We write a story one post at a time

That's no way to speak to your varsity athlete brother! Come eat your burgers, son. Amen.

Charles was busy wanting to try this new trick he had heard of from Pynchie. The course of events went something like this: first he smoothly slided down his pants around the ankles and started swinging his hips sideways, like a pendulum you know. The purpose of this was to try to get the bollocks swing in harmony like in Newton's cradle. He soon realized that it would not work so he put his pants back on quickly as possible, being a bit ashamed for making himself look foolish and getting pranked by his favourite author Pynchon.

Charles: WHERE THE FUCK IS BUCK MULLIGAN?

Agast, balefully methodical perscriptions flailed bountifully, chuckmachy's machinations orbiting around perplexing spirits, woe laid upon parents and spectators, truthful stories of yore unfolding/developing meanderingly masochism in(a?)side midst autistic mind disturbed. Charles dyslexic schizoposteryly vehemently acclaimed threads, bought my desu diary opon. Evern the gaudium pynchony scoliosis, mathaphorizes unto it; suddenly:

Charles is precariously perched on the edge of a fall. his head is heavy & half-floating. he's buzzing with thoughts like the sun-sagged balloons that litter the bedroom of his tenement. His musings are unballasted.

Sneed and Chuck entered the Nigger Annihilator 3000, lights and screens whirring to life as they settled into their life's work. "Well well" said Chuck, entering the final sequence codes. "Look at the niggers pulling up to our fancy American annihilation field." Suddenly every nigger in the world was teleported in front of them, covering the isolated plain for miles and miles. "Pardon us" said Sneed, firing up the laser cannons and nanoblades. Without warning, the NA3K fired off tactical nuclear weapons, targeted at the perimeter of the nigger slaughter field, ensuring none would escape. The mech began moving, as Sneed and Chuck began inputting commands. Miniguns tore niggers to shreds, lasers vaporised entire villages worth. The monstrous machine projected a barrier around itself, disintegrating anyone who it flew near. Tactical destructo-discs and anti-personnel nanobots spread across the field, putting the works of Hitler, Mao, Stalin and Pol Pot combined to shame. Chain lightning fried one million niggers in an instant, and in the next weather manipulation devices rained acid down on another million. Finally, the flew out into outer space and unsheathed PETUNIA VI, their ultimate weapon. "Ultimate Attack: Park Avenue Manicure!" they yelled in unison as they blasted the field from orbit using their superweapon, killing every single person with a single drop of nigger blood in an instant. Silently they uploaded the footage to Charles's phone as an early birthday present. It was a beautiful day, but Sneed and Chuck hadn't even brought out the Kikestompter Omega yet...

Buck appeared, stately, out of the orange blossom (stage-left from some hapa's wedding, stage-right from the soil erupted chasm created nightmare from the Tomacco fields) with some Sunny D.
"Here's to some good times bro" said Buck contently. "We'll always have the Sunny D, Buck"
Surveyors of the land traced the days of yore before Noah as Buck and I sat wistfully on that white bank, yes that white bank and sat back into the comfort of the best times, poppin' sunnies. "Do you still have that tape, Charles?" Buck asked

The tape... yes, YES, the tape! The infinite tape, the jestful tape? Where could it be now?

He paused there and looked at what he had just written. Thousands of words... dozens of pages... all of it was crap. Rambling insanity. A crowd-sourced clusterfuck of meaningless nonsense. This wasn't art. It wasn't even amusing. It was the cry of a retarded child lashing out at a world it didn't understand as it slowly fell to darkness.
His head hung loosely now. It was all so tiresome. There wasn't a point to any of it. He tried to remember the last time he'd written something worth caring about. He tried to remember the last time he'd even enjoyed writing... Whatever. Back to the nonsense.

Rrrrrip. The rope the author had purchased a B&Q had failed him. The ever-persistence ghost of St. Augustine was the only thing to be heard aside from the half-broken TV surrounded by bachelor meals playing occasional snippets of Family Fortune. The saint was knocking on the window, "You sigh looking for the shelter of that home which heaven will give you."
O God, O wretched beasts of the soul. Begone. I am about to do good today.
"What is Ben Franklin doing here again?" said Uncle Jeffrey, rotating his stool

“Hopefully, reading this book will show you the truth,”
he typed in Google Docs. He was toiling on a collective
work of post-modern literature with some of his internet-
friends. They were known collectively as ‘Los
Revolucionarios de las Palabras’

Meanwhile at the dinner table, the break point for Uncle Alfred, foreseeable for some time now, had been finally reached. He got overwrought, lost his cool and screamed: "WHY THE FUCK IS EVERYONE CALLING ME JEFFREY? IT IS ALFRED! A-L-F-R-E-D!

He got off the table, ran upstairs, stumbling on the stairs, and locked himself in Charles' room. There, blinded by rage, he grabbed one of Charles' joints and blazed it.

bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur — nuk!

He heard a distant thunder while thinking about niggers. Then, Charles said: What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishy-gods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! KKK! KKK! KILL KIKES!!!

"Well looks like we're all alone- the you and the me" said Brad perhaps a tad drunk. "Uncle Alfred has left the table." Charles felt a little uncomfortable. "Ya know I- I - I think I'm in love with this woman named Butterfly."
"Oh Butterfly?" retorted Brad. "I FUCKED HER!"

NO YOU DIDNT. NO ONE FUCKED BUTTERFLY :3

The spirit1 of James Joyce briefly appeared, saw what was going on, and then left2.

1 And by spirit we are not actually talking about a real, physical spirit, per se, but the image we're trying to build here instead aims to resemble more of what an educated reader would perceive as an allegorical phantasm of the mind, who alludes to the inner and private memories, ideas and recollections that any reader is left with after he's done reading a book. The memory of what the author meant, if you will.

2 Again, not actually *leave* as in a ghost would phase through a wall in a more traditional sense, but try to imagine that the concept of a spirit that we built on 1, upon seeing what was happening, instead chose to dissipate and vanish itself from the reader's mind with no trace, opting not to take part in any of the widespread clusterfuck that was going on.

And on that empty dimension space that James Joyce left behind, came beings of great power.

They called themselves twentygoodmen. They were lead by a spirit of great honor called Ramsey Bolton. He seeks revenge on D&D for ruining a series. And he shall get it one way or another.

He then made Charles kiss him and suck his dick. He also took pictures and uploaded it to Charles' Facebook, Twitter and posted them all over Yea Forums.

"You promised we would never ever experiment with each other again!" sobbed Charles

[what if you put all this on docs so anons can add stuff at will? spare yourself some trouble, op]

— Yeah, and I said that I loved you. Life is full of lies, kid, and you're just gonna have to get used to it.

Y con esta declaración, Brad salió de casa y se murió con una guauga. Nadie le importó.

No, I enjoy editing it and it would just turn into a total clusterfuck if anyone could edit and add shit in the middle, someone would probably spam or delete it too. This way it's at least linear

I agree. Great work keeping it consistent and omitting contradicting/derailing stuff.

All other Yea Forums projects have turned to shit with unmoderated post-user editing, keep it up OP, it's best simple with occasional formatting

As time continued to tick by, Charles had fell into deep deep thoughts about the unfairness of the universe, exceptionally erotic relationship with the brother, deceptive friendships, significant life-changing experiences beyond life itself, day-to-day delusions, self-identity and obsessions... And out of nowhere, something snaps in his mind, he remembers the front row tickets!

It's game day.
The transvestite half-mexican half-jersey cartel which chucked Brad's remains into the sorry half-digested half-carrion meat at the Indian Burial ground, lighting a Quaker guns into the air for the spirits to be drunk on the mirth of it's luminescent prowess had reborn Brad into 'Big Bird Brad' through the corpse of about five quadroons.
This account is brought to you by Oprah Winfrey who at the time was consoling her ruggedly worn out clit in KFC gravy when she received the call from bestselling journalist and part time stamp collector Greg from Nunavut who was on vacation in Chicago, at the United Center, near the West Side of Chicago, Illinois.
Oprah, puedo escuchar tu clítoris follando tu culo carnoso desde aquí, Dios mío, ¿qué le pasa a mi pene? ¿Qué es eso? ¿Quieres que me saque una taza de Pepsi y te la envíe por correo? Cómo llegué aquí, ni siquiera hablo español, onions canadiense. Aquí hay un tipo de Quadroon que intenta hablar sobre el evangelio frente a esta gran cantidad de fanáticos del baloncesto que se encuentran en esta orgía gigante, qué diablos, en serio. ¿Es esto lo que es el baloncesto? ¿Puedes contraer herpes genital haciendo eso? Nunca son las chicas calientes a las que les gusta mojar sus cuerpos en salsa KFC.
Parece que el equipo en rojo está ganando.
No, no voy a usar ningún pantalón, Oprah, me estás burlando de mí.

>that fucking first sentence

Those front row tickets, those dearest tickets he loved more than his own children, were the only way out of the misery which he called life. Not because the row tickets very any goods themselves but because the place where the event is supposed to happen would deliver the best possible location to end his life in the most melodramatical way. Some people consider suicide to be a cowardly way of escaping the hardship of life, but for Charles suicide wasn't the actual intent. It was simply a logical consequence of what would happen once he entered the stadion.

Charles stared intently at all his whimsical creations, begat from ink and paper, (more like from computer and keyboard) and felt awe at what his autistical wanderings had managed to produce. He came to the conclusion that he was most surely Going To Make It. His eyes filled with tears.
"I can't wait until I get to see the Penguins Classics print of this!" Muttered he delusionally. Quickly grabbing his iPhone, he went straight to his favorite Persian MTG trade forum and posted all of what he had written to a critique thread. "That's it," he sighed. "Now all that is left to do is to wait for the (You)'s to come in. Surely one of the many publishers and agents of renown that intently lurk the forum scouring for talent will notice my masterpiece, and then all will be swell. I can already feel living the literary lifestyle, see myself attending all the vanguard parties and frequenting the highbrow orgies. Congratulations, Charles, you finally did it."

Charles' typewriter was knocked out of his hand by an alert fan at the basketball stadium and he would have to write out his suicide note out in full again. The words 'Watch it fool' echoed in his mind as his own mental dissenters searched for Melanoma Treadmill Gains in Persia. A confused leaf stood in awe as Penguin publishers rocketeered into the room in search of the new prophet. Jack Nicholson spilt his chilli con carne. A gold digger was planning her attempt at excavating state bucks from the players. It all culminated in a big ruckus.

are we going to publish this

I hate Charles, therefore I hate myself.

Said Charles, going through a phase.

Charles suddenly remembered that he had to cut himself with a rusty knife.

While the grandpa couldn't whitewash his deep preoccupation shared with his senior bingo pals, the father was utterly unaware what his son was really going through. Not only did Wilbert allow his son to wander outside dazed, accompanied by some eighty-year-old author that, quote, "Pops and drops some heavy shit, dad, and ceases to exist at will!", he permits his son the use of this mind-terrorizing substance called "the weed". Wilbert had had enough of this hogwash and arguably desisted to take part in this lunatic play. For Wilbert, admittedly, the last-ditch was when Charles contended him that this magical creature even "hyuck'd" his way to the ground on a "seminal thunderbolt".

