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.