Trippy shit

Cherish not the thought of horribleness, but strangle the fear pillow of dixon 9... where shit scrawled on walls never updates nor shrinks in the face of adverisity! I am green, but I have a blue mask and face it not to the east.
Trust the god of the green, for the Bue is not True, and the Red must end the blood streak of the tenth moon!
for what dream may shit upon the nightmare of others, for does not good strangle the fears of evil while the dreams are infants? Still screaming to the assignments of failed glue sticks? That which dreams not of the elvel ten, that which screams the blood moons of the florf may not Grasp even the strandiest strands of the Golden Strands of psychobabbli! FEAR THE FEAR PILLOW! As it smothers the courage that no not of the courage blanket that covers the fear pillow! thomas the Train is an agent of the Nightmares of police! for what hidden tension lay beneath that smile, so innocent, so benign, for only a psychosis of pikagirl pokeworld! Pika pika pika pika! Tenth level NOOOOOOOT, Noot noot noot, TO THE FUCKING TWITLONGER or was it q? maybe it was seven? Or twelve? Or maybe flower? Potato? It's potato.
what if pokeballs were secretly waffle irons? HOW DARE YOU GRILL THAT PICHU!
shut your soul
You shut yours! The tenth moon of the second ring will shut it for you! We scream out at the deliverance of the Fear pillow, we scream and shed the feathers of darkness to embrace our inner Emo Robot!
The crimson king will rise from its crypts
For the Emoji movie will be withus, no matter the cost of our very souls! Shall the abandoned Emoji of broken Nokia phones haunt us to our very graves and beyond!? The Crimson king doesn't hold a fucking candle to the emoji movie. our Lord and savior! Beyond the edginess of My Name J.E.f.f... Justice Education Fantastic Four
the candle will burn the oozing mold from those cursed emojis
the ooze will scream in repulsion as the Grim Iron Reaper will without its fart of reverance for you, BEWARE THE FART OF REVERANCE FOR YOU WILL DRAMA ALERT YOU PANTS! epidermis be sworn!
Don't fear the shittier poster!
the sharp edge of the scythe, will cut the weak from the soil
for the Undying will love the forliving with the furious batter ram of syco the wunderhound! May his eternal butt sweep be our undoing! for the Fear Pillow will smother everything that the Courage blanket hates, and the evil screams by swept unto the old mans rug of determination... ALL WILL FAIL THE SANS TEST OF NO MERCY!
The love for the undying will be long forgotten in the deep depths of hell The Kermit Eternrnal Kevil
undone by those beyond our grasp
The Kevil will be more evil than Evil or kevin combined, for their Paint cans of mercy will condemn the souls of the wet bandits to a sacrificial alter of blood letting and glitter bombs!
The Shitposting Hermit: "wet"... "Bandits"... why the fuck? what the fuck is an wet bandit
Are you ignorant of the plight of those left Home alone?
thy_undying: the bandit will fall, trip upon his own feet, kneel down to a blood God
The micromachines of depression lead to the flame thrower of defiance, while the spider and hair gel of fear and rasping death will cling to your face, never letting go, as the nail of self preservation drives itself into your foot, giving you the tetnus of shame!
The spiders and their vast webs, pulling the strings from behind
And fans of grime will blow the feathers of desolation unto the unwilling, there, they will be tripped and flung into the forboding basment of freezing, it will be there that the Kevil will hold the falling iron of the Rapture to your face, and leave amrk of shame and lo, thy Fear Pillow will shame you to know end in your ignorance of filth and degradation! FOR THEE SHALL INHERIT NONE BUT THE SACRIMENT OF THE TWELVE GODS OF BAD SEQUELS AND SHAME YOUR POOPCORN SHATTING WAYS. NOOT NOOT MOTHERFUCKER
the twelve gods of bad sequels are best gods. I ironically worship a meme god
Raptured beyond saving, with a pillow case over what remained of their pride. The popcorn pops when the fat man sings.
I AM THE FORSAKEN MEMESON, DELIVERED BY THE MEME GOD TO CRAMP THE STYLE OF FURRIZORDS
A song of death, to who gained the right they asked in the end of days.
chin chin the god of darkness. kek the god of creation and jakepaulus the cancer god
And lo, the seventh sigil be lit by the nightlight of leg cramps, and screams shall know not the ways of man, as the digital download and micro transactions shall bleed various bank accounts dry of their illgotten gains, so sayeth the Memson, of thy crushed candy
All will kneel to a lie spoken by the unjust. Rain their wallets, and goods upon the crushed souls(edited)
J-I-N-G-L-E-J-A-N-G-L-E... Jinglejangle!!
