Kappa⁴ Archive

spam

seal.mp4<:vinny:631324820386349077><:vinny:631324820386349077><:vinny:631324820386349077>

Jump to date
Pins
taxes spam 
Who Gets Psychically Removed/Gassed/Deported
1. BLM

2. Hillary Clinton Voters

3. Anti-FA

4. Communist

5. Liberal LGBTQ

6. Marxist

7. Liberal Atheist Jews

8. Satanists

9. LA RAZA

10. The 2/3rd of Mexicans who voted for Hillary

11. Illegals

12. Establishment cucks

13. White Trash

14. Dumb people in general, unless they're based

15. Lolbertarians (Muh Weed, Gay Marriage, & guns type like Gary Johnson) (people who have no ideological homage to Libertarian principles)

16. Gibs, & Dindus

17. Fedoras (People who blame Religion for everything/Anti-Theists)

18. Isis

*19. Furries
taxes spam
I was born into a family of non-yeeters. Every morning before I went to school my father would say, "if I ever find out that you've hit that yeet, I'll thump ya." "Yes, pa," I would always reply. It was a regular occurrence for him to burst into my room unannounced while I was relaxing or doing my homework. "Y'all hitting that yeet?" he would seeth. "No, pa," I would answer. "Good." He would then walk out of the room and shout, "if I ever catch ya, it's a thumpin'." It was a difficult upbringing. I had seen my friends hittin' that yeet at school, and many of them encouraged me to partake. I would swallow my pride. "No, thanks. I don't want to catch a thumpin' from pa." As a result, I was an outcast. A loner. I became depressed, knowing that I would never be like my peers, that I would never fit in - I would never hit that yeet. One day, when I was still but a wee lad, I became curious. I was in my room, watching Instagram videos of fellas my age hittin' that yeet all over town without a care in the world. My intentions got the better of me. I stood up, my knees trembling. Carefully, I leaned onto my right foot and raised my hand in the air. I breathed in. "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!" My father burst from my closet. "I told you I'd thump ya if I ever caught you hitting that yeet, nibba," he ejaculated. Then, he thumped me. I haven't hit that yeet since.
taxes spam
Until today. This morning was my father's funeral. At the procession, my brother asked me to say a few words. I told him I only needed one. With confidence, I approached the podium. I gazed out upon the gathering of sad faces. I cleared my throat and leaned into the microphone. "Yeet," I spake. Suddenly, my father leapt from his hand-crafted mahogany coffin, the gunshot wound still in his chest. He sprinted up to the podium with the energy of a man without a gunshot wound in his chest. "Y'all hittin' that dirty fuckin' yeet at my funeral?" he ejaculated. He raised his hand to thump me. "Not so fast, pa." I grabbed his hand. "Yaint thumpin' no mo'." My father looked at me with eyes as open as the gunshot wound in his chest. A tear fell from his right eye, which also had a monocle.
Gent spam
By the time he would be able to send you pictures without it being creepy, he'll have grown beyond the point where you can consider him cute

This archive is read-only — captured July 2020

Channels:
Density:

Jump to date