Thread for discussing Marxism, Leninism, Maoism, Trotskyism, Left Communism, and other forms of Marxist Communism.
- INTRODUCTORY READING
>Communist Manifesto:
marxists.org
>Value, Price, and Profit:
marxists.org
>Capital: Chapter I:
marxists.org
>Critique of the Gotha Programme:
marxists.org
>Draft of a Communist Confession of Faith:
marxists.org
>The Principles of Communism:
marxists.org
>The Myths about Marxism:
marxist.com
- MARXISM-LENINISM STUDY PLAN: pastebin.com
- LIBRARIES
marxists.org
marx2mao.com
marxistphilosophy.org
bannedthought.net
IF YOU DO NOT SEE A GENERAL IN THE CATALOG COPY FROM THE PASTEBIN BELOW AND CREATE ONE!
PASTEBIN - pastebin.com
Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win.
WORKING MEN OF ALL COUNTRIES, UNITE!
/mxg/ - Marxism General
Other urls found in this thread:
Going to need you to kill yourself immediately.
>MARXISM-LENINISM STUDY PLAN
Thanks for this.
Wish I could say I remember what it was like to be so young and stupid that I thought Marxism was a good idea but I can't.
On a side note how many dudes have you blown this semester?
Why don't leftcoms ever do anything?
...
A little googling shows that it is another nazi hoax, like all your news, really.
When will leftypol give up and go back.
...
Im gonna study some thinkers in 2017. Pick me 3 pol:
Plato
Spinoza
Marx
Jung
Wittgenstein
Strauss
Baudrillard
Nice try, but it is real. It costs $6 to visit his grave.
Kinda funny even if fake
Plato, Marx, Wittgenstein
Post anti-commie and anti-leftist memes
This is now a Nat Soc thread
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...
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Spoiler: Marx will trigger you.
Thanks lad
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I doubt it
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>Capitalists applaud having 50+ hour workweeks and being exploited for massive profits
...
leftypol cant even come up with their own memes come on
s*ged
...
...
Hitler awoke to the cold dripping of water pattering against a frigid stone floor. His eyes shot open, fully awake. The German's eyes were met with a seamless deluge of darkness, a thin string of beady water trailing into the floor being the only visible object. He blinked in confusion. Had Stalingrad officials finally captured him and are preparing excruciating tortures? Was Nicholas II planning an execution? Hitler assumed he'd never know. His wrists were overlaying and bonded with a thick shield of unbreakable steel twine and his eyes bled grit mixed with salty tears. His head began wildly rotating. The commander's cranium did propel from his neck, parting and morphing flawlessly into a jet-fueled headrover. It flew freely amongst the ebony nothingness, scanning and analyzing the room for any kind of hint towards his location. In retaliation to imprisonment, he transformed into a poorly-rendered 3D model whose polygonal glory rang throughout the universe with charming glee. He spewed an infinite string of spiral-like yellow fluid that was administered into the shape of a stout, afro-sporting child. The substance hardened, and pastel hues began speckling its claylike surface, spelling out a soft countenance that radiated glee.
Marx
Wittgenstein
Strauss
Wittg is an antidote, a mouthwash between breaks. Strauss if only to compare what an inferior Hegelian he was compared to Marx, and how Hegel was originally a statist apologist.
...
"What do you summon me for, my dear Fuhrer?"
"Steven, I wish for my freedom from this wretched place."
"This case is a cold one. I'm a fray I can do no suck thing."
Steven Spielberg frowned slightly at the reaction of Hitler's drooping expression and sodden eyes.
"But, Steven Strait—someone with your power is limitless for his breadsticks!"
Steven Yeun frowned. "You know I am not of infinity, Hotler."
"Steven Ogg, you have to!"
A sudden flood of emails caressed his Nazi body. The electronic liquid fused with his pale, nationalistic flesh and hardened into a roughly-shaped shell that stretched around his body. His hair was folded in a stiff flat underneath the notifying carapace. Two punctures symmetrical to each other appeared where his eyes were, allowing him to see the future of the world, peering through the sealed curtain into a door whose possibilities were endless. He was sealed eternally in his cursed mummy-like tomb, destined to see everything and do nothing, the song Accidental Racists playing for all eternity in the dismal abyss of his mind. God had abandoned him, and abandonment was God for him.
