"Hey, do you guys have szechuan sauce?", I ask the low IQ minimum wage slave. "N-no, sir. We just ran out", he muttered. I was overcome with a primal rage. I jump on the counter, screaming "I'm Pickle Rick!”. The 200 IQ crowd chanted in unison, “WUBBALUBBA DUB DUB” whilst beating their chests towards the cowering worker. I put my shirt over my head and let out the purest REEE to show my devotion to Rick. Everyone else REEEs as well. Yes, my brothers, let it all out. The manger comes in and calls the police, he doesn’t understand the mature and intellectual nature of our cries. We Naruto run to the next McDonalds store as we search endlessly for that sauce.

I saw exactly 1.09441 square inches of a girls shoulder today, I immediately fell to my knees, as the rush of dopamine signaling my impending, earth shattering orgasm started making me moan loud enough to deafen EVERYONE in the immediate vicinity. What followed was a torrential downpour of every single sperm cell I ever had, or ever will produce shot out SO HARD that my dick was ripped apart by my Übernut, accelerating to 5% of the speed of light by the time it left my urethra. It vaporized the girl as it punched right through her, it barely slowed before cutting through a structural support beam in the school as if it were a nuclear powered angle grinder. the sheer weight of this historical nut, combined with the total destruction of everything in its path caused the school to collapse, and every female in the state of illinois became pregnant with my children.

A SIMP HAS FALLEN FOR AN E-GIRL IN LEGO CITY HEY! CONSTRUCT THE THOT PATROL AND LOCK HER UP (BEGONE THOT) NEW THOT PATROL FROM LEGO CITY setsandaccessory'ssoldseperatly *Belle Delphine squeals*

This does not change the fact that in Antarctica there are 21 million penguins and in Malta there are 502,653 inhabitants. So if the penguins decide to invade Malta, each Maltese will have to fight 42 penguins.

Natalie Portman is the reason I work out. I have this fantasy where we start talking at the Vanity Fair Oscars party bar. We exchange a few pleasantries. She asks what I do. I say I loved her in New Girl. She laughs. I get my drink. "Well, see ya," I say and walk away. I've got her attention now. How many guys voluntarily leave a conversation with Natalie Portman? She touches her neck as she watches me leave. Later, as the night's dragged on and the coterie of gorgeous narcissists grows increasingly loose, she finds me on the balcony, my bowtie undone, smoking a cigarette. "Got a spare?" she asks. "What's in it for me?" I say as I hand her one of my little white ladies. She smiles. "Conversation with me, duh." I laugh. "What's so funny?" she protests. "Nothing, nothing... It's just... don't you grow tired of the egos?" "You get used to it," she says, lighting her cigarette and handing me back the lighter. "What would you do if you weren't an actress?" I ask. "Teaching, I think." "And if I was your student, what would I be learning?" "Discipline," she says quickly, looking up into my eyes, before changing the subject. "Where are you from?" "Bermuda," I say. "Oh wow. That's lovely." "It's ok," I admit. "Not everything is to my liking." "What could possibly be not to your liking in Bermuda?" she inquires. "I don't like sand," I tell her. "It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."