buttfucking flapping anal spew, riding in the creases
jizzum powered lifeboat. tidal wave, a flood of rectal
mucus, jolly laughing bear wipes pickle off his face.
burping brown bubbles, shit smeared nasal hole. getaway
spinning phallus suction cup popping. rusty metal dustpan
scraping dead paint, airborn virus lead paint wall-licking
little boy. "mommy watch me lick the wall" said little
fredrick. he banged his head against the floor, bloody
snot catfood. his mom wiped up the mess with vinegar and
toilet paper, remembering to clean the ears with a fork.
green fog filled the cavern, red rocks flecked with
gold each a blinking nose. hot stuffy air infecting
ashy lungs with speared micromen. toxic waste released
into bloodstream. wild orgy of man fuck apocalypse.
hyperdimensional spear fuck rotten scalp meat blast off
display. the little men jumped out of fleshy gold noses
and fell, hundreds dropping like gassed jews. falling
falling ass spread wide, smack landing on sharp clean
spears. misty yellow and brown. others gag on the
smoke, puking out innards. warpole ass ram fiery phallus
anal splinter. newly birthed micro fetus budding and
popping off eggs. splash of bloody and shit. upturned
noses fill with smog and thick juicy flesh. hyper
vibrate rumbling cavern walls, scalding lava flashing
red, green, blue, steaming. dead fetii hung on a
clothesline to keep them out of the horrid storm. they
cry for more as string is run in rectum and out the
heart, pulsating throbbing yellow. screams of micro
baby fish, countered by puke and shit. crisscrossed
spiders lair net of jewels each shiny anus reflecting
shit splatter. explosion of smog and lights. still the
micro men jump to their anal death, smack on the shiny
spear. glare of spearheads and shiny fish ass. rising
tide, mixed blue green. the walls worn away by waves
of hot jizzum spear smacked erections. brown spots shot
in red walls. melting walls. strings pulled tighter
baby fish sliding back and forth indian burned asshole
heart skinned. slosh slosh slosh. the sky opens up,
golden light pierces the cave, melting rotten bloody
flesh, smog rushes out. golden noses spurt bloody
fireworks. dry baked cracking walls crumble. fault
lines rumble, arise the demons. a swirl of black smoke
and laughter. arms and legs, half-rectums, dead fish,
nose pieces all whip against the walls hyper smack.
flesh dangles from hooks and smacks dead bodies.
equilibrium.
I just tied her down to the bed, held my nose, and dove in. I puked on her a few times, but yep, I fucked her sure as I'm trolling your site into oblivion.
Damnit. I tried so hard to make it to the bathroom, but I didn't I was sitting here, crafting my last troll, when all of a sudden my anus spontaneously filled with about a pound and a half of feces... all of a sudden, BAM! It was full, and my anus was about to split open! I tried to run to the bathroom as fast as I could, but I tripped over my own penis, fell on the floor, and my ass just let go inside my pants... Now my whole ass and legs are covered in sticky brown shit, and my pants are just fucking ruined. Anyone wanna help me lick this up?
This letter has three main sections. In the first, I argue that Mr. Robert Malda's hectoring conclusions are an epiphenomenon of dishonest irreligionism. In the second, I make it clear that Mr. Malda should stop and savor life, not siphon off scarce international capital intended for underdeveloped countries. And in the third and final section, I conclude that he prizes wealth and celebrity over and above decent morals and sound judgment. You see, I surely believe that his recommendations are way off base. And because of that belief, I'm going to throw politeness and inoffensiveness to the winds. In this letter, I'm going to be as rude and crude as I know how, to reinforce the point that if I want to wander around in a quagmire of self-pity and depression, that should be my prerogative. I undoubtedly don't need him forcing me to.
I find his sound bites rather cocky, don't you? Why does he want to take the focus off the real issues? Because I'm undeniably tired of quasi-mingy astrologers. That's not the only reason, of course, but I'll get to the other reasons later.