Who are the top fascist thinkers?
"FOR WHAT PURPOSE" screamed the German commander, still entombed in the crusty email exterior. "WHY MUST THIS HAPPEN TO ME?"
Po the fat panda rushed right-the-fuck in, and then hung his head. In a noose. One thousand burning buildings later—and a lot of raping/pillaging—Stalin finished the enormous sculpture perched on his desk. It was made of clay, rough and callused. It depicted a man covered in a large cloak carrying a broomstick that was made out of smaller versions of the sculpture. Stalin would later resolve to piece together a new form of Russian Government. The Kay Gee Bee.
...
Donald Trump pointed his finger into the sky, and a massive golden column of light issued from the fingertip. It punctured through a large clutter of clouds and bursted through the atmosphere. The enormous spear rushed across the mind-boggling banner of space, and struck the surface of Mars. It kicked up a large cloud of dust as it rammed through the planet, and was then skewered upon the cosmic line of light. It connected with the next planet, Jupiter, then so on, until six planets were connected on the prodigious pipe of energy. Donald, using his super-duper powers, swung the large javelined cluster of land spheres. The cosmic face of Mitt Romney blended in with the cosmos, but the lights from the shish-kebab of celestial orbs illuminated his money-craving mug. The cosmic object crossed the space between the Solar System and Mitt Romney, and smacked the politician in his face. The force was so incredible that it elicited an enormous nebula of flesh and blood to rip from his face. Mitt's look of complacence turned to fear as his astral hiding was revealed. All would know his position now, and he wouldn't be able to escape. Just like me.
...
Robbie Rotten sprang to life, his body covered in a thick layer of viscous jelly. His laser flesh was able to do away with the thick, slimy fluid in an instant. He stood up and corrected his lopsided coat and swiveled his nose.
"Now, what predicament have I been sucked into this time? I swear, this is the work of Sportaflop, isn't it!"
His two hands twisted and twirled and became smooth, hardened metallic nubs. The ends developed a muzzle and two long chains of ammunition dangled from his forearms.
"I'll teach that wretched athlete! I'll teach him good!" he yelled, laughing in the voice of a maniac as he let loose a heavy cacophonic barrage of bullets. They shot across the cavern he was entombed within and chunks of rock and mineral spalled off from the assaulted walls. The bullets were constructed of super-hot metal and instantly liquefied anything it contacted. The watery vitamins slithered across the floor and Robbie absorbed them into his flesh. His strength amplified and his eyes shone with a demonic red glow.
"PREPARE YOURSELF, SPORTACUS!" he said.
"FOR I AM PREPARING MYSELF!"
Spongebob flopped and repeatedly cartwheeled across the sandy acres. His body was spineless and he was completely quadriplegic. He floundered wherever he went, and he was always out of breath when he arrived at his destination. He shifted upwards, looking at the massive hollow statue that is Squidward's house.
"Squidward," he gurgled. "wanna come play-ayy-ayy?"
The cephalopod's response was a heavy flurry of bullets out of his machine gun sniper rifle. Spongebob collapsed, decorating the grainy terrain beneath him with a thick coat of blood that clumped the sand together in a dry heap. The blood swirled and shifted like the surface of a carbonated beverage before contorting into the shape of a man with a roundish face, and a full comb-over. He had a small square mustache as well. Adolf Hitler.
"Spongebob!" he said.
"What?"
"Get that dreaded Steven Universe in an instant! He's abandoned me!"
"Whoa!" he mumbled. "Okay, sure."
Spongebob compacted into a tight yellow core until he vanished from existence.
this gave me cancer
There are none.
Stalin wrestled Lincoln Loud on the ground, brandishing a syringe in his other hand.
"PLEASE! NO!" shouted the white-haired boy.
