Popular Copypastas

𓀀 𓀁 𓀂 𓀃 𓀄 𓀅 𓀆 𓀇 𓀈 𓀉 𓀊 𓀋 𓀌 𓀍 𓀎 𓀏 𓀐 𓀑 𓀒 𓀓 𓀔 𓀕 𓀖 𓀗 𓀘 𓀙 𓀚 𓀛 𓀜 𓀝 𓀞 𓀟 𓀠 𓀡 𓀢 𓀣 𓀤 𓀥 𓀦 𓀧 𓀨 𓀩 𓀪 𓀫 𓀬 𓀭 𓀮 𓀯 𓀰 𓀱 𓀲 𓀳 𓀴 𓀵 𓀶 𓀷 𓀸 𓀹 𓀺 𓀻 𓀼 𓀽 𓀾 𓀿 𓁀 𓁁 𓁂 𓁃 𓁄 𓁅 𓁆 𓁇 𓁈 𓁉 𓁊 𓁋 𓁌 𓁍 𓁎 𓁏 𓁐 𓁑 𓁒 𓁓 𓁔 𓁕 𓁖 𓁗 𓁘 𓁙 𓁚 𓁛 𓁜 𓁝 𓁞 𓁟 𓁠 𓁡 𓁢 𓁣 𓁤 𓁥 𓁦 𓁧 𓁨 𓁩 𓁪 𓁫 𓁬 𓁭 𓁮 𓁯 𓁰 𓁱 𓁲 𓁳 𓁴 𓁵 𓁶 𓁷 𓁸 𓁹 𓁺 𓁻 𓁼 𓁽 𓁾 𓁿 𓂀 𓂁 𓂂 𓂃 𓂄 𓂅 𓂆 𓂇 𓂈 𓂉 𓂊 𓂋 𓂌 𓂍 𓂎 𓂏 𓂐 𓂑 𓂒 𓂓 𓂔 𓂕 𓂖 𓂗 𓂘 𓂙 𓂚 𓂛 𓂜 𓂝 𓂞 𓂟 𓂠 𓂡 𓂢 𓂣 𓂤 𓂥 𓂦 𓂧 𓂨 𓂩 𓂪 𓂫 𓂬 𓂭 𓂮 𓂯 𓂰 𓂱 𓂲 𓂳 𓂴 𓂵 𓂶 𓂷 𓂸 𓂹 𓂺 𓂻 𓂼 𓂽 𓂾 𓂿 𓃀 𓃁 𓃂 𓃃 𓃄 𓃅 𓃆 𓃇 𓃈 𓃉 𓃊 𓃋 𓃌 𓃍 𓃎 𓃏 𓃐 𓃑 𓃒 𓃓 𓃔 𓃕 𓃖 𓃗 𓃘 𓃙 𓃚 𓃛 𓃜 𓃝 𓃞 𓃟 𓃠 𓃡 𓃢 𓃣 𓃤 𓃥 𓃦 𓃧 𓃨 𓃩 𓃪 𓃫 𓃬 𓃭 𓃮 𓃯 𓃰 𓃱 𓃲 𓃳 𓃴 𓃵 𓃶 𓃷 𓃸 𓃹 𓃺 𓃻 𓃼 𓃽 𓃾 𓃿 𓄀 𓄁 𓄂 𓄃 𓄄 𓄅 𓄆 𓄇 𓄈 𓄉 𓄊 𓄋 𓄌 𓄍 𓄎 𓄏 𓄐 𓄑 𓄒 𓄓 𓄔 𓄕 𓄖 𓄗 𓄘 𓄙 𓄚 𓄛 𓄜 𓄝 𓄞 𓄟 𓄠 𓄡 𓄢 𓄣 𓄤 𓄥 𓄦 𓄧 𓄨 𓄩 𓄪 𓄫 𓄬 𓄭 𓄮 𓄯 𓄰 𓄱 𓄲 𓄳 𓄴 𓄵 𓄶 𓄷 𓄸 𓄹 𓄺 𓄻 𓄼 𓄽 𓄾 𓄿 𓅀 𓅁 𓅂 𓅃 𓅄 𓅅 𓅆 𓅇 𓅈 𓅉 𓅊 𓅋 𓅌 𓅍 𓅎 𓅏 𓅐 𓅑 𓅒 𓅓 𓅔 𓅕 𓅖 𓅗 𓅘 𓅙 𓅚 𓅛 𓅜 𓅝 𓅞 𓅟 𓅠 𓅡 𓅢 𓅣 𓅤 𓅥 𓅦 𓅧 𓅨 𓅩 𓅪 𓅫 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯 𓅰 𓅱 𓅲 𓅳 𓅴 𓅵 𓅶 𓅷 𓅸 𓅹 𓅺 𓅻 𓅼 𓅽 𓅾 𓅿 𓆀 𓆁 𓆂 𓆃 𓆄 𓆅 𓆆 𓆇 𓆈 𓆉 𓆊 𓆋 𓆌 𓆍 𓆎 𓆏 𓆐 𓆑 𓆒 𓆓 𓆔 𓆕 𓆖 𓆗 𓆘 𓆙 𓆚 𓆛 𓆜 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆠 𓆡 𓆢 𓆣 𓆤 𓆥 𓆦 𓆧 𓆨 𓆩 𓆪 𓆫 𓆬 𓆭 𓆮 𓆯 𓆰 𓆱 𓆲 𓆳 𓆴 𓆵 𓆶 𓆷 𓆸 𓆹 𓆺 𓆻 𓆼 𓆽 𓆾 𓆿 𓇀 𓇁 𓇂 𓇃 𓇄 𓇅 𓇆 𓇇 𓇈 𓇉 𓇊 𓇋 𓇌 𓇍 𓇎 𓇏 𓇐 𓇑 𓇒 𓇓 𓇔 𓇕 𓇖 𓇗 𓇘 𓇙 𓇚 𓇛 𓇜 𓇝 𓇞 𓇟 𓇠 𓇡 𓇢 𓇣 𓇤 𓇥 𓇦 𓇧 𓇨 𓇩 𓇪 𓇫 𓇬 𓇭 𓇮 𓇯 𓇰 𓇱 𓇲 𓇳 𓇴 𓇵 𓇶 𓇷 𓇸 𓇹 𓇺 𓇻 𓇼 𓇽 𓇾 𓇿 𓈀 𓈁 𓈂 𓈃 𓈄 𓈅 𓈆 𓈇 𓈈 𓈉 𓈊 𓈋 𓈌 𓈍 𓈎 𓈏 𓈐 𓈑 𓈒 𓈓 𓈔 𓈕 𓈖 𓈗 𓈘 𓈙 𓈚 𓈛 𓈜 𓈝 𓈞 𓈟 𓈠 𓈡 𓈢 𓈣 𓈤 𓈥 𓈦 𓈧 𓈨 𓈩 𓈪 𓈫 𓈬 𓈭 𓈮 𓈯 𓈰 𓈱 