plesiosaur shot: taste the mid-cretaceous.
(via scarlett--thunder)
Source: venomous-eros
The reason the internet will murder your entire body.
Here is the truth about the internet. Unearthed for the first time, and just for you, my sexy sexy readers. The internet has actually existed since time immemorial. The internet is the result of a worldwide hivemind ejaculating all of mankind’s hopes and fantasies into the same id-stained thoughtgina. The internet is the single longest and largest bukakke session ever recorded.
The true internet was first discovered by J.C.R. Licklider and The Down Home Purple Velvet Experimental Ragtime Band. In his sweat-soaked sleepless ether-fueled nights filled with horrifying visions of asian schoolgirl scatological humiliation, telling people who didn’t care about his opinions on music, and Bible-Quran erotic slashfiction, Licklider (who will heretoforth be referred to by humorous names I make up containing the word “lick”) came upon a startling realization. He could actually sense that somewhere else in the world, someone else was thinking of exactly the same reprehensible shit he was. Soon, the Licker was overcome with dedication. He had to create a Thing. A Thing that connect all the horrible people in the world that were just like him, so they could be tricked into meeting in one place and subsequently burned alive and devoured by hungry dogs, which would then be shot in case they still carry the darkness within them.
The plan started nicely. The Lickatron started working with university teams and the US Department Of Defense. The DOD was eager to find new ways to weaponize the dark insides of the human mind, as their LSD project, MK ULTRA was on the ropes. The universities were just in it for the scat porn. Soon after, ARPANET was born. Channeling a specific wavelength, they could tap in to the frequency of the collective minds of the world. Upon the first 5 minutes of activation, everyone on the team but Lickomatic ran from the room in a frenzy, each attempting to find an extremely gruesome way to commit suicide that would make up for what they had seen and allowed to happen.
The French Lickler was relatively unfazed by what he saw that day, seeing as how he was pretty much the reigning authority on being totally fucked in the head to start with. Even he knew, however, that this delivery method had to be severely tweaked in order to make it viewable to the slightly less depraved people of the world. The initial design being like that of a psychic firehose, he decided it’s contents would be filtered through several methods, such as screens and audio speakers. Upon this extensive tweaking, the internet was finally bland enough for the common person to believe he was civilized enough to accept, despite the dark truth that the common man is where this hellish monster stems from. The original method and frequency for tapping into the true internet were then sealed in six diamond safes of ascending size with no keys or combinations, and then fed to Mar’gash, the mighty sea worm to ensure that no human ever lay eyes on it again.
The new internet was more an imitation of the original on a much more controlled scale, forcing people to willingly submit their thoughts and information via manual input. Over time, these receivers have evolved from aberrations on a single, world destroying concept to just another easy cash scam. The only problem is our addiction to it. Lately, it is beginning to resemble it’s horrific prototype more and more. You see, humans are rapidly devolving and while this is common knowledge, it has darker meaning than many realize. Our ever-growing urge to have sex with and murder everything ever all at once will inevitably drive us to rediscovering the true internet. It is true that no mere human could fell the unstoppable Mar’gash, and that cursed design that stays locked safely within one of his 16 stomachs shall always stay safe, but what of it being reinvented? Just as mankind reinvented the “iPad“ that led to the brutal demise of the ancient Sumerians so many eons ago, the true internet shall be brought back once again by the folly and hubris of man.
What is the true internet like, you say? Let’s just say that I have personally seen God vomit when asked this question. He vomited universes. And some pasta.In closing, I can only say this: Soon the day shall come, when beamed into the eyes of the world will be the contents of their own sick minds. All at once we shall witness the singular mind of humanity and have it shoved into our souls like a 400 pound woman shoves herself into a latex bodysuit filled with spiders. Because guess what? That’s somebody’s fetish. And now it’s in your brain.
If you look at it long enough, you’ll realize that you’re wasting your life on the fucking internet.
(via heyfunniest)
I think more food should be filled with rage. Makes eating a challenge.
The exciting conclusion to the story about the bear I guess.
