Im going to just toss this out there

[Blandscape]

Or what, will ye drown me in your own narcissism'szz?

I'm going to kill you over the internet.

With a sharp emoji

You killed yourself a long time ago, so I won't be holding my breath.

 

[Biggie Smiles]

Or what, will ye drown me in your own narcissism'szz?

I'm going to kill you over the internet.

With a sharp emoji

You killed yourself a long time ago, so I won't be holding my breath.

Now I'm going to kill you.

With a true type font.

fuckhead

 

[Blandscape]

That's what you do here, isn't it?

Contribute fuck all while demanding respect for the same fuck all you have refused to deliver for the last 20 years. Or in Foxy's timeline, since he was re-born.

When it comes to contributions, all you do is spam 50 or more one sentence long diatribes about how everyone isn't creating "material" up to your standards, while you have yet to provide any of the mythical "creative content" that we keep hearing about.

It was around third rail forum when you last wrote something that didn't make you sound like a strung out crackhead.

You appear to be trapped in a Brawl Hall time loop, unable to do anything but pretend to beat up others with your fictional massive intellect. You could not even write a non flame themed poem without having a mental breakdown.

You aint no Rick James, bitch.

I've been hearing(reading really) about this "quality content" for like 3 years now.

All this awesome and life changing "content". Threads about it. And multiple lists of everyone that cannot bring this level content (which always consists of a bunch of people who have hurt the posters feels in some way).

You know what I've never seen? This mythical content. I guess you could say it's because I'm an unworthy, forum filling peasent who would never be invited to witness such greatness. My very presence on a message board is like a magical ward against this high level content. And it's not just me, but also Big. Flea. Whoever has dared make fun of one of the blessed gatekeepers of quality content.

It's a very sad, sad tale. Flamers of old wont even pick up the sword to defeat and slay us content blockers. Only when we are vanquished can the forums, once again, enjoy quality content. Until then, the closest the "community" will get are the prophets who have come here to tell them of the glory days of flame and how the content blockers are destroying the community today by stopping the flamers of old from creating quality content.

Bland cries "wont someone...anyone....step in to banish these content eaters so the flamers can rule once again, and provide the quality content all 4 members of the community deserve?"

Who will it be, Foxy, that breaks the curse that has befallen the community? Who is brave enough to post quality content?

Blandscape should try something simple, like writing a poem about rocks, or anything else that isn't about his large "flame" ego. This was attempted at Flame Truth, only CW wrote a poem, KM posted the lyrics to a Fortnite song from YouTube (plagiarism), and blandscape posted some bizarre screed that did not even get a charity like, which set him off on a spamming spree and eventual mental health check banning.

He could also lighten the mood by telling everyone about his most recent purchase, as Freud frequently does.

Or do a short audio bit like Uncle Dilf and Blazor have done using Vocarro.

Anything really, besides spreading his ass cheeks and carpet bombing the forum with countless M&M sized turds.

Even a sloppy MS Paint drawing would be an improvement over his usual habit of posting while doing a pub crawl.

It's a pity your home site was designated by it's own owner to be a radio-reactive bio hazard, and was shut down under pertinent circumstance. After all, why would she post to what she became bored wiff 10 years ago? It was just you and her rattling around in your own enthrals.

You always demanded of me what you never deliver.

No-one has heard your voice, just a decent attempt to attempt to make a decent attempt at what KM owns.

Even you realise now, that you are not even in the same stadium as me in terms of your own hobbled terminology.

I don't carpet bomb, I just remind you and your fucking ilk, that your nothing surrenders to my all encompassing everything.

People don't have "home" sites and there really is no "community". Hello, reality is calling and you refuse to pick up.

No one has heard you make one audio, so sit the fuck down, bitch.

And we all hope no one is in the same fantasy stadium that you seem to think you are in. Honestly, your "character" is all bragging and "virtual fight club".

Has a doctor told you that posting on BF is helpful for whatever mental condition you have?