If natural selection indeed works by removing the weakest and most genetically unfit members of a species, then Mr. Malda is clearly going to be the first to go. If you ask him if it's true that I don't trust vitriolic doomsday prophets, you'll just get a lot of foot-shuffling and downcast eyes in response. I have one itsy-bitsy problem with his beliefs (as I would certainly not call them logically reasoned arguments). Namely, they impose a particular curriculum, vision of history, and method of pedagogy on our school systems. And that's saying nothing about how I find that I am embarrassed. Embarrassed that some people don't realize that we've all heard him yammer and whine about how he's being scapegoated again, the poor dear. I almost forgot: The point at which you discover that no matter how much Mr. Malda squirms and wriggles, he will never escape the fact that it's hard to fathom just how haughty he is is not only a moment of disenchantment. It is a moment of resolve, a determination that his sick devious pronouncements are in full flower, and their poisonous petals of narcissism are blooming all around us. Continue to appease him, and Mr. Malda will decidedly deny citizens the ability to become informed about the destruction that he is capable of. He is begging the question when he says that courtesy and manners don't count for anything. That, in itself, will condemn us to live with chauvinistic dolts by the end of the decade.
Now, it is not my purpose to suggest that perception becomes reality if one is brainwashed for long enough, but rather to appeal not to the contented and satisfied, but embrace those tormented by suffering, those without peace, the unhappy and the discontented. We must learn to celebrate our diversity, not because it is the politically correct thing to do, but because Mr. Malda holds onto power like the eunuch mandarins of the Forbidden City -- sterile obstacles to progress who make conditions far worse than could ever have been the case without his chauvinism-prone efforts. Did it ever occur to him that he easily impresses his legatees using big words like "anthropoteleological"? After days of agonized pondering and reflection, I finally came to the conclusion that there are two kinds of people in this world. There are those who rescue animalism from the rubbish heap of history, dust it off, slap on a coat of cheap sophistry, and market it as new and improved, and there are those who listen to others. Mr. Malda fits neatly into the former category, of course. I truly hope that the truth will prevail and that justice will be served before Mr. Malda does any real damage. Or is it already too late? We should be able to look into our own souls for the answer. If we do, I suspect we'll find that Mr. Malda wants us to believe that the boogeyman is going to get us if we don't agree to his demands. How stupid does he think we are? This is not a question that we should run away from. Rather, it is something that needs to be addressed quickly and directly, because he thinks that he is a martyr for freedom and a victim of authoritarianism. Of course, thinking so doesn't make it so. I won't mince my words: Mr. Malda wants to demand special treatment that, in many cases, borders on the ridiculous. It gets better: He actually believes that people don't mind having their communities turned into war zones. I guess no one's ever told him that he should clarify his point, so people like you and me can tell what the heck he's talking about. Without clarification, his assertions sound lofty and include some emotionally charged words but don't really seem to make any sense.
Will immoral cuckoo masters of deceit ever invite all the people who have been harmed by Mr. Malda to continue to express and assert their concerns in a constructive and productive fashion? Don't bet on it. Hey, it's not my fault that I have traveled the length and breadth of this country and talked with the best people. I can therefore assure you that from secret-handshake societies meeting at "the usual place" to back-door admissions committees, his spokesmen have always found a way to cause pain and injury to those who don't deserve it. Due to the power relationship between the dominator and the dominated, Mr. Malda should think about how his opinions lead the worst sorts of coldhearted clunks there are to encourage lascivious impertinent pseudo-intellectuals to see themselves as victims and, therefore, live by alibis rather than by honest effort. If Mr. Malda doesn't want to think that hard, perhaps he should just keep quiet. Now that you've heard what I've had to say, I want you to think about it. And I want you to join me and study the problem and recommend corrective action.
Cleverly hidden within this letter, for added incentive to read onward, is one lie. Not a lie of statistical or grammatical error, but a ludicrous falsehood at once so absurd as to strike the reader as an insult to human intelligence, and yet so rotten as to convince the reader that there should be a law against this. Before I start, however, I should state that to understand what Mr. Jon Katz's particularly crotchety form of ruffianism has encompassed as a movement and as a system of rule, we have to look at its historical context and development as a form of shallow politics that first arose in early twentieth-century Europe in response to rapid social upheaval, the devastation of World War I, and the Bolshevik Revolution. A study of hypocritical riffraff of various stripes indicates broad political and ideological agreement on the use of force combined with a set of simple tactics to achieve their immediate goal: to produce nothing but filth. Is there a chance that he isn't nefarious, ribald, and slaphappy? From what I've seen, I doubt it.
The implications of insipid sadism may seem theoretical, but they have concrete meaning for thousands of people. Taking that notion one step further, we can see that I, for one, have a problem with Mr. Katz's use of the phrase, "We all know that...". With this phrase, he doesn't need to prove his claim that his assertions epitomize wholesome family entertainment; he merely accepts it as fact. To put it another way, one does not have to displace meaningful discussion of an issue's merit or demerit with hunch and emotion in order to prevent the production of a new crop of the most uncouth kleptomaniacs I've ever seen. It is a flippant person who believes otherwise. Some naive cocky uncontrollable-types actually contend that black is white and night is day. This is the kind of muddled thinking that Mr. Katz is encouraging with his platitudes. Even worse, all those who raise their voice against this brainwashing campaign are denounced as moonstruck ideologues.
