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I have an insatiable Kevin Brittingham fetish

    Kevin Brittingham copypasta

    Its originally the “I have an insatiable minion rape fetish” copypasta but changed to Kevin Brittingham, the founder of Q; a company that specializes in making silencers. He is often clowned online for perpetuating a tough guy persona in his social media.

    I have an insatiable Kevin Brittingham fetish. It is my ultimate fantasy to be gagged, tied up, and brutally assfucked by Kevin Brittingham.
    
    I have accrued tens of thousands in debt attempting to fill this void with sexual 'toys,' including several custom, unregistered form 1 silencer dildos and a balding Kevin-shaped real doll with a tramp stamp that reads "Take My Bepsi Challenge" in Chinese characters. I have had my face made love to by hundreds of balding, bearded, gen Xers, but not one of them could make me climax. Only Kevin is capable of giving me that release.
    
    The wife and I are separated, and have accepted the fact that I will never see my kids again. The only thing keeping Karen from divorcing me is the fear that she might be the final push into a deep. inescapable abyss, at the bottom of which lies my death.
    
    The truth is, our marriage died nine years ago on the night I met the love of my life. While browsing Instagram I saw Kevin's inconsistent welds and became rock hard, collapsing in the shower and sobbing at the realization that Kevin would never, could never, pin me down with his perfectly smooth body and stubby arms, penetrate me with his incredible shallow girth and empty his huge, aching balls deep inside my tummy. I sat there all night, sometimes weeping, sometimes ramming my flaccid dick into the shower drain in frustration.
    
    It has been nine years since that night. I have nothing now. I have accepted that. My apartment is a squalid den of inescapable despair, filled with jizz-stained 300 blackout shells and tormented notes etched onto lewd posters of the honey badger. I spend my days printing out screenshots of his forum posts and crying. My only friends are the roaches.
    I have an insatiable Kevin Brittingham fetish. It is my ultimate fantasy to be gagged, tied up, and brutally assfucked by Kevin Brittingham. I have accrued tens of thousands in debt attempting to fill this void with sexual 'toys,' including several custom, unregistered form 1 silencer dildos and a balding Kevin-shaped real doll with a tramp stamp that reads "Take My Bepsi Challenge" in Chinese characters. I have had my face made love to by hundreds of balding, bearded, gen Xers, but not one of them could make me climax. Only Kevin is capable of giving me that release. The wife and I are separated, and have accepted the fact that I will never see my kids again. The only thing keeping Karen from divorcing me is the fear that she might be the final push into a deep. inescapable abyss, at the bottom of which lies my death. The truth is, our marriage died nine years ago on the night I met the love of my life. While browsing Instagram I saw Kevin's inconsistent welds and became rock hard, collapsing in the shower and sobbing at the realization that Kevin would never, could never, pin me down with his perfectly smooth body and stubby arms, penetrate me with his incredible shallow girth and empty his huge, aching balls deep inside my tummy. I sat there all night, sometimes weeping, sometimes ramming my flaccid dick into the shower drain in frustration. It has been nine years since that night. I have nothing now. I have accepted that. My apartment is a squalid den of inescapable despair, filled with jizz-stained 300 blackout shells and tormented notes etched onto lewd posters of the honey badger. I spend my days printing out screenshots of his forum posts and crying. My only friends are the roaches. 

    Non ne posso più. Sono stufo di Xiangling.

      Sono stufo di Xiangling copypasta

      Its the Xiangling copypasta but in Italian.

      Non ne posso più. Sono stufo di Xiangling. Provo a giocare Diluc. La mia Xiangling fa più danni. Provo a giocare Yoimiya. La mia Xiangling fa più danni. Provo a giocare Hu Tao. La mia Xiangling fa più danni. Voglio giocare Klee. La sua squadra migliore ha Xiangling. Voglio giocare con Raiden, Childe. Entrambi vogliono Xiangling.
      
      Mi prende per il collo. Pesco per lei. Cucino per lei. Le do la The Catch. Non è soddisfatta. Pullo l'Engulfing Lightning. "Non ne ho bisogno di così tanta ER" mi dice. "Dammi più tempo sul terreno." Afferra Bennett e lo costringe a lanciarsi contro i nemici. "Devi solo darmi più particelle. Posso fare più danni con la Homa."
      
      Non posso pullare per la Homa, non ho abbastanza Primogemme. Prende la mia carta di credito. Viene declinata. "Immagino che questa sia la fine." Afferra Gouba. Lei dice "Gouba, prendili". Non c'è nemmeno una traccia di tristezza nei suoi occhi. Nient'altro che pura, applicazione di pyro senza ICD. Che mondo crudele. 

