• You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I mean who wouldn’t want to fuck a blobfish? I’ll tell you who wouldn’t want to fuck a blobfish; people who have fucked a blobfish.

      Sure, it looks enticing, a surfaced blobfish, what with its pouty face and honker’s nose, ooh with its soft, squishy flesh and a little, non-threatening fins, boop bogga zoop dogga doop with its innocent nature and trusting eyes. It wants to be fucked. That’s what it looks like its made for. It’s a fuck fish! That’s what everyone who has fucked a blobfish told themselves. It’s what I told myself before I fucked a blobfish, but it…

      Gaahh.

      As soon as you push your penis into that squisher’s flabby flesh, you understand, and I mean truly understand, why it’s called a blobfish. Your throbbing dong has nothing to work with in in there, just pure tepid jelly. There is no feeling, no sensation. My mind went blank as my numb meat wobbled aimlessly. Thrusting did no good, how could it? It’s all blob. There’s no back and forth sensation to speak of, just all blob.

      After a while, and this is something that happens to everyone who fucks a blobfish, the blobfish just kinda sloughed off my dangler. I didn’t even notice. I was in a stupor. As feeling and conciousness returned to me, I realized by the tenderness in my penis, that I had ejac’d several times over the course of only a half hour of being fleshly engaged with that blobfish, but did I feel any of those glopper pops? Nope. Not a one. Instead, that tender post-ejac feeling stuck with me months after that blobfish dropped off my cock and splatted on the pavement (yeah, I fucked a blobfish outside on the sidewalk).

      Not worth it. If you feel like you want to fuck a blobfish, believe me when I say that you don’t want to fuck a blobfish.

  • enkers
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    682 years ago

    Don’t say Vaporeon. Don’t say Vaporeon!

    “Vaporeon.”

    DOH!

    • @RIPandTERROR@lemmy.blahaj.zone
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      2 years ago

      “Unfortuante” doesn’t begin to describe my series, this game rewards blind luck and nothing else, I am beyond convinced at this point. After getting completely tooled by scheduling with my opponent changing times on me last minute and refusing to provide confirmation prior to the day of the match as to play times, losing this way somehow felt even worse than I had thought possible. My preparation was superior, my play was superior, and I lost, so I don’t see a reason to continue engaging in an activity where what is within my control is overwhelmingly outweighed by what is not.

      I am done with competitive Pokemon, and you won’t get a fond farewell. This community is infected to its roots with a degenerative disease that grows stronger over time but stops short of killing its host. Tournaments used to have a competitive spirit at their heart, this has been transplanted and replaced with an artificial organ that feeds on vitriol and mockery from insecure little boys that heckle by the sidelines and tear each other to shreds over scraps of attention. The environment we fostered has trapped us all like this in a vicious cycle, and escaping it requires acceptance of the harshest reality we all scramble to explain away, that none of the countless straining efforts we put ourselves through here will ever amount to one single shining glimmer of significance. I would make this the end, but World Cup is still ongoing, and I would never leave so many great friends out to dry, so I’ll suffer through a few more games for them.

      One last thing before I leave you all to react with disdain, ridicule, and self-righteous fervor, before you do everything in your power to minimize my words and thoughts, box them up and shove them to some cobwebbed corner of your memory, and hope they disappear forever as a stain on your finite time ground to dust. From this moment on, nothing you say matters to me. The foulest insults you hurl with intent to wound will calmly settle at the earth before my feet, and the venom you spit will bring all the pain of a warm summer breeze. You are less than anything you can conceive, while I carry on, brimming with joy distilled from detachment.

      https://lemmy.ml/comment/4588739