This article will be entirely in bold. The beast stared at me, blazing eyes alight with the fires of a thousand butter factories. He reared on his hind legs once again, and I saw that the end was nigh. I took my stance, The Crimson Lotus Of Unforgettable Moments In Television History, as he assumed The I Am A Fucking Bear And You Are About To Seriously Regret This Altercation stance. We then locked arms, his might causing me to shudder and suffer mild arousal. I quickly jumped back and delivered a spinning Whoresmasher Death Kick Of Infinite Palpitation. The bear staggered, but caught himself and countered with biting my fucking arm off.
One armed as I was now and bleeding profusely, I slurred insults at the fur covered death machine hoping to offend it enough to retreat. ”You are the worst bear!” I shouted, “You can’t even take a hat to the city and wear it. You’re a disgrace to the Jesus and a motorcycle.” At this point, the blood loss and grain alcohol had affected my judgement severely, causing me to believe that my insults were working, and that the bear would soon return it’s hat to the store and apologize to the Jesus’ motorcycle. ”You never had the courage of the sparrows! Mighty and refreshing mountain streams will wash your remains away from this earth as the Dark Ones bring their campaign of fire and death to this realm!” I continued, playing with some tendons hanging from my former arm housing. ”I don’t find you attractive and i don’t make friends with quadrupeds so we can’t be friends.” By the time I had shouted this, the bear had finished picking the meat from my former and already dearly missed arm bone. He yelled something in bear language, I can only assume it was a racial slur of some sort, and began charging at me once again.
My mind, addled by flammable alcohol and severe lack of the red fluid that pumps through our bodies and inexorably drives us to commit murders and eat carrots, began to form a plan. Yes, I do believe that my near-death state invoked a type of euphoric genius state in me. Closing in, was 700 pounds of muscle behind a set of jaws that I was growing in increasingly unfond of. So what did I do, Dear Reader? I fed the bear. I fed the fuck out of that bear. You see, I have a habit of losing limbs. my left arm was the last natural limb I had left. My right arm was a delicate construct of titanium, tree sap, the legendary Fanged Worm of Switzerland, and about 2 miles of fishing line. As the bear recklessly took the bait, the worm sank it’s famous fangs into the ferocious furbag’s face, facilitating fearsome fucking poison, and making the stupid bear scream and twitch like a stupid bear jerk that I hate. Howling in pain, the bear released my favorite arm from it’s maw and began rolling on the floor with equal parts joy and agony, for it’s death would be a violent one, and it would finally be able to ascend to Valhalla. Or the bear equivalent. Bearhalla? Whatever. The bear died.
The crowd roared in applause, as confetti streamers and newborn babies flew about the room. The announcer, whom I had never met, but assumed was a somewhat decent gentleman, called out my name and proclaimed me the victor. He handed me the mic, and I approached center stage. Pride and elation swelled in my chest. I looked upon my adoring constituency and let out a primal scream with all the might and goodwill of a man who had just eaten his own fear in the form of a sandwich with turkey, roast beef, lettuce, tomato, jalapenos, provolone cheese, and ranch dressing, all on oven toasted ciabatta bread. I then politely vomited for several minutes, and laid down on the floor. Just before blacking out, I asked the announcer if there was a cash prize involved. He informed me that you only get cash if you fight a lion.
And that, my adoring children, is the story of the time I destroyed President’s Day forever. Now I’m going out into the front lawn, unhinge my jaw, and swallow some animals whole because I am a snake now.
Q:lol,
glad to know you will not eat my face
Not until I get hungry, at least.
I create thousands of children daily and I don’t even know how.
