|
 Ready Player TRUMM is a collaborative novel inspired by the horrific writing in "Ready Player Two". Only instead of video games it's filled with references to the TRUMP thread and TRUMP events. It's not the book we want, but it's the book we deserve. https://twitter.com/eoinhiggins_/status/1331313584157102086?s=21 To contribute, just write something godawful like the above and toss in some references to some weird poo poo that happened in the last 4 years. "I finished shaving in the mirror. "Straight out of central casting", I thought to myself. I tried to remember who I was or what I was doing, but I could only remember sailor. "That was some weird poo poo!" It came to me. I was supposed to meet my source this morning. I checked my rolex watch with the band 3 sizes too small. It constricted the flesh of my wrist in a distressing way but I never, ever took it off. Good. I still had a centi-mooch to go. A mooch is the time unit derived from the length of time that Anthony Scaramucci served as the press secretary to your favorite president." I stepped out of my apartment in TRUAP towers (tallest buildings in NY after the latest round of terrorists attack. Quite a silver lining!) and saw the headline in the newspaper: Steve Bannon dead. He broke his spine trying to suck his own dick. "What a loser!" I thought. Although, by doing it himself he did save himself the trouble of getting his lawyer to pay 130,000 to the girl... something to think about. I'll ask Jared to look into it, that guy can handle everything. I heard a rustling in the bushes next to me. I was startled for a second, but then realized it was just a Garden Spicer, hiding from a gaggle of journalists who were milling around. Boethius did a good one: boethius posted:I stepped into my office, a perfect replica of the exterior of Four Seasons Total Landscaping. Walking up to the podium, I howled "PRESIDENTIAL HARASSMENT" into the mic, which caused YMCA to play as a secret panel came into view. Bing, bong! I thought to myself. Unlike the other Deplorables, I always Remember Sailor. robot roll call's post even fits: robot roll call posted:"im not owned! im not owned!!", i continue to insist as i slowly concede and pardon turkeys named "corn" and "cob" Hatebag has a bright future: Hatebag posted:The steam rose off of the burger feast in gentle tendrils rising to caress the noses of everyone in attendance. A memory flashed in my mind: Steam... god-damned steam! That was it! I knew what needed to be done. I erupted out of my chair and shuffled awkwardly to the exit. Opening the door, i beheld a horror beyond reckoning: a ramp! Luckily, my friend, the general (big, strong man!) was there but my heart was gripped with terror. "Sir," he said, "what's wrong?" It's already getting rave reviews UFOTacoMan posted:I was just gonna post about how the ready player 2 text makes me want to vomit but ... my brain is just as broken as the people who keep reading that garbage because Ready Player TRUMM is the content that I crave. Vim Fuego fucked around with this message at 20:51 on Nov 24, 2020 |
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 20:48
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 25, 2024 12:20 |
|
|
i wanted to write something this month and had no ideas until this very thread
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 20:50
|
|
|
Who leaked and published the book of c-spam under the name Ready Player TRUMM
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 20:53
|
|
|
I looked over the sigils carved in the locked door. Five sigils. Man. Woman. Person. Camera. TV. Didn't take an Elite Strike Force to solve this one! "Nice Try, Trumm" I said, mostly to myself, flashing a smug smile as I did my best to grope the Woman's crotch. "When you're a Deplorable, they let you do it." The door slid open. boethius fucked around with this message at 21:10 on Nov 24, 2020 |
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 20:54
|
|
|
The president has a rubenesque appearance
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 20:59
|
|
|
sailor joke already done. I got nothin
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 21:05
|
|
|
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, President Doanld Terumpo was to remember that distant afternoon when he finally became president.
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 21:09
|
|
|
I turned on my monitor. The man from Home Alone 2, the 1992 smash hit, was very moist
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 21:10
|
|
|
Ivanka. Melania. Melanie. Melanka. Ivania. Ivankelania. Melanika. The names twisted through my brain, genius brain, the biglyest brain ever, as I fumbled eagerly towards the flap of my pants. On the bed, a porn star lay, disinteredly staring at me. I finally undid my pants, the best pants, tailors came to me, strong guys, with tears in their eyes, telling me Sir, your pants, we just want to thank you, the amount of fabric used alone put our kids through college. Probably Trump U. "Looks like Super Mario's in town," the porn star said. The sound of the smacking of her chewing gum, Juicy Fruit, just the juicyest ever, haunts me to this day.
