I crack my knuckles. With labored breath I bend my knees and plop heavily onto my computer chair, a cloud of Cheeto dust rising about me as my lardy ass hangs out of my pants.

I lean in towards my computer screen. I toss aside a damp tissue that was left on my keyboard and start typing... “smogon.com”

The front page opens... the harsh whiteness sears my bloodshot eyes. I squeal in displeasure but begin scrolling down the front page. My tummy grumbles... I look down and pick some moist lint out of my cavernous navel. The bodily crumb does not satisfy my hunger after I eat it.

My lips are dry and cracked, with a shiny gleam of snot lining my moustache region, but I open my mouth wide to yell “MOTHER! Fix me some CHICKUN STRIPSS!” My hanging jowels vibrate under my chin as I bellow ravenously. Saliva showers the PC screen as I return to my web surfing. I quit yelling after I hear the woman upstairs turn on the oven to prepare my tendies. However, the physical exertion of yelling so hungrily caused me to shart my drawers. I sniff the air, but pay it no more mind.

Lo, I inhale sharply as I see an unwelcome post on the BH Suspects and Bans Thread: a Shedinja suspect announcement.

I feel a rumbling in my bowels... but not from chicken-hunger. No, no...

I shake Doritos crumbs off of my mouse and prepare to enter a comment. Yellow sweat begins to stain the pits of my white Che Guevera shirt... my heart rate begins to rise as I think about shedinja “heavily warping teambuilding” and BH “having only two viable ghosts.” Utter FOOLISHNESS. A flawed, bourgeoisie dogma.

I type furiously, possibly 25 WPM+ — as fast as my size 16 fingers will allow. I feel a bulge firming in my pants as I realize the brilliance of my superior intellect. I consider opening a... different... website as I viciously type, but put this desire aside in my pursuit of righting societal wrongs.

After an amount of time, mother brings me my chicken strips. I scream with the unbridled veracity of a cow in childbirth as I notice she forgot my fucking honey mustard. She stumbles up the stairs and then back down with my sauce; I grunt in satisfaction and stop typing to refuel my engorged body for the arduous task that lies before me.

I slam fucking chicken strips in my gaping mouth and gobble them down my gullet like an obese hyena scavenging in the Sahara. After finishing my meal, I let out a vicious belch and wipe my mustardy mouth on my shirt.

I commence my message on the suspect thread:



.....”Shedinja bad rof.” I type. I post the comment and smirk. I feel earlier’s shart dripping down my leg and onto the carpet.



My work is done. My thoughts turn to anime tits and I exit Smogon. I look towards my bed where my waifu pillow gazes back at me. I sigh and smile, slowly rising from my computer chair and waddling towards her.



Sunshine beams in from my basement window onto the stained space on my bed beside her. All is well.