This sentence is in bold. My father once told me “Son, if you follow your dreams and stay true to your heart, you’ll end up a meth-addled walking corpse living out of a dumpster. No matter what you do, abandon all hope and always settle for less.”. I have lived by these words every day of my 400 years on this earth and have learned that not only was he right, but that dumpsters are extremely cozy. At one point, however, I was an impetuous young man and with a head full of dreams and tiny screaming children, I decided to enter myself in the regional lion taming competition. Now I had no experience with lions, training, or even regular bathing and grooming practices, but all the same this event beckoned to me with it’s siren song and i could not deny it. Upon entering the registration area, I immediately met my first challenge. Standing behind the counter were two identical twins, one that told only the truth, and one who only sung David Bowie songs. I told the Bowie Twin to sign me up for the horniest lion they had whilst his brother proceeded to tell me that my hair looked stupid. Upon entering the arena, I was faced with my fearsome opponent. The bear stood on it’s two hind legs and emitted a deafening roar. I steeled myself for the taming as fear sweat dripped from every sensual pore on my supple frame. This bear, with it’s gaping maw, huge claws, and amazing hibernation ability, could surely fell me at the slightest misstep. I turned to the crowd witnessing the spectacle and shouted with intense bravery and conviction, “This is not a fucking lion! I’ve seen pictures!” but they simply cheered on, oblivious to my plight. The bear had grown impatient at this point, and was now charging at me with ferocious speed. Soon the bear would be upon me, and there would be no stopping it. Truly, this was the fastest bear this lion taming competition had ever seen. This bear was charging at me at a speed that would be quite difficult for a human to achieve, especially me considering my affinity for tortilla chips and grain alcohol and my having consumed a high quantity of both before entering this arena. Yes, this charging bear was at a clear advantage with it’s superior muscle mass, natural armaments, soft huggable fur, and possible sobriety. It’s massive padded feet thudding on the ground reminded me of the summer rain, refreshing and cool, as it meted the flesh away from the flame demons that plagued my small village in the mountains. Their screams painting the air with a beautiful song, and the elation that tonight would not be a night spent sobbing shaking and vomiting in the cellar of my small cottage, clutching a shotgun as tightly as I figuratively clutched my last shreds of sanity. The bear, narcissistic as it was, grew tired of my authorial meandering, stopped mere feet away from me, once again roaring and wishing to retake it’s place as the central adversary in the story. TO BE CONTINUED. POSSIBLY IN BOLD.
Q:WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?
APPARENTLY IT’S FUCKING TUMBLRBOT.
I subsist on fear and milkshakes.
One day when i was about 8 years old, I was whitewashing a fence for Old Man Johnson as punishment after one of my usual troublesome yet heartwarming adventures ended in me accidentally killing one of his favorite grandmothers. So painting this fence as I was, i began to make a game of it. I would paint a plank, huff some paint, paint a plank, then huff more paint, and so on. The work quickly became it’s own reward.
In my stupor, I decided to walk down to the general store for some old-timey snacks and washcloths. The only problem is, I didn’t realize that the date was April 48th. So naturally, the massive swarm pterodactyls swooped down on me like a flock of crazed Lithuanians craving only blood and affordable car insurance. Had I not been carrying the Cursed Flame Blade of X’lallathaq, I surely would have died a thousand bastard’s deaths. After trading the sword to them for my life and some valuable hints and tips about how to set up my home mortgage, I continued on my way to the general store, my craving for confectioned snacks worsened by my leathery delay. As I approached the shop, I had two and ONLY two options: Take the fire tunnel to the basement where I must do battle with the hundred man-sharks that lie in wait there, or zipline to the roof and enter from the skylight to the attic, where I would be told the true meaning of all things in a language that hasn’t been invented yet, and spend the rest of my life going mad trying to understand it.
After entering through the front door, I greeted the kindly shopkeep, and in a thunderous voice, demanded he supply me with snacks and washcloths. The gentle old rat bastard agreed and smiled warmly, as he shuffled to the back, ever sinister. His was a soul of unparalleled evil. The darkness in his heart could be quelled by nothing. I could feel his icy chill in the air, and for the first time in my life, I was truly afraid.
After leaving the shop with my delicious quarry, I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end. Something was very much amiss. The dark sensation of hate and madness choked out the air. The lemon fresh scent of horror and misery was soon upon me. I dare not speak of what happened next. Just know that I survived, and that JFK will never eat another child again.
