Hey fuckbrains and welcome once again to the blog where all of your questions to life's mysteries get as firm and decisive an answer as the cock lodged up your mother's gaping asshole. Today we will discuss death and the ways in which you assorted bunch of maggot witted fuck tools are likely to meet it. Death is serious business, so I will approach the subject in my usual manner – irreverent and withholding any and all fucks. That having been said, let me further add that I don't expect you to seriously reflect on your own mortality after reading this, as you are all nothing more than barely sentient bushels of monkey dicks hung out to dry on a humid summer's day. Moving on.
The first way in which you will likely meet your inevitable demise that comes to mind is one that I hope actually happens every single last one of you bloated cum sponges: having your dick hole fucked by a ravenous, syphilitic razorback gorilla until it grows bored and rips your face off with its teeth and takes an acidic diarrhea shit on the exposed flesh as you cry and piss yourself in agony. You will eventually die of syphilis.
Another rather likely scenario is you tripping and falling into a wood chipper on your way to a Gaga concert and having it jam when you're only halfway through. Oh how you'll shriek and beg for the sweet release of death when you see the bottom half of that stubby little thing you call a body come shooting out of the other side of the machine, shredded beyond any and all recognition. After a short time of torturous pain and regretful reminiscence you will bleed out and slump over the edge of the receiver, at which point the contraption will burp, start up once more and pass the rest of you through onto the nearest lawn. I think I covered this scenario in the first post.
I don't think anyone has ever died of sheer stupidity, but my bet stands firm that you'll be the first. You will, at some point, actually become to god damned brain dead that every cell in your body will audibly say “fuck this” and shut down out of the extraordinary shame that must come from housing and supporting your brain, you extremely late term abortion. How you don't drown in your own saliva is beyond my comprehension.
Dying on the toilet is perhaps the closest you will ever come to a dignified death. I can see it now: you sitting there, passing what could probably be seen by Guinness as the world's least attractive shit, when suddenly your heart seizes up and you fall forward, spraying your rancid fecal matter comprised of onion rings and cheese all over your bathroom, and as the final wet squeak evacuates your dying body your entire family rushes into the room and laughs their asses off at you. This is the best you can hope for.
Car crashes, county fair ride accidents, fire works related deaths – all likely for the majority of you imbeciles. Infact, the next time you see something that might look like fun, you know like showing a lit candle up your ass, do the world a favor and do it. Your very existence on this planet is an insult to sentient being everywhere. I hope to never have to meet or interact with you in any imaginable way. Fuck you and anybody who likes you.
Yes I know I haven't posted in two days, and there is good reason for that, the reason being that I simply do not give a fuck. You should feel privileged that I've decided to share my words with you at all instead of keeping it all to myself and having you live your life like the miserable piece of fetid shit that you are and are destined to forever be.
Tune in tomorrow when I tell you how to overcome sickness!
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