      Je n’en peux plus. J’en ai marre de Xiangling

        J'en ai marre de Xiangling copypasta

        Its the Xiangling copypasta but in French.

        Je n'en peux plus. J'en ai marre de Xiangling. J'essaye de jouer Diluc. Ma Xiangling fait plus de dégâts. J'essaye de jouer Yoimiya. Ma Xiangling fait plus de dégâts. J'essaye de jouer Hu Tao. Ma Xiangling fait plus de dégâts. Je veux jouer Klee. Sa meilleure équipe a Xiangling. Je veux jouer Raiden, Tartaglia. Ils veulent tous les deux Xiangling. Elle m'attrape par la gorge. Je pèche pour elle. Je cuisine pour elle. Je lui donne La Prise. Elle n'est pas satisfaite. J'invoque Lumière du Faucheur. "Je n'ai pas besoin d'autant de recharge d’énergie" me dit-elle. "Donne moi plus de temps sur le terrain." Elle attrape Bennett et le force à se jeter sur les ennemis. "Tu dois juste me canaliser plus. Je peux faire plus de dégâts avec Homa." Je ne peux pas invoquer pour Homa, je n'ai pas assez de primogemmes. Elle attrape ma carte de crédit. Ça décline. "Je suppose que c'est la fin." Elle attrape Gooba. Elle dit "Gooba, feu !" Il n'y a aucun signe de tristesse dans ses yeux. Rien que de la pure application pyro sans ICD. Quel monde cruel. 

        You missed out on teenage love

          You misses out on teen love copypasta

          This is an old incel copypasta from 4chan circa 2017 where OP goes on a rant saying not experiencing teen love equates to missing out on life. The original version was more obscene but over time the copypasta has became more SFW while still retaining its dark depressing tone.

          This copypasta is often spread around incel and toxic men forums.

          you missed teen love 
          you will never be 16 and you will never be in love, lying on the grass on a hot summer night, looking at the stars, chatting without a care about the world. without worrying about rent, bills, student loans. 
          the only worry in life is how you gonna cheat on the Monday history exam. 
          you will never lose your virginity with someone who deeply loves you, looking into her eyes and saying "I love you". you'll never have a girl with you every day after school, pretending you do homework together, but instead you have fun and cuddle 
          
          you are in your twenties now 
          you have to find a good job 
          you must be a serious man now 
          all the good ones are taken 
          maybe an old girl will end up moving in with you 
          but they've already felt all these exciting feelings so they're jaded and bitter, it's just not the same as her first love 
          
          you can try to win a Nobel Prize, or earn millions of dollars 
          
          but nothing will come close to the real feeling of being in love with a young and innocent maiden, being carefree 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, without debts, money, work or responsibilities 
          just hanging out with friends, doing nothing at school, getting validation and affection, going to summer parties, driving around the city. 
          you missed teen love 
          you missed your life.
          You will never be 15 again and you will never be in love, lying on the grass on a warm summer night, looking at the stars, talking, without a care in the world. Without worrying about rent, bills and debts.
          
          You will never lose your virginity to someone who loves you deeply, looking into her eyes and saying "I love you".
          
          You will never have a girl with you every day after school, pretending to do your homework together, but instead you have fun and cuddle.
          
          You are in your twenties, now you have to find a good job. You must be a serious man now. Maybe a woman will eventually move in with you, but she has already felt all those exciting feelings, so she is tired and bitter, it is just not the same as her first love.
          
          You can try to win a Nobel Prize, or make millions of dollars, but nothing will come close to the true feeling of being in love with a young, innocent maiden, being carefree 24/7/365, having no debts, no money, no job, no responsibilities, just hanging out with friends, doing nothing in school, receiving validation and affection, going to summer parties, driving around the city.
          
          You missed your chance at teenage love, you missed your life.

          Original

          You'll never be 15 and in love
          lying on the grass on a warm summer night, watching the stars, carelessly chatting
          not worrying about rent, bills, student loans
          only worry in life is how you're gonna cheat on that history test on monday
          you'll never take a young, tight, hot-bodied girls virginity, pulling out to dominate all over her back and have her look in your eyes and say "I love you"
          you'll never have a girl around every day after school, pretend to be doing homework together, but instead just **** like rabbits
          you're in your 20/30/40's now
          gotta get a good job
          gotta be a serious man now
          all the good ones are taken
          maybe a nice girl will eventually settle with you
          they have already felt all those new exciting feelings before, and are usually jaded and bitter
          you missed what it feels like to have not a care in the world other than making your girl happy
          you have missed out on teenage love

          Mr. Hippo

            Every Mr. Hippo ending monologue when he kills you in FNAF.

