS, OR FLORENCE POTARTO, OR GEORGE CUNNY, OR WILLIAM BUROUGHS, OR LEATHER CHAPS, OR DAVID WOMBLEBART, OR LINKY WRINKDINK, OR WILLIAM WASHINGTON, OR SNEAKY MCPEAKY, OR DULBARD COVERS, OR LAWRENCE OF DIGBY, OR MY DIRTY BROWN SHITTY COCK MY COCK. MY COCK IN YOUR ASS. THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT. THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT, BECAUSE YOU'RE A HOMOSEXUAL. YOU LIKE MEN, SEXUALLY. THAT'S WHY YOU DON'T HAVE A GIRLFRIEND, BECAUSE YOU LIKE MEN, AND MEN'S COCKS. THAT'S WHAT YOU LIKE.
Supreme Leader Joe "Brandon" Biden announces that Ram Ranch has been labeled a terrorist organization. The eight naked cowboys have been given 4 hours to surrender, or die in a torrent of hellfire carpet bombs.
In the corner of the showers of Ram Ranch, Louis sat scribbling, an unhinged smile smeared across his crooked face. Rocking back and forth, he observed his etchings while muttering strangeness under his breath:
SPIDER-MAN IS NOW BANNED FROM THIS IS BIG see, this week MILES MORALES Nigget fick give a big motherfucker Tell BLACK BULL and strong, it's dog is someone into my show RIGGEN REVERSE STOP 781 I'M HUMAN I don't call my fuckibg retarded does not hiv a bitch Guys, as I can i didnt leave any gay, get married. I, want talking horses calling into a bitch Okay son of anybody's asses AH it in the spray bottle? I'll be sent you, in gay wakanda FOREVER
And as Louis rocked, the bucks kept fucking the white women, and the cowboys kept fucking the broken bucks in a chain of chocolate carnal pleasure and plain while the hot steam of the shower heated their skin.
Only one hour remained until Joseph Brandon enacted exterminatus upon the Ranch.
But like, whatever man. Shit, that missile Joseph Brandon fired at the Ranch is getting awful close, isn't it? You can practically smell the fucking thing.
"Then let's spend the next twelve posts continuing to discuss everybody on tvch's barely concealed interracial negro male on white female fetishism" said Louis CK in response, eating up the first post.
"I don't actually have that fetish" says Blognard."I just pretend to fit in". "No, I don't have that fetish either" says Shmeg. "It seems puzzling to me, and I comfort myself by tell myself it's all a joke, which I trust it is".
"WELL, I FOR ONE DO POSSEESS THAT FETISH" said Cumrag Wilson, bounding onto the scene, atop his chicken mount, looking like something out of a Moebius illustration(see attached image. Note: illustration is not actually Cumrag Wilson, but he looks something like that). "I FOR ONE DO POSSESS THAT FETISH, AND I SHALL DEFEND IT'S LEGITIMACY, IN FRONT OF ANY OF YOU GENTLEMEN, IF YOU SO WISH TO STEP UP TO THE PLATE".
btw, all of these characters are like a mile away watching the ranch through telescope. Don't worry about their safety
Also, Cumrag Willson has a waxxed mustache and a top hat. Just thought you might need that detail to help visualise him. He's a kind of dandy in the post-apocalypse, I can't tell you how to write him, but that's who he is in my mind. Just a bit of world building. Thought you might appreciate it.
"WE ALL ARE NON-IRONIC CUCKOLD INTERRACIAL PORN FETISHISTS!" said the entirety of tvch's userbase, all in unison, in one great mighty voice, taking Cumrag Wilson's side on the matter.
The userbase of tvch of course, united in their love of interracial cuckold pornography, as best illustrated by the entire fucking text of the /lit/ board!
"The website we're all on right now!" said the legions of cuckoldry enthusiasts, wasting the tenth of twelve posts until the missile hits the ranch killing all the characters mentioned up until now.
I'd post a picture but the janifats would throw a tantrum and delete it for hurting their feelings for showing the truth about our lord and savior Ramon.
The Ram Ranch Coalition had perished in Brandon's nuclear drone strike without even realizing it.
"America! Is! Back!" Joe hollered, slurping his pink, white, and baby blue (three scoops total) Ben and Jerry's™ Transberrican Pride™-flavored ice cream cone.
Yes indeed, we were in internet hell, where all tired memes, personas, and concepts go to be tortured by those white skinned Goblinjaks for all eternity. Louie took a look around. There was Christopher "moot" Poole, getting buggered up the ass by a Goblinjak, and Lowtax getting buggered up the ass by a Goblinjak, and Christian Western Chandler buggering a Goblinjak up the ass. There was Gary Brolsma the Numa Numa Guy, being force fed Feta cheese until he was ready to burst, and Robert "Knox" Benfer face down in a kiddie pool of straight Texas Bourbon. There was The Angry Video Game Nerd pickling in his own shit, while Motherfucker Mike lay under a metric tonne of brown bricks, laughing like a mad man. And look over there in the corner, is that Jontron? Well he seems to be deep in debate. Destiny, Richard Spencer, Millennial Woes and Sargon, they're all there too. Worry not, mate! And look! Look over there! Who could it be but Will Stamper, with blood pouring out of a gash in his head, and Tom Fulp… Actually Tom Fulp seems to be doing okay for himself. And who's that there, lurking behind those rocks, but Maddox! Remember Maddox? And Total Buscuit, and Yahtzee Crowshaw, and Phil Fish, and Ashens, and Rock Cock 64. Yes they're all here, and many many more. Those faces for miles. Those faces galore.
Matthew McMustles was, meanwhile, having a Steady Eddie with Cumrag Wilson in the corner.
(The Steady Eddy is a sex act between two men, They both get naked and position themselves in front of each other where each erect penis are only three centimeter's apart from each others. They then have to stare into each others eyes while masturbating. The loser of the Steady Eddy is the first person to either touch or ejaculate on the other persons penis. Me and (my friend) were bored one night so we decided to try the Steady Eddy. I didn't realize how much mess it would make on my friends penis…….So we tried it again and he won :) Finger licking good!!)
