I'll just leave this here.

Google confirmed for theft.

Google confirmed for theft.

t

What are you implying?

Bang.

Again? I told your mom that I needed a break.

Mark I've noticed that you've been trying to get on top of me recently.

Again? I told your mom that I needed a break.

that pomegranate might fly with greg, but not in these parts. i'll fight you right now if i have to

I'll just leave this here.

I'll just leave this here.

Pokemon was a horrible show that should burn in hell. It was so bad it made Digimon look good. You and your family should be ashamed for endorsing and reproducing icons that lead to inspiration and identification of a repetitive and inhumane working class society where the fantastic possibilities of mystic creatures is undermined by values of nihilistic success and teenage carelessness.

Pokemon was a horrible show that should burn in hell. It was so bad it made Digimon look good.

This is my childhood you're trashing. (Unless you speak of the later generations, in which case go on.)

This is my childhood you're trashing. (Unless you speak of the later generations, in which case go on.)

You never had a childhood. You were given the internet, which is a hollow substitute for true happiness and a delusion that modern society instills to make you believe that you had a privileged experience. You idealized a man trapped in the body of a young boy, seeking to escape the hole of plot that has been reprocessed and regurgitated to make you into a consumer of the American Dream. Four-square, pogs, warheads, and cocaine were what we lived and died on. Knock-out displayed our godly athletic abilities and recess was a period of lawless independency. We crafted our own childhood or we died in the process.

I love you Swerve.

NOTHIN' YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.

I started out my childhood with a raspberry warhead and a seven minute mile. I had to be diligent to survive. I scoured the classrooms for leftover warheads and sour patch kids. Anything I could find, I kept in a steel box of Buzz Lightyear. Eventually I learned how to work the system. I knew the Leibowitz family would trade three apple green warheads for two raspberry red warheads. The Ivanovs would take every apple green warhead and give back two blueberry warheads. I would then go to the Parks who would take my blueberry warheads and give me back an equal amount of raspberry ones. It was a tough business, but I managed to build myself up from the bottom and become a well known dealer.

There were some conflicts. Some groups wanted to put a hit on me because they noticed I was starting to become successful, too successful. Usually these hitmen would target my asian identity in order to knock me out of the sugar business. Everyone knows asians can't play sports and knock-out was the rule of the land. If you got knocked-out you were gone from the business. Everything hinged on a hip-sway, a push, and a swish. Luckily for me I had allies. Allies who knew their comrade was in need and helped me survive when they were behind. In return I helped them when they needed to be covered. This was the rule of the playground. A band of brothers gathering together to forge their own purpose on this cold, lonely basketball pavement.

That was deep.

I started out my childhood with a raspberry warhead and a seven minute mile. I had to be diligent to survive. I scoured the classrooms for leftover warheads and sour patch kids. Anything I could find, I kept in a steel box of Buzz Lightyear. Eventually I learned how to work the system. I knew the Leibowitz family would trade three apple green warheads for two raspberry red warheads. The Ivanovs would take every apple green warhead and give back two blueberry warheads. I would then go to the Parks who would take my blueberry warheads and give me back an equal amount of raspberry ones. It was a tough business, but I managed to build myself up from the bottom and become a well known dealer.

There were some conflicts. Some groups wanted to put a hit on me because they noticed I was starting to become successful, too successful. Usually these hitmen would target my asian identity in order to knock me out of the sugar business. Everyone knows asians can't play sports and knock-out was the rule of the land. If you got knocked-out you were gone from the business. Everything hinged on a hip-sway, a push, and a swish. Luckily for me I had allies. Allies who knew their comrade was in need and helped me survive when they were behind. In return I helped them when they needed to be covered. This was the rule of the playground. A band of brothers gathering together to forge their own purpose on this cold, lonely basketball pavement.

Really familiar.

Where is it from

Really familiar.

Where is it from

I wrote it out. All two paragraphs of it. And it was horribly condensed. I had to omit the smoking sixth graders, the bombshell geometry teacher, and the gangster gym teacher. I also had to skip my expulsion due to being set up in a sting operation by my principle and the local police force as well as the time when I got wrongfully accused of plagiarism twice. One time which caused me to get expelled from John Hopkins University.

Pokemon was a horrible show that should burn in hell. It was so bad it made Digimon look good. You and your family should be ashamed for endorsing and reproducing icons that lead to inspiration and identification of a repetitive and inhumane working class society where the fantastic possibilities of mystic creatures is undermined by values of nihilistic success and teenage carelessness.

You never had a childhood. You were given the internet, which is a hollow substitute for true happiness and a delusion that modern society instills to make you believe that you had a privileged experience. You idealized a man trapped in the body of a young boy, seeking to escape the hole of plot that has been reprocessed and regurgitated to make you into a consumer of the American Dream. Four-square, pogs, warheads, and cocaine were what we lived and died on. Knock-out displayed our godly athletic abilities and recess was a period of lawless independency. We crafted our own childhood or we died in the process.

I started out my childhood with a raspberry warhead and a seven minute mile. I had to be diligent to survive. I scoured the classrooms for leftover warheads and sour patch kids. Anything I could find, I kept in a steel box of Buzz Lightyear. Eventually I learned how to work the system. I knew the Leibowitz family would trade three apple green warheads for two raspberry red warheads. The Ivanovs would take every apple green warhead and give back two blueberry warheads. I would then go to the Parks who would take my blueberry warheads and give me back an equal amount of raspberry ones. It was a tough business, but I managed to build myself up from the bottom and become a well known dealer.

There were some conflicts. Some groups wanted to put a hit on me because they noticed I was starting to become successful, too successful. Usually these hitmen would target my asian identity in order to knock me out of the sugar business. Everyone knows asians can't play sports and knock-out was the rule of the land. If you got knocked-out you were gone from the business. Everything hinged on a hip-sway, a push, and a swish. Luckily for me I had allies. Allies who knew their comrade was in need and helped me survive when they were behind. In return I helped them when they needed to be covered. This was the rule of the playground. A band of brothers gathering together to forge their own purpose on this cold, lonely basketball pavement.

 Spoiler

Excuse me madam, there seems to be a hole in your reality.