Copypasta of a person’s past experience or events that is so absurd it became a meme of its own. Usually untrue stories that tries to circle jerk opinions.
Its a joke on Nintendo since they have a reputation on shutting down anything infringing on their IP. The story started from FB as a meme but is partially true on a kid that created a Switch with carboard.
a young boy from Thailand dreamed about having a Nintendo switch. Due to not having good financial conditions, he fabricated his own using cardboard and markers. His father, moved, filmed him and posted the video on social media. After going viral, it got to the eyes of Nintendo's CEO, who went to Thailand personally and sued the boy for 2.5 million dollars for copyright infringement.
Its a copypasta joke that the sitcom Big Bang Theory is actually unfunny and people would only laugh because it has laugh track. Its unclear where it originally came from but the earliest dates back in 2018 from Reddit.
"I've never been a fan of Internet Explorer"
Crowd laughs nervously and a few grunts are heard from the back seats as people edge closer to hear the punchline.
"Why not? Don't you like the internet?"
The crowd suddenly stands up, aware that they are about to receive what they came for. People slowly edge closer to the set as Sheldon prepares for his next line. Sweat is clearly visible on his brow and his mouth is quivering in anticipation as he readies himself for what is about to happen.
"I just prefer Firefox because, like the fox, I am cunning and nimble."
The crowd suddenly surges forward as the words escape Sheldon's mouth. They are so powerful, they almost shake the very foundations of the CBS studios. He watches as, in what he perceives as slow motion, the crowd moves toward his fragile body. He has been preparing for this moment his whole life. This is his moment. This is his Emmy. This is his Golden Globe. This is even his Oscar. The crowd converges around him so quickly they ignore the trampled cries of Leonard and Penny, who now lie shaking on the floor, their bones crushed by the sheer mass of the crowd. Sheldon stares back at the eyes around him. What he sees are no longer people. What he sees is the human psyche stripped down to its core. Their lives, what they were before this moment has been forgotten. Ravenous. Hungry. They want one thing from him. Sheldon closes his eyes, clears his mind and relaxes his body. What happens next depends completely on the next few seconds. The time between this and what he mutters next feels like an eternity. Slowly, he opens his eyes. He looks at Leonard, then at Penny, both lying lifeless on the floor. Without a second thought, he says with resounding conviction...
"BAZINGA"
In a split second, the crowd pounces on his ready and waiting body. Man, woman, child all at once. Sheldon cries out in complete ecstasy as they consume his flesh. He stops suddenly, as he drifts into eternal slumber. Peace at last.
i grew up watching cartoons in french and i remember trying to make friends in school asking everyone "yall watch bob l'eponge" omg they bullied me so hard
I banned jarlic from our home, and my wife keeps finding workarounds.
I tried to be thoughtful. I handed my wife a contract forbidding preminced jarlic. She smiled when she signed it - which I took to mean that she thinks I asked her politely, and she was going to respect my wishes. "Fine by me. No more jarlic," she said as she put pen to paper. I made copies of the document, locked the original in my safe and went to bed happy.
The next day, she comes home with groceries, and I do my routine inspection. At the top of the bag, prominently displayed, is a Ziploc bag of preminced garlic. "What the hell is this?" "Baglic," she says. Baglic. "Just following the rules."
I amend the contract. "No preminced garlic inside of any container." She signs it again, smiling. Her smile is no longer comforting. The next day she comes home with one bag of groceries, and one closed fist. She sets the bag down on the counter, locks eyes with me, and then dumps a fistful of minced garlic onto the countertop. "Handlic."
My printer is running out of ink and I'm running out of patience. "No preminced garlic anywhere on our property." She signs it again, smiling bigger than ever. I cannot even fathom how she's going to spin this one.
The next day, she walks in holding nothing but a jar of minced garlic. I've got her dead to rights now. I'm waving the document around and explaining to her that she violated the contract. She walks over to the window and lifts the shade. There's a table in our front yard, an acoustic guitar leaned against it, and a man with face tattoos chopping garlic gloves by hand and lifting it into a jar with a bench scraper. "Honey, this isn't pre-minced garlic, this is Post-minced garlic. Get fucked."
I hate my fucking life.
Wake up babe, new Mario Kart World copypasta just dropped by u/SuperPapernick.
You are playing Mario Kart World.
