madforbradOkay ill write somthing out for you madforbrad maybe it will help you rethink your opinion about this shit, even though your basing it on a lifestyle you know as much about as I know about fucking computer programming, i.e its based on ignorance and a lack of referential experiances to base it on.
--------------

Most Pick Up Artists from the community have had shitty childhoods. They were teased and rejected by almost all girls they encountered since elementry school they lacked experiance with women completely they were socially inept and had no social intelligence what so ever. HE was the guy who killed all the jokes in high school, The guy who always tried to get your approval and your attention in any way he possibly could.

They were DEPRESSED, MISERABLE PEOPLE that suffered a lot and then one day this "loser guy" stumbles across a website or a book that says. WE CAN HELP YOU FIX YOUR LIFE, FIX YOUR WOMEN PROBLEMS. And the guy goes WOW! you mean I don't have to masturbate the the sleeve of my favourite jacket anymore? it was a rebirth and an awakening for him.

It's like living half your life in complete poverty and then one day waking up with a winning lottery ticket in your hand. All of a sudden all doors open for you, you enter into a universe of infinite possiblities in WHICH YOU ARE ONE OF THEM.

I have hung out and met a lot of these guys for almost 2 years now, I know a lot about them and i've seen and EXPERIANCED really fucked up shit would make you rethink social boundaries and limitations, I've seen guys walk up to A COMPLETELY RANDOM, STRANGER GIRL and with ONLY the use of his bodylanguage make out with her, without saying a single fucking word.

They worked really fucking hard though, they are really tough people they had to deal with every single tough situation imagineable, they are social scientests they will walk up to you completely under the radar even if your with your big strong boyfriends and next thing you know you'll be thinking "Wow who is this guy!! hes so interesting blah blah blah"

it's called indirect game.

and I would have to write a 4 page essay on what it is, so if you are really interested just go out and get styles book and save me the trouble.

Okay ill write somthing out for you madforbrad maybe it will help you rethink your opinion about this shit, even though your basing it on a lifestyle you know as much about as I know about fucking computer programming, i.e its based on ignorance and a lack of referential experiances to base it on.
--------------

Most Pick Up Artists from the community have had shitty childhoods. They were teased and rejected by almost all girls they encountered since elementry school they lacked experiance with women completely they were socially inept and had no social intelligence what so ever. HE was the guy who killed all the jokes in high school, The guy who always tried to get your approval and your attention in any way he possibly could.

They were DEPRESSED, MISERABLE PEOPLE that suffered a lot and then one day this "loser guy" stumbles across a website or a book that says. WE CAN HELP YOU FIX YOUR LIFE, FIX YOUR WOMEN PROBLEMS. And the guy goes WOW! you mean I don't have to masturbate the the sleeve of my favourite jacket anymore? it was a rebirth and an awakening for him.

It's like living half your life in complete poverty and then one day waking up with a winning lottery ticket in your hand. All of a sudden all doors open for you, you enter into a universe of infinite possiblities in WHICH YOU ARE ONE OF THEM.

I have hung out and met a lot of these guys for almost 2 years now, I know a lot about them and i've seen and EXPERIANCED really fucked up shit would make you rethink social boundaries and limitations, I've seen guys walk up to A COMPLETELY RANDOM, STRANGER GIRL and with ONLY the use of his bodylanguage make out with her, without saying a single fucking word.

They worked really fucking hard though, they are really tough people they had to deal with every single tough situation imagineable, they are social scientests they will walk up to you completely under the radar even if your with your big strong boyfriends and next thing you know you'll be thinking "Wow who is this guy!! hes so interesting blah blah blah"

it's called indirect game.

and I would have to write a 4 page essay on what it is, so if you are really interested just go out and get styles book and save me the trouble.

send me music.

sanikone@hotmail.com

a website that will remain nameless eh zev LOL.

Yeah it's a really REALLY good book im a quarter way through it right now and I can't put it down, well it's mostly due tot eh fact that I know or have heard of most of the people style is talking about in the book, but evenf or people who don't know about the community its a SICK book.

