I know you have been wondering why I am better than you, well, it's quite simple. Some would argue that it is nature- in other words, my genetic gifts were simply greater than yours from the get go. From this perspective, my being better than you in every conceivable and inconceivable way was not really your fault: eons and eons of evolutionary minutae simply piled up to stack the cards against YOU, but for ME. Still, others would insist that the genesis of my unquestionable superiority over you is a product of nurture: in other words, while you were being raised by a troglodytic tribe of slack-jawed, mouth-breathing dullards, my sublime greatness was being sculpted by brilliant and beautiful parents, who ingrained in me a deep appreciation for the magnificence of my person while giving me every possible advantage over you, which I, of course, made the most of. While each argument has some merit, I think the only plausible explanation is that both nature and nurture teamed up in symbiosis to make me what I am, which is SO much more than what you are and even what you could hope, in your wildest dreams to be.
Just look at you, standing there with morning halitosis, your gut cascading over the waistband of the underwear you haven't bothered to change in days. Look at the sporadic , simian hair the extends from your body, as if every follicle is trying to leap off and thus liberate itself from the putrid, corpulent body that you haven't bothered to maintain. Your pathetic, floppy breasts hang from your body as if your nipples tried to bungy jump from your clavicle, only to play out the elasticity of the cord. They sway from side to side as your belly fat gyrates with the racking, grating coughs that announce your awakening to yet another mundane day, a day without hope, as you mechanically go through the motions of your meaningless job. Your stumpy toes produce cheese as though they were put on the bottom of your arthritic ankles to serve as a hedonism camp for fungi and bacteria. The wasted, necrotic "muscles' of your arms sag with the relentless pull of gravity, forcing your bean bag epidermis to stretch even more, and giving your arms all the appearance and allure of cold mashed potatoes stuffed into a tube sock. Your "brain" dulled with too many years of "Mork and Mindy" reruns and dimestore novels about heroes you could only hope to be, and burdened with the horrible, latent yet omnipresent knowledge that you are, and alway have been, at the lowest rung of the social ladder, sputters like the transmission of '74 VW after a 0 degree night, chasing out any ephemeral optimistic hopes that might lead you to think you are someone who has made the slightest impact on this earth.
So , you see, my "friend", it is and isn't your fault that I am better than you. Thank you.

> ...your gut cascading over the waistband of the underwear...

WHAT underwear!?

This was a good read...

I demand more...

P.S. Sorry, Miz, for posting in a "General" thread...

This will soon be moved to Off-Topic anyway... Consider it an investment...

Signatures are for fags

Of course you "demand" more, but you have momentarily forgotten that it is not your "place" to demand anything of me. What you SHOULD do is IMPLORE more from me. Then and only then will I "taunt you a second time"

I would implore you for more, but I am too proud to get my cyber-knees dirty...

I will compromise by telling you that I would really enjoy reading more...

That way I'm not begging, but I'm still letting you know that, if you decide to indulge me, the effort would be much appreciated...

Narcissist Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Of course you "demand" more, but you have
> momentarily forgotten that it is not your "place"
> to demand anything of me. What you SHOULD do is
> IMPLORE more from me. Then and only then will I
> "taunt you a second time"

Signatures are for fags

I feel like Im better than everyone else too. And now that can include you, Narcissist because I can structure a proper paragraph.

Well, while it strikes me as odd that one as used to supplicating as you are would not do so now, I have made the decision to grace you with my masterful prose prowess once again.
I suspect that your hesitancy to "..get down on your cyber knees" has a psychological link to your avoidance to any kind of physical exercise whatsoever, which explains both your porcine and endomorphic body composition and your utter lack of mental acquity.
I think it interesting that your name is "Harry". Your parents selected a homonym for an undesireable adjective to serve as your moniker,acknowledging from the inception of your utterly pointless tenure on the planet that you are not even worthy to be a noun. You are, at the risk of redundancy, not even a "thing", but a "thing to describe a thing", which insinuates that even your own parents recognized that you are subordinate to the point of being subhuman, as was the entire line of losers that spawned your kin. The truly mindboggling thing about your existence is that carriers of such inferior genetic lines managed to find each other, somehow achieve sexual arousal, then pollute the planet with more visually horrific and mentally repugnant people. The improbability that such a "Harry" as yourself ever got a chance to walk the planet is a true tribute to the old addage "there is someone for everyone", yet it shakes my belief in Darwinism to the core: natural selection should have weeded you out, but no! Now, I , your physical and mental superior, have to corrupt my vision by looking at you, and I am sickened by what I see: the meniscus of your stooped, beaten shoulders, the sickening swoop of your scoliotic spine, the various nevi and carbuncles that dot your sallow, jaunidiced skin, the unnatural hue of your irises as they swim through alcohol catalyzed fire red veins that obscure the sclera of your malformed eye all repulse me, yet remind me of my superiority over you. As you shuffle about, reeking of flatulence since your inferior digestive system can't metabolise the buckets of grease you routinely dump down your throat at the local fast foods establishments, which you sit at alone as little children mock you and make dire, yet factual predictions about how you will die alone, please reflect on your inferiority.
Thank you

This is why I am the best - my beautiful balls. I realize that the average person sees a lot of balls in his or her lifetime, but most of those balls are, to put it kindly, sub-par. My balls, however, are beautiful. They are perfect in every way, from the sheen of my scrotal sac to the flawless shape and symmetry of the testicles to the flaxen softness of my pubic hair.

