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Storytime

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.


My little sister (age 12) has gotten into a bad habit recently.

    My little sister has gotten into a bad habit recently. Apparently she had just discovered from one of her friends that a guy's testicles are very sensitive, and she felt the need to test this. So a couple of weeks ago when I was in the shower she snuck in behind me and grabbed my balls, then started squeezing and pulling with all her might. It was hot in the shower and my balls were very loose, so needless to say it was very painful. And I'm not the big macho type that can handle these kinds of things.
    
    I tried to grab at her and get her off but she was crouched down too far behind me to reach. Her hands wouldn't budge from my balls either, no matter how hard I tried to pry her off. After about 30 seconds of me yelling at her to stop, threatening her in all kinds of ways, I felt nauseous. My knees buckled and I fell to the shower floor. While still holding on, she started shouting crap about how strong guys' balls are so weak and vulnerable. Eventually she stopped and ran away, while I lied on the floor for another 15 minutes.
    
    That night I tried to have a talk with her, and tell her that you can't do something like that. She's only 12, after all, and probably doesn't know any better. But the talk was absolutely pointless, she just played dumb the whole time, denying that anything happened. I got so frustrated that I walked out, but I couldn't bare to tell my parents about it. That's just too embarrassing for me to handle.
    
    So for the last 2 weeks whenever it was just the two of us in the house she would sneak up behind me and try to grab my balls. Of course it was harder for her since I had clothes on unlike the time in the shower, but she somehow always managed to slide her hands up my shorts and squeeze just before I could turn around.
    
    It's getting very dangerous now. Yesterday was the reason I decided to share my story here. She got a fierce grip on my left nut and I fell to my knees. She must have gotten good at it, as I had never felt this much pain before. I started getting woozy and losing focus, barely able to say anything to her. I passed out within 10 seconds.
    
    I think this is what she wanted. I woke up in the middle of the den where I collapsed, completely nude, and sprawled out on my back. My balls ached like never before, and I'm pretty sure they were a shade of purple. I couldn't get up. My head was ringing, but I was able to make out the voices of two or three of her friends from school in her room.
    
    I'm very worried that she doesn't know the real harm in what she is doing. I could've been neutered for all she knew. I can't leave my room without getting paranoid and constantly looking over my shoulder. I don't even shower or change my clothes anymore. Anything to avoid being naked around her. How do I get her to stop? I don't want to hit my sister, but that may be the only option. Help me 

    El otro dia me soplé el pene en la mesa y a la gente no le gustó

      La gente es hipócrita, yo lo sé, pero cuando dicha hipocresía viene de nadie menos que tu propia familia, entonces eso no sólo duele, sino que además, te da algo en qué pensar...
      
      Vivimos en una sociedad tan obstinante, cretina, y ridículamente codificada hasta el colmo de lo infinito, que tenemos que ponernos a meditar al menos dos, cuatro o seis veces las cosas que decimos antes de decirlas o lo que hacemos antes de hacerlo, pues si no, entonces los demás se toman la libertad de ofenderse a la ligera con uno, y tal vez ni siquiera por convicción personal, sino porque son puras normas absurdas de sociedad.
      
      Resulta que yo nací con una extraña condición que poca gente posee: puedo soplar por el miembro.
      
      Así que después de que mi primo hizo un chiste y todos se rieron, yo quise hacer lo mío. Llamé la atención de la gente para que me vieran, me bajé el zipper del pantalón y, cubriéndome el pito para que las mujeres no lo vieran, soplé por el pene haciendo que la servilleta se moviera y todo.
      
      Total que todo el mundo se quedó callado y mi mamá me vio con mala cara. Cambiaron el tema sin decir nada, y me hicieron pasar pena.
      
      Malditos sean.

      English version

      The other day I blew my penis on the table and people didn't like it
      People are hypocritical, I know, but when said hypocrisy comes from no one less than your own family, then it not only hurts, but also gives you something to think about...
      We live in a society so obstinate, cretinous, and ridiculously codified to the point of infinity, that we have to start meditating at least two, four or six times the things we say before saying them or what we do before doing it, well if no, then others take the liberty of taking slight offense to one, and perhaps not even out of personal conviction, but because they are purely absurd rules of society.
      It turns out that I was born with a strange condition that few people have: I can blow through my member.
      So after my cousin made a joke and everyone laughed, I wanted to do my thing. I called people's attention so they could see me, I unzipped my pants and, covering my dick so the women wouldn't see it, I blew through my penis making the napkin move and everything.
      Total that everyone was silent and my mom looked at me with a bad face. They changed the subject without saying anything, and made me feel sorry for them.
      Damn they are.