People do have home sites, you did for 10 fucking years. Or is that just now a distant memory? Forgotten because remembering what you posted there about everyone else everywhere else doesn't fit your narrative?

I don't give a fuck about audio, I only bring it up because you posted that as a yardstick repeatedly on your home site.

I merely reminded you that no-one has heard you speak truth to dementia. Just some amateur hashtag someone else's work.

Of course I have a mental condition, we all do posting here, but I feel comfortable knowing that you succumb to dat twenty years before I did.

Have you talked to your psychologist about these "Home Sites"?

Anywho, looking forward to your upcoming "Creative content".

I remember the last time I mentioned creative content, it was what, 5 years ago at TRF? I also recall you mentioning it over and over again at FT, like you had a monopoly on what it means, until a few weeks ago. Christ, it was your very reason for being there, while being obviously unaware of just how tentatively harmful arrogance can be.

I really don't care what you fink it means, it just means that you care about it more than you seemingly don't care about it now, now CW has pulled the rug from under ye.

Was she right....of course she was...it's not as if your reportage has ever kept a site alive.

Hey broski, FT was all about mixing KM's pottycasts and uploading audio and photos directly to the website. The Biden and vax threads were pretty funny too.

Otherwise it was CW's plaything.

Cunty was playing ANGI most days when he was not erasing all your spam.

Anyway, you're the one who claims to have a "flame legacy" and brags about beating up everyone on this forum, so get on with posting all this cutting edge creative content.

Or you can keep text-spamming one sentence drool bombs for the next hour.

I hope you kept your writing archived somewhere..

What writing? Flame forum content is just advanced shit posting. The FT audio player had the best "content", hope cunty made a backup of all those pottycasts and song flames.

Your work is gone old man, and I would love to say gid riddance to it, but I wouldn't believe it.

Hehe.

That's what you do here, isn't it?

Contribute fuck all while demanding respect for the same fuck all you have refused to deliver for the last 20 years. Or in Foxy's timeline, since he was re-born.

When it comes to contributions, all you do is spam 50 or more one sentence long diatribes about how everyone isn't creating "material" up to your standards, while you have yet to provide any of the mythical "creative content" that we keep hearing about.

It was around third rail forum when you last wrote something that didn't make you sound like a strung out crackhead.

You appear to be trapped in a Brawl Hall time loop, unable to do anything but pretend to beat up others with your fictional massive intellect. You could not even write a non flame themed poem without having a mental breakdown.

You aint no Rick James, bitch.

I've been hearing(reading really) about this "quality content" for like 3 years now.

All this awesome and life changing "content". Threads about it. And multiple lists of everyone that cannot bring this level content (which always consists of a bunch of people who have hurt the posters feels in some way).

You know what I've never seen? This mythical content. I guess you could say it's because I'm an unworthy, forum filling peasent who would never be invited to witness such greatness. My very presence on a message board is like a magical ward against this high level content. And it's not just me, but also Big. Flea. Whoever has dared make fun of one of the blessed gatekeepers of quality content.

It's a very sad, sad tale. Flamers of old wont even pick up the sword to defeat and slay us content blockers. Only when we are vanquished can the forums, once again, enjoy quality content. Until then, the closest the "community" will get are the prophets who have come here to tell them of the glory days of flame and how the content blockers are destroying the community today by stopping the flamers of old from creating quality content.

Bland cries "wont someone...anyone....step in to banish these content eaters so the flamers can rule once again, and provide the quality content all 4 members of the community deserve?"

Who will it be, Foxy, that breaks the curse that has befallen the community? Who is brave enough to post quality content?

Blandscape should try something simple, like writing a poem about rocks, or anything else that isn't about his large "flame" ego. This was attempted at Flame Truth, only CW wrote a poem, KM posted the lyrics to a Fortnite song from YouTube (plagiarism), and blandscape posted some bizarre screed that did not even get a charity like, which set him off on a spamming spree and eventual mental health check banning.

