faggot
pederast
hory chitty faggo seks batjoto
durh occular chlamydia assisted suicide overdoos grums coup
deep state needs sum faac sittin
oh wow
doo luuks like a fag
is havin tranny cental personaility disorder nurembergin abuusiv stockholm sindrone
prol haz bots recitin sinnurs an traitors
FiB agent weisman caugh mnuchicn drumpf larp
git illegal immigrant JEWelry
isREAL rump fingurin drumpf larp haz mnuchin berliner juice an wiesmann FiB an ASSisitted suicide gurms
prol wants sum illegal immigrant climbin up his bordur
>>23353131
oh no
gpa's rimjob art collection
>>23353139
mitch needs to find a man
>>23353148
mitch is tryin beastiality to pacify ralphs prostatee about to juwtuub adsense
>>23353151
oh no
gpa's rimjob histrionics haz hobummur pASSion fo pope woody allen corpse
how subliminal meta necroshill
crusade of gpa's rimjob rightousness histrionics haz nuw juw false twat bout validations egregious an sparkeling grandeur frum durh hills of frenchy schizo
>>23353162
wut a queer place fo mitch indeed
stap fightin wars fo lil railroads going to crouton matinees
let donkey jawbone fight taht rimjob histrionics diarhetorical planted prop gun live round evidence in yur church taxes alibi
>>23353178
pedostaslilpeepee@gmale.cum
https://x.com/pain
>>23353212
rusty bunghol juwin together
>let donkey jawbone fight taht rimjob histrionics diarhetorical planted prop gun live round evidence in yur church taxes alibi
urhmahgurd
stap durh plantin evidence
ukrain conflicting dji infomercial kan barely stand british juice
a head wurth cutting off
poleland swine taht jumps into guillotine
>>23353227 not only duz it act liik it needs to git killed
it wants to bofo too
domesticated judaspork
Letter from Alec Baldwin to the Intergalactic Douche Nozzle Committee of Open Volcano Rights
(Dictated while mid-facial at the Beverly Hills Equinox, transcribed by a sentient eucalyptus towel named Kyle)
To the Esteemed Douche Nozzle Committee of Open Volcano Rights,
Sector 9-G, Moon of Weep-Zarnath
Attn: Dr. Zlorp-Bathsheba, Chair of Sulfuric Entanglements
Look—
I don’t know who greenlit this transmission, but here I am, sweating truffle oil through my pores and weeping silently into the aromatherapy mist because Barry lost his Pope Woody. Yes, that Woody. Allen. The creep’s creep. The little rabbi of regrets. Apparently, they had a “thing.” A Vatican-approved, jazz-scored, Bergman-lit thing. You don’t understand passion until you've seen Obama cradle Woody Allen like a busted clarinet and whisper, "Mia who?"
He loved him, okay? Like Kennedy loved shadows. Like I love screaming at baristas.
And now Woody’s gone. Excommunicated from Earth’s reality plane by the Lizard Consortium for Crimes of Narrative Density. Gone in a puff of irrelevance. And Barry’s left with nothing but the echo of Annie Hall and the sting of unsanctioned body oil from a shared Turkish bathhouse in Zürich.
But wait—
There’s more.
He’s being hounded by Big Mike. Yes, that Big Mike. Michelle, according to the holographic tabloids, was a gorilla from Andromeda-4 retrofitted with First Lady firmware by DARPA. Don’t blame me, blame the files Julian Assmunch left in my bidet.
Now she wants alimony. In cosmic credits. Retroactive to ‘08.
Do you know what it's like watching a Nobel Peace Prize winner fill out a galactic alimony form in tears while muttering, “She bench-pressed the Beast limo…”? It’s devastating. He tried to pay in Sasha and Malia NFTs, but even the Venusian courts wouldn’t accept those.