      I saw Flying Lotus at a grocery store in Los Angeles

        The original was about Flying Lotus and many variations of celebrities came after that.
        The original was about Flying Lotus and posted on 4chan.
        I saw Flying Lotus at a grocery store in Los Angeles yesterday. I told him how cool it was to meet him in person, but I didn’t want to be a douche and bother him and ask him for photos or anything. He said, “Oh, like you’re doing now?” I was taken aback, and all I could say was “Huh?” but he kept cutting me off and going “huh? huh? huh?” and closing his hand shut in front of my face. I walked away and continued with my shopping, and I heard him chuckle as I walked off. When I came to pay for my stuff up front I saw him trying to walk out the doors with like fifteen Milky Ways in his hands without paying.
        
        The girl at the counter was very nice about it and professional, and was like “Sir, you need to pay for those first.” At first he kept pretending to be tired and not hear her, but eventually turned back around and brought them to the counter.
        
        When she took one of the bars and started scanning it multiple times, he stopped her and told her to scan them each individually “to prevent any electrical infetterence,” and then turned around and winked at me. I don’t even think that’s a word. After she scanned each bar and put them in a bag and started to say the price, he kept interrupting her by yawning really loudly.
        
        I saw Flying Lotus at a grocery store in Los Angeles yesterday. I told him how cool it was to meet him in person, but I didn’t want to be a douche and bother him and ask him for photos or anything. He said, “Oh, like you’re doing now?” I was taken aback, and all I could say was “Huh?” but he kept cutting me off and going “huh? huh? huh?” and closing his hand shut in front of my face. I walked away and continued with my shopping, and I heard him chuckle as I walked off. When I came to pay for my stuff up front I saw him trying to walk out the doors with like fifteen Milky Ways in his hands without paying.
        
        The girl at the counter was very nice about it and professional, and was like “Sir, you need to pay for those first.” At first he kept pretending to be tired and not hear her, but eventually turned back around and brought them to the counter.
        When she took one of the bars and started scanning it multiple times, he stopped her and told her to scan them each individually “to prevent any electrical infetterence,” and then turned around and winked at me. I don’t even think that’s a word. After she scanned each bar and put them in a bag and started to say the price, he kept interrupting her by yawning really loudly.

        Imagine, if you will, you’re a 31 year old ATF agent.

          Imagine, if you will, you’re a 31 year old ATF agent. You’ve been on the force for a while now when you get assigned to a somewhat routine mission. Some wacko has been evading his taxes as well as stocking up on illegal weaponry. You and a few of your fellow agents are advancing towards his compound through his extraordinarily long driveway when you hear it. The distinct noise of a small, propeller driven aircraft. You think *”Oh great, the bastards making a run for it”* when another noise breaks the silence among the advancing agents. You remember hearing it when you were pinned down in Afghanistan, asking for fire support towards that goddamned hill. You heard it when you rewatched combat footage from another soldiers perspective. You hoped and prayed you would never hear that noise again unless it wasnt aimed towards you. And by god, today it is. As you see your comrades getting mowed down I’m front of you, the distinctive *BRRRRRRRRRT* of a 30mm auto cannon erupts shortly after the first bullets hit their targets. The small plane then goes around for another run, miraculously leaving you in one piece, when you see something else that makes you feel even more fear than a CAS Cessna. An orange barrel, a large hazard symbol, and what looked like some sort of detonation rig. The Star Spangled Banner blares over several loudspeakers as the man youre trying to capture announces, *”TAXATION IS THEFT! DOWN WITH BIG PHARMA! ANCAPISTAN FOREVER!”*. Though it’s not what you would’ve hoped to hear, it’s the last thing you’ll ever hear.

          Libertarian Paradise

            The Libertarian Paradise is a satirical piece of fiction written by Tom O’Donnell titled L.P.D.: Libertarian Police Department for The New Yorker back in 2014.

            I was shooting heroin and reading “The Fountainhead” in the front seat of my privately owned police cruiser when a call came in. I put a quarter in the radio to activate it. It was the chief.
            
