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Hipster Slut 14/07/14(Mon)07:18 No. 17223

File 140531513620.jpg - (8.58KB , 300x168 , th.jpg )

“One sec I’m whetting my blade”. “Well, you’re the hurrier so time is of the essence”. “Thanks, Tiffany”. He took the blade, held it up perpendicular to the ground and let gravity do most of the work of bringing it down since he’s too weak of a fuck to do it himself, slicing off a nice cut of flanken for tonight from his on-the-fritz cow of little to no value to his milk production. “MMAAOOOOOAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMOOOOOOOOOAAA” “Ah shaddup you filthy ruminant”.

Hipster Slut 14/07/14(Mon)07:19 No. 17224

“See? Now he’s a washer…… of the blade. Washing off the blood”. “Tiffany, you’re a fucking retard. I’m a hawser and I’ll fucking noose your head with it, how’s that?”
“Now you’re a swasher. Walking along with an arrogant confidence you can’t shake. So what’s the windup?” “I can’t tell you right now because there’s a strong upwind blowing in my face.” “That’s rude”. “I may be a limmer, but I am slimmer you fat fuck. Altho not as fat as this disgusting dead cow with its sides cut off” “Its sides went into orbit, and died in the process”. “Escape, Tiffany, before it’s too late. You’re not funny”. “Oh, now you’ll be a flogger?” “I’ll ruby your face before I bury it.” “Gonna jelly my limbs, and put gaskets over my casket so I can drown in the blood of my rubied body first?” “I’ll turn you into the veggies we’ll be eating tonight with our flanken”.”

Hipster Slut 14/07/14(Mon)07:20 No. 17225

“Pass the bowl”. “Of..?” “Veggies please.” … “You’re a good chaser. You nearly dismembered my body. If it wasn’t for that twig you tripped over I would have been dead meat! I’ll have to settle for tonight with this enormous eschar you created on my back as well as with the damage to my body from the bout of acapnia I endured during your relentless chase after my dead body.” “Don’t be a libber, Tiffany. You’re a big girl. In more ways that one.” “There are peptides in these veggies. They’ll make me thin”. “Do you even know what peptides are?” “No. Regardless, are you nippling the purity of my intelligence with mounds of horse shit?” “Those points of interest aren’t mounds. They’re holes through and through for ferrets to readily build a nest inside. You’re a mongol.” “And you’re a sawney. Maybe this is all an improv to test the patience of the delicate, fragile, mosaic construction of your character. I am the cames of your mosaic portrait that hold you together with super glue. Without me, you fall apart.” “I’ll be treading the mudflats for allium. You’re a filthy vixen.” “I’ll join you to uplift your spirits.” “I’ll be the lyncher if you do.” “I’ll see what death is like then. It’s a long enough walk that I’ll probably starve to death before we even get there.”

Hipster Slut 14/07/14(Mon)07:57 No. 17227

“An hour in I’m already getting exhausted.” “Good. Maybe you’ll be gone for good this time.” “I’m so fearful. Ok, so when I utter the phrase “I’m the fattest”, I want you to come up with a pangram on the fly. Okay?” “Why don’t you go lick the dewdrops off the leaves to efficiently make use of your remaining energy, giving you a slightly better chance of surviving this voyage? You’re so fat you’re already gasping for air an hour in. At a pace even my great grandmother Ethel can walk. … My prayer has been answered, look, Tiffany, a preyer! You have the most meat. With you’re cometic size, you’ll be first.” “Thanks for your remark. You’re a /healthy/ marker on my self-confidence. … You’re joking about the preyer… These are virtually drylands. Nothing besides us can exist here.” “Another smidge of your intelligence: gone. Just like that, Tiffany. Wildlife abundant at every corner you turn. Expend your remaining energy on your brain instead. Maybe you can come up with a brilliant idea, or use just a tiny ounce of brain power to save yourself from this creature ready to kill us. I’ll give you something to think about: What is a nonpro? No, it’s not something that describes you, Tiffany. I wouldn’t give you a word that so blatantly tells you that you suck, poor Tiffany. It’s an actual term used formally in a field of interest.” “No, you’re totally hinting that I suck. Fuck, I’m already getting a suntan.” A creature unidentifiable to them from the sheer ignorance of the world outside of their hovel in which they remain most of their lives approaches. “Oh, look! Vicious! I think he’s ready to take a bioptic specimen from your flesh Tiffany! The allure of your skin is like that of a medaka to us: Shiny, attractive, and irresistible!” “He looks a little wiggier than you. Rabies?”

Hipster Slut 14/07/14(Mon)09:09 No. 17230

“Flicker a weapon around and maybe we can sledge his body back to our neck of the woods so that we can render our voyage for allium futile.” “Your fickle desires change so rapidly!” “Why don’t you suck my lolly, you whore? This is a life saving decision. Ok, fine, let’s continue our trek for allium then, completely forgetting there’s a monster viciously exposing and grinding its teeth at us. Turning our backs away means we’ll be easy bagasse for this goddamn beast which will make a seabag out of our organs for other prey in this sea of forestry. I’m pitying this decision of going in the first place. Tiffany, what the fuck are you doing podding the tiniest bean stalk imaginable at a time like this?” “Calm down, sweets. Relax. I’m not podding anything. I’m trying to make tatami with the provided vegetation for the chanoyu ritual I learned and want to show you. Just stop caring and maybe he will go away. Maybe the least he will do is rip the barbels of the medaka hair off your face. You look better without all that fucking hair. Sit down, I brought tea.” “You’re literally the stupidest idiot on the planet. Why am I slabbering?” “Sit down.”

The tiger roared like a rabbling crowd, which the two pretended were noises of passersby observing their chanoyu ritual.

“Next, you have to uptilt your cuppa like so, so that the liquid falls like rain upon your tongue.” “How much of this shit do you have?” “Cansful.” “Don’t need to get too literary, dear intelligent Tiffany. Canfuls sounds better, probably isn’t obsolete and is probably used currently, and probably makes generally more sense than cansful.” “Whoa, chill out. Didn’t the narrator that has been following us, unwelcomely narrating our lives for 27 years just say the word passersby? What difference does it make? Passerbys I don’t think even works, so there’s a good reason to believe cansful is more proper.” “Look, Tiffany, I’m the tosser of your brain to the beast. It’s useless anyway, what matters?”