Public Enemy's 'Caught, Can We Get A Witness' bounced between the expanse of the stadium's interior as Charles slovenly brushed his hand through the grease of his hair, the people who had come out to this occasion were chanting and raising hell before the great game between the Saturn Reacharounds and the Venus Gapemanifest. "How did I get into this mess" Charles groaned post-toke. "That's not very christian of you" Augustine groaned, one of the lights hit the corner of Charles eye' and he had found meaning in his life.
He was to become a great basketball player, to go down in the pantheons of Michael Jordan and Paulius Jeromes.
He said out loud, exhaling, "I'm going to become a Nig-"
South Park already did it, a drunk Budweiser bottle man slowed down and placed into his ears.
I don't care, I'm going to wear some shorts and become the best basketball player ever.
A VHS tape appeared incongruent with the table of drinks in front of him. This would be the labefaction of mankind.
A Toyota salesman tapped him persistently on the shoulder

But then came the waking up. Charles would every so and then wake up from this schizophrenic state of mind and realize that he was insane. In that small frame of time he was normal, he figured out he was still in his room, drinking his pepsi-cola and that most of this imagination came because he was reading a post made by the Chinese hacker known as Yea Forums.

But that was all he could realize before he went back into his delirium state.

Nonetheless, for some reason, his cap was covered with cum. And he realized this in that small frame of time he was normal.

CAPITAL IS SENTIENT
CAPITAL IS SENTIENT
CAPITAL IS SENTIENT
CHARLES GOT THE HERNIA
UHHHHHH UHHHHHHHHHHH
CAPITAL IS SENTIENT
I HATE HUMANITY
CHARLES KEPT REPEAT
REPEATING
REPETING
UHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ACT IX.

Charles shook off his hallucination of being back in his room drinking Pepsi. In the brief moment of clarity he kept his eyes fixed on the baseball cap and tried to focus, tried to remember. Mitsushiko. His quest to clean the universe's rooms. The old VHS tape. His love and hatred for black people. And the lesson that the ghost of Pynchman past, future and present promised to teach him.

He vowed to himself and to his gods that he would never forget those matters and that he would bring them to closure even if it took a thousand lifetimes' supply of weed.

His cap was covered with French Mustard. He realised this and point of fact poured the Pepsi out of his mouth and onto it. At least it was something. Chronic anhedonia had swept into corridor and malingered before Charles. Ben Franklin was joined by John Adams and the Grimace before his legendary quadruple triple frozen yogurt double bypass, he looked gaunt, violet and vascular.
Grimace was last seen at Dodger Stadium on July 18th, 2012 vs. the Philadephia Phillies, dancing to Ram Jam's 1977 classic, Black Bitch.
Charles turned the radio louder in the hopes that they would get the message and leave him to his misery in peace.
BZZ*

"Why do all the roasties treat real supreme gentlemen like me poorly??" thought Charles as he crawled into a ball and began sobbing.

The fact is that God gave us the prostate and made it so sensitive for a reason. If He didn’t want us to do funny stuff to each other’s butts, He wouldn’t have given us such a holy organ. The fact also remains that w*men lack the prostate, the obvious implication being that only men deserve to have pleasurable sex, and only with each other. One cannot believe in Genesis 1-2 without also believing that Adam and Eve were removed from the Garden solely for their h*terosexuality. Homosexuality is the holy path, all others are decay. Gay is not only okay, it is the way, and if you ever fuck a w*men for any other reason but having an heir or if you fuck her for an heir and don’t immediately divorce her, you are committing grave sin against the prostate.

Charles tried to reason his homosexual tendencies.

Immaterial reasonings aside, Charles' theories did not go by unnoticed. At some point in the middle of the Pacific, his high intensity autism brainwaves were picked up by a Serumvisions-5000-thought-scourer. The dimly lit figure behind the myriad monitors and radar panels heard the alarm go off. "Could it be? Has someone reasoned one of the forbidden thoughts? Yes, and for the first time since '76! I can't believe it!" Reaching to his phone, the mystery agent pressed the speed dial button. The secret forces were on their way.

Charles KNEW they were on his way. Meticulously, he picked his food because he was certain THEY (the zog cathedral) had poisoned it to silence him and push there disgusting pro-heterosexuality propoaganda into the mouths of the poor and innocent who did not know better. NOOO it was up to charles to put an end to this nonsense and to save the day for freedom and homosexual orthodoxy.

"Charlie boy! Charles is that you, my grandboi?! Hadn't you ought to see that Petersen, or whoever he was, why hoops, my boy, why hoops?" Yelling could be heard from distance.

Charles didn't recognize the voice, but it gave him the Heebie-jeebies. Or more specifically, the Hebrew-jeebrews. Silently the spare change in his pocket cried out to him, warning him of the immanent danger of the special secret agents who had called out to him to take advantage of his cock-addled mind.

"I'm not gay....I'm not gay."
Charles' mantra began in a soft whisper, but his volume increased with the flow of scalding tears streaming down his face.
"I AM NOT G-GAY! I'M NOT GAAAAAY!"
Charles was wild-eyed and flailing. His autistic screechinngs, underscored by his high pitch and cracking voice, literally, not figuratively, raped the ears of all who heard him. Pure hatred for penises caused Charles' latent autism-fueled pyschic powers to manifest. A swarm of forearm sized penises (circumcised [shalom!] and with balls) launched tpward the ears of his victims with enough force to knock most men over.
Charles did not understand. He was screaming about how he wasn't gay, yet everyone had summoned their ear penises to mock him for only having one (clitoris sized) penis. Sperg screeching intensifies.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
"Who could it be?"

PLEASE BITE MY CLITORIS OFF THANKS

There is a brief period of silence. all is quiet. Someone farts on purpose. Suddenly,

Charles lowered his ponderous jaws to the woman's pelvis and clamped down on her vagina. He bit her clit off with his front teeth. He felt it roll around the back of his mouth like an uncooked bean.
It's time for me to get sad again, Charlie thought.
He spit the woman's clit out. "Have I ever told you about my childhood?" he asked.

"No, you haven't" replied Butterfly. "Please go on."

The woman, a past-sell-by-date Anastasia Steele, recounted immediately and with quite a curiously elaborate verve, what some might assume was a prepared speech.
"My died from an accident during Marine combat training the day after her birth. My second Dad was a cuckold and my third Daddy beat me into submission with a broom once, my fourth Dadd-"
Charles sighed deeply.
"Where did your father serve?" Charles asked
"There's this girl at my work, Stephanie, she keeps stealing my pink pencils and Josephine, she always hogs the coffee machine, she knows how important my morning coffee is and this one time at work today I saw this real creep print out this document about Health & Safety and his breath was like... ew and at 3 o' clock I went to Starbucks and they didn't have any pretzels and I swear to g-"
Charles sighed deeper still
He thought this could be the love of his life.
He saw the clitoris lay colder and colder by the minute on the bedside table and thought about what the number for the Taxi service was, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a card. "This has set me back four-hundred dollars"

Meanwhile Uncle Alfred, tripping balls in Charles' room, was reminiscensing his nephews' childhood

He overheard his nephew talking.
"I was circumcised didn't I tell you ? Now that I think about it my rabby wouldn't be pleases with me. I'm not even sure pussy is kosher. "
That said he raised to his feet and dug a Kippah out of his pocket.
"I'm off to the Synagogue" he said and left.

Charles starting to punch his cock in frustration.
"Damn! I really wish I were a girl!" Charles shouted.
Then it came to him. If Charles took these estrogen pill Charles could transform over time into Cassie. Charles grinned and began the transformation from boy to woman.

Charles' dad read aloud to him from Ling Anderson's magnum opus "My Miserable Life as an Asian boy Growing up in America."

Stately, agent Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sus-tained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned: "May your sins of homosexuality perish together with your body, Charles!"

And Charles knew, at that very moment, that the thought police was here; he had to leave immediately. But 3 cars appeared with the FBI getting out and CIA (Aidan Gillen) with their guns out, ready to shoot the shit out of the fucking gayman (not to confuse with Neil Gaiman).

Charles had no option but to use his

Laser beam cock

Charles stood then, and without hesitation stepped from the veranda into the empty air. Yet he did not fall, nor did he hesitate foolishly before falling like some stupid cartoon, but rather began to waltz slowly upon the interstitial nothingness, like that stupid fucking owl from Bambi. How did he do it, that fucking owl? How did he do it, that fucking Charles? None could say for sure.
So he sashayed about in the aether, moaning "TWITTERPATED, OHHHHHH I'M SO TWITTERPATED" all the while, stroking his now deflated (from the effects of the estrogen) cock to the luscious thought of, some Mongolian pottery BBS's resident homosexual female, a veritable daymoth of joy and beauty, surely.

It's a biological fact that asian males are the most inferior race of males. Asian boys are short, skinny, have no muscle mass, and have small dicks. We also tend to be hairless and even our personality are in general more inclined to be passive, like girls. Asian boys have lower testosterone level than boys of every other race and as a result we develop less prominent secondary male characteristics.

And that is why asian men are the lease desirable men for females. Sure maybe some lesbians or women with lesbian inclinations are attracted to asian men, but the vast majority of women in the world are still straight and are attracted to real men. Especially so in western societies which place such a prominent role to dominance, aggression, and masculinity. Asian boys are designed in lose.

On the other hand, asian girls are the most prized females in the world. Asian girls are universally loved by men of every race, for their short stature (asian girls tend to be shorter than females of other races), slim hairless bodies, and docile, submissive manners. All those attributes which make asian boys such pathetic losers make asian girls the most perfect females in the world, and to top it all off, asian girls are super smart, even good at math, which none of the females of the other races can excel.

So it is no wonder that many asian boys growing up in the west are very resentful of asian girls. Asian boys are losers who drop out of colleges, play video games all day, or graduate from colleges, and work in some shitty low tier technical jobs that don't pay well and will never be able to get laid or have girlfriends, while asian girls not only do well in school, go to ivy leagues, date white boys, and get lucrative jobs as wall street bankers, financial analysts, or top scientists, and most important of all, asian girls get hundreds and thousands of potential white guys fighting over themselves to fuck those tight asian pussies, and even when those potential suitors are not white, they are usually the top notch males from other races.

Asian boys wish they had have a vagina so they can get fucked just like asian girls. Asian boys wish they were as popular as asian girls. Asian boys wish they were not born, destined to live forever as loveless, kissless virgins. It's sad to be an asian boy.

And that's why god invented white men who love fucking asian boys. Even many straight white men love fucking a girlish asian boy on the side, giving those sad loser asian boys a glimse of the hot sex and romantic love that they would never be able to get from a female. Asian boys will never be able to get the sexy asian girls that are all snapped up by white guys, and in stead asian boys can dress up and put on makeup to become the sexy asian girls that they always desired and get fucked by white guys in the ass, just like asian girls.

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.—Scutter! he cried thickly at Charles flying in midair. He knew that that Charles was no ordinary homosexualsapiens (as they called them in the A G E N C Y) and he had to call in backup: tanks, helicopters and anti-gay nukes all sprayed with vitamins and minerals for optimal Testosterone production. This was to be the though police's finest hour. They would make their creator, George Orwell, proud.

Chi Yoo, panted.
In the room as were as if time slowed down to a great halt as if the song of life had nowhere important to go. Charles realised his internal soliloquy was now halted also.
Hmmm... hmm... Ben Franklin chimed in, but what good has this Asian boy done today?
Uncle Jeffrey and Alfred waited for their turn to wax poetically about their excursions, but they knew it would hardly come.
Charles sucked on his disney straw once again and nodded towards the posterchild, Buck, dowsing his worries in Niacin.