"nope sorry" the Communist said, mashing Lincoln's head into the carpet, forcing the taste of hair and cookie crumbs into his mouth. Stalin then waved the needle up and lunged down, plunging the syringe into Lincoln's spine. It struck between two caps of the bony support, and injected the fluid straight into his marrow. It quickly flowed through his whole body, and the transformation began.
...
Y'all motherfuckers need Bill Whittle and Jesus
m.youtube.com
...
BASED RUSSIAN COMRADE
Lincoln screamed as a large patch of warts suddenly sprouted from his back. They began squirming and contorting, morphing his flesh into a hideous skinmass. Stalin moved back, maintaining a safe proximity from the incoming terror. A humanoid body ripped free from his skin, flinging chunks of thick, congealed blood and fragments of his spine away. His body was almost completely demolished, the top and bottom part of his torso completely severed from each other, leaving a massive pool of crimson liquid bespeckled with a slurry of shredded organs, freely-running stomach acid, and a collage of bloodied bones. Lincoln's face was petrified with a look of sheer horror on it. Stalin looked complacent.
The being ripped off a few hanging swaths of flesh off his body, revealing a pink shirt with a star on it, though it was covered in blood. Steven Universe had been birthed.
Stalin, taking off his hat and allowing a large fountain of liquid rainbows mixed with shredded copies of the Declaration of Independence to flow freely from the cap, gave him a curt bow. A gesture of politeness and respect.
"Take me to the planet." the massive, developed, chunky abortion said. "The red one, with the sand dunes."
"ok"
Stalin's legs collapsed and doubled, turning into a silvery object and sprouted a black rim at the bottom. Steven hopped onto his back, straddling him. A massive jet of flames bursted from the leg-jets and rocketed them into the sky, propelling the duo into the cosmos. Steven let loose a demonic laugh as they rushed lightspeed through the void of space, a laugh that rang through the universe, raping the ears of all those who heard it, ramming his audio-dick into the canal. It would never begin, never end, a mere aspect of the cosmos. It was remembered, not forgotten.
Anal is like shoving your cock up someone's nose, pulling out, and being surprised when there's snot on the shaft of your penis.
...
So comrades my gf just bought me a chastity cage yesterday and i refused to waer it.
I told her the metal used for this cage was extracted by poor african children and therefore it is immoral for me to wear it at which point she accused me of mysoginy and left the house.
She spent the night at Jamal's house and shes refusing to come back what do?
Pearl groaned as Steven's octopus tentacles slammed into her again. The tendrils were covered in her slime, lubricating them and allowing them entrance easier. She gripped the moist appendage as it slid out of her and gently flowed back into her, pressing against her sensitive innards. A pressure began accumulating in her prostate as it probed the sphere of nerves again, feeling a wave of pleasure attacking her four-headed cock. It began oozing precum as the limb pulled out of her, and Steven gave a coy grin.
"You enjoying this, my shitty hypernig?"
"Donald Duck ate seaweed made from large crustaeceans"
Her stiff dick sent a deluge of pearly-white cum spilling down her shaft and covering her hands, coating them with the lewd plasma.
Steven then drew his .45, swiftly cocked it, and fired several well-placed rounds into her skull, slamming through her brain and instantly killing her. A translucent copy of her body floated up from her corpse and hovered over it. It then flowed into Steven, pumping him full of her strength. In response, his eyes illuminated with an infernal crimson tint and glowed evilly.
"I have awoken." he said.
...
>communist applauds being lied to then thouroughly exploited by the powers at the top, never having economic reform that he desires
>while he prepares a story as to why THIS style of communism "wasn't true communism"
>alternatively, he turns 18, gets a job, and cringes at what he used to be
/leftypol/ loses again, go back to r/communism you NEET motherfucker
Pearl gave a shrill shriek as the demonic superhand of the half-bleached lesbian cheeto roared uproariously up from the watery confines. The fusion slammed into another cockroach, grunting in annoyance as its insectile innards sloshed around her nine boots.