Hipster Slut 14/07/15(Tue)07:22 No. 17232

“It’s like 3 feet behind you. Don’t turn around.” “If we had squamae like armadillos—-“ “—Or medakas” … “Yes, or medakas, Tiffany. If we had squamae like medakas, would the bony outer covering safely protect us from the crunch?”

The ignorance of animals and their biology persists.

“Seriously, who the fuck invited you? Fuck off. Did you, Tiffany?” “No, but he makes my vulvate skin moist. He has chosen to live most of his pointless life around people he doesn’t even know. In the face of sheer rejection, he persists. That’s sexy.” “Going to add a tinge of dunness to your face while you kiss his butthole some more?” “No, but I’m about to light the remaining fucking tea afire if you don’t shut up.” “Good, you can be my linkman in this darkening forest, Tiffany.” “It’s getting late!” “No, Tiffany. We left at 2 in the afternoon. It’s the clouds overhead blocking out the sunlight. Does that make sense, Tiffany? But fear not, there’ll be chinks of direct sunlight approaching now and again.”

The tiger circles around them like a child with autism around nothing.

“Just ignore him.” “But he’s really irritating.” “I think tha——“

Little do they know that everyone has feelings, some of which are more conspicuous in some people than in others.

Hipster Slut 14/07/17(Thu)06:44 No. 17233

“I’m a skeptic. If that was true, you would have /felt/ boredom after the first month.” “Just shut up about him already. He’ll probably picket outside our house for twenty something years against everything that we’re saying of him right now.”

“Is it odd that my mouth is attracted to the thing ready to savage us, but the rest of my body is not?” “You’re not a scientific enigma, Tiffany. Hundreds of you wouldn’t form a micelle around the beast, Tiffany. Those sort of behaviours are lemmata that you’re overweight.” “Well, I’m running out of gas.” “There isn’t enough gas in the forest to quench and satisfy your digestive desires, because you instead require avgas, of enormous proportions.” “Will there be a day when you don’t make mention of my weight?” “Will there be a day you don’t look at our talcum powder hungrily? If someone didn’t know any better, they’d think you’re pregnant because that would explain your size and your pica-like, anything-will-do appetite, but we know that pregnancy cannot be true since it would be quite a strain on my or anyone’s back to locate the place in which to go further with our penises.” … “Can your fat take the brunt of the blow if I slam your body down at a point near the cliff, where you’ll fall through bringing down with you the rock between you and the cliff? If so, we can use your gargantuan body to escarp the cliff ahead, allowing for a smooth, safe ride down for me. That way, we can both turn out alive. No, I’m kidding, I’m pretty sure there’s already an escarpment ahead. But I’m uncertain of the distance… Like a kilometre for me but seemingly a parsec for you. If we can run fast enough and ease our way down we can evade this fucker. How fast can you run?”

Hipster Slut 14/07/17(Thu)08:24 No. 17234

“Not fast, and you can probably guess why. Altho I’ll lippen your confidence that something which can probably run fiftyfold faster than us won’t catch up to us in the kilometre dash.”


“HAHA holy fuck you can run faster than the narrator. Look at this!” “For the first time ever he has been given a reason to run. He’s having a hard time adapting because he only exercises his mouth all day.” “Well, so do you.” “Yeah, well if I can beat him it clearly says something about our level of fitness relative to our weight.”

“Guess what?”


“I’m the fattest.”

“… I know.”

“Oh. Umm.. Forlorn by a pursuit I know I can not escape, I have no problem admitting now that our zealous neighbour Andrea with her idiotic male partner is the only person I have ever closely related to since we live nearly identical household milieux——““——Blabbing away until you assume a good chance of using every letter. Shorter please, you’re a fucking cheater.”

“The unquenchable vixen unzips my jeans, kneels down, and bobs on my mighty wiener.”

“OOOHHH! Forgot the “F”, but good try!”

“Fuck you.” There.

“Heart-warming last words. It’s what everyone wishes to hear last, moments before their departure. I’m living the dream!”

“Apparently not. It’s humping the narrator on the ground. Did you even hear the fall?” “No, the only time he utters a vocalization is when it’s a narrative commentary of our lives.” “Not true. I remember hearing a shriek when we nearly went overboard on grandpa’s pinkey boat.” “That was a forced vocalization because his chest cavity was forcefully and quickly compressed against the side of the boat from force of the tide.” “Wonder if he felt like shit after more for going against his code of conduct than the physical pain that ensued.”

Hipster Slut 14/07/19(Sat)20:00 No. 17237

“Didn’t you miss class today, Tiffany?” “Oh, I forgot. But I suppose seeing some random guy being humped by an intimidating beast makes worth the missing out on things I won’t miss.” “I wouldn’t want you to fail class and get stupider for not getting the education you need. Go on.” “Becalm your worries. I am quite happy where I stand intellectually.” … “What’s an osmole?” … “Exactly. It’s important to know that without the effects of osmosis, you wouldn’t have the allium we need to survive because it allows plants to draw water from the soil. An osmole is the number of mols of a solute needed to stop the flow of a permeable pure solvent through a membrane towards an area containing the solution. Thankfully, the salty dermis layer in the root, saltier than the soil, doesn’t allow for considerable amounts of permeation of water back into the soil. Almost an osmole, but not quite. Oxygen, and water, is released when needed by the stomata, tiny “valves”, or openings in the foliage that open and close when necess—“ “—Bye.”
“No! I’m not done quizzing you! It’s fun to see how much you don’t know to make me feel better about myself! Come back!! WHAT’S A TALUKA?! OR SYNONAMOUSLY, A TAHSIL?” … “I’LL BRICK OUR HOUSE WITH ADOBE CLAY IF YOU TELL ME!!”

“I. Don’t. Know. Tell me, what the FUCK is a taluka?”
“A place you should be thankful you don’t live, you spoiled object.”