It just, just came out and it IS WORTH 42 bucks for it.

just go and buy it man, you wont regret it you can learn some crazy fucked up shit that will shatter your reality.

Oh HELLO boys and girls today is a very wonderful day in the history of this website and community, I remember it all started some time ago when a well read interesting young man that posted under the alter ego Tardcore stepped into an underground world of hopeless, meth addicted young adults who spent most of their time fucked up at parties in ghetto saint laurent flats with really loud music, easy girls and well... mdma, ketamine, meth, coke and other recreational drugs that "ENHANCED LEVELS OF CONCIOUSSNESS"

OOOOOOOOOOooooooooooKAY.

And what DID TARDCORE DO? How did he FEEL about their lifestyle, Well he basicly said that he is not going to play the Karma police so instead he entered the even more underground community and secret society of the global seduction community and after approaching and manipulating party girls buying tempatures he actually got a few good blow jobs and memorable moments with beautiful girls.

From there a well known member of the seduction community that has writen some famous books such as How to make love like a pornstar a bio of jenna jameson, Motely crue: The dirt another biography HAS FINALLY CAME OUT WITH HIS BOOK ON THE COMMUNITY

and it is going to be a BIG HIT all guys who are not socially savvy I reccomend checking out the story of men who spent blood, sweat and definately masturbated and not cried themselves to figuring out the hardknock lessons of love and relationships in Neil strausses a.k.a Style's new book

THE GAME: PENETRATING THE SECRET SOCIETY OF PICK UP ARTISTS.
by Neil Strauss



Hidden somewhere, in nearly every major city in the world, is an underground seduction lair. And in these lairs, men trade the most devastatingly effective techniques ever invented to charm women. This is not fiction. These men really exist. They live together in houses known as Projects. And Neil Strauss, the bestselling author, spent two years living among them, using the pseudonym Style to protect his real-life identity. The result is one of the most explosive and controversial books of the year -- guaranteed to change the lives of men and transform the way women understand the opposite sex forever.

On his journey from AFC (average frustrated chump) to PUA (pick-up artist) to PUG (pick-up guru), Strauss not only shares scores of original seduction techniques but also has unforgettable encounters with the likes of Tom Cruise, Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, Heidi Fleiss, and Courtney Love. And then things really start to get strange -- and passions lead to betrayals lead to violence. The Game is the story of one man’s transformation from frog to prince -- to prisoner in the most unforgettable book of the year. "

all jokes aside I just bought the book and its really good, if you know anything about the community as I know some guys on here are involved in it you will really like it because style goes really in depth about all the drama and shit that happened at project holywood and how fucked up mysterys life was.

[ www.chapters.indigo.ca ]

ummm... I'm not 100 percent sure but maybe dans la rue will take her for a few nights...

and try some churches or somthing.. or just let her sleep in your backyard.. or... with you.. after she showers.

you become energy.

life as a sperm would suck man, read sperm wars man.. shiit

FUCK BEING A SPERM.

OH shit I forgot, I especially wana be cool with El Leader Maximo I mean look at him fuck forget looking at him look at his fucking AVATAR jesus christ, Now that is a sight to behold, notice how the helmet fits on his rat shaped skull perfectly and the cigerette in his mouth brings out his best features.

definately ravewave vip top list worthy gotta say.

shiiit.. you know I do it to impress you guys... I mean fuck you two are so fucking cool and money that I just will do ANYTHING to get in your good books, you two are like the fucking celebrities of this joint... everyone whos reading this.. aren't these guys fucking the money or WHAT?!

friend just sent me this seems like some cool shit..

[ www.bassdrive.com ]

i like it so far.

jesus fucking christ.

