twitchquotes:No, I don’t jerk off to Tyler1 because I’m gay, I jerk off to Tyler1 because he is what I will become with hard enough training. I can get out of diamond. I can go to the gym. Tyler1 is not a human but instead an idea. The idea of my life working, the idea of my not getting bad teammates (who are always at fault in my games seriously wtf am I supposed to do) and the idea of me climbing. When I see Tyler1 I don’t get excited because I’m gay but because he is my future mirror.
No, I don’t jerk off to Tyler1 because I’m gay, I jerk off to Tyler1 because he is what I will become with hard enough training. I can get out of diamond. I can go to the gym. Tyler1 is not a human but instead an idea. The idea of my life working, the idea of my not getting bad teammates (who are always at fault in my games seriously wtf am I supposed to do) and the idea of me climbing. When I see Tyler1 I don’t get excited because I’m gay but because he is my future mirror.
Aspirations and dreams
twitchquotes:Press 1 if you once had aspirations and dreams but have now given up all hope and devolved into mindless shitposting.
Press 1 if you once had aspirations and dreams but have now given up all hope and devolved into mindless shitposting.
Chungus has no beginning. Chungus has no end.
twitchquotes:Chungus has no beginning. Chungus has no end. Chungus is infinite. Millions of years after our civilization has been eradicated and forgotten, Chungus will endure. Chungus is eternal. The pinnacle of evolution and existence. We are but rudimentary creatures of blood and flesh. We touch Chungus' mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding. Organic life is nothing but a genetic mutation, an accident. Our lives are measured in years and decades. We wither