The-e-e-e two-o pA-Ar-Ar-Ar-t wA-Ay-Ay-Ays, Wah-Ah-Ah-Ahn f-Oh-Ohr the-e-e f-Oo-Oo-Ood, th-e-e Ugh-the-e-er f-Oh-Ohr the-E-e ed-u-U-u-cay-sh-u-Un sh-e-e n-Ee-Ee-ds.

Hipster Slut 14/07/19(Sat)20:58 No. 17238

A tetrad of dinner plates forming the end-points of a cross mark a distinct feature on the dinner table (the misemployed jorum in the middle, of course, for ossa). "Is this where Jesus Christ died? On our food?" "No, hunh, there isn't any food on the table.". "Are we poor?". "No, but I ~am~ preparing poori and borsht. Perhaps you can humble your arms akimbo to that of a reasonable taste by adjusting them to a sedentary posture in front of the table". "You mean behind the table" "No, the table does not face a particular direction, it is circular. If you want to argue which shade of #000000 to use, then you can find interest on your own time. I'm busy."

Hipster Slut 14/07/19(Sat)21:02 No. 17239

"You asinine clodpate, we went from having a civilized discussion to talking about colors." "Well, it would first help to remind you that I AM an oratrix and a significant member of the Notre Amour de l'Apprentissage cenacle, which entails utilizing figures of speech as an efficacious and convenient means to get points across. This also entails reasoning, a concept which your cranium's melange of contents may never find light to apprehension. As a consequence, talking to you is like trying to explain the fundamental laws of nature to an avaricious magnate." "..What? What's an oratrix? Don't you mean dominatrix?" "Why don't you take a seat and focus your inextinguishable energy on telekinetically bending your fork to a 45 degree angle?" "What if I want to telekinetically bend you over obtusely?" "First of all, "obtuse" is a constituent of the phrase "obtuse angle" and is thus rendered unalterable from an adjective to an adverb. Secondly, if you do use it as an adverb, it would derive from the other sense of the adjective meaning "annoyingly stupid", which perfectly exemplifies your behaviour right now."

Hipster Slut 14/07/19(Sat)21:15 No. 17240

"Are you my mother?" "That is n--""--Answer me, are you my mother?" "No. But you need creative assistance and I don't want you to starve." "My mother's assistance wasn't characterized by incessant negativity of an unadulterated bitch. Perhaps you can practice identifying with my mother's attributes." "Yeah? And those attributes conduced to where you've ended up." "Lool. Imma go stravaig. Yo blue-footed booby! My, what lovely bastard wings you have. Would you mind if I take a ride? The engine's maximum speed was deliberately derated to a speed by which hasty hank would not find trouble. Hopping up astride, he unfurled the sails and attached them to the mast, and set sail. "I like this fluyt. Its shape at a comfortable distance reminds me of my smile.”

Hipster Slut 14/07/19(Sat)21:28 No. 17241

The sail's fabric has a fremd design on it tho: several parabolic arches diverging from a common ori---"It's a flower, Tim" ... "Tim, are you a schizophrenic?". "I don't know, Bruce. Are you?" "No." ... "Did you know if you reverse the word 'no' you get 'on'?", "No. I didn't, Tim. Tell me what else you know." "'nametag' is the reversal of 'gateman', you can overlap 'borderlines' with 'orderliness', and 'gastronome' with 'astronomer'. 'anemone' is actually reversely embedded in 'phenomena', so is 'illegal' in 'flagellin'. 'desserts' is the reversal of 'stressed'. 'visu---"Thanks, Tim, but I need to go fetch me some desserts to chase away its reversal you induced on me." ... "You can help yourself to the poori my virago made. I'm sure she altered the simple recipe with countless soupçons of trifling homeopathic ingredients that she deemed necessary for quality taste." ... "Would it have paprika?". "Undoubtedly, and a chiliad of others" "Can you name any others?" "I don't know. I know as much about food as you do about tensor calculus." ... "I'm in".

Hipster Slut 14/07/19(Sat)21:57 No. 17242

But "in" where? Philosophers have pondered this paradox for ages. Was he thinking empirically or a priori? If you stand alfresco, "in" must denote an area beneath the earth's surface. Down past the topsoil; past the subsoil; past the karstic subterranean hollows of corroded limestone by pH 4-5 carbon-acidified rainwater. Where is he "in"? Perhaps he is "in" the universe? With"in" the sun's gravitational influence? Tim didn't give two flying-projectile shits, however, because he was busy calculating the physiognomy of a disfigured child with triangular eyes who was mouthless and had approached him asking for money. "If vanfuls of clones of this child encapsulated my personal space, would I be able to escape? Something has to be true, I just can't figure out what."

Hipster Slut 14/07/19(Sat)22:52 No. 17243

"HAHA HOHOOO BO SKKKKKKEEEEE :!! gagawaka cha ching", child (x) proclaimed.
Tim couldn't figure out how x made any sense. How did x prolong the velar voiceless stop that is "K" in "SKE"? Tim gazed into the sunset connecting the dots between "what the fuck is going on with this child" and "there's a plate of leftover borsht waiting for me.". X gripped its tibiae and pushed them back dorsally so that its patella dropped and impacted the earth's surface with the force of the product of the unit of gravity and the amount of time it took to hit the ground relative to the distance between it and the earth. This effect dispensed a note from X's frons, which read "Amid this tumult, it is your fault; rather, all posterity, for the sapient sapiens are nothing more than slowpoking emulations of our lithe prehistoric genera, falling into the depths of oblivion. Boulders and pebbles alike are always casting perils over our infinitesimal world."

Another note printed through the space between x's eyes. "Do not disclose what I am confiding to you. There is not such a thing as a confined solar system. A solar system, in real terms, is only the ambit which you, as a collective collaboration of scientists, declare the threshold of acceptable distance from the Sun. It seems jocular to the alien eye to assume from an earthen standpoint a boundary in which rock orbits and out from which nothingness diffuses and perpetuates to the next stellar system. We are, in fact, in a universe of sintered, coagulated rock which coalesced from the elements emitted from the beginning of time. Yes, there's a Kuiper Belt and Oort cloud. There's also a Wow That's Far, It's So Far We Can't Detect It, And It Takes Absolutely Forever To Make One Whole Revolution Around The Sun cloud, and a Negligible cloud too. What you see, with regard to our Sun and every other star, is when a gravitational body grasps a hold of its surroundings, it acquires a hold of the game, wins it, and becomes a flaming hot ball sucking in everything smaller or less dense than itself.