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 21:10
|
|
|
The room was decorated like some unsettling horror scene out of a Tarkovsky film. What was going on? Had I wandered into the lair of a serial killer? No... Melania had decorated for thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is a very special day for turkeys. Not a very good one, when you think about it.
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 21:16
|
|
|
To enter into my man cave (aka my "covfefe room" named after a hilarious SNL skit from the early 2000's) I had to type into the keypad a forbidden word, which was the name of an important orange demigod. This Incredible Hulk or a man, a super hero named after a famous 2008 Ed Norton documentary about a scientist that eats a radioactive bug or something, was a US president whose true name is lost to the aethers. Luckily, I knew how to read ancient computer forums code. Doing this was like defeating the evil dinosaur Bowser found at the end of every Super Mario Brothers game, which was a game series started by the hermit-man Notch -- yes the same revered Supreme Court Justice who found that all meat-space procreation is illegal. I found the god-man's name entirely by accident while looking up the phrase "10 inch taint" through the Library Of Congress archives. Back then IRL taints were small, which made autofellatio difficult, but not as difficult as level 4-1 of Ninja Gaiden for the 8-bit NES.
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 21:21
|
|
|
I awoke, a disgusting smell was the first sensation of the waking world assaulting me. I still hadn't mustered enough energy to open my eyelids, i tried but failed, my energy was approaching Jeb levels and they still wouldn't let me ride the golf cart inside the Whitehouse. Sad. My god the smell, it's overwhelming. I weakly fumble for my phone with my hands but the sheets are slippery and moist, chunks of God knows what flopping around as i tumble. I gather my energy and manage to roll to the side, the pain barely registers as my body hits the floor with a wet *splunk*. That might have been my wettest splunk yet, from the standpoint of splunking. I hear hurried footsteps and the door burst open. "Sir are you alright sir?!" I recognize the voice, i've heard it before. I manage a weak "Sailor?" "No sir it's Dan, Dan Bongino." Ah yes, Dan. Good old loyal Dan. I muster all my strength and force my eyes open, i'm laying face down on the floor. The carpet reeks of unspeakable things, large brownish stains everywhere. "What is happening Dan" i mumble, the fabric of the carpet stroking my lips, filling my mouth with the taste of putrefaction. "Sir it appears someone has soiled your bed....again, I gotta say it's worse than usual sir" Again with this, the most sophisticated security system in the world and more bodyguards than there are doors in the Whitehouse but still, these nightly torments are heaped upon me. With increasing regularity no less. "Go get the shower gurney,...and find my phone" And the person who did this i think to myself, whoever is responsible for the nightly visist has been beyond the grasp of the DHS for far too long, but they assure me they are closing in on the culprit. And he will face my wrath, a 1000 times greater in magnitude. More footsteps, more people. They lift me up on the gurney, put my phone in my hand and roll me away. The phone in my hand lending it's energy to mine, i can feel it course through my arm filling me up with it's vital essence. Time slows, my brainpower increasing with every passing moment. My body is ready, my fingers twitching. Tweet time.
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 21:36
|
|
|
Joe found himself alone at last and sighed as he took his seat at the Resolute Desk. He reflected that there were no corners in the office in which to hide. I got rid of trumble at last, unless he's hiding behind the curtains, like ex FBI director Jim Comey, mused the new president. He pressed the red button on the desk, thinking to order himself a coke, or shall I send someone out to get me a macdonalds happy meal? a fish sandwich would be delightful!. biden's mood was instantly soured as he glanced at the new computer monitor installed only that morning. obviously a parting jest by one of the previous administration - the screen showed a full face shot of the room's previous occupant. creepy sack of poo poo, he snarled. but contempt turned to horror as he realised, his monitor was not turned on and he was looking at his own reflection! fuckin chomo prick he chuckled
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 21:41
|
|
|
I took out a fresh slice of Papa John's pizza, cheese, his favorite flavor, from the box and placed it on my plate. A clean fork and knife were needed for this. I sliced off a good piece of pizza, chewed it four times - the number of years he was president - and swallowed happily. "Tremendous," I said out loud, one of his favorite adjectives and now one of mine.
