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.
Imagine, 700 years in the future, through some last vestige of the internet kept in an underground server, a notification miraculously appears on your device (which has been preserved in nuclear dust from the 5th world war). One night, an alien working a late shift at the museum of archeology notices the cracked screen suddenly light up, and upon it, one word arises from the battered code: Amogus. They do not know what this word means. They ponder it deeply. They scour the ancient tomes, desperate to understand its mystifying origin. It drives them mad. Is it a primeval cipher? The motto of a bygone civilization? A message from God? Night after night they study it by candlelight. They flip through pages in books so old, the slightest cough would turn the paper to a fine off-white powder. The answer is nowhere to be found. And then they are struck by a revelation: I was not meant to know this word. Its esoteric nature escapes my grasp for a reason. What if its meaning is too enlightening to bear? With this revelation comes anger. Spite. Despair. Why shouldn't I understand it?! What cosmic forces are there at play to keep me from such knowledge?! In a fit of desperate rage, they shatter your device against a wall and exclaim, arms raised to the heavens: "This is literally 1984!" Silence... Their pleas are unanswered. Sadly, in the end, their inability to unlock the word's meaning drives them to suicide. Its secrets are never known. So I ask you this: is it better to die having never understood the true mind-bending nature of Amogus, or to be driven mad by the little spaceman in his blood-red suit? If you knew enlightenment would render you incapable of living on this mortal earth without making daily references to a game of space mafia, would you accept it? With knowledge comes power, but also endless suffering. Choose wisely, and be wary when standing at the edge of that great abyss we call "the Truth," lest you fall too deep.
Hi my name is Carmen Winstead. I'm 17 years old. I am very similar to you... Did I mention to you that I'm dead. A few years ago a group of girls pushed me down a sewer hole to try and embarrass me. When I didn't come back up the police came. The girls said that I had fell and everyone believed them. The police found my body in the sewer. I had a broken neck and my face was torn off. Send this message to 15 people after you read the whole message if you value your life! A boy called David received this message. He just laughed and deleted it. When he was in the shower he heard laughing... MY LAUGHTER! He got really scared, rushed to his phone to repost this message... But he was too late. The next morning his mum entered his bedroom and all she found was a message written in his blood saying, "You will never have him back!" No one has found his body yet... because he is with me!... Send this to 15 people in the next 5 minutes if you don't want your fate to be the same as David's. Your time starts... NOW! The story is true you can research it on google
Hi! 🖐🙌 My 👪👈 name is Carl 🔭🔭 Winstead, Carmen Winstead's brother. 😎 I 👁🏼 pooped all 💯 over 🙊🔝 my 🎅🅱 balls 🏐🔵 and 👈 my mom 👵♀ beat 👊 me. 👩🌭 I crashed 📉📉 my 👀👖 uncle's ♂ Nissan Altima into 🏼 a child 👶👶 hospital 🏥 building 🏗🏗 and broke 📉 my 😏 11th toe. 👞👟 My 👨 buddy, 👬👤 Henry Chewbacca Jenkins, put perc 30s in 😛 his 😵 grandpa's inhaler and 👏👏 he 👉👱 died. 😂
My grandpa is a Rwandan genocide denier. I have no idea why. We live in Wales, have no connection to Rwanda and he isn't a conspiracy kind of guy in general. He has never been to Rwanda or met a Rwandan yet in his house he has pages of documents 'proving the hoax', such as a full script for the movie Hotel Rwanda with a bunch of random letters from the words highlighted showing the secret messages' from the director. He says that Paul Kagame doesn't exist and that 'every picture of bodies 'is clearly in Burundi' and has huge printouts of aerial photographs of Burundi to prove it. Not sure what he has against Rwanda but if you bring it up to him he calls you a 'Tutsi
My background in all my Zoom calls (and Microsoft Teams, of course) is a gaping, nearly completely shaved vagina, or pussy as the kids say. It's definitely juiced up and loosed up and ready for shovin' and there I am with my dumb little chair just positioned right in the middle of it all. I tell my coworkers that it's not a vagina, it's a picture I took while on vacation in New Zealand, that it's the entrance to a cave, ya know with glow worms, but I know they know it's just a vagina (pussy). I haven't gotten in trouble for it though, and I'm not sure why.
I’m a 41 year old male who has never been on a date. I've never had sex with a woman either. I watch porn because I can't get laid. I've only seen one escort and ended up not having sex because I busted a nut when when she touched my crotch. I'm on eHarmony right now, and I'm convinced that all of the hopeful men and women out there, who think they will find someone are just hopeful......that's it. And, they may never find someone. Good-looking people have children. Good-looking people usually have better jobs. Good-looking people usually get promoted over people who are less attractive. I have a college degree, I attended a maritime academy, and I was once a ship's officer aboard oil tankers. I'm a good person. I work hard and make a decent living, drive a nice car, pay my own rent, etc. I support myself on my own. I live alone and the only people who will ever love me unconditionally are my family. No woman will ever love me. Nothing else matters unless you're good-looking.
When I was twelve I performed a fart experiment. I wanted to capture an undiluted fart in a jar and see if after a month it still smelled. I ate some hotdogs and pizza, then had a lot of ice cream. These were all foods known to induce flatulence in me. Then I waited. I could feel my stomach rumbling as the noxious gasses inside me brewed. I filled a bathtub full of water, got my jar with a tightly fitting lid, took off my clothes and got in. I put the jar under water so it would fill, then held it inverted over my crotch. As the gas left my sphincter it rose up and displaced the water in the jar. After two or three, I had a jar filled with flatus. I gingerly placed the cap on the jar and tightened it. Now came the waiting. I put the gas-filled jar under my bed and waited the thirty days. I resisted the temptation to open it prematurely. Finally the day arrived. I got home from school and went right to my room. I closed the door. I opened the jar, stuck my nose in, and took a big whiff. The remnants of my intestinal emission was just as pungent as the flatulence I was issuing the day I began my project. The gas, for all intents and purposes, had remained unchanged. I would postulate that a fart in a jar could conceivable last for an eternity.