The enormous gravitational influence gradually abating outward, but existing infinitely in all directions, has a profound effect on the rocks near the body. The rocks coalesce to planets with the help of its star in a process uncountably faster than universal entropy.
And of course all of this is orbiting a black hole. Like a star owning its set of planets through immense gravitational influence, a black hole (once a star itself) likewise owns its set of stars. A quasar is on its way to evolve into something beyond our comprehension. All central black holes (galaxies) are orbiting Something so incredibly massive and those countless Somethings are orbiting Something even greater. It's an entropic survival of the fittest for rocks, all of which compete for the most gravity, and eventually become stars at a gravitational threshold and black holes at a greater gravitational threshold. What the stars do is feed off smaller rocks with substantially weaker gravity.

If a star gathers all of the rock from its surroundings, the outer rocks would be too far away to provide the star its required energy to maintain survival before the fuel is spent, releasing its materials. As a rock accumulation gets a certain size, increasing pressure at its center overcomes the intermolecular force threshold of atoms, triggering a molten core. What is the state of matter in the centre of a small rock on Earth? Solid. What about our large planet's core? Liquid. What happens when the the body gets so large that the entire body becomes a ball of molten rock? The centre becomes gaseous, likewise, What comprises the centre of the incomprehensible size of the Sun? Gas. The Sun is 1.3 million times larger than Earth. The surface of the Sun is therefore, and of course, gas. The centre is plasma.

What becomes of a Sun when it evolves to a black hole? It embarks on a new journey emitting waves undetectable to our senses. The size of an object is commensurate with its state of matter (solid --> gas).
Our planet is very slowly, but surely, inching towards the Sun with every revolution, like a very lengthy, seemingly forever, inward spiral. Gravity eventually gets everything. Mercury will be next to feed the Sun.
Once, a vast core collided with another (Big Bang) and ejected microscopic rock fragments, or today, galaxies, in all directions. These tiny grains, after millions of years, coalesced to pebbles, from pebbles to boulders, from boulders to planetoids, from solid small planetoids to molten liquid planets, from molten liquid planets to gaseous large planets, from large gaseous planets to stars, from stars with orbiting planets to black holes, from black holes with orbiting stars to greater black holes…… and so on. Do not adhere to the notion of dark matter, it's a complex idea that cannot be proven. Likewise, it does not exist. The universe is simply collecting the rock it spewed out at the beginning of our time through the process of gravity. Gravity; the key force; the Hungry, never fails an endless process."
X walked over to its parents, which Tim discerned to be two rocks covered in moss.

Hipster Slut 14/07/19(Sat)23:29 No. 17247

Tim, upon the sudden realization that he just wasted 5 minutes of his life, sprinted home with a speed that overtook Bruce for the bowl of borsht atop a sheeny argent platter. Sunlight illuminated through the oriel of his dwelling, and onto the viand like a spotlight directed with purpose. "This is the porringer of God. We are splitting it ... I saw that guy next door do this." He held the cutlas his harridan threatened to use last week if he didn't comply with her orders in front of him and with a strike perpendicular to the floor along the centre of the bowl and harder than the force of gravitational free fall, he relocated the bowl asunder across the room. "It's everywhere." "Was that a comedic strategy or are you serious, Tim? What am I even doing here?" "Picking up the bowl and licking the food off the floor for generating more hell into this domicile"…"That's her?"

"Yes. Men alike have expressed common uxorial issues apparently." "I imagined she would be leather-clad, brandishing a strop of pliant steel….He proposed the offer, madame." "You are standing next to a famished humanoid who, before having the opportunity of eating 3 hours ago, left the dinner table out of a whim. You are as doltish as him for accepting such a loose offer from a complete stranger. Lick it." "Can I opt for mopping?" "There is no mop or any cleaning utensil in the vicinity. However, your tongue has taste buds, so you will taste the food you came here for." "But I didn--" "--An idea to literally split the dish in half, put into practice in my absence unobstructed, has left a fuckload of unnecessary operose toil that neither he nor I would have to do had your arrival not occurred."

"I would prefer not to contract insidious ailments by interacting with pathogens… What is the white stuff?" "It's the liquified portion of bird shit… Sour cream, you lummox." "Perhaps I can get eudaemonic solatia of considerable value and get on my way?" The churl looked askance at his proposal and tacitly gestured and exacted her command. Like a Muslim in a mosque, he kneeled before his kafirs and got to work. "You know, I don't ask for much, and I can be a nice person, but I've always wanted a butler to relieve the burden of menial tasks. However I prefer not to expend my loose cash so I think I'll have to downgrade to slavery." … "Is this menial task being regarded as your venial sin, O Genial One? If licking your shoes clean is not next, I cannot imagine what is. Garrotte me with your strop already."

"Who do you think I am? You should be thanking me for strengthening your immune system. Jesus christ. Before we know it, being exposed to any open-air situation will be a great fear for us, for having avoided virtually all contact with the external world for an epoch or two our immune systems will be completely depleted and our lymphatic systems imploded." "I will lick your floor and shoes clean if you shower my phallic or scrotal region in amylase." "Why? To break down the cheese? Given that your uncontrollable desire for food made you perspire and exert more effort than necessary along a 3 and a half mile odyssey, your genitals now emit the stench of a Long John Silver's dumpster baking in the heat of a thousand suns. I would rather sing Rebecca Black's Friday to a coma than to eternally long to forgive myself for nearing towards personal areas of one of nature's greatest aesthetic mishaps. I can appreciate a jocular euphemism, though. Good effort."

"Oh! This looks delicious! Let me join!" "Tiffany, get up. Who invited you to walk through my door without my permission? Furthermore, how did you fit through my door?" "Andrea, please. The chums on the television program "Friends" walk in on each other without permission all the time." "But you aren't my friend. And even then, I'd question their friendship as either nothing but a giant sex orgy, or just a bunch of lunatics who haven't developed social cues."

