TheBat
@TheBat@lemmy.world
- Comment on Ahahah, it's too late Batman, I've already released an uncountable amount of PFAS into Gotham's water supply! 1 day ago:
- Comment on Microsoft Flight Simulator 2024's launch has been marred by long load times, server issues and now it has overwhelmingly negative reviews 2 days ago:
anyone have recommendations for flying games that were mae for dip shit likee lik m
Ace Combat?
- Submitted 2 days ago to [deleted] | 85 comments
- Comment on Trump confirms plan to declare national emergency, use military for mass deportations 4 days ago:
The Farmer’s Market on Fairfax and 3rd is a Los Angeles landmark, attracting tourists and everyday Angelinos alike, as well as many famous faces. Among the celebrities I have seen there are Muhammad Ali, Terri Garr, Tyra Banks, Laura Linney, Keenan Ivory Wayans, the guitarist for The Cult, Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs, and Weird Al Yankovic.
But Ann Coulter is the only celebrity I’ve ever spotted at Farmer’s Market that I wound up fucking in the ass, hard.
It would be fair to observe that my feeling obligated to present the list of celebrities above in roughly Black-White-Black-White order is indicative of my own carefully Liberal sensibilities. And that this sort of conscientiousness is more than a little ridiculous, on examination. But what I notice about myself only on reflection, Ann Coulter seemed to recognize and respond to in an instant, like a puma recognizes an injured giselle. For Ann Coulter is a predator. A predator with a hungry asshole.
I first spotted her sitting at a table in front of The Gumbo Pot with another woman who looked not unlike her, but a generation older (I neglected to ask her at any point subsequently whether this had in fact been her mother). I vaguely recognized her—there’s always a lag time placing faces you know from cable when unconfined to a telescreen—and began to notice, stealing furtive glances up from the copy of Steinbeck I was reading, that she was eyeing me with unsettling scrutiny.
The next thing I knew, her companion (mother?) had left and Coulter was standing over me, looking skeptically at my reading material. ‘The Grapes of Wrath, huh?’ ‘Yes’ I said, faking composure. ‘It’s fantastic.’ ‘It’s a fantastic primer for vacuous proto-Communists everywhere,’ she said dismissively. ‘I don’t know about that…’ She sighed. ‘I don’t have enough ink in my pen to keep a running list of what you don’t know. May I?’ She motioned to the empty chair next to me. ‘Of course.’ It would be fair to say my voice trembled a little. She sat and said nothing. Ann Coulter evidently takes an unappreciative view of small talk. That she was eager to continue antagonizing me became evident when I re-opened my recently-insulted book to resume reading. A young man passed in a t-shirt proclaiming ‘Iraq Nam’. She stopped him. ‘1. Haircut. 2. Shower. 3. Get a job, you sniveling hippy,’ she glowered. ‘You’re probably too high to remember that, so write it down–if you can write.’ He looked at her with dismay and scampered away like a kicked cat. She turned to me with bloodlust. ‘What do you think of the war: complete success, or very nearly complete success?’ she asked. ‘Well, in no time—barring the strong possibility of Civil War–we’ll have a democratically-elected anti-US Islamicist government in charge of the world’s second-largest oil reserves, so I’d have to say only very-nearly, on the complete success scale, at a hysterically distorted best.’ She showed her teeth. ‘It sounds to me like you don’t support our troops.’ ‘I think that ‘Support Our Troops’ business is the most crass, craven cowardice ever to go unquestioned by the allegedly Liberal media.’ ‘Yes? Yes?’ There was oddly growing excitement in her voice. ‘It allows the Administration to absolve itself of responsibility for its own flawed policy. It’s no different than if you sent a classroom of 2nd graders into a burning building, and when anyone objects you throw in their face that they “don’t support our 2nd graders”’ ‘Where do you live?’ ‘A few blocks away.’ ‘Take me there.’
When we got to my apartment, she looked around glumly. ‘I was thinking you’d have half-burned American flags up on the wall,’ she said, disappointed. ‘That’s ridiculous. I love my country.’ ‘Whatever you think that means,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘Don’t you have anything nasty to say about the President?’ ‘Like what?’ ‘Like he’s an imbecile, or corrupt, or a corrupt imbecile—the usual sore-loser bitter chatter.’ ‘To be honest, I didn’t like the nasty things that were said about Clinton, and I’ve decided to have respect for the Office, no matter who holds it. I don’t think President Bush is corrupt or an imbecile anyway. Would you like something to drink?’ ‘I think maybe this was a mistake,’ she said, starting to go. ‘That’s not to say I don’t disagree strongly with many of his policies and objectives.’ She seemed to reconsider. ‘Like what?’ ‘I don’t know. Name one.’ ‘Get me a drink first.’
