r/Bombstrap

I wake up one day, I'm black and I'm in a bad neighborhood. No family money, my parents are in the same position I'm in. Gameplan:

Corral the neighborhood for the smartest thugs. Create a team of 6-10 dudes and buy a cheap house close to work. We study martial arts and meditation to keep our high T under control. Gain entry level jobs and save money. Don't commit crimes as much as possible. Take on new responsibilities at work and gain trust due to the lack of committing crime, we all do this. Talk with each other about how traumatizing being black and sheeit is so it doesn't affect us. Pool our money and buy up the neighborhood, while converting other thugs to the idea of saving money and eating out less. Have stable family units and keep our women under control and pass these ideas on to our children. Tell other bad neighborhoods how we did it.

Then, once we own the community, and all our brothers are cops and lawyers and holding public office, me and the original gang knock over the local gas station and fuckin throw slurpee all over the floor, haha. It would be really gratifying because with a small crowd we could get away with it, and plus we could like take all our shirts off to flex and slide around in the slurpee haha

I'm incredibly relaxed, there's a cool breeze outside. Played some Sultans of Swing by Dire Straits earlier, what a banging sound. Everybody doing good?

We can answer questions and the mods, still do it for free, but its not reddit.

The Answerers

The Qourams

The Foogeez

that leaves you with about 148,250 hours of do whatever the fuck. but let's be realistic, half of that won't be applicable because when you reach 45 you'll be too busy, so my question is: what are you doing with your precious 74,125 hours?

me? i'm posting this convoluted post on Reddit dot com

Bro it's not that deep. The author wasn't thinking of anything they just did that to be random XD. Just buy the funko pop and move on. I've seen every Marvel movie so I know what I'm talking about. That obscure reference that ties back to the main characters philosophical outlook on life failing against the roaring waves of reality? Nope just a coincidence. That extremely basic play on words? So what if they sound the same, they're different words. No connection.

Nothing has any deeper meaning Shakespeare sucks try reading harry potter but only the dialogue but only the summarized chatGPT wholesome bacon chungus instagram reel version that I'll watch for 4 seconds and move on because my brain is a calcified paperweight with 3 active pathways like an old tree with a sliver of living bark entombed within.

Anyways, I think the Yanks are gonna win it all this year, Mickey's on a hot streak!

I'm not even sure that I'm interested in trying to pull it off, but I kind of began to wonder when I subconsciously put on rolled up jeans, a white tee and my leather jacket to take my dog out.

iama fuchming crog in the masheen.... chust a economicon unit..... iam a clerical error..... i am a rounding errorr...... a wench jnthe macbine..... otbing more than a toool..... steedy as he goes.... i am bpught an sold..... within my ability..... marbinds......

i hate you guys, and that’s why i love you.

it’s been a great (mario voice)

What could be goin through a dogs head when theyre running around like that 😂

391:

The Billabong babies and Gerber babies of today have no chance against the codgercrotches and keep’rs of the old ways—for they do not know the way to Margaritaville. How would they? We’ve taken it from them for the lulz. We will sail ship n’ shit to the ends of the Earth and fall off the map straight to Hell on the Disney cruise of total swingage.

-Dave
Vietnam Vet, 9^(th) Infantry Division (Old Reliables) USMC (Ret.)
Class A life on the road!
Sent from my iPad while probably fishin!

We meet in the men's bathroom of the abandoned McDonald's in Post, Texas. Just knock on the door and someone will ask you who it is. Say "Teenus". You will then be asked what kind of watch you have. Say it's a Citizen Watch, from Ross. The door will open. Come prepared to leave your old life behind.