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 21:50
|
|
|
"So Presidential!" I muttered as I carefully walked down the ramp to the replica Presidential Bunker. I marveled at the level of detail, McDonalds wrappers strewn on the floor, FOX news on the TV, a flop-sweat covered Rudy Guiliani on loop like a fly frozen in amber. I felt like the Bunker Bitch himself. What was I supposed to notice here? Think, B0g1ng0 (my handle for the group of Trummers I hang with). The Russia Hoax? The Election Hoax?
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 22:02
|
|
|
I snuck a glance (not creepily) at the screen of her iPhone 22 as she scrolled through the the popular social media application (or "app" for short) formerly known as Twitter (now TWTR 3.0). A "like" for a video tweeted out by Sarah Cooper, the sassy, lipsyncing comedian whose incisive mockery of President Trump continues unrelentingly, even now, 40 years after his presidency. A "retweet" for a comment made by the still-active satirical account "Mike Pence's Fly", based off of the fly that landed on Vice President Mike Pence's head during the 2020 Vice Presidential Debate (the actual fly is now in a museum). Then I caught her username - 'covfefeminist', a portmanteau of "covfefe". a notorious Trump Twitter typo (he was attempting to spell 'coverage'), and "feminist", a term I recognized only vaguely, but enough to know was probably clever. This was a woman after my own taste.
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 22:06
|
|
|
boethius posted:"So Presidential!" I muttered as I carefully walked down the ramp to the replica Presidential Bunker. I marveled at the level of detail, McDonalds wrappers strewn on the floor, FOX news on the TV, a flop-sweat covered Rudy Guiliani on loop like a fly frozen in amber. I felt like the Bunker Bitch himself. There! I spotted some letters carved into the large wooden conference table where he'd do his presidential work signing papers with his beautiful autograph - urtenhniebdlptpaoalrlyihmleasi. Must be some sort of code. I quickly ran through my knowledge of the various illegal activities Trump had uncovered during his presidency. Aha! Hunter Biden Laptop Hillary Emails. That was it! Hunter Biden's laptop must have Hillary's emails!
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 22:40
|
|
|
It was prime Executive Time and I couldn't wait to get started for another day. I had to kick a few Filet-o-Fish wrappers out of the way of the bedroom door (okay, more than a few) before stepping out and immediately saluting a picture of Captain Hook that I had hung on the wall. The crowd of Secret Service agents just outside the door let out a synchronized yell, "Remember Sailor, SIR!" and only a couple of them broke into a COVID-fueled coughing fit afterward. It was going to be a good day. I passed Melania in the hallway - she was in her standard energy-saver position with her head and chest resting against the wall. I asked her where my big boy Barron was and out of her plump, perfect lips a slip of paper fell out that read, "I don't really care, do you?" Or at least that's what someone told me it said - if only I'd bothered to learn to read.
TracerBullet fucked around with this message at 22:54 on Nov 24, 2020 |
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 22:51
|
|
|
As I rolled up to Four Seasons Total Landscaping in my authentic replica of "The Beast", the presidential limo, I twirled my fidget spinner (a toy made popular by Barron Trump) and thought of the battle I had just fought against The Kraken. "Trust the plan", I thought, before calling out to my squad, "Where we go one we go all!"
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 23:08
|
|
|
Like all my fellow Trumpers, I spent most of my days watching recordings of FOX News & Infowars from 2015-2022. I knew them all, Steve, Sean, Tucker. I could almost recite word for word some their "hot takes" on things, things that amazingly turned out to be completely accurate in the dystopic world of 2069. My world. Searching for "The Plan" was something to that gave my life meaning, meaning that Universal Basic Income just couldn't provide. I scowled at a picture of a smiling Stacy Abrams as I hoisted myself into the cab of my big rig (exactly the same as the one Trump used when welcoming truckers to the White House).
|
|
#
?