With every point I expressed that ran counter to a view she held, she removed one article of clothing. Soon she sat on my couch naked, gently pulling at her untrimmed pubic hair, staring intently but not quite invitingly at me. The growing hard lump in my throat was just outpaced by the one in my pants. I was a little nervous because we had agreed on the last two points—the need to reconsider the option of nuclear energy, and drilling in the Arctic—and I noticed her oversized nipples were no longer hard. Luckily, she was, by this point, determined. ‘What do you think,’ she began provocatively, ‘of the President’s plan to privatize Social Security?’ I sighed with relief; this was as sure a promise to seal the deal as her asking if I had a condom. ‘I think it’s a payoff to the Americans the President has always been most intent on pleasing: the richest 1%.’ ‘What do you mean?’ she cooed. I noticed her nipples hardening once more. She dropped to her knees in front of me. She pushed me backwards and positioned my legs up in the air. ‘A stock’s value is even now only partially tied to the actual value of any publicly traded company. But who’s going to profit from inflated valuations when stock prices swell irrationally from the forced, artificial injection of capital? Her breath was hot on my ‘taint as she lifted my scrotum. ‘Yes? Yes?’ ‘You might as well shoehorn billions of dollars into the Baseball Card market. The price of a Derek Jeter rookie will be driven up to hundreds of thousands of dollars—before the bubble bursts and the whole market crashes massively.’ It was getting hard to stay on point as she tongue-fucked my shitter vigorously. ‘Don’t…Stop!!’ her contorted mouth pled from my butthole. ‘The top 1% will sell stocks at the inflated valuations to the novice investors-by-necessity, the market will swell and crash, and the same 1% will come back and re-purchase their holdings at pennies on the dollar. Meanwhile, Social Security will go bankrupt and all the novice investors will be eating catfood for the duration of their "golden years,‘’ barring a massive Federal bailout several hundred times in excess of what the Savings & Loan scandal cost us.’ She sprung up on the couch on all fours and looked over her shoulder at me. She pointed to her twitching, puckered anus. ‘See this?’ I nodded eagerly. ‘I want you to wreck it.’ I spit on my skeezer-pleaser and, prying her ass cheeks apart like a hot dinner roll, drove it home, into the biggest browneye I had ever seen. She gurgled contentedly. Every thrust of my babymaker was met with a wrenched squeal as I grabbed her by the hips and began really leaning into it. ‘Harder!’ she begged, ‘Harder!! Tell me what you think of Chomsky!’ ‘I…think…he’s…brill…iant…but…I…don’t really agree with much of his stance on Israel, and–’ ‘You’re slowing down!’ she snapped. ‘DON’T SLOW DOWN!’ I went back to punishing her asshole, giving no thought whatsoever to compassionate conservatism as her chocolate socket gnawed on my pork pipe. She was babbling now, as out of a delirious reverie. ‘Feed it,’ Ann Coulter rasped. ‘Feed my hungry asshole!’ I buried her face in a throw pillow and she swiveled her hips back on my fuckstick with obvious appreciation. My pace quickened as my man-magma built towards eruption. ‘Wait!’ she gasped, sensing the fuse on my yogurt cannon was burning quick. ‘I want to take you ass-to-mouth!’ I withdrew from her puckerhole with an audible ‘pop’ and she scrambled around, gulping at my wang-dang-doodle as though the lives of all her loved ones hinged on her marks for enthusiasm. Her eyes rolled up pleadingly as she threw her head down again and again on my magic johnson. I knew what she wanted. ‘There is a specter haunting Europe,’ I began, and she started to convulse spasmodically with her own thrashing orgasm, her head now dribbling in a blur against my groin. I repeated every Karl Marx quote I could think of until I reached my own ‘historic inevitability’ and launched surge after surge from my hairy boda bag. I ejaculated with what seemed like enough force to blow out the back of her head–but her head was made of stronger stuff. She sputtered, gobbled and gulped what I’d have to call a very liberal, even radically so, quantity of hot splooey. Once she caught her breath, she wiped her mouth, stood, and took me by the hand. ‘Let’s go to the bathroom.’ ‘Why?’ She seemed surprised I had to ask. Her tone was that of someone reminding another of something too obvious to need mention. ‘Uh, so I can get in the tub and you can piss all over me?’
I sat in a robe and watched her as she dressed. ‘Will I see you again?’ I asked tentatively. ‘Sure,’ she said, pointing to the TV. ‘On that.’ Some moments passed. I tried to dispel the awkward silence. ‘Well, nice meeting you,’ I offered. ‘You’ve really got a gift for tedious small talk,’ she shot back. I was a little hurt and, recognizing this, she softened just a shade as she reached for her purse to leave. ‘Hey.’ ‘Yes?’ I asked. ‘Thanks for not staring at my adam’s apple.’ ‘No problem.’ She let herself out without another word, and I sat in the late afternoon silence alone. I considered how it felt to be a disposable instrument in someone’s personal debasement fantasy.