He could also lighten the mood by telling everyone about his most recent purchase, as Freud frequently does.

Or do a short audio bit like Uncle Dilf and Blazor have done using Vocarro.

Anything really, besides spreading his ass cheeks and carpet bombing the forum with countless M&M sized turds.

Even a sloppy MS Paint drawing would be an improvement over his usual habit of posting while doing a pub crawl.

It's a pity your home site was designated by it's own owner to be a radio-reactive bio hazard, and was shut down under pertinent circumstance. After all, why would she post to what she became bored wiff 10 years ago? It was just you and her rattling around in your own enthrals.

You always demanded of me what you never deliver.

No-one has heard your voice, just a decent attempt to attempt to make a decent attempt at what KM owns.

Even you realise now, that you are not even in the same stadium as me in terms of your own hobbled terminology.

I don't carpet bomb, I just remind you and your fucking ilk, that your nothing surrenders to my all encompassing everything.

People don't have "home" sites and there really is no "community". Hello, reality is calling and you refuse to pick up.

No one has heard you make one audio, so sit the fuck down, bitch.

And we all hope no one is in the same fantasy stadium that you seem to think you are in. Honestly, your "character" is all bragging and "virtual fight club".

Has a doctor told you that posting on BF is helpful for whatever mental condition you have?

People do have home sites, you did for 10 fucking years. Or is that just now a distant memory? Forgotten because remembering what you posted there about everyone else everywhere else doesn't fit your narrative?

I don't give a fuck about audio, I only bring it up because you posted that as a yardstick repeatedly on your home site.

I merely reminded you that no-one has heard you speak truth to dementia. Just some amateur hashtag someone else's work.

Of course I have a mental condition, we all do posting here, but I feel comfortable knowing that you succumb to dat twenty years before I did.

Have you talked to your psychologist about these "Home Sites"?

Anywho, looking forward to your upcoming "Creative content".

I remember the last time I mentioned creative content, it was what, 5 years ago at TRF? I also recall you mentioning it over and over again at FT, like you had a monopoly on what it means, until a few weeks ago. Christ, it was your very reason for being there, while being obviously unaware of just how tentatively harmful arrogance can be.

I really don't care what you fink it means, it just means that you care about it more than you seemingly don't care about it now, now CW has pulled the rug from under ye.

Was she right....of course she was...it's not as if your reportage has ever kept a site alive.

Hey broski, FT was all about mixing KM's pottycasts and uploading audio and photos directly to the website. The Biden and vax threads were pretty funny too.

Otherwise it was CW's plaything.

Cunty was playing ANGI most days when he was not erasing all your spam.

Anyway, you're the one who claims to have a "flame legacy" and brags about beating up everyone on this forum, so get on with posting all this cutting edge creative content.

Or you can keep text-spamming one sentence drool bombs for the next hour.

I hope you kept your writing archived somewhere..

What writing? Flame forum content is just advanced shit posting. The FT audio player had the best "content", hope cunty made a backup of all those pottycasts and song flames.

Your work is gone old man, and I would love to say gid riddance to it, but I wouldn't believe it.

What work? You not too bright, aye? You were seeing cunty in your sleep and thought he was posting at sites he was never at, you were confused when Flea would change her nick at TRF and, like Feral, would frequently have to ask Bra1in who the person with the new name was.

That shows a flawed intelligence. He is dumb like Meghan and Prince Harry...

I don't say this to be mean but spammers are narcissists (sp?) quick Flynn come help me spell narcissist...)

He is probably posting while surrounded by vanity mirrors. A real nutter whose only become nuttier as he got older.

That sick flame he wrote with all the butt buggering is readable at the TRF archive, the one he wrote in that sinsiter match that made you puke. I read it again and it seemed like he was speaking from personal experience when he was talking about all that male on male ass fucking.

Of course you read it again, you should post it here.

If you actually could.

It was some gid shit dat...and that's why you always reference it.