Steven did growl as the ravenous ravioli dish scrambled down a path that everyone knew but none had discovered. The mountainously spiked fist of another sand dune superturtle nearly penetrated the squishy flesh of the insulin-lacking behemoth deathgrowl, the bazobblegrumfles, as they referred to themselves by, rocked the seventy-eighth district of Ingrid Rabbletops, Stellar Megaparty is what they'd only known.
The orange, dementia-filled cartilage carrier spooned up feverously from the cerulean vastness, relishing the three and nine stars that the world forgot. Rangled had the rised camps be, yet the fruitless intuition of the wrapped rapped the rap rape from the scungle bungle. What of the Christened Gimmies lasted was a singular, mangled, blood-splattered, tattered piece of torn cloth.
The obese quartz squeezed another jar from a jar onto the next jarring jar that had been crumpled down from the Egyptian days that dug the ground. "Dammit…" Steven mumbled coldly. "These jars really jammieruffle my socks?" The rounded edge of the duplicitous yet woven title that encapsulated none other than Carl Sagan materialized into existence. The deep-voiced narrator bursted from the thread of the fabric of the material of the foundation of the structure of the building of the city of mankindred inbendo.
Ok thanks.
>one of the smartest humans on earth said this
how does it make you feel, you muslim cock chokers?
The devil is in the details.
The whole cemetery is maintained by private organisation that determines terms and conditions and entrance fees, which is a bit different from that dumb facebook post.
"Scrumplehop the gringo" spalled the helmodraphic ectoplasmic endophobic supercaster Tourmaline, still crashing the saw repeatedly into the timber stock of the lonesome tree. "This damn child won't sing" The tree gave a final, natural groan of sympathetic relish. Steven knew no one who had crashed so vigorously through the nine-tailed stocks. He rammed into another brick house, the bungalow apologetically apologizing for its transphobic transgressions of not raping a man with a strap-blonde.
Lars smiled as the stack of money solemnly bowed to him with a stark and pecuniary "Hello!"
The coins did the same, their copper edges scraping through the space that held a voyage of kindred Krampus. "So, what do you live for?" "Allveryonething." "Thanks, I'll tell my dog about this." He leaned over to his canine companion. "About this." He mumbled courageously, slamming the newest desk onto another desk of the same nature.
Kasmarov Albortchyia cleaved the meat in half with a big, silver dick-nickel who knew nothing of the creeping stars smashing a crumpled duckwitch of doomish death.
Fascism is what the capitalist state resorts to when it can't maintain power as it had been able to before. It's not a pre-meditated ideology, just an organic phenomenon.
The viridescent manhandling gauge of immense graphics scraped against the fruit-bearing chingle dingle, or as Steven liked to call it, "a fucking stupid jar". He crammed thus another glass receptacle into the jar, the glass tentatively slamming into each other, shattering into dozens of free-falling and verdant, cerulean linoleum splinters who had no place yet resided everywhere.
The trees in the area groaned and moaned as the lumber-gem continued swathing the innocentiarial bazzomba forest with fallen timber, slamming into the ground with a wooden crunch. The explosion of the treestock slammed a carnivorous childrenchildkid over the disgruntled and grassy land, slamming yet another smashed grappled ingot of deathwater.
Steven couldn't help but blush at the lithe and crackling, rippling, super superior figure of the gem. As he did so, he realized that the glass jars were being unattended, and as he looked back, a glass projectile supernova assaulted the tables of the house.
"He laughed so loud he farted spaghetti and meatballs"
"WHO SAID SUCH THAT?"
Steven crumpled and receded back into the house, slithering into the glass jars of death.
If we were to properly graph and calculate time, we would draw it as a circle. Time—as well as reality—flows like a large circle, flowing in one, infinite direction, incomprehensible to any mortal. Now, one may wonder, how was such a thing crafted? How do people know?
Well, the reason for this is one simple thing: reincarnation. A circle cannot be graphed or calculated, as it is the only form of infinity that we can truly see, touch, and know. A triangle or a square could theoretically be infinite, but it has angles and vertices that limit the illimitable.
