FILL YOUR HAND

==I never use cussing in 22 years - but the gloves are off. Listen you son of a bitch. What the fuck's your problem? You wanna sit here and say that I'm a goddamn fucking Russian? You get in my face with that I'll beat your goddamn ass you son of a bitch. You piece of shit. You fucking goddamn fucker. Listen fuckhead, you've fucking crossed the line. Get that through your goddamn fucking head. Stop pushing your shit. You're the people who've fucked this country over and gangraped the shit out of it and lost an election, so stop shooting your mouth off claiming that I'm the enemy. You got that you goddamn son of a bitch. Fill your hand, I'm sorry but I'm done. You start calling me a foreign agent, those are fucking fighting words, excuse me.==

That's about all.
Peace out.

Other urls found in this thread:

discord.gg/7ZBqx3m
twitter.com/AnonBabble

??????????

Calm down, the emus can't get you here. This is a safe place.

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.

you feel like punching me in the face? bring it on you ***got. I know multiple fighting styles, and I also carry a switchblade with me at all times. Something ****ing tells me that you'd be better off keeping your arms down at your sides. If you can't ****ing put "cause" and "effect" together in that pathetic brain of yours, I'll help you out here. You'll be standing face to face with me, and let me ****ing tell you, it'll already be too ****ing late to back down at that point. You might decide "well ****, I might as well stay true to my word and throw a ****ing punch". This is where you will go wrong. I hope you don't have a job that requires two ****ing hands, because you're going to be missing one after I'm done with you. I'll casually divert your fist off to the side, as you suddenly realize you may have gotten yourself into something you can't back up. You'll try to regroup and pull your arm back, but that wont be easy when I jab my spear-pointed Benchmade switchblade straight through the bone in your forearm, and proceed to rip your entire ****ing forearm and hand off in one quick pull. At this point, you'll probably spend 2 seconds in shock. I say 2 seconds, because thats the amount of time you'll have before I reverse the knife in my hand, and uppercut it straight through your throat. You'll spend your last few seconds gurgling blood, and wondering where you went wrong. After that, I'll be forced to take care of any witnesses who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing a few quick choke slams can't fix, followed by a nice gentle slice across the jugular with the Benchmade.
Now, mother****er, you sure you want to go through with that punch?

*slow claps*
*steps out of the shadows*
Heh... not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Your meme, I mean. It's not bad. A good first attempt. It's plenty dank... I can tell it's got some thought behind it... lots of quotable material...
But memeing isn't all sunshine and rainbows, kid. You're skilled... that much I can tell. But do you have what it takes to be a Memester? To join those esteemed meme ranks? To call yourself a member of the Ruseman's Corps?
Memeing takes talent, that much is true. But more than that it takes heart. The world-class Memesters - I mean the big guys, like Johnny Hammersticks and Billy Kuahana - they're out there day and night, burning the midnight meme-oil, working tirelessly to craft that next big meme.
And you know what, kid? 99 times out of a hundred, that new meme fails. Someone dismisses it as bait, or says it's "tryhard," or ignores it as they copy/paste the latest shitpost copypasta dreamt up by those sorry excuses for cut-rate memers over at reddit. The Meme Game is rough, kid, and I don't just mean the one you just lost :^). It's a rough business, and for every artisan meme you craft in your meme bakery, some cocksucker at 9gag has a picture of a duck or some shit that a million different Johnny No-Names will attach a milion different captions to.
Chin up, kid. Don't get all mopey on me. You've got skill. You've got talent. You just need to show your drive.

See you on the boards....

Ladies and gentlemen:

Mr. Thompson will not speak to you tonight. His time is up. I have taken it over. You were to hear a report on the world crisis. That is what you are going to hear.

For twelve years, you have been asking: Who is John Galt? This is John Galt speaking. I am the man who loves his life. I am the man who does not sacrifice his love or his values. I am the man who has deprived you of victims and thus has destroyed your world, and if you wish to know why you are perishing -- you who dread knowledge -- I am the man who will now tell you.