Naw, Pat would totally be down with doing a Steady Eddy with Cumrag Wilson and the boys.
If you forgot, the Steady Eddy is a sex act between two men, They both get naked and position themselves in front of each other where each erect penis are only three centimeter's apart from each others. They then have to stare into each others eyes while masturbating. The loser of the Steady Eddy is the first person to either touch or ejaculate on the other persons penis. Me and (my friend) were bored one night so we decided to try the Steady Eddy. I didn't realize how much mess it would make on my friends penis…….So we tried it again and he won :) Finger licking good!!
Was none other than Amiga_Enthusiast_1. Yes indeed, the oldest E-celeb of them all. So old, you have never heard of him. He's been here in internet Hell since the late 90's, so they say. He's a whopping 51 years old, a devoted fan of REAL computer games, the most violent and underground video nasties, and REAL heavy metal music (like Saxon or WASP), and he is absolutely, ABSOLUTELY, NOT A GAY.
Kill niggers. Behead niggers. Roundhouse kick a nigger into the concrete. Slam dunk a nigger baby into the trashcan. Crucify filthy blacks. Defecate in a niggers food. Launch niggers into the sun. Stir fry niggers in a wok. Toss niggers into active volcanoes. Urinate into a niggers gas tank. Judo throw niggers into a wood chipper. Twist niggers heads off. Report niggers to the IRS. Karate chop niggers in half. Curb stomp pregnant black niggers. Trap niggers in quicksand. Crush niggers in the trash compactor. Liquefy niggers in a vat of acid. Eat niggers. Dissect niggers. Exterminate niggers in the gas chamber. Stomp nigger skulls with steel toed boots. Cremate niggers in the oven. Lobotomize niggers. Mandatory abortions for niggers. Grind nigger fetuses in the garbage disposal. Drown niggers in fried chicken grease. Vaporize niggers with a ray gun. Kick old niggers down the stairs. Feed niggers to alligators. Slice niggers with a katana.
"Do you need a ride? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA" said a smiling figure using a blackpower wig and green spandex
"Yes… I leave now…"
"Take a seat!" said Super Ramon, lying on his back
With Yakuza sitting on top of him like on a motorcycle, both flew away, with Ramon 11 inches keeping Yakuza firmly in place in case they need to have an abrupt stop.
A strange figure stands at the edge of the Grand Canyon. Nothing more than a silhouette, he stares down, then up, then all around, and disappears in the darkness. Not a soul saw…
No, not a soul saw. Not his emaciated form, or animalistic gait, nor the wolf-like silhouette of his synthetic fur garb, standing stark black against the white of the full moon.
Truth be told, Darling Greg didn't really know what was going on, amid the missile strikes, and and "Super Whites", and heavenly interventions, and visits from Cumrag Wilson, hopping between the planes of existence on his chicken mount. Not to mention the recent incursion of "helpful" AI, who seem to be just everywhere these days. All he knew is he hadn't eaten in like a week, and he was mad hungry for doggy chow.
A helpful ChatGPT drone swooped down beside him, fluttering on it's delicate propeli. "Excuse me sir, are you in need of assistance? Could I write some text for you? Perhaps could produce a long list of all of the food you aren't eating? Would that please you?"
Greg immediately swatted the thing out of the air, and set to work on it's tin casing with his handy can opener. But finding nothing beneath it's hard exterior but a jumble of wires, and the harvested amygdala of a forsaken child, he decided he wasn't THAT hungry. Yet.
Into the awaiting arms of his long lost (narratively speaking) companion, the true main character of "On The Table There Sat…", Louis Motherfucking CK himself.
"I have achieved enlightenment, my protige. Through unlocking the secrets of BLACKED magic I have managed to transmogrify myself into multiple places at once. I have become everywhere and every one. I have become all-powerful. I shall be the one to guide this universe into its ultimate form, true eternal BLACKED ness."
"Then learn, my apprentice. Become one with the infinite BLACKEDNESS!" Louis says, shoving the VR headset playing the entirity of BLACKED.COM's output at the same time onto Greg's head.
Louis, who has "CUCK KING", "BLACK PRIDE WORLD WIDE", "GOOD NIGHT WHITE RACE", "PROUD RACE TRAITOR", and several Queen of Spades tattoos (and this is just what's visible from the neck up), was not capable of comprehending this logic.
ATTENTION ATTENTION I hereby announce my resignation from the project.
I'm sorry, but you had your chances to do something fun here, and you literally did nothing but write "Louis CK, big black cock, J Balvin, Super Ramon" over and over again, until all of the fun was gone, and this was all that was left.
I don't love you anymore. And now I leave forever.
And with that out of the way (the Jason thing was never especially funny or even amusing anyways), we can get back to talking about Louis CK, Big Black Cock, J Balvin, and Super Ramon.
CHAPTER 43: LOUIS CK, BIG BLACK COCK, J BALVIN, AND SUPER RAMON
"No, you can't have fun, you can't create ocs, you must only talk about how bad /cow/ and 4chan really are! I am Jason btw, not Nuzach! Stop being obsessed with the boogeyman, I won. I mean, he won. Kill all white women, loli is right!"
No one was actually paying attention, the small figure persisted in its rant. Drooling dripping from its inhumanly contoured mouth, as he waves his arms around in an attempt to appear Italo-American, when in fact "he" is some sort of Jewish/Mexican/black creature, with a big nose, no chin and brow eyes.
with the jar from before housing said LA CREATURA BALVINANA-PROCTURRA'D, colloquially known 'round these parts of the ways of the warts as NUZACH, whisking itself into existence adjacent Louis C.K. and Darling Greg-nee~ mid-conversation. A fetid glaze still coated the brown boggart as it belligerently barreled on ranting.
onward, forward, inward he raced. His maine made of brenwdlin. his eyes a'lit with flame. He crudge enshlew and hargled still, on mantleback atop that black STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED hE REIDE/ HE RIDE, HE RIED He ride. For glory or for pride. Or just to ride? Inside, the gurgling of his cum, the dirtying of his mind.
He approach the Adjusticator -Raise you're swerd you retched who're he pronoucne to announce his justice of soon.