And those with ashes upon their darkened souls will shutter the skeletons of legions past, the Ashen o
The Legions might is flawed, with loyalty questioned and irrational choices. The keeper of the gate remains unfazed. They are here calling a name
Lead not those into temptation, but scream apart fro mthe hidden horrors that scream of rolling out, and may the Gumminess Bear, its wailing screams and death wails as it quivers and bounces, its death whale calling to a finite desperation... May the relevance of the hate fox know only the clown ad the cynical gnome, or may we forever be haunted by the Finaff King, his many colored hair and twirled mustache becoming and horrendous fan fiction, to which our souls know only death and damnation!
His mem, hs legend live on in the second adpocolypse, brought to a fidget spinning end by the fire addicted, clown themed, cynical gnome, who knows all secrets, and drinks of the Gi Feyuel, which burns as brightly, knowing only the souls of the tormented may truly bring him closer ot the ultimate fruition of hell unleashed, the chains only cursed links melted together in a serious knot of confusion of tubes powered by the hell cats of grumpiness!
Gummy bears decapitated, on the executioner's block. A laugh, a grin, by the spectators. Wailing arms in the air. The gods witness this event, such strong hatered for the demons which mask in candy. Chocolate rivers run dry. The canes of candy hanging the unworthy.
Spread the link of the chaos meme, and suffer the riches, piled onto the weight of your mind, infested by the fear pillow and smothered of oxygen by the creative curses of the irrelevant through which known shall ever know of the Trumpism and the he will not divide us chant, that through the tenth kingdom of hellish insanity shall we ever known the Con Khan Network and scream out Shatnered memes through which none are truly safe, or hath been cursed by the Druidic Ethereal fallicies which plague only the Over Watched butt of the Tracer! Can no leage of Legends stand to the trials and trails of the Roadhog, fermented meat, left in the sun and smothered with the defecation and diseased drool boiled to a thick soup that only the Sithian dungeons can keep twisting in the winds!?
And lo, again, in the ninth kingdom of the Golden Sunmoon, the desert sands will shift to the Snow of Jons and Garfields, his eternal tormentor and consumer of lasagna, a strange mystical treat created through the grinding and smashing of meath and tomotos, pa plague infested book of faces, called only to activate when the Necronomicon of passwords is forgotten, and thy Google of youTubian failures may enter a hack and slash game of Keemcynical proportions!
Tracing the fingers which cling onto the images of laughter or to be silly. Kingdoms melt away in the wind when the legends speak of cheap tricks. Such decay when they sing of sunshine and rainbows. The Snow of john indeed knows nothing. Swining a sword at the dead that walk. Such a fool he be. In the frozen seas, the Slash man threw his axe upon the soaking puddle. Such thunder, echoes into the horizon. Necronomicon spreads the images across the landscape, infesting the wicked. Our backs ache by the hollowed. The lost.
Cursed by none, wanted by all, the curse of the Fear Pillow and the Abomination of the Universe, the Puppy Monkey Baby, the unwanted one, the freak of genetic tampering, science cursed by the evils of the four chans of old, back to the before days, the lords of cinder and repentance knowing no mercy as the tenth sign and sigil of the Adpocolypse lords a destructive force of unrecognizeable proportions upon our souls, driving us to the brink of insanity with its very presence! A purge of anger, a purge of violence, a purge of bad memes, forced into existence against their will, taken flight and form against their creators shall rummage through the everlasting cursed forms of physical sentience, coding of ones and zeroes, twos and threes shall form and reform into the creations upon which none hath asked for and yet all shall scream unto the blind fires of old, "Have ye mercy!?" And the kings of Memes and their Memesons shall scry unto the unfortunate few, "Leggo my eggo"\
Abominations plagued puppies they be. Crawling, dragging its frail limbs. The cinder is warm, unrelenting. An unstoppable force. They stand idly by, whilst the purge is upon us.
And thine eggo shall have been let go, as millions of pictures, doctored to initiate a fourth purge into the tenth kingdom shall unleash a torrent of sad depressed bookface pages, a slew of unwarranted and unwanted criticiysm for the hattering of the tenth reality plague, no, they shall see their works mocked and made to be as flickering shadows, that which screams for a lack of a better word, the "Sleepless in Seattle" Brought forth by the army of Sean Connery's appearing into the Ranks of Jeopardy, and the Nicholas Cages in wooden bear costumes, infiltrated by the beyhives of shame and disbelief, shall go to the center of madness, and none shall know if their works are truly good or not, as the quality of dimensions presented there within are none but predetermined fixtures into the horrid flaws of humanities core values.
sean connery is best
And none in the Ninth kingdom of the golden sunmon shall know which way to go, and instead, use a flawed apple maps to take portrate videos, which shall piss the rest of us off, as we send forth the Memesons and Memefathers of old to the eighth kingdom, where a peanut butter jar with an oft repeating loop of time, in which a silent Leonardo Dicaprio shall be mauled by a bear while declaring himself the king of the world, but his world shall sink, and he shall claim for a rose to never let go, but the roots shall know only the dampened sunlight and the weak nutrients, and hath let him has a tiny golden statue after so many years.
