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Post this on the profiles of the 12 prettiest Girls you know...
If you get back 5 you're beautiful. ..
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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 homework. "Y'all hitting that yeet?" he would seeth. "No, pa," I would answer. "Good."

He would then walk out 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 wanna 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, 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. "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!" My father burst from my closet. "I told you I'd thump ya if I ever caught you hittin' that yeet, ♥♥♥♥♥," he ejaculated. Then, he thumped me. I haven't hit that yeet since. Until today. This morning was my father's funeral. At the procession, my brother asked me to say a few words. I told him I only needed one. With confidence, I approached the podium. I gazed out upon the gathering of sad faces. I cleared my throat and leaned into the microphone. "Yeet," I spake.

Suddenly, my father leapt from his hand-crafted mahogany coffin, the gunshot wound still in his chest. He sprinted up to the podium with the energy of a man without a gunshot wound in his chest. "Y'all hittin' that dirty ♥♥♥♥♥♥' yeet at my funeral?" he ejaculated. He raised his hand to thump me. "Not so fast, pa." I grabbed his hand. "Yaint thumpin' no mo'." My father looked at me with eyes as open as the gunshot wound in his chest. A tear fell from his right eye, which also had a monocle. "The student becomes the teacher," he said. "The student becomes the yeetcher," I corrected him.

babe, im breaking up with you. It's not you, you were poggers. It's me. I'm an omegalul. I'm sorry if this is pepehands but it has to be done. We've been weirdchamp for months and it's time to end it, no kappa