and die. Chungus is eternal. Before it, we are nothing. Chungus imposes order on the chaos of organic life. W̻̠̫̻̬e̹̲̲ ̤̦̞̫̣͡e͜x҉͕͓͖̟i̱s͇͚͇͠ṯ̺͈͎ͅ ͉̮̖b͢ȩ̼̲̦c̠͝a̛̼u͙̭͢s̡̼e͘ ̣͚͡C͏̘h͡ṳ͎̥̮̹n̯̕gư̬͎̖̖̩s̪͍͎͇̳̹͎ ̸̗̺͓ąl̵͓͓̯̯l̩͉̹͎̜o͍̙̟̻͎̬ͅw͉̟̭̳̦͔̻s̩̻̞ ͡i̮͚̟̭̼̥͔t̤̺̭͖́,͔̮̯̲ ͖ą̩n̼̙͡d̜͡ ̶̰̞̠͍̬͇w͚̞̞͈ͅe̜ ̬͕͇̘̣͎̜w̞͙̰̞͖̰i͚l͎̭l̬͖͇ ͇͚e̖n̫͕̲̫d̦͖͙ ̨̯̮ḇ̜̪e̻̹̠̦̣͝c̩̫͈̗̖͡ͅa̧̹̳͍̙̘͙ͅu̱̗͠s̝̲͓̲͈e͕̣̼͎ ̟͠C҉̼ͅhu͉̟̼̱n̸̲̥̟̖ͅͅg̷̲͚̥̺͕̮u̴s̖̟̩͍̟͕̝͜ ̤͙̜͎̖̗̮d̟̘̗̞̼́e̲̻̠̦̩͝m̙̜̝an҉̣͉̘̰̳̘̜d̖̗͓͍̟͡s͈̯̩̞̟ ͖̼̙̼̥i̮t̟̦.̥̟͖͈̥͚̀ ̩C̷̱ḩ҉̭͈̻̪͈̞̥̯u̵͓̹͍̗n҉̥̱̤g̶͍̻̬̮̜̘̞͟ͅu̞̹͝s҉̭̦̙͕͇̫̗̖ ̧̮̘̙͙ͅt̵̨̛̳͚͇̩̘r̙͓͘a̡̙͚n̛̲̫̤̪͖̬ͅs̶̲̖c̛̯̞͍̫̼̱e̶̶̺̞͇n̟d̡̘̼͘s҉̨̱̥͕̳͜ ̜͟o̜͕̼̹̪̕͘ṳ̴̵r͔͖͎͈͍̩͈̳͢͞ͅ ̮̭̰̳̘̹̀v̴̡̱̗̞̖͎̳͉̠͚e̡͖̙̞̺̫̝r̯͎̙̭̺̗̻͈͖y͝҉̯̟̣̯̱ ̴͓̣̩͔̥̺̣̻̟͢u̶̸͖͚͇̹̘n̡̢̳͖͈̮̝d̻͇͈͓̗͢͞e̶̸̳̻͚̫͢r̵͍̬̻̙̦s͠͏͉͉̮ṭ̢̡̰̦̫̼̯̘͙̻a̬̟͕̝̥̳n̘̺͞d̥̞͔i̶̬͖̤̼͟n̛̘̼̻̱͘͢ͅg͍̘̝͙̫̣͉͟.̘̻̟͎͜͡ W͓̰̹͙̹̼̫̠͓̩̩̗͉͘ę̴̨̝͖̟̟̼̘̩͘͢ ̸̛̮̱͚̳͕̣̲̘̠͔͉̕͞͞ç̵̢̻͈͙̯͚̠̱̹͈̠̯̺̭̹̖͉͔͍͟a͠҉̮̖̭͉͈ṉ̨̝̖̖̙̟͟͝͠͠ņ̦̣̝̱̫̩͔̮̜̲̀o̡̕҉͙͇̩̠͇͞t̢̢̜̥͍͙̬̦͈̠͜ ̛͝͏̬̮̲̳͈͙ͅg̷͇̯̹̠̼̫̙̟̳̙̫̦̮̙̱̣͇͟͡r̨̰̯̯̹̦͎̦̞a̢̛̦̦͍͇̪͍̫͔͙͙͎͍̰̩͕͕̝ś̷͈͚̥̜͖͚̘̙͔̗̳͇͘p̹͓̟̤̳̱̀ ̵̛̪̗̠̼t҉͏̴̛̭̖̰̳̰̱̣͍̖͕͖͇̞̱̼̭̣͢ͅh̨̹̠̪͔̖̪̳̝͙͉͕̜͇͎͔͔̜̟̀͡͞e̢͎̣̘͓̲̯̼̬̱̣͔̘̹͍̦̤̥͜͡͠ͅ ̸̡͞͏͈̠̮͖̦̣͉͚͚͙̻͉͈͕͔̭͞ͅn̴̢̫͍̯̖̳̞͔̯̞̺a̡̨̖͖͚͓̺͢͞ͅt̢̟͇̩͕̳͈͔̥̠̲̠͍͍͙̳͟ͅų̨̠̩̺̦̙̳͈̣͓̲̹̺͔̱̞̹͔͕̖r̶̜̦̥͕͈̰̳͕͔̥̯̖̪̺͢͢͡ͅe̫̮̙͙̟̭̪̱͉͘ ̴̨̨҉̖͍̩̭̪̫͓o͏̱̯̪̻͖̮͙̀̕ͅͅf͡͏̘̙̖̻͓̩̣͞ ̨̦̟̦̦͇̘͕̮͔̮̬̥̰̫͡C̨͇͕͙̞͖̭̱h̶̸̢̙̱̳̳͍͕̬̞̳͓̹̬͚͡͝ͅù͉̯͔̥̩͈͙͕̲͇͞ͅņ̴͔̟̖̖̞͇̤̙̹̹͍̰͎͓̺̬̺͇g̶̡̯̰̙͇͓̦̜͉̹̙̖̞̗̗͜͡u̸̴̹̪̗̦̜͎̪̺s̴͈̖͉̙̝̙̞͚̺͖̥̭̟̞̹̲̫͡'̢̪̣̝̠̙̘̘̟̺̠̘͍̪̬̼͖͉̹͓͟͞͡ ̶̸͈̱̞̥͔̲͇͟e̡̝̼͚̠̲̗̰̹̬̥͓̭̥̺̱x͏̧̦͙̠̯͙͍̻̻̲̠́͢į̰̞̻̝̲͙̰͇̫͉͕̙̺͉̻s҉̴̸̢̛̱̳͎̳̗̦̖̲͚̞t͡҉̭̖̺̖̱̝̱̺̮̰̦͖̯̫̯è̛͈͓̭̘̥͎̻̙͉̥̥͚̻͎̕ń̖͓̦͎̱͍̗̜͎͉̜͖̼̞̕ͅc̵̲̹̯̬͚̦̙̞̤͔̹̻̠̣͓̩͙͔͙͘͠͞͞e̵̙̗͉̣͙̬͟͞.̷̸͕̰͉̤͕̙̰
