So...Apparently, I Talk To Myself On The Occasion. · 9:53am Aug 9th, 2014
Hiya', guys! Who wants to know what I did last night? Nobody? Well, too bad! I'm telling you anyway! I got off work and logged on the site an hour ago to find a blog post linking to a chat room. When I got in there, everybody had already left. So...of course, I decided that this was the perfect opportunity to exercise my right to the freedom of expression to an utterly lamentable degree....by saying whatever errant delusion came to mind. The results were less than compelling. And here they are!! Hah! Maybe that'll teach America to know better than to allow me to speak my mind:
Derpy Hooves: pegasus cleared the room 3 hours ago
Happy joined the chat 2 hours ago
Hross joined the chat
Hross: Eh. Where is everybody?
Hross: Did everyone in America finally die from Super AIDS? I knew it. I'm not even going to double check or anything. I'm just going to jump to an immediate conclusion. Yep. I'm the only one left. Well...at least now I can practice playing the recorder.
Hross: Only problem is that I fucking hate the recorder.
Hross: Huh. I can pretty much say whatever I want, huh? Cool. I guess I rule the roost. Oh, how the tables have turned.
Hross: Ya' see that, Grandma?! Are you proud of me now?! NOTHING I DO IS EVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!!!!
Hross: Ya' see that, Grandma?! Are you proud of me now?! NOTHING I DO IS EVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!!!!
Hross: Ch'yeah, boi!! Double post! Twice the post! Twice the impact!...in bed....*snicker*
Hross: And Grandma always locked me in the closet as a kid! She locked the door behind her and gave me two metal buckets: one for caca, one for weewee. I caca'd in the weewee bucket by accident 'cuz I wasn't paying attention, and it splashed up on my gooch!! That was the worst birthday ever! And the only present Grandma gave me was that old "automatic love drill" with the funny, floppy thing on the end. She told me she didn't need it anymore. I wonder what she meant by that...
Hross: And all the times she beat me with that garden hose!! She left rows of welts all over my back and front! This one time...in the shower after PE, all the other boys made fun of me, calling me "Zebra Cake" and "King Stripey, Lord of the UltraFaggots!!!" *sob*
Hross: Then I would run home and go up to my room to cry for like....an hour. After I cleared my chakras with some herbal tea and incense, I would write in my Transformers binder that I used as a boy-diary. I also drew some super awesome pictures of my homeroom teacher with dicks for eyes and piranha fish for titties! Ha! That'll teach her to teach me!!
Hross: Man...if it hadn't been for my sparkly glitter glue, my sequin dispenser, my Beyonce's Bootylicious mixtape, and my Diary of Daily Cry-sads, then I never would have made it that year!
Hross: And it was a good thing I made it through, too, seeing as to how that was my senior year in high school. Kids can be so cruel!!! *mainlines a hypodermic needle of melted butter*
Hross: Maybe that's why I hate girls. Well...that and also because they're dumb and icky. And they make me feel funny, little tingles in my no-no place when they bend over to pick stuff up or get out of the shower. Well...I don't care!! They're still not allowed up in my tree fort! Stay out! *climbs up rope ladder to treehouse and readies water balloons for bombardment*
Hross: I like how People magazine named Adam Levine "the sexiest man alive." Ha! Wow. So apparently, becoming the honorary "Mayor of Twink Town" is how you get named "the sexiest man alive" by People magazine. Oh, woe to is me, for I am of the Ugly!
Hross: "Kevorkian" sounds less like "Doctor Death" and more like a highly advanced, spacefaring race of gopher people. We've yet to make contact with them...but I still have hope.
Hross: Turning on the radio does not hide a fart. Always learn from your mistakes.
Hross: Why am I still here?
Hross: Only thing left to do is get naked...since no one else made it through the Apocalypse, I guess I'll go first.
Hross: Why the hell did I wear a cardigan in the summer? It's hot as hell, and the buttons are annoying as fuck to undo.
Hross: Richard Dawkins fellates mountain goats..........and he pays them for it, too. Fuckin' slut.
Hross: I once ate twenty hotdogs in one sitting on a dare. I guess...I guess that's kinda' something, right? Not really...why does Yahweh despise me so?
Hross: I hate roadwork. Orange barrels and fat motherfuckers just sitting around doing nothing on the taxpayers' dime. PICK UP THE FUCKING SHOVEL AND DO STUFF! At least try to look busy!! SHIT!!