You have heard it said that this is an age of moral crisis. You have said it yourself, half in fear, half in hope that the words had no meaning. You have cried that man's sins are destroying the world and you have cursed human nature for its unwillingness to practice the virtues you demanded. Since virtue, to you, consists of sacrifice, you have demanded more sacrifices at every successive disaster.

In the name of a return to morality, you have sacrificed all those evils, which you held as the cause of your plight. You have sacrificed justice to mercy. You have sacrificed independence to unity. You have sacrificed reason to faith. You have sacrificed wealth to need. You have sacrificed self-esteem to self-denial. You have sacrificed happiness to duty.

You have destroyed all that which you held to be evil and achieved all that which you held to be good. Why, then, do you shrink in horror from the sight of the world around you? That world is not the product of your sins; it is the product and the image of your virtues. It is your moral ideal brought into reality in its full and final perfection.

You have fought for it, you have dreamed of it, and you have wished it, and I-I am the man who has granted you your wish.

No, I don't like you. I think you're a phaggot. The sound of your piss hitting the urinal, it sounds feminine. If you were in the wild, I would attack you, even if you weren't in my food chain. I would go out of my way to attack you. If I were a lion and you were a tuna, I would swim out in the middle of the ocean and freaking eat you and then I'd bang your tuna girlfriend

Your ideal had an implacable enemy, which your code of morality was designed to destroy. I have withdrawn that enemy. I have taken it out of your way and out of your reach. I have removed the source of all those evils you were sacrificing one by one. I have ended your battle. I have stopped your motor. I have deprived your world of man's mind.

Men do not live by the mind, you say? I have withdrawn those who do. The mind is impotent, you say? I have withdrawn those whose mind isn't. There are values higher than the mind, you say? I have withdrawn those for whom there aren't.

While you were dragging to your sacrificial altars the men of justice, of independence, of reason, of wealth, of self-esteem -- I beat you to it, I reached them first. I told them the nature of the game you were playing and the nature of that moral code of yours, which they had been too innocently generous to grasp. I showed them the way to live by another morality-mine. It is mine that they chose to follow.

All the men who have vanished, the men you hated, yet dreaded to lose, it is I who have taken them away from you. Do not attempt to find us. We do not choose to be found. Do not cry that it is our duty to serve you. We do not recognize such duty. Do not cry that you need us. We do not consider need a claim. Do not cry that you own us. You don't. Do not beg us to return. We are on strike, we, the men of the mind.

We are on strike against self-immolation. We are on strike against the creed of unearned rewards and unrewarded duties. We are on strike against the dogma that the pursuit of one's happiness is evil. We are on strike against the doctrine that life is guilt.

There is a difference between our strike and all those you've practiced for centuries: our strike consists, not of making demands, but of granting them. We are evil, according to your morality. We have chosen not to harm you any longer. We are useless, according to your economics. We have chosen not to exploit you any longer. We are dangerous and to be shackled, according to your politics. We have chosen not to endanger you, nor to wear the shackles any longer. We are only an illusion, according to your philosophy. We have chosen not to blind you any longer and have left you free to face reality -- the reality you wanted, the world as you see it now, a world without mind.

We have granted you everything you demanded of us, we who had always been the givers, but have only now understood it. We have no demands to present to you, no terms of bargain about, no compromise to reach. You have nothing to offer us. We do not need you.

Are you now crying: No, this was not what you wanted? A mindless world of ruins was not your goal? You did not want us to leave you? You moral cannibals, I know that you've always known what it was that you wanted. But your game is up, because now we know it, too.

Through centuries of scourges and disasters, brought about by your code of morality, you have cried that your code had been broken, that the scourges were punishment for breaking it, that men were too weak and too selfish to spill all the blood it required. You damned man, you damned existence, you damned this earth, but never dared to question your code.

Your victims took the blame and struggled on, with your curses as reward for their martyrdom-while you went on crying that your code was noble, but human nature was not good enough to practice it. And no one rose to ask the question: Good? -by what standard?

You wanted to know John Galt's identity. I am the man who has asked that question.

what did he mean by this?

