Bammer wrote:There are a few kids in my sons’ friend group that I legitimately hate. I’m talking about 7 year olds and I honestly do hate them as people. They are terrible.
That’s not actually a fair statement. My son’s aren’t friends with them. They have been on the same little league team several times so it’s a group that we interact with regularly. I’m friends with the parents, most of whom I genuinely like. But seriously FUCK these kids. I hate them.
Is it because none of them are willing to stand up during a concert and make everyone else stand up with them?
Be honest did you jerk off after posting this?
You actually thought this question. And then typed it. And then posted it. And never once did you read it back and think 'this is the kind of question only an actual psychopath would ask.'
Ello Sailor wrote:Kids have an excuse. Most of you cretins are just redacted.
i know you started using this because i griped about the hard r word here like a little bitch, and i just want you to know how much i appreciate it, and i think it's funnier that way.
that is my admission this Sunday on rm.
96583UP wrote:i recently bought travel-size packets of metamucil
Ello Sailor wrote:Kids have an excuse. Most of you cretins are just redacted.
i know you started using this because i griped about the hard r word here like a little bitch, and i just want you to know how much i appreciate it, and i think it's funnier that way.
Bammer wrote:There are a few kids in my sons’ friend group that I legitimately hate. I’m talking about 7 year olds and I honestly do hate them as people. They are terrible.
That’s not actually a fair statement. My son’s aren’t friends with them. They have been on the same little league team several times so it’s a group that we interact with regularly. I’m friends with the parents, most of whom I genuinely like. But seriously FUCK these kids. I hate them.
Is it because none of them are willing to stand up during a concert and make everyone else stand up with them?
Be honest did you jerk off after posting this?
You actually thought this question. And then typed it. And then posted it. And never once did you read it back and think 'this is the kind of question only an actual psychopath would ask.'
Ello Sailor wrote:Kids have an excuse. Most of you cretins are just redacted.
i know you started using this because i griped about the hard r word here like a little bitch, and i just want you to know how much i appreciate it, and i think it's funnier that way.
that is my admission this Sunday on rm.
It is way funnier
agreed
Vitalogist wrote:As a hotel manager, you can imagine the amount of beige I’ve seen in my career.
Ello Sailor wrote:Kids have an excuse. Most of you cretins are just redacted.
i know you started using this because i griped about the hard r word here like a little bitch, and i just want you to know how much i appreciate it, and i think it's funnier that way.
Ello Sailor wrote:Kids have an excuse. Most of you cretins are just redacted.
i know you started using this because i griped about the hard r word here like a little bitch, and i just want you to know how much i appreciate it, and i think it's funnier that way.
that is my admission this Sunday on rm.
Cmon dad…you’re not little
oh dang.
96583UP wrote:i recently bought travel-size packets of metamucil
doug rr wrote:I dont follow celeb news but I had no idea that Bijou Philips was married to Danny Masterson...now getting divorced for whatever reason...
Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
Last edited by tragabigzanda on Tue January 13, 2026 9:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
All posts by this account, even those referencing real things, are entirely fictional and are for entertainment purposes only; i.e. very low-quality entertainment. These may contain coarse language and due to their content should not be viewed by anyone
Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
Last edited by tragabigzanda on Tue January 13, 2026 9:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
