You Will Not Survive Long Enough to Make a Difference in Any Meaningful Way So You Might As Well Kill Yourself or Enjoy the Ride
By Mrs. K. Butters
HEY, DO YALL LIKE CORNBREAD?
And you do like cornbread, so you slide the book into your pocket with plans to read it over dinner. Your meals are always eaten alone since the fight with Carrie. But you never read the book. You fall on the train platform and slip beneath the wheels of the 7:15 to Wallingcot. Without murmur of complaint you are separated into four pieces. The world scarcely notices. Your mother cries for all the wasted effort. You are interchangeable with another of your species. Even your Carrie will soon forget your face. Guilty, she may try to remember, but you have already slipped away.
Caution! To prevent falling, all furniture more than 29" high should be anchored to the wall. Say what you will about our species, but we will win. There is no place we will not possess. We will fill up every crack and crevice nature affords us. We will endure her storms, confront her privations, but we will never constructively resist our urge to breed and consume.
Do not fight us. Do not attempt to conserve or preserve. When the time comes we will lustily suck marrow from the femur of the last competing primate and then we will turn on each other. Our pet dogs will shit your blood out and smell it. We have already won. Bear witness to the triumph of our infinite majesty. Drown in our filth.
K415 M1A2 "Mrs. Fuck Bucket," Sgt. Rodman ready to rock and roll. Twofer is on the 120, Greely in the easy chair, and Babyface in the turret eating some shady street meat. The vendor swears it's goat, but it's really dog. The vendor only feeds him dog and spit and kebab sauce in pocket bread. Corporal Andrew "Babyface" Acosta Monroe is about to be shot through the face with a 7.62mm steel core round from a Pakistani copy of a Chinese copy of the AK-47. As his brain explodes he will be thinking about female squirting videos.
Corporal Monroe is the nicest man in the world. In three minutes the nicest man in the world will be Yun Jin of Leshan, China. The moment Corpral Monroe's face is struck by the bullet Yun Jin will be helping ducks across a busy street. In three years Yun Jin, 56, will be devoured by bone cancer. His many kindnesses will be repaid with a small statue in his honor in a park in Leshan. The inscription on this statue will last for 383 years. Yun Jin will die having never seen a woman ejaculate across a motel bed.
The boy fish are growing clits. This elixir that flows south emerged from ten million bottle fonts, body hot and fortified with hormones. So imbibed this plentiful potion must emerge, at least the parts that do not belong to our flesh, and these go out into the water and cannot be taken back. This gift to fish and fowl, to frog and toughened terrapin. Pleasure mad they will soon thrust themselves upon our nets and grind themselves onto oars. Will they note the burden of this new thing, this interloping appendage, or will they simply accept that they are made with clits and go about their business much as we do not often miss our tails? Gender is in the mind. Let each fish define himself without regard to clit or six.
This libtard terminator keeps asking for guns that don't exist and I may have to close early out of frustration.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
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