Chungus has no beginning. Chungus has no end. Chungus is infinite. Millions of years after our civilization has been eradicated and forgotten, Chungus will endure. Chungus is eternal. The pinnacle of evolution and existence. We are but rudimentary creatures of blood and flesh. We touch Chungus' mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding. Organic life is nothing but a genetic mutation, an accident. Our lives are measured in years and decades. We wither and die. Chungus is eternal. Before it, we are nothing. Chungus imposes order on the chaos of organic life. W̻̠̫̻̬e̹̲̲ ̤̦̞̫̣͡e͜x҉͕͓͖̟i̱s͇͚͇͠ṯ̺͈͎ͅ ͉̮̖b͢ȩ̼̲̦c̠͝a̛̼u͙̭͢s̡̼e͘ ̣͚͡C͏̘h͡ṳ͎̥̮̹n̯̕gư̬͎̖̖̩s̪͍͎͇̳̹͎ ̸̗̺͓ąl̵͓͓̯̯l̩͉̹͎̜o͍̙̟̻͎̬ͅw͉̟̭̳̦͔̻s̩̻̞ ͡i̮͚̟̭̼̥͔t̤̺̭͖́,͔̮̯̲ ͖ą̩n̼̙͡d̜͡ ̶̰̞̠͍̬͇w͚̞̞͈ͅe̜ ̬͕͇̘̣͎̜w̞͙̰̞͖̰i͚l͎̭l̬͖͇ ͇͚e̖n̫͕̲̫d̦͖͙ ̨̯̮ḇ̜̪e̻̹̠̦̣͝c̩̫͈̗̖͡ͅa̧̹̳͍̙̘͙ͅu̱̗͠s̝̲͓̲͈e͕̣̼͎ ̟͠C҉̼ͅhu͉̟̼̱n̸̲̥̟̖ͅͅg̷̲͚̥̺͕̮u̴s̖̟̩͍̟͕̝͜ ̤͙̜͎̖̗̮d̟̘̗̞̼́e̲̻̠̦̩͝m̙̜̝an҉̣͉̘̰̳̘̜d̖̗͓͍̟͡s͈̯̩̞̟ ͖̼̙̼̥i̮t̟̦.̥̟͖͈̥͚̀ ̩C̷̱ḩ҉̭͈̻̪͈̞̥̯u̵͓̹͍̗n҉̥̱̤g̶͍̻̬̮̜̘̞͟ͅu̞̹͝s҉̭̦̙͕͇̫̗̖ ̧̮̘̙͙ͅt̵̨̛̳͚͇̩̘r̙͓͘a̡̙͚n̛̲̫̤̪͖̬ͅs̶̲̖c̛̯̞͍̫̼̱e̶̶̺̞͇n̟d̡̘̼͘s҉̨̱̥͕̳͜ ̜͟o̜͕̼̹̪̕͘ṳ̴̵r͔͖͎͈͍̩͈̳͢͞ͅ ̮̭̰̳̘̹̀v̴̡̱̗̞̖͎̳͉̠͚e̡͖̙̞̺̫̝r̯͎̙̭̺̗̻͈͖y͝҉̯̟̣̯̱ ̴͓̣̩͔̥̺̣̻̟͢u̶̸͖͚͇̹̘n̡̢̳͖͈̮̝d̻͇͈͓̗͢͞e̶̸̳̻͚̫͢r̵͍̬̻̙̦s͠͏͉͉̮ṭ̢̡̰̦̫̼̯̘͙̻a̬̟͕̝̥̳n̘̺͞d̥̞͔i̶̬͖̤̼͟n̛̘̼̻̱͘͢ͅg͍̘̝͙̫̣͉͟.̘̻̟͎͜͡ W͓̰̹͙̹̼̫̠͓̩̩̗͉͘ę̴̨̝͖̟̟̼̘̩͘͢ ̸̛̮̱͚̳͕̣̲̘̠͔͉̕͞͞ç̵̢̻͈͙̯͚̠̱̹͈̠̯̺̭̹̖͉͔͍͟a͠҉̮̖̭͉͈ṉ̨̝̖̖̙̟͟͝͠͠ņ̦̣̝̱̫̩͔̮̜̲̀o̡̕҉͙͇̩̠͇͞t̢̢̜̥͍͙̬̦͈̠͜ ̛͝͏̬̮̲̳͈͙ͅg̷͇̯̹̠̼̫̙̟̳̙̫̦̮̙̱̣͇͟͡r̨̰̯̯̹̦͎̦̞a̢̛̦̦͍͇̪͍̫͔͙͙͎͍̰̩͕͕̝ś̷͈͚̥̜͖͚̘̙͔̗̳͇͘p̹͓̟̤̳̱̀ ̵̛̪̗̠̼t҉͏̴̛̭̖̰̳̰̱̣͍̖͕͖͇̞̱̼̭̣͢ͅh̨̹̠̪͔̖̪̳̝͙͉͕̜͇͎͔͔̜̟̀͡͞e̢͎̣̘͓̲̯̼̬̱̣͔̘̹͍̦̤̥͜͡͠ͅ ̸̡͞͏͈̠̮͖̦̣͉͚͚͙̻͉͈͕͔̭͞ͅn̴̢̫͍̯̖̳̞͔̯̞̺a̡̨̖͖͚͓̺͢͞ͅt̢̟͇̩͕̳͈͔̥̠̲̠͍͍͙̳͟ͅų̨̠̩̺̦̙̳͈̣͓̲̹̺͔̱̞̹͔͕̖r̶̜̦̥͕͈̰̳͕͔̥̯̖̪̺͢͢͡ͅe̫̮̙͙̟̭̪̱͉͘ ̴̨̨҉̖͍̩̭̪̫͓o͏̱̯̪̻͖̮͙̀̕ͅͅf͡͏̘̙̖̻͓̩̣͞ ̨̦̟̦̦͇̘͕̮͔̮̬̥̰̫͡C̨͇͕͙̞͖̭̱h̶̸̢̙̱̳̳͍͕̬̞̳͓̹̬͚͡͝ͅù͉̯͔̥̩͈͙͕̲͇͞ͅņ̴͔̟̖̖̞͇̤̙̹̹͍̰͎͓̺̬̺͇g̶̡̯̰̙͇͓̦̜͉̹̙̖̞̗̗͜͡u̸̴̹̪̗̦̜͎̪̺s̴͈̖͉̙̝̙̞͚̺͖̥̭̟̞̹̲̫͡'̢̪̣̝̠̙̘̘̟̺̠̘͍̪̬̼͖͉̹͓͟͞͡ ̶̸͈̱̞̥͔̲͇͟e̡̝̼͚̠̲̗̰̹̬̥͓̭̥̺̱x͏̧̦͙̠̯͙͍̻̻̲̠́͢į̰̞̻̝̲͙̰͇̫͉͕̙̺͉̻s҉̴̸̢̛̱̳͎̳̗̦̖̲͚̞t͡҉̭̖̺̖̱̝̱̺̮̰̦͖̯̫̯è̛͈͓̭̘̥͎̻̙͉̥̥͚̻͎̕ń̖͓̦͎̱͍̗̜͎͉̜͖̼̞̕ͅc̵̲̹̯̬͚̦̙̞̤͔̹̻̠̣͓̩͙͔͙͘͠͞͞e̵̙̗͉̣͙̬͟͞.̷̸͕̰͉̤͕̙̰
