You must log in or register to comment.
“You got a gba you can let die for a few minutes?” Please?"
“Its 3 AM.”
Ten minutes later:
I’m glad I’ll be dead before the possibility of living in a house haunted by a ghost with brainrot.
Yet, here you are, reading my posts deliberately. The only difference is that you’re alive, and reading memes is your choice.
OOOOooooOOOOoooooOOOoooo
What if you are the ghost with brainrot, except you’re still alive?
Brainrot is not even remotely new.
Yeah but just hope you don’t end up cohaunting with no one else to talk to.
Imagine a Gen Alpha ghost
“I see you’ve phantom taxed my W suite Ohio style. That’s not very sigma of you, you just lost all your aura because of that L move. Sorry but you got caught in 4k and now you won’t be able to rizz up any more gyatts. Now skibbidy off before I kai cenat style phantom tax your lgyatt.”
(Also I just threw a bunch of words together without understanding what any of them mean, don’t ask for an explanation)
I showed this to my little brother and asked if this made sense and he said it did 💀
Tell him that he desperately needs to touch grass
p good but it’s “Fanum” as in twitch.tv/fanum or youtube.com/@Fanum (real name Roberto Gonzales, member of a YouTube channel collective called AMP - Any Means Possible)
without understanding
When the soul is dead they just speak of nothing and go insane.
(Ghosts and Alpha gens both I mean)
deleted by creator
“don’t haunt me bro!”
Ghost Kelis yelling
“I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW!”
“AAAARRRGGGHHH!!”
It’s me. I’m that ghost. Or I will be one day.
I lived seventeen years in a San Francisco Victorian which was haunted (could be ghosts, could be pre-1906 architecture and wiring). Yes, it survived 1906, was a speak-easy and a brothel at one point, and was reconfigured in WWII to accommodate families during the Pacific war. Additional remodeling happened in the 1970s. I lived there 1998-2016
Did you see anything weird?
A lot. foodsteps up and down the stairs and up and down the main hall; ambient creepiness in the back room; thumping from the floor near the gas space heater, pounding on the walls (from the outside, three stories up), and visitors occasionally getting chased out by the spooky.
About a year before I left we’d learn that the big brick ovens in the basement were a crematorium around the turn of the century. They were repurposed into a kiln for ceramic works in the mid 20th century.
Yeesh. Sounds creepy as all hell, and I’m not one to believe in ghosts
Leave britney alone!
