/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.7181530]

write a piece involving a hat

[Anonymous No.7181540]

>>7181530
What the fuck? Why are there hats?

Hats.

[Anonymous No.7181544]

>>7181540
It's /lit/'s anniversary I guess?

[Anonymous No.7181548]

>>7181540
>>7181544
12th anniversary.

[Anonymous No.7181551]

>>7181540
>>7181544

Wow... So New...

[Anonymous No.7181554]

My intelligence is superior.

Which hat am i using?

[Anonymous No.7181556]

>>7181548
>It's been 2 years since the 10th anniversary

[Anonymous No.7181564]

>a dome shaped like a rectangle
>but honestly, more like an oval pyramid
>if you look at it from the top
>put it on yer noggin, stuff a rabbit inside,
>or tip it in the direction of a lady in need
>the age-old advice is that a cat is fine, too
>but add a hat and you've just made things fine times two

[Anonymous No.7181583]

Upon my head sits a hat
Not every day on which it sat.
But on this day
There was much to say
About this poor old man's hat.

My wife left it to me
Not many more years than three
She quarreled and scraped but still couldn't escape
The untimely demise of her fate.

When she purchased this thing of unnecessary greed
She didn't know pressures it'd bring
It made her howl and sing for the moon and the things
That go bump in the cover of night.

Upon my head it sits on the threads
Of an old man's wishes and dreams
I killed the love of my life
To live the rest of my life
Wondering of knowledge beneath.

[Anonymous No.7181609]

There was once an old man with a hat
He used to stroke his hat ever so slowly
Everyone used to look at him and smile
He said, "Worry not, I'll keep stroking"

[Anonymous No.7181624]

Ass+ Hat = asshat = OP

[Anonymous No.7181629]

hats made by hatter
but what's the matter?
why's the hatter sewing
and me this matter spewing?

[Anonymous No.7181653]

>>7181530
Here I sit, chewing the fat
with anonymous wearing a hat
thus he spat, "your post is shate"

[Anonymous No.7181662]

my friends may have abandoned me
but at least 4chan remembers my birthday

[Anonymous No.7181667]

>>7181540
>>7181544
REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

holy fuck bros check out this embarrassing screenshot i made 4 years ago

it hurts just thinking of how much of a young retard i was.

no bully

[Anonymous No.7181690]

>>7181667
Quality shitposting

[Anonymous No.7181695]

I put the hat upon my barren head. A fuzzy type of hat, extending past the horiztonal far more than the vertical. Covering the shame that I wear innately. Covering the blank, unattractive near-perfect circle of nothing that completes the very top of my self.
There is nothing different about this time I put the hat on, there is nothing different about this, as it is a daily ritual. My co-workers have no longer turned their notice towards it, they have not longer voiced jests at my best-of-all-possible-evils shame. It is now as if I wasn't wearing the hat at all.

It is now as if I am normal again.

[Anonymous No.7181704]

>>7181667
you're sooooo cuteeeee

[Anonymous No.7181747]

>>7181530

"YES!!! OF COURSE, YES I'LL MARRY YOU!"

She tried to sound elated.

Even, the sublime perfection of the situation itself seemed to be casting judgement upon her: her golden hair glistening in the ruby red spotlight, the jazzy love music playing in the background, the love of her life on bended knee, his bejeweled, soft hands gently pushing the ring onto her finger...all of them seemed to to be screaming at her, "How dare you betray his trust, you bitch!".

How could she ever tell him that she was really a hat? She'd thought that people constantly reminding him where the hat rack was on dates and the fact that the her favorite sex position was sitting on his head would have clued him. But so entranced was the poor prince in his love for er that he could be aware of nothing else.

[Anonymous No.7181792]

>>7181747
you're 12

[Anonymous No.7181799]

I was waiting for the bus when an absent minded lady bumped into me, tipping my hat over in the process.
"Funny", I thought, "I don't remember putting on a hat today. In fact, I don't even remember even owning a hat..."
I knelt down to pick it up. On a closer examination, it was reveled to be a fedora.
I grasped it firmly in my hand, put it on.
And suddenly, in that moment, I was euphoric. Not because of any phony god’s blessing. But because, I was enlightened by my intelligence. My belly widened. My neck started sprouting unkempt hair. Pimples popped out of my flesh, my teeth yellowed and my windbreaker darkened and grew down into a trenchcoat.
When I turned around, I noticed that the lady was still there, frozen in bewildered horror over my sudden transmogrification.
I reached for words of comfort, but to my own dismay, I only managed a deceptively smug "m'lady", my cheetos stained fingers reaching for the brim of my fedora by an involuntary reflex; And as I felt the last vestige of my faith in God and Christian morals fade from my body, I tipped.

