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 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.
God fucking damn it, what's with all the Gardevoir obsessed people? When I was in high school, I had a roomate. Dude was fat, smelly, and obsessed with Gardevoir. He had Gardevoir T-shirts, Gardevoir posters, a Gardevoir plushie, and I swear to God, he had a Gardevoir Japanese fuck pillow. Every fucking conversation we had, he turned it into Gardervoir conversation. I wanted to punch him so bad, but I couldn't. I got anger issues, and just one fuck up could get me out of school. But I swear to God, sometimes I thought it would be a just price for punching that fat motherfucker in the face. I kept finding Gardevoir pictures EVERYWHERE. Some of them were covered in cum. Every night I heard him jerking off, and no matter how many times I asked - he did it anyway.
Once he said to me: "Hey Whiskey, we are having Pokémon night this Friday, are you cool with that?" I had an all night videogame LAN party that Friday, so I allowed that, but only if his buddies wouldn't touch any of my stuff. At all.
Long story short - LAN party got cancelled, and I had to go back to my room. My God, what I saw could not be described. Four fat nerds, watching the Pokémon anime, eating Cheetos, and covering everything with orange dust. One of those fatasses wore a fucking Gardevoir suit and another one was smoking. And they were sitting on my bed. That's right, those fuckers were sitting on my goddamn bed, covering it in Cheetos dust, cigarette ash and sweat. They haven't noticed me, because they were too busy watching anime. I was about to scream on top of my lungs and punch them, when Gardevoir appeared on the screen. All four pulled their dicks out in one synchronised movement and started to masturbate. I wish I was making that up. Even today this comes back in my nightmares. I gave my roomate a head concussion, knocked a few teeth out of others, and shattered suit guy's kneecap.Got into serious trouble, but my lawyer pulled my ass out of the fire. I fucking hate Gardevoir.
Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels. Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the “loser,” and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round. I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world. Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment. When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3×5 card reading, “Please use this M&M for breeding purposes.” This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this “grant money.” I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion. There can be only one.