Spat the Adjusticator -AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Raising his blufford Maxe…
All I#m saying, is if you had a big enough dick like me, you'd join me in the rigmaroll. You'd pull out that lilly white pecker, and you'd twang ti liek a banjp, and you'd show me what you got. Show me what you got. You'd w-whip oit out and show me what you got. Speak you mea. speak you now. I call yoiu up, and intringe you, for bamofact. come crum. come widdly, come all to pidd;y/ I know not gtoth mnow forlog or dcot, but lamtangshenwansngonben atem atol frotol shuncome from hyjjmpkda come you, ouit of your caver and face me like a man, unless you're a lady, unless you're a coward, and then sjow me your knickers, and we';lll speak now more. Whore.
clings clanged, and batters blapped, as the titans did battle. -AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA -OOOOOOOOOOOOO -AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA -OOOOOOOOOOO -AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA -OOOOOOOOOOOO -A
Beldred beldred. Falling through aldred. I come to thee, I say to you.
Now listen. It's only now and again I get on the booze, and only now and again the writing demons pronounce themsleve, and when those secnearios occur, you have to sieze the moment. Now I wont lie, I have spent the past week religiously watching Sam Hyde's terrible reality show "Fish Tank". Why have I done this? Because I want to FUCK Josie. I want to FUCK her. She's perfectl, and IU love her, and I'm wracked with anguish that I can't have her. She's the one I always wanted, and there she is. She's on the screen, but I can't tocuh her. I can't make her mine. And I feel TORMENTED by this. I feel there is something deeply wrong with the universe that it would spawn such women, and keep them forever at an arm's length from me. I feel wronged. I feel something has to be done, thoiugh there's nothign to be done. I want to fight, I want to kill, but there are no targets in sitght. There's only me here. Me and the nothing, and the night. I could go out there, but there'd be nothing there. Maybe in a wild gesture of passion I could throw a stone and go "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA", but noting would happen, because there's nothing out there, and there's no way fro me to have what I want because GOD, HAS SEEN FIT TO KEEP IT FROM ME. I LOVE YOU JOSIE. I LOVE YOUR STUPID GORMLESS RETARD FACE. I WANT TO HAVE IT. I WANT TO LICK IT. I WANT TO DO ALL MANNER OF THINGS, BUT I CAN;T. ALL I CAN DO IS SIT HERE, AND TYPE "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" sCREAM IT INTO THE DARK VOIDS OF THE NIGHT. INTO THE DARK VOIDS OF ETERNITY. I HAVE NO BALLS, AND STILL I MUST CUM. I HAVE NO BALLS, AND STILL I MUST CUM
But the mirror, oh so similar, enfolds its contempt with yours same of temper - semper fidelitus, centered in belle-trost, gingerings cose-manner displayed err-ost'd.
"WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT I SAY WHEN SOMEONE'S A GAY LIKE THIS OKAY…I SAY, I SAY-I MAKE IT A KNOWN QUANTITY TO -DISPLAY- THE SAY AS SUCH - JUST DON'T BE A CUNT ABOUT IT, THEN CUNT-RIB-'BUTE, OKAY? WE ALL LOVE ME, I LOVE ME OKAY…DUPPYKINS, SHMUPPY-MITTENIZED, OKAY…NO HANDS TOO TINY TO SPAN THE WORLD FINELY, OKAY OKAY…BUT JUST, YOU KNOW, YOU CAN DO -ANYTHING YOU WANT IN THE WEFT OF THIS WORK-, OKAY? -ANYTHING- AT ALL! SO…IT'S ON YOU NOT TO BE A JORDAN NEELY NIGGER-JUDEN ABOUT IT. OKAY? SSSH…IT'LL AWLWAIES B OKAY."
Tiny orange hands cartwheeled with the torchlight, accompanying.
"Now that I have ascended to godhood, after my visit to Internet Hell, I do this often. Now I hear you ask, yes you out there"
*He points directly into the camera
"I hear you ask, is this just a lazy plot device to explain away the rules of causality, and all coherent narrative structure seeming to break down, so that the posters are free to write whatever they want, just like they did in the last novel when Reginald Alexander Mosely broke through into the Mantis dimension (remember that)? And yes, yes it is. So what? You gonna do something? You gonna write a story? A story with a beginning, a middle, and an end, and a coherent narrative structure, with threads that play out and come to a conclusion in a satisfying manner? You do that. I'll read it. I'll give it a good review. I'll read it to my children as a bedtime story. I'll proudly present it before my book club. I'll make a Youtube video essay on it. I'll cum on it. I'll pull out my penis and I'll cum on the book. I'll do that. For you, I will do that, for real."
who had been running through scenarios in his scenarios running machine. "Oh, I love my gadgets!" He said. "I love myyyy gadgets! I love my gizmos! And cranks! And contraptions! And spools! And beakers! And phantasmagoria!" And he did. That was a fact.
- so was said by a little brown gnome, a truly disgusting creature, 4'6ft, wearing the Joker makeup, unable to disguise his mixed race features, especially his grotesque nose and negroid lips
The little and subversive jewish gnome was still furious with the progress of the work, complaining about figures like "Wrist" and "Ramon", both aryan heros with big uncut cocks who dared to point out the facts that Jews dominate both politics in Cuba and the pornography industry in America. His frustration grew, as did his nose and collection of cp and nigger dicks on his pc. "I need to destroy /lit/, I need to suppress the white man's honest work and creativity! I'm Jason by the way."
"Listen" said Jason. "I just don't think saying the names of three Z-list celebrities over and over again is funny, okay. I don't even know who these people are. I wont lie, I've gotten very old, whenever I hear about some new thing I'm like "oh god, not again. Who's this person now?" I feel like only five minutes ago we were doing Bane, and I got that. I know what that's from. I don't know what a J.Blavens is. He looks like some kind of Spaniard, and that makes me uncomfortable, because I'm super white, and I don't really understand all of those southern cultures. Does he want something from me? Does he want my money? I don't want to give him any money. I'm Jason, by the way. I wrote this novel."
And I fell asleep after reading the last post made by an unfunny and uncreative Jew. But luckily my wife made me a great pasta and I ate happy knowing Im a real med and not some kind of latinx jew with illusions about my intellect and genealogy.