I go to great lengths to make sure my balls are show-quality balls. First and foremost is hygiene, of course: Nobody wants to see unclean balls. And not just any soap will do, as harsh detergents can cause unsightly scratching and mar the surface of the balls. I recommend a gentle, all-natural cleanser, like Dr. Bronner's Eucalyptus or Ayurvedic Olive Oil soap. The night before displays, I use a separate leave-on conditioner, but for everyday use, a good lotion like Neutrogena is all I really need.

Getting my balls clean and soft, however, is only half of it. I used to apply makeup to them, but the effect was far too artificial—the whole idea behind showing your balls in the first place is to showcase their natural beauty, with the emphasis on natural. So I use all-organic carnauba wax to give them a rich, deep luster. Three coats, buff with a hand-held electric orbital polisher, three more, polish again, and top it off with one final hand-rubbing. When you get down to it, there's just no substitute for bearing down on your balls with some good old-fashioned elbow grease. I do it while watching the evening news.

Yes, proper ball care can be a lot of work, but the enjoyment you get from having championship-quality balls is well worth the effort. You'll know what I'm talking about once you get a look at my balls. The sheen, the smoothness—do yourself a favor and get good and close when you're looking at them. You'll actually be able to see your reflection in them, like a kid looking into a fuzzy, fleshy, pink Christmas ornament. Get as close as possible, I don't mind. I do this for your enjoyment.

Now, I'm not one of those people who takes the time to fix something up all nice and then doesn't use it. I can't stand that. I mean, the Spirit of St. Louis hangs for all to see in the National Air & Space Museum, but you never see anyone flying it, do you? Well, like Lindbergh's plane, my balls hang for all to see—but I make sure they're not all show and no go. Anyone who wants to can touch my balls, provided, of course, they handle them gently and are wearing lint-free microfiber gloves. And please, no pulling: This could strain the scrotal sac and cause it to bag out, making it less attractive in appearance.

I promise you this: That magic moment when you first take in the glory of my balls will be one you'll remember for the rest of your life. You will most certainly see my magnificent balls many, many more times in the coming years, but it will never again be quite like the first time. I hope it's as special for you as it has been for thousands of other lucky folks. Enjoy

Narcissist Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I know you have been wondering why I am better
> than you, well, it's quite simple. Some would
> argue that it is nature- in other words, my
> genetic gifts were simply greater than yours from
> the get go. From this perspective, my being better
> than you in every conceivable and inconceivable
> way was not really your fault: eons and eons of
> evolutionary minutae simply piled up to stack the
> cards against YOU, but for ME.


Too bad that genetic line ends because you are a fag.

There is nothing so funny as those who don't get the joke. Wahh...good show...although I will pass

Well I was only reading the first sentence or two of the other posts,
but then I stumbled on Waahh's post and couldn't help but read every
word from start to finish of his informative testicular care post.

Thank you 'Waahh'.
MY BALLS will start getting the treatment they deserve TODAY!
.

==================================================================================
"Why don't you LOSERS just pack your flower print DOUCHE BAGS
and get your stoopid @$$#$ THE FUCK OFF MY INTERNETZ!"

- 'philscamms' (the YT Watchdog) ; internet & YouTube® extraordinaire.

Sounds like Meade is using FFXU as a blog again.

Well, that is what blogs are for.
.

==================================================================================
"Why don't you LOSERS just pack your flower print DOUCHE BAGS
and get your stoopid @$$#$ THE FUCK OFF MY INTERNETZ!"

- 'philscamms' (the YT Watchdog) ; internet & YouTube® extraordinaire.

LOVING IT! LOVING IT! LOVING IT! THANK YOU!

Narcissist Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Well, while it strikes me as odd that one as used
> to supplicating as you are would not do so now, I
> have made the decision to grace you with my
> masterful prose prowess once again.
> I suspect that your hesitancy to "..get down on
> your cyber knees" has a psychological link to your
> avoidance to any kind of physical exercise
> whatsoever, which explains both your porcine and
> endomorphic body composition and your utter lack
> of mental acquity.
> I think it interesting that your name is "Harry".
> Your parents selected a homonym for an
> undesireable adjective to serve as your
> moniker,acknowledging from the inception of your
> utterly pointless tenure on the planet that you
> are not even worthy to be a noun. You are, at the
> risk of redundancy, not even a "thing", but a
> "thing to describe a thing", which insinuates that
> even your own parents recognized that you are
> subordinate to the point of being subhuman, as was
> the entire line of losers that spawned your kin.
> The truly mindboggling thing about your existence
> is that carriers of such inferior genetic lines
> managed to find each other, somehow achieve sexual
> arousal, then pollute the planet with more
> visually horrific and mentally repugnant people.
> The improbability that such a "Harry" as yourself
> ever got a chance to walk the planet is a true
> tribute to the old addage "there is someone for
> everyone", yet it shakes my belief in Darwinism to
> the core: natural selection should have weeded you
> out, but no! Now, I , your physical and mental
> superior, have to corrupt my vision by looking at
> you, and I am sickened by what I see: the meniscus
> of your stooped, beaten shoulders, the sickening
> swoop of your scoliotic spine, the various nevi
> and carbuncles that dot your sallow, jaunidiced
> skin, the unnatural hue of your irises as they
> swim through alcohol catalyzed fire red veins that
> obscure the sclera of your malformed eye all
> repulse me, yet remind me of my superiority over
> you. As you shuffle about, reeking of flatulence
> since your inferior digestive system can't
> metabolise the buckets of grease you routinely
> dump down your throat at the local fast foods
> establishments, which you sit at alone as little
> children mock you and make dire, yet factual
> predictions about how you will die alone, please
> reflect on your inferiority.
> Thank you

Signatures are for fags

More baiting by the Tuttle troll.

eesh Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> More baiting by the Tuttle troll.

wut

Signatures are for fags