Just as girls never gave me much attention in high school, the same has carried itself into my adulthood. The common joke that NO ONE (other than Roosh V of course) understands women never made me laugh, it just made me feel inadequate. The way I think, there are men out there who have been to war, who have killed people, who have been under fire for hours at a time with a heart rate of 170, and even they struggle with women, get "divorce raped", cheated on, etc. As a perpetually skinny guy who gets hit on by potentially pedophilic gays any time I go out, I've just never felt romantically confident in myself. Ive been told that I'm "cute", which means boyishly attractive, and the only women into that are high school English teachers on antidepressants with cottage cheese ass and wicked glossy eyes.

I've only had 2 sexual experiences in my life. One was when I played doctor with the neighbor girl when I was 5, and the other was when a shemale molested me at an underground punk rock venue during a heavy moshpit.

Sometimes I get "sick", as I call it, when I desperately wish for a positive sexual experience for once in my life. Sometimes I pray to God just to be able to hold someone who wants me back, it's sick and sad, I know.

So the other day I decided to stop moping about it and actually DO something. That's when I remembered the Asian race - the race of handjobs. Luckily, living in the valley, there is no shortage of Asian salons and massage parlors. I caught an uber to a salon named "Hot Spa", that I heard about on an Internet forum of people who LIVE for Asian handjobs. A guy named "ChinkTinglez" rated the place five stars. I was excited just at the prospect of having a decent time sexually.

I went in and ordered a "full body massage", but the lady at the counter didn't understand me, so I said "four brody massrage" and then she nodded her head, confirming what I was paying for. I was then escorted to a massage table in a run-down looking corner room, nestled on the right side of a long oriental wallpapered hallway.

That's when the massage therapist came in.

She was absolutely beautiful. She had to have had some sort of surgery, I thought to myself. Why is she doing this shitty job? I should save her just like Travis saved the prostitue girl in Taxi Driver - I should blow these chinks away, they have to be holding her hostage.

I was on the table face down when she started to run down my lower back with scented oils. Then I remembered the cluster of pimples on my left ass cheek, a tight bundle of pustulating sores that have been giving me trouble for a few weeks. She got closer to them, and I could feel the deep cavern of bloody puss buckle under the pressure of her hands.

I felt hot liquid running down my ass crack, and it wasn't the oil.

She didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't seem to care. She asked me to turn over, with my ass juice gleaming on her fingers. I was red hot in the face, and literally unable to speak. I was on the precipice of a potentially positive sexual experience, but at the same time, her hands were covered with bloody curdled pimple juice. I was understandably conflicted.

She put two fingers on my urethra, and I felt some of the juice slide down my peehole. I felt like I was going to throw up, but at the same time I had flutters in my heart and that comfortable burning sensation in my chest, that common sexual feeling. I was completely aroused as she began to stroke faster and faster, and the smell of the pimple juice grew and grew with the friction. How could she not smell it?

I grew more sick as I grew more sexually aroused, creating a very confusing blend between disturbia and pleasure. Then, completely out of no where, I went flaccid. 100 to Zero in mere seconds.

She looked at me with confusion, and I did the same to her. "Uh..." I said, but it sounded more like a burp than anything.

The next part will stay with me forever.

She reached underneath my ass, squeezed the cluster of pimples, then rubbed her hands together, completely lubing them in what looked like bloody lemon marangue pie custard.

This confirmed my worst fear. She was doing it on purpose! My mind rang with thoughts of what could possibly be wrong with this bitch. There's no way I could trust her anywhere near my penis or my butthole. I got up and bolted, dick out, ass naked, down the hallway and into the main area of Hot Spa, carrying my pants in my arms like a football. As I ran out the door I heard the Doppler effect, like when a car passes you, but instead with a bunch of nagging Asian voices.

I had to get into an Uber with only pants on, and the guy almost kicked me out.

This happened yesterday. I guess I'll just continue to pray to God that I find someone who wants me back. Thank you for reading.

