hacks

i'm fucking sitting here minding my own fucking beeswax typing with two fingers and expecting vast truth to just manifest itself on screen. what the hell do i live for sifting through this wasteland of etherous disingenuousness just to consume my meager portions of the riches of my class' state. the symbolic system i have is the most basic, the most faux-naif chandler's list of shit to do during a fucking episode. i have next to nothing in terms of intellectual prowess. noone (noone, yes) i'm attracted to has any fucking interest in me, i'm a 16 year old girl and everything i know is derived from that half lame encyclop)a(edia all teh f45gs are talking about. i render images transcendent of masters hacks and i can't tell a story deeper than the most fleeting postmodernist hyperironic. i'm disengaged, dismembered, crabbed, yearning for fame faking the image of Toole or the only real american poet, you Austrians know who I'm talking about. I fake retarded intellectualism as hyperirony. I should have died during 9/11

i leak half-feigned s.o.c. sobbing in vain on a nonexistant etherous shoulder, wishing i could catch something body-rockingly shallow as the holy ghost, but i hold the church in contempt. i barely register as purgatorial, more trapped in a meaningless state full of shitassed meaningless acrid acidic statements. they tell me i'm stronger than i think i am and i fail psychology 101. they tell me to stop leading off second base like if daryl strawberry cooked up and was in the national league, maybe he was, i don't know. i'm so confused.

I weigh in and weigh in to no result. I present uncalculated statements as the descriptions of those calculus points. They're false to anyone half knowledgeable. Noone who matters believes me so I can only get half-rate sluts. I've been compared to meatwad.

All I want to read is the braille on my palms with my fragile, overly sensitive foreskin, when in fact I overlook the knowledge ascertained consciously. I prefer my 'other' ego to behold it, when in fact it is unconscious.

I yeard for christiandom, yet I must manifest the anti-christ, pushing anti-consciousness on 4-year-olds, getting told i hold no human value by the hood, being told that i represent the devil and am akin to the 5-year-old mindstate of my president whom i profess to hold in contemt. i got nothing.

83uim.5 as7yn 237cm23, axebnuicyh 89fmvuy v78

hacks more like dongs

tgjhis thread is the fallicy of drunk yardedness but
WHAT YOU FAIL 2 REALIZE IS THAT IM DRUNKYARDED AGAIN
OK --- ITS LIEK 4th AND 10 AND THATS ALL BAD FOR THE OFFENSE.
AND TONIGHT ITS NOT RED WHINE, BUTE TAAKA GENUINE (cursive) VODAK WHICH MAKES IT MUCH HARder to TYPE AND MORE AKIN 2 SPACE ELLIENS, ALRIGHHTm YOU NOTICE THIS thread contains very little wiggerdom. and I'l the best keystyler on the netcee Hitlist! yeah. do it. ok. well. in fuckin fact i already made the noone joke but i forgot to capitalize it, and i don't make this out to be an i love pete64 thread. i tried to make a bitch 73 but a nigga was like, Hoe, 6-4, and then he threw a bitch some kierergarden or however a hoe spells an enlightened's name, and i was like. PAM, hereditery sin in a hoes mouth, and punks was looking at me like a niggas gone crazy, and a bitch was like, i'm 28, you act sane, you in my mouthpiece, and I was like "b4b4b4ut, I never played the trumphet, I never even played a licka brass except on the makeshift bongpiece," and then I expelled myself

amorites undermining me with pulas or howevver you spell the nike girl's name. i feigh suicide and bring me back to life E VEryTI

dongs dongs dongs