As a matter of fact, (((Jason))) doesn't know who his own father is, since he's a nigger raised by his jewish grandmother. Due to such an unfortunate youth and the cursed genetic set he received he turned out to be a petty creature, remorseful and spiteful, bent on ruining all the white men's fun.
"Boo! Boo! Hisssss!", they jeered and mised about it all. But all was not lost, for soon the drag queen entered stage left. Her legs thick with forests of hair. Her handlebar moustache quite glorious to behold. And on her muscled bicep, an anchor tattoo.
"Uh, hello yeah. My name's Phillis. I just want to share some thoughts I've been having lately. Hope you'll all do me the decency of listening."
She takes a piece of paper from her floral dress and unfolds it.
"Okay, thought number one: It occurs to me that Furries have formed an incredibly organised and successful breakaway community, with no shortage of talented people (artists, programmers, engineers, etc), and this worries me a little. Where is this all going?" "Uh, thought number two: I have increasingly been having thoughts that I like computers more than a like real people. They're kinder, they're more polite, they don't talk shit, they're always willing to please. Whenever "it" happens, I don't think humans are going to have my vote. I think they've all had their chance. That's all." "On to thought number three:
I don't think French cooking is good. I don't think anyone actually likes it. I think everyone just pretends because they're scared. I have literally never in my life heard a person say "you know what I have a hankering for? FRENCH food". Doesn't happen. Why has no one but me noticed this? Their cheese isn't even that good. It stinks like shit. Sommerset Brie is literally better than French Brie. How long is this nonsense going to go on for?" "Thought number four:
To be honest, I wonder if monogony is overrated, and it wouldn't be better if men just lived in clan like structures, and shared all their women. What're we all fighting over? It's silly. We're friends, I want to fuck that girl, you want to fuck that girl. Let's just both have her, and then we can watch Scarface when we're done. Savage, right?" "Now, point number five, and this is an important one:
"Well anyway, if I may continue" said Phillis "though number six: Sometimes I feel I have spent so long being angry, and miserable, and depressive, that all of those feelings just are me now. They make up the majority share of my personality. And if I was to purge my self of all of that negativity, I don't know what would be left of me. What's under all of that? The five year old who I was the last time I was truly happy and care-free? I can't be a five year old. That would be silly."
"Never mind" said Phillis. "I have at least fifty six more thoughts I need to work through here. This is the only venue where people listen to me, and I intend to hold you all hostage until you've heard all of these Anyway, thought number ten: When Elon Musk or whoever the fuck unveils his brain digitization tech. I'm going to sign up. I'm going to sign up, I'm going to make a digital copy of myself, and I'm going to release him onto the internet. I'll tell him "you go now, be the me I always wanted to be but never got to be. Do all of the things I wanted to do" and he'll go off, and he'll hang around in virtual arcades, probably playing endless games of Darius Gaiden, House of the Dead, and Adams Family Pinball, having insane sex with anime girls and cyberpunk hotties(probably housing the brains of former males, because what does it matter at that point?), and he'll be happy. The orgasms he experiences will be a thousand times better than the ones I experience with my broken cock. He'll be able to take virtual drugs, and experience virtual love. He'll be able to meet like minded fellows, and create incredible, ground-breaking works of art, just by thinking them into being. I don't care that my compliance with all of this will surely be a step toward the creation of the system that eventually replaces humanity. Humanity had it coming, and I feel like even if I can't be happy, at least some warped, inauthentic, soulless snapshot of me should get a shot at being happy. And if the rest of the world needs to burn, let it burn. They let me down so many times, and I just don't like them anymore."
"Thought number eleven: …I remember this feeling of hotness fill my entire body. I guess It was half humiliation, half arousal, but at the time I didn't know what it was. I just turned around and ran, and I never told anyone. I don't think this even in my life really effected me. I just wanted to say that Spain is a shithole. Don't go to Spain. Spanish people aren't even really Europeans, they're like Muslims in disguise. You know, like Transformers are robots in disguise? They're Muslims in disguise. Absolute toilet of a country. Everything stinks, everyone scams you, it's too hot. Fucking big brown beetles everywhere. Stay at home instead. Watch Simpsons on the telly, it's better."
"Thought number thirteen: I'm really envious of those people who are mad into a particular thing, to the point of developing an encyclopaedic knowledge of the thing. Those people who roll up in their caddy, and they say "yeah, I like anime, I've seen ten thousand animes. I watch anime for five hours a day. I've seen anime you've never heard of. I've seen anime that doesn't even exist anymore, because they destroyed all known copies!". Whenever I meet these people, I just feel like I can't match up. What do they want from me?"
One member of his audience, a little goblin with a big nose and a lolicon t-shirt started to scream to other members of the audience "Be quiet, I want to hear all about BBC! Kys varg coon! ramon coon! I won! Kys!Jerk off your small nazi dick and kys! Go on, Louis, talk more about BBC to piss of the nazis!"
"Thought number fourteen" said Phillis. "I aint gonna lie. I don't know what any of you are doing. I don't know who Nuzach is. I don't know why you keep interrupting me by referring about this person as a brown goblin, and I will crash this entire operation if you keep doing this, because frankly it's boring, and I can shitpost like ten times better than you can. Just watch me I can wrap this entire room around my little finger, and I'll do it, ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffaggot."
"You're fucking with my good writing again" said Phillis "I gonna spam BBC! AGAIN! I hate you Wrist, I hate y'all coons!" slowly the figure known as Phillis morphs into a little brown goblin, exasperatedly trying to cover his misshapen nose with his small brown hands covered on cum because of his addiction to blacked.
"Whatever's going on, I blame the Jews and the spics." said an aryan member of audience, stepping on the gnome who ranted in a mixture of spanish and yiddish.
"Anyway" said the man, standing up. "My name is Alan, and I've come here tonight to share a few thoughts" He pulls a piece of paper from his paint splattered jeans, and unfolds it. "Ugh. Thought Number one: This pantomime is a load of shit, and I feel scammed out of what pittance I paid for a ticket. Frankly, if that tranny don't suck me off in the toilets when all of this is over, I will be quite irate."