 

[Biggie Smiles]

you quoted your self you gibbering dipshit

 

[Blandscape]

Or what, will ye drown me in your own narcissism'szz?

I'm going to kill you over the internet.

With a sharp emoji

You killed yourself a long time ago, so I won't be holding my breath.

Now I'm going to kill you.

With a true type font.

fuckhead

I think you are swaying toward an italicised face, leaning forward and falling down.

 

[Kirk]

Say something that reminds me of your posts at BH...anything...something?

Did Evil Blood ever donkey punch you?

 

[Blandscape]

you quoted your self you gibbering dipshit

Well, it was either dat or quote you.

 

[Blandscape]

Say something that reminds me of your posts at BH...anything...something?

Did Evil Blood ever donkey punch you?

Ha, if only you knew what you were talking about.

 

[Biggie Smiles]

Or what, will ye drown me in your own narcissism'szz?

I'm going to kill you over the internet.

With a sharp emoji

You killed yourself a long time ago, so I won't be holding my breath.

Now I'm going to kill you.

With a true type font.

fuckhead

I think you are swaying toward an italicised face, leaning forward and falling down.

and then I'm going to break your neck with a spacebar

no, seriously

 

[Blandscape]

Or what, will ye drown me in your own narcissism'szz?

I'm going to kill you over the internet.

With a sharp emoji

You killed yourself a long time ago, so I won't be holding my breath.

Now I'm going to kill you.

With a true type font.

fuckhead

I think you are swaying toward an italicised face, leaning forward and falling down.

and then I'm going to break your neck with a spacebar

no, seriously

I doubt if you could seriously break anything but your mothers heart.

 

[Biggie Smiles]

Or what, will ye drown me in your own narcissism'szz?

I'm going to kill you over the internet.

With a sharp emoji

You killed yourself a long time ago, so I won't be holding my breath.

Now I'm going to kill you.

With a true type font.

fuckhead

I think you are swaying toward an italicised face, leaning forward and falling down.

and then I'm going to break your neck with a spacebar

no, seriously

I doubt if you could seriously break anything but your mothers heart.

And then I'm going to sodomize you with the donate button

 

[Blandscape]

I cunt kick cunts like you Joo.

 

[Blandscape]

But when I feel magnanimous I let them donate their own end.

 

[Blandscape]

So sodomize me.

 

[Blandscape]

Let's see where that alights ye?

 

[Kirk]

Say something that reminds me of your posts at BH...anything...something?

Did Evil Blood ever donkey punch you?

Ha, if only you knew what you were talking about.

You higher than the International space station.-AssWad

 

[Blandscape]

Fuck me, if Foxy can't do it, I don't hold out much hope fur you Joo.

 

[Blandscape]

Say something that reminds me of your posts at BH...anything...something?

Did Evil Blood ever donkey punch you?

Ha, if only you knew what you were talking about.

You higher than the International space station.-AssWad

Fank ye fur yer contribution Foxy.

 

[Omnipotent]

Brain pinked your gaffer at TRF, that's all you need to know about pinking.

Bra1n was WRONG to pink him.... His humorous posts were the only posts worth reading... THE ONLY POSTS.... and maybe chuck in flea's as well.

As for the cunt wrangler's posts, tearing out your own eyes with a corkscrew was a better alternative.

 

[Kirk]

So sodomize me.

You break all your butt plugs and ate all the potatoes?

 

[Blandscape]

Brain pinked your gaffer at TRF, that's all you need to know about pinking.

Bra1n was WRONG to pink him.... His humorous posts were the only posts worth reading... THE ONLY POSTS.... and maybe chuck in flea's as well.

As for the cunt wrangler's posts, tearing out your own eyes with a corkscrew was a better alternative.

Well you had us all until you said, "chuck in Flea's post's as well".

 

[Blandscape]

So sodomize me.

You break all your butt plugs and ate all the potatoes?

Of course I did, what was you expecting?