The aisles stretched for miles.
The pharmacy was clamping down with hard prices and he prophecy had not yet been fulfilled.
"Gotta go f-f-f-f-fast, stronger, harder, better", Charles was reading Robert Greene at an alarming speed, chomping down Thiamine pill after Thiamine pill.
"My son, that's so gay" a distant voice buffeted by a slew of moving king-sized beds reappeared. Charles looked around, alone in a desert of lost dreams to see who it was.

And to his astoundment, it was [ REDACTED ] himself! He couldn't believe how a [ REDACTED ] could get here! But suddenly his neck snapped and died and was back at the room and he was drinking his pepsicola again and

Attached: 28693C75-2A2A-485F-A18F-1711A5FA3BAC.jpg (1080x1043, 171K)

Damn, I really want to eat some Bosnian food right now - thought Charles to himself, drinking his pepsicoke

Burp, shlurp, mmff, unngg. Can't believe I voted for a nigger in the whitehouse... twice.

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you plebbitor? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in Yea Forums, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Scientologists, and I have over 300 confirmed IP bans. I am trained in gorilla memefare and I'm the top shitposter in the entire Australia. You are nothing to me but just another fag. I will wipe you the fuck out with greentext the likes of which has never been seen before on this board, 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 Anonymous across 4chinz and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, nigger. 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 DDOS you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with stock linux. Not only am I extensively trained in shilling, but I have access to the entire jewry of the United States and Israel 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" reply 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 retard. I will shit frogs all over you and you will drown in them. You're fucking dead, kiddo.

...is what I would say if I were a nigger voting fag redditor. MOOOOOM! PUSY!
Coming, dear!

In the ball scale of trippyness the uncle was frying, it exceeded the scale by hundreds of balls without question. Whilst Alferd's mind was whirling in a way a meter peter would if one was whisking his hip in a perfect circular motion, he was rubbing his bro globes with a leather glove he had found on Charles' desk while endeavoiring darn his socks with the other hand. He would've never imagined that from Charles' baggy full of schwaggy one could roll up a jazz cigarette this niggardly mighty.

Uncle Alfred sighed with relief when he finally started coming out of this voyage full of secret agents, baskeball games, swarms of forearm sized penises and the worst of all, Charles' gaysian adventures.

Just because I want to fuck man ass and have my own man ass be fucked by other men doesn’t mean I’m some faggot queer bitch. I’m brosexual, not homosexual

Said Charles, unaware that was actually, unironically, literally gay.

Gay men. Gaben. Gabe. Abe. Abe Lincoln. Lincoln Logs. The log cabin. Jeffrey's house.
The tape. The TAPE! It would slip from his mind occasionally but it would always lie dormant, waiting to be found and returned. Shit. Charles remembered his father's new wife would only give him a ride if he cleaned his room. Shit. Where was Peterson when I needed him, I need to act fast. Charles barricaded the door momentarily and turned up his TV playing 'Toy Story'. 'Honey, open the door, I have PEANUT BUTTERRR!!'
Uh... One second Mary!
WILL ANDY PICK ME.
WILL ANDY PICK ME.
"Honey!!"
"One second Mary, I-!"
WILL ANDY PICK ME.

And suddenly out of nowhere Gangsters Paradise started playing and then Amish Paradise started playing with a half a second delay.

Please sit on my ass and shit straight into it, then I’ll clench it and then sit on your ass and release everything back into it, and we’ll switch, over and over and over, popping back and forth forever, until one of us dies of cholera

just like in that one movie... what is it called? Me, you, and everyone we know?

Translator’s note: obabo means dick

(EXEUNT all except one user, behind a green mask)
user: And what has been lost?
Faceless hordes, masked masses
Go from me t'wards oblivion--
or some unknown void akin--
And thus I am left alone. Now I see
The ground beneath me is but a stage,
Set for masked players to step forth
And mock that which beneath lies.
Alone, unmatched, except by myself,
The audience of this story that I tell
That I may make sense of each act
Hereto and hereafter--now,
I give my soliloquy in the midst of an act,
A moment pivotal to my own understanding.
I look to my life as a story to seek meaning--
but now, I encounter the greatest challenge:
In unity, shall it be comedy
Or shall it be tragedy?
A celebration or lamentation? To mourn or to remember?
No--it is neither. For both tragedy and comedy
Share one great conceit:
An end.
(user exits; enters onto a new stage).

*record scratch*
ALEXANDER POPE: Cut cut cut cut cut! This is all very very very wrong! Let me show ye how it's done.
*adjusts wig*
A pretty thing it is to be a girl
With blushing cheeks and many a curly curl,
But what are really cool are BBCs,
And now I know (for truth) my ABCs.
*shrugs shoulders*
Eh?

'No, no, that's not it. Wittgenstein emerged from the curtain with John Ford, the stagecoach.
Girls please, EXPAND your vocabulary, EXPAND your world!

When I twirl just like a girl
I thrive in a world of twinkling pearls

When I don't wear my western stetson
I contrive for Pope to his put cigarettes in -

There we go, from the top! Scene Fifteen in 1,2...3

Narrator: The smell of denim and the voices of virginal women permeate some shit hole in a fly over state.
A group of colleagues approach the counter of a Dairy Queen. I've never been to one but I imagine it's not so different from a Smurf coloured KFC except with ice cream.
The set is filled with stand-ins and cardboard cut out trees and white picket fences, littering the auditorium.
Two cashier girls are comparing Pepsi cup sizes and discussing the merits of Chekov.
Cashier One: "Welcome to Dairy Queen. What kind of milky would you like today."

One has to wonder if his entire world is just a next level multidimension stream of consciousness novel - Charles ponders - Oh how he wished he was in a James Joyce novel.

I've been trying to find online, since 2017, a short film called Great Choice, directed by Robin Comisar, that premiered at the 2017 Cannes Festival. As you might have guessed, I still haven't been able to find it. It stars Carrie Coon, who sees herself trapped in a 90's VHS vintage style Red Lobster TV commercial, in a sort of a infinite time-loop à la SCP-1733 (look it up). The reason I haven't been able to find it online is because the director actively doesn't want to put it out there and it was only screened at a few selected festivals in North America and Europe. I even messaged him a year ago through Instagram to encourage him to screen it at the Santiago de Chile's International Short Film Festival, but I got no response from him.

So I know this short film is literally non-existent online but today I continued my biannual ritual of looking for it anyways. I read the YouTube comments (that at this point I've almost memorized) of the short's trailer and noticed that in a thread where someone had asked where to find the short film there was a new response that simply said 'google eyeslicer halloween". I did exactly that and I discovered The Eyeslicer, a self-proclaimed "secret" TV show that in reality wasn't a TV show because it wasn't ever aired on TV. Instead, it was screened in a few locations in the United States in the 2017-2018 period, and was also available online if you lived in the US (or just used a VPN) and had a secret code (which isn't as much of a secret code since the show's creator wrote an article for NoFilmSchool that literally gives away the code). Given that, I could watch the show right now in it's entirety: one season of 10 episodes, each one being about an hour long and consisting of multiple fairly obscure and weird short films.

"You're still not quite there yet," said Nick Land, interrupting Charles' thoughts and bringing attention back to the growing crowd of authors. "Here's how it's done:
G1RL (([[{{{{[[([[[{{{(({[{{{
}}
]]W16[[[[[[[[[[))()()((---------_)_)_)()(++=+_+
:(_ PR3TTY >

What has this show to do with Carrie Coon's short? Well, it turns out that the show has a Halloween Special episode that was screened last year around Halloween and was also available for online streaming in Vimeo (for US$10) but only from October 28 to 31, then the link self-destructed (the show creator wanted it that way, apparently he actively wants as few people as possible to see it) and it was effectively erased from the internet. The thing is, one of the shorts contained in this Halloween Special is Great Choice, the short of my main interest. I've tried looking for this Halloween episode everywhere online but it's so obscure no one even talks about it (except for that YouTube comment and a few specialized magazines' articles). In this search I came across the option to purchase, from the show's creators, a physical edition (a VHS tape) of the Halloween Special, costing $25 + $5 delivery + taxes ONLY inside the US. They don't send it anywhere else. There's still ways I can get it (the Chilean postal service has an US address that you can use, but it costs extra money), but I don't even know if I can trust the show's creators, maybe they won't even bother to send it, maybe there's no more tapes but the store is still up saying there are. So far I think is well worth it, even if it's just for that goddamned 7 minute short.

Out of nowhere, comes Jordan Peterson and the scene unveils that this all was actually a powerpoint presentation to show us what happens if we don't drag our father from the depths of Hades into the light of our God through the dominance hierarchy. "It's no joke man" says Peterson before we return to the main story.

Hazy mind of Charles gently began to reveal its saner side of weltanschauung; once again, Charles got his brief moment of clarity from these nightmarish delusions, or, as it may be otherwise phrased, fantasies. It was only now, when he took a nonchalant look around, that he realized his nutty Native American uncle laying in his bed right next to him. From this prompted a change of heart that summoned up a wrath upon Charles himself, justified one, if I may add. Two kooky dope addicted kinspersons in the same room now pondering their existence in total disbelief.

Charles stepped out en route after shaking Doe Hand John's aforementioned and aptly titled doe hands, to the supermarket perpetually until the end of time itself, or at least until he returned the tape and as foretold, returned to the bayside to wash his soul of all the meaning lumbering between his knees (specifically his dick and it's public castration.)
Time for a walk. 'I'm a guy who loves to walk' he said to the open air. 'With legs, you can go anywhere.'

chapter X

updated the pdf, word count is 18,515

good work so far, but note that in a Spanish section the word söy was replaced with onions. if you intended that, okay, but if not, just letting you know

didn't notice, thanks

In anticipation of events to come, Charles tried to conceal the fact that non-representational form of his life was about to be revealed and the very fundamendal aspect forming this anecdote, given that his father's illegimate son would not show up, was about to see daylight. Charles' gayness confronts this question explicitly (not really) but the essence of this matter lies somewhere else: does Charles really have two uncles, Alfred AND Jeffrey?

And the other fact that clouded Charles mind was his father's wife's boyfriend's son Chad. For some reason he just couldn't stop thinking about the fact that he had a curved penis. Ever since he saw him showering in his house and accidentally entering the bathroom and seeing him naked, ever since that day, he just couldn't stop thinking about it. Why was an 16 inch cock ruined by the fact that it was curved? he was so close to perfection, Chad, he was white, blonde haired, chiseled chin, 8'11, but he had a curved dick.

Charles shook his head. He'd promised himself he would stop thinking about dicks all the time.

"Thinking 'bout cocks, newph? I know the feel," blurted Alfred.

And then Alfred fucked Charles' ass for about an hour straight. Charlie came thrice, Alfred twice, the word daddy was said a few times, it was pretty fun.
"I'm still not gay, I can like cock and be straight, Alfred," Charlie insisted after taking a short breather from their passionate kissing. He was spent, yet the kissing was making him hard again, and he was contemplating asking Alfred for another hour.

Saxophones start playing faintly in the background as Alfred starts slipping his tuxedo off.
“I know the feeling” he crooned.

And yes, Alfred was fucking Charles in his tuxedo. He's just getting started, and only now does he take it off. Charles is in for far more than just one more hour.

Alred's fucking was so thorough, so deliberate in design and motion, that soon Charles was reduced to nothing more than the hole which accepted his uncle's penis. Charles' mind was temporarily muted, unnecessary for this purely physical activity. His lack of thoughts, however, was interrupted by Alfried's words. "So my HIV test results came in the mail today," he said, as he continued thrusting.