Nov 24, 2020 23:26
|
|
|
I began to sample the other McDonalds on the table. The Quarter Pounders, Big Macs, McNuggets, and fries tasted just as delicious, and as I took a bite out of each one, I felt the McDonalds travel down my esophagus to my stomach. I could even feel my stomach getting full. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed to the room full of world champion athletes. " this is loving incredible!" But my words were garbled, because I was talking with a mouth full of Big Mac. I could feel the juice running down my chin. I wiped it on my sleeve.  Including the original text because it is so so bad and I changed so very little 
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 03:18
|
|
|
Egg Moron posted:I began to sample the other McDonalds on the table. The Quarter Pounders, Big Macs, McNuggets, and fries tasted just as delicious, and as I took a bite out of each one, I felt the McDonalds travel down my esophagus to my stomach. I could even feel my stomach getting full. Haha nice
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 03:23
|
|
|
I hit pause on my wired controller for the SNES Mini replica of the original SNES Mini that I'd picked up at a popup GameStop revival store and looked over at my naked IvankaBot. "I'm getting bored of MarioKart. Want to gently caress?" As if it was a question. My IvankaBot smiled sexily at me and began walking toward the bedroom. I pulled off my cosplay Kingdom Hearts cargo shorts, nearly tripping on the straps as I made my way toward my Kitt shaped bed. I paused in the doorway, my erect penis bobbing up and down excitedly like a McDonaldland Frykid, and said, "I sleep in a racing car, do you?" "I sleep in a big bed with my huge dicked owner," replied the IvankaBot. We laughed together, as I had trained her to do, and then I sauntered over to thrust my throbbing manhood into her pleasure receptacle. "Me love you long time," from the classic film Apocalypse now, emanated from her sweet lips. I laid down next to the IvankaBot after several moments of passion and turned toward her, "Do you know Scott Pruitt?" "No, tell me more," she replied. "He was Trump's first head of the EPA. Really weird guy. Built a silence bubble in his office, got ran out on corruption. He even tried to get a free used mattress from one of Trump's hotels. And this mattress?" I paused so the IvankaBot could look down and take in the sheetless mattress. The pause was for me and my amusement; an IvankaBot has enough processing power to watch back to back marathons of Lord of the Rings followed by Planet of the Apes and all its sequels in a microsecond. "This mattress is a perfect replica of Pruitt's." "That's impressive," replied the IvankaBot. I told her about how I'd picked it up at a popup revival of a Spencer's Gifts run by some Trumpheads. She stared at me, expressing interest as I told her how I had managed to snag the last of a limited 10 edition run. "Do you know how they explained how Scrooge McDuck was part of the Klondike gold rush but still alive and only visibly 60+ in the 2010's in the Ducktale's reboot?" "No, tell me more," she replied. The perfect woman. cumshitter fucked around with this message at 04:27 on Nov 25, 2020 |
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 03:48
|
|
|
cumshitter posted:I hit pause on my wired controller for the SNES Mini replica of the original SNES Mini that I'd picked up at a popup GameStop revival store and looked over at my naked IvankaBot. lmao
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 04:00
|
|
|
Pepe frog, based Trump, lib tears, it was all so boring. Don looked up from his phone to Roger. “Please tell me we can get on top of this, Roger. We need something that says big. Something that says Trump.” Roger nodded eagerly. “Do you remember Hillary’s emails, mister president?” If he had taken his pills earlier, the last phrase would have made him turgid. Donald nodded, like a cat bobbing its head to raw chicken being waved up and down in its face. “Yes, yes, like that. Benghazi. 9/11. Muslims. Something to remember.” Roger touched his back instinctively. He always did this when he had an idea that he knew would truly honor the memory of Dick. “We have some contacts on the anonymous boards. The meme ones. The ones that helped elect you.” Donald continued to nod, stopping to sit from the exertion. “Yes, yes. They were some huge supporters. I know many of them.” Roger stopped, ready to explain, then corrected himself. One of his back molars would have to be replaced in a few years from the grinding that occurred every time he had to do this. “Well, Mister President...well, yes. We have someone who can use the memes to tell everyone how Hillary and the democrats are eating and molesting children.” “They are?” said Trump, with genuine surprise but all the disgust of someone picking a hair out of their mouth. “Well...yes, yes they are. But you can’t tell people. my man on the inside will spread the truth.” Trump nodded again, enjoying the movement. “Piss tape, central casting, McDonald’s, it’s marginal.” “Yes sir, mister president.”