 

[Kirk]

Brain pinked your gaffer at TRF, that's all you need to know about pinking.

Bra1n was WRONG to pink him.... His humorous posts were the only posts worth reading... THE ONLY POSTS.... and maybe chuck in flea's as well.

As for the cunt wrangler's posts, tearing out your own eyes with a corkscrew was a better alternative.

Wasn't Brain a crossdressing hair stylist who was obsessed with Flea?

 

[The Cuntess]

Brain pinked your gaffer at TRF, that's all you need to know about pinking.

Bra1n was WRONG to pink him.... His humorous posts were the only posts worth reading... THE ONLY POSTS.... and maybe chuck in flea's as well.

As for the cunt wrangler's posts, tearing out your own eyes with a corkscrew was a better alternative.

Blandscape swears I’ve never made a decent post

 

[Kirk]

Brain pinked your gaffer at TRF, that's all you need to know about pinking.

Bra1n was WRONG to pink him.... His humorous posts were the only posts worth reading... THE ONLY POSTS.... and maybe chuck in flea's as well.

As for the cunt wrangler's posts, tearing out your own eyes with a corkscrew was a better alternative.

Remember this sick shit?

This was basically the high point of Blandscape's low point of "flaming"

Sin City

Chapter 1.

Punch Drunk Love.

Sam Sins' tight ass clenched at the assault. That last thrust had knocked him off balance, and his face spilled onto the cold wet concrete as his sphincter was pummelled mercilessly. The stench of his own submission and the rancid smell of the gutter made his stomach turn against him. He caught the headline of a disregarded newspaper as it blew by under the blinding white light of a streetlamp, more bad news, but he noted with interest that Sears was having another sale. He had to remember why he was allowing this. To be mounted in an alley by a rutting animal. To be stripped of all worth. To be humiliated. But he had to find it. And to find it he would have to shame himself. He needed that name, and his assailant was the only one who could give it to him.

This was the only case that had ever really mattered to him. All those years spent chasing down perps and players, working the angles on the boards, spitting in the face of manufactured political convention, while playing it cooler and slicker than a Teflon cat. It would all mean nothing if he could not find it again. Rules and morality were for others, not for him, he had seen and done it all before. He was dog tired, but this job, his final job, had got under his skin, and buried itself deep into his psyche, like a ticked-off Alabama tick.

He was tired of living in the grainy world of black and white, where any drive-by incident that involved dotting the 'i's and crossing the t's, could end in your last breath. It was a feeling of detachment. He recognized detachment. He seen it here many times before. It's a premonition and a taste, and it's blacker than a nigger at night, and it's very heavy, heavy like an all American weight-watchers breakfast . It comes down over your head, and wraps tentacles around you, and sinks long dirty fingernails into your bleeding heart. It has a stink of burning garbage and the repetitiveness of yet another wasted day. This city is cruel, cruel and unyielding.

Yet he knew there was another place, not quite like any where anyone here, had ever imagined. A reality that was only ever glimpsed through the throng and crowded haze of this city's hypocrites and victims. Where everything had a colour, and even gray gave way to resplendent hues. It was more than Deja-vu, he had seen it. Once. Fleetingly. Out of reach. Out of time. He needed to get back there. He needed to find the truth.

The grunting and panting increased in tempo along with the pain in his lower abdomen. He felt like he was shitting molten lava, while his anus played freeform jazz, and farted its way to a record deal. He was close to passing out just as The Brain let out a guttural scream,

"I'm cumming bitch, take it, take it all, you saucy troll"

Sam (Sinister) Sin, Private Investigator, stuck a hand through his splayed legs, just to confirm that his testicles had not left the scene of the crime before the rest of him, and muttered a thank you to them, for retreating further into his belly than should have been biologically possible.

The Brain who ran the lower West Side in Flametown, reached into his pocket as his now tiny yet still slightly engorged cock hung weeping at its own offence, and threw a crumpled piece of paper into a puddle next to him. Sin dashed for it excitedly, not bothering to pull up his pants, or hide the indignity that was creamily oozing from his guts.