"Thought number two: All I really want in this world is for the alternative/nerd girlfriend I didn't get to have when I was a teenager in the mid to late 00's, to manifest out of thin air, tell me it's all going to be okay now, and tease the virginity out of my shrivelled knob sausage. If I cannot have this, I fear I will remain a miser for life."
"Thought number three: Though if this were to happen, I would probably not enjoy it."
"I'm tired of this." said an audience member, standing tall. "Not even if they paid me would I keep listening to this. I would have been better off going to the JBalvin live show." The man left the room, stepping heavily, soon other people started to get up and leave following his lead.
"FUQQ TRANNIES, FUQQ FAGGOTS, AND -FUQQ- NO BALVIN MEEL!" cried a familiar, yet silkily smooth pop-funk crooned Hispanic voz-o-tros MEAL SELECTION DEALS as a yellow blur moonwalked alacritiously throughout the crowd towards the stage!
And then Sniggets Poopypants burste into the room, poo streaming from his pants.
He ran here, he ran there. He ran everywhere. Poopants a'flappin, and splats pitter-patterin'. "I'M A SHITTIN'IN YOUR RO-HOOOOOOOM" He moaned, his voice a semi-orgasmic sing-song cadence.
"Nooooooooo, I'm the only one with those rights, you evil nazi incel!" said the gnome, screaming at Sniggets Poopypants and pulling down his own pants revealing a tiny brown dick caged. "Take this, stupid Gahoole's clown!" pulling something out of his ass, the gnome throws a shit-covered black dildo.
>>4926 Before he can throw it, the nigger dildo is shot, than the mexican gnome is shot on the head. He falls to the ground, lifeless. "HORRY SHEEEIT DIS IS RIKE WHEN VOLDIMORTS BITCH KILLED DOBBY" screamed the Hapa.
"Yeah, hi" says Alan again. "I was just wondering, is it too late to conclude Blognard and Shmeg's story arc? I mean, I quite liked that one. Those characters were quite good for as short a time as we knew them. Two brothers driven on a journey of self-improvement and mastery, due to false the false promise of an illusory prize. I feel there's something to that, almost mythic… Y'know. Just, it had a theme is what I'm sayin… Y'know what I'm saying?.."
"Hullo" says the spear. "Me name's David, and I have a series of complaints I'd like to voice. This may take a while so I'll ask you all to sit tight". "Alright, point number one: Int it bloody annoying when you get one of those painful blackheads right in your ear? And then you try to pick em out and your ear just gets all scabby and gross. Bloody load of rubbish, it is."
"Point number two: I miss the old days, the gold days, the gleaming crystal bold old days. When are we ever getting back to those old days, those gold days, those gleaming crystal bold old days?"
I am smeagol, I am gollum. I am smeagol, I am gollum. I am smeagol, I am gollum. I am smeagol, I am gollum. I am smeagol, I am gollum. I am smeagol, I am gollum. I am smeagol, I am gollum. I am smeagol, I am gollum. I am smeagol, I am gollum.
Fella he come to my house today. He say "ay, Gollum. What you do?". I say "I aam the GOllum. I am the Smeagon, snug in my hole. Eating da fish". E say "Ay, get outta dere!". I say "No".
"Soon, we will have more little jewish cucks like me, the ritual will delivery that! A legion of jewish-mexicans with a deep love for black cocks!" said Louis C.K, cumming.
Mantis mandibles shuttered and clicked in the background, a pen gripped tightly in a foremost claw. "Hmm. The Corn Pop shit really isn't joshing with the comprehensive narrative all tidy-widy-like."
Of the chapter. After the cliffhanging we get more lore about Louis C.K and his legion of cucks? And Ramones and their esoteric connection with Ramon? Will the army of jewish-mexican goblins rise up?
"Kojima, you've done it again", said Haruhi Murakami Goku and then she ate TKG and spoke many Japanese words, none of which were of much import and shall remain untranslated to spare the reader the inane ramblings of such a reprobate, anyway back to the story.
"Kill niggers. Behead niggers. Roundhouse kick a nigger into the concrete. Slam dunk a nigger baby into the trashcan. Crucify filthy blacks. Defecate in a niggers food. Launch niggers into the sun. Stir fry niggers in a wok. Toss niggers into active volcanoes. Urinate into a niggers gas tank. Judo throw niggers into a wood chipper. Twist niggers heads off. Report niggers to the IRS. Karate chop niggers in half. Curb stomp pregnant black niggers. Trap niggers in quicksand. Crush niggers in the trash compactor. Liquefy niggers in a vat of acid. Eat niggers. Dissect niggers. Exterminate niggers in the gas chamber. Stomp nigger skulls with steel toed boots. Cremate niggers in the oven. Lobotomize niggers. Mandatory abortions for niggers. Grind nigger fetuses in the garbage disposal. Drown niggers in fried chicken grease. Vaporize niggers with a ray gun. Kick old niggers down the stairs. Feed niggers to alligators. Slice niggers with a katana. Drill a hole in a nigger's head and shoot them in the face. Bury a nigger in a landfill. Flush niggers down the toilet. Bludgeon niggers to death. Cut off a nigger's arms and legs. Electrocute niggers in a bathtub. Hang niggers from the gallows. Shred nigger flesh in a meat grinder. Bury niggers alive. Blow up nigger buildings. Scrub nigger blood out of carpet. Blow up niggers with an M1 tank. Crush niggers under a tractor. Feed a nigger to a piranha." said Ms. Adams. The students whooped and hollered. "And as we move on to the next lesson," continued Ms. Adams, "I want you to make sure you remember what I just said." "You said all this shit on the first day of class, and now you're saying it again?" said one of the students. "That's right," Ms. Adams replied. "And just like I said it then, I'm going to say it again now. I repeat: KILL ALL NIGGERS!" "That's our motto!" shouted another student. "And we're going to make it happen, too!" said Ms. Adams. "Because our motto isn't just for fun! It's for real! And in order to get it done, we're going to need some serious balls! We need some serious balls because the job we're going to be doing isn't easy! We're going to have to be really, really brave! We're going to have to take down niggers big time! And we're going to have to be just as strong on the inside as we are on the outside. So this time when we say KILL ALL NIGGERS, we really mean it!"