A dirty joke from the 1400s...
A dirty joke from the 1400s...
In Florence, a young woman, somewhat of a simpleton, was on the point of delivering a baby. She had long been enduring acute pain, and the midwife, candle in hand, inspected her secret area, in order to ascertain if the child was coming. “Look also on the other side,” said the poor creature, “my husband has sometimes taken that road.”
From “The Facetiae Or Jocose Tales of Poggio”, a joke book published in the 1400’s by Poggio Bracciolini
A dirty joke from the 1400s...
In Florence, a young woman, somewhat of a simpleton, was on the point of delivering a baby. She had long been enduring acute pain, and the midwife, candle in hand, inspected her secret area, in order to ascertain if the child was coming. “Look also on the other side,” said the poor creature, “my husband has sometimes taken that road.”
From “The Facetiae Or Jocose Tales of Poggio”, a joke book published in the 1400’s by Poggio Bracciolini
Aura relentlessly stabbed the shell out of the turtle
twitchquotes:As Aura relentlessly stabbed the shell out of the turtle with his long hard white sword, he fondly remembered the time that Doug Bowser pounded him until he became bald. Aura was so entranced that he was distracted from the fact that in 1998, The Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell In A Cell, and plummeted 16 ft through an announcer's table.
As Aura relentlessly stabbed the shell out of the turtle with his long hard white sword, he fondly remembered the time that Doug Bowser pounded him until he became bald. Aura was so entranced that he was distracted from the fact that in 1998, The Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell In A Cell, and plummeted 16 ft through an announcer's table.