And a whiteboard with forbidden things, and everything on the board is shit that retards love. Sonic the Hedgehog. Macaroni. Etc.

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anonymous 5 hours ago

You would be sitting alone at a table talking to yourself and everyone would assume you are the very thing you hate.

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anonymous 3 hours ago

The Ant Picnic

Marcus sat cross-legged in the middle of Centennial Park, his checkered blanket spread across the grass. Before him lay an impressive spread: a ham sandwich, potato chips, and a thermos of iced tea. What was also impressive—and increasingly concerning to passersby—was the thick, writhing blanket of ants covering both his food and his lap.

A woman walking her golden retriever paused at the edge of his blanket. "Excuse me, but do you realize you're completely covered in ants?"

Marcus looked up with a serene smile, not flinching as ants crawled across his sandwich. "Of course. These are my dining companions."

The woman's eyes widened. "But... they're all over your food. And you!"

"Exactly," Marcus replied, taking a bite of his ant-covered sandwich. "They're the only beings on this planet who truly understand efficiency. No pointless conversation, no social niceties, just pure purpose."

As the woman hurried away, shaking her head, a young couple approached. "Dude, you might want to move," the guy said. "There's probably an anthill right under you."

Marcus gestured to the thousands of ants now forming intricate patterns across his blanket. "Why would I disturb such perfect organization? Watch them—they communicate without words, work without complaint, build without blueprints. They're the original master planners."

"But they're ants," the girl said, her voice dripping with disbelief.

"Exactly," Marcus said, his eyes gleaming with conviction. "I'm enjoying a meal with non-retards who think just like me."

The couple backed away slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. Throughout the afternoon, more curious park-goers stopped to stare or offer warnings about the ant invasion. Each time, Marcus calmly explained his philosophy while ants continued their relentless march across his food, his clothes, and his skin.

By late afternoon, Marcus had finished his meal, though the ants had claimed their fair share. He stood up, brushing ants from his jeans with an almost reverent touch.

"Until next time," he whispered to the blanket before carefully folding it, ants and all, and heading home with his unusual leftovers.

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anonymous 3 hours ago

uh ok, that was an interesting read lol. anyway yes a place to vent, and a meal with normal fucking people. people who actually have a personality. and don't eat like a fucking horse.

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anonymous 1 hour ago