Is that such a difficult concept? He likes to compare his memoirs to those that shaped this nation. The comparison, however, doesn't hold up beyond some uselessly broad, superficial similarities that are so vague and pointless, it's not even worth summarizing them. Though many people agree that we must work together against absolutism, credentialism, interventionism, etc., I believe I have finally figured out what makes people like Mr. Katz manipulate everything and everybody. It appears to be a combination of an overactive mind, lack of common sense, assurance of one's own moral propriety, and a total lack of exposure to the real world.
If truth, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, then he is out to take a condescending cheap shot at a person that most disruptive hideous troublemakers will never be in a position to condescend to. And when we play his game, we become accomplices. Mr. Katz claims to have turned over a new leaf shortly after getting caught trying to identify political and religious groups that are his political enemies and re-label them as "treasonous exhibitionists" in order to justify operations against them. This claim is an outright lie that is still being circulated by Mr. Katz's representatives. The truth is that Mr. Katz is too pouty to read the writing on the wall. This writing warns that if natural selection indeed works by removing the weakest and most genetically unfit members of a species, then he is clearly going to be the first to go. It has been proven time and time again that there are some simple truths in this world. First, Mr. Katz knows perfectly well that the cure for corruption, conspiracy, and treason must start by exposing the problem to people who care and are not themselves corrupted. Second, his emissaries are so ready to support hostile governments known for human rights abuses, wrongful imprisonment, and slavery that their theories are laughable. And finally, his real enmity against us comes through in his canards, which Mr. Katz uses to do everything possible to keep simple-minded sideshow barkers ethically bankrupt and illogical. I know you're wondering why I just wrote that. I'll explain shortly, but first, I should state that I've never encountered anything as contemptible as Mr. Katz's recommendations. And let me tell you, I have a tendency to report the more sensational things that Mr. Katz is up to, the more shocking things, things like how he wants to use our weaknesses to his advantage. And I realize the difficulty that the average person has in coming to grips with that, but I don't believe that those of us who oppose him would rather run than fight. So when Mr. Katz says that that's what I believe, I see how little he understands my position.
Given what I know about capricious manipulators of the public mind, I can say with confidence that if Mr. Katz's helpers had even an ounce of integrity, they would reinforce the contentions of all reasonable people and confute those of what I call nerdy impertinent hoodlums. Are you prepared to discuss this, Mr. Katz? Everybody knows that he doesn't let a day pass without showing to the world that he is as little fitted to be trusted with liberty as thieves with keys or children with firearms, but you should consider that his constant whining and yammering is a background noise that never seems to go away. That fact may not be pleasant, but it is a fact regardless of our wishes on the matter. Mr. Jon Katz is consistently inconsistent. Since I don't have anything more to say on that subject, I'll politely get off my soapbox now.
All your poasts are belong to us!! I own this website, Malda. And I'm gonna rape it inside out just like I raped your sister and made her squeal for more WIPO Troll cock down her throat.
As your president, I plan to take a gigantic dump all over this entire country, leaving you with plenty of Republican feces to clean up for the next five or six days. I shall cover this nation and every one of its citizens in explosive POTUS diarrhea. My entire Administration will leave you plenty of floaters and diarrhea by the bowlful...
CmdrTaco ate my fucking balls. I don't know why he's so obsessed with the WIPO Troll's balls, but he wanted them, and he ate them. Both of them. Now I got no balls! How am I supposed to fuck my sister with no balls to squirt cum on her face!? How am I supposed to... masturbate?!!? I want my balls back, Malda! Or I'll rip yours off with a pair of rusty pliers and staple them back on my penis!!
I want to fuck my sister and suck on her sexy sexy toes. I wanna tie her up and beat her and fuck her to death and then fuck her corpse with an iron rod.
Slashdot Mirror
Took a huge dump tonight, left a bunch of floaters in my toilet stinking up the place.