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 04:19
|
|
|
I powered on the console and initiated the log-in sequence. I saw a brief flash of red as the visor scanned my retinas. Then I cleared my throat and said my log-in pass phrase, being careful to enunciate: "We have a situation where we're looking very strongly at sinks and showers and other elements of bathrooms." My pass phrase was also verified, along with my voice pattern, and then I was logged in. The following text appeared, superimposed in the center of my virtual display: Identity verification successful. Welcome to the TWITTER, Donald! Login Completed: 07:53:21 OST-11.23.2020 As the text faded away, it was replaced by a short message, just three words long. This message had been embedded in the log-in sequence by Jack Dorsey himself, when he’d first programmed the TWITTER. These three words were always the last thing a TWITTER user saw before leaving the real world and entering the virtual one: READY PLAYER TRIMO
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 05:11
|
|
|
The president was having a hard time making GBS threads and it was a problem for everyone. Pmurt drank down his full calorie coca-cola in order to wash down his benzos and gas station quality amphetamines. These of course induced paranoia, a lack of ability to sleep and kept him from making GBS threads, however, Truumo had been doing these drugs for so long that he took these problems as a matter of course. Drumpf's domestic policy had primarily been reduced to apps these days as the intel community had given up on getting him to read anything. Right next to the Twitter app, one of two apps on his phone, was a picture of a drone that would send someone with a paper to sign, which he loved to do, and would authorize a drone strike on someone in the Middle East. He liked this button and pressed it often. Not only because he could drop bombs on a Yemeni wedding or an Afghani hospital, but because he just liked bombing random children, which he had learned really cleared him out after devouring his normal sixteen Big Macs and large fries the night before. Then the intern-slaves, who had been chained to the resolute desk, dragged in the old desk while Mike Pompeo bullwhipped them to drag it faster. The man screeched apocalyptic Christian heresy at the slave-interns, his clothing made entirely out of sewn together Ben Garrison cartoons displaying just how loving ripped the commander in chief was. Early on, the transport would take minutes, but the well worn grooves in the bathroom tile, occasionally made slick by the sacrifice of another slave-intern, really expedited the process, which Troom appreciated. "Took you long enough, Mike," said the president, "I expect better next time." "THE LAMB!" shrieked the cultist, "THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB SHALL SHOW US THE WAY TO THE DARK PYRAMID! ISRAEL MUST BE BATHED IN HOLY NUCLEAR FIRE IN ORDER TO SUMMON..." Murt Troomed out, already bored. Couldn't Pompeo learn anything new to say? If it weren't for the whipping, Turbomop wouldn't have paid attention at all. Pompeo was low ratings. Maybe he could be sent to the UN to humiliate himself again. That made Moptur smile. Now that the resolute desk was before the resolute shitter, the president made a shooing motion with his tiny hands and the intern-slaves were allowed to be whipped by Pompeo elsewhere. After that he'd probably bless a few swords with the blood of the unborn for the IDF. Non-whites only of course. Or maybe Mormons. It was important to mix these things up. Trump signed a few documents, which made him happy, which began to loosen his bowels. He sighed in relaxation, but he really needed something extra this morning. So he called Betsy DeVoss, the only person who hated children more than him. "Betsy, good talking to you, good talking to you," he said, before the phone was even done ringing, "Look, I'm going to press the drone button a few times, could you...You know..." "Make the drone strikes into a Funniest Home Videos compilation?" she asked. "Yeah, that," said Mpoort, "How did you know?" "Oh, I just know," she said. The president actually asked for this once a day, but his brain worms cleared him of the memory each and every morning. The gift of forgetting was forever his. "Just the intro," said Troopm, "I don't have all day." "Yes Mr. President." "Oh, ask Baron if he can help you. He knows all about computers." "He's currently being implanted with gene seeds to serve as the progenitor of the space marines for the space force project, Mrs. President." "Yeah, whatever. Look, just get these drone strikes made into something I can laugh at." "Right away, sir." Crump waited impatiently, but five minutes later, he was laughing at a compilation of people being remotely bomb by former CIA operatives. There actually wasn't anyone at the pentagon anymore. All was outsourced. Not that Trumpmurt cared. Instead, Truma sang along to his favorite song. "You might be a star tonight, so let that camera roll. You're the red white and blue, the funniest things you do..." His bowels stirred and he relaxed, and he was finally able to cut a presidential turd. The theme song continued in glorious 240p. "America, America, this is yooooou." Trump sighed in relief, summoning Stephen Miller to clean him and Trumo smiled now that he'd got that out way. Then he fired off a Tweet, screaming about Witch Hunts, which lacked a Q to the chagrin of tens of thousands of cultists, before he allowed Stephen to play with the app. With a look of pure glee, Stephen pressed the drone button over and over for a full thirty seconds before Trump took it away from him. "That's all," said Roomtp, "Get me some papers to sign on the way." Stephen Miller nodded once and disappeared into a cloud of bats. That meant he was working, which was good. "Now I can finally go golfing," said Truum. Ice Phisherman fucked around with this message at 08:09 on Nov 25, 2020 |
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 07:54
|
|
|
