Brazilian Sigma was thinking about this one incel again. The incel was a spiteful lawyer with greasy hair, fingers, and feet.
Brazilian walked over to the window and reflected on his lively surroundings. He had always enjoyed simpy United Cuckdom with its crazy, clear sluts. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel defragmented.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a spiteful figure of Incel Guy.
Brazilian gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an incredible, gracious, cocoa drinker with handsome fingers and sloppy feet. His friends saw him as a crazy, clear coward.
The hail pounded like sleeping kittens, making Brazilian irritable. Brazilian grabbed a ripped sandwich that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Brazilian stepped outside and Incel came closer, he could see the miniature glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want justice," Incel bellowed, in a greedy tone. He slammed his fist against Brazilian's chest, with the force of 4190 humming birds. "I frigging hate you, Brazilian Sigma."
Brazilian looked back, even more irritable and still fingering the ripped sandwich. "Incel, flipping fat loser," he replied.
They looked at each other with fuzzy feelings, like two roasted, resonant rabbits sitting at a very cowardly disco, which had indie music playing in the background and two wild uncles chatting to the beat.
Brazilian regarded Incel's greasy fingers and handsome feet. He held out his hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.
"Hmph," pondered Incel.
"Please?" begged Brazilian with frog dog eyes.
Incel looked sparkly, his body blushing like a heavy, hilarious hat.
Then Incel came inside for a nice mug of brazilian cocoa.
Brazilian walked over to the window and reflected on his lively surroundings. He had always enjoyed simpy United Cuckdom with its crazy, clear sluts. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel defragmented.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a spiteful figure of Incel Guy.
Brazilian gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an incredible, gracious, cocoa drinker with handsome fingers and sloppy feet. His friends saw him as a crazy, clear coward.
The hail pounded like sleeping kittens, making Brazilian irritable. Brazilian grabbed a ripped sandwich that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Brazilian stepped outside and Incel came closer, he could see the miniature glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want justice," Incel bellowed, in a greedy tone. He slammed his fist against Brazilian's chest, with the force of 4190 humming birds. "I frigging hate you, Brazilian Sigma."
Brazilian looked back, even more irritable and still fingering the ripped sandwich. "Incel, flipping fat loser," he replied.
They looked at each other with fuzzy feelings, like two roasted, resonant rabbits sitting at a very cowardly disco, which had indie music playing in the background and two wild uncles chatting to the beat.
Brazilian regarded Incel's greasy fingers and handsome feet. He held out his hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.
"Hmph," pondered Incel.
"Please?" begged Brazilian with frog dog eyes.
Incel looked sparkly, his body blushing like a heavy, hilarious hat.
Then Incel came inside for a nice mug of brazilian cocoa.
