/lit/ - Literature

>Why yes I'm dying, how could you tell?

>>14248982
God is dead.

Mistah Chad-he dead

I turn my head. Chad gone—a king dead.

E tu? Beta? Arghgh..

>>14248994
AND NOOO-ONE CARES

Alas, poor Gigachad! I knew him, Anon; a fellow of infinite test, of most excitable Stacys; he hath borne weights on his back a thousand times; and now, why yes it is abhorred in my imagination, how could you tell? My gorge rises at it. Here hung those quads that I have spotted I know not how oft. Where be your gains now? Your glutes? Your abs? Your flexes of pecs, that were wont to soak the panties on a teen?

>>14248982
I weep for Gigachad—he is dead!
Oh, weep for Gigachad! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a jawline!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,
And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me
Died Gigachad; till the Future dares
Forget the Past, his basedness shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity!”

>>14248985
Fpbp

>>14249042
It’s a good joke but OP had already thought of it (check the filename of the image)

Lying vanquished into a casket, our Gigachad remains still: in memory, or otherwise. He lives petrified, an upright host to our past, mortal memories, and what lives to come, as rock changed to sand from an ocean's crest. His soul, pouring out amongst the eyes, reveal a statuesque figure: the form of stone-like flesh, awaiting another generation to come towards earthly paradise and doom. Yet, unmoved in his state, there is nothing to be said of defeat, or the tides of decay, for he continues in forever waking life, a host to these timely encounters. Lo, he rests, filled with a stamina some shall never experience, in midsts of uneventful days, let alone for what lurks in the hearts of many thoughtful, anxious men. Let our genius rest, for he will rise!

ay ay ay ay dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum um dum

gucci gang gucci gang gucc i gang. Stand 10 racks on new chan. Stand 10 racks on new chon

>>14248982
F

>>14248982
Absolutely, it was a magnificent coffin, paid for by a life of toil, of hustle, of high rolling. But it was a good life, nobody would refute that. When women wanted him and men wanted to be him... there was no emptiness in his soul, for he got his dick sucked every night by Halle Berry and [name redacted due to age], and he earned it, thanks to the work he put into his body and his persona, and in turn those things made him money, and around and around the merry-go-round went. So he would hardly be able to say with a straight face, if he were alive, in response to the assumed wealth of his life, "how could you tell?"

>>14248982
Jesus wept.

>>14248982
The lying giant, humble Pericles, laid as he is amongst the oak of his coffin, he shines with the valour of his achievement, reflected from the many who knew him well all standing around him, and his many offspring.

>>14248982
Oh avarice what hast thou taken from us.
Not being satisfied by the scraps who slide under the table
Oh cold death
Taketh the most pure peace of meat and ravaged it to scraps
Forever cold our light of day

>>14248982
now-frigid skull of steel on shoulders broad
pray Michael, take our gigachad to God

>>14248982
The scent of a fertile pussy, is this how heaven smells like?