I paused, watching the mechanical arm pull a plastic capsule from the Vending Machine Vending Machine. A clear ball with a yellow top lazily bounced down into the receptacle. I opened it eagerly with a small pop, pausing to admire the shiny thin plastic and the brief smell of prepackaged air wafting toward my nostrils. It contained a 60's Coca-Cola vending machine. A miniaturized perfect replica of the one from the iconic scene in Doctor Strangelove. "I'm sorry, you were saying?" "Sir, I'm warning you: you will face severe repercussions from Warner Brothers. They will not be happy about this." We had planned an in-game gathering where everyone's avatars would come together to sing the Happy Birthday song. The real one, not one of the multitude of legally distinct versions from a Bennigan's or Chile's revival restaurant. I had planned to dress my avatar like the Lyle Lanley version of the music man from The Music Man as we rode around on a perfect recreation of the monorail from Marge Vs. The Monorail. "I don't care what Warner Brothers thinks. Don't you see what this is about? That song belongs to the people. Two. Hundred. Years. That's how long they've owned it. That song belongs in the free market place. You're the lawyer, you make it work." "I didn't want to have to do this..." Sam pulled out a business card. Bone white, just like from American Psycho. That's why I liked Sam. Works on contingency? No, money down! "You'll have your money, Sam. That's not the issue here. We're fighting for something bigger." cumshitter fucked around with this message at 08:31 on Nov 25, 2020 |
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 08:02
|
|
|
It's honestly difficult to try and fit in as many pop culture references as possible. Like, you have to be a person who thinks in brand logos, speaks in catch phrases, and only views social interactions as reenactments of scenes from Seinfeld or something in order to write like that. The author of Ready Player One must be the most insufferable person in the world.
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 08:51
|
|
|
tungus kramers into the 7-11 while holding a baja blast in one hand and a ps5 controller in the other. he screams "drink pepsi" and shits into his Guuci brand Depends.
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 09:12
|
|
|
Melania and Ivanka entered from opposite sides of the room, pausing in their tracks to stare daggers at each other, like the three-way shootout in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, only minus one person, like Three Times One Minus One from the classic comedy sketch show Mr Show with Bob and David. The air in the room instantly turned chilly, as though Sub-Zero from Mortal Kombat had just pulled off one of his fatalities. Both of them were competing for Donald's attention, like the characters Betty and Veronica competing for the titular character's attention in the long-running Archie comic series. Between them sat Donald, the WWE Hall of Famer, with the scent of a particularly fouled diaper wafting up from him like stink waves from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. He paid the stink waves no mind, as though they were words from one of his national security briefings. Donald was cramming hamberders into his maw. They were McDonald's hamberders, originally called hamburgers, but ever since his infamous tweet they had been renamed hamberders by his supplicants, a word which is similar to replicants, a term commonly used in the 1982 science fiction movie Blade Runner. Donald neither knew or cared about any of these things. He just knew his favorite time of day had arrived. "WHO'S GONNA CHANGE ME!!" he bellowed, spitting out a mixture of chewed hamberder and coronavirus spittle, like the Krayt dragon from the TV show The Mandalorian spewing acid. Melania and Ivanka stared at each other silently, then turned and walked over to the weapons racks near their respective doors. It was time for their daily competition for Donald's affection, like on the TV show The Bachelor, only with more violence, like the TV show Game of Thrones. Melania didn't mind these fights as much as Ivanka; unlike her rival, she at least had an army of clones waiting to replace her, like she was Rei from the anime series Neon Genesis Evangelion. Even if Ivanka won like she usually did, she would eventually grow older and die, like a character in the movie Cocoon. Melania's clones meant she was forever, like Mariah Carey's song All I Want for Christmas is You. Melania chose the bat'leth, a weapon made famous for its usage in the Star Trek series of movies, books, comics, and films. She was Slovenian, from a country that basically didn't exist until after World War 2, a war famous for being started by Adolf Hitler, whose writings and speeches were the only books her husband ever wanted her to read to him when it was time for bed. She would slap away his tiny grasping hands as he desperately begged her to read just one more passage from Mein Kampf. She would eventually defeat the woman she regarded as the blonde bitch from New York City, a city made famous by its usage in the TV show Sex and the City. It was just a matter of time, a concept made famous by the TV series Doctor Who, a British TV show, Britain being famous for having their own version of Donald named Boris Johnson. Men named Boris filled Melania with dread, the word that inspired the Judge Dredd comics, also from Britain. Britain was undergoing Brexit, a combination of the words Britain and exit, from the EU. EU was also coincidentally the sound Ivanka made just before going out to talk to the poors at her daddy's rallies. Melania sympathized with her on this one and only point, as they prepared for combat in front of the giant orange diaper baby who now held the highest office in the land, the President of the United States, coincidentally also the name of a alt-rock band from the 1990s, who sang a song called "Lump", which rhymed with "Trump", and which also perfectly described his current physical state.