"thanks for getting me laid dude! :) hahaha, that chick doin the backflips at ___, gave me a lift home that night, and, well ya, slept over and got down and dirty with me..."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

INFIELD WORKSHOPS ARE NOW IN SESSION, $50

GET LAID TODAY!!!!1111

hahahahha.

you know who you are, and that is fucking funny.

ill be on monkland bop bop bop

"you white boys suck at basketball". wereDRUNK you black magic mufuckaz!"

im quoting this as my new msn name

Hey Doc, I don't know if YOU know the lachine canal but its a great place to go biking, there is also mont royal, and i'm sure if you looked around some train tracks near your neighborhood you would probally find a suitable place to go for a little 'biking adventure'

I was chilllin with some people yesterday from the tams and I had my nerdwar sword with me and we were in saint laurent and barry was using my nerd sword to mess with people.

and out of nowhere this guy with black and pink hair and tight ass pants and a tight t-shirt and a I am gay all the way walk.. passes by and looks at barry and says "DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS!!"

and barry looks at him and just says DUNGEONS AND FAAAAAAAGOOOOTS!!!!!!!!

it was one of the funniest things of the week by far.


then there was tender vittles.. but.. nevermind.

fuck yuo...... tender vittlse!

Tender Vittles

TEEEEEeeNDAAAAAAAAR ViTTTTTLES!!

whos coming to tams tommorow?

tams are dope, im there tommorow aswell.

Fuaaaaaak yuo!!

hahaha I thought you'd like it Zev :p

no fuck you buddy!!

those jeans sound pretty money mike.

the kind people = sympathy
the mean people = intelligent human beings that are capable of critical thought and can tell a borderline personality when they come across one.

get grounded homegirl!!

peeeeeeeeeeeeace


of the pie.

Fight club was and is the best movie/book on north american culture, and on top of that its bad ass.

atleast when I was annoying everyone on the messageboards I was being an incoherant retard, you my dear are among the lowest of life forms, similar to that of a vagrant scum!!!1

this is ravewave! R-A-V-E-W-A-V-E

no one gives a FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!! after you realize that dicussing this bull shit will get you absoloutely nowhere you will become a geuninely happier person.

and after you stop conescutively double posting and being a stupid fuck people will like ya.

peaaaaaaaaanut butta jelly tiiiiiiime

that job sounds pretty money man.

god damnit!!! if your not going to read it WHATS THE POINT OF REPLYING??!!!! argh Fuck you to the thread!!!!

ARGGGGh!!! white dragon!!

alright chubby cheeks, don't you have to go clean up the 1 dollar cess pool.

Guts
by Chuck Palahniuk

Inhale.

Take in as much air as you can. This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.

A friend of mine, when he was 13 years old he heard about "pegging." This is when a guy gets banged up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have explosive hands-free orgasms. At that age, this friend's a little sex maniac. He's always jonesing for a better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some petroleum jelly. To conduct a little private research. Then he pictures how it's going to look at the supermarket checkout counter, the lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier. All the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned.

So my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients for a carrot cake. And Vaseline.

Like he's going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt.

At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down on it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except it hurts.

Then, this kid, his mom yells it's supper time. She says to come down, right now.

He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty clothes under his bed.

After dinner, he goes to find the carrot, and it's gone. All his dirty clothes, while he ate dinner, his mom grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring knife from her kitchen, still shiny with lube and stinky.

This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to confront him. And they never do. Ever. Even now that he's grown up, that invisible carrot hangs over every Christmas dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost carrot is hovering over all of them. That something too awful to name.

People in France have a phrase: "staircase wit." In French: esprit de l'escalier. It means that moment when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at a party and someone insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party....

As you start down the stairway, then-magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should've said. The perfect crippling put-down.

That’s the spirit of the stairway.

The trouble is, even the French don't have a phrase for the stupid things you actually do say under pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think or do.

Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about.

Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks would find them, a towel twisted around their kid's neck, the towel tied to the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm everywhere. Of course the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look ... better. Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad teen suicide.

Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how guys in the Middle East jack off different than we do here. This brother was stationed in some camel country where the public market sells what could be fancy letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of polished brass or silver, maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, either a big metal ball or the kind of fancy carved handle you'd see on a sword. This Navy brother says how Arab guys get their dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole length of their boner. They jack off with the rod inside, and it makes getting off so much better. More intense.