            Monologue #1

            My friend, you have met a terrible, terrible demise. But you know I don’t feel to bad about it. After all, if it weren’t from me, it would have just been from someone else, ya know? I guess what I’m trying to say life, life goes on. W- well, for everyone else, life goes on not for you, you’re dead. That’s neither here nor there. That reminds me of one summer day in the park, I was having a delightful picnic with my good friend Orville. And I said to him, I said “Orville, I-I have a story” And he said to me “What’s the significance of the story?” I said to him “Orville, not every story has to have significance, ya know? Sometimes uhh, sometimes a story is just a story. You try to read into every little thing and find meaning in everything anyone says, you’ll just drive yourself crazy. Had a friend do it once, wasn’t pretty, we talked about it for years. And not only that, you’ll likely end up believe something you shouldn’t believe or thinking something you shouldn’t think o-o-or assuming something you shouldn’t assume, ya know? Sometimes I said a story is just a story, so just be quiet for one second here life and eat your sandwich, okay? Of course, it was only then I realized i made sandwiches and poor Orville was having such difficulty eating it! Elephants have those clumsy hands, ya know? Actually, I suppose that’s the problem, they don’t have hands at all, they’re all feet. I couldn’t imagine someone asking me to eat a sandwich with my feet. Now, if I recall correctly there was a bakery nearby, I said to him “Orville, let me go get you some rye bread.” Now, I’m unsure elephants enjoy rye bread, but, I assure you that Orville does. Now this was on a Tuesday which was good because rye bread was always fresh on Tuesday. They made sourdough on Monday and threw it out Wednesday. or rather they sold it at a discount for people who wanting to feed the ducks and then probably at the end of the day they threw it all out. I do remember a man who would being his son to the bakery every Wednesday, and go feed the ducks. He would buy all of the sourdough bread, of course, you know, you’re not supposed to feed the ducks sourdough bread at all. It swells up in their stomach and they all die, at least that’s what I’ve heard. Ya know I never saw any ducks die myself but I did notice a substantial decrease in duck population over the course of a few years. I just never thought to stop the man and tell him he was killing the ducks by feeding them sourdough bread. And if you want my opinion on the matter if you wanna feed ducks or birds or any kind for that matter, especially buy seed. I mean, when you think about it, breads of any sort don’t occur in nature, they don’t grow on trees or spring up from bushes! I don’t think birds know what to do with bread. What was I saying? Oh oh yes yes. So I bought Orville some rye bread. What a fine day it was.

            Monologue #2

            Well, it seems that your journey has ended. Very sorry about that. It-it was always going to end this way, of course. If it weren’t by me, it would’ve just been by some other, y’know, terrible thing, just–you could not imagine how terrible it would be-just-I get scared thinkin’ about it. Glad it’s not me. Reminds me of a-of a time I was speaking to my good friend Orville. We were–we were sitting on a park bench watching the pigeons. I was on the left; he was on the r–wait, was I on the right? Or left? Anyways, it doesn’t matter. We were sitting on there watching the pigeons. And uh, -II said to Orville, ‘Friend, those birds are frozen, and he kinda looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but I reminded him that it was winter, y’know, and often birds will sit in a tree until they freeze then-then they y’know they sort of fall to the ground ‘til the sun warms up a-and they can y’know move around again. So I said to Orville, ‘you might as well save those breadcrumbs until the birds thaw, ‘cause they can’t very well enjoy them in the condition they’re in.’ To which he asked what I meant, and asking what condition the crumbs should be in before he threw them to the birds–assuming that I meant the birds couldn’t enjoy the breadcrumbs in the condition that the crumbs were in, when in fact I had meant the birds could not enjoy them in the condition that the birds were in, considering that the birds were frozen. Y’know so he took a moment and then threw his last handful onto the ground. I said to him, ‘Orville, why did you just throw the breadcrumbs to the birds when I just told you they’re frozen?’ To which he responded, ‘the breadcrumbs are not frozen.’ Again, misunderstanding my words. I didn’t mean to say that the breadcrumbs were frozen, when I said, ‘I told you they’re frozen’, I’d been referring to the birds. Y’know, in hindsight what I should’ve said was–and this would make perfect sense, ‘Why did you throw the breadcrumbs to the birds when the birds are frozen?’ He misunderstood upon my correction, statin’ that he didn’t know what else to do with the breadcrumbs, and that perhaps, y’know, when the birds thawed, they’d still be able to eat the crumbs. So I-I said to Orville, I said and this is what I said to him, I said, ‘Orville, the birds may be dead.

