Yea Forums writes a novel one sentence at a time

Your anus, anus your.

On a breezy summer day in Iran, anthropologist Dick Cummings found the body of Jesus perfectly preserved and nailed to the cross.... and they were right - Jesus was black.

My satisfaction depended on past nights anal pleasure which was, and is, the passion of my life.

"Holy.... I want more!" screamed Cassandra as chad plowed her over the kitchen counter, while I made them pancakes and looked on.

My prostate gave out years ago, but my doctor's aware of my condition and has assisted in letting me maximize anal pleasure for the foreseeable future.

Most conducive to my pelagic contumely of gastric dysphoria was the Carnatic passage of death-molested nutrition compressed into a dense, wet-petalled subway train that inevitably dislodged itself from the air and life of my internal world, only to find baptismal rebirth in an ancient pool of porcelain, splashing into timelessness itself like a silent frog, and hugging the tunnel to Hell like a father come home from the war.

rerolling

I met „Dick Gee“ in the backyard of Howards greasy bar, a known place to get juicy rods and melting hot holes.

Rerolling for this user

Anal, annul, annual, animal, mandible.

rolling for

regarding those past, meaningful events that so happen to have awakened within me my unquenchable thirst for cock, I shall narrate them, faithfully as they were:

Can I go and pee now?

This is a tale of swords and holes.

The damage to my prostate often leaves me wondering if I have to pee... It was this anal pleasure that I strived for, and this that led me to Berlin where in the clubs I saw Joanna Newsom many times before she finally pegged me.

kek

He wanted to leap, but leap he can not, because leaping in any direction would only landing him straight into the abyss.

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"No," says Joanna Newsom as she pegs me into oblivion on the balcony of the club for all of the city to see.

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"Shut up, you cancerous Kekistani fuck," I said to the basement-dwelling neckbearded NEET whose soul had been fighting for control of my body since Chad fucked Stacy in front of me at prom.

The last thing I wanted to do was cut the body into pieces, but it had to fit into the toilet somehow.

Everyone said Yea Forums was good, I remember like it was yesterday: "Nobody: Absolutely Nobody: Not a single soul: Somebody: 'Yea Forums is good if you like faggots'" and as I do like faggots I was immidiately intrigued.

rerollin'

If you can slice up a body as if it were a fish, your mind can accept peeing on it as if it were shit - and I really had to pee.

It was like shaking the last drop of piss from your dick.

And then I heard my buddy Sargon shouting to me from down the hall. "Have you even read Loki? Ha- Ha- Have you even read Loki???"

I'd consider stomping the body into paste, but then I remembered that old meme with the grape lady.

All I wanted was tasteful banter @ winebar with GF

Loki? What? Did he mean Lolita? My piss was starting to swirl into the dead body's blood

Aren't we all just shitposts in an ephemeral thread?

If dubs then everything ITT gets in

Including muh dick

"No, Sargon, you fat fuck!" I screamed at the ceiling, "I told you I haven't read your shitty cartoons, and I'm not going to!"

I killed Sargon and added his corpse to the bowl.

Lila's caved in skull levers itself upright and glares at me balefully. "You better get rid of me before your dumbfuck roomates teabag my face."

What is this, a toilet for elephants?

Somehow he'd escaped from the bathroom at the local Café Anál.

Mother had taught him to joint poultry and small game, and a human wasn't much different. In fact, maybe getting a nice, big meat grinder would open up some fun new opportunities...

Apparently he'd chewed through the ball gag again.

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So of course I took an axe to Sargon and he bled out in awfully long and slow spurts out of the neck which made him nice and smooth for buttfucking then once satiated I deposited his body into the bathtub and pissed on that too.

rollin'

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No.

This was the historical Sargon, of course.

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This was one hundred percent that fat, illiterate faggot that had managed, by virtue of being such a fat, belligerent cocksucker, to take down an entire political party.

Just as of now, he came to the inevitable conclusion. There were never any options, any possibilities. The sun was fading. He couldn't help.

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I had made a habit of kidnapping relatively obscure historical figures and keeping them in a special room in my apartment, and apparently this one, in keeping with his legendary ferocity, had chewed through the ball gag again.

Neo-China arrives from the future.

The future arrives from the past.

I shouted, "Of course the bathroom exists conceptually!" but he didn't understand.

book gay

It was a German toilet, since I take great pleasure in examining my shit.

rolling, dammit

"Why did you put me with that fat ugly faggot?" He demanded, frothing in rage, whereupon I realized he was still chewing on the gag, "He keeps yelling at me that antifa are the real nazis."

Gay poo pee poo.

The resident schizo neighbor said, "Klages was right."

OP here.
Trips for chapter title.

Contumely.

High speed pandemonium

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I thought he was reaching for my gun, but it turns out he was just sexting my wife and my brain is like 90% amygdala.

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Something fucking retarded like a shipwrecked eggs benedict in my stomach or whatever.

Religion is just egoism in an altruism costume.

the wind was so cold on his sweaty chest. The sore throat at this point was inevitable, so he might as well enjoy his afternoon.

Formerly Chuck's.

rolling yet again

And I spoke unto him, in the softest of whispers: "Maybe nobody's done barracudas yet."

I just realized that becketts trilogy is written like a green text story. huh.

Chester "Chuck" Fuckingham had been a good friend of ours, and since his death there had hardly been a night where I didn't wake up screaming and trying to rub the memory of his prolapsed anus out of my eyes.

Chuck had been a friend of mine, but I'd had to do it to him.

Rolling for this guy.

And then I fucked a lot of black chicks with my enormous juicy cock. the end.

Jesus, why didn't my 8th grade history teacher not mention who exactly owned slaves? I always figured it was some tanned skin, handle-bar mustache bearing W.A.S.P. It's crazy that I've spent the first three decades of my life with the inaccurate picture floating in my head. That generic southern slave owner should have had curly hair, a long nose, and eyes full of inhumanity.

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"Betting is closed, Mr. Pascal" said the clerk as he closed the window.

Rerolling