Violent anal sex
Suddenly, the terminator appeared out of nowhere.
Spouting the line "Oh yes!" every 3 seconds. His search for Sarah Connor had begun!
Before we get into the Terminator and why he was seeking out Sarah Connor, we must go back to when he was just a wee robot. You see...
( ・-・) Butts. Butts butts butts butts butts butts.
[ ´ɯ`] And indeed, when you're just a wee li'l robot, you don't see much more than butts. Beep boop.
" said Robopa, shortly before being
reprogrammed to enjoy looking at butts more than anything. The perpetrator of this nefarious act could be none other than
( ´ω`) Hello kids!
That's right! The pedophile overlord Baron von Kidyydiddler was at it again! His latest scheme to rape supple kid butts could only be stopped by
Dr. Robotnik's
>>510
robot-clone of Sonic! Who would stop at anything to keep little children from being raped. When he faced Baron von Kidyydiddler he said
nothing at all. That was just how he rolled. The baron lost his
taste for fine cheeses
and his huge, grotesque
but gained a long lost power which gave him the ability to
hover on a noisy column of methane and poo fragments
which smells pretty nasty really.
I rode my motorbike out of there like a bat out of hell. I rode for hours, not looking back once. I'd not make a good pillar of salt. The sun rose and set several times, but drowsiness did not deter me. After my stomach could hold out no more, I pulled over at a small family diner.
I decided to seat myself across from a girl. A waitress came with a cup of coffee and offered me a menu, which I refused. "I'd just like a side of eggs and some toast, please." The waitress nodded and headed into the back room.
The girl across from me, stunningly handsome, flashed me a quick, nervous grin before she lost herself in a book. And having no book of my own, I found myself reading her. An honest face with baby blue eyes and convincing bangs of blonde. She couldn't have been more than 19 years old. Her pale skin, almost unhealthily so, was beautiful. It could have been my sleep deprivation talking, but she was the most stunning girl I'd ever laid eyes on.
My food came and I ate it. The girl continued to read, finishing her coffee as I lost myself in my daydreams. "Hey, what's your name?" She looked up. "Espeon," she said, with a thick accent. "Is Russian." I smiled. "Well, my name's Chuck, and it's nice to meet you." I offered her my hand, and she shook weakly. But her hand, while weak, was alive. Espeon. It had a nice ring to it.
"I'm so fresh, you can suck my nuts."
said ( ˃ ヮ˂), shortly before being
Before being shred into pieces by an awesome explosion.
"SHIT FUCKING TIT-BITCHES! NOT THAT FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT PRESSURE COOKER AGAIN!" Rei was visibly upset.
Suddenly, the entire continent of
Freedonia
, whose Eternal President is Richard M. Stallman,
was enslaved by an army of
children raised in schools which run proprietary software on all machines, who never said "please" or "thank you" after
merciful spanking
in the name of justice and all that is pure in a free and open-source society.
"Because," Stallman said, pausing to clear his throat: "Although you may pay taxes, that's really not the kind of free state we meant at all. You're guaranteed freedom, but freedom isn't free. My grandfather, Richard M. Stallman the First lost his life and paid for his freedom in blood, in the first Windows war. And with him bled the entire country. Think about that the next time someone tells you to install Gentoo - and consider accepting. Thank you for your time."
Meanwhile, the Mighty Dongoloid
(Stallman's long-lost brother, for those just joining us)
was planning a fanfare of patent trolling for the sole purpose of infuriating his admittedly pathetic, idealist sibling.
Do you think that's realistic?'' He asked the livestream on CNN.com as it buffered occasionally. Richard answered with a gentle nod, unaware that his own putrid flesh and black blood was among his audience. Where is the incentive? How do you satisfy man's desire to conquer if his primary option is to create? The world is not free, my naive little brother. Man, as an evolutionary imperative, must suffer even as he usurps. A society's force, the sheer temperature of its burning core, exists not by pressure nor volume alone, but a proportionate multiplication thereof. Its value, you see - its... ah, worth, one might say - decreases with volume, unless pressure compensates, and visa versa.''
He then proceeded to submit patents for the first and last fifty lines of every C header within the Linux kernel.
Meanwhile, in Edinburgh, the Cult of Undead Moé had begun a sacred ritual to revive the Great Sky Loli (who died back at >>217,218). Their leader,
St. Shii DCLXVI,
of Church WWW,
wad blessed with a humongous, throbbing
ego, because
it's a prerequisite of being a cult leader.
There was a sudden flash of light and a loud moaning noise - the ritual had been a success! The cult members
slowly began to take off their clothes and prepared the body of Dr. Robotnik. If all of them successfully came inside of his ass then their diabolical plan would come to fruition. Each of the cult members had their way with Robotnik's nether regions save one, but before the final cultist could call forth the warping, chaotic powers by violently raping Robotnik's ass
the narrator ran out of breath. Perhaps next time they should try omitting the endless run-on sentences from the ritual.