[Anonymous No.7181818]

I took up position on the flat, but densely surrounded surface, as typical. I penetrated it and drank deeply, as typical. I felt satiated and whole, and relaxed for a second around the gently moving stalks in the breeze.

Suddenly, I felt unwhole, I felt hungry, and I felt incomplete. I could see, at the edge of my vision, a large form moving up and away from me. Then, just as quickly as it moved away, I saw it come back down and begin to move around behind me.

I heard from below loud, resounding waves of sound. "I think it got me". And then lower waves of a constant, and almost shrill sound from further away, followed by "right on the head?" and then more of the shrill sound.

I tried to move, and could not. I tried to look back, and could not. My many legs all felt numb, and my thorax and abdomen felt similarly. Jerking my head about, I searched for some type of rescue, even if I couldn't imagine the form it would take.

Finally, I submitted to my last instinct, and drove my piercing mouth into the surface below me, and drank as much as I could. For the first time, I could feel the liquid as it came out behind me and began to spread around me. I had never felt so unsatisfactory after drinking before. The shrill sound again, and I heard that until I was brushed off I was "a hat".

[Anonymous No.7181829]

*tips fedora

[Anonymous No.7181849]

In this moment, I am euphoric, not because of a phony god's blessing, but because I am enlightened by my own intelligence.

[Anonymous No.7181873]

>>7181829
>>7181849
well memed

[Anonymous No.7181931]

>>7181530
He was drunk when he told himself he wouldn't be.

Sweat stuck to the brim of his Dallas Cowboys baseball cap, he took it in his hand. He looked at it and saw some profound understanding of sports teams' position in the world before the thought annihilated itself and he lost his balance. Falling down felt like swimming.

He made the conscious decision to start looking for cocaine, and so he scanned the crowd.

[Anonymous No.7181940]

>>7181829
>>7181849
For sale: fedora, never tipped.

[Anonymous No.7181952]

He had worn the same cap out almost every single time he'd been out since he had purchased it. A few times he had forgotten it, when the move to his car was frantic, but, in general, he felt that it was something that he would wear outside, as natural as an earring or his constant shoes.

He walked through cities, and towns, and everything in between with the same cap on. He scanned faces, particularly in cities, as they came by him. None of them registered anything out of the ordinary. Not a single person ever looked at his cap with recognition.

He became frustrated, his cap was not enough, it was not living up to what he wanted it to. He bought a matching shirt, and eventually matching jeans with words down each pant leg signifying the same thing that his cap and shirt did. Still nothing, no recognition, no human contact.

Time went on, and eventually he was reduced to slumping against a random building in the middle of the city, lost in dejection. His arms outstreatched into the arm, grasping in both hands a rectangular piece of cardboard, larger horizontally than it was vertically. No one that passed, payed him any mind, though occasionally they threw him pieces of change. He thought about changing his sign, which read "Hello, I'm a white male, 5'9", my favorite movie is The Shining, my favorite album is Revolver, my favorite book is Of Mice and Men, etc, etc, etc"

[Anonymous No.7181975]

>>7181667
Man, them bookmarks.

[Anonymous No.7181982]

>>7181667
>/v/ and /lit/

My nigga

[Anonymous No.7182140]

Smoking a cigarette out by the docks, gazing into an infinite horizon of black, rippling water. Thomas Ford lamented. He lamented his lot in life, he lamented the lot in life of the others around him, he lamented the lot in life of the few people that would be charitable to him in western society. He lamented in general.

Thinking back on the past as he smoked, he had in his mind vague, blurry memories of childhood; small embarrassments of his teenage years; passionate, but short-lived romances through his early twenties and late twenties. All these memories had led to nothing, it seemed. He stood there, mouth agape in concentrated though, trying, for the first time in his life, to really think about whether or not the road from A to B was more important than the destination.

He found no pleasure in the thinking, and so stopped quickly. He felt that it was, in some way, poignant that, even at this point, he eschewed complex thought. He thought past this that maybe his thoughts on avoiding complex thoughts counted as complex thought, and but so, soon decided that it did not. Interestingly enough, this last piece of thought on Mr. Ford's part was genuine complex and layered, though he almost consciously chose not to notice, so as not to get too deep into anything.

