MY BULGE IS FUCKING FROWNING. I GUESS I'M NOT GETTING PAILED HARD IN A BAR BATHROOM TONIGHT. GH. #NSFW
Z. pathetic try harder .Z
WHAT A FUCKING TERRIBLE NIGHT TO HAVE GANDERBULBS. SORRY, I FUCKING GUESS. WHAT A LETDOWN.
I GUESS WE'RE BOTH HAVING TERRIBLE NIGHTS THEN, ASSHOLE. HOW GREAT.
ISN'T IT A LITTLE EARLY IN THE MORNING TO STILL BE SNIVELING LIKE A PATHETIC, OOZING NOOKSTAIN ABOUT THIS? YOU'RE NOT *STILL* IN THE FUCKING BAR, ARE YOU? SERIOUSLY. ARE YOU OKAY.
DON'T GET ALL SACCHARINE WITH ME, I'M COMPLETELY FINE. ISN'T IT A LITTLE EARLY FOR *YOU* TO BE ACTING LIKE MY LUSUS? OR ARE YOU JUST A NAUSEATING BULGEWHIFF EVERY HOUR OF THE DAY?
FIRST OFF, REMEMBER THAT THE KARKATVERSE-WIDE PRINCIPLE OF "I AM RUBBER, YOU ARE GLUE" IS IN EFFECT, WHICH RECURSIVELY MAKES *YOU* A NAUSEATING BULGEWHIFF AT THIS VERY SECOND. YOU STUPID, PETULANT, SHITHIVE RAGEMONKEY. SECOND, THE ONLY LUSUS-BUSINESS I WOULD CONCEIVABLY STOOP TO IN THE INTEREST OF OUR BEGRUDGING MUTUAL SURVIVAL IS TO SCRAPE YOUR SORRY, UN-FUCKED HUSK OFF THE COLD, HARD FLOOR WITH A SNOW SHOVEL. AND TO PROMPTLY THROW YOUR ASS IN THE CUPE, WHERE YOU BELONG. IF *YOU* GET SOME KIND OF MISERABLE, VIRULENT DISEASE FROM ACTING LIKE A DIPSHIT IN PUBLIC AFTER A FUCK-AWFUL NIGHT IN THE DESERT OF DEAD QUADRANTS, THERE'S A NON-ZERO CHANCE THAT *I'LL* COME DOWN WITH SOMETHING, TOO. THAT'S JUST QUANTUM RECURSION THEORY. SO FUCK YOU FOR THINKING THAT I CARE, JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE SOME KIND OF PAST KARKAT AND I'M SOME KIND OF FUTURE KARKAT WITH A VESTED INTEREST IN KEEPING US ALL IN SOME STATE OF UNSHITTITUDE. MAYBE I CARE A *LITTLE.* BUT NOT MUCH.
I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT I WASTED PRECIOUS TIME GAZING UPON THIS UNDERWHELMING AND FRANKLY IMBECILIC EXCUSE OF A RESPONSE. IF MY BULGE WASN'T PREVIOUSLY SHRIVELED BACK INTO MY ACID TUBES THEN IT WOULD HAVE WRIGGLED SO FAR INTO MY TORSO PILLAR THAT IT COULD REASONABLY PIERCE MY BLOOD PUSHER AT THE MERE SIGHT OF SUCH A HEINOUS, IRRITATING, AND TASTELESS PARAGRAPH. CALL ME A PETULANT SHITHIVE RAGEMONKEY AS MUCH AS YOU WANT, PRICK, BECAUSE I'M TOO DRUNK TO TRULY GIVE A SINGULAR SHIT ABOUT ANY BLUBBERING NONSENSE THAT ERUPTS FROM YOUR FLAP. WHEN I RETURN TO MY HIVE I WILL CLAW MY WAY INTO MY RECUPERACOON AND CLOSE MY BULBS TO PRAY THAT YOUR MORONIC AND INSISTENT SUPERIORITY COMPLEX ONE DAY COMES BACK TO REGURGITATE ENDLESS AMOUNTS OF SPOILED DAIRY ONTO YOUR NOOK. FUCKER.
IN MY INFINITE MAGNANIMITY, HERE'S A SHORT, SWEET, PERFECTLY TRUNCATED LULLABY TO TAKE TO YOUR CUPE LIKE A GLASS OF WARM, SPOILED LUSUS MILK. SUCK A FAT, WARTY BULGE ABOUT IT AND DIE MAD. OR DON'T. BECAUSE YOU'RE SO DEMONSTRABLY REPELLENT TO ANY DISCERNABLE PHALLUS WITHIN A HUNDRED FUCKING KILOHEXES OF YOU. FUCK YOU, KARKAT.