Describe this man in your best prose

fpbp

"Death before dishonor." Ruddy wheezed as he forced his enormous tub-like torso in a menacingly pose. His spine protested, but he managed to keep his posture straight - for now.
"W-what?" The thin ginger man looked up from his nintendo switch.
Ruddy lumbered closer.
"Death before dishonor I said. Do you agree?"
His breath smelled of pickled herring and onions.
"Sorry I dont know wha-"
Ruddy"s fat yet strong hand roughly gripped his victim's shirt. A smile formed over his two unshaven chins. He might be fat, but his grip was strong enough to keep this ginger in place. This one was going nowhere.
His tiny piggish black eyes sparkled with glee.
He leaned even closer, blowing out rancid breath.
"I recognize a traitor when I see one."
Ruddy"s greasy veins increased their pumping through his clogged heart.
"-And im a red-blooded-american."
He smashed the ginger against a nearby wall. His large yet somehow hard stomach, as if it was dangerously overfilled with gas desperate to escape, bumped against his victim.
The force of his weight smashed the breath out of the gingee, and his nitendo switch clattered to the curb. Ruddy"s tub pinned him against the wall.
"I bet youre one of them basedboys." Ruddy whispered, thick swollen tongue flicking out and tasting a stream of salty sweat running over his now reddening face.
God he was excited. God it felt good keeping his country safe. His grimy hands grabbled over the thin, trembling man against the wall. Something stirred into his too tight pants. His hairy asscheeks were pressed against each other like cemented bricks - and between those two cinderblocks was a miasma of sweat and poorly wiped shit - and Ruddy wasnt one to shower.
"No reply? Well that means ye guilty." He dragged his prey into a nearby alley.
A hobo across the street loudly proclaimed his love for jesus. For the rest the street was abandoned.
"Please sir" the ginger pleaded as he was thrown onto a greasy matress.
"Dont worry, Ill be gentle." And he bodyslammed down onto the ginger. He heard something crack, and his victim stopped struggling. Dead or just couldnt move? Either way, Ruddy didnt care, as his little sausage like fingers reached down to unzip his tight jeans.
"Im going to ragdoll this ginger fuck", he thought, heart racing to a new record pace. He groaned, and his exhausted heart gave out in a delium of rapine eagerness. His pants, still tight wound around his crack, trembled as the dying Ruddy sinultanously ejaculated and shat himself. A last sigh, and he turned cold. His heavy corpse entombed his victim, a final loving embrace that continues even in death.

He big

He stood 6 feet tall, 3 wide, blocking my path

Henry the VIII ready to ask for more wives
Oil on canvas
1521

HE LIVED IT

fucks sake Yea Forums is so desgost

The towering mass of Hellenic flesh and blubber stood somewhat clumsily yet ever so menacingly. His upturned nose bulged out of his his face and his eyes fought their way through fat and gave a look most terrifying.

youtube.com/watch?v=-9MVOgLQ6Q0

He is actually ethnically Armenian.

This was the one.

The bloatlord.

'Cause you belong to the city
You belong to the night
Livin' in a river of darkness
Beneath the neon lights
You were born in the city
Concrete under your feet
It's in your moves, it's in your blood
You're a man of the street

what, why

I can't, unless up there is the corner, or its the street. I could at least look down it then and see the entrance to the stairwell descending from the sidewalk into the CTA and then I'm good, home. I have less than seven minutes. It has to be there or else its fucked. This is so fucked. Fucking hell. I've been walking for a half an hour trying to find this thing. I just need to find any CTA station, anything that isnt a bus or the ride share services I've been banned by, I assume, MAC, because how else could they have known? The quality of VM you get for gratis has really fallen and I'm completely dependent upon it. This is no way to do things. I need to just print out the map next time, at least for the egress. I know the entrance rests on a triangular patch of pavement shaped by the transectings of two avenues and a hypotenusal truck route. It stands out, and the streets all seemed to have their own characteristic traffic, vehicle varieties and pace, but at this late hour everything was empty and now I've no sense of anything. It truly does not matter where you walk in this city, there are fertility goddesses everywhere, Jesus. Fuck all these fucking cameras in this fucking dystopian hellhole. When I'm done with this shit I'm cutting again and never shaving again. Fucking boof your own crypto you fucking chink dipshits. Fuck me.

He was fat in a muscled sort of way with a sandy, trimly haired face, taut inflated cheeks, flat brown eyes and a thick neck. He wore a black hoodie with a green camouflaged jacket and roomy black denims. His body weight flattened his sneakers into rubbery pallets that propped a wallful stance: mid-street, posed like a colossus, absorbing every grain of optical clarity from everything beyond the haze of his protection.

he fatto.

