• Jean-Paul Sartre

    Jean-Paul Sartre was a French philosopher. He was born in Paris, France, 1905. I’m going to guess that he devoted his life to studying philosophy and Existentialism, which, you guessed it, is a type of philosophy. I’m also gonna guess that Jean went to an ultra expensive, fancy four year college to study… OMG philosophy!! Wow. Jean was also a self proclaimed there-is-no-hope-athiest, who did not believe in ghosts, spirits, souls, magic, Marshmellow Man, and anything else that might give us some hope. Like a**-tral projection. I think I’m am AGH-NOSE-STICK.
    Existentialism is a type of philosophy that basically says you’re ********. You’re born alone, you live alone, and you die alone. And anyone who believes in this bullshit is a ********’ soulless robot. It is proof. Robots will be our demise.
    I wonder what his mom would have thought? Do you think she was a soulless atheist-robot too? Maybe Jesus was a robot. Zombie robot. That’s why the people hammered him to that wooden cross. They were smart. They knew. That’s also probably why they put that giant rock in front of his grave-cave. So how the ******** did he escape? Oh yeah, he’s Jesus.
    Jesus is gonna murder us all. He’s gonna choke our heads off with our own intestines and stick them on wooden stakes, one on top of the other, and roast them like shish-kabobs. Yuuuuuumy.
    Some girls are…
    Some girls are fat.
    Rude. Skanks. Bitches. Hoes… Smell like that gross fake cherry perfume stuff they get at Claire’s or whatever.
    …HA! Some girls are robots. Like Jesus.
    Their prime objectives are to dry hump man whores in the school halls and pump out prom babies. I wonder if I’m a prom baby… No, wait, mom was like, 35.
    This class is so ******** RETAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRDED. We do nothing but sit here and listen to Ms./Mrs./IDK Henry talk about her wild dancing Thursday nights.
    Maybe she’s a robot. Maybe everyone except me is a robot. OMG, wait, what if I AM a robot? That would explain eeeeverything. OMG IhopeI’mnotarobot.
    OMFG shut the ******** up about the stupid robots, stupid ******** hand writing this gawd damn s**t. Or is it my brain guiding my hand? Do I have a brain. Probably not. Crack my head open, you’ll find dust and moldy macaroni. Do you think mold smells nice? I know these two guys, their mom is depressed about their house smelling like mold because their toilet flooded. I think it smells nice. Some other lady said it smells like cat piss.
    OMG I’m laughing to myself in LA. People are gonna stare. The’re gonna be like, “Oh my GOD, she’s laughing to herself, wtf is wrong with her?” And I’ll be like, “Sorry, I have moldy macaroni brains.”
    Ugh. Eight more minutes. My breath tastes like spoiled cottage cheese. I hate that taste. I hate the smell more. I don’t get it, I brush, I floss, why do I have sewer mouth all the time? I have a potty mouth, lol. Maybe this can be used as a good weapon. One of the baby-pumper robots will roll up to me with her buttons bleeping. She’ll be like “Eww! Your ugly.” And I’ll be like “BLEEEEEEEEEEEH” all over her face.