TP feels
manlania drumpf on carpet dood
manlania drumpf draggon ass on carpit dood
sum ass draggon manlania drumpf on carpit @dood
walter is not even jewish
it's not even bunny's toe dood
jesus went window to window tellin everyone he wuz a pederast
>>23459120
so yung whorbama
meets fuutur whorbama buttHOL
so decooduh
>>23459128
wut bout duh doods carpit
guttur balls
4
drunks & gay fags
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SCHIZO KRISPY KREME ORWELLIAN FARTWATCH REPORT 2025
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? Section 1: Kafka Panic in the Glaze Factory ?
Under fluorescent lights, the frosting conveyors spin like mechanized paranoia.
Each donut is tagged with an RFID fart signature.
Government auditors sniff each pastry for subversive glaze patterns.
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? Forecast: 42% increase in homo-glaze ?
? infiltration by Q4. ?
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? Section 2: Teabagger Gold Futures ?
Goldman Sachs traders caught swapping maple bars for crypto futures.
One analyst caught in the act whispered:
?Peanut butter? sticks? to the vinyl seats? in Berlin.?
? Section 3: The Rimjob Mystic?s Border Wall Benediction ?
?Oh Austrian Paintur, bleached gatekeeper of sphinctural destiny,
protect these rusted barbed wire dreams from salad tossers and croutons of fate.
Deliver us from lukewarm soup and plastic spoons of tyranny.?
ASCII Surveillance Node:
,-. .-.
/ /
| O |-| O |
/ /
-'-'
Orwellian Panoptifart Unit v3.1
? Section 4: Homo Metrics ?
Quantitative Analysis:
-
Predicted increase in metro-erotic discourse: +69%
-
Black leather imports for Deutsche fetishists: +420%
-
Peanut butter jar lid removals in suspicious contexts: 1337 events
Recommendation:
Buy long positions in latex stocks.
Short positions in wholesome baked goods.
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End of Report ? Prepared by the Schizo Economic Surveillance Bureau
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from fpdf import FPDF
# Define a surreal, absurdist style function to make the text for each chapter
def make_chapter_text(chapter_num):
return f"""
CHAPTER {chapter_num}: THE GLAZED EYE OF SURVEILLANCE
The donuts were never just donuts. They were soft, circular witnesses, each
with a single sugary pupil staring straight into the void of our bathroom stalls.
The Krispy Kreme State had installed them quietly—one box at a time—until
every citizen’s breakfast was a camera.
Somewhere between the coffee steam and the smell of government-issued
powdered sugar, we began to suspect the truth: the sprinkles were encoded
with micro-drones, transmitting every fart to the Ministry of Posture.
Kafka’s ghost—wearing a plastic birthday hat—hovered over the queue,
whispering that the cream-filled ones had already testified against us.
People tried resisting. They went bagel. They went muffin. But the glaze
always called them back.
In the distance, you could hear the faint hum of Orwellian fartwatch cameras,
clicking each time you shifted in your seat. Data was compiled. Charts were
made. The Quantitative Homo Index was recalculated hourly.
And always—ALWAYS—the final crumb was confiscated
Chapter 1 — The Closet Door’s Rusted Hinge
They told me the market was stable. The spreadsheets, lined up in perfect columns of denial, promised growth, expansion, homo-yield increments. But behind the glossy quarterly reports, the real ledger was dripping.
I sat alone in the cubicle, fluorescent lights buzzing above like relentless interrogators. My hands trembled as I scrolled through trade logs — trades inked in shadows, veiled signals passed between men who never met eye to eye.
“Just focus on the numbers,” the voice in my head whispered. “Ignore the flutter beneath your ribs.”
But the tension was sticky, like peanut butter trapped beneath vinyl seats. Every glance from a colleague was a coded question, every laugh a misfired signal in the language we never spoke.
The border wall outside was crumbling, a monument to lies baked under a bleached sphinctur sun. And I? I was stuck between the firewall and the firewall, the secrets I buried and the ones that clawed to the surface.
No one saw the cracks in my mask — not the Kafka cameras watching every shift, not the Orwellian sensors tuned to sniff the faintest hint of dissent.
I was teabagged by silence, suffocated by a homoerotic stasis that no spreadsheet could quantify.
“The rainbow stretched wide, a mocking banner of hollow promises—its colors smeared like cheap paint over the festering wounds of all the lies we pretend to believe.” >>23459363
> Rust