The Bangalore Whore who changed the world by /lit/
The thing you got to know about a woman's tits is if you surgically implant c4's into them instead of silicone you can control the world. I know what you're thinking, of course faggot, everyone knows that, but in pre-war India, 2089, no one had even thought of it. No one but me.
I was just minding my own business making poo crayons in the streets of Bangalore to sell for smokes like most 15 year old boys my age, when a whitee man, about the age of my grandfather, walked up to me and asked me if I had ever considered becoming an islamic terrorist.
[you're up next anon]
"stop shitting this boardwalk up you little shit skin." said whitee man as he looked me up and down licking his lips. "haven't you heard of a toilet?"
I cowered in fear as he said the t word. A word my whole family feared. A word that scared my whole country.
"S-sorry sir. Can I shine your shoe with my poo for some money?" I said as I began to drag my ass on his shoe giving it a nice mohogany finish. "See it's nice, it's nice now, sir."
He kicked me in the head and once more asked, "Ever considered becoming an islamic terrorist, you got the bone structure for it."
the lament of the white male
I'm walking down a London suburban street. The amber radiating lights highlighting the blurred cars ephemeralality. I'm drenched in this light. Huddles of bulgarians and greeks chatting away, their echos' filling my ears. i feel like jeanne mareau but instead of trawling the streets of paris, my addidas shoes are beating the pavement of north londons sprawl. my ego screams to the divine panoply of stars, the sky is tinged purple like my prose.
self awareness becomes a straight jacket . I type this out on 4chan.
my first effort at prose since secondary school.
Sincerely a STEMfag
The sound of shoes on the pavement pushed me back into my memories. This time, just 2 days after meeting the old whitee. I had no intention of becoming a terrorist, you see, none of us shitskins really do, but the promise of sex and riches was too much for my 15 year old spirit to handle.
I was sitting in an old coffee shop in Mumbai, one that mostly foreigners travel, me, old whiteee, and another shitskin boy I did not know. His shoes beat the pavement as his nerves got the better of him.
We were to meet one of the HR managers of the local terrorist cells, a man who I would only grow to know as "Buttma". As I sipped my chai tea, the door briskly opened, and in walked...
Buttma. He was a small Indian man, but of course, most of them were, and he stunk of aftershave and shit, as if he were trying to cover it all up. He scanned the room and then nodded when he saw old whitee.
"They looka little small, Hugh." said Buttma as he grabbed my arm and poked and prodded me seeing how big my muscles were.
Old whitee shook his head, "Non-sense, old friend. Look at this one, this is a fine speciman" he said pointing to the other boy, "he is a mute boy too, so he cannot talk to the cops."
Buttma grinned, "But what about this one. He looks like he's barely made 15,000 shits." he said as he pushed me to the ground. "See."
That's when I got up and said "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my shitting class in the shit college, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret shits against the government, and I have over 3000000 confirmed shits. I am trained in gorilla shitting and I’m the top hand wiper in the entire Bangalore. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me at a coffee shop? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of shitty oprhans across India and your phone is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your shit hanging from your ass. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can shit on you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in dropping deuces on the streets, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the indian hand and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo."
But then again, I was not mad. Simply curious.
Existential interrogations were spinning in my head, like a top. Was I "kiddo"?
No. Not at all.
I'm not a "kiddo" but merely the product of a chemical imbalance influenced by external changes like shemale porn and japanese cartoons.
"Shitting fury all over me?" I said.
The other shitskin kid got up out of his chair and started running. Buttmo and the Old Whitee didn't seem to care, they looked at me in pure shock, unsure if what they head just heard was real or fake. Their mouths ajar. Buttmo turned to Old Whitee, "I-I think he'll do."
Buttmo got up from the table, Old whitee kissed his cock ring and then curtsied. He left after saying this, "In all my time as a terrorist recruitment officer I have never been this turned on...I'll keep my eye on you kid." he winked and then blew me a kiss.