𓈲 𓈳 𓈴 𓈵 𓈶 𓈷 𓈸 𓈹 𓈺 𓈻 𓈼 𓈽 𓈾 𓈿 𓉀 𓉁 𓉂 𓉃 𓉄 𓉅 𓉆 𓉇 𓉈 𓉉 𓉊 𓉋 𓉌 𓉍 𓉎 𓉏 𓉐 𓉑 𓉒 𓉓 𓉔 𓉕 𓉖 𓉗 𓉘 𓉙 𓉚 𓉛 𓉜 𓉝 𓉞 𓉟 𓉠 𓉡 𓉢 𓉣 𓉤 𓉥 𓉦 𓉧 𓉨 𓉩 𓉪 𓉫 𓉬 𓉭 𓉮 𓉯 𓉰 𓉱 𓉲 𓉳 𓉴 𓉵 𓉶 𓉷 𓉸 𓉹 𓉺 𓉻 𓉼 𓉽 𓉾 𓉿 𓊀 𓊁 𓊂 𓊃 𓊄 𓊅 𓊆 𓊇 𓊈 𓊉 𓊊 𓊋 𓊌 𓊍 𓊎 𓊏 𓊐 𓊑 𓊒 𓊓 𓊔 𓊕 𓊖 𓊗 𓊘 𓊙 𓊚 𓊛 𓊜 𓊝 𓊞 𓊟 𓊠 𓊡 𓊢 𓊣 𓊤 𓊥 𓊦 𓊧 𓊨 𓊩 𓊪 𓊫 𓊬 𓊭 𓊮 𓊯 𓊰 𓊱 𓊲 𓊳 𓊴 𓊵 𓊶 𓊷 𓊸 𓊹 𓊺 𓊻 𓊼 𓊽 𓊾 𓊿 𓋀 𓋁 𓋂 𓋃 𓋄 𓋅 𓋆 𓋇 𓋈 𓋉 𓋊 𓋋 𓋌 𓋍 𓋎 𓋏 𓋐 𓋑 𓋒 𓋓 𓋔 𓋕 𓋖 𓋗 𓋘 𓋙 𓋚 𓋛 𓋜 𓋝 𓋞 𓋟 𓋠 𓋡 𓋢 𓋣 𓋤 𓋥 𓋦 𓋧 𓋨 𓋩 𓋪 𓋫 𓋬 𓋭 𓋮 𓋯 𓋰 𓋱 𓋲 𓋳 𓋴 𓋵 𓋶 𓋷 𓋸 𓋹 𓋺 𓋻 𓋼 𓋽 𓋾 𓋿 𓌀 𓌁 𓌂 𓌃 𓌄 𓌅 𓌆 𓌇 𓌈 𓌉 𓌊 𓌋 𓌌 𓌍 𓌎 𓌏 𓌐 𓌑 𓌒 𓌓 𓌔 𓌕 𓌖 𓌗 𓌘 𓌙 𓌚 𓌛 𓌜 𓌝 𓌞 𓌟 𓌠 𓌡 𓌢 𓌣 𓌤 𓌥 𓌦 𓌧 𓌨 𓌩 𓌪 𓌫 𓌬 𓌭 𓌮 𓌯 𓌰 𓌱 𓌲 𓌳 𓌴 𓌵 𓌶 𓌷 𓌸 𓌹 𓌺 𓌻 𓌼 𓌽 𓌾 𓌿 𓍀 𓍁 𓍂 𓍃 𓍄 𓍅 𓍆 𓍇 𓍈 𓍉 𓍊 𓍋 𓍌 𓍍 𓍎 𓍏 𓍐 𓍑 𓍒 𓍓 𓍔 𓍕 𓍖 𓍗 𓍘 𓍙 𓍚 𓍛 𓍜 𓍝 𓍞 𓍟 𓍠 𓍡 𓍢 𓍣 𓍤 𓍥 𓍦 𓍧 𓍨 𓍩 𓍪 𓍫 𓍬 𓍭 𓍮 𓍯 𓍰 𓍱 𓍲 𓍳 𓍴 𓍵 𓍶 𓍷 𓍸 𓍹 𓍺 𓍻 𓍼 𓍽 𓍾 𓍿 𓎀 𓎁 𓎂 𓎃 𓎄 𓎅 𓎆 𓎇 𓎈 𓎉 𓎊 𓎋 𓎌 𓎍 𓎎 𓎏 𓎐 𓎑 𓎒 𓎓 𓎔 𓎕 𓎖 𓎗 𓎘 𓎙 𓎚 𓎛 𓎜 𓎝 𓎞 𓎟 𓎠 𓎡 𓎢 𓎣 𓎤 𓎥 𓎦 𓎧 𓎨 𓎩 𓎪 𓎫 𓎬 𓎭 𓎮 𓎯 𓎰 𓎱 𓎲 𓎳 𓎴 𓎵 𓎶 𓎷 𓎸 𓎹 𓎺 𓎻 𓎼 𓎽 𓎾 𓎿 𓏀 𓏁 𓏂 𓏃 𓏄 𓏅 𓏆 𓏇 𓏈 𓏉 𓏊 𓏋 𓏌 𓏍 𓏎 𓏏 𓏐 𓏑 𓏒 𓏓 𓏔 𓏕 𓏖 𓏗 𓏘 𓏙 𓏚 𓏛 𓏜 𓏝 𓏞 𓏟 𓏠 𓏡 𓏢 𓏣 𓏤 𓏥 𓏦 𓏧 𓏨 𓏩 𓏪 𓏫 𓏬 𓏭 𓏮 𓏯 𓏰 𓏱 𓏲 𓏳 𓏴 𓏵 𓏶 𓏷 𓏸 𓏹 𓏺 𓏻 𓏼 𓏽 𓏾 𓏿 𓐀 𓐁 𓐂 𓐃 𓐄 𓐅 𓐆 𓐇 𓐈 𓐉 𓐊 𓐋 𓐌 𓐍 𓐎 𓐏 𓐐 𓐑 𓐒 𓐓 𓐔 𓐕 𓐖 𓐗 𓐘 𓐙 𓐚 𓐛 𓐜 𓐝 𓐞 𓐟

Backstory: I live round the corner from my gran and visit her often so thanks to me she has a vague grasp of what memes are and how they work. The other day when I was round at hers and she asked what memes were popular at the moment so I told her