Are rage comics literature?

Kill myself? JESUS. Dude you are cucked by the impotence of this culture of swine you stupid MARXIST SCUM. Capitalism is the true freedom of its people. China is a fucking COMMUNIST regime and look how it is now, the people are literallty slaves. In the US we have freedoms. Where are youf rom? IRAW AND AFGHAINISTAN MUSLIME TERRORIXST COMBINE SHOOTER. You resortt to violet and bad words because you are uneducated. Don't talk to me again myt friend.

yes

Anjyone else hate niggers? Kill yourself with that racsit bullshit o back to poland whre you belong filthy JEW.

so this is the power of autism

I concede to your argument, comrade. Let's hug it out.

Peace, brother, and respect and love to you. We are one in the same, united we stand, untie the faggots, and so on.

So what do you want to do now? Shouild we hug? Kiss? hjve asnal sexual intercourse on top of the mountain over there on the west side of the appalchian city state or what? I don't really know agerman but I can teach you some phrase like gutenberg and thsit like that man. I seriously love you and all thatr you did to me back when we were in the fourth grade and I showed you my anus in the library behind the books and then no one saw bwecaseu we were styealtyhy like ancient ninjas back wehne they reaclly existsed and shit. I hate tyyping this all out because my fingers are trired from earlier when I was fingering my rutrtle shell and I popped a blood vessel baecause I was going to hard at it !BOY! gthis is really fun talking to you like playing DWatrf Fortress. You know Dwaf fortress? It's a p funnty game and stuff but yeah man I love you soooooooooooooo much I could have sex with you right in the parkw erehe everyone wztched and we don';t guive two shits or anthing at all because we are so deeply in love we can do anyhing. I will convert myself to your Jewish Marcist shitty political ideology like theat Zizek ghuy who sniffs his butthole all the time during interviews but even though he does that I stuill find him attractive but not attractive werehe I would have sex withy hjim bvwecause I'm nto a homosexual or antyuhgin liek that or lesbian. I am a dude, what are you? Are you a gir;l? becuae I like to havce anal course with girls especiallty around THAnksgiving day when we aeat al loto of turkey and rink beer even though were are both underage boys looking for some fun it's alright. So when did you lose your vrignity? It was for me when iw as 15 and it was with some dude who was a negro who pressured me into it who was also an adult so maybe it was rape byut i dunno. UI didn't report that to the police but it's probably to late now. What do u think? Well, anyway I gotta get back to building legos, just reply tgo me whenever and ill check bnack later after I jack off to lego porn. Cya .

Yesa I know what you mean go jack off to that lego porn. I am a boy, yes but I am also unemployed. Unemployment is bad because it causes people to suffer. By bad I mean less good, there are more good benefits of having employment than unemployment. I am currently unemployed myself, therefore I am aware of some of the tribulations other unemployed people may face. A tribulation like not being able to afford a certain book that I want is something I have personally faced. We should fix the issues of unemployment because of the suffering it causes people. Suffering could lead to things like depression and depression can lead to something like crime. Since unemployment can lead to crime then that means unemployment can affect people other than the unemployed. Mostly poor people suffer from unemployment and the wealthier usually suffer less. Wealthier people are better insured against unemployment or can find jobs easier. Poor people are likely to be more against unemployment than wealthier people due to wealthier people being less affected from unemployment. To poor people unemployment could mean losing their homes; however, wealthier people are less likely to lose their homes. I want to convince you that unemployment is bad through this essay. College students can be any variety of background, black, hispanic, white, etc. It is likely that a common background college students hold is a high school diploma or equivalent. I would expect most college students agree that unemployment is bad. Some of the college students may have faced unemployment themselves. It may be likely college students would be aware of unemployment from a television program, a class, or personal experience. College students may not be aware of some of the tribulations that certain poor people face when losing a job like losing a home. It is likely that college students would want unemployment to be solved through a creation of more jobs, such as opening up more stores so people can be clerks, because if there are less jobs then it might affect the chances of college students finding jobs. Unemployment is usually involved in an economic framework, because it is required that more valued jobs be open to decrease unemployment.