Yall aroused? Next one is with Warwik. That little goblin deserves a good tale.

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Stem FVD

What does this mean?

Like a promethean Rhodes, as a colossus, his gait bestrode the environ that was his demesne. Like Prometheus he gave away the knowledge of fire - albeit in the form of a cocktail ascribed to the doubtlessly inferior mobster, Molotov. Unlike Prometheus, no hellenic eagle could hope to breach the vastness of that hull and attack his long suffering liver.

He lacked weakness, and a neck; that this zeugma manifest itself in this was by no means coincidence! His nose was not a rebuke of his invulnerability; hardened by years of defending his neighbourhood "Greg's", this titan was a desecration of the southern attempt at 'civilisation'.

'The Norf' shone through, too, in the contours of his visage. This beauty rebutted Aristophanes; became the new object of Narcissus' adoration; the envy of Aphrodité and the 'victor sublimissime' of Paris' golden apple. His lips pout as old halal sausages, embraced in deadly lust. His eyes, flat to geometric precision defying Archimedes, and duller than the tobacco grime that lined this Adonis' lungs.

His wisdom was unquestionable - as Plato recorded Socrates' reporting the ancient Oracle at Delphii, "you are the wisest of the greeks for you, alone, know that you know nothing." - so to was this augur of the arcane's insight. " 'Ngbu! eeas ah grate deawl, an onleea fogh teeeeww 'undred milliiian! Trust me mate, 'ats a bargin if i evah saur one".
This was no brat of Birmingham. This was Bill, and he was hungry.

Hou je kanker bek met je FVD, sukkel

gebaseerd and roodgepild mijn vriend-aan-huis ;)

There are no words to describe him other than, "You have to live it."

He was a towering giant of the physical and metaphysical variety, his strength matched only by the cool wisdom in his visage, with a deep, rumbling, yodeling voice attributed to his powerful Eastern European heritage. The ground quaked beneath his gravity defying stride, bemoaning the burden of grace on its meek trodden plain as he began to advance in your direction. Stopping so abruptly that you fear for the rotation of the Earth, he projects a heavy arm headed by impossibly mammoth hands. You take it, trembling, your hand disappearing into the fold of those mighty members. Divine providence envelopes you. You have been touched by a god.

He that bloateth shall be made as a god upon the earth, so spake the prophets. And to Adidarusalem in the year of the fifth Shig, with great footfalls that brought the ground to trembling, the Bloated made his way. From the iron watering pools drew he a parade of gopniks, and their swarming was as the coming of a vast murder of Corvus Blyat. But lo on his leeward flank a harlot bedecked in wine-dark cloth had caught by witchcraft his image in her glowing palms. And therein was subdued all the might of his Bloating, stripped from him by the Forty Laughing Thots that dwell in mystic coven on the shores of Instag Ram, where all mighty adiposity is drained from sight as the fish are taken by that great Filter in the seas Ballaena. And the Landwhales were as his sisters in the Bloatless regions, and he fell into darkness.

He looks like he's about 5'7"

185 cm/205 kg

I swear to you, before my very eyes stood the descendant of Ajax himself. In many features corrupted by the blood of the Turk, to be sure, he nevertheless possessed the heroic posture of an Achaean Bull, unconquerable by mere Turkic seed. Immovable, lethal, threatening in mass, yet self-possessed in such a dignified manner that it stirred in me romantic imaginings of Old Hellas.

a hulking army experiment

Unmoggable, magnificent beast of a man.

Fearsome booty, thick frame draped in deep black, broad shoulders festooned in military camo, his worn sneakers bedackled him on to the concrete. A long legged vixen stood in awe, bowlegged and captivated, gazing on into the chasm between his cheeks.

Sunset found him squatting in the gym, groaning. Every squat was harder than the one before, and rose slower. By the time the moon came up he was chugging four scoops.

Based.

is this whole thread a ruse for some surreptitious dutch purpose?

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I'd meet him at Vito's with Noodles to do a dude while he's slurping spaghetti.

Jesus, those punches are sloppy and slow. He would never catch a decent fighter.

Thought I was on /fit/ for a second.

Go on

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N-

He tried to hide his self from others. The baggy clothing, the camoflauge, the common facial hair. All of his efforts to hide his anxiety were betrayed by his obviously obese body. One could tell from a single sight that he ate to quell his doubts

He was a man who knew how to get things done. But in those transcendant spurtz of self-awareness, which so often accompany solitude, he would find himself questionting whether or not he is the brains behind his own actions; or, if he is the pawn of a mind beyond him.