So, a circle is the only true geometric form that could be considered never-ending.
The best part of a circle is its simplicity. Anyone with a brain cell can take a pencil and graph one in one, single-second swipe. In one fell swoop, the boundaries of infinity are finite. The boundless become the bounded. The imponderable can be pondered. In spite of this, it still is, in almost every respect, limitless.
Now, for the aforementioned "reincarnation". Reincarnation is defined by Merriam-Webster as "the idea or belief that people are born again with a different body after death." Ergo, if life was delineated on paper, we would once more graph it as a circle. Hypothetically, if we placed the starting point of a circle on its top point, then when life traveled around the circle, it would only strike the starting point again and enter a loop.
There have been several cases of theorized reincarnation, allow me to elaborate.
On a currently popular note, let's take the case between both George Smith Patton Jr., a famous WWII general who was known for his courageous leadership and battle tactics, and Donald John Trump Sr., an American entrepreneur tycoon who is, as of 2016, running for president. Both of these men held a similar, almost identical face. The two men also greatly spoke out their mind and refused to be "politically correct". Donald Trump was born a single year after Patton's death, and Patton believed in reincarnation. Mister Trump also speaks fondly of Patton every rally and frequently compliments him, trying to find "a new General Patton" to fight ISIS, an Islamic terrorist group.
...
Thus brings my thoughts to an end. A circle determines reality, both through its limitlessness and rebirthing properties. But questions may still linger; "What about a sphere?" one may ask. "Isn't a sphere infinitely more complex than a dull, dull circle?"
To that I remark that, no matter what is said or noted of a sphere, it is merely a solid, tri-dimensional representation of the base of all existence: a circle. Though spheres are more common, a simple look at them will cause the mind to register a circle, then a sphere. You see, the basis of a sphere, the commonplace object, is a circle, such as one would believe God is the basis of All. Relating to that subject, a circle would be the geometric basis of all.
Therefore, a circle is reality, and a reality is circle. This is not philosophy; this is absolute scientific fact. People may combat me, they may say that a different shape births all or that my thesis is completely ludicrous, but I've created impeccable points that will surely stand the test of time.
>communists
>supporting islam
Tourmaline rested from the day's hella gay work and loaded the enormous wooden logs into one of the basins in the house. As she did so, she took notice of a small Jew with a Jewish star on his chest and a Jewish hairstyle wearing Jewish shoes and acting like a Jewish Jew. Fuck, dude. She thought. I might have to murder the shit outta someone with a mazungus.
Suddenly, one thousand compacted wiry robots slammed into each other in a screeching, metallic, roaring cacophony that pierced the homosexual nostrils of the holographic fuck. He spun into a golden strand and screwed a ninja made out of porcupines.
Then she noticed that she was covered in quills.
Daily reminder that equality will never work due to the genetic discrepancies in the human race. Kill yourself Marxists.
Then she was bleeding.
It hurt pretty bad, yo
Steven pedaled right the fuck out of the house, scooping up remnants of the tree scraps and glass receptacles and stuffing them in his urethra. The author of this story now feels immense pain and wish that he stopped imagining getting urethrally stabbed with glass. Jesus Christ, stop.
Anyway, Steven began running so fast that he accidentally slammed into an unchopped tree that Tourmaline didn't astrally register. The force of the impact affected reality so harshly that he forced the tense of this story into present-tense. Steven groans as he picks himself up, dusting off his skin and shoelaces, which are constructed entirely of one-thousand megabyte USB drives that contain pictures of Dungus Spungus dying. After this, he compacts himself so strongly that he is teleported into a reality in which everything is constructed of either frogs singing about spider webs or glass jars charging a hypernova. He rounds a translucent column and walks into a room, the middle of the area marked by a small cylindrical platform bearing a plate with a drawing of granite on it.
Hannibal Lecter then walks in.
"LIVER AND FAVVA BEANS" he crumples.
"TOMATO PASTE AND GREEN CHILLS!" the scrumpled gooby.