He prized the paper apart, almost tenderly. There was one word written on it, in an almost intelligible hand, a name, that was fast washing away.

It simply said,

Who is Poppy?

 

[Blandscape]

Brain pinked your gaffer at TRF, that's all you need to know about pinking.

Bra1n was WRONG to pink him.... His humorous posts were the only posts worth reading... THE ONLY POSTS.... and maybe chuck in flea's as well.

As for the cunt wrangler's posts, tearing out your own eyes with a corkscrew was a better alternative.

Blandscape swears I’ve never made a decent post

Make one now, don't wait, prove me wrong, right now.

 

[Blandscape]

Brain pinked your gaffer at TRF, that's all you need to know about pinking.

Bra1n was WRONG to pink him.... His humorous posts were the only posts worth reading... THE ONLY POSTS.... and maybe chuck in flea's as well.

As for the cunt wrangler's posts, tearing out your own eyes with a corkscrew was a better alternative.

Remember this sick shit?

This was basically the high point of Blandscape's low point of "flaming"

Sin City

Chapter 1.

Punch Drunk Love.

Sam Sins' tight ass clenched at the assault. That last thrust had knocked him off balance, and his face spilled onto the cold wet concrete as his sphincter was pummelled mercilessly. The stench of his own submission and the rancid smell of the gutter made his stomach turn against him. He caught the headline of a disregarded newspaper as it blew by under the blinding white light of a streetlamp, more bad news, but he noted with interest that Sears was having another sale. He had to remember why he was allowing this. To be mounted in an alley by a rutting animal. To be stripped of all worth. To be humiliated. But he had to find it. And to find it he would have to shame himself. He needed that name, and his assailant was the only one who could give it to him.

This was the only case that had ever really mattered to him. All those years spent chasing down perps and players, working the angles on the boards, spitting in the face of manufactured political convention, while playing it cooler and slicker than a Teflon cat. It would all mean nothing if he could not find it again. Rules and morality were for others, not for him, he had seen and done it all before. He was dog tired, but this job, his final job, had got under his skin, and buried itself deep into his psyche, like a ticked-off Alabama tick.

He was tired of living in the grainy world of black and white, where any drive-by incident that involved dotting the 'i's and crossing the t's, could end in your last breath. It was a feeling of detachment. He recognized detachment. He seen it here many times before. It's a premonition and a taste, and it's blacker than a nigger at night, and it's very heavy, heavy like an all American weight-watchers breakfast . It comes down over your head, and wraps tentacles around you, and sinks long dirty fingernails into your bleeding heart. It has a stink of burning garbage and the repetitiveness of yet another wasted day. This city is cruel, cruel and unyielding.

Yet he knew there was another place, not quite like any where anyone here, had ever imagined. A reality that was only ever glimpsed through the throng and crowded haze of this city's hypocrites and victims. Where everything had a colour, and even gray gave way to resplendent hues. It was more than Deja-vu, he had seen it. Once. Fleetingly. Out of reach. Out of time. He needed to get back there. He needed to find the truth.

The grunting and panting increased in tempo along with the pain in his lower abdomen. He felt like he was shitting molten lava, while his anus played freeform jazz, and farted its way to a record deal. He was close to passing out just as The Brain let out a guttural scream,

"I'm cumming bitch, take it, take it all, you saucy troll"

Sam (Sinister) Sin, Private Investigator, stuck a hand through his splayed legs, just to confirm that his testicles had not left the scene of the crime before the rest of him, and muttered a thank you to them, for retreating further into his belly than should have been biologically possible.

The Brain who ran the lower West Side in Flametown, reached into his pocket as his now tiny yet still slightly engorged cock hung weeping at its own offence, and threw a crumpled piece of paper into a puddle next to him. Sin dashed for it excitedly, not bothering to pull up his pants, or hide the indignity that was creamily oozing from his guts.

