were you embarrassed to find out? why didn't you do it?

So there I was, making a small living jacking off camels in western Angola, when suddenly this nigger comes up to me and says "Y'ALL GOT SUMMA DEM CRAYABS LEGS?". I had to inform this melanin-enriched (yet IQ-deprived) gentleman that I was unable to meet his seafood cravings, but that in due time he would probably stumble onto the carcass of some great African beast, and that he could feast upon what remained of it's once majestic muscle structure. The jiggaboo seemed content with that answer, and left me to my duty.

It was about this time that I felt a gurgle rise from the very pit of my stomach. "Uh oh", thought I, "I knew it was a bad idea to ingest all of that PCP-laced lasagna, but even if I shit out my very brains it will have been all worth it, down to the last noodle." The diarrhea struck soon thereafter - a veritable waterfall of chunky, milkshake-like fecal acid gushed from my lithe pucker, instantly contaminating the trough of spring water my herd of camels had been drinking from. Of course, they continued to drink - camels have no sense of germaphobia, you know - and within seconds my empire was ruined. They toppled over like dominos - hairy, massively deformed dominoes, similar to the ones the native tribes of this continent would play "Piss-Whistle" and "Sniggle-Dandy" and "Rub Jibarri's Ballsack with the Scrub-Brush" with - but dominos nonetheless.

>>64314

Accepting my fate, I took the first plane back to North America, which was difficult to find as an "airport" in Africa constitutes a felled tree trunk with a tip jar resting atop it and a woman with twelve neck-rings behind. The flight was mostly pleasant - only three people suffered crippling heart attacks - but as we neared our destination two of the bearded, turban-wearing Arabs began to cause quite a ruckus, waving their scimitars about and taking control of the rickety air vessel. Over the next twelve hours, we diverted from our original route and flew to New York City, which of course was stuffed to the very brim with overly-hairy kikes. As our plane collided with the Twin Towers (yes, both at the same time - it was a big plane), the only thing that I hear over the sound of bending metal and crashing plywood was the screams of "OY VEY! IT'S LIKE ANNUDAH SHOAH!". I finished my half-litre of Diet RC Cola and placed it to my side so that I could put the tray table up - this was going to be a long day.

>>64315
Cut to a full decade later. My 95% ownership in Kool-Aid stock had made me into a billionaire overnight, and I spent my playboy days learning the finer intricacies of Othello and introducing
a series of complex and harmful viruses into the western world, to which only I held the cure in an average-sized pouch of instant mashed potato. It was during one of my elegant "Whites only, and no, Gays aren't white" balls that I met the love of my life. She had a head like the entire cast of Happy Days and a body like someone had sexually assaulted a shrew. We were perfect for each other.

The sex was incredible. I lost my virginity to her oversized cheese-grater, and I took hers with an entire gallon of citric acid. But after months and months of making love in preschool cubby-holes, she began to ask more and more of me. "Honey,", she would say, that familiar glint in her eye like the burning of an entire library of Jewish literature - "Do you really think that Virtual Reality will flop?" I nodded. "I've sunk so much money into this headset. I bought a dev kit, a dev kit 2.0, and a release candidate to play the latest edition of 'Rapelay'. Can you still believe that this world-conquering innovation is nothing more than putting a phone in a hat?".

Once again, I agreed. I could feel my heart breaking as she plunged the knife she had hidden in her sleeve deep into my pancreas - she hadn't been wearing a shirt with sleeves at the time, but she brought one along just in case - and, as I lost consciousness, I realized the inevitable truth. My bride-to-be had been but one member of my tribe of camels from so long ago. I apologized profusely, but she only spat putrid, thick, semen-like saliva into my face and swatted away flies with her tail. The last thing I could remember was reciting the entire script of "Porky's" to the tune of Aram Khachaturian's "Saber Dance", and then, eternal rest. I was home.

And that's how I discovered /vip/.