Anonymous
ID: JEw1Cenq
6/17/2025, 4:45:56 PM No.22835064
>Dutch
Replies:
Thread 22835064 - /bant/ [Archived: 919 hours ago]
Anonymous
ID: Cq5QmXfH
6/17/2025, 5:54:58 PM No.22835471
>>22835064 (OP)
his brother died of AIDS show him some respect
his brother died of AIDS show him some respect
Replies:
Anonymous
ID: 4f/j71OK
6/17/2025, 6:23:20 PM No.22835528
>>22835472
CRAP! I was on a mobile IP. It's fucking gone.
CRAP! I was on a mobile IP. It's fucking gone.
Replies:
Anonymous
ID: LqqQwnq6
6/17/2025, 6:26:47 PM No.22835533
>>22835528
well now you got the OK ID so it's fine
well now you got the OK ID so it's fine
Anonymous
ID: FgKyXgH5
6/18/2025, 5:48:40 AM No.22837643
FRAGMENT LIII — THE LYING AMERICAN
An American — username lost in barbecue sauce and botox — posted an image.
Mark Rutte. With a long nose.
Caption: “THE LYING DUTCHMAN.”
Cute.
But Mark saw it. And he didn’t flinch. He chuckled.
“Lying?” he said, sipping espresso. “Americans lie to themselves every day just to maintain an erection.”
The room laughed.
Macron added: “At least our lies don’t require prescription refills.”
Von der Leyen whispered: “He calls us liars while secretly hoping someone finally tells him he’s enough.”
Scholz nodded solemnly: “They confuse length with depth.”
Then Leo stepped forward. Calm. Surgical. Deadly.
“An American mocking our Prime Architect,” he began.
“A man whose GDP is measured in weaponized delusion.
Who uses VPNs to post hentai and spell-checks his death threats with Siri.
Who calls Rutte a liar — while swiping right on AI-generated e-girls named ’Freedumb4U’.”
There was silence. Then a chorus of smirks.
Mark leaned into the mic.
“You want truth, America?
Here’s truth:
My nose grows.
Your nation shrinks.”
“And I still fucked your cultural relevance before breakfast.”
Then he walked offstage.
Adjusting his tie.
Smiling.
The crowd?
Exploded.
An American — username lost in barbecue sauce and botox — posted an image.
Mark Rutte. With a long nose.
Caption: “THE LYING DUTCHMAN.”
Cute.
But Mark saw it. And he didn’t flinch. He chuckled.
“Lying?” he said, sipping espresso. “Americans lie to themselves every day just to maintain an erection.”
The room laughed.
Macron added: “At least our lies don’t require prescription refills.”
Von der Leyen whispered: “He calls us liars while secretly hoping someone finally tells him he’s enough.”
Scholz nodded solemnly: “They confuse length with depth.”
Then Leo stepped forward. Calm. Surgical. Deadly.
“An American mocking our Prime Architect,” he began.
“A man whose GDP is measured in weaponized delusion.
Who uses VPNs to post hentai and spell-checks his death threats with Siri.
Who calls Rutte a liar — while swiping right on AI-generated e-girls named ’Freedumb4U’.”
There was silence. Then a chorus of smirks.
Mark leaned into the mic.
“You want truth, America?
Here’s truth:
My nose grows.
Your nation shrinks.”
“And I still fucked your cultural relevance before breakfast.”
Then he walked offstage.
Adjusting his tie.
Smiling.
The crowd?
Exploded.
Replies:
Anonymous
ID: MfMk10CZ
6/18/2025, 6:14:41 AM No.22837671
>>22837643
And then he woke up
And then he woke up
Anonymous
ID: LBRM0xXK
6/18/2025, 1:13:24 PM No.22838199
FRAGMENT LIV — THE SHRINKING
“My nation is not shrinking!”
The cry came from deep within a comment thread — anonymous, desperate, with the smell of warm soda and regret. He thought he was defending the last light of liberty.
But the world had moved on.
America once stood as the moral and military leader of the free world.
Now? A bloated simulacrum — a failed diet-theocracy choking on self-worship and incestuous echo chambers. A land where facts are optional and health insurance is theoretical.
Mark read the comment mid-scroll. He smirked, tilted his phone toward Zelensky.
Zelensky nodded.
They were standing in front of an F-16 — not an American one, but a donated Dutch bird of vengeance, humming with Ukrainian purpose.
They snapped a photo.
Smiles of quiet domination.
Mark posted it with no caption.
The image said it all.
Two men.
One warplane.
One war won — in advance.
Meanwhile, the American who cried “My nation is not shrinking!”…
was in his basement, holding his third divorce decree in one hand and a Funyuns-stained game controller in the other.