His cigarette was at its end. The water rippled, and rippled on. He only had one left in his pack. He was at this dock because he had been diagnosed, only weeks earlier, with a disease that seemed fantastical. Something he had never heard of, but which had become sharply real in his life very much too quickly. Methane in the bloodstream. High levels of methane in his bloodstream. He had always had low blood pressure, he had always at least made attempts at fitness, despite his predilection towards tobacco and alcohol. Methane was lighter than air, which, in turn, was lighter than blood, which, combined with his low blood pressure, led to the methane to settle easily inside of him. Settle in the inverse fashion at the very top of his head, producing a, vertically small but horizontally substantial, bump at the apex of his self, accentuating his bald spot. It was a fatal disease, aside from the general complications of these large amounts of methane inside of his blood, any single flame or spark close enough to the skin had the potential to set him ablaze.

[Anonymous No.7182144]

>>7182140
And so, and with purpose, he took a drag of his last cigarette, now at the half-way point, and moved it slowly up to his head. He held it at the bump in his bald spot, and, as a minute or two passed with nothing but an uncomfortable heat forming on his head, began to feel annoyed and as if his life was becoming complexly anticlimactic, when suddenly his head was enwreathed in a crown of flame. His hand shot away sharply, dropping the cigarette.
Mr. Ford saw, in slow motion, the cigarette falling, and a chasing flame spread down the length of his body, matching the cigarette in vertical motion. He felt that he should feel calm in his last moments, but instead felt extreme pain. Extreme pain, extreme confusion, extreme relief at the methane finally catching, slight hunger that had been dogging him since he had arrived at the docks, and a painful nostalgia as his brain rushed through all the memories it could. All these feelings combined into a panicked nothing. He stood there, slowly burning down but unmoving, and in the dawn's light his skeleton remained upright.

[Anonymous No.7182189]

>>7181982
Browsing /lit/ for a year has changed my opinion of /v/ quite a bit.

I'll still browse, but the posts are way too fast, and the discussion is braindead. That said, the hivemind still continues to impress me with the games it picks up, and the nitpicky hate everything attitude does latch onto actual flaws.

Bloodborne was GOTY

[Anonymous No.7182196]

>>7182189
I feel the same way. It's kind of hard to go back there.

At the same time, I think that they're usually funnier than /lit/. /lit/ is kind of only funny in the desiccated, bloodlessly intellectual way that an english teacher is funny. Too fuckin abstract

[Anonymous No.7182197]

>>7182140
Error in the first two sentences, I think. They should be one, not two.

[wave !SGRPrwhmGE No.7182538]

PART 1

Jim made himself a glass of whiskey on the rocks and stared wistfully into the dark of the night. Rain poured mercilessly, adding a soothing noir background. Jim’s soul was at peace, his mind too aware of the misadventures of his youth. He was one of the oldest patrons of the establishment, his greying hair showing his age. He took a deep breath and planted himself comfortably in the exquisite, tall leather chair. He let his mind drift and absorb the sounds around him. The invisible swirls of smooth jazz with an added twist of the raindrum on the windows complemented each other wonderfully. It was all made to bring them together, the patrons of this fine establishment. They’ve all felt it, but did not care to admit. It was a gentlemen’s club, after all. Quiet conversations drifted around Jim, a distant muffled cough and a cleared throat, a rustle of newspaper and a cling of a teaspoon against a porcelain cup. The air itself was at peace, as peaceful as the unspoken melancholy of everyone inside would allow it to be.

“Borin, isn’t it?” a bland, unfamiliar voice to his left. A note of nervousness that did not escape Jim’s expert ear. He slowly put down the glass on the table next to him and just as slowly turned his head. Woah. A top hat. Jim chuckled into the hat-bearer’s face, naturally. It did not assume a red color, as Jim would have expected. Stranger’s face remained politely expressionless and beige.

“Aye, James Borin. Call me Jim.”

An awkward handshake. Jim did not bother getting up. He earned that much.

“Tom Ragson,” said the generic man, his name and face leaving no imprint in Jim’s mind, «I hope I’m not intruding. I’ve seen you here before, but uh, I couldn’t quite muster up the courage to talk.» His face gave a weak smile.

“Well, this is the first time I see you, Tom. Can’t quite wait to become the Pope?”

The man was stumped and took a few seconds to get his bearings.