All in all, it didn’t feel too bad.
- Comment on I just WON'T 5 days ago:
Question: Only ice-cream made with milk can be labelled as ice-cream in my country (India). If it doesn’t use milk, it has to be labelled as frozen dessert. Do other countries have similar regulation?
- Comment on 'My personal failure was being stumped': Gabe Newell says finishing Half-Life 2: Episode 3 just to conclude the story would've been 'copping out of [Valve's] obligation to gamers' 5 days ago:
False equivalency. Most games these days, and for the foreseeable future, aren’t VR.
- Comment on 'My personal failure was being stumped': Gabe Newell says finishing Half-Life 2: Episode 3 just to conclude the story would've been 'copping out of [Valve's] obligation to gamers' 6 days ago:
But that was not exclusive to HL2. That’s for every AAA PC game released at the time. Don’t tell me you could run GTA:VC but not HL2.
- Comment on 'My personal failure was being stumped': Gabe Newell says finishing Half-Life 2: Episode 3 just to conclude the story would've been 'copping out of [Valve's] obligation to gamers' 6 days ago:
Honestly, I have no problems with linear games.
Even Rockstar is fumbling with open-world games. God forbid if you try to do missions slightly differently than how Rockstar intended.
- Comment on 'My personal failure was being stumped': Gabe Newell says finishing Half-Life 2: Episode 3 just to conclude the story would've been 'copping out of [Valve's] obligation to gamers' 6 days ago:
It was the same for HL2 though
Literally how? All you needed was a computer that could run games, which if you were into gaming on PC, you already had.
- Comment on 'My personal failure was being stumped': Gabe Newell says finishing Half-Life 2: Episode 3 just to conclude the story would've been 'copping out of [Valve's] obligation to gamers' 6 days ago:
Choke on my toes
- Comment on 'My personal failure was being stumped': Gabe Newell says finishing Half-Life 2: Episode 3 just to conclude the story would've been 'copping out of [Valve's] obligation to gamers' 6 days ago:
Instead we got Half Life: Alyx
Only if you’re rich enough to afford VR setup. Fuck me for being born in a third world country, right Gabe?
- Comment on I feel you, green guy. 3 weeks ago:
Kids? In this climate? No thanks!
- Comment on Fitness app Strava gives away location of Biden, Trump and other leaders, French newspaper says. 3 weeks ago:
Some science magazines guessed something big was going on when many of their subscribers changed the address to New Mexico.
They were working on the Manhattan Project.
- Comment on 🧿👄🧿 y'all need to step up ur game 3 weeks ago:
👁️🗨️💢👁️🗨️
- Comment on caution it about what? 3 weeks ago:
Lisan Al Ghaib!
- Comment on Rap Video rule 4 weeks ago:
ahh instead of ass
Shut the fuck up
- Comment on Reddit says it is not covered by new Online Safety Code as it has moved its jurisdiction to the Netherlands 4 weeks ago:
There are some extensions that can edit your comments automatically.
- Comment on Is it normal to feel tired of technological progress? 4 weeks ago:
What lawn?
- Comment on Sympathy for their PTSD 4 weeks ago:
I reread that in his voice.
- Comment on Sympathy for their PTSD 4 weeks ago:
Not just soldiers.
- Comment on Praystation 5 1 month ago:
The cross is not on the building. It is in front of it.
- Comment on Microsoft retires WordPad after 28 years — app no longer available as of Windows 11 24H2 1 month ago:
Looped video for me
- Comment on Effort require Effort 1 month ago:
- Comment on I hate how anything without "world" in its name is just about the US 1 month ago:
I’d think ‘who’s this foucker?’
- Comment on 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 1 month ago:
HELL YEAH! CLAMP IT! AROOOOOOOO!!!
- Comment on Diego Garcia: What is on the secretive UK-US island in the Indian Ocean? 1 month ago:
Thatcher-Reagans sex tape.
- Comment on The Most Loved Digital Audio Streaming Platforms. 1 month ago:
Deezer nuts
- Comment on All Of Apple’s Foldable iPhone Prototypes Have Visible Creases, Which May Explain The Company’s Apprehension Towards A Launch 1 month ago:
Many such creases!
- Comment on [Tom Warren] The PS5 Pro still hasn’t sold out in the US or UK. Looks like the $700 price point will mean this console will be readily available this holiday 1 month ago:
But what I really want is a console that just runs Linux
Steam Deck
- Comment on [Tom Warren] The PS5 Pro still hasn’t sold out in the US or UK. Looks like the $700 price point will mean this console will be readily available this holiday 1 month ago:
You are the reason why people think Linux fans are obnoxious twats.