Hipster Slut 14/07/20(Sun)01:00 No. 17250

"My sensors are tingling over this soup!" "Those aren't sensors. Those are viral diseases hitting your tonsils causing a ruckus. Let me know when you feel the burning, blazing pain of braxy." "Isn't braxy for sheep?" "Don't confuse yourself for another species, Tiff. You're filthy, pudgy, whiny, white and disgusting."

Maintaining his insouciance with aplomb, Tim's acquaintance refrained from imparting the contradictions in her logic for fear of the rage that he imagined could only ensue like a barrage of technologically refined poison darts attracted to the flow of veinal blood, as the venomous, caustic nature of her ripostes would eat away and corrode his self-assurance and humility upon further musing. He was indeed aware of this.

“Thanks for speaking on my behalf, weirdie.”
"Hey! You've joined a new crew, mister narrator! Hope we didn't hurt your "feelings"!"
“I’m about to clobber him over the head. Why don’t you take him back? I had my back turned stirring about the soup, when, unexpectedly, I heard an elaborate description of the kitchen from the corner wall there. At first I thought my sanity clocked out for the day, but I turned around and saw a man with one of the most vacant stares into ethereal nothingness that I have ever seen. I was about to grab my ophitic rock collection from my attic for purposes which are not friendly to the delicate ear, but after realizing that this man beholds the truest definition of ‘absent-mindedness’, I knew he was harmless. My time with him alone at the dinner table was not silent at all. It was a nonstop narrative of first-impression descriptions of myself and the ignoramus that left 20 minutes prior... Then I remembered for so many years he was following you. He is yours. Kindly, take him back.” “We have no control over him. He just remains seated or standing where he is and only speaks when there’s a conversational pause and after a lengthy stretch of time without his narration unless we move. He just sat beside my bed once next to my vanity, and I asked him to be the frizzer and frizz my hair! Nothing. Not a muscle moved indicating receptivity of my request. He seemed to stare into outer space until new action arrived.” “Well, then. He can make himself useful by taking the place of my millrun. From this point onward, until he gets tired and leaves, he will rotate my noria. Don’t worry, I can’t do anymore damage to his dignity than that which he has done to himself. If he fails to execute this for as long as I live, I will set ablaze his rear and watch him squeal to death.” “He won’t squeal.” “Then I will hold my bilboa to his head and gently stroke his skin with the sharp, long, infinite number of serrations running along the length of the entire blade, with each stroke a strengthening pressure applied until he at least gives a narrative of how he’s feeling and what he will do. How’s the soup, sayyid?”

Hipster Slut 14/07/21(Mon)09:37 No. 17254

“Being forced to do something totally against my will. You tell me, how do you think I feel about the soup?” “Much to think about, thank you. Do you see that boy you followed here? Just yesterday, he ripped out all the awlworts from my aquarium because he thought the pebbles which made up the aquarium floor were like potatoes and thereby grow sprouts when you desert them. He then ate them for reasons which he claims were not only an economic favour for my wallet by eating gratuitous gifts from nature, but also a household favour for me by getting rid of “the aquatic pests lurking about the stuff on the surface”. This is the same boy who befriended you today, and who, to my surprise, found someone with whom he could marginally relate. To ask the question of “how do you think I feel about eating stuff of the floor”, when /this/ clueless potato devoured every last awlwort from my aquarium which remained naturally “uncleaned” for several years, would involve an answer which is based on assumption, because, as the laws of nature report, the people you befriend are much like yourself.“ “I’m not a potato.“ “You are what you eat, no? … Be limpsey no more, child. If Sir Potato will offer to lick the floors clean when I don’t feel like doing housework, I’m sure you would be just as thrilled for the free meal which originally started in a bowl, but ended up on a floor.”

“Nah. Tiffany seems to be making substantial progress.”

Ah, but indeed, it has been now made obvious that Tiffany, with her enormous appetite, can use some brain power after all in coming up with an efficient way of slurping up the soup off the floor… that is, by using a straw. Sapiosexuals all over the world would gaze with approval and sexual urges upon her burlap legs which now exhibit a soupy sheen that glistens brightly in the sun. What a spectacle.

Hipster Slut 14/07/22(Tue)03:44 No. 17258

“And zoophilics would be on cloud nine watching that beast humping your sorry ass.”

“I think you are a beautiful person, Tiffany.” “Oh, God. Narrator might be right. … I should have stayed in bed. In one way or another, there will be a carcase lying on the floor by the end of the day, I’m sure of it. And it will be up to me to hide it away and let it disintegrate in marsh waters.” “…The narrator whose head you cut off since he didn’t respond the way you wanted.” “Tiffany, I think you’ve had enough voicing in this house for today. Why don’t you get up off the floor, and kindly excuse yourself away?” “I probably won’t be able to fit through the door now after all this soup!” “Very astute. Come downstairs with me and I will disassemble the door and its frame for you. Come.”

“I appreciate you undertaking all this work just for me.” “Oh, no problem. It’s the least I can do to show my appreciation for your exit. Creating a passage large enough for you is my way of lending a helping hand; building a bridge; showing that there is a world better suitable for you out there than over here.” “What is it about me you don’t like?” “The whole shmear… of butter on the burnt toast that is you.” “But your guy is like the same as me. You call him stupid, you call me stupid. The only difference is that I’m a girl.” “Also that you’re a whale. Did you know that a female whale is called a cow?” “Wasn’t I a sheep earlier?” “Connect the dots, sweetie. A sheep is a ruminant, and a cow is a ruminant. You’re the hybrid of a whale, a cow, and a sheep. No, to truthfully answer your question, it’s that you attempt to use your head to get by. Tim doesn’t. I would rather watch someone live life not trying, recognizing that they are virtually retarded, than someone who tries, but fails at the things others would deem second nature. Disregarding your weight, you’d fit in snugly with the geekdom of computer addicts with glasses and a sense of intellect that is not anymore elaborate than a simple knowing of every weapon and item in their game. … Damn it, I knew the head screw indentation was too large for this one. Do you think your shirt will turn to a stammel if I let you through?” “Maybe. Or, maybe I’ll turn out the carcase today.” “Yes, maybe. This will be a challenge. … … Okay, now who the fuck are you and why are you standing on my property?” “Hi!” “That’s my school friend ready for another boring day at school.” “But how does she know that you’re here?” “I told her?”

