Popular Copypastas

Bear King Michael Burry in the ring, slappin TSLA with a metal chair. His glass eye open wide with rage as he batters TSLA relentlessly. "The valuation..." crunch "makes...." crunch "NO.... " crunch "SENSE!" he roars with maniacal autistic glee. TSLA struggles for the edge of the ring, but coughs blood as each hit lands, and eventually stops moving. Bear King Burry drops the chair. Bear King Burry turns to the crowd "Was this your champion!? Was TSLA supposed to be your chosen one!?" A child in the crowd turns his face into his mother's side and cries. On the side of the ring WSB can barely move. TSLA was supposed to tag them in, but couldn't make it to the side in time. "Get up TSLA" WSB whimpers hopelessly, a single tear rolling down their cheek. "Get up..." Bear King Burry turns to WSB "Now it is your portfolio's turn. Get in here you little bitch." "Excuse me." Someone replies from behind BKB. "I believe I can give you the fight you want." A robed figure is administering smelling salts to TSLA. The figure puts TSLA on its shoulder and carries TSLA gently out of the ring. "And just who the fuck do you think you are?" BKB rumbles ominously. BKB's fingers squeeze so tightly on the chair that metal bends. "Who am I?" the robed figure inquires. The robed figure stands straight and stretches to their full height. They must be at least 7' tall. The crowd stops crying and watches in stunned silence. "Who am I?" The figure repeats menacingly. The figure turns around to face BKB, ripping off his robe. A gleaming light fills the stadium. Before us stands a Golden deity, rippling with muscle. If there is an ounce of body fat it is currently in hiding, only to make way for seemingly endless coiled golden musculature. The figure looks directly into Bear King Burry's eyes. "I'm Goldman Sachs, and i'm here to kill you."

Stop calling slabs "half-slabs," you fucking imbeciles. A slab is half a block. If you say "half-slab," you're literally saying "half half block," or in other words, "quarter-block." A slab is not a quarter of a block. It is a half of a block. There is no such thing as a quarter block.

I hate, hate, hate coffee culture. I can't stand people saying, "Oh, I can't do anything until I get a warm cup of coffee in me." Shut up. Being a former smoker, I recognize the addiction and subsequent irritability of coffee drinkers and it bugs me to no end that caffeine gets glossed over as an addictive substance, or even fucking celebrated to some extent. Those people who brag about needing 5 expresso shots (sorry, esssspresso) a day need an intervention, not a nod of approval. Seriously, all you coffee drinkers are the biggest group of fucking enablers I've ever seen. When doing group activities, like camping, I loathe waiting for others to start their day after a morning ritual that hogs counter space, or propane, or dirties good clean water. I hate the sleepy look in peoples' eyes as they grasp their cup of stimulant that they wouldn't need had they never started drinking it in the first place. There's an entire fucking cupboard in my kitchen dedicated to stupid coffee mugs and their dumb sayings staring back at me despite living in a household where only one person drinks coffee. Why? And the dishes. Since nearly every person drinks coffee, inevitably us non-coffee drinkers are going to have to clean up after your morning fix. Seriously, I've done so many goddamned cleanings of coffee mugs if I had a dime for every one, I'd probably have enough for a Starbucks franchise. And don't even get me started on Starbucks. Godamned devil business slanging legal crack for decades, hogging good real estate so addicts have a place to slurp up and get their morning shit in before work. Lastly, I despise the amalgam of ways people cook up their black powder and then talk up the flavor as though it tastes like something other than a dirty sock. That's your addiction speaking. You want to know why you need to dump half an udder of cream in your cup? It's because cream is fucking delicious and when combined with your filthy water, makes it somewhat bearable. And your stupid machines that creak and groan through the quietude of my morning can go fuck themselves. Talk about a waste of counter-space. And the spent black stimulant granules that spill over onto the counter, staining the grout drives me nuts. And lastly, the goddamned keurig cups or whatever they're called are one of humanity's worst inventions, sandwiched between Glyphosate and Joe Rogan. At least the meth addicts don't deposit a plastic remnant that will persist in landfills for hundreds of years spreading micro-plastics into our environment every time they need to get high.

I had this friend who used to brag to us all the time that he could catch his cum in his mouth without fail every time he masturbated. He actually wrote down how many times he successfully did it. 327. I’ll never forget that number. And every day at school, he would talk about this. It was always during lunch my sophomore year of high school, too..so it was extremely unnecessary. He used to always try to demonstrate his techniques with packets of mayonnaise but we’d always threaten to move tables so he’d stop. He was really one of those people who needed attention constantly. Aside from those times at lunch, he was a completely normal dude. Like…even after class we’d ask him about that stuff and be like “dude, what was with that cum stuff at lunch,” and he’d always look at us like we were crazy and say “what the hell are you talking about?” I’ll never forget that classmate. His great personality will always be remember but his perplexing obsession with catching his own ejaculate in his mouth will live on forever at my previous high school. He was a one of a kind guy. His name was Norman Reedus.