this is entirely irrational but i think some people are such fucked up retards that when they die their body will decompose into a sort of yellow sticky chewy sand that smells like silly putty along with mcdonalds but way way worse and horribly disgusting. this shit never goes away and nothing will ever grow where their body died; it's so toxic that nuclear waste is preferable to it. if you are anywhere near it your mind starts to temporarily deteriorate, and if you touch it you get so diseased in terms of mental capacity and bodily processes that you can't be considered human anymore. i'm talkin like you lose 60 iq points and start being the biggest dipshit possible, while your organs become jello that barely functions and your bones become floppy silicone but you still hold together and survive somehow. your revolting beyond subhuman body will reek of it and the stench will harm anyone you come into contact with, and then when you die you decompose into more of it. you will live solely to unconsciously inflict pointless suffering onto actual humans; all for fleeting moments of nonsensical superiority that you forget about five minutes later.
there is no cure to this. the only hope we have before this ruins the planet is to find individuals who are infected, and in full hazmat gear, capture them and seal them in an airtight metal pod and shoot them off into space so that what they were will never harm anyone else ever again.
if you have natural charisma and are surrounded by shitbags you will never know that you have it.
if someone tells you that should love your parents because they fed/clothed/housed you, they are only trying to dominate you. this argument reduces the child to a mere object and assumes that love should just happen from fulfilling basic needs. to actually think that this is how things ought to be is so shallow that its not human, let alone animalistic, because cats and dogs need more than basic necessities to love a human. with this argument people might as well be akin to cars or computers. "man i put it all together the right way, why ain't it workin'?" (nah fuck that, even worse than an object, because you cant emotionally dominate a car or computer.)
Heritage. Tradition. Family. After twenty generations of smoking, existence has been perfected: the Smoker Clans, working hard in their fields wheezing for the sweet tobacco they subsist on. Clouds of fetid exhaled smoke mark their territory, endlessly emanating from their exposed, pus filled, fluttering lungs. Tumors chock-full of life giving smoke proudly swell from their scabbed-over abscess-covered bodies. They have no teeth, or tongue; only rot fills their mouths.
While the men work, the prime mothers open their lower jaws and out comes the pestilent filth they lovingly scream at. But above all, they rever their ancient grandmother, the Cigarette Matriarch. Outsiders who are spotted are incapacitated with foul black caustic spit for them to be fed to her fifty foot rotting mass.
you want me to wash my hands? sorry, i'm not a FAGGOT.
future drug ape vinegar, non-addictive; a few drops turns you into a complete asshole, imagine the most insane upper management possible. a few more drops and you become utterly out of control taking your clothes off and running around trying to kill and eat people. but then even more drops later, you enter into upper levels of government and become a pizzagate pedo sacrificer. don't forget this is non-addictive.
in the future we won't have dentists, and they'll be made illegal; that's because we won't need them. you'll be able to change the flavor of your rotting teeth. of course, this treatment only changes how you perceive your rotting teeth; it doesn't affect the actual rot itself. any flavor you want... ANYTHING... but the flavors everyone gets are all highly addictive, to the point where you will eventually die of dehydration because you can not stop sucking on your rotting teeth. dehydration dries out your mouth, which only makes the flavor even better. i can imagine some crackhead making exaggerated, "MM, MMMMMMmm!!!!!! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!" sounds constantly as he slowly kills himself. once the addiction gets so bad that they can't stop, and it will inevitably get that bad, they can only survive by being supplemented with interveneous injections of water and calories, or by being sedated so they can have all their teeth removed by an illegal underground dentist. you'll be paying tax out of your universal basic income just to support some rot addict.
rot bimbos, just chewing their rotting cud while leagues of men go "hnnngggg i wish that was me". throw any idea of these women not being despicably ugly out of your mind.
look if there's anything at all you get out of this site, it's for you to brush, floss and rinse your fucking teeth. please, i'm begging you.
Brad Evans, former war hero turned war criminal; for his charges, he was sentenced to death, and held in death row for five years as Prisoner No. 666. He escaped execution by a deal with the prosecutor through which he was committed to a life of oil rig trucking; a highly dangerous form of trucking where the average career of an oil rig trucker would last only months before their televised demise. Nevertheless, after three years on the rigs, he came to be known as a competent trucker, never failing a haul and always keeping his cool despite the many life threatening obstacles on a rig, including the trucks themselves.
The Clod Shovel Stompers must inspect each shovel for its proper springiness before it is to be put on a pallet and delivered to other Clods. They wore the engorged bruises on their foreheads with pride, like a diadem of Clodness.
No Christ. No God. Only Clods.
Archangel Clod stacks Jacob's Ladders 12000x12.
my new name: World Famous Genius Scientist, first name World Famous, middle name Genius, last name Scientist
you shouldn't worry too much about whether your fetishes are fucked up or not; the fact that you worry in the first place shows that you're conscientious and you aren't the type of person who would be completely out of control sexually. don't fucking hate yourself because you're into traps or furries or whatever... seriously worrying fuels a sort of self perpetuated guilt trip where you get addicted to feeling bad about yourself. what you should be concerned with instead is to what degree your sexuality hinders and harms you, rather than worry about some benign object of desire.
in the ancient greek days the philosophers masturbated multiple times daily and tied their cumrags into their clothes. they never ever washed their cumrags and the level of how crusty and disgusting the cumrags were determined seniority.
Something wasn't right about Hitler. Sure, he stared through me with the unfliching gaze of a man who wished to conquer the world, but the aura surrounding him seemed spoiled, almost rotten. It was only when he continued to march towards me, stomping his sneakers on the ground, that I got a closer look, and I then understood. A red baseball cap spouting "Make America Great Again" sat on his head, but that was the least of my worries. Tight around his chest was a blue and white T-shirt that screamed in bold black font "MAGA MILK", and beneath that he wore ass clenching jean shorts exposing his pale thighs. His straining hands at his sides each held a gallon of whole milk with an unyielding grasp so hard that the jugs of milk looked like they were ready to explode. I could only brace for the inevitable battle.