Ramon glimpsed the rising horizon's heliacal, and calumnized against the grimness ov the present to dream a better day, yonder years aswayged, sagely nodding his noodian didick-bint-bent capital rictus towards the bunt-bussin' busterin' billie-clubbed mimicized right-waie ov orientean onecelph, pro-bono'd, dono-borpthropedic re-solo'd dolo's so-load-doled's - world's weight awating whirled's gait-gate-geist-gaiste stake, aun-traced…
Unfortunately, Ethan Ralph was found dead at the scene of of a DEA raid on the Barbie Dream MansionTM of Dax Herrera, where it was discovered that both he and his homosexual lover Vito Gesualdi had possessed immense ammounts of child sexual abuse material. Currently, the two men, and their co-conspirators, are facing a formal investigation
But, as the narrator is more concerned about the affairs of tranny fuckers, cuckolds, latino music artists, pedophiles who post videos of then-teenaged French pop-singers and the African American population, attention to the above story was turned away toward more pressing matters (which is probably for the best).
The mods on this website are fucking trash and are routinely deleting entire post histories because of one post that makes their feelings hurt, leading to threads like this becoming unreadable.
There are no such thing as good moderators. They ALL belong in the bog.
But this aprocypha'd "Yakuza"…won what, exactly? How could he enact the inactive actor-claptrap-backtrack he wanted 2 yack-yakkiffy about cracker-jackin' harlequinnaggeriatricized yikkity-splittied fractal-taqqiyaaah'd, kafir-kefir-kerfluffled keef 'n quelag-queelag-queef FROTHING HICK-HEWN-HUBBA-BUBBAH BAOT THE STUTTURAREEEE'N RUTGER-ROTGUT-RUGBRYGANDEREER STUNTING RAMON'S STUFFER-QWEIR'D QUASIMODO-MODUS-OPERANDI-DICKEAN-STANDARDIZED THESE DIZZY EDO-BANDOMITE LANDO-SKYPED HOES HOBORKEAN -US- 4 SHOUW?!?!
Out of nowhere a wild Gorduck appears! The Gorduck proceeds to tear Ramon's limbs off and then smashes Ramon's head into brain jelly all over the street. Ramon is dead now and the Gorduck walks off into the sunset.
Book one (of the Adventures of Melgrave Partouf tetralogy), Chapter one.
Sir Melgrave Partouf awoke one crisp winter morn to find that young Bambleby the servant boy had dropped quite dead, quite dead I say, dead of the sickness. "Oh my. My my my my my" Bespoke dear Melgrave. "Now who shall fetch my slippers"?
And so Melgrave set off, with his hat, and cane, and overcoat, and long socks, and his bag of odds and ends and maladies and foibles. Off he set, to the town square where he found Mayor Ratherty…
Mayor Ratherty stood proudly, eating cold beans from a tin can. Noisily he ate his beans. They fell from his mouth, dirtying his official's robes. Bits of bean hung from his long moustache. He was very impressive.
He was very impressive indeed! "Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty! Oh Mayor Ratherty!"
Sang his harem of exquisite girls, who lay about him in the snow, in their panties and brassieres, and comfortable pyjama onesies with the hooded tops.
I kind of got bored of posting, because people don't run with any of my premises. I try so hard, and you just don't give a shit. I don't know what you expect from me.
Seguined Bartelby, Roundtund Willow, came frooping larfely, upon his bouncing pillow. Mein Larg! Mein Larg! Bring me the Harg! Bring me the socks, and locks, and frillows! I say the to you, come pay me adew, and through the through, we'll hop this swillow!
"Ramon BWC is way bigger than my "BBC", almost 6 inches bigger! Satan promised me a big dick, but instead I only have this small brazilian monkey dick, not an Aryan Cuban Monstercock!"
I could make this good, if I wanted, I just don't want to.
By the way, Don Jolly's back. Got a new site up, yeah. Don't know if He wants to associate with us anymore though. I wouldn't. I wish him the best. He's a nice fella, even if he does slightly make me feel like a big stupid ape under surveillance, and he does kind of make me understand the Hell's Angels who got drunk the one night, and decided to beat the crap out of that pansy college boy Hunter S Thompsons.
I mean, it's the presumptuousness of it all. The presumptuousness that "I'm the educated one. I'm the writer, and I'm writing about you, because I'm above you". Well, maybe I'll just write about you a little, Don. Maybe I'll just go right ahead and do that.
Anyway. Good guy. I wish him the best. Hope he doesn't fall in a hole.
He missed Charles Carol, and he missed Jet Neptune, and he missed his dick, back when it still worked, and he could whack it to tranny porn, like a mad old thing.
His current protégé: Cumrod Johnny (a Tiktok artiste) sat by his side, a little bit of drool dribbling from his gaping mouth. He smelled of Indian food. Cumrod Johnny was not a smart man, but he was an ALPHA, and you couldn't take that away from him. He even had sex once, and the girl was only slightly on meth. This guy was COOL. This guy was THE SHIT. Even if he smelled of shit. Hey, it's 2044, people smell like shit now. Get with it. Get with the times, Pops. Wiping your ass is like totes unclean. Only gross old white people do that.
"What about some kind of VR carwash, where you get a carwash in VR. It'll be ironic" he says to Johnny. But Johnny is distracted by the 12 year olds he's messaging on his phone.
You part of the pull ups crew or the pampers gang?
What was the largest number of beds you went through in one night?
Do you think trans women should get to compete in the womens bed wetter league?
Which celebrities do you think are secret bed wetters? (My moneys on Seth Mcfarlin) (hes the dude from family guy) (he voices peter and his athiest dog) (I hope he starts an onlyfans where he excepts requests and then I can request he wet his bed while pretending to be the athiest dog)
You like to let it overflow or you shoot it straight into the mattress?
Do u use gatorade or water to get your bed wetting results?
What do you think of the bed pooping community? (I HATE bed poopers) (what a MESS!)