It's been a minute, but I keep thinking back to the episode with the failed musician who dabbled in witchcraft and drugs. Particularly when he starts talking about mystic signs and Sam reacts almost angrily at this and is pretty defensive about his spirituality when questioned about his own journey. I don't know, personally, having that sort of reaction seems like something someone does who has not even begun their spiritual journey.

had a fascinating encounter during my wageslave day, greentext below

>be me

>cashier at walgreens

>miserable job but pays the bills while i wait to go back to school in the fall

>slow night, few customers

>suddenly see the fattest of fat fucks approaching the register

>cart full of mtn dew and various frozen meals

>poor guy is so fat he leans on the cart to assist him in walking

>so fat that he won't take anything out of his cart, makes me scan everything while it's still in the cart

>guy gets in line behind him just buying a bottle of asprin

>i feel bad because has to wait in line behind the king of obesity

>total is $78 and change

>dude shoves a $100 bill in my face like an asshole

>mark it with the pen to make sure its legit

>"oh wait let me give you whatever cents i think i have change"

>starts searching in his pockets for approximately a decade looking for change

>at this point three people are waiting behind him, all visibly upset

>i call for second cashier

>everyone immediately goes to her line to get away from this guy

>dude is running out of breath searching for change

>starts wheezing

>finally finds the right coins so i can give him back all bills

>guy spends a couple minutes sorting his frozen meals, soda, and bodyfat

>i'm pulling his bills out of the register

>stares at me impatiently

>"can you hurry up! i gotta get home and go to bed, its been a long day"

>making small talk i say "yeah? long day at work?"

>"oh no, i don't have an actual job, i borrowed that money from my mom"

>"you don't have an actual job? what does that mean?"

>"well people tell me its not a real job, but to me its extremely important work. I moderate the r/Bombstrap subreddit"

But I'm not really sure there's anything left to be said. Nothing but love to everyone x

It's spelt 'colon', and I don't want it to smell good. Why do you think I made this big hole in my colomosty bag for shit to leak through? Stupid bitch.

"Kids? No, not for me you see. At twenty-three I've got my whole life ahead of me.

The turmoil and tussle of the little pitter patter would throw my whole life down the crapper.

No, a couple years more scrimping and saving and then I can think of scrubbing and bathing.

Til' then, just me! Easy, Breezy, Living Life With Me In Mind"

And so the years passed, like granules in the hour-glass. A doubt here and there, but a singular perseverance to keep her appearance. Her life was easy, breezy, filled with pleasure that came nice and briefly. Finger nails on glass brought the dopamine rush and for anything else the liquor cabinet never thought her a lush.

"So what?! Thirty-five is the new twenty. Time, I've still got plenty!

A few sour relationships don't mean anything, I've experimented enough and now I want offspring!

LOL I'm ready now to have my little bundles, plus I'm assistant director so time to quit Bumble!

Still Easy, Breezy, Living Life With Me (And my baby :p) In Mind"

Years are cruel on her once porcelain face, time spent that she can never replace. All the frivolities of life seem so pointless and absurd against the lack meaning in an existence so blurred. A dwindling flame sojourns in a soul which is now forlorn. Her femininity a cruel joke which mocks in unison with the ticking of the clock.

"You're not truly alive until you're forty-five!!! I'm thinking of in vito or maybe adoption, fingers crossed, I've still got some options!!!

I gotta admit this isn't like Cosmo said it'd be, sometimes I wanna be around someone other than just me!!!

I sometimes wonder about that trip to the clinic, why oh why was the younger I a cynic?

Just me. Easy. Breezy. Living Life With Me In Mind"

On her 50th birthday a pain so stinging and numb finally forces her to reach for the cocked and loaded gun. Cold steel tastes just swell compared to the farce of her living hell. Lead astray at every turn, her nature spurned and mocked 'till the vessel sat empty up on the dry dock. Hammer cocked, goodbye.

Chunks of of mushy viscera splash the studio walls. Her cats will eat well tonight

NON NARCOTIC, NON ADDICTIVE, BRING BACK THE FUUUUCKIN QUAAAAALUUUUDEEEESSS