He prized the paper apart, almost tenderly. There was one word written on it, in an almost intelligible hand, a name, that was fast washing away.

It simply said,

Who is Poppy?

You work so hard to prove me right. I fucking luvs dat about you.

 

[Blandscape]

Brain pinked your gaffer at TRF, that's all you need to know about pinking.

Bra1n was WRONG to pink him.... His humorous posts were the only posts worth reading... THE ONLY POSTS.... and maybe chuck in flea's as well.

As for the cunt wrangler's posts, tearing out your own eyes with a corkscrew was a better alternative.

Remember this sick shit?

This was basically the high point of Blandscape's low point of "flaming"

Sin City

Chapter 1.

Punch Drunk Love.

Sam Sins' tight ass clenched at the assault. That last thrust had knocked him off balance, and his face spilled onto the cold wet concrete as his sphincter was pummelled mercilessly. The stench of his own submission and the rancid smell of the gutter made his stomach turn against him. He caught the headline of a disregarded newspaper as it blew by under the blinding white light of a streetlamp, more bad news, but he noted with interest that Sears was having another sale. He had to remember why he was allowing this. To be mounted in an alley by a rutting animal. To be stripped of all worth. To be humiliated. But he had to find it. And to find it he would have to shame himself. He needed that name, and his assailant was the only one who could give it to him.

This was the only case that had ever really mattered to him. All those years spent chasing down perps and players, working the angles on the boards, spitting in the face of manufactured political convention, while playing it cooler and slicker than a Teflon cat. It would all mean nothing if he could not find it again. Rules and morality were for others, not for him, he had seen and done it all before. He was dog tired, but this job, his final job, had got under his skin, and buried itself deep into his psyche, like a ticked-off Alabama tick.

He was tired of living in the grainy world of black and white, where any drive-by incident that involved dotting the 'i's and crossing the t's, could end in your last breath. It was a feeling of detachment. He recognized detachment. He seen it here many times before. It's a premonition and a taste, and it's blacker than a nigger at night, and it's very heavy, heavy like an all American weight-watchers breakfast . It comes down over your head, and wraps tentacles around you, and sinks long dirty fingernails into your bleeding heart. It has a stink of burning garbage and the repetitiveness of yet another wasted day. This city is cruel, cruel and unyielding.

Yet he knew there was another place, not quite like any where anyone here, had ever imagined. A reality that was only ever glimpsed through the throng and crowded haze of this city's hypocrites and victims. Where everything had a colour, and even gray gave way to resplendent hues. It was more than Deja-vu, he had seen it. Once. Fleetingly. Out of reach. Out of time. He needed to get back there. He needed to find the truth.

The grunting and panting increased in tempo along with the pain in his lower abdomen. He felt like he was shitting molten lava, while his anus played freeform jazz, and farted its way to a record deal. He was close to passing out just as The Brain let out a guttural scream,

"I'm cumming bitch, take it, take it all, you saucy troll"

Sam (Sinister) Sin, Private Investigator, stuck a hand through his splayed legs, just to confirm that his testicles had not left the scene of the crime before the rest of him, and muttered a thank you to them, for retreating further into his belly than should have been biologically possible.

The Brain who ran the lower West Side in Flametown, reached into his pocket as his now tiny yet still slightly engorged cock hung weeping at its own offence, and threw a crumpled piece of paper into a puddle next to him. Sin dashed for it excitedly, not bothering to pull up his pants, or hide the indignity that was creamily oozing from his guts.

He prized the paper apart, almost tenderly. There was one word written on it, in an almost intelligible hand, a name, that was fast washing away.

It simply said,

Who is Poppy?

Where's Chapter Two?

 

[The Cuntess]

Ugh. Blandscape, gay sex and Bra1n. What the fuck is wrong with you people?

 

[Blandscape]

Ugh. Blandscape, gay sex and Bra1n. What the fuck is wrong with you people?

Was that your contribution to a decent post?