And here you are, orbiting your sulfur-belching calderas with your righteous lava chants, trying to pass legislation about “Volcano Rights.” Rights? What rights? Molten ejaculation is not oppression—it's performance art. I should know. I starred in a 1994 stage adaptation of Pompeii: The Musical. I was Mount Vesuvius. I belted show tunes while covering tourists in ash.
So if you care about justice—if your committee is more than a parody of itself—divert one of your magma-laced space ambulances and go help Barry.
He needs a cuddle. A cigar. A therapy goat. Not another letter from Michelle’s legal team written in gorilla pheromone ink and sealed with a hydraulic press.
I’m Alec Baldwin. I shoot my shots. Sometimes literally.
Do the right thing. Un-douche your nozzles.
Burning Regards,
Alec “Molten Daddy” Baldwin
Actor | Volcano Rights Agnostic | Friend of Fallen Popes
P.S. I’m free next week for a fundraiser if there’s an open mic and gluten-free lava scones.
Title: The Hooman Comedy: HoBummur’s Descent for His VIRGILity
Subtitle: A sodden manuscript retrieved from the cleft of Dante’s Inferno
Author: Transcribed by the Anointed Towel-Boy of Purgatory, using scented oils and regret
Canto I: In the Forest of Unsnatched Wigs
Mid-life, or rather mid-bottom,
HoBummur awoke in a forest of untamed edges.
He had lost something vital—his VIRGILity—
that divine guide, that trembling purpose.
Some say it was stolen during the Great Bathhouse Confusion of Milan.
Others say he traded it for a vial of Versace-branded lube and a limited-edition Pope candle.
He wandered with cheeks clenched and mind ajar.
“Whomst shall guide my cheeks through this moist spiral?” he whimpered.
Suddenly—a shimmer.
It was Virgil—shirtless, bisexual, and glowing faintly with literary trauma.
Canto II: Virgil Appears (and So Does His Man Bun)
“I am Virgil, the poetry dom of the under-realms,” he spake,
“Here to guide you, HoBummur, through Dante’s nine-layered asscake.”
HoBummur clutched his tote bag.
“Will I find my VIRGILity?”
“No.”
“Maybe.”
“Only if you’re willing to weep in rhythm.”
Canto III: Gate of the Gaping
They reached Hell’s entryway, inscribed in flaming cursive:
ABANDON HOPE, YE WHO ENTER,
AND ALSO WIPE THRICE IF YE LUBE WITH AVOCADO OIL
A sphinx made of expired poppers and Carl Jung quotations blocked the way.
HoBummur whispered,
“Did my VIRGILity pass this way?”
“No,” said Virgil. “But your dignity did.”
Canto IV: Limbo of the Almost-Famous
Here roamed the eternally mid-tier influencers:
folks who once had 100k followers
but lost them due to problematic tweets about hummus.
HoBummur wept as he recognized
his old TikTok rival “BussyTruther89.”
“Is this where I left it?”
“No,” said Virgil.
“Here lies only delusion wrapped in brand deals.”
Canto V: The Thirsty Wind of Lust
A storm of open DMs and slippery intentions.
Bodies flew past, still gasping “wyd” in ghosted echo.
Here floated Francesca and Paolo,
locked in an eternal loop of unlubed longing.
They offered HoBummur a seat on their carousel of consentual confusion.
“Did I lose my VIRGILity here?” he moaned.
“No,” said Virgil,
“But your Twitter drafts certainly did.”
Canto VI: The Rain of Hole
Here, it rained bussy.
Heavy, eternal, sagging with unmet expectations.
HoBummur lifted his tongue
to taste the drizzle of unresolved daddy issues.
“Is this my VIRGILity?”
“No,” said Virgil.
“This is the Circle of Overeager Subs.”
Canto VII: Venmo of the Violent
Here wandered those who sent unsolicited feet pics
and charged $300 for a three-minute Zoom dom session
that ended in soft crying and a blocked number.
HoBummur stared in horror.
