>>7363002
>>>/reddit/

Interesting concept

Trump -- that damnable chump -- with his clumpy hair and general frumpy plump, lectern trumped up to hide his slump -- a slump indicative of both grump and growing need to dump (or perhaps merely rump-trump; for which he couldn't plum or plump) -- bumbling and bumping, and plummeted with a flump to pump his lumps, so that they rumbled and crumped against the lectern trunk, and then, knees numb and head spun -- having succumbed to the rum he'd drunk -- proceeded to trump -- Trump, the fiscal monk, trumping and trumpeting his tired grump:

"What country, friends, is this?"

The assembled crowd was still.

And then louder, grumpier -- and, he thought to himself, picturing himself rampant before the lectern, as though dispersing, one wispy lock at a time, into an out of body experience -- Trumpier:

"WHAT COUNTRY, FRIENDS, IS THIS?"

And then someone, a hick, or a shill, or someone with an automatic rifle in their pants -- but not a Mexican; eh eh, no way esse -- in an event not recorded since before the civil war, managed -- perhaps from the sheer Trumpy nature of the question (Trumpitude; Trumpbit) -- to pull their metaphorical head out of their ass, and see beyond their own skin, an act reminiscent, almost, but not quite, of the Golden Trump and his/their omniscience, and shouted back, self-attuned reverie abandoned, broken, cunted:

"THIS IS GOD DAMN FUCKING AMERICA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

We are Superior Here and for you my friend. Now come with us for all and to see? Drenched Snotty and Almost there Gone again Gone again. Frowned deeply.

The furbolg sadly waddled through the forest with memories of his families lives leaving their bodies right in front of him. A hunting man came into this furbolg's sight. The hunting man was searching for something but our furbolg did not know what. Was the hunting man searching for me our lone furbolg thought. Does this hunting man dream of wearing my skin and eating my guts?

Jane said there would be light again. Personally I did not believe her. Jane was dumb and smelled pretty bad most days. The tigers seemed the happiest out of everyone until Jayne started tazing them each day after third meal. I thought it was a bit sicopathic but I could not bring my self to stop jain. One day I will eat her.

In america I ate everyday. Here in china I eat twice a week. Now that I know how amazing the america is I wish I could nuke the whole country I hate their freedom. Forty eight hours until my next meal. This time when my feeder comes to bring my plate I will propel my pen into his throat

On the first day we all gathered in the atrium.
Peter spoke first with his brilliant blond hair. He
is the ugliest person I have ever seen. He said
some really weird things about learning and
agriculture. Next up was Jessica she had one
fat ass. She spoke about some club I think.
Andy spoke third but by this time everybody
got really mad and began to disperse ignoring
good advice to stick together and not wander.
Over the next twenty minutes everybody had
taken lethal beatings.

A time traveller goes to ancient Nabatea. He decides to found the Islamic State. The rest is history.

This is an account of the famous expedition of general Ibrahim, and his subordinate, Malakesh. They were besieging the town of Quraza.

Malakesh held a grudge against Ibrahim, and declined to reinforce him during his attack, despite being as close as grains of sand. He held back his forces throughout the entire engagement, and retired in disgust at the aftermath.

Ibrahim ignored Malakesh, and attacked anyway. He sent a detachment of infantry under captain Atef to the southeast entrance, with orders not to enter the town until smoke was seen rising from it. (Smoke would entail the Moslems had entered the city.)

In this engagement, the tribesmen outnumbered the Moslems, but had diverted a large portion of their force to face off with Ateph's detachment. Ibrahim, attacked at once, provoking a fierce struggle. Weight of numbers carried the battle forward, the tribesmen were pushed into the town. Captain Atef, seeing the smoke rising in the north, rallied his swordsmen forward. Those who faced him had withdrawn, now he assaulted them in the rear, with shock making up for numbers.

A freak thunderstorm broke out during the battle, and the Quraza tribesmen were thrown into terror. They begged for mercy, but Ibrahim would give no quarter this day.

The massacre was total. Much of the town lay in ruins, but almost half of the faithful had been slain in bitter fighting. Ibrahim, known as the wolf, had the survivors led into the town square, where they were slaughtered, one after another, like sheep. Neither tears nor age swayed him. (Allah demands sacrifice.) Finally, he relented to the pleas of some of his officers, and spared the virgin girls under 16, as one might throw persistent flies a morsel of flesh.

Of the entire people of the region, there remained only brides, about four hundred in total. These were given to unmarried veterans, thus Quraza was reborn a town of four hundred households. All praised Allah, and rejoiced. The settlers made homes in the few buildings that remained, and others were built anew, as the whole of the faithful turned out, bricks in hand, the new homes were raised in a few hours.