"GREENWICH MAYOR"
"SCRAMBLED CHIKEN"
"MYSOTOPIAN RINGS"
"RILBERTRAXIAN WOOBS"
"DEATH"
"DESPAIR"
Pearl lifted the enormous dumbbell up with a straining arm, hefting it into the air and resting it down. Her eyes lit up and glowed with an infernal golden cast, the pinpricks of neon illuminating the black void.
"I am growing stronger." she said.
A ripple in reality flowed through time and in one fell swoop, a large astral slit forced itself open with a motion as smooth as JustSagan eating a dorito. The cosmic interference spurted out Uranium, who tumbled to the ground that had been the footing of many hypermemes before. The opening in time mended itself, leaving reality to be unaffected by the throes of exogalactic disturbances. Uranium slid upwards and stood really tall, the top of his head probing the underside of the nebulae laying above. "Holy shit, what the fuck dude." he remarked.
"Where the fuck am I."
>>MARXISM-LENINISM STUDY PLAN
>Thanks for this.
Waste of your life.
Your buddy hitler is the one who wanted to replace Germany's religion with Islam, luigi. The USSR banned religion.
Is his grave being maintained under capitalism? Thought so.
"You're in the fucklord realm, dipshit." a particularly emaciated spacelesbian said, sitting on a log. The log was billowing steam and numerous shattered dumbbells cluttered around the cylindrical piece of timber.
"Yo, what the fuck are you" Uranium responded, briskly pulling a large strip of hardened ketchup off of his skin.
"I am the cosmic ballerina, fuckcranium. I am the ruler of sound and perception."
"Dude, look—I'm harvesting ketchup right now. Leave me alone, okay?" he said, scraping off another large swath of ketchup.
"No, you look with your greasy, reddened eyes, superfaggot. I'm gonna educate you on manners 'n' shit." Her eyes emanated with a crimson light, casting a scarlet hue in the air around her.
"Motherfucked-fucker, listen; I watched every single episode of Mr. Rogers every week—including the re-runs, you galactic negro. I don't need your homosex bullfuck right now."
A large knot of the tomatoey condiment was pulled off of his forearm. He soon felt a particularly mustardy substance materialize underneath his eyes. It was nearly time for him to report back.
"Seriously though, listen."
"Seriously though, fuck off."
Uranium picked up one of the dumbbells and tossed it into a distant star. It incinerated on impact with its fiery surface. "Wow, that's the farthest I've shot."
"Yeah dude, that's pretty neat. Now, I really need you to reposition your fucking eyes to me, you fornicationchild. I have to tell you, and tell you quickly—"
"Hah! I just harvested ten grams in a second! Look at this!"
"Y'know what, fuck you."
>Obnoxious gagging in the distance
The large, dimensional portal reopened and cast Uranium into the churning depths of space.
Hannibal Lecter picked up the granite object and marveled at it.
"CHIANTI" he said.
"I can finally put my solar system in there, my nigger"
A stout frog wearing a shirt constructed of a large panel decorated with dots and lines materialized behind them.
"I am the galactic guardian. Stop doing this shit."
"Nah."
The frog blimped up to an incredible size and burst into an enormous fiery blaze that charred the glass walls and reduced them to a slimy, reflective substance. The revelation that he was not cared for was so huge that it actually exploded him.
"Did we just commit an astral crime?"
"PROBABLY"
"Wow, you're very nonchalant about this."
"IF SO, GOODY-GOODY"
"Huh."
Steven extracted the rocky form out of the cannibal's hands and placed them in his jar. It shined with a white glow and transported the duo to another dimension. This one was far more promising than the last. It was decorated with beautiful trees, lined with twisting concrete pathways and ripe, verdant hills.
Among the lush green field sat a log, and upon the log sat Pearl.
"Oh shit Pearl, I thought Jasper killed you"
"Nah, we just transfer our physical body to a new realm and exercise until we grow stronger." Her statement was punctuated with a bright demonic light radiating from her eyes.
"Neat. You wouldn't happen to have ten grams of skinketchup, would you?"