There stood a large boy. He wore hunter greens over a black hoodie. He had runners pants and fresh runners shoes. The boy hadn’t scratch his chin for a couple of days.

At first I thought 'what man?' and then I caught the faint outline of his bulk. All in black, he has incorporated the night into himself and in his camo jacket the living world has enveloped him. His face as well, how it curls into itself to leave no inward expression on its outward features, hides his chin beneath flab and stubble. There is something seductive in his posture. He is both challenging and forbidding. I wonder if I pushed him if he'd wobble or fall or if he'd dissipate before me like the smoke from the cigarettes he looks as though he smokes.

Noice

>Unlike Prometheus, no hellenic eagle could hope to breach the vastness of that hull

Not bad user, not bad

Low IQ khazar labo*r party voter

Were taking our country back. Nobody fucks with black pete

Good.

Projection. Our Aechan BVLL only eats the ripest and leanest of gyros meats.

I'll make a rap for him.

Uh, uh, yeah, yeah
Bloatmax got his stance lax
Not afraid of them scrawny niggas
Who got their legs waxed.
He's got no emotional triggers
he's gettin bigga and bigga,
till the suns lookin thinna,
Bloatmax will be the winna, UH.
Finally I have only one thing to say.
Anyone who messes with him will pay.
Bull fightin without even sayin ole,
cuz his fists will make sure it's the end of it's days.

>Low IQ
>khazar
user...

stately, plump buck mulligan yadda yadda yadda

>Were taking our country back. Nobody fucks with black pete
>black pete
Is there a major nation with less culture than Holland? No wonder an obvious cringey meme like Baudet can trick you guys into thinking he's cultured and erudite.

wtf I want happy end
also I'm seriously concered about the ginger's sexual orientation... fictional NC is only merely acceptable if both are gay:(

Are you from Scandinavia by chance?

how do you be more like ruddy psychologically and emotionally?

face of a walrus
built like a tank,
here comes the urangutang man

And there he stood, in the middle of the street, the yellow streetlights softly illuminating his presence.
He was a mountain of a man, a harmony of fat and muscle, combining to a vision of pure control. Clad in a green camo jacket, black hoodie and black college pants, he painted an astoundingly unmoving visage.
And his face. Slightly covered by the black hood, a shallow beard lining his jowls and small face. That face, which would decide who would live and who would die.

>Forty Laughing Thots that dwell in mystic coven on the shores of Instag Ram,
underrated

He fit in his clothes as well as he fit in life. Distressed pieces of cottons and disappointments. Never comfortable, relaxed fit, he held himself tense ready for the trouble his camouflage tried to hide from. Tiny unbalance feet in too small New Balances matched a child's hands and the child's innocence.

He is built like a russian slapping chambion, his head merging with his body, the hands of a baby, the face of a hog, dressed like a lone soul roaming the streets at night in search of oats.

It's been a long time since I have faced an opponent as fierce and impressive as your are, big man.

The BLOAT GOD cometh

So this guys is like seven foot seven, and that's just his width. He's a barrel with arms and a head. Fat but strong fat, this was intentional. He meant to end up like this. The sort of guy that inspired the legends about Ogers.

He is obese, but stands tall with such a neutral expression that one is not sure if he would crumble or stand when confronted.

His face reminded me of the word "caress". What does it mean to love another? Are we only seeking shattered glass to reunite the mirror that was once our soul? I cannot but think that desperate meanings have desperate needs; Instagram is a safest corner as any other. What do you have to do with freedom in order to judge my raggedness, my beauty, my search?

The man was a towering hulk of fresh; somehow more unclean that the most unvegan of dishes. Yet at the same time a distinct odor came from his lips; was it the brutal silence that stood between us? Gentle are all the beastly giants of men; our women sinneth with Angels and you judge me still? I may be a man, but he was a the golden calf of moses's people; dressed in iron curtains and puma trousers. God was just a float away

Belwas was a slave, bred and trained in Meereen. He is a veteran pit-fighter who earned a reputation at the fighting pits of Meereen. He claims to have never lost a fight. His signature move is to allow each opponent to cut him once, then to go on the offensive and kill them. He is proud of his scars, pointing that Daenerys can count them to find out how many opponents he has slain. He finds Dothraki "horse boys" to be amusing opponents. He clams to have killed many of them in the fighting pits, and that their bells jingle when they die.

nice