News of the massacre reached sub-clansmen who resided in the foothills to the south. Enraged, they revolted, with all their kin. Ibrahim rallied his army, having placed Malakesh under his command - in the front lines (to discourage betrayal), and rode out to meet them. He soon discovered, he had vastly underestimated their numbers.

Ibrahim decided to sacrifice the kid to ride the bull. He purposefully lured the clansmen into battle, where they gladly went to exploit a slight inclination of the ground, but where they would be marching into the rising sun. Blinded, the battle line wilted, and the clansmen, despite their overhelming advantage stayed timidly in formation, leaving the carnage to those on the front lines.

The moslems were hard pressed, and their lines were thin, fighting uphill. Still, they persevered, as only fanatics could. A cavalry envelopment on the left required Malakesh to be sent out, where he redeemed himself through a fantastic cavalry action. Striking left and right, his flying collumn swept every enemy before it. Ibrahim rallied the rest of his cavalry and smashed the enemy on the right, placing their leader in danger, and turning at the last moment to the rear of the enemy center. The rout should have been total, but the Moslems were too few for a full encirclement. Isolated pockets were slowly destroyed, others run down, but a substantial enemy force rallied, and took up defensive positions on a local hill.

Ordering his exhausted men to gather stones from the surrounding countryside, he gave his slingers an unlimited supply of ammunition. All day they bombarded the hill with their deadly missiles. Ibrahim ordered a trench dug around the hill, sieging it, and after four days, with no food or water, the last defenders succumbed to the heat. Ibrahim forbade his men from looting there, to prevent disease. It became known as the hill of the apostates.

Ibrahim came from the battle with unexpectedly light losses. Though he would rather have Malakesh humbled, a stunning victory was surely a sign from Allah. He wished to press on further into the desert, but the Caliph forbade him, and disbanded the army. Thus ended the first jihad.

>>7364358
pretty sweet

I evny not who tore her heart
for carnal pleasures cannot mend
a broken mind
What I have
Who I am
Because of this
will be my,
my mountain
to climb
not for my trophy
Just for the stars shining underneath
Sisyphus's stone
But strong hands
Strong heart
Strong mind
will tear away
a punishment undeserved
Burden unloaded
our hearts finally mended

>>7363461
An exceptional exposition explicating the exclamatory externals entailed by an excellently exalting endotherm entitled endlessly and eponymously except when entertainingly enlightening the evidently expropriated endogenous endoskeleton exercising emissaries ebulliently emitting especially effacing exegeses endemic to evangelical enclaves east of earnest earners who economically erratically eradicate evanescent earfuls of effervescent excrement emanating entirely from edible expletives eerily enshrouded in eternal eminences effulgently elated to embryonic edification emulating an enamored endeavorer enigmatically encased in epochal enmity equivocally evinced an exasperatingly excoriated exculpated exodus expediently expedited by extemporaneously enabled expectorated expulsion of explicitly eerie endives expositorily exploited and expiated by an excavated empty Etta James.

>>7363002

"What country, friends, is this?"

"It's Canada, grandpa."

"Canada?" He pauses momentarily, as if rummaging through his mind for anything. "I love Canada!"

Jesse and Ben looked at one another knowingly. They understood that it had been a long time coming and had been expecting it since the last stroke. Like a bandaid stuck firmly to a burly leg, no matter how much they anticipated the pain and told themselves it wouldn't hurt, maybe only a tad, the time now came and so did the pain. Though, grandpa wasn't at all like a bandaid; bandaids serve a purpose.

*drops mic*

Bump for interesting concept

A little shitty and clichéd but fuck it...

"What country, friends, is this?"

"Terrible form. Raise your voice. Stand straight."

"What country! Friends! Is this!"

"Wrong accent on the lines. You sound like a prepubescent boy. Again."

"What country friends, is this?"

"Christ, you're not acting like some country corn fucker are you? You're a king, act like one! Now, get off my stage!"

Mr. Cobbler lit another cigarette as his student rushed off stage. The foggy smoke tumbled over the hills of his tangled beard and clung to his blazer. He knew retirement was a better hell than this but of course he had to stay one last year "for the kids." It only took three performances to know that none of the kids read the script nor that any of them actually enjoyed the play to begin with. After all, it was just "some obscure playwright" from the seventeenth century. What could he possibly know about life? The room was silent and he could tell that his students were as unnerved as he wanted. He partly belched out another cloud and frowned.

"Next..."