> due to the genetic discrepancies between the subspecies of the human race*
>he doesn't know marx was a supporter of islamization and the removal of european men
"No, but there was some guy that just came here who was harvesting some fleshcondiments. I don't know where he went—he was annoying and unreceptive so I casted him into the cosmic Limbo."
"Aw shit, you didn't have to do that"
"I'VE COME TO COLLECT A HEAD"
"Is that Hannibal Lecter?"
"Probably."
"Huh" she grunted, lifting another massive weight. "Anyways, I need to inform you guys on some wacky shit going on in the metaphysical layers, and I need you guys to seriously listen.
"Aight."
"I need you to cut out the hearts of two bureaucrats, mix all their blood with honey, harvest the semen of Christopher Poole and add it to the concoction, and then pour the liquid down the second borehole of the Acceptation Well."
"I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO PERFORM THIS TASK"
"Don't worry, traversing the boundlayers from now on will inject you with random bits of information. I collected the fragments relating to this subject and placed them around this dimensional hole. Make sure not to get near anti-matter though, they're neutralized but feast on memories and brainwaves. They can pretty much render you braindead if you screw them around hard enough."
"Huh"
"I bet the author's gonna shoehorn that quote into a catchphrase for you."
"Huh"
"Okay. Anyways, back into the void you go, pham."
They were immediately jerked back into a cosmic crater and forced into the restless bounds of space.
I'd still like to get a more informed opinion on Marxist-Leninists, even if I don't currently agree with them.
"Fucking disgusting." He breathed, drawing his hips back and ramming himself deeper inside Frisk. "Killed all of my fucking friends, murdered my fucking brother…" He mumbled, Frisk letting out choked gasps and cries in sync with Sans' violent insertions. "I'll teach you to fuckin' tear away everything someone has…" he grasped their torso and forced 'em up, the weight of their body sliding them further down his cock. "I'll fucking scar you, kid, like you did to me, over and over…" With one last swift plunge deep inside of Frisk, he pumped the murderer full of cum. Frisk fell limp onto the floor, a sobbing mistake of nature, sperm and blood leaking profusely from their ass. His glowing dick vanished, leaving him only with his shorts and coat. "Go ahead. Reset. See if I give a damn." He said to the dreadful heap on the blood-stained marble floor. "I could do this again."
M8 youre boring the tits off me and i dislike marxists
Strips of golden sunlight crept through the slightly parted velvet curtains coating the glass panes of the window girdled into the wall of Sonic's messy, unkempt room. The mixture of the intruding illumination and the ear-grating rhythm of his obnoxious alarm clock both annoyed him and snapped him from slumber and into reality. As he rubbed the grit of sleep from his eyes with his broad, gloved hands, he realized that he'd accidentally overslept. Peering over at the black digital clock on a dresser to the left of his bed displaying crimson digits, he saw that it was seven o'clock in the morning!
Terror rushed through him, as he sped up from his bed and quickly leapt into his closet, flopped some clothes onto him, rushed from his house and out into the golden, morning world.
Better dead than Red
"So Sonic, don't tell me ya gonna stray from Mighty's paaahty, is ya? A deep, gruffy voice said. He shifted in the leather seats of the bus, and yawned resoundingly, like a lubed up fag getting quadruple penetrated. Everybody on the bus looked back at the seat to make sure there were no gays that were moaning, the last time such an event occurred, a mass lynch-squad transpired and swiftly yet brutally decimated any shirt-lifters in the broad, scholarly vicinity. No one enjoyed it, especially the gays encapsulated by a shroud of pretend straightness. They were relieved to find no fairies on the bus, as it was just Sonic unleashing a powerful and indirectly sensual yawn.
>maintained under capitalism
Utopia was a good book but it drew me away from communism because I realized it would never be true because it relies to much on human benevolence
"Sorry!" Sonic apologized, his head falling onto the back of the seat in front of him. Knuckles repeated his question, pulling Sonic by his quills back up into a sitting position that is formal and respectful, like people should be. Sadly, not many people are this way anymore, not since 'Nam, and the propaganda spewed from the stations and televisions brainwashing the innocent Mobians. But Knuckles shook away that thought. There's still hope for formality in the world, right? Knuckles thought. Lingering on the subject of hygiene and the many wars he'd fought in only brought detriment to his already-scraggly countenance. His friends took note of his mindset, ravaged thoroughly from the wars, and took to speaking the least they could about his history as a brave, American veteran, fighting and warring for freedom. Sonic looked up sleepily and miserably.
