SO THE #SMASHORPASS PROTOZOA HAS EVOLVED BEYOND ITS PESTILENT, PRIMORDIAL ORIGINS AND BECOME A FULL-ON CACOPHONOUS CRY FOR ATTENTION WHERE EVERY INDIVIDUAL REPROBATE CAN JUST HOLD UP A SIGN WITH THEIR NAME ON IT AND THE #NSFW TAG, BAWL MISERABLY INTO THE VOID, AND RECEIVE ALL THE SLIMY, FOUL-SMELLING PRAISE AND REJECTION THEY CAN SHOVEL INTO THEIR MEALGASH. IN-FUCKING-CREDIBLE. CULTURE AT ITS FINEST. JUST TO BE CLEAR. THIS IS NOT A CHITT ASKING FOR THAT. EVEN IF IT IS APPROPRIATELY TAGGED. SO KEEP YOUR GRIMY, UNWASHED OPINIONS OFF OF MY CHITT. YOU SICK FREAKS.
Don't really know what you were expecting, bro. Originality has always been a rare commodity on social media, made worse by the ever-present plague of trends. Combine that with the rampant horniness pervading this site (I say, a hypocrite), and I'm kinda surprised something like this hasn't happened sooner. Also, for the record: smash.
see, though, it stops being patheti( when it’s just the first step. 7ou get a smash from someone 7ou like, 7ou go for it, now it’s all worth it. also, sin(e we’re giving 7ou the answer an7wa7s - pass, but onl7 be(ause of 7our gender. in(ompatible orientation
bold to say when i'm literally dating a karkat but ♤ you too lmao
I WAS WONDERING WHEN A VARIANT OF YOU WOULD HAVE THE GLOBES TO SHOW YOUR FACE TO ME. I HAVE THREE WORDS FOR YOU, KANKRI: *NO FUCKING WAY.* ANY TROLL WITH TWO SPONGE CELLS TO RUB TOGETHER CAN TAKE ONE LOOK AT MY ENTIRE CHITTR PROFILE AND KNOW FULL DAMN WELL THAT THE RADIOACTIVE FALLOUT OF MY SKIN-MELTING, ALL-CAUSTIC HOSTILITY COULD MAKE A GEIGER COUNTER POP LIKE A FUCKING BALLOON. ANYONE WHO CAN'T HANDLE THE HEAT NEEDS TO STAY WELL THE FUCK OUT OF MY CULINARY BLOCK. AND CORDON IT OFF WITH 5,000 TONS OF CONCRETE AND BORON. OR FUCK IT. JUST FUCKING BLOCK ME. IN ALL LIKELIHOOD, I WON'T KNOW OR CARE.
THE ONLY REASON YOU AREN'T RECEIVING A SPADE REACT TO THE FACE LIKE A FUCKING SHURIKEN IS BECAUSE THAT'S AN EXTREMELY FAIR JUSTIFICATION, AND I'M A VEHEMENT SUPPORTER OF GROWING THE GLOBES TO GET UP AND TALK TO SOMEONE. ROMANTIC ADVICE WORTH TAKING. IN A REAL-WORLD SCENARIO, I'M OBVIOUSLY NOT EVEN AVAILABLE TO BEGIN WITH. BUT ASSUMING HYPOTHETICAL SCENARIOS ARE AT PLAY IN THIS FUCKED-UP GENMAT CARNIVAL OF A TREND, MY ORIENTATION IS PRETTY FLEXIBLE, MYSELF. BUT I GET IT.
FIRST OFF, I THINK THAT ANY TEXT-TO-VOICE SCREEN READER THAT DIDN'T COME WITH AN *EXTREMELY* ADVANCED DE-QUIRKING FUNCTION THAT WAS BEING USED ON THIS WEBSITE WOULD TURN INTO A SONIC GRENADE PRETTY DAMN FAST. SECOND, MY TOXIN SAC IS WORKING OVERTIME TO TRY AND FILTER OUT THE DIZZYING SLURRY COMING FROM YOUR TYPESTUBS RIGHT NOW AS I READ THIS. AND IT'S MAKING ME SO VIOLENTLY ILL THAT I CAN FEEL MY FUCKING SKIN WILTING. YOU ARE GIVING ME FUCKING JAUNDICE. PASS. AS IN PASS AWAY. BADLY. AND EXPEDIENTLY. FUCK YOU.
YOU. *YOU.* HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO DROP OUT AT LITERALLY ANY TIME. THE LITERAL INSTANT YOU SHUT UP AND GET OFF THIS CHITT, I CAN WASH BOTH MY PRONGS AND MY GANDERBULBS OF THIS *ENTIRE* ENCOUNTER AND CARRY ON BEING THE MOST UNINTERESTED TROLL EVER TO HAVE ONTOLOGICALLY *ZERO* INTEREST IN YOU IN THE WAY YOU'VE SO CLEARLY MISCONSTRUED. SO JUST PUT DOWN THE PALMHUSK. STEP AWAY FROM THE SCREEN. BREATHE. GO OUTSIDE AND TOUCH SOME LAWN FLORA. WHATEVER THE FUCK SOOTHES YOUR VIGOROUSLY JABBERING NUGBONE. FIND PEACE, KANKRI VANTAS. JUST DO IT WAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM *ME.*