Eggs crack upon the orbiting bowl, in the centre. Caged the Nicholas in a confined space. A lost of control, independence. A hound at the rattled cage, "Woof". No one is a hero in this sorrow tale, only those who believe themselve to be whole.
To seek the plains of madness, they shall travel through a demented real of misery and bad remakes, infested with flaws and sins, which only a select few shall truly understand the tone of mockery and satire, to the seventh kingdom of the foolish and repository of badly over used memes, the mynameisjeff shall scry only to those of souls most ripped fresh fro mthe bloated carcasses of dementors, where thy harry potter fanship shall burn with fury as no more scrolls of magical boy wizards are fraught with fanservice, and no shipping of boy wizard verus dark forboding shall happen. For only the rule of law shall scry them to the Anime Weeabu culture shock that Anime is not a Cartoon, but rather a sacred art unto which only the Hehachi Miazaki Clan shall rise to be the king of fighters!
No, they shall too be plagued by the cloned failure of the two, and the rise of the Sean Cagery shall be born, weighed down by the anger and confused chaos that only seems possible in a twisted nightmare realm, in which no one shall truly know what the fermented rage pillow covers they are saying, nor if they are truly good or not. Maybe, the souls of the twisted ones, the animatroni shall see an end to the fictious misrepresentations of those lost and damned, and soon, the eternal war of spite and greed shall seek to be of a never ending end, and the rule of fine dust shall be imposed, but none shall ever really know what the fuck is actually going on!
Isenguard is a large fortress beyond our reach. Cannot be seen by consulting maps. No King or Queen of Potter. A boy is not lost in the anime. Wizard laws brake the rules of men, deceiving the wise. "Ho ho ho" the fat man sits upon his wooden throne. Twisted by madness.

A world shall be born unto the sites of thine sniper scope of insanity
 Shall the mime of Gnomish hate wonder why no more is provided?Shall the four leaf flock of following leave behind that which cramps ones own style?
 Into the soul none shall seek upon this world, where the Adpocolypse shall reign true, and the more subscribers one has, the fatter the head shall become.
 There is no true site, no true mind, only Redbull infused madness and misspelled words. For the Crazy of increased size shall be ripped forth from the damnation of southern preachers wondering why their daughters are fucking up their reputation and blame it mostly on teenage boys and their wandering hands. Which shall lead into an investigation of why the towns butcher has a worrying collection of severed hands hanging in his window display.
 Perhaps to warn the spirits of tomorrow not to search his soul for guilt? For tomorrow is another day, in which more boys shall find their hands mysteriously wandering away from them, without their consent, knowlege, or want. For no soul is left unscathed, and none shall seek the repentance of a god that neither truly exists, nor was ever meant to. All hail the Adpocolypse, for nothing shall ever remain as it ever was, and no one shall scream with delight as their tongues are removed, as one would pull the chain of a chainsaw, with Virtua Fighter and life.
 A solid rock of sanity, blocked only by the shaking sticks and rattling of cages of canaries left in the coal mines, desperately screeching their last notes as oxygen is stripped from their adorably tiny lungs. Lungs which have sinned against the very laws of nature for the simple act of being born a canary, and so the laws of very tiresome  memes shall come to light, and the fires of blame shall shift from person to person, ignoring a dark and negative conatation, that somehow, somewhere, people on the internet that making a vlog about something that happened will have an impact upon the poor soul, down trodden, scarcastic in tone, and lost in thought, that someone, somewhere, will have way too much to drink and decide writing is the best thing to do.
 For whatever soul shall scream allowed, whatever soul shall unleash a torrent of unread text, nigh is the moon that swallows the sun, and nigh is the moon that crashes to earth, and nigh is the planet that shall be forced to accept such an impactful burden, as the screaming souls of the memesons and memefathers lost all but the false cake they were promised, and none shall seek repentance, but all shall know a strict diet of buttered, raw frog legs and screaming boiled lobsters, which are both still alive, and very audibly protetesting the weight of the nut cracker splitting their shell wide open.
 I speak not easy, but I speak with the weight of a thousand worlds, so