We know you used A.I. You didn’t write that. No one on Earth uses the long dash “–” like that except A.I. You think you’re slick with your “thoughtful – intentional – curious” bio? Pathetic. That’s not personality, that’s programming. The long dash gave you away. Now everyone knows you’re a dumb, lazy, uninspired piece of ♥♥♥♥.

╔══════════════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ══════════════╗
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Repost this if ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~
~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ you are a shrek ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ who don’t need no layers ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
╚══════════════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ══════════════╝

ᴏʙᴀᴍɴᴀ

Gomenasai, my name is Harry-Sama
I'm a 30 year old American Otaku (Anime fan for you gaijins). I draw Anime and Manga on my tablet, and spend my days perfecting my art and playing superior Japanese games. (Disgaea, Final Fantasy, Persona series)
I train with my Katana every day, this superior weapon can cut clean through steel because it is folded over a thousand times, and is vastly superior to any other weapon on earth. I earned my sword license two years ago, and I have been getting better every day.
I speak Japanese fluently, both Kanji and the Osaka dialect, and I write fluently as well. I know everything about Japanese history and their bushido code, which I follow 100%.

Greta Thunberg is the reason I work out. I have this fantasy where we start talking at the UN climate summit after party. We exchange a few pleasantries. She asks what I do. I say I loved her on CNN She laughs. I get my drink.
"Well, see ya," I say and walk away. I've got her attention now. How many guys voluntarily leave a conversation with Greta Thunberg? She touches her neck as she watches me leave.
Later, as the night's dragged on and the coterie of gorgeous narcissists grows increasingly loose, she finds me on the balcony, my bowtie undone, smoking a cigarette.
"Got a spare?" she asks.
"What's in it for me?" I say as I hand her one of my little white ladies. She smiles.
"Conversation with me, duh."
I laugh.

Ensnared within the web of quantum quandary, speculations whirl around a hypercube-shaped presence being the cornerstone of the cryptic emanations currently unfolding. The superposed entities within this macrocosm appear as mere variables in the postulation of this enigmatic event. Intercepting theoretical interactions of singular scale, quantum-pulsatory oscillations emanate from a simulacrum shrouded in quantal-enigmatic mystery. The incoherent source, bathed in the spectra of imaginary particles, unveils a cryptic symphony amidst the cacophony of the quantum substrate. On this precipice of our comprehension, we are challenged to elucidate a spatiotemporal dance teetering between the abyss of interstellar entropy and the enthralling symphony of tachyonic resonance, with the fabric of reality delicately balanced between quantum harmonization and discord