Anonymous
8/15/2025, 11:58:30 AM
No.938476798
So picture this, cocksucka — it’s 2AM, me and Troy’s sister stumble back to her place, gigglin’ like a couple’a high school dropouts, drunk off our fuckin’ asses. We bust through the door and there’s a smell like feet, shame, and expired deli meat.
We turn the corner into the kitchen, and there he is — Troy — standin’ there in the glow of the fridge light… naked. Gut hangin’ over his little Vienna sausage, and he’s rubbin’ himself down with a fuckin’ stick of butter like he’s bastin’ a turkey. And he’s baby talkin’ at us, sayin’ shit like, ‘Huffa huffa, I’m genius, I could write da books, I could dominate, I’m da smartest big baba boocha alive!’ — while lookin’ like the after photo in a cholesterol awareness pamphlet.
Then this motherfucker farts — pfft! — and a pickle falls out. A fuckin’ pickle, bro. I look at him and go, ‘Listen to me, ya lard-ass mayonnaise Gollum — you ain’t dominatin’ shit except the bathroom in ten minutes, you ain’t writin’ books unless it’s “How to Lose Friends and Smell Like Death,” and the only genius thing about you is how you’ve managed to survive this long without Darwin takin’ your fuckin’ ticket.’
That’s when he reaches into the fridge and pulls out… a fuckin’ handgun. He points it at us — click — but the gun is clogged with butter. Misfires. BOOM — blows three of his fat little fingers clean off. His sister starts laughin’ her fuckin’ ass off while he’s squealin’ like a slaughterhouse pig, fartin’ and bleedin’ all over the linoleum.
And while this greaseball’s screamin’, she drops to her knees right there and starts workin’ my Cuban egg roll like she’s tryin’ to win a ribbon at the county fair. I’m starin’ down at this insane scene — butter smoke in the air, Troy on the floor pissin’ himself, fridge door swingin’ open — and I just thought, this is a weird fuckin’ night, Joey.
We turn the corner into the kitchen, and there he is — Troy — standin’ there in the glow of the fridge light… naked. Gut hangin’ over his little Vienna sausage, and he’s rubbin’ himself down with a fuckin’ stick of butter like he’s bastin’ a turkey. And he’s baby talkin’ at us, sayin’ shit like, ‘Huffa huffa, I’m genius, I could write da books, I could dominate, I’m da smartest big baba boocha alive!’ — while lookin’ like the after photo in a cholesterol awareness pamphlet.
Then this motherfucker farts — pfft! — and a pickle falls out. A fuckin’ pickle, bro. I look at him and go, ‘Listen to me, ya lard-ass mayonnaise Gollum — you ain’t dominatin’ shit except the bathroom in ten minutes, you ain’t writin’ books unless it’s “How to Lose Friends and Smell Like Death,” and the only genius thing about you is how you’ve managed to survive this long without Darwin takin’ your fuckin’ ticket.’
That’s when he reaches into the fridge and pulls out… a fuckin’ handgun. He points it at us — click — but the gun is clogged with butter. Misfires. BOOM — blows three of his fat little fingers clean off. His sister starts laughin’ her fuckin’ ass off while he’s squealin’ like a slaughterhouse pig, fartin’ and bleedin’ all over the linoleum.
And while this greaseball’s screamin’, she drops to her knees right there and starts workin’ my Cuban egg roll like she’s tryin’ to win a ribbon at the county fair. I’m starin’ down at this insane scene — butter smoke in the air, Troy on the floor pissin’ himself, fridge door swingin’ open — and I just thought, this is a weird fuckin’ night, Joey.