The race was hard fought, but you made it to first place in the final lap. The race is almost over and your lead is commanding. You see a blue shell approaching, but you are not worried. "I have a Super Horn, I'm safe" you think to yourself as you watch a ghost rip it from your hands and laugh in your face. The finish line is in sight. You get hit by the blue shell. Followed by a red shell. And another red shell. And another red shell. You finish 15th.
You are playing Mario Kart World.
Finally, after 11 attempts trying to 3-star Heart Rally at 150 cc, you maintained a lead through the whole race, at every checkpoint. It is the final lap. You drove like a pro using Bowser, the fastest character in the game, driving the fastest car available with 20 coins. All your drift and jump boosts were optimal, your racing line immaculate. You took every shortcut. You can see the finish line approaching. "Finally, my practice, perseverance and skilled driving payed off" you think to yourself as you helplessly watch a tiny AI controlled baby, driving a motorized boom box, overtake you on the final straight despite the stat discrepancy and your top speed. You'll have to try again, you think, as you hold in a scream of frustration.
You are playing Mario Kart World.
The race begins, you intentionally do not boost-start. You purposely hang back in 24th place, rerolling items until you get a golden mushroom and a bullet bill. You don't touch the R-button once, don't drift, pull off no tricks and drive like a 3-year old who has never played Mario Kart. You stay in the back of the race deliberately. During the second half of the final lap, you finally unload your items and effortlessly cut through the competition. You finish in first place seconds ahead of the runner up. They stood no chance. You smile a fake smile and tell yourself "I really fought hard for that win, what an accomplishmant it was! A true test of skill!"
You just played Mario Kart World.
Its a rewrite of the original ‘My husband is a human gas chamber‘ story that has been gender swapped and rewritten using presumably AI.
My wife was left alone for 3 weeks and I wish she’d just cheated instead.
Three weeks ago, I left for a work trip to Germany. My wife didn’t want to come. “I’ll hang back, water the plants, binge some Netflix,” she said. She’s 39. I thought, “Okay, she’s a grown adult. She’ll be fine.”
She was not fine.
Day 2, she tries to make sourdough from scratch using a YouTube video and what she thought was yeast but turned out to be Epsom salt. The result: a rock-hard bread grenade that cracked our marble counter. She named it “Crumbzilla” and displayed it like a trophy.
Then, she decided to go “all raw vegan” for some reason and ordered 19 pounds of produce from a sketchy organic site. Half of it arrived moldy. The other half, she juiced. Exclusively. For a week. Just juice. No solids. She got so dizzy she mistook the laundry hamper for the fridge and put all our frozen meals in it. They’ve since liquefied.
To survive, she pivoted to eating Pop-Tarts and spoonfuls of peanut butter. Her justification: “Balance.”
Meanwhile, she stopped wearing actual clothes. Just bathrobes. The same one, every day. By week two it was 70% robe, 30% soup stains. The dog refused to cuddle her.
Last night, I land, exhausted, and I’m greeted by a living room that smells like fermented ginger and regret. She runs to hug me—robe flapping open, holding a jar of pickles in one hand and a half-knitted scarf in the other. Apparently, she took up knitting to “relax her stomach.”
This morning, I wake up to her whispering “I think I’m a kombucha now” and burping in her sleep. The dog has moved his bed into the bathroom and won’t make eye contact with either of us.
I grabbed my keys and said I was going out for coffee. The dog followed. He needed air. I needed therapy.
So here I am at a café with a silent, traumatized schnauzer, drinking espresso like it’s holy water. The barista asked if I wanted oat milk. I said no, because my trauma already comes in liquid form.
Hope your morning’s less... fermented.
EDIT: To those raising eyebrows in the comments—hey, fair enough. Humor’s subjective. It’s a story. No kombucha was harmed, no souls were actually fermented, and yes, the dog is emotionally recovering with the help of peanut butter and a weighted blanket. The relationship is fine. The only thing that truly suffered was the fish’s dignity.
This isn’t a manifesto. It’s satire. If you made it all the way to the part about vegan hotdog shakes and still thought this was a cry for help instead of a comedy-horror spiral, then I truly admire your commitment to missing the point.
To everyone else who laughed, side-eyed their own bathrobe, and gave their pets a reassuring pat—thank you. You're the reason the fish hasn’t completely given up. Yet.