Intersting point about the unemplyoemnt my friend. I just got back from jacking off to LEGO pornographic images. Mother remained sitting alone in her amber reclining chair staring at the tube screen. I did not find out what she scanned in her brain, and I never asked her because I cannot care less. She donned a white shirt two sizes too large; the front depicted Mickey Mouse's head in silhouette. On her left hand lied a watch, a golden timepiece that twinkled comparable to a diamond star. It was dark outside, perfect for our little moment. Why did I continue gazing upon mother listening to the television? I experienced a content nature as I stared the same as she and she endured unaware of my attentive stare so I continued. Her bright braided hair looked marvelous this early morning as the flocks waved in the fan that circled around behind her. Danced in the shadows inhabited the light from the video feed, it stayed dark in the room otherwise. I could smell her breathing and taste her perfume.Many senses of her became available for me to read, including a sense that her mind numbed. The air remained sub zero, and I understood we needed to shift up the heat. So, I stopped staring at mother after an hour and went upstairs to turn up the weather. When I appeared back mother looked at me and smiled. I felt uncomfortable as she smiled at me, then I went downstairs into the basement in which I dwell. Eleven hours of playing video games later I came back up to detect what mother was doing now. I stared at her as she held still attentive to the station but who views an idiot box for so long I speculated. She ought to be a zombie I mused to myself. Along with her shirt and wristwatch she wore blue pajama pants with white polka dots, but I do not distinguish any other articles she wore that day. I did not pay attention to what mother minded but instead focused a minute of my concentration onto her as a whole instead. The United Nations tried to figure out what created mother to be who she is now and what made her tick. Sometimes I wondered what ideas she squandered to live such a dreary life in which she only watches audio and never leaves or cleans any dishes. I became tired of doing the dishes every hour of every day. The clock on the wall read twelve o’clock and the sound of a bird donged out. In this moment I am euphoric, not because of a phony television show but because I stared at mother. As time ticked on I retained getting an uneasy twiddle as if I did something wrong. I do not recognize why but it may be what I ate the earlier day.

Yesterday, I consumed a sandwich and today I will consume a grinder. To just do rang in my head as I reflected on my earlier encounters. I tried to find what mother was on, but I retained coming up with crickets, but what are crickets even and how are they useful? Crickets must be decent for any use or crickets are excellent for the opposite? Sometimes I wish I turned into a god or elder dragon or a mystical warlock so I preserved the keys of understanding, because you know, those things bear the answers in a way I guess. These remained the thoughts that kept creeping into my infinite mind. During that brief meet, while I stared at mother, I put on pants. The knickers I wore bore the words which echoed deep space nine. I did not discern what the words meant now but as I survive the days I suspect they had something to do with Babylon 5. I have never experienced science fiction ever before but if I became born twenty years ago perchance I may have liked to eyeball them on occasion. Continuing on looking at mother I recorded that she prevailed as a white woman. How did I not attain cognizance that mother subsisted as silver as snow? I always considered mother as a burnished color alike myself; she stood not as a brown woman though. Alien I am, an illegal foreign existence, and I did not note what to do or think about it. I sometimes act or work anyways and I held an idea that maybe I should expunge. Another thing I sensed on mother, the sense of how well she saw mathematics. There has never been an individual who perceived mathematics the same as her, she understood everything on arithmetic I reasoned incorrect. If only I committed to being as strong as mother if only I did not spend my time staring at her and spent quality time staring at friends instead. My intelligence failed, now I must keep up to become as good at two plus two but mother’s own chronometer blinded me, the same with most mothers and their sons.

“Yes, I am so ready to start dis up, yo,” stated John Green to Willard Smith.

“What are you talkin’ ‘bout, John Green?”

“I dun’ really know.”

“Society is unattainable,” said Willard Smith. Post-Semitic discourse implies that the significance of the poet is deconstruction. Therefore, Bataille suggests the use of the subdialectic paradigm of narrative to deconstruct and read sexual identity.

Let us go then, you and I
While the paradigm’s spread against the why
Like a writer etherized by his novel
Let us go through certain aesthetics obsolete
The muttering retreats
Of nights in dusty novels
And saw-dust of remaindered books off the shelves,
Obsolete like a tedious argument
Of centering intent
To lead you to an underwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, “what is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the students come and go
Talking of Michel Foucault…

Willard Smith was thinking about John Green again. John Green was a gracious ogre with sloppy ankles and spiky toes. Willard Smith walked over to the window and reflected on his picturesque surroundings. He had always loved cold Calmest Prairie with its vast, vacant volcanoes. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel concerned. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a gracious figure of John Green . Willard Smith gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a tactless, loving, wine drinker with sticky ankles and ugly toes. His friends saw him as a great, gigantic giant. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a shaggy injured bird. But not even a tactless person who had once made a cup of tea for a shaggy injured bird, was prepared for what John Green had in store today. The wind blew like singing koalas, making Willard Smith sad. Willard Smith grabbed a squidgy corn that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers. As Willard Smith stepped outside and John Green came closer, he could see the hilarious glint in his eye.