“Oh, pardon me. My hat, yes. She’s a fashion statement, really. It’s who I am. Flying my colors if I must say so. Besides, it’s gentlemen’s club. Don’t gentlemen have to wear top hats or a bowler at the very least?” his attempt at humor went over Jim’s head.

“You’re an odd one. Well, now that we’re talking, what is it that the two of you want? Spit it out, laddie.”

“Would you like to know more about our Lord and Saviour?”

Jim nearly swatted the whiskey glass with his arm, but his sensibilities took the best of him.

“You’re a goddamn Jehovah’s witness in a top hat?” Jim tilted his head down and looked at the intruder with an evil smirk from under his brow. Oh, they’ll will be hearing about this one. I’ll have my membership fees waived. I’ll have everyone’s membership fees waived. It’ll be a stink.

“Actually, I’m a—”

“I don’t give a shit. Next.”

[wave !SGRPrwhmGE No.7182540]

PART 2
Ragson gave a short bow and retreated into the depths of the club. Jim’s eyes followed him intently, his mind fuming, his nostrils blowing air, evoking an image of bull ready to charge. His blood pressure undoubtedly spiked. He finished the drink in one gulp and leaned on the arm of the chair, a sour expression overcoming his face. The evening was ruined and he was about to leave for the night. Someone chuckled. Jim looked at other patrons, but they’ve all seemed to mind their own business. Seemed, at least, for the reality of the situation was far too obvious. A conspiracy, of course. A joke on the old borin’ Borin. Let’s make the old man a fool. A top hat. Please. I must be blind. I bet they have a pool going as well. No! This just won’t do. Such insolence must be punished.

Jim reached into the inside pocket of his suede jacket to produce a check book and a fountain pen. A couple of scribbles and he was ready to venture forth, into the heat of the battle. He got up, stretched his back in stealth, put on an impeccable smile and casually strolled towards Ragson, whom he spotted standing by the piano. Top Hat’s conversation partners quickly retreated into the darkness. It would be a one-on-one and a head-to-head, just the way it was meant to be played.

“I do have to say, that was quite rude on my side. I do apologize. You’ve caught me during a moment of reminiscence and I have simply snapped.”

Ragson was about to speak up, but Borin simply cringed as if that very development would cause him physical pain.

“I have nothing against your kind, I really don’t,” Jim continued, “It’s your hat that threw me off and it must go.”

“M-must go?” stammered Tom.

“Absolutely. I’d like to have it. How much?”

“She’s not for sale.”

“Oh, but she is, if you claim to follow your faithful ways. What’s your favourite charity, my friend? Here, it’s already signed. Just fill in the amount. A hat in exchange for easing your fellow man’s pain. Don’t be shy now, accept my apology.”

“I can’t! The hat… she’s me. She’s my other half, you understand. I’m the man with the top hat. Surely you wouldn’t want to destroy our very identity?”

“What’s a fair price? A hundred, no, the bloody thing probably costs more than that. Here. A thousand dollars. For a top hat,” said Jim as he scribbled down the number. His insides were bursting from laughter, but he kept his cool. One well-timed phone call on the way home and the check would bounce.

“Made out directly to you, and you may do as you wish with the money. Buy a new hat for all I care,” Jim carelessly waved his arm.

“I guess every man has his price,” said an unidentified, hushed a voice in the shadows.

Tom’s shaking hands removed the black, cylindrical wearable, exposing his ginger hair. Jim could only guess how naked and vulnerable the man felt right now.

[Anonymous No.7182542]

>>7181530
I looked up, she was still there, watching me, raping my thoughts with those green eyes, staring at the very bottom of my soul, like she were judging me for a crime I may have commited.

Suddenly she moved, just a little, she took her beautiful left hand and accommodated her hat, oh man, How I trully disliked that puke- like greenish, disgusting hat, she suddenly said - "Mark, I know what you have done, you are not fooling me no more", I feel like it was time to ask her about this so called bad thing I aparently made, - "well, refresh my memory darling, what did I do?", I said. She just made a smug facial expression and started moving again, she never stopped watching me, staring me with those green eyes, souless eyes of prejudice towards me, not even when she was walking down the stairs, nor when she left the room through the door, she creeped the fuck out of me, I trully knew what was fear in thar moment.

[wave !SGRPrwhmGE No.7182544]

PART 3
“Now, now, no need to make it ugly. It’s a fair deal. Now, if you will. Please and thank you,” courtied Jim as he obtained the hat. With a smug look of utter satisfaction he planted his crowning achievement on his head and quickly proceeded to depart the clubhouse.

