No, you are not a “Man of Culture”. You are a 19 year old who has no romantic partner because you have a chronic addiction to anime porn where the characters dont look or sound any older than 13, seriously, the stuff you are watching should be illegal. Getting off to fictional drawings of ambiguous age THREE times a day is not even remotely cultured, it just makes you a sex-addicted pedophile. What’s gotten into you? You’re better than this.
What happened to this ad? :(
More Copypastas
Hi Tyler i'm Adam, Macaiyla's Ex Boyfriend
twitchquotes:
Hi Tyler i'm Adam, Macaiyla's Ex Boyfriend. I dont know why she choosed a 5´6 peanut looking guy over me (Im a 6´7 College athlete and i bench press 500 pounds) but im glad she came around a good fella like you. Remember she like watching at sunsets and reciving chin kisses! Have a good one Buddy!
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Tyler1
SPAM THIS TO HELP ZACKRAY
twitchquotes:
SPAM THIS GAY TO HELP ZACKRAY
SPAM THIS GAY TO HELP ZACKRAY
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VGBootCamp
KappaPride
Super Smash Bros
k3soju bt diff kiyoon fanfic
twitchquotes:
Soju and kiyoon lying on their deathbed talking about good old set 5. Soju: Remember how broken BT was hehe. Kiyoon: Yeah haha. The nurse comes in with Sojus daily blood transfusion (BT), what she didnt know is tha kiyoon had paid off the nurse to give him the wrong blood. Soju: Kiyoon im dying, i got downgraded so hard. IK soju, ik... goodbye old friend. Fucking BT diff soju whispers with his last breath...
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k3soju
Teamfight Tactics
Infinite poop
twitchquotes:
Infinite poop. You sit on the toilet to poop, but the poop never stops coming out of your butt. You have to start flushing the toilet every two minutes to keep up. You try to pinch your butt closed but that makes your insides hurt. The poop accelerates. You call 911. The paramedics call for doctors. The doctors call for specialists. The story trends on Twitter. You turn down talk show appearances. Your septic tank fails. People form a cult. Your toilet is finished. Volunteers arrive with buckets and shovels. You are completely used to the smell. The poop accelerates. You are moved to a stepladder with a hole in the top step. The poop accelerates. The shovelers abandon the buckets and shovel directly out the window. The poop accelerates. A candlelight vigil forms around your house. One of the workers falls over and can't free himself. The poop accelerates. A priest knocks over the stepladder and tackles you out the window. You land in the pile. The poop accelerates. The force now propels you forward and upward. Vigil goers grab at your legs. The poop ignites from their candles. The Facebook live event hits 1 million viewers. The poop accelerates. You are 30 feet in the air. The fire engulfs the vigil and your house. 60 feet. The poop accelerates. The torrent underneath you is deafening. 5 million Facebook live viewers. You try to close up shop but your butthole disintegrated long ago. 120 feet up. Your house explodes. The poop accelerates. 1000 feet. You are now tracked on radar. You try to change your angle of ascent but you should have thought of that way earlier. The poop accelerates. 4,000 feet. NORAD upgrades to DEFCON 3. Concentric circles of fire engulf your city. The poop accelerates. You have broken the sound barrier. 30,000 feet. You no longer take in enough oxygen to sustain consciousness. 60,000 feet. CNN is reporting on all the world records you've broken. 200,000 feet. You are no longer alive. The poop accelerates. Your body disintegrates but your poop contrail remains. NASA can no longer track you. You break the light-speed barrier and we can no longer bear witness. The poop accelerates. Forever.
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Classic
Amogus 700 years in the future
Imagine, 700 years in the future, through some last vestige of the internet kept in an underground server, a notification miraculously appears on your device (which has been preserved in nuclear dust from the 5th world war). One night, an alien working a late shift at the museum of archeology notices the cracked screen suddenly light up, and upon it, one word arises from the battered code: Amogus. They do not know what this word means. They ponder it deeply. They scour the ancient tomes, desperate to understand its mystifying origin. It drives them mad. Is it a primeval cipher? The motto of a bygone civilization? A message from God? Night after night they study it by candlelight. They flip through pages in books so old, the slightest cough would turn the paper to a fine off-white powder. The answer is nowhere to be found. And then they are struck by a revelation: I was not meant to know this word. Its esoteric nature escapes my grasp for a reason. What if its meaning is too enlightening to bear? With this revelation comes anger. Spite. Despair. Why shouldn't I understand it?! What cosmic forces are there at play to keep me from such knowledge?! In a fit of desperate rage, they shatter your device against a wall and exclaim, arms raised to the heavens: "This is literally 1984!" Silence... Their pleas are unanswered. Sadly, in the end, their inability to unlock the word's meaning drives them to suicide. Its secrets are never known. So I ask you this: is it better to die having never understood the true mind-bending nature of Amogus, or to be driven mad by the little spaceman in his blood-red suit? If you knew enlightenment would render you incapable of living on this mortal earth without making daily references to a game of space mafia, would you accept it? With knowledge comes power, but also endless suffering. Choose wisely, and be wary when standing at the edge of that great abyss we call "the Truth," lest you fall too deep.