“And what is your name?” “My parents didn’t give me a name. Why subject a child to the psychologically damaging effects of gender idealization?” “Yep. That would explain the rancid dreadlocks. For pete’s sakes, THIS is your friend, Tiffany?” “Neighbour, the way my hair is, is not a name which is societally identifiable. They are not dreadlocks. They are called fimbriae, to be anatomically technical.” “Embracing your deep, inner touch with nature, I see … With your “fimbriae” and your non-aromatic oils seeping off your head onto the rest of your wholesome vertebrate self.” “Tiffany, you can do better than this. THAT is rock bottom.”

Hipster Slut 14/07/27(Sun)06:26 No. 17259

this sucks

Hipster Slut 14/07/29(Tue)17:30 No. 17262

What are you expecting? Laughter? Something interesting? Please see J. K. Rowling's series for that!

Hipster Slut 14/08/04(Mon)21:01 No. 17269

… … …

“So I was like, Lady, you can take your day from bad to good, just as easily as you can take it from good to bad. Let’s work together and get high off the good vibes. And she says “the moment everything becomes joyous and happy is when the illusion begins”. What a miserable bitch! I was just there to pick up Tiffany!”

“Alright students, sex ed will be about what I think homosexuality is.

[“This is totally inappropriate.”]

“You see, some families are hyper attentive to detail and show their kids that being excessively clean should be highly prioritized. This is making children like you, who get into the habit of caring about having every nook and cranny of yourself clean, wipe your buttholes with a considerable force that compresses and stimulates both male and female prostates. The prostate can be seen as a gland that rewards you pleasure for temporarily passing through shit. If it is over stimulated by our practices, it has an effect on our psychology, whether from the effects of secretions, pleasure, or other factors relating to it. Maybe the prostate houses the other sex organs that never grew because your gender was already decided from the beginning. So by stimulating it, you exercise it and secrete stuff related to hormones. This makes it grow and slowly turn you into the opposite gender you are, as many of you homosexuals appear to behave so.”

“Ms. Clobberhead, we normally would think you are crazy. But, I just recalled some recent student gossip about your interest in pot. You are absolutely maniacal and being totally inappropriate in ANY situation as this is nothing at all relevant to truth and our learning. Stop smoking marijuana and continue forward with our class learning indicated on the curriculum.”

“Nameless, what is a vector?”

… “It’s an arrow you use in math.”

“You see, Nameless, it’s not like you listen anyway. So it really wouldn’t matter if I talk about what I think, or if I talk about science, because either way, it will pass right through you as words jumbled together to form a sentence. A vector is much more than an arrow, it defines a point in space that has a magnitude and a direction.”

Hipster Slut 14/08/04(Mon)21:54 No. 17271

… … "Let’s talk to homosexual Josh. Hi Josh. Can you tell us if you like a nice prostate rub?”

“Ughhh. Not really. I sexually identify as what the gay community calls a “top”, which means I don’t enjoy having my prostate rubbed during sexual activity.”

“Oh, yes, but, how you identify sexually is not related to whether or not you enjoy a prostate rub. Heterosexuals prefer to do the work with a female in the bed, yet can get aroused by a prostate rub. It may affect some in youth to change who they are orientationally, Josh. For all I know, despite your positional preference, you probably enjoy a prostate rub when you hold in your shit by crossing your legs, pushing and squeezing your glutes to push it back up the other way to simulate the to and fro motion of anal stimulation, without getting crap everywhere."

“Ughhh.. Yea, you're right. But hasn’t homosexuality existed before we started wiping our bums?”

“I’m pretty sure the humanoids who drew pictures of two men sharing affection on walls had an ass crack like we do. As they walked and sweat with shit stains everywhere, rashes formed. I suspect wiping was an effective way to clean even when we relied on the ocean or leaves.”

“I’ve got this on tape, I’m giving this to the principal! She will not be pleased.”

~Tchhh~ “I’m listening. I’ll save you the trip.”

“Did you catch all that?”

~Tchhh~ “She’s tellin’ it like it is. Attagirl.”

Hipster Slut 15/07/23(Thu)03:59 No. 17443

.. "So, I noticed that you told Ms. Clobberhead to stop smoking pot, Nameless, when you do it yourself; dressing up to the extent that your fimbriae are bundled together like fagots [heh] to take the shape of the joints you roll."

"Well not ne--"..".... Hold. Did narrator just laugh?" "I'm not sure. I was busy blabbing."

An air of mystery diffuses through the souls of the two elegant, beauti-[heh]-ful, and graceful ladies as they decide on the motives of an individual they hardly notice. Interestingly, that sh--"Excuse me. Aren't you supposed to be rotating Andrea's noria?"--ver case it may be.


