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I fucking masturbated to the zero suit samus amiibo

    "So I was playing super smash bros with a friend at my place. He brought his switch and we played some matches. My main is zero suit samus and yeah she pretty hot tho ngl. I played super smash bros on my 3Ds when I was younger and bought the Amiibo (which I couldn‘t use on a 3Ds unless I use an extra device). I never got to use it and almost forgot that it exists until my friend mentioned it and we put it on the switch. After he left I was starring on this Amibo and since my parents werent home I was like fuck it. I took it to the bathroom and fucking wanked my ding dong till I busted. Afterwards I felt like shit and had to share this beautiful story with anyone so why not on the internet to a bunch of strangers. Anyways have a great day"

    AITA for telling my black friend that his existence is an example of forced diversity?

      To put it simply, I'm a gamer, a die hard one in fact. I'm someone who absolutely despises politics in my video games. I remember coming home from school ready to play apolitical gems such as Bioshock and MGS with a nice plate of chicken nuggies (my mom made) at my side.

But those days are over, now its normal for a black person to not be a walking stereotype, and for women to no longer just be sex objects. Whenever I see 2 women kissing in my games (not in porn) I almost cry and think of how the neo-Marxist-SJW-gay agenda has ruined video games and traditional gaming values.

And after learning about this, I realize that my only black friend I have is political! It's sad to say that as we've been friends since the good ol MW2 lobbies. He didn't approve of me saying the n-word constantly but we still got along!

So I decided to tell him that I didn't approve of him inserting his political agenda into my life and I cut all ties with him. Although he didn't really seem to care when I told him, he just called me a racist basement dweller without a job. (Him calling me a racist is the only part that isn't true) Our relationship kinda fell out of place when I accidentally called him a racial slur. (Heated gamer moment)

Anyways I just wrote this to see if you guys think I did the right thing.

      Let’s say you’ve been a bad girl

        Let's say you've been a bad girl. Let's say, hypothetically, you've been a naughty girl even. Ok, and if you were a naughty girl, you would be my dirty little slut right? Then hypothetically speaking, you would be my little cumslut. Now, let's say you're also daddy's girl.

Now that we have established that you are both a bad girl and daddy's girl, I believe you'd agree with me when I say that you deserve a spanking. Am I not correct? A bad girl deserves a spanking, and as I am daddy, you are my girl, so I am the one who must provide punishment.

        Ben Shapiro ordering pizza

          Hello, is this Pizza Hut?

Excellent. My name is Ben Shapiro. Conservative thought leader. Prominent white YouTuber. The Muggsy Bogues of the intellectual dark Web. And—look, it’s just a fact—I would like to order some pizza pie. If you are triggered by that request, I do not care. I truly do not.

Now let’s discuss conditions. First, thank you for agreeing to debate me. Typically, in fora such as this, I am met with ad-hominem mudslinging, anything from “You racist creep” or “Is that your real voice?” to raucous schoolyard laughter and threats of the dreaded “toilet swirly.” However, your willingness to engage with me over the phone on the subject of pizza shows an intellectual fortitude and openness to dangerous ideas which reflects highly on your character. Huzzah, good sir. Huzzah.

Second, any pizza I order will be male. None of this “Our pizza identifies as trans-fluid-pan-poly”—no. Pizza is a boy. With a penis. It’s that simple. It’s been true for all of human history, from Plato to Socrates to Mr. Mistoffelees, and any attempt to rewrite the pillars of Western thought will be met with a hearty “Fuh!” by yours truly. And, trust me, that is not a fate you wish to meet.

Now. With regard to my topping preference. I have eaten from your pizzeria in times past, and it must be said: your pepperoni is embarrassingly spicy. Frankly, it boggles the mind. I mean, what kind of drugs are you inhaling over there? Pot?! One bite of that stuff and I had to take a shower. So tread lightly when it comes to spice, my good man. You do not want to see me at my most epic. Like the great white hero of Zack Snyder’s classic film “300,” I will kick you.

Onions, peppers—no, thank you. If I wanted veggies, I’d go to a salad bar. I’m not some sort of vegan, Cory Booker weirdo. And your efforts to Michelle Obama-ize the great American pizza pie are, frankly, hilarious. Though not as funny as the impressively named P’Zone—when I finally figured out that genuinely creative pun, I laughed until I cried and peed. A true Spartan admits defeat, and I must admit that, in this instance, your Hut humor slayed me, Dennis Miller style.

And, with that, you have earned my order. Congratulations. Ahem. Without further ado, I would like your smallest child pizza, no sauce, extra cheese. Hello? Aha. A hang-up. Another triggered lib, bested by logic. Damn it. I’m fucking starving.

          AITA for not telling my wife about all the hitchhikers I killed in the 70s?

            Back when I (68M) was a young and dumb twenty-something, I spent a few carefree years in Southern California raping, torturing, and murdering hitchhikers. I don't want any judgement from SJWs about this, please, if you didn't live in Cali in the 1970s, you wouldn't understand. It was just what we did back in those days. Eventually I grew up, got married, had three beautiful kids, and was content to just get off to my trophies and polaroids, and maybe kill the occasional drifter on special occasions.

The other day, my wife (37F) found the hidden panel in my basement wall where I keep all the old memories, and she went ballistic. I tried to calm her down, explained that, firstly, they were all dudes, so she shouldn't exactly be getting jealous. Second, they're all dead, so it's not like she's going to have to worry about me leaving her for any of them. Third, there were like three or four other guys doing the same thing around then, and they took the credit for most of my kills. I was very careful, covered my tracks, rarely finished inside them. I don't know why she's got her knickers in such a twist.

Quite frankly, I'm feeling really hurt about the whole thing. We've been together for nearly thirty years, and she's thinking about leaving me over something like this? Maybe I should have been more honest, but I was raised to see this as men's business, not something you involve your old lady in.

Am I the asshole?