Listen to me, J-Tard, you wannabe half-a-fag cocksucka — I saw that post where you’re pretendin’ to be Beady, writin’ like a schizophrenic secretary about jerkin’ off on multiple connections, you fuckin' hypocrite. You spent your whole fuckin' weekend pretendin' to be mentally ill strangers, just so you wouldn't have to be YOU. Nobody cares. Nobody fuckin’ cares. You been stalkin’ this guy for years, and the funniest part? He don’t even know you exist, bro. That’s the L right there — he won just by not givin’ a FUCK.

You're a greasy little incel shut-in with a leakin’ cock and a fungus that’s runnin’ your body like a timeshare. Do yourself a favor: log off, stop jerkin' that rotten kidney bean of a cock to little boys, shut the fuck up, and realize Beady don’t even know you’re alive, you creepy motherfucker.

>>938549023
Listen to me, Troy — you come in here blaming everybody like you’re the victim, meanwhile you’re the one slingin’ your own shit all over the place. You’re over here callin’ people manipulative when you’re the one postin’ kids and porno and makin’ up these fake fairy tales about your boyfriend in a fuckin’ mansion.

You’re not clever. You’re not some mastermind. You’re just a faggot in your sister’s spare room screamin’ at ghosts on the internet at four or whatever in the fuckin’ morning. And lemme tell you somethin’, brother — nobody gives a fuck about your conspiracy of who’s bullying who. You’re killin’ yourself with this shit.

You wanna stop feelin’ like a cooked-out loser? Step one: shut the fuck up. Step two: get honest with yourself. Not with me, not with the internet, not with your imaginary boyfriend — with yourself. And stay away from your fuckin' niece, cocksucka. Until you do that, you’re just a sick fuckin’ parrot repeat-in’ the same excuses.

So wipe the tears and snot, stop cryin’ about what Beady or Northy or whoever the fuck did, and look in the mirror. The biggest bully in your life is you, ya fuckin’ momo. Now sit down, drink some bleach, and stop wastin’ my time with this pity-party horseshit.

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.