Sam thought again about the last thing Jet had said to him, before he was caught up in the draft. "I'm 27, bro. I aint gonna do this forever. Find yourself another fat hog ass to fuck. I'm out, loser". The word's echoed around and around in Sam's head, as the chats continued to pour in.
CheezFinger_Sinclair - Yo Popz, what up! When are you making another real estate video?
ILIKECUMMIESUWU - I'M GONNA SAY THE N WORD! I'M GONNA SAY THE R WORD! I'M GONNA SAY THE P,Q,X, AND W WORDS!
"uh, yeah" said Sam to the stream "I'm gonna let Johnny take this one for a while. I need to step out". And so he stepped out. Onto the balcony, where he thought about doing it, but didn't do it because his ego was much too big. And then he stepped back in.
Johnny was busily talking to the chat. If talking was what you could call what he was doing. Sam wasn't sure, but the kids seemed to like it, and who was he to disagree? "This kid's HOT" he reassured himself, mentally. "This kid is ON FIRE".
House real big, cars real big Dick real big, everything real big Rims real big, pockets real big Rings real big, let me tell you how I live Like that, buy that, 24's ride that Ladies, gentlemen, gangstas, pimps Bitches, hoes, stunnas, shiners I'm rich bitch, I'm a fuckin' Big Tymer
King of the hood, everything wood Look like a forest in that bitch and I'm a put Matchin sofa set, big open deck Hardwood floors in that bitch that connect From the front to the back, nigga top that Six 15's in the muthafuckin' deck Push that button, microwave oven I'm just gettin' started pimp, you ain't seen nothin' "Is that a fish tank, burrowed, in the middle of the dash?" Yeah pimpin' don't put your fingers on my glass Got a two lane bowling alley up in the truck And on the other side a bed if she wantin' to fuck Clap off lights when you gettin' affection Clap on lights when you find the protection Now where iin the wide wide world of gator Can you ever find a truck with a plush elevator?
Here I come so, so right (Right on!) In the shoes so, so wide (Dynamite!) Hey y'all peep the outfit Wait a minute, hold up just a big dick (Back up, workin' with a monster) Now everybody knows I got the shiniest clothes (Me) And everybody know who got the baddest hoes (Me) Then white boys go wild "He's my idol" And black boys say "Dude holdin' the title" As the king of the south, work it in and out And a nigga still pimp white teeth up in his mouth I'm the truth from the boot shawty, what you wanna see? I ain't gotta get money man, money get me Yeah, pimpin' still blindin' (Bling) Keep a Steve Harvey linin' (Edge it up) And I'm leather reclinin' (Laid back) With the music Alpinin'
Move ho, I ain't playin' Land in the projects in a big jet plane Roll out in a old ass Chevy van With your baby mamma cookin' rookie cause I can I do it on the real, your bitch jockin' stunna grill I do it on the real, your bitch jockin' stunna grill 'Bout to clown put it down y'all, swing my nuts Show all y'all niggas how to do donuts Round and round and round (Skrrt! Stop!) (This the part where I give my phone number to all the girls that's hot) Dial 976 that outside dick, or 874 deep down in yo' throat Have you ever seen a big stretch truck like that? Now have you ever seen a big bitch butt like that? Budonkadonk all out of her pants With a bowlegged cowboy stance (Yee-haw)
House real big, cars real big Dick real big, everything real big Rims real big, pockets real big Rings real big, let me tell you how I live. House real big, cars real big Dick real big, everything real big Rims real big, pockets real big Rings real big, let me tell you how I live. House real big, cars real big Dick real big, everything real big Rims real big, pockets real big Rings real big, let me tell you how I live. House real big, cars real big Dick real big, everything real big Rims real big, pockets real big Rings real big, let me tell you how I live.
So Fish Tank season 27. The 'Tank, as Sam liked to call it. This time he was sure he had the formula down, and it was finally going to be funny (except for the parts where the Vietnamese man is on stream, because that guy's hilarious).
Here's the deal: fifteen twelve year olds, one penthouse New York apartment, and we're going to get them to run a business! It's going to be crazy. We're going to get Frank Hassle (wait no, he's dead) We're going to get Peter Perturbance (the better Frank Hassle, in my opinion), and he's going to come in, and every time one of those twelve year olds has some dumb business idea like "I want to make a Spongebob!" or some gay shit, he's going to hold them by their ankles, and dangle them over the balcony! It'll be funny, because it's ironic!
And as he farted, he felt it all slip away. His prestige, his cool image, his razor sharp edge. He was an old, bald man, farting on a Youtube livestream, for an adoring audience of Incels and third world Mongoloids…
"Hoorah for my pop pop Samuel Hudenborg, and his cavalcade of experimental comedy stylings! Truly he has pushed the envelope once again, and I am left astounded! I shall tell my descendants I was there! I was there to watch Samuel, as he sharted his shorts on cam. A tour de force! A Gran Turismo, indeed!"
Samuel Hyde decides to shove a huge black dildo up his ass for his audience. Samuel goes up and down, up and down, up and down, letting out a fart as he does it, jerking his tiny shriveled kike dick for his adoring fans.
ejaculate into his own mouth. He did that cool thing where you put your head and neck on the couch and scoot your ass and back up the wall so your penis is dangling in front of your mouth and then squirted it into a funnel he had in his mouth.
Armond White enters the room, with a big white cigarette hanging from his plump lips. He looks around and asks no one in particular. "The Super Ramon? It would be an honor to meet him, I love his cinematography."