It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases. Russian phrases. Helpful jack-off tips.

After this, the little brother, one day he doesn't show up at school. That night, he calls to ask if I'll pick up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because he's in the hospital.

He's got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says how they all have to share the same television. All he's got for privacy is a curtain. His folks don't come and visit. On the phone, he says how right now his folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy.

On the phone, the kid says how-the day before-he was just a little stoned. At home in his bedroom, he was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and flipping through some old porno magazines, getting ready to beat off. This is after he's heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how Arabs beat off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ballpoint pen's too big. A pencil's too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle, there's a thin, smooth ridge of wax that just might work. With just the tip of one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle. He rolls it smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin.

Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit of his boner. With a good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work.

Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They've totally reinvented jacking off. Flat on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can't keep track of the wax. He's one good squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax isn't sticking out anymore.

The thin wax rod, it's slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can't even feel the lump of it inside his piss tube.

From downstairs, his mom shouts it's supper time. She says to come down, right now. This wax kid and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much the same life.

It's after dinner when the kid's guts start to hurt. It's wax, so he figured it would just melt inside him and he'd pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kidneys. He can't stand straight.

This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can hear bells ding, people screaming. Game shows.

The X-rays show the truth, something long and thin, bent double inside his bladder. This long, thin V inside him, it's collecting all the minerals in his piss. It's getting bigger and rougher, coated with crystals of calcium, it's bumping around, ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss from getting out. His kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood.

This kid and his folks, his whole family, them looking at the black X-ray with the doctor and the nurses standing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody to see, he has to tell the truth. The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote him from the Navy.

On the phone, right now, he starts to cry.

They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mistake, and now he'll never be a lawyer.

Sticking stuff inside yourself. Sticking yourself inside stuff. A candle in your dick or your head in a noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble.

What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater, sitting on the bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep breath, I'd kick my way to the bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I'd sit down there for two, three, four minutes.

Just from jacking oft' I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I'd do this all afternoon. After I'd finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang there in big, fat, milky gobs.

After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each handful in a towel. That's why it was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty, my mom.

That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, thinking she's just getting fat, then giving birth to a two-headed, retard baby. Both heads looking just like me. Me, the father and the uncle. In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you.

The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool filter and the circulation pump. The best part was getting naked and sitting on it.

As the French would say, Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked? Still, one minute you're just a kid getting off, and the next minute you'll never be a lawyer.

One minute I'm settling on the pool bottom and the sky is wavy, light blue through eight feet of water above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears. My yellow striped swim trunks are looped around my neck for safe keeping, just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to ask why I skipped football practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I'm grinding my skinny white ass around on that feeling.

One minute I've got enough air and my dick's in my hand. My folks are gone at their work and my sister's got ballet. Nobody's supposed to be home for hours.

My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch another big breath. I dive down and settle on the bottom.

I do this again and again.

This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump that never ends. My dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee rubbed raw against the concrete bottom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from being so long in the water.

And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls. It's then I need some air. But when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can't. I can't get my feet under me. My ass is stuck.

Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this way, sucked by a circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you're going to drown. Every year, tons of people do. Most of them in Florida.

People just don't talk about it. Not even French people talk about everything. Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt. Getting my other foot under me, I kick off against the bottom. I'm kicking free, not touching the concrete, but not getting to the air, either.

Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I'm maybe halfway to the surface but not going higher. The heartbeat inside my head getting loud and fast.

The bright sparks of light crossing and crisscrossing my eyes, I turn and look back ... but it doesn't make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, blue-white and braided with veins, has come up out of the pool drain and it's holding on to my butt. Some of the veins are leaking blood, red blood that looks black underwater and drifts away from little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails away, disappearing in the water, and inside the snake's thin, blue-white skin you can see lumps of some half-digested meal.

That's the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent, something that's never seen the light of day, it's been hiding in the dark bottom of the pool drain, waiting to eat me.

So ...I kick at it, at the slippery, rubbery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out of the pool drain. It's maybe as long as my leg now, but still holding tight around my butthole. With another kick, I'm an inch closer to getting another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I'm an inch closer to my escape.

Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange ball. It's the kind of horsepill vitamin my dad makes me take, to help put on weight. To get a football scholarship. With extra iron and omega-three fatty acids.

It's seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life.

It's not a snake. It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call prolapsed. It's my guts sucked into the drain.

Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute. That's about 400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we're all connected together inside. Your ass is just the far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps working-unraveling my insides-until it's got my tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound shit and you can see how this might turn you inside out.

What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels pain. The stuff you're digesting, doctors call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme, pockets of a thin, runny mess studded with corn and peanuts and round green peas.

That's all this soup of blood and corn, shit and sperm and peanuts floating around me. Even with my guts unraveling out my ass, me holding on to what's left, even then my first want is to somehow get my swimsuit back on.

God forbid my folks see my dick.

My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellow striped swim trunks and pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible.

You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lambskin condoms. Take one out and unroll it. Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold it under water. Then try to tear it. Try to pull it in half. It's too tough and rubbery. It's so slimy you can't hold on.

A lambskin condom, that's just plain old intestine.

You can see what I'm up against.

You let go for a second and you're gutted.

You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you're gutted.

You don't swim and you drown.

It's a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now.

What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating in the cloudy water of their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of veins and twisted guts. The opposite of a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital 13 years ago. Here's the kid they hoped would snag a football scholarship and get an MBA. Who'd care for them in their old age. Here's all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm.

Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from the pool to the kitchen telephone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out the leg of my yellow striped swim trunks.

What even the French won't talk about.

That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase. The way we say, "I need that like I need a hole in my head...," Russian people say, "I need that like I need teeth in my asshole......

Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse.

Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any coyote would tell you a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead.

Hell ... even if you're Russian, someday you just might want those teeth.

Otherwise, what you have to do is you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind your knee and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You run out of air and you will chew through anything to get that next breath.

It's not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss good night. If I told you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari.

It's hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I'd got in trouble or how I'd saved myself. After the hospital, my mom said, "You didn't know what you were doing, honey. You were in shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs.

All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me....

I need that like I need teeth in my asshole.

Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all quiet and pissed off when I don't eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me. Baked ham. Anything that hangs around inside my guts for longer than a couple of hours, it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or chunk light tuna fish, I'll stand up and find it still sitting there in the toilet.

After you have a radical bowel resectioning, you don't digest meat so great. Most people, you have five feet of large intestine. I'm lucky to have my six inches. So I never got a football scholarship. Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I've never weighed a pound more than I did that day when I was 13.

Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swimming pool. In the end my dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned. The dead body got pulled into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the filter casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a watery hank of intestine with a big orange vitamin pill still inside, even then my dad just said, "That dog was fucking nuts."

Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my dad say, "We couldn't trust that dog alone for a second...."

Then my sister missed her period.

Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another state, after my sister's abortion, even then my folks never mentioned it again.

Ever.

That is our invisible carrot.

You. Now you can take a good, deep breath.

I still have not.

because its tardcore.

this hole thread is fucking retarded and pointless, you should all kill yourselves.

why make things so complicated when you could just say... Shut the fuck up.

Perfect thread for some fight club quotes

Tyler Durden: Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else.


"You are not your job.
You are not how much you have in the bank.
You are not the contents of your wallet.
You are not your fucking Khakis.
You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake.
You are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of
the world."

"You are not special. You are not a
beautiful or unique snowflake. You are
the same decaying organic matter as
everything else."

who gives a fuck, stop watching the news.

the world is coming to an end every second of everyday why worry? I say live in the now, because the now is the only thing thats real, not yesterday, not tommorow. have fun coz your gonna die quicker then ya think, you could die today. the sun could explode RIGHT NOW!! imagine BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM the sun explodes and humanity whiped out? would you be happy with your life as it stands? if not then you have some serious thinking to do, live life to the fullest and breathe life into every moment

fuck all yall crackers!!!!!!!1

i wana be a dj hoe.

mikehh!!!11