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Your eyes slowly open. Crusty from months of wear from stray globs of semen and cosmic dust. You are in a room and you can no longer see your member, or rather, what was left of it. There are tubes leading away from your pelvis, pumping and pulsating. There is a glass window across from you and a person dressed in a white jacket. A woman. She looks up from her clipboard to see you are awake. At first she is uninterested, but then her eyes slam open and a beaming smile crosses her face. Her eyes filled with curiosity. “You’re awake!” She cries over the loudspeakers that you only just now notice embedded into the top corners of the room. “Where am I?” You ask, filled with fear and excitement. You thought you would never see a human again and you would be destined to suffer endlessly across the cosmos. “You are on Saturn. You crashed into it and due to it’s extreme mass you were able to stop. We picked you up because you may be the key to saving humanity for all eternity.” “How?” You ask as a smile begins to creep across your face, imagining that you could be an icon for humanity. “You have been addressed as the Cosmic Unknown Mass Semen Generator, or CUMS-G for short. The fault in reality that caused your affliction can be used for the good of humanity. By using the mass you produce we will never have to worry about energy again, as by converting your biomass into energy we have unlimited power for the rest of time. When the stars die and the cosmos sink into nothing, humanity will be able to continue thanks to you. The anomaly that created you is easily one of the greatest discoveries humanity has ever had, on par with the discovery of fire.” “Will I not die?” “You can’t die. You are immortal. You don’t even have a body and yet you continue to exist” … Hours later, she leaves to tell her superiors. They do not greet you. They exchange high-fives and party but they do not speak to you. Months pass. The cum accelerates. Then years. The cum accelerates. Then decades. The cum accelerates. Then centuries. The cum accelerates. Then eons. The cum accelerates. No one talks to you. You don’t even know if humanity is alive anymore or if they have left you to exist for the rest of eternity. The tubes around you have gotten far thicker and more high tech as the ferocity of your semen expulsion increased. Eventually the walls around you cave in. Only then do you see the truth. Their plan was flawed.

I finally did it. I out-pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life. After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out-pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out-pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger. A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. M-mom, dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi-" a single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out-pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty county road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone. At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out-pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one. With a free side order of pain.

Ok, this has been driving me crazy for seven movies now, and I know you're going to roll your eyes, but hear me out: Harry Potter should have carried a 1911. Here's why: Think about how quickly the entire WWWIII (Wizarding-World War III) would have ended if all of the good guys had simply armed up with good ol' American hot lead. Basilisk? Let's see how tough it is when you shoot it with a .470 Nitro Express. Worried about its Medusa-gaze? Wear night vision goggles. The image is light-amplified and re-transmitted to your eyes. You aren't looking at it--you're looking at a picture of it. Imagine how epic the first movie would be if Harry had put a breeching charge on the bathroom wall, flash-banged the hole, and then went in wearing NVGs and a Kevlar-weave stab-vest, carrying a SPAS-12. And have you noticed that only Europe seems to a problem with Deatheaters? Maybe it's because Americans have spent the last 200 years shooting deer, playing GTA: Vice City, and keeping an eye out for black helicopters over their compounds. Meanwhile, Brits have been cutting their steaks with spoons. Remember: gun-control means that Voldemort wins. God made wizards and God made muggles, but Samuel Colt made them equal. Now I know what you're going to say: "But a wizard could just disarm someone with a gun!" Yeah, well they can also disarm someone with a wand (as they do many times throughout the books/movies). But which is faster: saying a spell or pulling a trigger? Avada Kedavra, meet Avtomat Kalashnikova. Imagine Harry out in the woods, wearing his invisibility cloak, carrying a .50bmg Barrett, turning Deatheaters into pink mist, scratching a lightning bolt into his rifle stock for each kill. I don't think Madam Pomfrey has any spells that can scrape your brains off of the trees and put you back together after something like that. Voldemort's wand may be 13.5 inches with a Phoenix-feather core, but Harry's would be 0.50 inches with a tungsten core. Let's see Voldy wave his at 3,000 feet per second. Better hope you have some Essence of Dittany for that sucking chest wound. I can see it now...Voldemort roaring with evil laughter and boasting to Harry that he can't be killed, since he is protected by seven Horcruxes, only to have Harry give a crooked grin, flick his cigarette butt away, and deliver what would easily be the best one-liner in the entire series: "Well then I guess it's a good thing my 1911 holds 7+1." And that is why Harry Potter should have carried a 1911.

God, I fucking love the settings app. I can't stop fucking changing the text size and checking for the new system update. God, the little slider icon turns me on so much. Whenever there is a system update I cry because I can't go on settings again. My screen time shows 107 hours of settings a day, which isn't even fucking possible.

I’m here all weekend - come on ya fuckin punk ass swimmer 🙄 I’ll be waiting on ya - I’ll be waiting on your punk ass - wait matter of fact give me your address I’ll come to wherever you are and give you a chance to make good on your promises since I know you won’t actually come here me Navy SEAL lol what BUDS class were you in bitch? See you’re talking to an Army Ranger - RSC 13-2 - I’ve ACTUALLY been on clandestine missions - I’ve ACTUALLY been in gunfights - and on the 1% chance that you’re ACTUALLY a buds graduate I’ll tell you RQRF in the korangal - we were saving baby seals on a daily basis because they have no fucking idea what to do when bullets start flying the other direction - so no - I’m not worried about you - the USMC is still using gulf war hand me downs so you’re saying your equipment is dated and sporting extensive wear and tear? Annnndddd no need to involve your top secret lies I mean spies whoops - cuzzzzz I just told you and the internet where I live - you can come here or give me your address and I’ll come there - either way 😊 EDIT: Here was his response to being told it was a copypasta, for your viewing pleasure. I don’t know what copypasta means - I don’t know what doxxed yourself means - does not knowing these definitions make me a dumbass moron? What’s your address and I’ll come show you what a real SOF guy is capable of - you threaten my life you little stolen valor fuck brick? Navy SEAL give me a goddamn break you fucking retard - if you grow a set and decide you wanna tie asses with me just come knock on my door - I didn’t do a fucking thing to you people but share a video of a cat - period - if you wanna threaten my life over that be prepared for the consequences - I’m not on here looking for trouble if I was then why would I post a video of a cat on a cat video sub? God almighty and I only posted it here because my woman told me to - I’d never heard of this sub - had I known making a cute pun including the cats name would yield such backlash from faggot ass frenchy stolen valor pukes and broke dick hadji wan kenobis id have just not posted it - I thought the members of this sub would enjoy this video - so I shared it - you wanna use it as a platform to threaten my life and wellbeing? I will crush your fucking windpipe you little coward - so either roll up or tell me where I’m rolling to or you just prove you’re a coward that’s all talk