"Yo neph, wanna experience something astounding? Hand me dat dope, the next coitus will be holy as introitus," uncle persuaded excitedly

As Charles and Uncle Alfred free based the black tar heroin, both were subjected to erectile disinhibition; a rare condition brought upon by excess BTH inhalation. Alfred went limp inside the poor boy; they both felt shame underlying their inebriation. Charles begged Alfred, "just stay in a little longer, it's the warmest thing I've felt since birth."

Feather flaps ring round the room as a floating orb fades into view. This was no ordinary orb... 'twas Vaucanson's Canard Digérateur as featured in Thomas Pynchon's novel "MASON & (Alfred, aside: Notice the ampersand is constructed of six sixes. Devilish!) DIXON"!
Hey! I-I-I-I read that book! Charles blurted as Alfred pulled his cock out of Charles' asshole releasing the built up shit and cum.
Can it kid Alfred said and stuffed his sweaty sock in Charles' mouth. The duck faded. Likely another figment of Charles' active imagination.

World around them began to distort. While fucking Charles in the ASS, Alfred started chanting the antiphon:

Rorate, cæli, desuper, et nubes pluant justum:
aperiatur terra, et germinet Salvatorem.

"Go with the flow and ride with me!" Alfred screamed like a maniac.

A giant scaly pillar smashes through the window.
“May I join?” rumbled Smaug.

The dragon cock crushed both Alfred's legs beneath it and he died of massive blood loss.

Charles hesitantly licks the gargantuan slab before him while muttering “no homo.”

At this rate we might actually make 65K or so, which is pretty much the average small literary novel length. Nice one OP

Smaug rumbles with immense pleasure.

we just need to keep this up for a few more days of constant shitposting, then it can join the likes of Hypersphere

There was no doubt that both, Charles and Alfred, were once again immersed into the wonderland of paranoia and delusions. Nevertheless, the men continued humping each other even with flaccid penises.

All that ass fucking, but no kids? - Said Charles to Alfred while looking him in the eyes. Alfred immediately pulled out his pistol and shot BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG but he missed all and kill himself with the last BANG bullet he could escape the shame of missing point blank.

Later that day, the corpse ambulance came and brought him to the dead man crematory. His last words were after he died "Was that "the departed" reference?" Charles then jumped out of the window and as he was falling he looked directly into the camera and said:

"Sooooo yeah, you're probably wondering how I got here huh? Well, it all started when I was a little child"

Go back, 40 years in the past. It was a midsummer day in the nice place of CHRISTCHURCH. Everything was good back then theyy say. Mostof the population were good christanmen. And just then, stately, a boy was born. A boy who we know very well.
His name was Buck Mulligan.

But how was Alfred fucking Charles if he was crushed by Smaug's giant dragon dick? Detective O'Neal asked Buck "The Fuck" Mulligan. A-and where's Smaug??

"Man that black stuff of yours sucked, trip lasted like second or two, boy hand me the _real_ stuff, I know you got those magic joints in dat drawer," Alfred jabbered

GET OUT OF MY HEAD Charles shouted.

Charles lept out of bed like a holiday-maker eager to see the Great Wall of Chy-nah (Pronounced Chi-nerd Nah-nerd). Good Morning Benjaminanine Frankajankaline!
Good Morning Charles In Charge!
Good Morning Saint Augustus!
Good Morning Charles, My Son!
Good Morning Uncle Jeffrey!
Good Morning Charles... *cough*, *burp*
Good Morning Mainländer
...
(The ghost of Nick Land thought it was egregious and (in his transcript, F)()(UT.il3++"""") of Charles to expect Mainländer to wake up at this hour who was so fervently against such notions, but it was nonetheless charming for Charles to add it to his morning routine.)
Good Morning Books!
Hello Charles! What are we going to read today?
A low hum shot the ambience of the room dead in the water. In the lagoon of time Charles knew his heavenly labour was in vain. He watched his school friends grow up and congregate en mass, drink Budweiser (buy Budweiser). It was different now, Charles was an intellectual. He read novels about rape and modern economics, he was a civilised guy who liked to wear expensive suits to hotel lobbies and write out Biblical passages. He was in decent shape and if you saw him on the street he would look out of time, sure, but he lifted weights. Only the inner turmoil faced by St. Augustine and Pals tormented his waking days.
"Did you see the fireworks last night, man we need to stockpile for next year" texted Buck.
Charles putting down his heirloom of a clarinet (a phallic instrument, the majority of his ancestors had blown, b-b-but he painted it yellow to not look like a cock, although Charles' estranged half-sister Megan would recall to her friends, sniggering, exactly one year to the letter, that it looked like he was blowing Homer Simpson to a myriad of operatic groans.) turned to his phone and promptly wrote "lol".
"What are you writing?" A cute girl asked Charles, waiting for the bus underneath a monumental heatwave.
"Have you read 'The Hobbit' by Tolkien?"
"No... What's it about? I like magical realism like Marquez (Charles knew she wanted to confess to liking incest in public but thought it was inappropriate to push her on it).
"Well, I'm writing this essay about The Hobbit for my college, it's about these manlets who solve crimes."
"Oh. What are manlets?" the girl asked curiously (A Dominoes Pizza van past by the intersection and Charles had the sudden urge to try and get in the passenger seat but he resisted the urge.)
"Well..."

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from a stairhead, bearing a bowl of leather upon wich a razor and a stairhead lay crossed. He was crowned by a gown of air or something. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

"Who the fuck is Jeffrey?"

My uncle Jeffrey Sneed. Formerly Jefferina Chuck.

Charles remembered he had a tape to deliver

What was it... Kung Pow? Starship Troopers? The Britney Spears Mile High Club Experie-
'Jefferina Chuck?' asked the bus driver, overhearing Charles' tall tales, from Orange County?
You haven't met Uncle Buck? A familiar disabled man/veteran/peacekeeper cried out in pain.
He can swallow a lot of Vietnamese napalm, but he can also swallow a lot of gook meat! HA! GOOK MEAT!

Dear Diary, today I-
Charles found himself immediately interrupted by a seance, Buck and the brunette he had ignored for thoughts about Duke Nukem simultaneously. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Buck gestured to the advertisement beside Phillip National Banks and tapped Charles in the same fashion of a dandy and chewed into a grin as wide as a child with a ton of candy
(in italics)
Sunny D! SUN-KNEE DEE!
How I love thee!
Thou tangy zest, thou thorough digest!
Delight manifest when I drink the saccharine juice undressed!
Sunny D! SUN-KNEE DEE!
How I bequeath my loyalty to thee!
Oh D! My D!
Do you impart such ruddy rearing joy to me!

"Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit of the forbidden tree, whose mortal taste bought death into the world, and all our woe..." said Milton, struggling to remain relevant.

Socrates, not THE Socrates, but the Socrates from Bill & Ted fame dragged his glass cane across the entrance to Milton's reception, arm in arm with Bill & Ted Hitler, who was denied a part in the film when the casting members found a poem he had written on the set,
"For sale: Zyklon B, never gassed".
The following has been translated poorly from ancient Greek.
Knock Knock. 'Whom might I be speaking to?' Interrogated Milton's assistant (not blind, as luck would have it).
'Yo homes, it's yer boy Socrates from that film Back to the Future III, I have come to tell Milton how his magnificent masterpiece will be read by genital herpes housing human biomes greatly lauded and spread wide and re-written by a god-hating liberal arts whore into an Homeric tale about periods and clumpy legs wrapped around five strange men in a ballet hall bathroom in a chain, clumpy fat messes oozing and festering loutish slappers force feeding the feeling comfortable in a panicking body... May I speak to him, homes in your home?
The butler upticked his chin, ready to retort some powerful language. 'He's cooking some Uncle Ben' but pen down is in 10 consummative Carol Vordermans. Step your feet inside his garden and check this fresh gummous proverb on for size meanwhile in your leisure.'
Milton peered from the gables and continued.

All of a sudden, a dazzling sight was materialized in the celestial sphere. There, from a startlingly chromatic sky, came ashore, at first glance one insignificant paltry invidual, drunkard even, steadily steering his barely imperceptible little avelignese from a Park Drag, a luxury carriage constructed in the holy land of mother Russia. Though the coachman seemed a bit bashful for it.

The manifestation was perceived as exaggerated and even melodramatic, or such an interpretation was initially given by our little community. Generally speaking, when the public's germinal (not the novel) idea of a new phenomenon kicks off, it spreads as the truth since hearsay arising from the first sighting and impression will live on. That is human nature epitomized in its most sincere form, or at least this is how the Wise comprehend it.

Serenely a dowdy gentleman stepped out of his Park Drag, which was, now that we can get a closer look, a shimmering four-wheeled masterpiece, adorned with gold and ornaments. Shortly he let out an earth-shaking shriek (just to clear his throat though).

"Hey everyone! Look!" a deafening shout was heard from the crowd. "It's Mr. Gogol!"
In a flash, the whole crowd was burbling. Some even bowed down as if God himself had landed among us.
"Oh come on now, no need to be dumbfounded. I am here solely to acquire your dead souls," Gogol articulated.

With?
Sinbad the Sailor and Tinbad the Tailor and Winbad the Whaler and Binbad the Bailer and Jinbad the Jailer etc.

Charlie, still thinking about the tape, idly wondered what would happen to his body if he inserted a paperclip into his rectum every day for a year.

Attached: 548584845.png (600x580, 360K)

The sensation of anal entry forced a flashback to the time he had spent with Alfred.

'My uncle is dead', he thought. But what he most thought of was his uncle's cum, filling him up countless times. An acquiescence to liquescence, the essence of all sense enhanced by the incense of incest. A state of being, a quality of air that abounds about. A fluid, sorely requested, ingested; the end of a time and feeling invested, and when this feeling was investigated, sorrow came, long belated. And though dated, it was nevertheless strongly stated.

And so Charles wept.

As he wept, he remembered that forty percent of cops beat their wives. He made a mental note to beat the next cop he saw.

"Are you guys just gonna ignore me or something?" Articulated Gogol once more.

"What do you think about police officers?" Charlie asked Gogol. He bent over to show the Russian his rectum. It glistened with paper clips.

END OF ACT IX.

"Please, I'm only interested in acquiring your dead souls, mister," Gogol articulated

Suddenly the narrator started having a panic attack. He began to wretch uncontrollably, spasming. He regained control of his senses and wiped the vom from his mouth. GAY AIDS, he shouted, GAY AIDS, before deleting the last ten paragraphs of pretentious bullshit and gay nigger stories.

Sue had been waiting outside Charles's home of residence for five hours with a bouquet of flowers, specifically white oriental lilies with pops of blue delfinium and green button poms. Her hair was curly and blonde, she had a cute face with a cheery expression and was wearing a sexy unibody latex suit with black heels that she had picked out earlier. She rang the doorbell expectantly.

Charles heard the doorbell go off with its usual ring a ding ding. In his mind a tiny monkey was trying to figure out how to crack a coconut with a rock. Seemingly having heard the doorbell he walked out of the trashpile of human filth that was his room and walked down the stairs before opening the door.

"Hi Charles! It's me! Your dream date!"

Charles's mouth dropped, standing in front of him was a 10/10 blonde with milkies just like the ones Charles had seen in his dream.

"M-m-milkies!", said Charles in autistic glee.

"Yes, that's right Charles but before milkies, you have to come with me", said Sue pointing at the yellow taxi cab parked outside his house.

"O-of course!"

They both walked over to the taxi and got in.

