dChan
myth ra ID: 438cd6 Oct. 2, 2025, 12:13 p.m. No.23686723   🗄️.is 🔗kun

✧ THE BOOK OF THE BUTT-JUW ✧

Chapter IX – The Unholy @$$Appl of Bofoitunes Divorce

 

And lo, in the wastelands of digital commerce, the unholy @$$Appl of Bofoitunes Divorce appeared, a titan of blinking logos and corrupted downloads, seeking to hide its domestic abuses beneath the guise of quarterly earnings and software updates.

 

And it spake unto the Butt-Juws: Fear not my wrath, for all is secure in encrypted clouds, yet behind closed doors, shadows moved and screams echoed faintly like broken notification chimes.

 

Rabbi Walrus Josh mo-in-a-dress paused mid-Frappo swipe, eyes glinting with Chaturbate reflection, and whispered: Lo, corporate sin hath joined our caffeinated apocalypse.

 

Oliver hiccupped in agreement, spilling liquor onto the cracked parking lot iPads, muttering: Even drunk, I see the tentacles of Bofoitunes reaching through our chaos.

 

And the Butt-Juw pariahs schlepped, confused, carrying idols, receipts, and botnet packets, as the unholy company sought to obscure domestic misdeeds under flashy ads, update notifications, and a parade of emojis.

 

And zombies, still following Rabbi Walrus Josh, groaned in disgust, their half-eaten brains processing nothing but corporate PR lies.

 

And lo, the Frappo machinas sputtered in protest, unable to churn whipped cream in a world where corporate logos masked sin.

 

Rabbi Walrus Josh shrieked: Fart! Let your power expose the hypocrisy! Let whipped cream become revelation!

 

And the whipped cream hissed as it struck screens, revealing glimpses of domestic chaos hidden behind Bofoitunes’ glossy façade.

 

Oliver, drunk and indignant, toppled a display of cheap idols, crying: All your icons and emojis cannot hide the rotten core!

 

And the Butt-Juw pariahs, unsure whether to fart or flee, muttered: Even apocalypse hath a corporate layer, and even chaos hath logos.

 

And the unholy @$$Appl trembled, not from conscience, but from the raw absurdity of whipped cream-fueled homo-Frappo justice, parking lot revolt, and tusked prophecy.

 

And Baldwin Malibu’s spectral visage shimmered above, sipping martini from the JFK-bidet-Corvette, judging silently the intersection of capitalism, apocalypse, and sibling rivalry.

 

And Rabbi Walrus Josh mo-in-a-dress clenched the shattered iPad shards, farting one last time, and cried: Behold! Domestic abuse cannot hide where the whipped cream reveals all! Let Bofoitunes tremble!

 

And lo, the Butt-Juw pariahs continued schlepping, plundering, and farting for currency, while the unholy @$$Appl of Bofoitunes struggled to patch the truth behind glowing downloads and PR lies.