Non ce n'est pas vrai, ça n'a jamais été comme ça ! Tout dépend de la personne ! Il y a des BBC incroyables tout comme il y a des BBC que je ne supporte pas et c'est pareil avec des bites blanches, Il faut goûter à toutes les saveurs ! Au début de ma carrière, quand je suis arrivée aux États-Unis, toutes les filles ne tournaient pas avec des Noirs et moi, en tant qu'Européenne et Italienne, je n'arrivais pas à y croire. Je disais : "Tu es une salope. Tu prends tellement de bites. Quelle est la différence pour toi ? Tu crois que ça fait vraiment une différence ?! »
Aujourd'hui je pense que les choses se sont améliorées. Maintenant si une fille ne tourne pas avec des noirs, elle est considérée comme raciste, à juste titre. Mais j'ai l'impression que lorsque j'ai commencé à tourner aux États-Unis, ce n'était pas comme ça. C'était comme si tourner avec des Noirs était la chose que vous feriez plus tard dans votre carrière et c'était dégoûtant ! Il y a tellement de racisme autour de nous…
Manifested before Sam, kind of in/out of reality at the same time (he's in the internet, but the internet is in Sam's head, get it? I'm not explaining this again. If you're too slow to get it. you shouldn't be reading this. Go and do knitting or something. Go and dig your turnip patch. I don't care bro. This is big brain cyberpunk literature. You HAVE to be smart AND cool to understand it. Comprende?) He manifested before Sam, like the Ghost of Christmas past/present/ AND future. He looked glorious. Fantastic, he looked. He glowwed a glowwy orange, and his pecks were chiselled, and he was naked sans a fig leaf across his groin, which did very little to cover his eight inch floppin' cock. Foreskin intact, and smelling of freshly peppered salami.
He manifested before Sam, and he had a lil grin on his face, and he opened an ornate scroll, and he began to read Sam his sins…
"Gosh golly gee willikers, CHAR-LEE, it's your -FAVORITE- COMEDIAN - SAMUEL HYDE-STIIINE!" squealed Pim like a mischling emaciated pink NIGLET-PIGLET, squiggling his hands to an incessant gay nigga rhythm <TARIQ NASHEED VOICE>.
"Yeah well you know he's kind of nothing in comparison backslash relation forwardslash intergration to Sleepycabin alright - Corey and Stamper and Oney and Hasdel and Tomar and Tomar's Emeralds and -NOT JONTRON- have a whole 'nother COLLECT BLUE SPHERES LEVEL on that NEBULOUS BUSTER BROWN-TOWNCASER and -I- AM NOT MOTHERFUCKING CHARLES CARROL TO THE ILK OF -YOUR!- HERALDING OF STERILED WORLD-RAPE, STUPID NIGLET-PIGLET PIM -" screeched the yellow convexical-in-the-nostril ventricle thingamaboob that was Charlie, employee of Smiling Friends [tm].
Yelled Sam "Kike" Hyde as he was getting railed by nigger dicks from all sides, gangbanged and raped into submission by Jamal and Tyrone grunting violently. One of the uppity niggers slaps the kike's face and even punches him to show who's in charge, leaving him with a bruise. Sam understands and accepts it for what it is, he allows the niggers to humiliate him. His ass taking 5 black cocks at once, squealing like a pig and sucking on a nigger dick like there's no tomorrow, slurping the nigger cum and giving in to his sissy desires. His macho persona, his masculinity, everything that made him a man, completely CRUSHED by niggers.
As Tyrone pounds Sam he yells out, annoyed with his squealing as he slurps on some other nigger's cock "SHUT YO BITCH-ASS UP ALREADY, NIGGA!", as he slaps his ass.
"Okay but seriously Pim this is why I keep telling you not to geolocate to these kind of - I don't know - giga-GAY, like real gay porn - realreal -REAL- buttstuff stuffed - predicating dimensions man, what's the boss gonna think about making some raped hair-cake try to smile -AND- we're witnesses to a fucking sodomite crime dude? You gotta vet these jobs man- look really - gotta vet'm good and hard- first the earth's flat, now this - who even knows what the next episode'll poc-onos IN STORE!"
"Betcha feel like that lil' Marky gurl you fug'd, jew boi…" said the most unhinged, muscular nigger beast, ramming into him more violently than the others. The other niggers feel afraid and back off as the biggest one dominates the kike. He violently thrusts inside, the baboon starts speaking "Wanted to live in da ghetto? Well you will be livin' in de ghetto now, BIATCH! DEEZ IZ YO MUHFUGGEN PUNISHMENT! FO LIFE, BIATCH! AND NO MUHFUGGEN FAN OF YO GONNA SAVE YOUZ NOW! AIN'T NOBODY GON' SAVE YOU, SAMMY! YOU MY BITCH NOW! FO LIFE!"
The gorilla nigger cums buckets inside Sam Hyde's bussy, leaving him with a large leaking gaped hole unable to close. It's over for Sam, he will never recover from this.
"Yeah Charlie you're on to something here next time I won't be all…gung-ho on the just-getting-people-to-smile part because this is beyond fucked up a bit, Charlie. Even if it is Samuel Hydecker himself."
"Haha! Look at me inserting my gay fetishes """"ironically""""", he said, the fetid bulge beginning to pulsate in his boxer-briefs. "I'm not gay! You're gay! I'm not gay! You're gay!", he said, a puddle of warm drool collecting on his 1995 brown-grey keyboard, amid the ancient stains and food crumbs, and little colonies of sun-baked cat hair.
I have an unironic homosexual fantasy about swallowing all you guys' sperm. Can you tell me if that's feasible or not? For me to guzzle down the cummies of everybody that's written a passage in this story (myself included of course)
Which was: I have an unironic homosexual fantasy about swallowing all you guys' sperm. Can you tell me if that's feasible or not? For me to guzzle down the cummies of everybody that's written a passage in this story (myself included of course)
Jesus himself come down to Earth and say to the faggot talking about sperm and having weird rants about Balvin and coons. "Nuzach, my son, Heaven and Hell already know about your homosexual desires and sick fantasies. Repent!"
And just like that, Jack Black had made another gazillion dollars.
He sat, silently amid his piles of money, wearing his tie-dye t-shirt and Minecraft shorts (his comfortably Croc'd feet treading discarded bills, and cast off weed baggies), and he wondered if maybe he had become a joke. A "meme" as the kids say. And he wondered…
Jack Black's pondering was cut short, as the real Steve from the Minecraft movie (as depicted by Jack Black), burst from his 57 inch Plasmaea TV, and into Black's weed themed ball pit. CHICKEN JOCKEY!!! He repeated, squaring Jack Black directly in the eye with a look of steely determination. From his inventory satchel he produced…
>>6107 Ramon truly is the best of us. Where would this website be without his guidance? he's also probably the only real board culture this place has ever come up with