"Where are we headed?", said the slav driver 50 lbs overweight with a stubbly beard, greasy face and a half full bucket of kfc.

"The airport", said Sue.

Charles snapped out of this daydream to reality once more--strange, how an old flame such as Sue still stays in his heart even after all these years of homosexuality. He looked to Gogol once more, who remained in the midst of a rant on Russian lands owners and tyranny.
"Yes, yes, I'd agree," Charles said.
Gogol drove on, while Charles considered whether or not he'd ever read Dead Souls. After some time, Nikolai stopped in the middle of a sentence, packed his things, and walked away. Charles was alone.

Charles felt very annoyed for some reason.

Suddenly Darrel burst into the room, "Gogol and Dead Souls are fuckin gay namsayin, finna white boy come we find sue get dat PUSSY n shit"

Charles couldn't agree more, "Les go Darrel". They both bust out of the house jumped in Darrels pimpmobile and drove for that pussy.

"Russian literature faggots can SUCK MA DICK", said Darrel

Cock and ball torture (CBT), penis torture or dick torture is a sexual activity involving application of pain or constriction to the penis and/or testicles. This may involve directly painful activities, such as genital piercing, wax play, genital spanking, squeezing, ball-busting, genital flogging, urethral play, tickle torture, erotic electrostimulation or even kicking.[1] The recipient of such activities may receive direct physical pleasure via masochism, or emotional pleasure through erotic humiliation, or knowledge that the play is pleasing to a sadistic dominant. Many of these practices carry significant health risks.

"Aye nigga I aint know all bout that cock and ball torture"declared Darrel, "But shieeeeet I finna get my cock and balls stuck up in some PUSSY wit ma nigga charles."

"Hold it!" she screamed violently.
"Hold my erect cock with all your might!"
Thomas did not know what to do. He was a young tank engine. Too young.

ALL STRAIGHT PEOPLE ARE EVIL PEDOPHILES. HETEROSEX SHOULD ONLY BE LEGAL FOR PROCREATION. GUYS SHOULD BE WITH GUYS, GIRLS WITH GIRLS, AND ENBIES AND TRANNIES WITH OTHER ENBIES AND TRANNIES.

Und die einen sind im dunkeln
und die andern sind in licht

"Oh fug I just shidded on my balls and coomed" said the singular author of this story. Xhe considered taking xiser anti-psychotics, but everyone knew that normies are bad at writing. Xun drank another gulp of xervle semen, estrogen, and plastic milkshake.

I'm a big guy - for you.

あああ、まんこが痛いな、気持ち悪いよ、助けて!いいえ!!

Buck Mulligan, stately, brought the suspect after a millenia of fighting. Charles was his greatest prize he had ever hunted down. He knew that the world he lived in was a solipsism made by Charles. In other words, Charles was God, and he just hunted God down. He was ready to spank the living shit out of him for the next eternity. This multiverse was about to get a hard on his DICK. "THE NUMBERS, CHARLES, WHAT DO THEY MEAN" Said Buck Mulligan fiercely.

Charles, in a fit of anger, stood up (he was actually sitting the entire time) and said "I don’t want to be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me. Years ago we had the church. That was only a way of saying – we had each other. The Knights of Columbus were real head-breakers; true guineas. They took over their piece of the city. Twenty years after an Irishman couldn’t get a fucking job, we had the presidency. May he rest in peace. That’s what the niggers don’t realize. If I got one thing against the black chappies, it’s this – no one gives it to you. You have to take it."

Then he woke up.

Emoji meme lol at people that don't think about you but I know what I want you all I know about it and then they just make you look cool but you just know it doesn't mean you can don't have to be them like you do don't care know get why you your not gay and or don't care for if you're not a good girl person or something to be the only real ones that make they seem look go gamer girl and I think that the same as any other game I've had since the last game I had no clue how to get sexual harassment on my twitter and then I thought I had to the point where it is really weird not even funny when people think I like them so bad lol but it's funny when I see a girl who is really gay lol gay people don't know what they are doing lol gay men like that you are a good friend to me I just need a friend like that girl I know what I want and you know how I look at it my mommy gay I thought you would never see it lol at all that she is just being your friend to be the best of me to be my wife I know that I am not sure why I love her yarn she said that she is their woman who has a woman that has been a wife and wife for the most least likely being a wife of woman or the other one who is the most beautiful person to ever read about it

"CHARLES, OPEN UP!"
The police stood outside his house. Charles knew they were after the CP on his computer that he had spammed on Yea Forums the day before in a drunken rage after Butterfly insulted his tiny dick.

The fact that so many books still name the Beatles as "the greatest or most significant or most influential" rock band ever only tells you how far rock music still is from becoming a serious art. Jazz critics have long recognized that the greatest jazz musicians of all times are Duke Ellington and John Coltrane, who were not the most famous or richest or best sellers of their times, let alone of all times. Classical critics rank the highly controversial Beethoven over classical musicians who were highly popular in courts around Europe. Rock critics are still blinded by commercial success. The Beatles sold more than anyone else (not true, by the way), therefore they must have been the greatest. Jazz critics grow up listening to a lot of jazz music of the past, classical critics grow up listening to a lot of classical music of the past. Rock critics are often totally ignorant of the rock music of the past, they barely know the best sellers. No wonder they will think that the Beatles did anything worthy of being saved.

Indians sure smell funny.
Anyways, here's a quote:
“But for the present age, which prefers the sign to the thing signified, the copy to the original, representation to reality, appearance to essence… truth is considered profane, and only illusion is sacred. Sacredness is in fact held to be enhanced in proportion as truth decreases and illusion increases, so that the highest degree of illusion comes to be the highest degree of sacredness.”
—Feuerbach, Preface to the second edition of The Essence of Christianity.

Plumply, Buck "state" Mulligan came from a bowl of mirrors, bearing sweet morning air upon wich a crossed and a razor lay alofted. He was yellow. He held the dressinggown aloft and ungirdled:

updated
This ends only when you tie up all of the loose plotlines.

The police rushed in only to find out that the CP on Chrales' harddrive was, in fact, a digital copy of Crime and Punishment.
"Fuck these anonymous tips, you can never count on them," one of the policemen mumbled

She felt the light rob her of her sight and replace it with the eyes of another, eyes belonging to something celestial yet terrestrial, as if a strange form of temporary blindness or delusion had struck her. She could see nothing but reams and reams of satin, silk charmeuse and velour before her; the sun and wind having picked up a needle and thread together to turn what was once still water into ethereal cloth. She was suddenly aware of the two twin willow trees that framed and embellished her view of the lake that had their faces buried softly in the woven threads, as if the lake had been conceived by their perpetual tears or if they were holding the fabric to their faces in mourning, delicate handkerchiefs held to a distraught mother and daughter’s trembling features. She felt this must have been the case; for the beauty of the malaise of the willows entwined with the gentle caresses of the wind to the lake had forced her feet to the ground, shackled like the willows to the lake, with her once absent stare transformed into empathy, an empathy felt only by those in the same milieu as the grieving.

It was the Grimace's wife.
"Mrs. G, can I help you?" emphatically imparted to the pacing woman.
"Was my husband here yesterday, around lunch?" she said worried.
"Along with Franklin and Pals, absolutely, he was eating a cheeseburger or two by my bedside, here's the wrapper."
Charles held up what was now a pair of used panties and his brain began to shudder with a strange clairvoyance.
"Oh, Grimey, what did you get yourself into, Gri-imeey" The shapely purple mass exhaled.
"Is his missing, did he not come home?"
"It's probably just his gambling problem spurring him on again - It's - prob", Mrs. Grimace trailed her voice off into silence and reached for the phone in the corridor, wet with spaghetti sauce.
"Is it OK if I?"
"Officer Petezareer was just around here a second ago, you might be able to catch up with him."
Big Bird Brad angled his feet and then torso against the frame of Charles' bedroom door.
"How is the narcolepsy treating you champ?"
"Uuuhh, I don't know, I don't know anything anymore" Charles spewed out in a lacklustre fashion.
Big Bird Brad picked up the collection of white pages before him on the bedsheets and read the title out loud,
That's "my diary desu" uttered Charles,
He opened the first page.
"Big Bird Brad was alone in his room."
Brad quizically looked into Charles languid, pained eyes, such terrible eyebags for an otherwise still youthful face.
*BLUCK-UCK-AAAAAUCK-UCK*
A sudden rocket of pills throttled out onto the walls like a hundred crushed spiders,
"Oh fuck, I'm sorry Uncle Bi-Alfred-Jeffrey-Brad-Ben-Gogo-, just fucking put me to sleep"
"WAIT, NO, NO, NO"

*Skrrrt*
*EEEEEeeeeeeeerrkkkkk*
A cream Mini speeding down Garth Brooks Avenue pulled up sharply just before the lemonade stand outside, wheels indenting the grass verge of the front lawn with two men staring eagle-eyed into Charles' core. One Oakley-wearing-middle-aged-T-Rex-muscle-man and one Nassim Nicholas Taleb.
"Get in kid, we're becoming Anti-fragile"-

Arthur woke up panting, desperate to understand. Once again, the disordered ideation of the Will had plagued his sleep, and he took comfort in the causal security of the objects found around him. Spying the bottle of laudanum, he took a quick swig, then tottered back into bed, ready to once again objectify the thing-in-itself in the vacuum of his somnolent consciousness.

Tip.

Charles woke up. Realizing everything that had just happened was a dream, he jerked the gherkin and passed out

His ego separated, his mind gurgled. The body splurged a thousand jerbles. Forlorn for a fortnight in Fortnite. Uncontrolled trolls, trifling tragedy.

Scene 19
Midday.
Fortnite, New Mexico, U.S.A -
Tumbleweeds cross the T-Junction, a man in an elephant skin hat is looking for vacancies in motels nearby.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

EXT. SPACE - DAY

A SATELLITE passes over the EARTH. We can see the blinking lights of NEW MEXICO.

----------CHARLES (V.O.)
-------(contemplative, serene)
----Could my life be more significant

The satellite emits a single beep. A short pause.

----------CALM FEMALE VOICE
-------(reassuring)
----Don't worry my child, Gaia is with you

The sun disappears behind the EARTH. We see the blue atmosphere against the universe, now full of STARS.

CUT TO BLACK.

AUDIOBOOK WHEN

yelled Charles as he was reading Ted Kaczynski's manuscripts.

Charles woke up and found himself in the middle of a circle of mushrooms in a small clearing in the forest. He looked about and before he knew it he was surrounded by nubile young elf girls clad in nothing but foliage and morning dew, giggling to each other and peeking at him from outside the circle
"He's a plump one", he heard one of them say

the lil elf girly gurls girls slowly went to his LITTLE PLAYSTATION and hurled herself on it like the thots they were xDDDDDDDd

But Charles thought to himself: Why was this all connected to the mysterious state man that is Buck Mulligan?

"You know what, he is quite a stately one, too", replied another, sucking Charles's's' cock.
"Is that a motherfucking Ulysses reference, you skank? Do you think that making references to those overwritten tomes of pseudo-avantgarde babble makes you any profound? You cum-chugging bimbo, one day you will understand. You will turn into a vile femcel that will blame men for not being interested in you. And I... I will be enjoying those days, being a cute sissy to my Chad overlord. My fav author is Vonnegut btw", said the first elf.

