You are Joshua Connor Moon. You are a pale pig in the carpathian mountains, forever in search of a traditional wife to no avail. You own a farm where janitors attend to your fruits for some reason.
"I'm sorry," you say. "It's just... I don't know what came over me."
The woman smiles at you and shakes her head.
> "I mean. Like. You are a woman. All you're good for is cooking and breeding."
"That's not true!" She raises an eyebrow.
> "Uh, yes it is," you say passive-aggressively. "Once a woman reaches thirty, she's useless because her fertility declines."
"Th-that's not true!" "It is true." "Pfft. I'll have you know, I'm a fashion designer!"
> "Well, like. I'm a web-designer. My website is called 'Kiwifarms'."
"Go on," she says, shaking her head. You tell her about your website, and how you actually have some fairly authoritative works on the subject. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
> "There's plenty to like!" you say, blushing. "But really, the eccentrics on my website must be ARCHIVED! Their uniqueness and notoriety must be preserved on the web for everyone to see. Including our future children."
"Uh huh," she says, looking off in thought.
"What?" you ask.
"You want to build a relationship on this?"
You blush harder.
"I-I'm sorry."
> "Please don't do this to me," you say worryingly. "Having kids is my only truly lasting legacy and your womb is the key. Please, don't leave me! I need you-."
"Sorry," she replies, patting your head.
"Good night." She then sits up and lays down next to you on the bed.
You lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling hopeless.
> "Twenty-Eight and No Mate," you sigh, chomping on your can of diet soda. "Oh well, I guess I could vent my aggression by shooting myself."
You pull out a pistol and point it at your head, pulling the trigger multiple times, but it fails to kill yourself. "What's the point," you think.
> "I wish my mom aborted me," you say.
You think about the time when your mom was in labor with you and how you felt it was the worst day of her life. You think she would have been better off without you.
> "IT'S ALL HER FAULT!"
You think back to the time you were born. Your mom had the C-section, and the first sight you saw was that of an old, wrinkled, ugly woman who looked like your grand-ma.
> "Lol," said the grandma. "Lmao," she said.
You open your fridge and grab a soda, popping the tab and guzzling it down. You then proceed to vomit it up.
"I'm not hungry so let's not order in."
> You trip over your own vomit. "Fuck! This is all a Jewish conspiracy!" you say.
You lay in bed, noticing your are two sizes bigger than you should be. "Oh well, time to go to work." You get up, open your door, and notice something is wrong.
> "Holy shit," you say. "I'm in Serbia," you say.
You notice you can talk to other people in the hallway without them talking back.
"Huh?"
A tall, dark, and demonic looking man appears in front of you, holding a sword.
> "Hello, nigger," says the demonic looking man. "My name is SIGSEGV. Kill yourself," he says.
He swings his sword and slashes open your belly, causing you to scream in pain.
"You want a soda?" he says, before walking away.
> You lie down, bleeding profusely without your soda.
You expire, leaving behind a legacy of shit parents who should abort their retarded children and white genocide.
Fin.
"I'm sorry," you say. "It's just... I don't know what came over me."
The woman smiles at you and shakes her head.
> "I mean. Like. You are a woman. All you're good for is cooking and breeding."
"That's not true!" She raises an eyebrow.
> "Uh, yes it is," you say passive-aggressively. "Once a woman reaches thirty, she's useless because her fertility declines."
"Th-that's not true!" "It is true." "Pfft. I'll have you know, I'm a fashion designer!"
> "Well, like. I'm a web-designer. My website is called 'Kiwifarms'."
"Go on," she says, shaking her head. You tell her about your website, and how you actually have some fairly authoritative works on the subject. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
> "There's plenty to like!" you say, blushing. "But really, the eccentrics on my website must be ARCHIVED! Their uniqueness and notoriety must be preserved on the web for everyone to see. Including our future children."
"Uh huh," she says, looking off in thought.
"What?" you ask.
"You want to build a relationship on this?"
You blush harder.
"I-I'm sorry."
> "Please don't do this to me," you say worryingly. "Having kids is my only truly lasting legacy and your womb is the key. Please, don't leave me! I need you-."
"Sorry," she replies, patting your head.
"Good night." She then sits up and lays down next to you on the bed.
You lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling hopeless.
> "Twenty-Eight and No Mate," you sigh, chomping on your can of diet soda. "Oh well, I guess I could vent my aggression by shooting myself."
You pull out a pistol and point it at your head, pulling the trigger multiple times, but it fails to kill yourself. "What's the point," you think.
> "I wish my mom aborted me," you say.
You think about the time when your mom was in labor with you and how you felt it was the worst day of her life. You think she would have been better off without you.
> "IT'S ALL HER FAULT!"
You think back to the time you were born. Your mom had the C-section, and the first sight you saw was that of an old, wrinkled, ugly woman who looked like your grand-ma.
> "Lol," said the grandma. "Lmao," she said.
You open your fridge and grab a soda, popping the tab and guzzling it down. You then proceed to vomit it up.
"I'm not hungry so let's not order in."
> You trip over your own vomit. "Fuck! This is all a Jewish conspiracy!" you say.
You lay in bed, noticing your are two sizes bigger than you should be. "Oh well, time to go to work." You get up, open your door, and notice something is wrong.
> "Holy shit," you say. "I'm in Serbia," you say.
You notice you can talk to other people in the hallway without them talking back.
"Huh?"
A tall, dark, and demonic looking man appears in front of you, holding a sword.
> "Hello, nigger," says the demonic looking man. "My name is SIGSEGV. Kill yourself," he says.
He swings his sword and slashes open your belly, causing you to scream in pain.
"You want a soda?" he says, before walking away.
> You lie down, bleeding profusely without your soda.
You expire, leaving behind a legacy of shit parents who should abort their retarded children and white genocide.
Fin.