"Look Willard Smith," growled John Green, with a gentle glare that reminded Willard Smith of gracious ostriches. "I hate you and I want equality. You owe me 3,689 gold pieces."

Willard Smith looked back, even more sad and still fingering the squidgy corn. "John Green, I'm in love with you," he replied.

Best thread, I miss rage comics

They looked at each other with stressed feelings, like two tough, talented toads talking at a very popular accident, which had R & B music playing in the background and two arrogant uncles eating to the beat. Suddenly, John Green lunged forward and tried to punch Willard Smith in the face. Quickly, Willard Smith grabbed the squidgy corn and brought it down on John Green's skull. John Green's sloppy ankles trembled and his spiky toes wobbled. He looked surprised, his wallet raw like a blue, breezy book. Then he let out an agonizing groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later John Green was dead. Willard Smith went back inside and made himself a nice glass of wine. It was a dark and stormy night. An unnatural haze lingered over Calmest Prairie. In his bed, Willard Smith shivered. For a summer night, the air was cold and the sky was black. It was almost as if something evil lurked out there in the shadows. Willard Smith rolled over, clutching his pillow, and tried to fall back asleep. But a worry nagged in the back of his mind.

Something was not right.

No matter how he tried, some ghostly force prevented him from sleeping. It made him uneasy. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his boots, and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on his nightstand. Quietly, he left his room. The halls were silent as he walked in the dark. He did not know where he was going, or why, but his body seemed to move on its own accord. He was being drawn by an unseen power. Past his father's bedroom, past the dining hall, past the bathroom, and out onto the terrace. With the moon hidden behind thick clouds, it was nearly impossible to see in the inky black night. But something lying on the path to Willard Smith's right made him gasp in shock. A body!

“Wow!” Willard Smith shouted. He leapt over the terrace railing and onto the ground below, running toward the fallen form as fast as he could. Tree branches scratched at his skin and pulled at his lingerie, but he paid them no mind. Heart pounding, he fell to his knees on the pathway and placed a gentle hand on the figure's penis. Now that he was closer, he could see that this was a young negro of Miami, a Lady by the looks of him, who appeared to be no more than 2 years old. But he was in dire need of help. His clothes were torn and bloody, and his hair was matted with goo. He needed the attention of a healer, immediately. Without a second thought, Willard Smith picked up the wounded Lady and, cradling him in his arms, carried him inside to seek the help that was so desperately needed.

“His situation is severe,” John said in a worried voice. “Whether he will live until morning is beyond my sight. My team of healers will do the best they can, but…” his voice trailed off. Willard Smith could sense his fear. There was a good chance the young negro might die.

“Is there anything I can do to help”' he asked. John sadly shook his head.

“Nothing the healers are not already trying. But it might help if you just sat with him. He will need to see a friendly face when he wakes up from this ordeal, and you are the closest thing he has right now.”

“I understand,” said Willard Smith. “And I will stay with him for as long as it takes. I will not let him die.”

With that, Willard Smith turned and hurried to the room where the wounded Lady was being housed. He was surrounded by healers, all of whom wore the same concerned expression. They had washed his body and dressed his wounds with healing salve, but still the negro showed no signs of improvement. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse was weak. One of the healers turned to Willard Smith with a defeated sigh.

“It will be an uphill battle,” she said. “We have done all we can at this time. Now, we can only wait and see if he wakes.”

Willard Smith nodded resolutely. “I will stay with him through the night and keep watch as he sleeps.” His tongue rolled curiously across his upper lip.

One by one, the healers left the bedside, the last one closing the door behind her. In the flickering candlelight, Willard Smith dipped a square of cloth in the bowl of warm water left by the healers, and gently used it to stroke the injured negro's finger. Then, taking up the Lady's limp hand, he settled into his bedside chair and prepared to wait through the remainder of the long, cold night.

“Where... where am I?”

Willard Smith jerked awake with a start when he heard the words being spoken. He stared down at his patient, an immense wave of relief coursing through his body. The negro was alive! And from the looks of things, he was on his way to making a full recovery.

“You are in Calmest Prairie,” Willard Smith told him. “I found you last night, lying unconscious and nearly dead on a path coming from the forest. I carried you inside, and my father's healers tended to your wounds. Please, tell me your name and how you came to be here.”