"I've listened to you narrate your present life experience for 50 hours straight with god-tier patience, I've had to exhume your head from the ground after you severely twisted your ankle while imitating the behaviours and sprinting velocity of an ostrich. I've also watched you impersonate an authoritarian figure, endangering your life to a far-left liberal. Never hitherto have I suppressed so much vexation--where are you going? TIM." "Oh, what? Sorry I was pondering some---""---Tim, something is seriously wrong with you. How could you even consider for one………..moment……… that ….. . . … …that? bat, cat, shat, mat. A cat and a bat shat on a mat. Why are bat-infested caverns never clogged even half-way with guano? Those fuckers eat and defecate like Manuel Uribe phasing out sexaginti-horal diarrheic explosions.
Imagine soaring in unison with thousands of your comrades to the forceful rhythm of the wind like a desultory improv dance known by all. We would add another sport to the olympics and dub it "Wind-surfing"; wind-surfing at fear-inducing altitudes; not impeded by any physical object; freedom; knowing your place and nanoscale importance in the world; discerning a slightly more spherical shape to the home we have called flat for thousands and thousands of years. Birds have known the secret longer than we have! Those fucking bastards. Maybe that's why they sing more mellifluously than us. While humans burnt a man at the stake for claiming that the Earth may be round and that there may be an infinite number of worlds like ours, birds discovered our wonder hundreds of thousands of millennia before we did and found mates by synchronizing their joyous, universal, celebratory tune with another.
Like finding synchrony in direction and V-shape teamwork, they also find synchrony and pitch perfection of tune. They are more strategic and beautiful than I thought. Hey, you know what, avian blobs of shit? We think we're better than everyone else despite the fact that we aren't equipped with any special physicality but intellect, we're too conceited to admit we're wrong, and the canaille are too naive and tenacious to recognize we are progressively but surely tainting our atmosphere with poison to potentially dangerous levels, only acting when our lives are threatened. FUNNY FOR A SPECIES EQUIPPED WITH OUR ONE AND ONLY USEFUL ADAPTATION. WHATEVER. FUCK YOU AND YOUR JOY, BIRDIES. Birdies; badminton; soaring through the wind across the net.
The joy of flying has been reduced to being half-barricaded by a seine attached to poles buried in the ground at each end, across which the birdie's continuous, 200m^2 confined grace is dependent upon two sets of dexterous hands which are responsible for its consistently smooth to-and-fro trajectory. FUCK YOU BIRDIES. INEVITABLY BLOCKED AND SHAT ON. DONE. I WIN. Win: bolded, underlined, italicized, comic-sans'ed, font sized 84, royal blued, bordered-------------------TIM, TIM LISTEN TO ME, GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. Never invite ANYONE over again. Ever heard of a stranger coming in and shoving their fist up your ass, torturing and dismembering you, and eating your hallux like a drumstick and your pollex like a drumlet? Now you have." "What? Your friends always distinguish you for your shrewdness. I feel that I beg to differ. In any case, at least your OCD would resolve your stress by counting over and over my body of three clean-sliced pieces." "Alright, where's the cangue? See me in the attic, prompto!"

Hipster Slut 15/07/23(Thu)04:58 No. 17445

"Oh, hello. This looks about right. 3 hours pass and this clueless waif still remains in my residence after I /politely/ shovelled him out. How the hell did you get back in? Did the direction you were intending to travel confuse you, leading you back to my place under the impression that it was your own?" "...I never left in the first place. You just told me to leave. Maybe you are thinking of Tiffany who you brought to the door." "Yes, equally undesirable; easy to confuse. It was my mistake for not rescuing the bowl in time which I could have dumped on your head to ensure that the trail of borscht dribbling from your head led out the door." "And Tiffany could have slurped it clean for you instead." "Isn't that true? And behold, your re-arrival magnetized her direction. Unfortunately, she's approaching my house again with her smelly friend. Inseparable stupidity." ... "What the fuck do you want, Tiffany?"

Andrea, without interrupting the grace of their approach, gazes at the aerobic piaffe of Tiffany's /naturally/ energetic friend from the doorway, the lintel of which slightly dismantled from Tiffany's recent passage through it. Her comment is expected to be uttered in three... two...

"Are you competing for the smelliest hair or the Special Olympics' dash? ... One moment please, I have a nuisance in the house that might have been asked to visit the furnace which would serve as their makeshift bonfire. I can only expect to see two eager people holding in their hands sticks of empaled marshmallows that will never burn" ... ""Tim, before anymore damage is done, I must cater to you first. The cangue must go over your head. Attic. A-tic. Ahhh-tic. Aye-tee-tee-eye-cee. Now."


"Ah, that is the pinguid residue and the eternal pressurized suffering of a chair that had underwent and endured the damaging effects of obesity. It bears the permanent scars of my grandmother's obesity. Discard." "What is that beside it?" " It's her omentum which I used to hold her things. Discard." "In it is her tureen I presume." "Discard." … "I'm sensing a sudoral eruption. Perhaps you should assume my place while I dry off the micrometer-layer of salty uric fluid upon my dermis." "Pardon me while I guffaw at a big contradiction in your logic which you may have overlooked in view of the fact that it satisfies your physical sloth. You concern yourself with the risks of exposure to an unnaturally sanitary environment over long periods of time, yet you sure as fuck don't pay heed to the fibers of your body begging to be contracted. So while you soliloquize the agonies of muscular atrophy, I will bask in the luxury of my lymphatic system imploding in the safety of a quiet home." "Do you want to be Tiffany's next meal? .. This is the rockoon that pierced through my roof and landed in my room when I was 5. I attributed the horrifying experience to a dipsomaniacal meteorologist inattentively doing his job. The deafening cacophony of entry and the plopping upon my floor a hot metallic ovate rod mentally scarred me in ways which have now been obscured to disconnected and further irrational fears that inhibit my daily life." "Yet you kept it. You're so fucking dramatic." "Maybe I'm willingly holding onto my trauma." "Maybe the meteorologist mis-predicted the weather forecast. You were 5."

"In this baggie is my lanugo and first lock." "The can of Ossetra caviar I tried in Sacramento which I kept to commemorate my first true taste of class can go. Its underlying motive contradicts who I pretend to be now." "Ew! It seems you didn't finish eating it." "Oh, right, that's my solidified meconium. My mother gave it to me as an heirloom to pass down to my kids before she died as though she thought of it as an object from my youth, among all other things, of most sentimental value. I thought of her heirloom to be in poor and disgusting taste so I took it out from the etui in which she thought it was necessary, into a can of caviar which I cared less about.
Care for my thoughtful intentions; I wanted to make an efficient and economic saving of available surface area." "The curare darts that I pilfered from the prop set of Lost can go. I can no longer find value in killing you.". "My dinero, guinea, dinar, thaler… uncia… Blimey! Most of my coinage has patinated. My worth! Spoiled! ... My eyes! Spoiled! By the sight of Tiffany in my fucking attic. Couldn't you just leave after my hasty departure?"

"No, because I had to bring narrator back in. He followed us."

