u/CroutonSFM

I'm sitting on the toilet at school, squeezing da pozzy like lil Mosey, and then I fucking realize yesterday's peanuts haven't been digested at all and are scratching like in creepypasta, not on the door but on my ass. Fuck, it hurts to take a shit, but there's a LOT OF HOPS IN DA FLEAPIT and no weevils. So I'm sitting there, like Prometheus chained to my asshole, while a shit-eagle pecks at my anus. And then I realize there's а very little profit in the eagle pose, my legs are going numb, and my arms are tired clinging to the wall. Fucking torture. On the one hand, it takes concentration to hold on, and I'm losing my grip on my ass, and then the shit BREAKS FREE and TEARS MY FLESH. So I immediately transfer all my GENERATOR energy to CONTAINING THE AIRLOCK and start falling.

But then an 11th grader comes in and I was in 9th grade and starts looking at me red-faced with bulging eyes and a rope of shit coming out of my ass. I immediately yell at him, "Grab da fuckin` hand!" and stretch my shaking hands towards him. He freaks out, but grabs my hands. I immediately turn on BERSERK MOD and take a shit violently, looking him in the eyes with my huge eyes. My face was like Schwarzenegger's from the movie about Mars, where he got kicked out into space. I had the same thing. I even mumbled "mememem" through my teeth. And when I already thought that the FREIGHT TRAIN WAS A KILOMETER LONG, the shit breaks off and I, exhausted, fall against the wall and stand there for about 10 minutes. When I opened my eyes, that guy had left, and I didn't have any paper, so I wiped my ass with my underwear and hung them on the toilet as a sign of victory.

The great philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche was a kind and cheerful man.

One day, he went to the store to buy bread.

The fat saleswoman in the bread department loved to mock the kind and cheerful philosopher. Nietzsche couldn't stand her and often called her a stupid bitch.

"Well, Nietzsche," said the fat saleswoman, seeing Friedrich. "You probably came for bread? Do you like bread?"

"I love it," Nietzsche replied reservedly.

"And did you bake it just to eat it like that?" the saleswoman suddenly asked ingratiatingly. "Have you ever baked bread? Yeah, Nietzsche?"

"Me? Baked bread?" Nietzsche asked.

"Are your ears painted on, Nietzsche?"

"No," said Nietzsche. "No to both questions."

The great philosopher knew how to be laconic.

"Well, bake it first, and then we'll talk," the saleswoman concluded triumphantly.

"Just a second," said Nietzsche. "If I bake bread, then why the fuck would I buy it from you, you stupid bitch?"

"I don't give a fuck about your hassles, Nietzsche," the saleswoman retorted calmly. "I have nothing better to do than philosophize with you. I'll sell you the flour. And as for the bread—well," the saleswoman gave a calloused fig, clutching her elbow for emphasis.

Nietzsche paused.

"And you," he finally said, "did you bake the bread yourself?"

"I baked it, my dear, I baked it," said the saleswoman. "I baked so much of it you could eat it for the rest of your life, and there'd be some left over for your children."

"I don't have children," Nietzsche said.

"This is fucking crazy," said the saleswoman. "He doesn't have children, he doesn't know how to bake bread, and he doesn't want to, all he knows is how to screw honest saleswomen."

"And you call yourself an honest saleswoman?" Nietzsche asked, intrigued. "You have a face like Mussolini's. Honest people have different faces."

"What about Mussolini? What's wrong with Mussolini now? He baked bread, too, if you must know. Oh, Nietzsche." Nietzsche shifted uncertainly.

"Okay, fuck it," he waved his hand. "Give me your flour."

"Remember, Nietzsche: Culture is merely a thin crust of bread over a glowing chaos," the saleswoman said contentedly. "Remember that well."

"I'll remember that," Nietzsche said with hatred. "I'll remember that well."

The next day, Nietzsche came into the same store.

"What do you want?" asked the saleswoman.

"Give me some flour," Nietzsche replied through clenched teeth.

"What, have you learned to bake?"

"I forgot to ask you, you bitch. Give me some flour."

"For such rudeness, I might hit you in the face with a rolling pin..." mumbled the saleswoman.

"Give me the flour, I said."

The saleswoman handed him the flour.

"Now eat it."

"Eat what?"

"Eat the flour."

"What on earth? Eat it yourself."

"I said eat it," Nietzsche said, and lowered the saleswoman's face into the flour. "So, do you like it?"

The saleswoman obediently ate the flour and looked at the philosopher with frightened eyes.

"Nice, huh? And I spent the whole evening eating this shit."

Nietzsche never learned to bake bread.

So, my friend, who hanged himself, once invited me over to his house—he did that a lot.

So, he asked me to cook, but there was a problem: he complained that he didn't want the food to be too greasy; he had pancreatitis at the time. So, I cooked spaghetti, but using a special method: I took ground beef and fried it thoroughly, then rinsed it in a colander with water, and all the fat washed off the meat. Then I put it back in the pan and finished frying.

When I told my friend, he didn't even get the idea, like - "it was very delicious, yeah". In the end, I fried him some delicious spaghetti, so delicious that we spent half the night fucking each other in the ass.