about the "OK boomer" meme. She knew what boomers were already so she was able to get the concept of this meme fairly easily. Fast forward to today, I'm over at my gran's again, and she's on the phone to my aunt. They got into a disagreement over a slightly racist comment my aunt made the other day (my gran is very much against racism) and my gran eventually just said "OK boomer" and hung up. I've never been so proud. UPDATE: So I told my gran about this post and the reaction it got - she said she's glad that so many of you enjoyed her little joke and that it proves she's still young at heart. I agree with that 100%.

tare you kidding me? i spent so much money on you, tier 3 every month and you’re not even going to be on Twitch anymore? this is unjust! not to mention the countless channel points ive collected to redeem on POKI stickers and maybe even more! ResidentSleeper, L streamer.

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.

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.

Bi God’s bons, hwat didest thou seien of min, thou litel cunte? Thou shalt knouen ich was gradūāten best in min classe in soldierie, and ich was in mani-fold skekeries on the Frenshe men, and I hawe more than thre hundred slaghs that ben verried. Ich am expertful in mancowe militaunce, and ich am the best longe-boue archer in all the Englisch hoste. Thou are nout to min but a newe marke. Ich wille thee sottili renden, semble-wise was neverte beholden; par fei! Thou think thou canst afforthe to speken that shite ouer the “Internet”? Think-agen, churl! as we speken nou, ich am spēking wit minen aspīeris in all of Engellonde, and thin estre bith spīen aboute noue, thus thou shalt fore-dighten before the storm, maddok! The storm that wille shenden that spītǒus frivōl thou namest “thine lif”. Thou art ded, childe. Ich can ben ought-wher, ought-tym, and ich can slen thou with ouer seven hundred methodes, and all bar-handed! Ich am not only expertful in bar-handed baratri, but ich haue infare to the pleine armurie of the host of engelonde, and ich wille emploien hit for slen thine spitous arse, mandrake mymmerkin. If only thou cǒuthest hauen knouen what unblessed pūnīciǒun thine littel “gleu” glose was about to cause, parchaunce thou hauen holden thine tǒng stille. But thou cǒuthest nout, thou didest nout, and now thou paien for hit, thou simpleton. Ich wille casten oute furour upon thee, and thou wille senchen in hit. Thou art utterly ded, mannikin.