Let's say for a minute, that hypothetically, everyone was in fact kung fu fighting. Now statistically speaking of course, this is impossible. Now hypothetically if they were, hypothetically of course. Now, would they all be performing the same so called Kung Fu move? Statistically speaking that is highly unlikely. This would also, hypothetically, be quite dangerous if it were to actually occur. Coming from a medical official, my wife, who is a doctor, she says that hypothetically, this would be dangerous. So, logically, this would not happen. So in fact, there is no way, impossible even, that everybody was Kung Fu Fighting.
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Ben Shapiro Kung Fu Fighting
Let's say for a minute, that hypothetically, everyone was in fact kung fu fighting. Now statistically speaking of course, this is impossible. Now hypothetically if they were, hypothetically of course. Now, would they all be performing the same so called Kung Fu move? Statistically speaking that is highly unlikely. This would also, hypothetically, be quite dangerous if it were to actually occur. Coming from a medical official, my wife, who is a doctor, she says that hypothetically, this would be dangerous. So, logically, this would not happen. So in fact, there is no way, impossible even, that everybody was Kung Fu Fighting.
Ben Shapiro
Ben Shapiro counts to one million
So today, for the first time, my little toddler finally counted to ten. Everyone was celebrating, saying how proud they are in my kid, and then Ben Shapiro kicks open the door. "Oh you think it's impressive that they can count to ten? I can count to one million." and then proceeded, in my living room for the next two weeks, to count to one million. He then said "yep, another libtard destroyed" and then curbstomped my kid.
Ben Shapiro
Ben Shapiro sings Rick Roll
Lets say, hypothetically, that we were not strangers to love, and lets say, you knew the rules and so did i. And if you thought of a full commitment, you wouldnt get this from any other guy, right? Then hypothetically speaking, i just want to tell you how im feeling. Now lets say i gotta make you understand. Now that we've established that im never gonna give you up or let you down. Am i not correct? You would never run around, and desert you. And i, as a balcony, think that i wouldnt make you cry, so i must be the one to never tell a lie, and hurt you
This would mean that, we've known eachother for so long, and logically, your hearts been aching but, youre too shy to say it. which would proceed with both of us knowing whats been going on. Which didnt make sense, we know the game, in a way that we're gonna play it. Yet, if you ask me how im feeling, seeing as you shouldnt say that youre too blind to see
Ben Shapiro
Ben Shapiro's naughty girl
Let's say you've been a bad girl. Let's say, hypothetically, you've been a naughty girl even. Ok, and if you were a naughty girl, you would be my dirty little slut right? Then hypothetically speaking, you would be my little cumslut. Now, let's say you're also daddy's girl.
Now that we have established that you are both a bad girl and daddy's girl, I believe you'd agree with me when I say that you deserve a spanking. Am I not correct? A bad girl deserves a spanking, and as I am daddy, you are my girl, so I am the one who must provide punishment.
Ben Shapiro
Ben Shapiro ordering pizza
Hello, is this Pizza Hut?
Excellent. My name is Ben Shapiro. Conservative thought leader. Prominent white YouTuber. The Muggsy Bogues of the intellectual dark Web. And—look, it’s just a fact—I would like to order some pizza pie. If you are triggered by that request, I do not care. I truly do not.
Now let’s discuss conditions. First, thank you for agreeing to debate me. Typically, in fora such as this, I am met with ad-hominem mudslinging, anything from “You racist creep” or “Is that your real voice?” to raucous schoolyard laughter and threats of the dreaded “toilet swirly.” However, your willingness to engage with me over the phone on the subject of pizza shows an intellectual fortitude and openness to dangerous ideas which reflects highly on your character. Huzzah, good sir. Huzzah.
Second, any pizza I order will be male. None of this “Our pizza identifies as trans-fluid-pan-poly”—no. Pizza is a boy. With a penis. It’s that simple. It’s been true for all of human history, from Plato to Socrates to Mr. Mistoffelees, and any attempt to rewrite the pillars of Western thought will be met with a hearty “Fuh!” by yours truly. And, trust me, that is not a fate you wish to meet.
Now. With regard to my topping preference. I have eaten from your pizzeria in times past, and it must be said: your pepperoni is embarrassingly spicy. Frankly, it boggles the mind. I mean, what kind of drugs are you inhaling over there? Pot?! One bite of that stuff and I had to take a shower. So tread lightly when it comes to spice, my good man. You do not want to see me at my most epic. Like the great white hero of Zack Snyder’s classic film “300,” I will kick you.
Onions, peppers—no, thank you. If I wanted veggies, I’d go to a salad bar. I’m not some sort of vegan, Cory Booker weirdo. And your efforts to Michelle Obama-ize the great American pizza pie are, frankly, hilarious. Though not as funny as the impressively named P’Zone—when I finally figured out that genuinely creative pun, I laughed until I cried and peed. A true Spartan admits defeat, and I must admit that, in this instance, your Hut humor slayed me, Dennis Miller style.
And, with that, you have earned my order. Congratulations. Ahem. Without further ado, I would like your smallest child pizza, no sauce, extra cheese. Hello? Aha. A hang-up. Another triggered lib, bested by logic. Damn it. I’m fucking starving.