            Monologue #3

            Huh, it seems that you have met your end. Ugh, what a pity. Y'know I-I dont feel too bad about it, though. After all, if it weren’t me, it would’ve just been one of the others, I guess. I’m honestly just glad to be out of those air ducts. Y’know it’s-it’s not easy for a hippopotamus to fit up there, and not easy to get down either. I’m not as young as I used to be, as you can see. I used to be able to do all the sorts of things. Y-you’re young, you’re vibrant, you have that sort of pep in your step. Heh, reminds me of a conversation that I was havin’ with one of my good friends Orville. We were havin’ a nice picnic one day. I believe it was summer or perhaps it was…was it the fall? Yes, yes. It was the fall because the leaves had turned already. But I said to Orville I says, ‘Orville I have a story to tell you,’ and Orville looked at me–y’know, kinda odd–and, and said, ‘What’s it about?’ I said to him, ‘not every story has to be about something Orville. Sometimes a person just wants to talk. Why does everything have to be a story?’ I said to him. He just looked at me. He said, ‘Well y-you said you had a story.’ Y’know he was quite right. I did in fact. I told him I had a story. I suppose if a person just wants to talk then it’s best to not announce that you’re telling a story. Tellin’ a story does come with its own pressures and expectations I-I suppose. After all, if you’re just talking to a friend then there’s no more expectations than if you were talkin’ into the wind. Words by themselves aren’t expected to carry–uh, aren’t expected to stick, but if, y’know, if you announce that you’re tellin’ a story well then there’d better be a point to it all, y’know? No one wants to sit and listen to someone ramble on and on and on with absolutely no end in sight. So, y’know it’s-it’s good to be mindful of that when you tell someone that you’re about to tell a story, that you have something to say. Tellin’ someone that you’re gonna tell them a story is tantamount to askin’ them to stop what they’re doin’ and–and pay attention. You’re basically sayin’, ‘hey, hey buddy, stop everything, stop what you’re thinking. I have a solution to everything.’ And well I didn’t really have a story to tell. In-in hindsight I-I probably just misspoke when I said that I had a story. I think it would’ve just been better to tell Orville that I wanted to tell him something, rather than tell him that I had a story. But, y’know, even then it mighta put too much importance on the whole thing. Either way, it was quite a nice day. I remember–I remember that we were drinking tea.

            Monologue #4

            Huh, it seems that you have met a-a horrible demise, my friend. But, uh, y’know, these things happen, an-and life, life goes on. Not for you, obviously, uh, you’re dead, but uh it reminds me of a time I was-I was havin’ a conversation with my friend Orville. We were–uh, where were we? We were by the–wh-the-the river, we were sitting by the river and watching the fish leap over the falls and uh, I–I said to Orville, ‘Y’know sometimes I feel like a fish leaping over and over again. Always trying to get somewhere. Oh, I don’t know where only to find myself in the jaws of a beast.’ He ‘course looked at me surprised, y’know? ‘Have you been in the jaws of a beast, friend?’ To which I said, ‘no, of course not, Orville.’ I said, ‘No, no, no I-I simply meant that life can seem like a relentless endeavor. Overcome meaningless obstacles only to meet an equally meaningless fate, regardless of your efforts, regardless of the obstacles you’ve passed.’ And, uh, Orville, he stood and proceeded to drape me with a picnic cloth. To which I-I-I asked him, I said, ‘friend, what–what are you doing?’ He looked at me–very concerned–really. ‘I feel like you’ve gotten too much sun.’ Indeed, huh, indeed I had. He proceeded to pour me a glass of just ice cold lemonade, ooh, you ever mix it with iced tea? Do a like–little half lemonade half–ooh, it’s so–you try it some–well you can’t, because you’re dead, but–anyways. So, you may be asking yourself, how did I go from sitting by the falls drinking lemonade to being wedged in the air duct, not only with Orville, but with an entire assortment of fruity-colored friends? Well, there’s uh, there’s really no good answer to that, but perhaps I met a demise of my own at some point and this is my afterlife or my dream–whatever it might mean I honestly don’t know. Or, maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.

            i watched this movie and when i looked at the lady to my left my cock started bubbling and foaming

              Comment
              byu/SnooCalculations2730 from discussion
              in197
              i watched this movie and when i looked at the lady to my left my cock started bubbling and foaming like mentos in coca cola. everyone in the theater stared in shock as my manhood began to convulse and expand like a high school chemical reaction gone wrong except all the chemicals in my body wanted to immediately splurge on this lady and get 13 others pregnant in the crossfire. 9/10 movie plot was pretty nice although it sometimes felt a bit corny