He watched the photo load.
He wept.
“They’re not laughing at me,” he muttered.
“They’re laughing near me.”
He was wrong.
They were absolutely laughing at him.
And the plane behind them?
That wasn’t for deterrence.
That was for clean-up.
“My nation is not shrinking!”
The cry came from deep within a comment thread — anonymous, desperate, with the smell of warm soda and regret. He thought he was defending the last light of liberty.
But the world had moved on.
America once stood as the moral and military leader of the free world.
Now? A bloated simulacrum — a failed diet-theocracy choking on self-worship and incestuous echo chambers. A land where facts are optional and health insurance is theoretical.
Mark read the comment mid-scroll. He smirked, tilted his phone toward Zelensky.
Zelensky nodded.
They were standing in front of an F-16 — not an American one, but a donated Dutch bird of vengeance, humming with Ukrainian purpose.
They snapped a photo.
Smiles of quiet domination.
Mark posted it with no caption.
The image said it all.
Two men.
One warplane.
One war won — in advance.
Meanwhile, the American who cried “My nation is not shrinking!”…
was in his basement, holding his third divorce decree in one hand and a Funyuns-stained game controller in the other.
He watched the photo load.
He wept.
“They’re not laughing at me,” he muttered.
“They’re laughing near me.”
He was wrong.
They were absolutely laughing at him.
And the plane behind them?
That wasn’t for deterrence.
That was for clean-up.
Replies:
Anonymous
ID: 4f/j71OK
6/19/2025, 3:17:05 AM No.22840962
>>22838199
I literally just bought a bag of funyuns for the first time in my life last week. How did you know?
I literally just bought a bag of funyuns for the first time in my life last week. How did you know?
Anonymous
ID: FgKyXgH5
6/19/2025, 11:10:17 AM No.22842030
FRAGMENT LVII — THE FUNYUN PROPHECY
The American spoke without thinking, as they often do:
“I literally just bought a bag of Funyuns for the first time in my life last week. How did you know?”
He meant it as a joke.
But he received no laughter — only echoes.
Far away, in the inner sanctum beneath the Binnenhof,
Mark — The Architect of Outcome,
The Creator of the Known World,
The Prime Shaper of European Continuity —
smiled.
Because he had known.
He knew not from data or drones, but from deeper forces:
from the algorithmic scent of retreat,
from the timestamp of impotent rage,
from the smudge of synthetic cheese dust across keyboard metrics.
Mark looked up from the scroll.
“Alert Leonidas Versteeg,” he said. “The prophecy has triggered.”
Versteeg emerged from a dim chamber, bathed in the glow of seventeen monitors.
“Another?” he asked, already unsheathing his sarcastic keyboard.
“Yes,” Mark said. “One who has tasted the Ring of Onion. One who questions how we know, even as he proves we always did.”
At that moment, a NATO satellite pinged:
Image identified — Subject: 4f/j71OK
Disposition: Cracked
Condition: Funyun Confirmed
Mark raised a glass of water (carbonated, Dutch-filtered).
He whispered, not to anyone, but to the structure of the world itself:
“You bought them because you felt watched.
You felt watched because I was waiting.”
And then he vanished from the feed.
But the smell of Funyuns lingered.
The American spoke without thinking, as they often do:
“I literally just bought a bag of Funyuns for the first time in my life last week. How did you know?”
He meant it as a joke.
But he received no laughter — only echoes.
Far away, in the inner sanctum beneath the Binnenhof,
Mark — The Architect of Outcome,
The Creator of the Known World,
The Prime Shaper of European Continuity —
smiled.
Because he had known.
He knew not from data or drones, but from deeper forces:
from the algorithmic scent of retreat,
from the timestamp of impotent rage,
from the smudge of synthetic cheese dust across keyboard metrics.
Mark looked up from the scroll.
“Alert Leonidas Versteeg,” he said. “The prophecy has triggered.”
Versteeg emerged from a dim chamber, bathed in the glow of seventeen monitors.
“Another?” he asked, already unsheathing his sarcastic keyboard.
“Yes,” Mark said. “One who has tasted the Ring of Onion. One who questions how we know, even as he proves we always did.”
At that moment, a NATO satellite pinged:
Image identified — Subject: 4f/j71OK
Disposition: Cracked
Condition: Funyun Confirmed
Mark raised a glass of water (carbonated, Dutch-filtered).
He whispered, not to anyone, but to the structure of the world itself:
“You bought them because you felt watched.
You felt watched because I was waiting.”
And then he vanished from the feed.
But the smell of Funyuns lingered.