Fancy running into you here, user!

>fancy running into you here, user!
>hows life?

>Hoosier
nice. I'd sit down and play euchre with pence, robert, and his lady friend

Nani?! I thought you sold your soul to the Kinotorium Master

It's good Robert! Hope life is treating you well. How's your wife?

Shit like always, Robert.

why is robert so pure?

Robert gives me hope for a better tomorrow.

I thought you died....
in the popcorn mine....

He's just a happy, normal guy

>Robert huh... now that's not a name I've heard in a long time...

How's life? I'm sorry, how's life, you ask? Let me tell you right fucking now, buddy. My life is shit. Less than shit. My life is worthless. Everyday I wake up and roll over to see my fucking whore of an obese wife. I haven't loved her since years before we got married, but I can't do any better and I know it. Somehow I drag myself into my nasty mildew caked shower and make a feeble attempt at washing myself with a hairy bar of soap. I go to my job at the local Wal-Mart and my snot-nosed 19 year old piece of shit department manager bitches me out for showing up 9 minutes late. I spend the next four hours stocking shelves numbly with the faint hope that I might die in a forklift accident or a robbery or a fucking stroke. When I get off work I immediately go to my second job as a janitor for the local Home Depot. I spend the next six or so hours mopping the floor and cleaning shit stained bathrooms. I get home, and most nights I'm greeted by the sounds my fat hampig wife fucking some new guy she met on tinder. I watch shitty cable tv from my busted up 10 year old crt and drink at least six cans of warm beer until she gets done. When my wife's new fuckbuddy finally leaves, I retire to my room and get to spend the night sleeping in puddles of his fucking cum. I've tried hanging myself twice, but it's only succeeded in giving me a respiratory problem which means I can't smoke anymore.

But you already knew that, Robert, you smug-ass piece of shit. Ask me how my life is, how's your life? Fucking prick.

Look out Robert! There's a lich behind you!

Where's my popcorn, Bobby... Don't tell me I gotta go to the mines myself. I ain't even brought my pickaxe...

Sounds like working in the popcorn mines really did a number on you, buddy.

>h-hey Robert would you let your wife fart on my face p-please?

Fuck off. Robert isn't your therapist.

I'm on a diet Robert. I don't mean to bring up bad stuff in public like this but I've never been so frustrated in my life. Maybe it was a bad idea to do while also quitting alcohol. Anyway it really warms my soul to see you. I hope you guys have a good time.

Yeah, well maybe he should mind his own business then. Fuck you, pal.

Is that Ed Gein?

how much do we know about the one they call robert?

Snoke?

He's the unnassailably pure and stalwart manager of your favorite Kinosseum

why is there a corpse?

I haven't slept in 26 hours and it's becoming a routine

We've always been alive