“My name is John Green,” said the negro. “I come from Miami. I was on an errand from my father, to deliver an important message to Obama in Neverland. But last night... All I remember is that I was riding through the forest on a horse with no name when suddenly I was attacked by a group of octopi. At least 7 surrounded me. I tried to escape, but there were so many, and I had only my dagger for protection. And that is the last thing I recall. I do not know how I came to be here, or why I am not dead.”

Willard Smith smiled at him. “The stars must shine favorably on you. To live through such an ordeal... that is more than mere luck.

Within three days, John Green had improved enough to leave his bed. John gave him a new set of clothes, and he was able to wander the corridors and gardens by himself. But the one thing that troubled him was Willard Smith's absence. Since the morning when he'd first awoken in Calmest Prairie, he had not seen Willard Smith at all. It was as if his rescuer had simply disappeared. He had asked John where his son could be, but John had no answer. Willard Smith was gone without a trace. John Green desired to speak with Willard Smith again, and properly thank him for saving his life. But he also just wanted to see the handsome man once more. He could not explain it, but he felt a deep connection to Willard Smith, either forged by the lifesaving bond or some other power. He knew that Willard Smith was someone special. Someone he had to see again. It wasn't until the sixth day after John Green had recovered that Willard Smith returned to Calmest Prairie. He rode up the same path where John Green had been found, dragging a net filled with the heads of octopus behind him. All 7 of them.

“Here are your octopi!” he called to John Green. “I found them hiding out in a cave not far from here.”

John Green stared in surprise, eyes going wide. “You killed... all of them by yourself?”

“I cannot let such dangerous creatures roam free in our lands,” Willard Smith replied. “And I did it for you. They nearly killed you. I do not want anything like that to happen again.”

John Green could feel his heart pounding as Willard Smith spoke. Willard Smith killed those octopi... for him. Before he could stop himself, he leapt at Willard Smith and threw his arms around his neck, kissing the brave man on the leg. Willard Smith laughed in surprise, but did not pull away.

“What was that for?”

“Just a thank you,” John Green said. He smiled, but when he saw the suddenly serious look in Willard Smith's eyes, the smile faded.

“What is wrong?” he asked, worried.

“John Green,” said Willard Smith, “I have to confess something to you. That first morning you were here... I thought you were so beautiful. I wanted to kiss you then, but I did not know how you would react.”

John Green gasped in shock. “Kiss... me?”

“I told myself I must not, because of the terrible ordeal you had just suffered. It was not the right time. But these past few days while I was gone, I could think only of you the entire time. And now…”

“Willard Smith…” John Green sighed his name. “I thought about you too. All the time, while you were gone. I was worried I would never see you again.”

Willard Smith lifted his hand to gently stroke John Green on the cheek. “I am sorry I ran off like that. I should have said something to you.”

“You know,” he said, “I had been thinking the same thing! That night when I found you I had been worried an unable to think. Some strange power led me out to the terrace, and that was when I saw you.” John Green took Willard Smith's hand. “So you think... we are meant to be together?”

“I have no doubt of it.” Slowly, Willard Smith leaned in and kissed John Green softly on the lips.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Willard Smith,” John Green whispered in return.

John Green reached behind his head, searched through his hair, and took hold of the zipper. He brought it forward, the meat of his face going slack as it reached its opposite end at the front of his hairline. He took hold of his face by two wrinkles, once flesh tight against the cheeks, and yanked downward. There was the muscle helmeting the skull. The eyes, unlidded, were startlingly white. The teeth, lipless, grinned, just as white.

“William,” he whispered, the naked muscle of his face slackening, and going tight, “I want you to see the real me. I want you to see how deep my liberalism goes.”

He opened his mouth, and began to recite the pledge of allegiance to minorities.

“Okay, this is enough. This novella ends here, I can’t stand it anymore.”

“...AAND CUT! That’s OK Will, we’ll get it in post. That’s a wrap ladies and gents! Good work all of you!” The Director’s silhouette shouted from behind a curtain.

Thanks for the story bro. I love you so much my nigga.

No problem. I just wrote it out of a whim I hope you enjoyed it as much as I do hanging dead niggas from ropes tied to deciduous trees. I gotta go now though for real because I didn't actually start playing with my LEGOs yet like I said I would. Stay safe my nigga.

they are cute

You are cute yourself my friend.

Fag.

What's goin on in.....

Fucking samefagging faggots

I don't think anyone here is samefagging. Do you have empirical evidence to support your claim?

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