His immediate intention was to throw the thing out, or perhaps have a homeless man defecate into it. Maybe use it as a pot for a ficus. His head was bursting with ideas of revenge against a man’s symbol, but the raging weather began to convince him otherwise. The hat did serve its purpose and protected the bearer’s head from the downpour.

Jim kept walking down the alleyway, whistling a simple tune. Soon enough he spotted a taxi cab and upon carefully removing his new piece of headgear assumed the back seat.

“Where to, boss?” said the burly taxi driver with a Slavic accent, “Nice hats.”

“Hats?” Jim’s inner voice chuckled at the cabbie’s untimely use of plurals.

“Yes. Look good. Where to?”

“Looks good.”

“Yes, yes. That is what I say. They look good. The hats. Funny.”

Jim touched his head, but his hair was not the only piece of headgear there. Jim leaned forward, to catch his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Jim’s head had another, albeit very tiny top hat on it.

“Where are we going, boss?”

“Uh… Nowhere. I have to go back,” said Jim as he climbed out of the car, forgetting the larger top hat on the seat next to him. Tom Ragson. Tom! Tomfoolery.

“Sorry, it’s no funny, no funny!” cabbie’s voice faded as Jim ran into the darkness. In a few moments, he stood in front of the club’s windows. The insides were joyfully lit, full of his acquaintances. They’ve all seemed to have gathered around Ragson, who was quietly sobbing. Fiddlesticks, what a flabbergasting unraveling of a most peculiar variety! Jim Borin was terrified. His inner voice did not sound like his inner voice. It had a strange, posh British accent. He reached for air with his lungs and opened the club’s door. He clung to the handle, his legs about to give way. Preposterous. What sort of deviant trickery is this?! Jim, unable to reasonably cope with his new accent, grabbed the tiny hat from his head, threw it on the ground and trampled it into oblivion.

All conversations ceased.

“What are you, sir? Be you a benefactor or a villain?” said Jim and tried to swallow his strange words.

Tom Ragson raised his watery eyes.

“You monster,” uttered Tom. He was looking at Jim’s feet.

The eyes of everyone in the room shifted ceaselessly between the two men.

Tom said something else under his breath. Those standing next to him gasped and took a few steps back. Somebody screamed. Another man swooned.

Tom repeated himself.

“Monster… She was pregnant.”

[Anonymous No.7182546]

>>7181583
10/10

[Anonymous No.7182564]

It was a charming day.

The lychgate of a field showed Father Conmee breadths of cabbages, curtseying to him with ample underleaves. The sky showed him a flock of small white clouds going slowly down the wind. Moutonner, the French said. A just and homely word.

Father Conmee, reading his office, watched a flock of muttoning clouds over Rathcoffey. His thinsocked ankles were tickled by the stubble of Clongowes field. He walked there, reading in the evening, and heard the cries of the boys' lines at their play, young cries in the quiet evening. He was their rector: his reign was mild.

Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his rededged breviary out. An ivory bookmark told him the page.

Nones. He should have read that before lunch. But lady Maxwell had come.

Father Conmee read in secret Pater and Ave and crossed his breast. Deus in adiutorium.

He walked calmly and read mutely the nones, walking and reading till he came to Res in Beati immaculati: Principium verborum tuorum veritas: in eternum omnia indicia iustitiae tuae.

A flushed young man came from a gap of a hedge and after him came a young woman with wild nodding daisies in her hand. The young man raised his cap abruptly: the young woman abruptly bent and with slow care detached from her light skirt a clinging twig.

Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin page of his breviary. Sin: Principes persecuti sunt me gratis: et a verbis tuis formidavit cor meum.

[Anonymous No.7182601]

The year is 2016, Premier Imam Barrack Hussein Obama has declared martial law forcing all Americans to be registered for umiversal health care. Boldly revealing himself to be the Anti-Christ, finally confirming what many had believed all along, Americans are forced to wear programmable party hats that posses an integrated psycho-nano-microprossesing chip that can effectively turn Americans into droning zombies who ceaselessly carry out the Grand Ayotollah's wicked will.

Enter John "Duke" Hammer, former Navy Seals top sniper, who is called out of retirement to help lead an underground resistance that smuggles burgers to the vast FEMA processing centers. After defeating a small battalion of Islamic Obama Youth by himself, John is thrust into the forefront of a fledgling revolution against the mighty Tyrant's Islamo-Marxist Empire. Armed only with his unwavering patriotism, a state-of-the-art prototype cyber-kinetic sniper rifle, and his faith in his Lord and Savioir Jesus Christ John goes on a one man rampage against the forces of hell itself.