Go suck your dirty whore sister's feet.
buttfucking flapping anal spew, riding in the creases
jizzum powered lifeboat. tidal wave, a flood of rectal
mucus, jolly laughing bear wipes pickle off his face.
burping brown bubbles, shit smeared nasal hole. getaway
spinning phallus suction cup popping. rusty metal dustpan
scraping dead paint, airborn virus lead paint wall-licking
little boy. "mommy watch me lick the wall" said little
fredrick. he banged his head against the floor, bloody
snot catfood. his mom wiped up the mess with vinegar and
toilet paper, remembering to clean the ears with a fork.
green fog filled the cavern, red rocks flecked with
gold each a blinking nose. hot stuffy air infecting
ashy lungs with speared micromen. toxic waste released
into bloodstream. wild orgy of man fuck apocalypse.
hyperdimensional spear fuck rotten scalp meat blast off
display. the little men jumped out of fleshy gold noses
and fell, hundreds dropping like gassed jews. falling
falling ass spread wide, smack landing on sharp clean
spears. misty yellow and brown. others gag on the
smoke, puking out innards. warpole ass ram fiery phallus
anal splinter. newly birthed micro fetus budding and
popping off eggs. splash of bloody and shit. upturned
noses fill with smog and thick juicy flesh. hyper
vibrate rumbling cavern walls, scalding lava flashing
red, green, blue, steaming. dead fetii hung on a
clothesline to keep them out of the horrid storm. they
cry for more as string is run in rectum and out the
heart, pulsating throbbing yellow. screams of micro
baby fish, countered by puke and shit. crisscrossed
spiders lair net of jewels each shiny anus reflecting
shit splatter. explosion of smog and lights. still the
micro men jump to their anal death, smack on the shiny
spear. glare of spearheads and shiny fish ass. rising
tide, mixed blue green. the walls worn away by waves
of hot jizzum spear smacked erections. brown spots shot
in red walls. melting walls. strings pulled tighter
baby fish sliding back and forth indian burned asshole
heart skinned. slosh slosh slosh. the sky opens up,
golden light pierces the cave, melting rotten bloody
flesh, smog rushes out. golden noses spurt bloody
fireworks. dry baked cracking walls crumble. fault
lines rumble, arise the demons. a swirl of black smoke
and laughter. arms and legs, half-rectums, dead fish,
nose pieces all whip against the walls hyper smack.
flesh dangles from hooks and smacks dead bodies.
equilibrium.
You smell like I took a shit on your face, asshole.
Hahah, not everyone will be Taco's bitch just because he promises he'll suck their cocks if they let him put his up their ass.
She'll kick your pasty white ass. If you wanna get your ass beat and your cock ripped off by a girl, go for it, bitch boy.
*hurls some feces at Taco's face*
Eat all you want, geek boy. But give me my balls back before I have to murder you and cut your off.
I just tied her down to the bed, held my nose, and dove in. I puked on her a few times, but yep, I fucked her sure as I'm trolling your site into oblivion.
Suck a penis, you pasty little geek. Suck many, many penises. Choke on their flowing cum. Mmmm... man juice....
Damnit. I tried so hard to make it to the bathroom, but I didn't I was sitting here, crafting my last troll, when all of a sudden my anus spontaneously filled with about a pound and a half of feces... all of a sudden, BAM! It was full, and my anus was about to split open! I tried to run to the bathroom as fast as I could, but I tripped over my own penis, fell on the floor, and my ass just let go inside my pants... Now my whole ass and legs are covered in sticky brown shit, and my pants are just fucking ruined. Anyone wanna help me lick this up?
This letter has three main sections. In the first, I argue that Mr. Robert Malda's hectoring conclusions are an epiphenomenon of dishonest irreligionism. In the second, I make it clear that Mr. Malda should stop and savor life, not siphon off scarce international capital intended for underdeveloped countries. And in the third and final section, I conclude that he prizes wealth and celebrity over and above decent morals and sound judgment. You see, I surely believe that his recommendations are way off base. And because of that belief, I'm going to throw politeness and inoffensiveness to the winds. In this letter, I'm going to be as rude and crude as I know how, to reinforce the point that if I want to wander around in a quagmire of self-pity and depression, that should be my prerogative. I undoubtedly don't need him forcing me to.
I find his sound bites rather cocky, don't you? Why does he want to take the focus off the real issues? Because I'm undeniably tired of quasi-mingy astrologers. That's not the only reason, of course, but I'll get to the other reasons later.
