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File: Et tu, Seagull?.jpg (72 KB, 800x583)
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What does this inspire you?
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>>20570074
The gull
He stole the gelato
Yes
YES
The gull is fed.
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>>20570085
Dangerously based
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>>20570074
Again. Is it pity or laughing this time? Surely both - quite the crowd outside. At least I'm seen, I'm here. And if my pain begets amusement or better yet the pity that often circles around to self-consciousness, then it's not just my pain anymore. It's become the validation of all of our existences. All of us here, observing this, we are, all of us, human.


Except that fucking thieving seagull cunt.
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>>20570074
Is it normal to feel awfully bad when something happens to people eating?
It's like they're innocent or something when they're eating...
Am I the only one who feels this way?
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>>20570074
The man’s stiff grip had not yet loosened, but already his hand was empty.
The dead-eyed thief had flown away, utterly free of remorse -since seafront cities have existed, seagulls have always preyed upon defeated men. But this seabird had no idea just how defeated this landman had been lately, or just how tragic a scene it was leaving behind it. Masses of people stood before that tragedy, yet none saw it, maybe a child or two who weren’t staring at the colorful rides that dress the grey coast, or a sad psychiatrist who was seeking some relief from the misery of others, but most did not see anything.
Who could blame them? The little oval man, soft inside and out, had just, at that very moment, lost the last ounce of hope that he was holding onto. That’s what the gliding bandit had really just snatched. The mushy little man was not yet conscious of it, but he knew, his body knew, the way a hand pulls from a burning stove before any pain is even registered, that nothing in this world would cherish him ever again. Not even Nature.
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>>20570330
It brings home the fact they are just animals and basically confused and retarded. The lost sheep and all that
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>>20570074
Obscured by a white wingspan are the dark brows of a man;
Thinly veiled in his face is an aching trouble, his ails.
Far from focus, a file of further eyes approaches;
Only to peak through, their image appears in the pack that they roam.
Crowded over, known roads are met only where mouth may tout;
Sparsely seen, wanting to be worn is the full scope of the street.
Drawn from above will be scene the same the setting, where creatures seek their means and survive the day.
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>>20570074
Was it fear, or wonder that struck me that afternoon? A sun filled day on the boardwalk. The sweat beginning to build up on my armpits. Ice cream. Yes ice cream. That is what I shall get. That is my desire. I scan the landscape and spot a small booth. I am not an athletic man so by the time I arrived he was nearly closed. "Pistachio only," the shopkeep warned.
"Very well! Not my favorite but I like it more than this hot sun haHA!" I reply
I pay and wait patiently and that when I first spot it, a sky nigger. I didn't realize they weren't being hunted on sight. I began to feel an anxiety one only feels around the nigger-likes. The shopkeep calls my name and I barely hear him. My eyes fixed on this avian negroid with white plumage. He delivers my cone. I taste it. Pistachio is slowly becoming my favorite. The flying porch monkey take two hops toward me and in an instant I have limited prescience. I quickly shove as much of my cone in my mouth as I can manage just as the feather bi-pedo does what it does best, steals from the innocent white men. My brain freeze grows in strength as the nigger flies off with the remainder of my cone.
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Gulls are niggers of the world, Gianfranco reminded himself as he glared with angry and exhausted eyes and tightly pressed lips at the slender white seagull flying away with his ice-cream cone, half-eaten, in its beak.
Gianfranco lived among the undulating, breast-shaped hills of rural Toscana where liked to observe birds. Their simple animal life helped him relax. By careful observation Gianfranco understood something of the secret life of birds: a life he could observe here in Piazza San Marco, Venice.
Rock pigeons were the onions of birds: ultimate cuckolds in the avian cosmos. Never had Gianfranco met such a neutered species. Despite their terrific numbers - Gianfranco saw a whole columbine carpet in the middle of the piazza - rock pigeons allowed every bird to push them around and steal their food. Here comes a carrion crow and the pigeons move out of its way instead of attacking it and pecking it to death. Swallows swing by, pick a piece of focaccia, shiny from the oil, right from beneath a Goliath of a pigeon and flutter away to devour it in peace, by other birds unmolested. Gianfranco could only shake his head and tsk-tsk-tsk at the timidity of pigeons, for how could such a fat cow of a bird be such an incel when birds smaller than it, like the fieldfare, could sweep like a kamikaze warrior over seagulls and crows, rattling like a matraca, till the intruder left their lands,
Gianfranco saw the carrion crows sauntering at the edges of the pigeon herd, stopping, tilting their heads, waiting for the humans to go away so they could snatch the spoil. He didn’t know how to think about crows. He wanted to place them among niggers but their wariness along with pattern recognition and the the ability to modify their behaviour proved that crows had that magic thing that niggers lacked. Still Gianfranco didn’t like crows because they were thieves.
Then there were the sparrows, hyperactive, always twitching, always stealing: the methhead speed freaks of the birds. Like nimble spics they hop amid the pigeons, find the desirable bread crumbs, grab them in their beaks and fly away, leaving the pigeons stupefied. And their chirping. It sounds nice for a moment, then becomes annoying. Gianfranco compared them to cockroaches.
