ITT: We write a story, one sentence at a time. I'll start

I slap the receiver with my semi-erect phallus in greeting, feeling the the small holes over the microphone like tiny pinpricks of white space on my glans.

>the ringtone
This is why we can't have nice things.

Attached: Wojak mouth.jpg (933x1118, 78K)

And then I wondered to myself why I had a rotary dial phone in 2019.

I fell asleep then woke up at 10 am, took a shower, ate breakfast, took a cab and went to the mall to get a new phone.

Still dealing with my two other phones, my third phone started ringing.

The morning was so wonderful, I began to wonder if I should wander around for a bit instead of doing such boring chores.

But a lewd image entered my mind, so instead I began to slowly pull myself off.

A large man came up to the cab's door and knocked on the window.

i picked up the phone, it was a woman, she told me she was a secret admirer.

I groaned loudly

then after all this I lived another 80 years and died, the end(can't come back from this you faggots).

he said do you have some spare change?
I gave him a dollar then walked to the mall.

I laughed out loud, the idea of someone admiring me is absurd.

I began to pull myself off faster.

And then I found the woman and beat her to death with a metal rod.

my wife said "honey who are talking with?"

Actually, I misspoke, she didn't say that at all.

I turned around, but no one was there, so I continued walking to the mall.

I saw a woman with a dog at the mall and beat her to death too.

...metaphorically speaking.

And also with a crowbar

"Wow, this day sure is wild, ain't it right, partner?" I heard the dog say.

I checked the time on my Patek Philippe officer's watch; the time was half four.

your welcome faggot

I pressed play on my 2010 iPod Shuffle and a song began to play.

DAAAAAAVID FOSTER WALLACE
GOOD GOOD AMERICAN WRITER

I threw my 2010 iPod Shuffle into the nearest wall, leaving a small crack in the brickwork.

The thought of Wallace's face brought me finally to climax, my white seed descending upon the concrete footpath like white bird poop.

And there's something terribly sad and banal about that.

youtu.be/b7k0a5hYnSI

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I said, pontificating.

(AMATEURISH SOCIOPOLITICAL INTERJECTION)

I haven’t showered in four days and my living room smells like my sweaty, vinegary balls, but I am posting in too many Yea Forums threads right now to get off my fat arse.

Oh wait sorry wrong thread.

--CHAPTER TWO--

I can’t stop squeezing my balls then sniffing my hand - I disgust myself as I do this but for some reason the aroma, though putrid, is enticing, and I feel a sort of caustic film cover the skin of my palms.

I am due to receive a parcel between half two and half three - will I muster up the energy to shower by then or will the postman be greeted by the stench of my awful balls as I open the door and sign for my parcel, getting bollock juice all over his handset?

I wait impatiently for someone to reply but they don’t so I just keep talking about my balls, revealing grotesque and depressing details about my personal life to strangers on the internet.

I closed multiple tabs; ashamed, but zen.

The Skype app on my desktop rings.

Then, just as I am about to answer, I receive a call on my third phone

“Hello, this is Natasha from Smith, Smith, Smith and Smith solicitors, did you know you may be due back PPI from your bank or building society?”

As I listen to Natasha I can smell the bollocks on my hand and briefly feel embarrassed before remembering the smellophone has not yet been invented.

“Society's ’tis but mere an spook mine dearest,” I chortled.

“Sorry sir I don’t know what you mean, but if you can give me your sort code and account number we can start the claim process?”

“"hunter2", "31337",” I lie, disdainfully.

“Sorry sir those are not valid, I need the six digit sort code and the eight digit account number on the front of your debit card please.”

“And I need respite from the dreary §-pushers of the world.”

“Tosser...” says Natasha as she hangs up on me; looking down I see I am erect, having not spoken to a real woman for four days.”

I consider answering the door naked when the parcel comes - perhaps the driver will be a woman too.

then i woke up from my dream after dreaming all that crazy stuff and played WOW classic for 12 hours

CHAPTER THREE

An hour to go until the delivery and my testicle funk is only strengthening as the time wears on.

I stand up, phone in hand and feeling slightly dizzy, and decide once and for all I am going to stop shitposting for a bit, have a shower and wash my revolting balls before the parcel arrives.

when i entered in the bathroom Pepe the frog was swimming in my bath tub.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I slip running out the shower to answer the door, break my left wrist on the laminate flooring and instead of going to the minor injuries unit like a sane person add another post to this thread - at least my balls now smell like “orange blossom and argan oil” Imperial Leather.

I open the door with my toes and stare into two longitudinal legs covered in hair and kilt.