If natural selection indeed works by removing the weakest and most genetically unfit members of a species, then Mr. Malda is clearly going to be the first to go. If you ask him if it's true that I don't trust vitriolic doomsday prophets, you'll just get a lot of foot-shuffling and downcast eyes in response. I have one itsy-bitsy problem with his beliefs (as I would certainly not call them logically reasoned arguments). Namely, they impose a particular curriculum, vision of history, and method of pedagogy on our school systems. And that's saying nothing about how I find that I am embarrassed. Embarrassed that some people don't realize that we've all heard him yammer and whine about how he's being scapegoated again, the poor dear. I almost forgot: The point at which you discover that no matter how much Mr. Malda squirms and wriggles, he will never escape the fact that it's hard to fathom just how haughty he is is not only a moment of disenchantment. It is a moment of resolve, a determination that his sick devious pronouncements are in full flower, and their poisonous petals of narcissism are blooming all around us. Continue to appease him, and Mr. Malda will decidedly deny citizens the ability to become informed about the destruction that he is capable of. He is begging the question when he says that courtesy and manners don't count for anything. That, in itself, will condemn us to live with chauvinistic dolts by the end of the decade.
Now, it is not my purpose to suggest that perception becomes reality if one is brainwashed for long enough, but rather to appeal not to the contented and satisfied, but embrace those tormented by suffering, those without peace, the unhappy and the discontented. We must learn to celebrate our diversity, not because it is the politically correct thing to do, but because Mr. Malda holds onto power like the eunuch mandarins of the Forbidden City -- sterile obstacles to progress who make conditions far worse than could ever have been the case without his chauvinism-prone efforts. Did it ever occur to him that he easily impresses his legatees using big words like "anthropoteleological"? After days of agonized pondering and reflection, I finally came to the conclusion that there are two kinds of people in this world. There are those who rescue animalism from the rubbish heap of history, dust it off, slap on a coat of cheap sophistry, and market it as new and improved, and there are those who listen to others. Mr. Malda fits neatly into the former category, of course. I truly hope that the truth will prevail and that justice will be served before Mr. Malda does any real damage. Or is it already too late? We should be able to look into our own souls for the answer. If we do, I suspect we'll find that Mr. Malda wants us to believe that the boogeyman is going to get us if we don't agree to his demands. How stupid does he think we are? This is not a question that we should run away from. Rather, it is something that needs to be addressed quickly and directly, because he thinks that he is a martyr for freedom and a victim of authoritarianism. Of course, thinking so doesn't make it so. I won't mince my words: Mr. Malda wants to demand special treatment that, in many cases, borders on the ridiculous. It gets better: He actually believes that people don't mind having their communities turned into war zones. I guess no one's ever told him that he should clarify his point, so people like you and me can tell what the heck he's talking about. Without clarification, his assertions sound lofty and include some emotionally charged words but don't really seem to make any sense.
Will immoral cuckoo masters of deceit ever invite all the people who have been harmed by Mr. Malda to continue to express and assert their concerns in a constructive and productive fashion? Don't bet on it. Hey, it's not my fault that I have traveled the length and breadth of this country and talked with the best people. I can therefore assure you that from secret-handshake societies meeting at "the usual place" to back-door admissions committees, his spokesmen have always found a way to cause pain and injury to those who don't deserve it. Due to the power relationship between the dominator and the dominated, Mr. Malda should think about how his opinions lead the worst sorts of coldhearted clunks there are to encourage lascivious impertinent pseudo-intellectuals to see themselves as victims and, therefore, live by alibis rather than by honest effort. If Mr. Malda doesn't want to think that hard, perhaps he should just keep quiet. Now that you've heard what I've had to say, I want you to think about it. And I want you to join me and study the problem and recommend corrective action.
Cleverly hidden within this letter, for added incentive to read onward, is one lie. Not a lie of statistical or grammatical error, but a ludicrous falsehood at once so absurd as to strike the reader as an insult to human intelligence, and yet so rotten as to convince the reader that there should be a law against this. Before I start, however, I should state that to understand what Mr. Jon Katz's particularly crotchety form of ruffianism has encompassed as a movement and as a system of rule, we have to look at its historical context and development as a form of shallow politics that first arose in early twentieth-century Europe in response to rapid social upheaval, the devastation of World War I, and the Bolshevik Revolution. A study of hypocritical riffraff of various stripes indicates broad political and ideological agreement on the use of force combined with a set of simple tactics to achieve their immediate goal: to produce nothing but filth. Is there a chance that he isn't nefarious, ribald, and slaphappy? From what I've seen, I doubt it.