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gull took cone
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>>20571628
The birds Gianfranco liked most were the birds that minded their own business, like the common blackbird which he liked to call, due to its Latin name, the turd. It hopped thrice among the fields, stopped, canted his head as if listening to the murmur beneath the ground, then darted its sharp yellow beak into the soil and came back with an earthworm, immobile, as if it had understood it predicament and given up on life already. In such way its day went, hopping, plunging into the soil, pushing away dried dead leaves, and then chirping psychedelic melodies at dawn and dusk while perched on a branch. A simple bird minding its simple business away from humans.
And the birds Gianfranco hated most where the seagulls.
The acted liked niggers, cried like niggers, and their eyes even had that stupid dull glaze of niggerhood innate: that what the fuck is happening, motherfucka PCP dissociated stare. If other birds waited patiently for crumbs seagulls dropped from behind like a nigger from the dark and tore the food out of the feeding hand. If crows were patient cunning thieves, waiting for the right moment to steal, then seagulls were the dumb criminal niggers who repeated the same mistakes and always ended up in prison.
Even now, the thuggish seagull acted like a nigger.
Gianfranco spread his arms and shrugged as he looked how the seagull landed on the ground and beat the cone against the cobble because it didn’t have the sharp pointed bill of crows to tear it into parts. The seagull dropped the cone, still uncracked, pink ice-cream melting, flowing out, and started its retarded nigger cry - Gah-gah-gah-gah. Then, it left the ice-cream and flew away.
“Porca madonna,” Gianfranco said.
He remembered the gull. He would finds its nest, fuck its female, steal the eggs. There’s no seagull lives matter. They were at the mercy of his white privilege, his will.
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>>20570074
My cone. My ice cream cone. A waffle cone with raspberry ice cream inside. My favorite flavor. She was only half finished... THAT BIRD TOOK MY CONE. I wanted to drop to my knees and pound the earth with my bare fists but in this modern world people don't appreciate things like that. They would only laugh at my raw emotions so I'll keep them to myself. I bought that ice cream cone for myself. Part of it's inside me too. I will convert it to energy inside me. Energy I will use to carry this red duffle bag. Red like a raspberry.
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>>20570074
"Noooo! My iced cream!" yelled the man with the stolen iced cream (or rather, without!). The bird took it and said "skwaa thats mine now" the man was angry. He had a weird blue shirt but with rainbows going down it and a cowboy belt. The iced cream is pink. The man pulled out his GUN and shot the bird in the head. But he didn't! The seagull catch the bullet with his feet! "Skwaa you didn't think it would be that easy skwaa" said seagull as he called his gang of gulls to attack the attacker (even though he was just trying to get his iced cream back!). They ate the man ALIVE! "Skwaa good job gangs, now lets go find another...". The iced cream was pink...
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The ice cream bird spooked Mark. He wished he'd taken a picture of it. The younger workers might have appreciated it. He'd still tell them about it, but it wouldn't be the same.
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Fucking nigger bird oh no out loud no I didn't say it thought it. Fucking nigger bird stole my creamy cone didn't even get to the penultimate choccy end, conical itself, milk chocolate microcosm of an ideal cone now stolen by a fucking nigger bird. If I had a sling like paleolithic man or an aboriginal boomerang or my god my sight still I'm an old man I could dart that fucking nigger bird from the sky, let the cone fall where it will my vengeful spirit sated. If I still had my youthful reflexes this never would have happend, young Juan could have grabbed that fucking nigger in mid air interception and throttled it dead to the shock and terror and awe and disgust and I don't care in the least what these people think I would martyr ten thousand seagulls in a fucking nigger bird inquisition for one Christly Cone stolen on a hot summers day at the pier. I've worked my coneless hands to bare bone this whole bastard life for a cone on the pier on my break in the sun on the beach with the breeze just gentle and the I'm going fucking mental now I've lost my cone. Fucking nigger bird stole it.
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>>20570074
>Write something about this image
a bird hit me in the head yesterday at Kroger
that has never happened to me before but i assume it is a bad omen
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>>20571765
Wonderful and kek-filled. Laughed for real thanks anon.
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>>20570074
"WOPS could be here" the gull thought, "I've never been in this plaza before. There could be WOPS anywhere." The warm wind felt good against his feathered chest. "I HATE WOPS" he thought. Sweet gelato reverberated through his entire beak, making it pulsate as the dessert circulated through his engorged gullet and washed away his (merited) fear of wops in the daytime. "With wings, you can go anywhere you want" he squawked to himself, out loud.
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>>20572689
Hate when I laugh at shitposts like this
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>>20572689
the thing is, this is genuinely something i would think in my head. in minecraft, btw.
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bump
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>>20570074
what? God do you want me to go back and buy another one? Or is this a test of acceptance? God I just want to meet someone in a store please don't make me wait in line again
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>>20572689
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>>20572689
lol we have a winner
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>>20575199
the best
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bump



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