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14352 No.1   [Reply]


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File: 1196288472267.gif -(73336 B, 320x240) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size.
73336 No.1   [Reply]

first i lulz'd, then i said fuuuck thiiis

35 posts and 18 images omitted. Click Reply to view.
>> No.37  

>>36
Silence you

>> No.38  

>>37
are you just gonna keep talking to yourself? :( i am always me

>> No.39  

>>38
Of course I will, you wouldn't have it any other way.

>> No.40  

>>39
ummm whatever

>> No.41  

I love you faux

>> No.42  

I love lamp

>> No.43  

I love falafel

what?

>> No.44  

>>43
Meet me in Cognito, baby
Of course we'll have to color our hair
The best thing about life in Cognito
is that everybody's nobody there

>> No.45  
File: 1198520899167.jpg -(63776 B, 480x300) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size.
63776

>>43

falafel loves you too <3

>> No.46  

SOMEBODY FUCKING BAN ME.

PS Faux sucks gigantic nigra dicks.



File: 1198421568295.jpg -(197241 B, 600x600) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size.
197241 No.1   [Reply]

Where hast thy gone?

>> No.2  

Scranton Pennsylvania actually

>> No.3  

or do you mean in a larger why have you forsaken my oh faux kind of way?

Anywhere but here, you fags drove her away

>> No.4  

Internet isn't fun without Faux here.

I miss my friend she would talk to me and it didn't seem so lonely. No funny little comments and videos, no strange stories of friends or dreams, no cute pictures and weird videos. No talk of hope and chasing dreams making me think that maybe this world isn't a giant machine designed to eat me body and soul.

I want my friend back

>> No.5  

That's ok, because today I found my friends in my head.

>> No.6  

I'm going to Scranton, Pennsylvania with an aching in my heart.

>> No.7  

Bounceme couldn't keep a woman if it's life depended on it. It's the collective basement dwelling, pale, SciFi nerd who eats Cheetos all day and looks on the internet just to see how the weather is outside.

>> No.8  

>>7
HEY HEY HEY

HEY

cheetos taste like shit and science fiction sucks.

Change them to video games and smoking unflitered cigarettes

>> No.9  

I have not had a Merged Permanence in my life for five years. It took at least three of those five years for my brain to start functioning properly again. In the aftermath of being part of a Merged Void, all that is left for some time is Void Residue: Emptiness, Fear and Emotional Hunger. It is these three and the endless, fruitless search for a Permanent Cure that the Emotional Female Void calls Love. If you merge with that sensibility, you will share in its sickness. No matter what you pour into it, it remains empty; no matter how you reassure it, it remains afraid; no matter how much of yourself you permit it to devour, it remains hungry. If you look at her and see anything besides emptiness, fear and emotional hunger, you are looking at the parts of yourself which have been consumed to that point.

"The ability to be alone, to have isolation as your primary state of existence, will serve you in good stead in any situation in which you find yourself. The ability to live in Merged Permanence teaches you only how to function within the context of Another's neuroses, inadequacies and failings. It teaches you how to use your own neuroses, inadequacies and failings as both cudgel and petition. When the Merged Permanence ends, whether next week, next year, five years from now, ten years from now, you are left with completely useless life skills, emptiness, fear and emotional hunger.

"Fuck dancing. Let's talk about Art."

>> No.10  

Bump. That picture is so dreamy! If you could hear me now, I would be like a young teenage girl at a Beatles concert in the 60's while doing acid and hallucinating of me and John Lennon floating on cotton candy clouds covered in chocolate syrup while we gazed at a thousand rainbows which led to a pot of pot and while fucking like rabbits until I screamed my lungs out from an explosive orgasm.

No, I'm not gay.

>> No.11  
>>thou<<

Where hast thou gone ?

"Thy" is possessive, as in, "Where has thy fine if boyish booty gone off to?"



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10823 No.1   [Reply]

“You wanna pop me?” she said. This must have been some new-fangled youth term. The verb “to pop.”

“I wanna bust a nut inside you, shorty,” I said. “I wanna make you sweat, boo. Let’s do this thing.”

I’d like to say that she stepped out of her jeans, but in truth it took a while to maneuver two large dimpled buttocks and the accompanying vaginal wedge out of the hard shell of her Miss Sixty denims. We huffed and sweated; I had her hanging off the edge of the bed while I gripped the cuffs of her jeans; I nearly pulled a groin muscle getting her naked; but through it all I stayed hard, a testament to how much I wanted her. She kept her T-shirt on throughout the initial popping, which is just how I like my sex, infused with a little mystery. I slipped my hands beneath the cotton tee and felt the smooth creamery of her breasts while saving the visuals of those brown glossy globes for later. Her vagina was all that, as they say in the urban media - a powerful ethnic muscle scented by bitter melon, the breezes of the local sea, and the sweaty needs of a tiny nation trying to breed itself into a future. Was it especially hairy? Good Lord, yes it was. Mountains of kinkiness black as the night above the Serengeti with paprika shoots at the edges - the pubic hair alone must have clocked in at half a kilo, while providing the inspiration for two discernible trails of hair, one running up to the navel, the other to the base of the spine.

>> No.2  

Naturally, considering my size, she got on top of me. But given her impressive overall body mass and natural resilience, I could see a day when we could broach the missionary position, not that there’s anything special in attacking a poor woman that way. After we had fussed with the condom, I reached for her pubes, but she slapped me away. These preliminaries did not interest her. Instead, she just plain mounted me, holding on to my tits for balance, slipping me inside with no effort, both vaginal lips working to usher me into her tightness. I find it clichéd when couples insist that they have “the perfect fit,” but between the busted-up, zigzag, Broadway boogie-woogie of my maligned purple khui and the all-encompassing nature of her Caspian pizda, we reached a third way, as it were.

That is to say, she rode me. It was all very classy and contemporary, like a modern-art survey course at NYU. I wanted to have the slogan I RODE ANONYMOUS imprinted on her T-shirt. “Yeah, do me,” she kept saying, after issuing a few grunts so male and assertive they startled me into a brief homosexual fear, a fear compounded by one of her sharp nails digging into my tight rectum. “Do me, daddy,” she said, her eyes closed, her thighs slapping against my upper and lower stomachs, my own tits making wet noises against my frame. “Just like that,” she said, stealing a brief glance at me and then turning her head to the side so that I could lick her ear and plunge into her neck. “Just … like … that.”

>> No.3  

“Yeah,” I said, “I’m fucking you, boo,” but the words did not convince me. “I’m busting my nut tonight,” I sang.

“My pussy fills so tight,” she sang back in perfect ghetto English.

“Ouch,” I said. She was crushing my pubic bone, grinding into it. “Ouch,” I repeated. “Baby doll … ouch.”

“Just a minute, pops,” she said. “Just give me a minute. Do me right. Just like that.”

“Move up a little,” I said. “Move up. It hurts. My bone.”

“Just … like … that,” she said.

“My bone hurts,” I said. “I’m losing it.”

“AW,” she shouted. “FUCK ME.” She leaned back. I slipped out. Her thighs trembled before me, and I felt a warm, abundant liquid spreading on my own thighs, not sure which of us had issued it. My bedroom was filled with the smell of asparagus and related greenery. “Aw,” she said again. “Fuck me.”

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