Meanwhile, other sinister plans were afoot at the
First Militant Church of Zardoz
, but these plans were entirely irrelevant because
they were dying out due to that "penis is evil" bit of their doctrine.
Back in Edinburgh, the Undead Great Sky Loli was about to commence her reign of terror, starting with
a tea party involving
Marie Antoinette and her sister
Ms. Cho (an illegitimate child, daughter of a ninja).
Many important topics were discussed, such as the appropriate number of frills and ribbons one's dress should have, and
a conclusion was reached:
everyone had to wear special hats to be part of their secret club.
"Psst, would you like to join a secret club?" said a masculine man in a dark cape
before being mercilessly crushed to death by the UGSL. Nobody gets into her tea parties uninvited, not even
your esteemed narrator. You might not have thought about who was narrating this, did you? No one ever thinks about the narrator. I've lived a hard life. It's not as easy as a life you kids today have. You just lock yourselves in your room and jerk off to anime porn. But me? Starting at the age of 12
I've been starving and going into bouts of
really unsubtle Touhou references, because I'm a NEET.
You may know me as Morgan Freeman. And this is my story...
The Spiral Temple began to gain enormous amounts of political power in the 20s due to the influence of Spiral Power on prominent Politicians as well as the New Spirals introducing themselves to the System. Invisible to the average Citizen their violent right angles called and Screamed out to my electric Soul . They were reaching out, calling to me, screaming. People were losing their minds in the twisted World of Spirals. My eyes cried red blood, my body smiled blue Tears for the work was hard and.
But then,
( ﾟ ヮﾟ) Suddenly, mittens! Thousands of them!
and On each Mitt was a nother and aother Spiral indiciating that the Power had Spiraled out of control They fell from sky like a Cat or Dog..
Truly, the mittenpocalypse possessed a terrible beauty. A young man
of Nordic descent was making his way through
puberty
knew that he was developing strong feelings for a
cardboard cut-out of Keanu Reeves
(´ε｀ )♡ "Oh, Kjeanu Rjeeves," he thought.
Just one glance into the spiralling mittenstorm was all it took to
( ・-・) derail this thread. Up against the wall, motherfuckers!
" is what Beady Eyes would have said, were it not for the fact that he has already been killed off several times. Instead,
He kept his mouth shut and went to his local store to
derail a serious discussion regarding the
second coming of jesus christ as defined by the holy bible
penis
2: the resurrection
. The two gentlemen engaging in this discussion
really wished they were little girls,
that still had penises
so that they could
urinate in more easily. The Greek goddess Aphrodite
wondered passingly what the word "in" was doing there in the previous sentence
as she polished up the apple so carefully
- the very same apple which
she had recently
stuffed up her vagina and kept in for hours
as preparation for a sacred ritual to
Summon Eris and bring chaos to the world. Meanwhile, Dr. Robotnik began to wake up on the cultists' ritual table.
The cultists promptly set fire to
a passing Espeon, who ran off screaming and was never seen again.
Seeing this, Dr Robotnik decided not to
shout “PINGAS”
, as he LOVES each and every Espeon quite dearly. Who couldn't?
The next author promptly took over and swore upon his mother's grave that he would salvage this horrible mess of a short novel and turn it into a true masterpiece. Of course, we all can see where that is going.
The new author sighed. He cradled his weary forehead in his hands and poured himself another shot of cheap vodka. He let his stubby, worn fingers fall to the keys of the typewriter and began to write, not even daring to look back at what his poor alcohol addled mind was spewing. Anything to keep his thoughts away from... never mind that.
Chapter 3: Betrayal in Venice
It was raining in
Barcelona. There was a sullen despair afoot. Unlike in Venice, where there was only betrayal and sunlight, Barcelona was pretty wet. A young boy pondered this with idle fascination, wondering whether the betrayal in Venice was particularly troublesome that day. Clear skies and a deceptively bright sun usually heralded such behavior.
He would know. He'd been to Venice.
Wondering whether rain and melancholy were preferable to light and deceit, the boy trudged forward uneasily. At least you could trust a person here, he thought. Venice was different. It was mean. You could buy an orange and get a softball, or spend five years working unpaid as, week after week, you were promised wages that never came. Men might lie dead beneath your feet, knives in their backs. Sometimes you tripped over them.
Here, however, it was just wet. Sad and wet. No one knew why and no one bothered to find out.
A lonely figure sat in a cramped steamy café, appropriately enough named "The
Shitty Cafe."
The 600 GET he had ordered was
well cooked and lavishly prepared. He added a dash of salt from the shaker and it was just the way he liked it. whilist eating his meal