Dear gentlemen, the time has come to recognize the fact that Charles was insane. Suppose Charles posing himself a question as simple as "Am I awake from my schizophrenic state of mind, did I really get assfucked by my uncle which I don't even know for sure if he exists, and most importantly, did I really cause the death of my so called brother and insert paperclips into my rectum, solely for the glory of a star wars tape i was supposed to return, or was it just my mind playing tricks on me?". Eventually you, dear reader, will learn that all this can only be answered by Charles and Charles only. But how can mad perform such a difficult task?

So here we are, following Charles' mind (or illusion of his mind, who knows) as it is collapsing in on itself at a rapid momentum, fascinated by the ins and outs of the human mind and particularly all the eccentric personages that can be established from it, just to learn that the infinite series of possibilities rising from an unimaginable amount of disparate and diverse array of individual directions, cannot be comprehended without subjugating ourselves to the very mephistophelean evil itself; a psychological bedlam that breathes fouled spiritual air deep in Charles' soul. The orbiting multilayered adversary of the divine good, is, under present condition, owershadowing the power of Christ and, to the fullest degree and at a great lick, exhausting our hero's capacity and willingness to tolerate his very own existence, that is, as we begin to realize, full of discomfort (mainly as a result of fascination focused on dicks turned into an obsession). Well, at least Charles wasn't rocked into a sense of false bond with his distant relatives he had or had not, which is a proven fact; Charles doesn't feel guilty for his doings.

This leads to the conclusion that Charles is, in fact, a schizophrenic genius, greater than God - at least so he sees himself - and we can only conjecture about what goes on in his grotesque mind. Life is full of secrets.

"Have you read Anti-Tech Revolution: Why And How, by the One True Luddite?" Charles asked,
The elf girls looked perplexed at him and soon began to eat from a seemingly indispensable resource of Cheetos.
"We don't have any technology here besides our milking machines and our pneumatic plows and these fun Marios"
One of the less shy girls said.
"Is this at least a lucid dream?" A slightly bitter Charles petitioned to no one in particular.
"What's a dream?" another girl came forward, tilting her head to the left.
Charles tried to create some mosquito nationalists with bubblebutts but it was no use. The image of Buck permeated his mind. The expenditure of his energy had reaching a boiling point and jargon slurped gayly from his velvet oesophagus.
"My elf colleagues, would it be possible for you to help me locate my much sought after tape?"
Charles felt the monstrous vacuum consolidate and he was being sucked but he couldn't tell where from or who by... a gregarious sense of gravitational force pulsing wildly as he stared into Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3, looking down to find a nymph in Aztec regalia

stop posting this absolute shit you mongoloid attention whore fuck

,said one pent-up dyke elf to a mentally frustrated and frankly retarded elf girl who was literally posting her feces into her neighbours postbox.

literally what did you mean by this
do you recognize that user's style? how is it any more shit than everything else posted?

#Chapter 13.
##Actio et Reactio

A figure, barely discernible in the fog of his own mind, caught Charles attention. "Is he a nihilist?", he wondered. He quickly exposed himself in his general direction. A slight hint of disgust appeared on the man's face. Charles giggled, bemused at his own commanding presence. But suddenly the man rushed towards him, a butter knife glancing in his hand. It looked like this:
_____________________________ ______________________
.-' | (_) (_) (_) \
( | __________________ }
`-..........................____|_( )_/
Charles defused the tension by throwing the man under a passing double-decker bus.

Stately, came Buck Mulligan again. And said:

And so have the fixed points of the power set of the spectrum of your logic

MY HEAD - Screamed Charlie - WHERE IS MY HEAD DAMN YOU BUCK MULLIGAN

suddenly the sheriff materializes from thin air. he speaks, "your gun and your badge, charlie"

(should be redacted for better flow)

The theme from Police Academy was playing in the background barely audible

This repulsive sheriff with rueful but arrogant grin suffered from bobble head doll syndrome. Whenever he spoke his head jiggled in a hysterically funny way.

Charles barely able to make an amicable face, stepping out of a cocaine lined sedan, followed the sheriff's orders
"...And the Tractatus"

Charles' mental fatigue had caused a prominent slackening of attention and the only thing he could think of was cocks. "I cannot speak, thereof I must cock", he philosophized.

The elf waifs had activated the mushroom portal and whizzed Charlie away to the underwater palace of the sea elf nymphs, who were really the experts in locating obscure gems on VHS. The nymphs' dwellingplace was a marvel of the ancient and opulent technocratic society, every corner of their magical inventions of gold, jewels and hard stone decorated with gaudy ornaments and lit up with bright light that seemed to come from nowhere. The nymph standing before him was just outside the air bubble preventing him from drowning or getting crushed by the pressure. Only her hand reached inside the bubble, handing Charlie a VHS tape.
"We've heard of your coming a long time ago, Charles. I bestow this artifact upon you per the prophecy's request. You're welcome to stay in our land for as long as you wish", she spoke in the voice you would expect.
Charlie looked the black box over; sure enough, it said "Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith" on the label, though there was no smiley face sticker on this one. He decided to take a look around

Then Charles returned the video to the store and rented Debbie Does Dallas instead.

I am gay, this is gay. Give me your cock nigger. I want all the cocks, I want 20 cocks; i want 50 (pant owo pant) 12 inchers (pant owo) 50 beautiful nigger cocks. All down my throat. Charles then removed his pants and sat on the floor defeated, pushing his head between his legs determined to lick his own.

The TV flickered
"Give me a D-"
Charles shuffled further back into his seat as he watched the pom-poms fly.
The cheerleaders on the screen giggled as Charles knocked his Pepsi onto his lap. This was the sign. Before his very eyes Debbie coagulated, a soft drink golem with the same Dallas accent.

OP here, I think I'm gonna ignore derailing posts for now because it's getting really boring, let's follow some kind of chain of events without jumping around every other paragraph

>let's follow some kind of chain of events without jumping around every other paragraph

The entire book has been like that though. The only over-arching narrative is Charles' repressed homosexuality.

Twenty years later on a dark winter night we find Charles on the toilet. "I am gay" He says. "this is gay." Charles then stood up with shit still smeared on his ass and screamed "I am gay and I need dicks, big juicy nigger dicks, big 12 inch cocks, I want 20 cocks; i want 50 (pant owo pant) 12 inchers (pant owo) 50 beautiful nigger cocks. All down my throat." Charles then removed his pants and sat on the floor defeated, pushing his head between his legs determined to lick his own. It just so happens that there was a super gay but super fat guard on nightwatch and 40 years virgin made him really horny...

I'm afraid to interfere or restrict too much but I'm curious to see where it goes if we stick with something, the "and then he woke up" and sudden descents into complete rambling are getting old

Alright I get it, God isn't supposed to interfere, we have to err and find enlightenment by ourselves. Keep going, now I'll be silent like the God of NT

after the pdf is updated we can continue by following a chain of events from there

updated, I did it like this
you can do whatever or keep filling in chapter 12 if you want

With Buck Mulligan as a recuring character

OP, your editing/formatting whatever has been superb and readable so far, just continue instinctively.

I mean there are like 3 events that we should wrap up:
1. Charlie and his relationship with butterfly/uncle Alfred
2. Charlie getting the attention of the secret police
3. something to do with Buck Mulligan

Don't forget the magical tape that has something to do with cleaning the universe by Peterson's decree

It was the time of year when Charles was thinking his future and wondering would he still have these awful homosexual inclinations, even twenty years from now. In these moments of cogitation, he was pretty sure his carnal tendencies would not leave him. Ever.

"Excuse me, sir... SIR... do you have a permit to be here?" grunted the guard as he waddled over, Dunkin' Donuts crumbs falling off his stressed workshirt.
Charles looked at the gated off area and the line of banana-coloured hinged parking posts, previously un-noticed in his then, uninterrupted sexual stupor.
"Read the sign please, 'Atrocidad secreta de la Pentagon"
Sir?
I'm warning you, sir! No loitering!
Whatever it was, he needed to act fast.

The anime girl come to life Mitsushiko is an image of Charles' soul (monstrous with feathers and instect parts) and is connected with the aliens, she should be the link that enables him to go on an intergalactic Jihad to cleanse the universe of all its filth for the glory of father Peterson, with Buck Mulligan, Ben Franklin and Uncle Alfred as his warlords. I want to see this saga unfold

"We're gonna need some weapons" shouts Ben Franklin in a drunken stupor.

Echoing voice of Pynchon's could be heard from the skies:
Remember your lesson, O boy magnificent
Do not despair, O Charles - you're innocent

Also, metaphysically Charles is the son of god and god incarnate (a parody of the stereotypical poster) in our trinity while also being the god within his realm with a trinity and creations of his own. Now there you have a blueprint for the main plot, a veritable bible to follow or stray away from as you please

It was three in the morning. user Y. Mous, Secret police subliutenant, strolled down board lane, carrying a black valise on his left hand and a 9mm on his right. A single thought permeated his mind: he would break into Charles' house, plant fake evidence, assassinate Alfred (he knew too much) and then leave. All superior orders. He didn't question anyway.

A glossy, charcoal van with punctured back tires scrapped the asphalt and ran into the HQ gates at a ceaseless speed and broke through the gauze, halting the guard from detaining Charles momentarily.
Uncle Jeffrey waved his scarred Vietnam helmet in the driving seat as a beacon, curious beams of agent orange followed

Thanks for the work, OP, just two things
>In page 36, the sentence "the collective subconscious..." is written twice, this is a mistake
>In page 37, onions is supposed to be "söy"

Meanwhile at Charles' room, Uncle Alfred was tripping sacks as usual, drifting outside this abstruse world, unaware of his surroundings, not only by cause of being strongly narcotized but also due to his heedless nature. He had this vision of Charles being chased by the nifty suited agents of which he had heard stories every now and then, between the moans and sobs during copulation.

Thanks. There's probably a lot more mistakes, I'll go over the entire text at some point.
Here, I took a moment to list some stuff since I'm probably the only one who's read the entire thing:
pastebin.com/ZgqEjtt0

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

I am seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies.

Wow, thanks!

hello OP, thank you for putting my Dumblefucky lines in there, I wasn’t expecting them to be treated as part of the narrative

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
the knocks grew louder
and louder

put this in the next thread for people to work with OP, fantastic, sure a slight re-draft maybe in order once it's done but for now it's not bad just to keep shitposting/ on trucking /etc.

*Zap zap zap*
While Charles was thinking how gay he was not, a sudden series of jolts in the brain of his got him alert. He was almost trembling as he abruptly k n e w. He felt i t within every cell of his being. It was all too evident; uncle Alfred knew too much, brother Brad knew too much, the agents weren't exclusively interested in Charles, the Thought Police was after the whole family!
"But fuck dad, he never was there for me anyways," he muttered. "And fuck Benedictus too."
"There's no time to waste, Jeff! Gather your artillery, I believe Alfred is in danger!", Charles clamored

Three shots pierced the room's wall. The first bullet completely destroyed one of the many scattered piss bottles, a 2015-2016 first harvest.
"Blast it!" Cried Charles. "That one was almost matured! You'll pay for this!"

Charles racking his head from tinnitus, coughed up what he assumed was agent orange (but in this dazed and confused condition, he was yet unable to decipher that it was actually Sunny D, designed to be too potent for the unassuming New Mexico branch CIA.)
His cuffs were picked open and Buck Mulligan stood (stately, as one would imagine) amongst a pile of decapitated aliens and police offers.
"Buck??"
The cell was filled with slate, bones and IKEA furniture.
Ben Franklin sat next to Charles (with a certain unmistakable shit-grin that aught to be told), testing out the the trigger on the peculiarly pedestrian looking alien gun (actually built by a mexican star fleet captain / autistic wunderkind, they were illegal aliens but also aliens.)