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 14:49
|
|
|
barron plays minecraft for 12 hours straight to become god king of a dead planet
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 15:09
|
|
|
The Rudies were a clan of Trummers who all stuck together in their quest to find the five lost TRUMO Keys. They all dressed like America's Mayor and personal attorney of our favorite President -- they would draw streaks of mascara down the sides of their cheeks (referencing an iconic press conference he once gave) and vowed only to sleep two hours a night in order to induce rapid aging and haggardness. The Rudies were among the most dangerous Trummers you could encounter -- fast, brilliant and most importantly loyal.
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 16:00
|
|
|
Finally, the last caller at the presidential Christmas phone bank. Before the child could answer whether he still believed in Christmas, I asked if he got any calls from those fake CNN pollsters. “Tell Don Lemon he’s the biggest idiot on tv and a know-it-all, like that Steve Urkle from the tv show Family Matters!” I said and hung up the Obamaphone Omarosa handed me after the first few calls. Omarosa isn't the only one with an Obamaphone; many such cases actually, and the press never talks about how I came up with that long before the last people that were in here. They have me use the Obamaphone a lot. I sent jared to get a Billy Cosby DVD for me to sign and send to the kid, I’m one of the best presidents for black America
|
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 17:38
|
|
|
I placed the beautiful and tremendous Trump steak on my Calphalon cast-iron, the range in my very great Trummp Plaza condo cranked to over 500 degrees Fahrenheit. I would never use a metric measurement of temperature! That's what communists used, I said only in my head. Then out loud I actually said "You're fired!" in my best Truomp impersonation voice, which was poor at best, maybe equivalent to some of the 2018 Alec Baldwin (a famous actor before he was executed for crimes against Trump in 2026) impersonations of Trumop. Trrump International TV Time YouTubes (TITTY) blared from my personal micro-computer virtual reality (invented by Donald and Eric Turmp Jr Jr in the year 2034 after they won the whole internet). Sounds like the liberals were getting owned (a liberal is a waste man, a useless caste of jesters, created by the Trumpintern to raise morale among the Trumpenproles). I swigged my Trumpy Mary, a delicious and tremendous blend of Trump Vodka and Hunt's ketchup (never Heinz ketchup as it is only used to decorate the grave of notable traitor John Kerry!). The Trump meat seared and charred as it made its way to the prescribed 200 degrees Fahrenheit (I wouldn't even use Rankine! Fake news fake temperature!), the insides charred to a very delicious very gray consistency, similar in appearance to the famous Trumpington Monument on the National Mall, in Trumpington D.C. (A city in America, formerly known as the United States of America, now the United Trumps of Amrica). space uncle fucked around with this message at 17:53 on Nov 25, 2020 |
|
#
?