“HOI! YOU! Ahm yer doonstairs neighbour and ah keep hearin you fuckin laughin like a hyena aw night and noo aw fuckin day, ahve got tae get tae pipe band practice with a soond night’s sleep ye cunt, also yet hoose smells like sweaty bawsacks.”

As I lie barely concealing my modesty on the floor with a damp towel, looking up at the towering Scotsman stand before me, realising I have been laughing at my own shitty awful posts all night, morning and now afternoon, I wonder how my life has come to this.

And then suddenly the Norf FC fan standing above me spotted my glimmering dildo in the corner of the room and this set off his homophobic mood.

All in rapid succession the third phone begins ringing, and then the first, and then my skype, and then the second, and then a fourth I forgot to mention, and then the Scotsman's eyes cross and I see his cock stiffen under his kilt and he begins braying "buh-rang, buh-rang, buh-rang."

I rouse from what feels like several hours of unconsciousness having apparently been battered by the angry Scotsman only to find my door wide open and a “sorry you missed your delivery” slip nestling on my scrotum - yet again fate has conspired to stop me getting my beloved dragon dildos.

Reader, I used a toilet brush.

I cleaned my penis with dark water, dark as the negro that was dancing with coconut shells as a bikini the killing friday night of 1997, a night I can still smell today, a night in which harassment mechanisms, sharp and greenish, always drawing eerie circles in the air turned against my mouth, just another hole to plug pieces in, the second when I felt the spongy birth of my disgraces I recalled, and I cried dark tears that flew to my penis, completing the unfinished process I just started

My fifth and sixth phones rang a carillon to my cock, and I answered them with both.

"Both" meaning both my opposable, femurlength penii.

saved

--CHAPTER THREE--

I saw drones. I looked through the window, and I by this I dont mean tge physical window of my house, but a societal window, and I gazed upom the reality outside reality, a primordial swamp of raw unused ideas, beyond the roads and settlements, a virginal ooze untainted by the limits of the Earthly mind, and I behold the King of the kingless land, being born from an egg and the egg itself, the Superman. Then I went back to my business

"LOCK HER UP! LOCK HER UP!" I chanted at the Trump rally.

And so it was that God herself appeared on stage, ready to duel.

“My grandfather's deck has no pathetic cards, but what it does have is this: Enlightenment Skepticism!”

I sat there gloomily, reflecting upon my dolorous innocence

I chugged an impressive quantity of onions, and stood there in silent and nakedness, waiting for a cute traditionalist girlfriend to jump into my mouth, but that wouldn't happens, so I decided to man up. Threw all my HRT pills to the water supply, and left my subterranean concret uterus to catch some vagina-dotated human.

My microchip phone implant, with transmitter and receiver on forehead and right hand, respectively, buzzed as Robozombie Kant dialed me.

"what is it this time you want, ka--" he interrupted me with a barked "HELLO, MY DEAR BOY." I slipped inside my silk robe with the polka dot elephants as I walked out the front door. Beginning my journey to find the slim sweet pun tang of my most inebriated fever dreams.

and suddenly out of nowhere HYPER REALISTIC BLOOD

The fairer sexes all had suspicious chins, and their slanted eyes suspected something from me that I could not provide, like a lie that starts small and sweet and innocent, but grows with subsequent retellings until the story can no longer sustain the weight of its own contradictions, just as I couldn’t withstand the weight of these promiscuous modern women.

As a side note it occurs to me my living room no longer smells like foetid sweaty bollocks but the pleasant and refreshing scent of floral based shower gel.

A cancerous growth of fancy word-tissue hardly redeems the dreadful joviality of the folklore and the easy, too easy, allegory.

Then the world was invaded by gayniggers from outer space

All the world's bacteria convened and directed their concentrated efforts to the gayniggers from outer space. The gaynigger's extraterrestrial immune system proved ineffective and they quickly perished. However, their decaying corpses exuded a gas that turned any who inhaled it into a raging homosexual. After catching a whiff of a gaynigger corpse, OP went to his computer and made this thread.

The christian priest spoke up to the homosexual reanimated corpses - "uhh.. attention! I would like to share with you the word of our Lord god. He said that marriage is between adam and eve not adam and steve and to oppose this is to sin against him so please stop. Thank you."

THE MACHINE TWISTS OUR MINDS INTO SUCH FUNNY SHAPES
LIKE GREY MATTER DINOSAUR NUGGETS
WE SIMMER, BLEACHED AND PROSTRATE

The End

Said a transexual mutt from the other side of the street, wearing a shirt with the Reddit logo