Hross: Wow. Somebody is gonna' log in, and start wondering what the hell was going on in here. And honestly...I'm not even sure myself. Ad vacuum. De profundis.
Hross: When I was ten years old, I used to steal my little sister's Barbie dolls and make 'em kiss and stuff. Then I made a stop-motion, lesbian porno with 'em in the garage.
Hross: Last I heard, it went viral on the Internet. Nobody Google the name "Delicious Doll Dykes 2: Electric Boogaloo." Your sense of decency will thank me later.
Hross: I don't even have a little sister. Which really begs the question........whose house was that I stole those dolls from? Whoever they were, they really should've remembered to lock their garage door.
Hross: I drank all their milk in the fridge and stirred a bowl of potato salad on the counter with my dick. Then I sewed all the throw rugs to the ceiling and left an open jar of mayonnaise in one of their air vents.
Hross: I also handcuffed an inflatable sex doll to the husband's hand while he was asleep in bed. His wife was laying right next him...I submerged her hand in a glass of warm urine. I know any liquid would technically do the trick, but I felt like being consistent for once.
Hross: Then I took a bag of pubes shaved off my older brother and glued pubestaches to the upper lips of every portrait in the living room. Now they all look like Geraldo Rivera. But on my way out of the second floor window, I fell and got impaled up the taint by the picket fence. Whatever...it was a reasonable sacrifice. I regret nothing.
Hross: Sometimes...when I go for a run, my buttcheeks will start slapping together. Every time I run by people standing on the sidewalk, they hear the clapping and think I'm running in some sort of cancer fundraiser sponsorship thing. Then they start clapping, too. Pretty soon after that, the entire town starts to sound like a black stripclub. And Lil' Jon won't stop calling my home phone...I already told him "no" three times, but he just doesn't get the message. My heart already belongs to Bubba Sparxx... Ask not for whom the booty claps, Bubba, it claps for thee
Hross: I...am not all that big a fan of any Lethal Weapon past the first movie. I have also never seen Star Wars or Star Trek. And ya' know what? I don't plan on seeing 'em anytime soon, either.
Hross: Jesus Christ...I'm still fucking here?!
Hross: I once read a highly accredited article in the New England Journal of Medicine about how you could theoretically change the pitch and tone of your farts were you to squinch your cheeks a certain way while cooking one off. Kinda' like squeezing the air out of a balloon where you make it do that "squee" sound...hehehe...that was funny!! *huffs experimental oven cleaner*
Hross: I'm not at all sure as to the credentials of the article's author, but he seemed to be on the up-and-up. He was from Bulgaria, and he was asking for donations in the footnotes so he could buy some weapons grade "ploo-tohn-ee-yum." Wonder what that was. Sounds like a ethnic Hungarian dish. Now I'm hungry. Man.... Thanks a fucking lot, Bulgarian fart-doctor!!
Hross: Wow...I'm really juvenile tonight. Hmm. Oh well. My job is done here. I have left my mark on this place...like a suspicious stain on an old mattress at the Red Roof Inn...where the hallways smell like stale menthols and jizz.
Hross: Yep. I think that should do it. Can't really top that last one. I bid this room...adieu!
And that, my friends, is why you never watch 'Freddy Got Fingered.' That shit does stuff to your brain like Hannibal Lector getting his salad tossed at a Mr Leather beauty pageant/whack-a mole convention. Or you could just drink 27 gallons of gasoline, because your cranium will end up doing things you've only seen happen directed by Michael Bay.
Thanks, Hrosswald. Thanks.
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Oh, Inky, old chum...I WISH I KNEW HOW TO QUIT YOU!!!!
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Shh...shhhshhh....let it wash over you, Coggy...let it seep into your every orifice...
I'm Happy.
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..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Why?.................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
2360514
one of my followers gave me a link, but no one was there. I was curious
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..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................What?.................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
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This conversation:
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You aren't being held here against your will. The door is right behind you, Tenty.
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okay... *leaves sadly*
2360702
Next time bring Taco Bell, and maybe I'll think you're worth my time, damn you!!
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*bursts into tears and gallops away*
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Don't worry. I'm dead.
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no you're not.
2362841 Ignore that. It's nothing.