Hipster Slut 15/07/27(Mon)11:31 No. 17448

"Ooh. So... He followed you, and you "kindly" returned him through my door, and somehow, for whatever reason the universe can conjure, you decided coming up to the attic with us would secure his stay, rather than shutting the door and walking away? What on Earth would prompt your diaphanous brain to conclude that following me would interrupt his following of you?---"

"--- Maybe tha---"

"---No, Tiffany. I want you to stand there and listen to me, without breaking and falling through the floor. Right now, at this very moment, we have a threat to your own health on the loose; a threat even worse than your diet. This threat is in this room with us unfettered, right now. I would have thought the instance of this threat travelling over three thousand kilometres with you without enough cash on him to sustain a three-day living to a patent office for his discovery of a lime-green colour he had never seen before would have been the cue you needed to realize that something, about someone, had gone awry. But no, that was not the case. You instead vouched for his authenticity probably hoping for some of the revenue you thought he would generate from a lime-green colour, which itself is barely distinguishable from the colour of the vegetables you should be eating. How do I know that you don't eat vegetables? How do I know that you haven't ever fully analyzed a tree or the ground below you? I wouldn't have thought it possible, but to the extent that I now have someone to compare myself and others to, safe it is to say that these are questions and conclusions for the zetetic soul, that is, a soul which has even enough curiosity about life to rationalize an infant's first sight and realization of it. These here, aligned linearly, are called barriers. I will use them, right now, to protect me from you, so that I will be safe when you create an idea in your head that my clothing is edible since certain infantile moths can eat them. Do you know what a line is, Tiffany? Observe. Now, I will create a ninety-degree angle with them to form the shape of the letter "L", then, I will create another one of these "ells" in reverse so that the ends touch one another. This is called a rectangle. I am now safe from you. Tim, please remain where you are. And you. I don't even know you. All I know about you is that you take in the words of a buffoon. You obviously do not know what that chair you're sitting on was originally used for, otherwise you would not be sitting on it. That chair was what I once used to secure the location of somebody in this very room if he became a threat by encircling it with a boundary which marked the point at which he could not trespass. If he trespassed it, an eighty-five-volt electric shock surged through his every fibre. Here is a proposition by which you'll be thrilled to abide and which will make you run even faster than the impulse that drove you here. A trail of borscht isn't even needed for this one: The house will serve as the chair, and a radius of 1 kilometre will serve as the distance into which you shall not trespass. If my eyes land on the sight of you within this boundary starting from the moment I wake up tomorrow, the consequences will be such that the thought or sight of the letter arrangement of the word "food", and the rations themselves will surge through /your/ body the most intense fear you could possibly conceive, whereby, similar to the effects of rabies, you will violently and involuntarily expel the food and liquid you try to take in and ultimately succumb to starvation and inevitably death. Pick yourself up, and walk away. There is no more food for you. Unless you decide to stay, one more day."

Hipster Slut 15/07/27(Mon)13:17 No. 17449

At last, the device that incentivized a trip to the attic reveals itself to the visible room upon the relocation of the barriers.--"Ah, I didn't even notice."--After the breath of And--''Thanks."--fiery rage, the tension slackens to a haze of melancholy and leaves all guests questioning the remaining duration of their lives. Wrung emotions from being strung highly make opportunity for the absorption of better opportunities. Or is this the result of getting high from the noxious /naturally/ oily fumes of Nameless' hair? Eyes are shifting about with intrigue as the question dwells and as the cangue is expertly secured over the head of the untameable wildlife. Will it be Tim that escapes the attic or will the attic escape from Tim? Either way, it will be a struggle. Andrea pauses to a statue-like firmness upon the realization that she, the one and only, herself, made the error of not looking into the future. A movement has yet to be seen by the crowd as she devises a means to redeem herself from her flaw.

maninahat 15/08/01(Sat)22:55 No. 17452

This is boring.

Hipster Slut 15/08/04(Tue)08:52 No. 17459


"OK, now there are six people with us. I swear to hell this is an episode of Friends where people just walk in on each other without warning and blurt stuff out involuntarily. Where are the cameras? And who the hell are you and where the hell did you come from?" "Hi. My name is Maninahat, and this is boring." "My place of residence seems to gravitate people of low stimulation. Maninahat.. Man in a hat. Sick parents. At least it's a name.. Nameless doesn't have one. Hi Maninahat. It has been a displeasure to see your presence in a place as personal as my own residence, and furthermore to see that I have had an audience from the side, summarizing our lives with an adjective that can only describe their own life as though their commentary is objective and should be treated as such. Maninahat. My first impression of you is that you are a loud-mouth who feels that their opinion matters and should be heard... Are you the boyfriend of narrator? The two of you are scarily alike in a way that would not surprise me to find out that the relation is of blood."

A look that can be discerned as the gaze of a super-model flushes over the countenance of what was once the face of boredom of Maninahat. WIth head tilted to the side backwardly, and mouth ajar, the stance is clear that the thought and personal attention of Andrea has engaged the interest of Sir Boredom after all.

"You're absolutely right. Narrator is my boyfriend. How did you know?"

Hipster Slut 15/08/04(Tue)09:33 No. 17461

"Interesting situation: In this very room we have a stir of personalities. We have two homosexuals, a fat ditz, a hippie, a clueless airhead, and a mindless follower. Am I the only sane one here? The relation could be guessed by a child, Maninahat. The way you pose yourself standing could be guessed from even a mile away that your sexual interests are bent. Please, describe your communication and association with your boyfriend to us. We can't seem to get through to him."

"I can't get through to him either. I feel so helpless sometimes. I just want to cry over my inability to touch his heart in the way he has touched mine. Depression hurts."

"Awww. Sit down with me. It's okay. Being gay is bad enough as it is. You just have to accept that your life is terrible, that you are abnormal, and that your only prospect for love is with someone as vacant as your boyfriend. Despite being nature's miscarriage, only good can come from here, since you have--is that an erection bulging its way through your trousers? Oh, Maninahat. I didn't know. You thrive on humiliation. I bet you also love sadomasochism. Tim, you're off the hook. This boy needs the cangue more than ever."

Maninahat, without hesitation, follows the direction of Andrea's guidance to the doorway which she will use to firmly wedge the cangue over his head to the door frame high above the ground.

"You're lost. I will take care of you."

/lit/ - Literature Jekkerspew 16/02/08(Mon)21:17 No. 17532

Cool 7chan.org always done then you need to take the article, once even in your personal life helped!

Develop and with the last Christmas to you all!

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