>pastebin.com/ZgqEjtt0
So, what to focus on now? Is this current arc of home invasion even happening?

Write whatever you want, this is just something to keep in mind. We're only at 25k words

So it seems that the time has finally come. The most anticipated moment in natural world that would subvert the cosmos was about to come forth: the first meeting between Uncle Jeffrey and Uncle Alfred.

"Weren't those two only one guy?" Stately inquired Buck, from the wall's other side.

"Aujourd'hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas."

A bloodbath had been carved to Charles' porch, where inside, in the quaint 50s lounge, the ghost of Nick Land, Uncle Alfred, Darrel, Freud & Mitsushiko were being held hostage by the secret police in exchange for one 'Star Wars: Episode III' on tape.
"You can't detain me! I'm the gatekeeper of the Intergalactic Kondo-Marie-Condo-Cleaners! I'll fuck you like I fucked those gooks!"
Uncle Jeffrey cried aloud, being dragged onto Charles' father's recently purchased loveseat sofa.

A meager but frankly cluttered quadrille, arranged by the hostages, was formed in front of Charles as he himself did a little dance to the words of Pynchon he recollected. But this illusion didn't last long, it was soon apparent that the situation really was a serious one and the hostages were in genuine trouble.

[In the distance, rumbling;
"Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax!"
CHARLES and MITSUSHIKO turn their faces towards the noise. MITSUSHIKO'S bug eyes widen.

CHARLES, with hands on his ears:
What hellish noise is that? What clashes there of wills gen wonts? Stop this nuisance, tormentous gaggin!

Enter FROG upon the stage. Everyone looks at FROG.
FROG, again:
Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax!

“Where is Pynch when you need him the most?!" howled Charles while running in circle and weighing his options. It was too much, he felt like his whole world was about to be turned upside down.

The frog waited. The hostages waited. All of them were waiting for Charles' next move.

"Hand it over the tape, I will shoot! Stop stalling. It's all over, don't make me send your friends to hell" commanded the corrupt moustached police chief.
"Look at him, he's just a dumb fast food kid, he's got nowhere to go, he's nothing" cackled one of the chief's colleagues.
A power crazed police woman poured Charles' Pepsi cans all over the hostages, particularly Darrel who had proposed the bitch get naked suck his toes.
KKK-Krack
Atoms twirling divine and avarus rebirthed golem Debbie with a grape soda light-saber and immediately scythed the police woman's tits off (which frankly did negligible damage as she had meagre A-cups at best)
"You fucking whore! AArgh"
"Catfight! Catfight!" the police officers clamoured!
Debbie distracted the cops long enough by gently ripping the police woman's head off for Ben Franklin to arrive, assisted by Socrates and Gogol and for some unexplained reason, Grimace, who were unanimously pissed off that they didn't stop off at a McDonalds before travelling through time.
"Where are the boys in the dirt and many rooms?" Socrates asked, "The ones from the prophecy, writing in their rooms?"

While others were panicking in despair, to everyone's surprise, Darrel, the only anti-intellectual black man around, had hatched an imaginative plan in his little mind. But now that the situation had escalated and his thinking was in vain, he yelled: "Shieeet, I kno yo wite niggas against me"

"Who cares, Socrates? I thought we came here for the dead souls," Gogol articulated.

“I’m here for food and easy women,” he responded.

youtube.com/watch?v=TGvVDiq1yQ0

Jorden Paterson looked at Socrates sceptically. "Fuck", he thought to himself, "I bet I can be just like this guy if I try just a littliest bit".

But our hero was not defenceless yet. Charles had, many summers ago, with autistic foresight, rigged his room into a death trap, in one of his fits of schizophrenia where he thought the mall clown was out to get him. The thousands of dollars spent on mounting retractable wall spikes and hidden flamethrowers didn't seem so bad now. Charles, with astonishing prowess, yook hold of the room's kill switch, always safely stored in his rectum, and held it maniacally.
"Behold!" Screamed he. "In my shit-smeared hands lay the doom of all of you here! Submit and drop your weapons, or be prepared to face imminent destruction!" Charles said, now wearing his mad scientist goggles.

bump

And then his mom, Brad and Esmerelda entered the room, each eating a slice of cheesecake.

With his youthful disgust, Charles shook off this bizarre delusion of a happy family all together with cheesecakes and all, and was back in the middle of the blootbath analyzing the situation.

Charles peeked on her sister undressing her tight pants and undoing her sports bra. Her perky, soft, undulating, bubbly boobs with huge nipples poking out beggared all beliefs and made Charles's mouth water and dick cum. Years of not having talked let alone touch a woman was all building up and was very soon to reach its culmination..
Charles whimpered "hnnnnggggghh"

With utter disgust Charles looked through the last couple of pages of his manuscript. Uninspired, useless, derivative drivel. He couldn't believe he was capable of producing such schlock; he saw himself becoming a parody of a parody of a parody of himself, putting his own autistic creations into some kind of infernal ironical soap opera action movie. It was time for something new.

updated
25,723

Nicee

Socrates and Gogol arguing about the concept of a soul being dead distracted Charles from reading his diary. He was still stuck in the matrix and really jonesing for red pills.
"Someone redpill me on this reality, quick!", he shouted

"What are you tryna do bruv? Fuckin clapped kiddo thinks he's some kind of David Attenborough bein smarter than us innit" said the police chief.
Meanwhile Charles gave off a cold poker face, still holding the switch for the death trap in his hands.
"You're still not listening, buster? Alrighty mates, shag him where it hurts *laughs*, show him what HARD BREXIT really means, but make sure the tape is safe."
As the policemen approached, Charles kept his calm and did just what he planned to do.

needs to be up in the next thread otherwise we'll never get to an ending

Alfred pondered life. Why was he named after a comic book character?

Big Bird Brad ducked as Ben Franklin entered the colonial home akimbo with alien (Mexican) weaponry, zapping the police chief's head, dissolving him anticlimactically before Charles could enjoy seeing his much laboured after death-trap. But it was worth it cuz' it looked way cooler than any of the explosion scenes in Charles' anime boxsets. The police force tried to baton Charles but they could barely get any hits in before Darrel called in his homies from a stolen, heavily pimped AC-130. Beating them mercilessly.
Big Bird Brad pointed to the diary and then at Charles at a rapid pace.
"Wake up! Wake up Charles"
Nothing happened. 'Where did you find my diary?' inquired Grimace, previously cowering in the corner.
'I've been looking all over for that and have been quite McUpset'
Charles, confused, opened to page 31 -
'Dear diary, finally decided to get the operation, here is my McWill and McTestament, for my darling wife incase anything happens.
'This is fucking depressing', Charles thought, his ass aching terribly.
Reading aloud another sentence for the group, 'Today I went to work, traffic was hell today, Jonathan harassed me again, he threatened to put my head in the vat of chip grease again if I accidentally get purple on his lunch.'
...
'Looking for this boys?', Debbie groaned, pulling a mint copy, labelled 'Star Wars: Episode III' from her pussy.
'Ummm... The Pareto Principle, Trickle-down economics! Voltage! Short term mating strategies... Uhhh.' explained Ben Franklin, who was concerned that if he didn't start defining what a 'redpill' might be, Socrates and Gogol wouldn't think he was living the literary lifestyle.
No one noticed the uncles jacking off in the corner.

Arguing about the concept of a soul being dead led to a huge verbal mess.
"The invidual soul is the univera-", Socrates started only to be interrupted by Gogol.
"No, no, no, you're wrong. It cannot genuinely be expounded to simple-minded goofy like you, but I can give it a endeavor. First of all, you need to have a rock-hard bibliophilism to grasp this question, simply put, you require to read mor-"
"Shut up already! All things considered, it seems like you're the one being wrong. It all depends on the amount of encephalon cells of the individual whether he can have the competency to understa-"
"To understand philosophy of language! It all depends whether you understand the nature of meaning on an immensely colossal scale, which is obligatory to comprehend such a dignified concept as soul, a concept that needs to be understood before you can even think about it being dead, and it cannot be understood by following any particular philosophical school or relig-"
"Ridiculous! You're stupid!", Socrates ejaculated
"No, you are stupid," Gogol replied, articulating the words clearly

The danger having been dealt with, Charlie took some reefer out of his drawer and rolled a fat one.
"Herewegoeznothing again," he intoned.

Charlie sucked that doob like it was Uncle Alfred's dick and teleported to the mothership, where Mitsushiko had already been waiting for him, in a room which seemed like a one bedroom apartment.
"Well done fending off Buck's agents, darling. But we still have matters to attend to. The council has decided that the way you currently are is unfit for the destiny appointed you, and action must be undertaken." She was speaking in a seductive voice. "You must be cleansed, of your homosexuality," she said as she slipped of her robe.

Grimace turned the pages of his diary to find smeared symbols born of ketchup laid across the vast majority of his day-to-day entries and grew more and more tired. 'Can someone warp me home, anyone, I'd like to go back to my family?', Debbie aimlessly pushed a couple of buttons, soaking the motherboard of the ship in soda simultaneously and the rest took seats to watch the great cleansing to be set in motion. 'Does anyone have any eligible corn machine for use?' probed Franklin

The ship was actually about the size of an apartment, yet it was technically the mothership. Mitsushiko had enslaved a civilization of tiny aliens from a tiny planet to escape from the real mothership where she had been constructed, but that was a long time ago.

Now that Charles got unexpected distress from his mistress, he froze.
"Don't say nuttin' just lie there still and I'll get you turned on just fine." singed Mitsushiko

Mitsushiko pulled out a penis cage to put Charles dick in.

Neon lights shot forth from the meeting of his unwashed cock and the titanium. The audience were immediately dazzled amidst a great confusion. Out of the mist, similar to what you would imagine dry ice would look like at some Las Vegas magic show, Jordan Peterson walked out,
"Alright buckos, time to clean house -"

Attached: C8F37F0F-E031-4D58-A15E-FF5D53965D87.jpg (1080x1035, 159K)

A small fleet of miniature flying saucers, about the size of actual saucers, flew by and hovered in place to watch the great spectacle about to take place. In the saucers, sticking out of the tops, were tiny hairless grey-green humanoids about the size of hamsters.

"My angel; my anima," spoke Charles as he caressed Mitsushiko's cheek.
Charlie was a pathetic manlet, true, but Mitsushiko was an anime girl and Asian women are shorter, so it was okay. He pulled her towards him and they embraced in a kiss

"お兄さん!" Mitsushiko cried.

Jordan Peterson began directing the fleet of saucers to properly scrub Charles' dick.

He was now about one foot tall as well.

Suddenly a giant red lobster appeared from the depths of the sea and began to fuck Peterson in the ass.

Mitsushiko's wings flew open in a glorious five-meter-long wingboner (like a pegasus' from My Little Pony). The thought occuring in Charles' mind caused Rainbow Dash to materialize right then and there.

And without delay it simply vanished into thin air just as hastily as it materialized.

giant[1]

ass[2]

(Footnote [1]):
Giant, in the 'jumbo' sense of the term, denoting a large, oversized and clumsy lobster, in this case specifically.
Galactic and for the most part alien (not Mexican) lobsters are known throughout the Milky Way for their meaty presence to which Peterson was out of his depth when one approached, with a flowery Tommy Bahama shirt, equally jumbo-sized, almost uncomprehendingly capable of chaos and able to dominate any creature in the dominance hierarchy of Space Basketball, Peterson, with a wingspan of less than 89ft, was doomed to be picked last.