The implications of insipid sadism may seem theoretical, but they have concrete meaning for thousands of people. Taking that notion one step further, we can see that I, for one, have a problem with Mr. Katz's use of the phrase, "We all know that...". With this phrase, he doesn't need to prove his claim that his assertions epitomize wholesome family entertainment; he merely accepts it as fact. To put it another way, one does not have to displace meaningful discussion of an issue's merit or demerit with hunch and emotion in order to prevent the production of a new crop of the most uncouth kleptomaniacs I've ever seen. It is a flippant person who believes otherwise. Some naive cocky uncontrollable-types actually contend that black is white and night is day. This is the kind of muddled thinking that Mr. Katz is encouraging with his platitudes. Even worse, all those who raise their voice against this brainwashing campaign are denounced as moonstruck ideologues.
Is that such a difficult concept? He likes to compare his memoirs to those that shaped this nation. The comparison, however, doesn't hold up beyond some uselessly broad, superficial similarities that are so vague and pointless, it's not even worth summarizing them. Though many people agree that we must work together against absolutism, credentialism, interventionism, etc., I believe I have finally figured out what makes people like Mr. Katz manipulate everything and everybody. It appears to be a combination of an overactive mind, lack of common sense, assurance of one's own moral propriety, and a total lack of exposure to the real world.
If truth, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, then he is out to take a condescending cheap shot at a person that most disruptive hideous troublemakers will never be in a position to condescend to. And when we play his game, we become accomplices. Mr. Katz claims to have turned over a new leaf shortly after getting caught trying to identify political and religious groups that are his political enemies and re-label them as "treasonous exhibitionists" in order to justify operations against them. This claim is an outright lie that is still being circulated by Mr. Katz's representatives. The truth is that Mr. Katz is too pouty to read the writing on the wall. This writing warns that if natural selection indeed works by removing the weakest and most genetically unfit members of a species, then he is clearly going to be the first to go. It has been proven time and time again that there are some simple truths in this world. First, Mr. Katz knows perfectly well that the cure for corruption, conspiracy, and treason must start by exposing the problem to people who care and are not themselves corrupted. Second, his emissaries are so ready to support hostile governments known for human rights abuses, wrongful imprisonment, and slavery that their theories are laughable. And finally, his real enmity against us comes through in his canards, which Mr. Katz uses to do everything possible to keep simple-minded sideshow barkers ethically bankrupt and illogical. I know you're wondering why I just wrote that. I'll explain shortly, but first, I should state that I've never encountered anything as contemptible as Mr. Katz's recommendations. And let me tell you, I have a tendency to report the more sensational things that Mr. Katz is up to, the more shocking things, things like how he wants to use our weaknesses to his advantage. And I realize the difficulty that the average person has in coming to grips with that, but I don't believe that those of us who oppose him would rather run than fight. So when Mr. Katz says that that's what I believe, I see how little he understands my position.
Given what I know about capricious manipulators of the public mind, I can say with confidence that if Mr. Katz's helpers had even an ounce of integrity, they would reinforce the contentions of all reasonable people and confute those of what I call nerdy impertinent hoodlums. Are you prepared to discuss this, Mr. Katz? Everybody knows that he doesn't let a day pass without showing to the world that he is as little fitted to be trusted with liberty as thieves with keys or children with firearms, but you should consider that his constant whining and yammering is a background noise that never seems to go away. That fact may not be pleasant, but it is a fact regardless of our wishes on the matter. Mr. Jon Katz is consistently inconsistent. Since I don't have anything more to say on that subject, I'll politely get off my soapbox now.
*hurls some large floating feces in your direction*
Ooohh ooohhh oohhh aaahh!!! aaaahhh!!!
All your poasts are belong to us!! I own this website, Malda. And I'm gonna rape it inside out just like I raped your sister and made her squeal for more WIPO Troll cock down her throat.
First poast, biatches!!! *squirts some cum on your cheek*
CmdrTaco ate my fucking balls. I don't know why he's so obsessed with the WIPO Troll's balls, but he wanted them, and he ate them. Both of them. Now I got no balls! How am I supposed to fuck my sister with no balls to squirt cum on her face!? How am I supposed to ... masturbate?!!? I want my balls back, Malda! Or I'll rip yours off with a pair of rusty pliers and staple them back on my penis!!
I want to fuck my sister and suck on her sexy sexy toes. I wanna tie her up and beat her and fuck her to death and then fuck her corpse with an iron rod.
Good. You suck. Can I fuck your sister's mouth? I want her juicy fat lips around my juicy fat manpole right now.