Surely it has intellectual tendencies, if not set dogma
"Yeah, probably… still, I dunno, mighty is sort of a, y'know, try-hard?"
Tails perked up at the insult, butthole clenching at the fact someone insulted the incredible deity that is Mighty the Grand Armadillo. He shrugged his shoulders, saying "He's an okay guy, why not go to the party? I mean, he's gettin' a pretty alright outcome as it is."
"Yeah, Tails, but… faggot, maybe?" Sonic responded, suddenly remembering the fiercely circulating rumors of Mighty being a gay loser. Ever since a group of not-very-well-known students accidentally saw Vector ferociously slamming his narrow mouth onto the innocent armadillo's puckered, wet lips, there've been many rumors ranging from rape to blackmailing to flat-out homosexuality emanating from the guy and his crocodile companion. Tails and Knuckles considered it briefly, before promptly dispelling the thought. "Well, we're still going." The duo said. Sonic quickly weighed the pros and cons of his presence and decided to join his group of friends to pay a little visit to the party.
"Alright, guys. I, Sonic, will go to Mighty's party!" he declared, swinging his fist into the air, decisively and triumphantly. The entire bus cheered and shouted at Sonic's decision, hailing him as the soon-to-be life of the party.
The school day flowed by smoothly, the mood lightened by the fact that there'd be a party after. Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails grouped together to leave for the grand party.
…
Mighty lived in a large, multiple story foursquare, that was currently lit with flashing, colorful lights from the party. The trio approached the door and knocked.
>Stormfags popularizing retardation yet again
They were greeted by Vector and his fearsome reptilian yet friendly grin. "Hey guys! Come on in, party's just getting started!" the crocodile said. The trio nodded and greeted Vector before entering the large abode. Lights were everywhere, music blaring from the various radios scattered amongst the tables in the house. Party cups littered the ground and tables, stains on the carpets as well as the stain of tobacco permeating the air. As the group entered, they saw Mighty slip stealthily and almost secretively into his room. The group ignored the armadillo's odd motion and simply swept it off as him attempting to retrieve some surprise of the sorts from his room. The party continued smoothly, until Sonic picked up the hearing of something from Mighty's room. "Uh, guys! I think something's going on with Mighty." He said, alerting his group. Knuckles replied with "C'mon Sonic, are you still sticking to the whole faggot thing? He's a bro!" "Yeah, Sonic!" Tails replied. Sonic acted like he dismissed his thoughts, when he was secretly thinking of a way to depart from his group, inconspicuously. For about a minute or two, he partied on.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom." Sonic said, smoothly leaving his group. The two nodded, and the hedgehog set course for the armadillo's room. Straying from the center of the gathering until he found himself at the door, away from the hullabaloo of the party, he again heard some sort of rustling and shifting noise emanating from the room. His nosiness levels bursted through the roof, and he slyly cracked open the shut door. As the opening widened, he could see two faint figures on a bed on top of the fuzzy, sandy-colored carpet. He tested his luck, widening it more to fit in his large erinaceous head. The hinges were, luckily, well-greased, so he was able to intrude quietly. Now, he had a good look at the revelry in the room. He could see… he could…see…
Oh, lord…
>Implying a 50+ hour work week is exclusive to capitalism
>Implying you can't find a job that pays less but has less hours
>Implying that I can't start my own business to "exploit" others
>Implying that someone entering into a voluntary contract with someone else is exploitation
>Implying that the worker is not simultaneously a consumer which benefits from capitalism
>A facebook post is a nazi hoax
You commies really are paranoid
Probably some mix of Romanticist, Social Darwinist, and Militarist thinkers.