Yes, this is an age of moral crisis. Yes, you are bearing punishment for your evil. But it is not man who is now on trial and it is not human nature that will take the blame. It is your moral code that's through, this time. Your moral code has reached its climax, the blind alley at the end of its course. And if you wish to go on living, what you now need is not to return to morality -- you who have never known any -- but to discover it.

You have heard no concepts of morality but the mystical or the social. You have been taught that morality is a code of behavior imposed on you by whim, the whim of a supernatural power or the whim of society, to serve God's purpose or your neighbor's welfare, to please an authority beyond the grave or else next door -- but not to serve your life or pleasure.

Your pleasure, you have been taught, is to be found in immorality, your interests would best be served by evil, and any moral code must be designed not for you, but against you, not to further your life, but to drain it.

For centuries, the battle of morality was fought between those who claimed that your life belongs to God and those who claimed that it belongs to your neighbors -- between those who preached that the good is self-sacrifice for the sake of ghosts in heaven and those who preached that the good is self-sacrifice for the sake of incompetents on earth. And no one came to say that your life belongs to you and that the good is to live it.

Both sides agreed that morality demands the surrender of your self-interest and of your mind, that the moral and the practical are opposites, that morality is not the province of reason, but the province of faith and force. Both sides agreed that no rational morality is possible, that there is no right or wrong in reason -- that in reason there's no reason to be moral.

Oooooooh I’m so scared, you think you’re tough pussy? I’m behind 7 proxies and use ZoneAlarm, Sygate and Comodo Internetnet Securtiy which I all keep up-to-date. THAT’S THREE FIREWALLS AT THE SAME TIME motherfucker. You can’t hack me you little piece of shit. You’re peeshooter and kung fu won’t make a difference when my friend woh’s a B-51 pilot in the Air Force can turn your entire house and backyard into a fuckhuge bomb crater. You are pathetic, while you’re sitting there writing insults like the sad little nerd you are i’m having sex with my hot girlfriends. Yeah you read that right, i have not one but FIVE girlfriends. Top that motherfucker, I dont think you’ve ever even held hands with a girl.

Whatever else they fought about, it was against man's mind that all your moralists have stood united. It was man's mind that all their schemes and systems were intended to despoil and destroy. Now choose to perish or to learn that the anti-mind is the anti-life.

Man's mind is his basic tool of survival. Life is given to him, survival is not. His body is given to him, its sustenance is not. His mind is given to him, its content is not. To remain alive, he must act, and before he can act he must know the nature and purpose of his action. He cannot obtain his food without a knowledge of food and of the way to obtain it. He cannot dig a ditch -- or build a cyclotron -- without a knowledge of his aim and of the means to achieve it. To remain alive, he must think.

But to think is an act of choice. The key to what you so recklessly call "human nature", the open secret you live with, yet dread to name, is the fact that man is a being of volitional consciousness. Reason does not work automatically; thinking is not a mechanical process; the connections of logic are not made by instinct. The function of your stomach, lungs or heart is automatic; the function of your mind is not. In any hour and issue of your life, you are free to think or to evade that effort. But you are not free to escape from your nature, from the fact that reason is your means of survival-so that for you, who are a human being, the question "to be or not to be" is the question "to think or not to think."

In the name of the best within you, do not sacrifice this world to those who are its worst. In the name of the values that keep you alive, do not let your vision of man be distorted by the ugly, the cowardly, the mindless in those who have never achieved his title.

Do not lose your knowledge that man's proper estate is an upright posture, an intransigent mind and a step that travels unlimited roads. Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all.

Do not let the hero in your soul perish, in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle. The world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, it's yours.

But to win it requires your total dedication and a total break with the world of your past, with the doctrine that man is a sacrificial animal who exists for the pleasure of others. Fight for the value of your person. Fight for the virtue of your pride. Fight for the essence of that which is man: for his sovereign rational mind. Fight with the radiant certainty and the absolute rectitude of knowing that yours is the Morality of Life and that yours is the battle for any achievement, any value, any grandeur, any goodness, any joy that has ever existed on this earth.

You will win when you are ready to pronounce the oath I have taken at the start of my battle -- and for those who wish to know the day of my return, I shall now repeat it to the hearing of the world:

"I swear -- by my life and my love of it -- that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine."