[Anonymous No.7182659]

>>7181530
All these hats are great;
They make the site hideous--
Let's real life today.

[Anonymous No.7182673]

Symbol of birthdays,
Blue and pink conical stripes,
Topped by a pom-pom.

[Anonymous No.7182699]

>>7182197
Thanks. Definitely more than a few errors in the hat stories I wrote here; I was pretty out of it during the writing.

[Anonymous No.7183264]

To keep my mind inside my head, there is the hat. The dark waves, which at all times go through us, are especially dangerous for the brain, the throne of the Geist, that corrugated tetrapod bubblegum which stores what we like to call "person". Imagine then, that our thought boundaries were violated, and the thing we call "I" starts mixing with what we call "you" (regardless of the ultimate veracity of both concepts), so that we can't ever tell where starts and ends begin. That's where headwear comes in: to particulate, to identify, to signify status, gender, phenotype, or, in our present case, assumed date of womb-outing. Or very cosmology, let alone society, would be impossible without a simple piece of clothes; we ought to remember then, on this one special time, the great service the hats do for us, and with it the man who gave us them, qué descanse en paz, el maricón.

[Anonymous No.7184017]

>>7181530
Jack was depressed. All day had been nothing but unfortunate. He'd been mugged, beaten, and lost his job and his girlfriend. He sighed as he trudged to bed. That was when he saw it: a dark grey trilby lying on his bed. The sight of it excited him, so much so that his penis began to harden. He was overtaken with a sensation of lust. With astounding speed, Jack stripped and began to rub his stiff, ample prick across the grey felt hat. It wasn't long before he climaxed, his sticky white semen splattering across the brim of the hat. Jack sighed and set the cum stained trilby onto his nightstand. Before he went to bed, he whispered a little prayer to himself. "In this moment, I am euphoric..."

[Anonymous No.7184032]

>>7181530
I scratched my ass and skidmarked my underwear. Fuck, I thought, this is supposed to be about a hat. Snf—pewww.

[Anonymous No.7184039]

>>7181554
fedurag?

[Anonymous No.7184121]

The speaking hat walked across the street with a jumping step. Our car stopped, producing a collision with the cars that preceded the driving line.
The hat laughed at the sight at the slip of its jumping step upon a pool of blood, and thus sang a song in a laughing tune on the crashing cars

Losing heads I hear you say,
bloody sip from stinking lake,
creeps ye foolness smelling-turd,
yet y'all ate it with gosto and more.

Hat's hairy voice was magnifique. Everybody clapped, forgetting about their blood loss and imminent death. The hat laughed.
The speaking hat jumped from car to car falling on head to head. The hat laughed, people laughed. He told them their secrets, secrets they didn't know of themselves. They smiled upon the revelation. The became self-conscious.
The hat jumped on my head. Told me "y'all reading such leaves", told me "still wasting life and never caring?". I realized I was not in the car nor in the accident. It was a bad story I wrote, because of four leaves on the reading place.
I stopped writing, then.

[Anonymous No.7184127]

>>7184121
Holy fuck I'm high.

[Anonymous No.7184137]

There. Upon the head.
Ever reaching. Ever pointing.
Erect, like my cock.

[yung Nigga infinite Wisdom tha(...) No.7184162]

>>7181530
Uncover thy head, man of ritual
Have you forgotten
In your pomp, that man is a flower with his roots in heaven
Let sunlight kiss thy crown and be suffused
In the solar gate's passing from the higher realms
There is nothing but benevolence

[Anonymous No.7184185]

>>7182144
Very good.

[Anonymous No.7184227]

>>7182144
Wouldn't the smell be more noticeable than a slight hunger when your hair and flesh is burning?

[Anonymous No.7184238]

>>7184185
Thank you.
>>7184227
That's a good point. If I wanted to justify it, I would say that he stopped both conscious and involuntary breathing after his head was inflamed.

[Anonymous No.7184244]

>>7184137
Post a picture of your erect cock

[Anonymous No.7184250]

>>7184244
Not on a blue board.

[Anonymous No.7184257]

>>7184250
Coward

[Anonymous No.7184826]

I wear hat, therefore I tip

[Anonymous No.7185629]

>>7181540
>ra-ra-Rasputin
>Slavoj Zizek
ma nig

[Anonymous No.7185632]

>>7181583
really fucking good actually