Oh my gyashhh that looks like pasta. GOOD PASTA heres a story i made pls read.
I identify as a I was lying i actually identify as a prehistoric pankaje that got abolished by a dung beetle and got fried by a trucks engine then shaved off all my hair due to foot cancer then jumped of plane with a parachute that looke like a bag floated through the earth into space on the other side then got my nostril plucked by a dinosaur that was a lgbtq supporter then i got my head and went straight up the dinos thick ass into its nostril where i am now a sticky green booger that flys a Tesla whiles shoving cornitos up my arsse cuz I have a eating disorder and can only. Eat from but butt and likes to poop cans of beans but my ears started to smell like cow dung cos i lied in it then went underwater to look at the shells that started to tickle my feet which lead me to breath underwatee causing me too pee on my own foot I now like to eat dictionary’s because I found the words to be yummy I also got swallowed my anciet Indian ancestors while eating curry and panheeeeet I eat birthday cakes of a cliff becUse I like to candles but i accidently burnt down a mountain with that so i use a flane thrower instead and i went into a tractor that was being driven by peacoks that were giving birth so i poped the wheels and flew to africa where i met tons of wild monkeys but soon i was on the moon where i started eating moon cheese while watching a orangutang shave his own hair I never expected my life to take such a strange turn, but here I am, a man with an unusual obsession: eating bookshelves. It started innocuously enough, a curious nibble on the corner of an old oak shelf, and soon I couldn’t stop. The wood, the varnish, even the tiny dust particles lodged in the cracks—it all became a part of my daily routine. At first, it was a private indulgence, but before long, my friends and family took notice. They were baffled, of course, but I couldn’t help myself. The smooth grain and the satisfying crunch of a well-aged bookshelf became my sustenance, my comfort. As the years went by, I transformed into something more than a mere oddity—I became a legend of sorts, a man whose hunger could never be sated by anything but the shelves that once held the very stories of my life.but i grew tired of those and started eating clay and dirt cos the satisfaction of that poo like texture was amazing and then pple thought i was washing my hat so i through alll my clothes at strangers cos stranger danger My life took an unthinkable turn when, driven by an odd, uncontrollable compulsion, I began eating my Indian grandmother. It wasn’t a moment of anger or malice, but something primal, an urge I couldn’t understand. At first, it was just a small nibble of her warm, familiar hands as she sat in her chair, telling stories of her youth. Her aroma, that mix of spices and tradition, was intoxicating, and I couldn't resist. Gradually, what started as a single moment of madness became a routine, an unsettling ritual that I couldn't stop, even as I knew it was wrong. She, ever patient and loving, didn't understand the metamorphosis happening in me. People began to whisper, eyes filled with confusion and concern, but the craving, the need to consume her, grew stronger with every passing day. It wasn't about hunger—it was something deeper, a way of keeping her with me forever, even as I realized I was losing myself.so i decided to lick my own toes cos the stock market sky rocheted and andrew tate was out of the matrix so i went to david goggins, pantsed him then flew across jamaica to eat sushi wihout rice or seaweed
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Oh my gyashhh that looks like pasta. GOOD PASTA heres a story i made pls read.
I identify as a I was lying i actually identify as a prehistoric pankaje that got abolished by a dung beetle and got fried by a trucks engine then shaved off all my hair due to foot cancer then jumped of plane with a parachute that looke like a bag floated through the earth into space on the other side then got my nostril plucked by a dinosaur that was a lgbtq supporter then i got my head and went straight up the dinos thick ass into its nostril where i am now a sticky green booger that flys a Tesla whiles shoving cornitos up my arsse cuz I have a eating disorder and can only. Eat from but butt and likes to poop cans of beans but my ears started to smell like cow dung cos i lied in it then went underwater to look at the shells that started to tickle my feet which lead me to breath underwatee causing me too pee on my own foot I now like to eat dictionary’s because I found the words to be yummy I also got swallowed my anciet Indian ancestors while eating curry and panheeeeet I eat birthday cakes of a cliff becUse I like to candles but i accidently burnt down a mountain with that so i use a flane thrower instead and i went into a tractor that was being driven by peacoks that were giving birth so i poped the wheels and flew to africa where i met tons of wild monkeys but soon i was on the moon where i started eating moon cheese while watching a orangutang shave his own hair I never expected my life to take such a strange turn, but here I am, a man with an unusual obsession: eating bookshelves. It started innocuously enough, a curious nibble on the corner of an old oak shelf, and soon I couldn’t stop. The wood, the varnish, even the tiny dust particles lodged in the cracks—it all became a part of my daily routine. At first, it was a private indulgence, but before long, my friends and family took notice. They were baffled, of course, but I couldn’t help myself. The smooth grain and the satisfying crunch of a well-aged bookshelf became my sustenance, my comfort. As the years went by, I transformed into something more than a mere oddity—I became a legend of sorts, a man whose hunger could never be sated by anything but the shelves that once held the very stories of my life.but i grew tired of those and started eating clay and dirt cos the satisfaction of that poo like texture was amazing and then pple thought i was washing my hat so i through alll my clothes at strangers cos stranger danger My life took an unthinkable turn when, driven by an odd, uncontrollable compulsion, I began eating my Indian grandmother. It wasn’t a moment of anger or malice, but something primal, an urge I couldn’t understand. At first, it was just a small nibble of her warm, familiar hands as she sat in her chair, telling stories of her youth. Her aroma, that mix of spices and tradition, was intoxicating, and I couldn't resist. Gradually, what started as a single moment of madness became a routine, an unsettling ritual that I couldn't stop, even as I knew it was wrong. She, ever patient and loving, didn't understand the metamorphosis happening in me. People began to whisper, eyes filled with confusion and concern, but the craving, the need to consume her, grew stronger with every passing day. It wasn't about hunger—it was something deeper, a way of keeping her with me forever, even as I realized I was losing myself.so i decided to lick my own toes cos the stock market sky rocheted and andrew tate was out of the matrix so i went to david goggins, pantsed him then flew across jamaica to eat sushi wihout rice or seaweed
Pasta looks delicious. It's good.