Checked, also I think this pasta thread is the most cohenrent thread right now. Pol is so fugged.

Anyway.

The worst thing has happened just yesterday.

I was sitting there in front of my PC, pants down, fapping to one of the hottest hentai pic I could've ever found on my hard disk, when my mother walked in.

Normally, I would've just tried to hide my erection by pulling my pants back up and pretending to do something else, preferably the least suspicious possible, but not then.

As I was nearing the end of my masturbatory session and couldn't hold it back anymore, I closed my eyes and let myself overwhelm to the orgasm just at the same moment she opened that damned door. I knew I should've locked it, but I believed nobody would've ever bothered entering without asking beforehand.

Thus, being unable to see anything for all the time I enjoyed the, let's say, "warm feeling", I couldn't have noticed she was here since the beginning.

So, yeah, my mother saw me ejaculating till the last drop of semen, and in the lewdest way possible, even.
It was only when I was finally done and did a swift peek to see if I had done any mess on the floor, that I realized her presence.
My heart went right down my stomach at her sight: she was just standing there, staring at me with dismay, then left the room without saying anything. I'm not lying if I admit that, then as now, I just wanted to die due to the huge embarrassment that followed.

About a day has passed since the incident, and she hasn't spoke a word to me yet. She hasn't made it evident, but I strongly sense that the good old days have abruptly come to an end for me.

And between you and me, something amazing happened... and now I can talk to animals! It's really cool, but totally secret. And you know what? Life's never been the same

...

autism corner

discord.gg/7ZBqx3m

You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As we say in Texas, you couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions printed on the heel. You are a canker, an open wound. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. You took your last vacation in the Islets of Langerhans.

You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, and a weasel. I take that back; you are a festering pustule on a weasel's rump. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. You are a technicolor yawn. And did I mention that you smell?

You are a squeaking rat, a mistake of nature and a heavy-metal bagpipe player. You were not born. You were hatched into an unwilling world that rejects the likes of you. You didn't crawl out of a normal egg, either, but rather a mutant maggot egg rejected by an evil scientist as being below his low standards. Your alleged parents abandoned you at birth and then died of shame in recognition of what they had done to an unsuspecting world. They were a bit late.

Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able to access it ever so much more rapidly. If cluelessness were crude oil, your scalp would be crawling with caribou.

You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed , drooling meatslapper. You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill.

On a good day you're a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. Spammers look down on you. Phone sex operators hang up on you. Telemarketers refuse to be seen in public with you. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go. May you choke on your own foolish opinions. You are a Pusillanimous galactophage and you wear your sister's training bra. Don't bother opening the door when you leave - you should be able to slime your way out underneath. I hope that when you get home your mother runs out from under the porch and bites you.

You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking half-twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You bloody churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You craven dewberry head cockup pratting naff. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill. You jetere steatopygous pilgarlick hircine whigmaleerious rhadamanthine lintlicker. I refer you to the reply given in the case of Arkell v. Pressdram.

There is to much pasta. We're going to be sick.

This thread is great, but back to my story

I saw John McCain at a grocery store in Phoenix yesterday. I told him how cool it was to meet him in person, but I didn’t want to be a douche and bother him and ask him for photos or anything.

He said, “Oh, like you’re doing now?”

I was taken aback, and all I could say was “Huh?” but he kept cutting me off and going “huh? huh? huh?” and closing his hand shut in front of my face. I walked away and continued with my shopping, and I heard him chuckle as I walked off. When I came to pay for my stuff up front I saw him trying to walk out the doors with like fifteen rolls of tin foil in his hands without paying.

The girl at the counter was very nice about it and professional, and was like “Sir, you need to pay for those first.” At first he kept pretending to be tired and not hear her, but eventually turned back around and brought them to the counter.

When she took one of the rolls and started scanning it multiple times, he stopped her and told her to scan them each individually “to prevent any Russian infetterence,” and then turned around and winked at me. I don’t even think that’s a word. After she scanned each roll and put them in a bag and started to say the price, he kept interrupting her by yawning really loudly.