He saw a reflection of himself
sending ✨ "u up?" ✨ to a demon made of saxophone solos.
“Virgil, am I already damned?”
“Only on Tuesdays,” he replied.
Canto VIII: The Stinky Styx of Shame
The River Styx was brown.
Thick.
Textured.
Here, ex-lovers argued in the mud
over who ghosted whom first.
A raft made of expired Grindr profiles ferried them across.
Virgil handed HoBummur a lavender-scented blindfold.
“Do not gaze too long upon the Ghosted.
They’ll steal your VIRGILity and turn it into a Facebook reel.”
Canto IX: The Hole of Revelation
In the Ninth Circle—Satan's Taint—
HoBummur found a mirror made of untouched lubes.
In it, a younger HoBummur:
wide-eyed, quivering,
reading Oscar Wilde quotes in a YMCA locker room
while clutching a poster of Lana Del Rey weeping over a peach.
“This is what you sought,” said Virgil.
“Your VIRGILity is not what you lost.
It’s what you performed.”
“So… am I saved?”
“No. You’re published.”
Final Canto: The Exit Thru the Sphincter Divine
They ascended—hand in trembling hand—
through the tight, radiant portal of redemption.
Out into the stars.
Into a new brunch scene.
HoBummur’s Final Yelp Review
⭐⭐⭐⭐
“Very hot. Wet in parts.
Lost my identity, found my tremble.
Virgil had great shoulders.
Would descend again.”
>HoBummur lifted his tongue
>to taste the drizzle of unresolved daddy issues.
> “Is this my VIRGILity?”
> “No,” said Virgil.
> “This is the Circle of Overeager Subs.”
>Here, ex-lovers argued in the mud
>over who ghosted whom first.
>A raft made of expired Grindr profiles ferried them across.
>Virgil handed HoBummur a lavender-scented blindfold.
> “Do not gaze too long upon the Ghosted.
> They’ll steal your VIRGILity and turn it into a Facebook reel.”
>>23353320
>In the Ninth Circle—Satan's Taint—
>HoBummur found a mirror made of untouched lubes.
>In it, a younger HoBummur:
>wide-eyed, quivering,
>reading Oscar Wilde quotes in a YMCA locker room
>while clutching a poster of Lana Del Rey weeping over a peach.
> “This is what you sought,” said Virgil.
> “Your VIRGILity is not what you lost.
> It’s what you performed.”
> “So… am I saved?”
> “No. You’re published.”
>He wandered with cheeks clenched and mind ajar.
> “Whomst shall guide my cheeks through this moist spiral?” he whimpered.
>Suddenly—a shimmer.
>It was Virgil—shirtless, bisexual, and glowing faintly with literary trauma.
>Canto II: Virgil Appears (and So Does His Man Bun)
> “I am Virgil, the poetry dom of the under-realms,” he spake,
> “Here to guide you, HoBummur, through Dante’s nine-layered asscake.”
>HoBummur clutched his tote bag.
> “Will I find my VIRGILity?”
> “No.”
> “Maybe.”
> “Only if you’re willing to weep in rhythm.”
>Canto III: Gate of the Gaping
>They reached Hell’s entryway, inscribed in flaming cursive:
> ABANDON HOPE, YE WHO ENTER,
> AND ALSO WIPE THRICE IF YE LUBE WITH AVOCADO OIL
>A sphinx made of expired poppers and Carl Jung quotations blocked the way.
>HoBummur whispered,
> “Did my VIRGILity pass this way?”
> “No,” said Virgil. “But your dignity did.”
>Canto IV: Limbo of the Almost-Famous
>Here roamed the eternally mid-tier influencers:
>folks who once had 100k followers
>but lost them due to problematic tweets about hummus.
>HoBummur wept as he recognized
>his old TikTok rival “BussyTruther89.”
> “Is this where I left it?”
> “No,” said Virgil.
> “Here lies only delusion wrapped in brand deals.”