(Footnote [2]):
What we mean by ass here, is livelihood. Peterson, completely devoid of both surrogate activities and with a cannibalistic definition of re-active societal pleasure, is depressed. The democratisation of Peterson's soul has made him functionally unable to properly integrate his pre-Ivan Ilych consumerist, boomer dialectic with unabashed freedom. That is, freedom from slave morality, self-perpetuated by him through years and years of peer pressure residing in flawed hopes to achieve the maximum pleasure ("love from [blank]") through submission to regulated hierarchy teaching. By looking deep into the eyes of this lobster (Wally, an anti-lobster-trap machinist) boundless with freedom in an endless sea, free of the constraints of a chained ego, Peterson is immediately intimidated by the lobster (Wally) and catastrophizes what would happen if he were like Wally on Planet Earth, due to his depression, he can only imagine submitting and therefore, without adequate knowledge of other philosophies or weltanschauung available to him at this very moment on board Mitsushiko's ship, Peterson is paralysed for a moment, unable to comprehend Wally's world.

Then Charles beat Mitsushiko and Jordan Peterson to death with a hammer and sodomized their dead bodies with a toilet plunger and a wrench.

Yet only to snap out of that day dream with Jordan Peterson standing on the other side of the room starring deep into Charles' eyes.
"That's quite some anger you have within yourself, and I can tell so easily even though I don't consider myself a neoanalyst." says Jordan Peterson, giving off a quiet sigh.
Mesmerized by his gaze, Charles falls on his knees, crying "Get out of my brain, why are you doing this?"
Jordan Peterson, unmoved by Charles' pathetic display of weakness and emotion, declares "You will have to learn to accept responsibility and desensitize yourself in relation to the violence you've seen in your lowly family."

kek

One look at his hands and Charles realised he was holding a broom and a Marie Kondo book given to him about 3 years prior by his Uncle Jeffrey. Almost none of Charles' immediate companions realised the miraculous heart of what was going on as they were all transfixed by Mitsushiko and Debbie swapping Pepsi between their mouths on the ships' console.
Big Bird Brad prompted Charles to wake up, but he was still unable to figure out what reality he was living within, perhaps he thought, he was as mad as his sluggish brother, the thought horrified him.
"Alright, Charles, put your headset on and align subject A. Clothes. Now, do you need this sweatshirt, or should you donate it to a charity shop or dispense of it." said Peterson.
It was a yellow striped sweatshirt with a picture of Pikachu on the front. Charles had never sweated so hard in his life. "Come on, Charles" Peterson pushed.

Meanwhile, back in Charles' backyard, his grandfather and Uncle Alfred were playing War. Grandfather's deck was getting rather hefty, after all, he was considered the card shark of the family. They were only 6 minutes in and Alfred's stack was shrinking at alarming rate right before his eyes. Right now his hands were sweating as his so called deck was only consisting of one single remaining card he had and now was presumably the time for his last battle. Alfred was frightened to reveal the last card of his while the grandfather was holding a stack of 51 cards. The atmosphere was getting more and more muggy as Alfred knew that grandpa's patience wouldn't last much longer his dawdling. Suddenly the grandfather asked Alfred casually
"Do you think my grandboy could be... You know... Ga-, I mean you know... A chichi man..?"

Hey op turn these footnotes into 3 and 4 please, we've already had a one and two.

ok, I just set them to counting until the end of the page because that's how I prefer it

Charles drew up one card from his deck and saw it. Blue eyes white power.

Uncle Alfred then drew one from his. Ancestral Recall it was.

The holograms phased into the central hub of the ship, setting navigation en route to Caleb Bradham's home planet Peptown. Big Bird Brad felt a rumbling in his stomach as the ship crept closer.
Charles, still undecided on whether he should get rid of his 2003-purchased yellow sweater, paused for a moment in exhaustion. "Ship: Pepsi Wild Cherry Please" he shouted.

At home, then bathroom finally shower.
Charles starts to sing his favourite song with powerful voice:
Alfa-
Alfa-
Alfabeto ah uh
Ah uh
Ah uh ah
Alfa-
Alfa-
Alfabeto rappapappapappapà
Alfa-
Alfa-
Alfabeto hi ha
Hi ha
Hi ha
Alfa-
Alfa-
Alfabeto hi ha he hi
*versi vari*
Bu bu bu bu bu bu bu bu
SKRT

Fumo, fumo, fumo e rido
Mmh ha ha ha
Lei ride, ride, ride
Mmh ha ha ha
Alfa-
Alfa-
Alfabeto ah uh
Ah uh
Ah uh ah
Rari, rari, rari, rari
RAWR RAWR RAWR RAW
Scotta, scotta, scotta, scotta
*ansimare*
Sudo, bevo, passo e a letto
Mmh ha ha ha
Mia mamma mi crede pazzo
Mmh ha ha ha
Canto, canto, canto, canto
Ulalalalala
Sto indicando con il dito
Là là là là là là là
La schiaffeggio mentre ride
Mmh ha ha ha
Mangio, mangio caramelle
Gnam gnam gnam gnam
Africa, buon vino
Ku ku ku ku ku ku
Non mi piace questa tipa
Nah nah nah nah nah
Voglio la tipa del tipo
Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh
Sì, l'ho già lasciata incinta
Ahiahiahiahiahi
Parla, parla, parla. parla
Ba ba ba ba ba
Si si si si si-Signorino
Si si si si

RAWR RAWR RAWR RAW
*ansimare*
RAWR RAWR RAWR RAW
*ansimare*
RAWR RAWR RAWR RAW
*ansimare*
RAWR RAWR RAWR RAW
*ansimare*
(piccola pausa)
RAWR RAWR RAWR RAW
*ansimare*
RAWR RAWR RAWR RAW
*ansimare*
RAWR RAWR RAWR RAW
*ansimare*
RAWR RAWR RAWR RAW
*ansimare

An Italian was walking nearby, hearing Charles sing Italy's best song made him drop a beat too, but only after he joined Charles in the shower
The two young men sung together:
Tranquilla non dormire

Ih Ah
Haribo Haribo Haribo
Ih Ah
Haribo Haribo Haribo
Ih Ah
Haribo Haribo Haribo
Haribo Haribo Haribo
Haribo Haribo Haribo
(Hari Hari-Bo Hari Hari Hari-Bo
Hari Hari-Bo Hari Hari Hari-Bo
skrrt skrrt skrrt)

Scusa se sono in ritardo mh
Stavo mangiando quell'Haribo uh
Scema giuro sto arrivando ya
Tu arrivi dopo le Haribo ehi
Signorina golosona mh ehi
Le vuole leccare il coltello ya ya ya ya
Signorino sweet mh sono le Coca-Cole ya
Lei so che mi vuole ma sa che io non la voglio
Lei vorrebbe un figlio glielo do per dargli Haribo
Lei vorrebbe un figlio glielo do per dargli Haribo
Tu mi chiedi cosa mh boh Haribo

Sto scaldando Haribo uh come sgocciola
La tua tipa è qua con me, ya, com'è zoccola
Ho una felpa rosa uh
Fragolino
In casa troie e Haribo mh
Signorino
Sai che vado in giro con Haribo e mocassino ya
Sai che vado in giro con Haribo e mocassino ya ya ya
Signorino mocassina
Signorino mocassina
Signorino mocassina
Tu mi chiedi "cosa" mh boh Haribo
Tu mi chiedi "cosa" mh boh Haribo

Ih Ah
Haribo Haribo Haribo
Ih Ah
Haribo Haribo Haribo
Ih Ah
Haribo Haribo Haribo
Haribo Haribo Haribo
Haribo Haribo Haribo

Standing between two naked Italians in the shower. Charles pondered "even if my state of mind is a fractured quaqmire of multiple realities, is this not something to he desired, to live among infinity, to not be bound by the meaningless I'll of flesh, why have I fought it so? When all along, this was the only "truth" I could have?"
A single tear rolled down Peterson's cheek. "Now you got it bucko"
At this great revelation his room started to clean itself.

Please keep doing this based footnote user

"I'm truly not gay" he said, tears rolling down his cheek.

The main character then killed himself. THE END

>Charles returns: Charles in Hell, a hellish adventure

He was a bad boy so to hell he went. He meet Satan, contrary to what everyone believes, he was a white muscular beard big effeminate basedbasedboy man

That's book 2 of my diary desu then

Or do we need to fix the open plot holes and uncompleted plot points?

Leave open and unfinished so when published it's catalogued as "artsy, ethereal, abstract, deep"
And more importantly
WHO is going to get the MONEYS for the book sales? I want a 21% and the rights of it.

The two tears entwined as the Pepsi bottles began to shift into the compactor.
Ben Franklin janked Charles' naked hand,
'No time to meet the air, amicable and rising, my boy, look on to the glass'.
Past the exterior, a sort of Atlantean view closed in.
The ship was docking in Peptown shortly enough. Debbie, dripping and warm, handed the tape to Charles who clasped it gratifyingly.
'We don't have time to remove your gay, just put your clothes on, we have dead souls to collect -' Gogol insisted
'B-but'

I'd say the story is only just about to begin

ive been out for awhile, someone give me a quick run down on whats happening in the plot rn

It was at that moment that Charles decided to recount the tale of how he lost his virginity to the comical trio before him.

charles has become gay
pastebin.com/ZgqEjtt0

Bro weren't you listening? He's not gay

We need to decide what the cover of the book should be
1: dubs becomes cover image
2: go to nullk.github.io/penguin.html and make the penguin classic cover

The pope kissing nigger feet

Attached: 9626d578ec167cde692c008db3ec65bcc2a896bbbf1059a9672b1ab4787bfb50.jpg (682x1024, 172K)

so close

Attached: sad wojak crying.jpg (535x577, 40K)

I like the simplicity of OP's in the PDF. Maybe a smallish picture below the text.

Attached: my diary desu.png (500x775, 297K)

here we got the official cover

hi fsjal

where's the new thread?

virginity [5]

Peptown [6]

(Footnote [5]:)
In particularly, the sense of rather-childish limitation on Charles' consciousness before he stepped into the institution of greater divinity, in this case through a moral baptism. Charles understood that Debbie, yes, was a golem born of lust and glutton, yet he realised touching her hand, that he was able to share a moment of higher consciousness with her by acknowledging her life-giving essence. This was all the more made difficult because her cheer-leading shirt was soaked in Pepsi and her tits were rocking. Yet, Charles was able to harness his temperance and wait until he had cleansed the bowels of his moral hell before he were to court her. Charles had lost his innocence in his arousal, his boner was proof of that and the blushing women aboard the ship confirmed his readiness, still he had regained a part of his Logos for the time being. Gogol's absent attempt at claiming Charles' soul was proof of this, bloomed state. What makes this observation more confusing is that Charles' autistic reverence for Pepsi made it all the more difficult to tell what Charles was lusting for exactly.

(Footnote [6]:)
Peptown, established in 1898BC, South of Cygoyim IV, North of Dakota,
is the famed birthplace of Gary Van Damme, estranged brother of Jean Claude Van Damme and the setting for the Gungan scenes in Star Wars: Episode I [7], specifically Otoh Gunga.

(Footnote [7]:)
Rumour has it that the civilians of Peptown adored George Lucas so much that they gave him the keys to his very own mansion overlooking the local falls. This was in tandem with a nice goodie bag, a loyal Peptonian wife and immortality, if he so chooses to return.

here, just made it updated pdf too