            “Bad news, detective. We got a situation.”
            
            “What? Is the mayor trying to ban trans fats again?”
            
            “Worse. Somebody just stole four hundred and forty-seven million dollars’ worth of bitcoins.”
            
            The heroin needle practically fell out of my arm. “What kind of monster would do something like that? Bitcoins are the ultimate currency: virtual, anonymous, stateless. They represent true economic freedom, not subject to arbitrary manipulation by any government. Do we have any leads?”
            
            “Not yet. But mark my words: we’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to take them down … provided someone pays us a fair market rate to do so.”
            
            “Easy, chief,” I said. “Any rate the market offers is, by definition, fair.”
            
            He laughed. “That’s why you’re the best I got, Lisowski. Now you get out there and find those bitcoins.”
            
            “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m on it.”
            
            I put a quarter in the siren. Ten minutes later, I was on the scene. It was a normal office building, strangled on all sides by public sidewalks. I hopped over them and went inside.
            
            “Home Depot™ Presents the Police!®” I said, flashing my badge and my gun and a small picture of Ron Paul. “Nobody move unless you want to!” They didn’t.
            
            “Now, which one of you punks is going to pay me to investigate this crime?” No one spoke up.
            
            “Come on,” I said. “Don’t you all understand that the protection of private property is the foundation of all personal liberty?”
            
            It didn’t seem like they did.
            
            “Seriously, guys. Without a strong economic motivator, I’m just going to stand here and not solve this case. Cash is fine, but I prefer being paid in gold bullion or autographed Penn Jillette posters.”
            
            Nothing. These people were stonewalling me. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that a fortune in computer money invented to buy drugs was missing.
            
            I figured I could wait them out. I lit several cigarettes indoors. A pregnant lady coughed, and I told her that secondhand smoke is a myth. Just then, a man in glasses made a break for it.
            
            “Subway™ Eat Fresh and Freeze, Scumbag!®” I yelled.
            
            Too late. He was already out the front door. I went after him.
            
            “Stop right there!” I yelled as I ran. He was faster than me because I always try to avoid stepping on public sidewalks. Our country needs a private-sidewalk voucher system, but, thanks to the incestuous interplay between our corrupt federal government and the public-sidewalk lobby, it will never happen.
            
            I was losing him. “Listen, I’ll pay you to stop!” I yelled. “What would you consider an appropriate price point for stopping? I’ll offer you a thirteenth of an ounce of gold and a gently worn ‘Bob Barr ‘08’ extra-large long-sleeved men’s T-shirt!”
            
            He turned. In his hand was a revolver that the Constitution said he had every right to own. He fired at me and missed. I pulled my own gun, put a quarter in it, and fired back. The bullet lodged in a U.S.P.S. mailbox less than a foot from his head. I shot the mailbox again, on purpose.
            
            “All right, all right!” the man yelled, throwing down his weapon. “I give up, cop! I confess: I took the bitcoins.”
            
            “Why’d you do it?” I asked, as I slapped a pair of Oikos™ Greek Yogurt Presents Handcuffs® on the guy.
            
            “Because I was afraid.”
            
            “Afraid?”
            
            “Afraid of an economic future free from the pernicious meddling of central bankers,” he said. “I’m a central banker.”
            
            I wanted to coldcock the guy. Years ago, a central banker killed my partner. Instead, I shook my head.
            
            “Let this be a message to all your central-banker friends out on the street,” I said. “No matter how many bitcoins you steal, you’ll never take away the dream of an open society based on the principles of personal and economic freedom.”
            
            He nodded, because he knew I was right. Then he swiped his credit card to pay me for arresting him.

            I think my roommate jizzed in my vape

              So me and my friend have been living inside the same house for about a month now. We are short on money and usually only one of us has a vape at one time so we always share. He usually borrows my vape for a little bit and brings it back but recently he’s been taking it for at least an hour at a time. I thought nothing of it until one day he handed it back to me and it had an odd taste. I thought it might be a problem with the vape but it got worse and didn’t taste burnt so I popped it open and there was a thick layer of slimy cloudy liquid. I immediately was in denial that it was his cum and tried to think of every other possibility but it was definitely cum. This was yesterday and I already got myself a new vape but I still haven’t confronted him about it. What was he even trying to do? I’m just so confused and don’t know how to handle this.