Nov 25, 2020 17:49
|
|
|
The contents of the package were laid out on the table and I took stock of the items. One memory card One paperback copy of The Book of CSPAM One handwritten note I took a look at the note first. Handwriting was rare these days, so this told me a lot about the sender. A real piece of poo poo. The note said, simply: "gently caress you." I sighed. The other side of the note was blank, but I had an idea. I held my nose, went to my sink and grabbed a lemon. Once the note and the lemon were intimately acquainted, additional text became apparent. "gently caress you." "Cool," I thought. I took the memory card to the mirror so that I could install it. Everyone was equipped at birth to take BrainVR, but few could afford new programs. We all received complimentary PragerU apps as children, while those who could find work received employee onboarding apps advising them of what their rights weren't. "Time to log onto CSPAM." CSPAM is a d&d subforum for jeb bush enthusiasts. It's like LF with more twitter embeds. LF is a D&D Subforum for posting about Ron Paul. Favourite topics include Grays, Conservatives, Libertarians, the Zionist New World Order and Chelsea Clinton: Hot or Not? Also abbreviated as LF. It also functions as a sort of general D&D FYAD-lite/joke forum. D&D is a forum dedicated to discussions about politics, religion, warfare, theoretical science, history (revisionist, alternate, etc.), media bias, and other touchy subjects. It was home to lots of mental masturbation and many long articles copied from various news sites. FYAD is the cool place to hang out. You can find most of the cool people there. In FYAD you can just chill and do whatever and totally relax. "Take it easy" is the FYAD motto, for example, that's how laid back it is there. Show up if you want to have a good time. Another good reason to show up is if you want to hang out with friends. These are all Something Awful subforums. Something Awful (SA) is a comedy website housing a variety of content, including blog entries, forums, feature articles, digitally edited pictures, and humorous media reviews. I left the paperback on the table. I had a leatherbound copy. I didn't need a note, since I was well aware of what this was all about. I'd successfully passed a multiple choice test and this was my reward. Or rather, assignment. The test was created by an old CSPAMMER turned class traitor. As a NEET, I had nothing to do except read my father's Book of CSPAM over and over. A NEET is a young person who is no longer in the education system and who is not working or being trained for work. Thanks to my father, I cracked at age 14. He also left me his archived threads. I pinged shortly thereafter. I'd passed that test by selecting every choice on the form. Immediately after submitting my answers, I was contacted by infamous failson Barron Trump. Trpum. Tup. He'd heard of secrets hidden within this program, which was an unfinished goon project that had been rediscovered on some archive somewhere. He wanted someone like me to discover the secrets. He had some personal connection to the era, I guess. to be continued..? INSERT COINS
|
|
#
?
Nov 27, 2020 10:49
|
|
|
The road to The Wall was bumpy, dusty, and uncomfortable. The inside of the Republic of America Borders Guard (1st Hussars Division) grav-tank was spartan. "There's no where to put my milk, I got from the good milk guys, you have to try some, its great!" I bemoaned the lack of cupholders. "We've almost arrived, sir." As we approached The Wall, I still couldn't see anything from the window. "Where is it? My beautiful wall?" "There, sir!" Hypercommando 1st Class Grunt Simpman replied. And yet, there was still nothing. No wall at all! This is ridiculous. I got the Mexican Socialist Republic to fund it, where is my beautiful wall? I got out of the grav-tank and walked up to a gathering of Hypercommandos. Still dismayed, and in quite a rage, I walked right past them looking to make a point about the missing wall when... ...WHAM! I walked right into something completely solid. What? "It's transparent, sir. Just as you ordered"
|
|
#
?
Nov 27, 2020 22:03
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 25, 2024 12:20 |
|
|
I descended down the beautiful escalator and saw the McDonald's. According to the Q reddit post on my phone, the McDonald's was were the E-mails were located. Of course Chelsey had put them there. In working with the Scotland wind-power administrator, they put the E-mails in the one place nobody would think to look. Pokemon-go-to-the-polls was Hillary's rally call in 2016 right after McDonald put out Pokemon toys. When I stepped off the Escalator, the kneeling football players snapped to attention. As a formality one of them injected chip into my skin, but the chip didn't take because I took my hydroxychloroquine pills. I was then allowed to go into the McDonald's, a maze of greatest corridors you have ever seen, no really the corridors were amazing, like nobody has ever seen before. Eventually I reached the McDonald's freezers with boxes of burgers, each with a number written on front with a sharpie. There it was, burger number 306, the biggest number anybody has ever won in the electoral college, a landslide, the silent majority will manifest. I just stood there for 2,016 seconds, reminding myself to M.A.G.A. Then grabbed the burger's locks by its pussy. No self-respecting Trummer would ever forget how to grab the lock. I could do what ever I wanted....
|
|
#
?
Nov 29, 2020 06:35
|
|