Post by IM LITERALLY NEO on Sept 19, 2022 1:22:11 GMT
Reality is a shadow.
Shadow is a reality.
Shadow depends on light.
Reality depends on light.
After milking an ostrich on the side of the road, I have come to the philosophical conclusion that male nipples are not useless, they are only the shadow of a woman's breast . My brain's stem shakes in bewilderment like a clock dong swaying side by side in the shadows of a typical home setting, so quiet you could hear a mouse fart. Upon this reasoning that I declare to be philosophically superior in my much accepted small print, that male nipples would no longer be useless once women stop sun bathing, for without the light, there is no shadow, and if there is no shadow, then the male nipple is no longer a shadow of the breast. This is my ultimatum, to raise awareness on the pepperoni-shape phenomenon on a masculine apparatus. The philosophical question is, if male and female chest protrusions are made of a duality, like the sun and moon, could the sun and moon be technically regarded as the universe's breast , or maybe even its esoteric eyes? I would stop here, but with philosophy comes small run-on walls of text that never go anywhere, so I'll keep the nature of modern day philosophy alive and well by being as boring and mundane as humanly possible. With that sentiment, I bestow the ideological point of great philosophical masturbatory that an egg that is laid by a rooster on the apex of a roof that slants both ways does happen to slide down both ends, even though a rooster doesn't lay an egg, ideologically the rooster can become more consciously aware of its surroundings and take an egg from a hen then break it instead by laying it, this would technically prove contradictory notions have plagued the riddle of the rooster, which is poppycock. This ordains the need to go back and make sure that all riddles which have been globally accepted as true, to be sure that we can conclude that the core assessment of these riddles have not been overlooked by temporary lapses of observation. The people have become blind to their perception, so their perception has become blind to the people, for perception and people go hand-in-hand. I have dropped many nuggets of egg-traordinary egg-xamples to egg-stract for philosophical egg-ency. I cracked the riddle in my thinking storm, coming in like it's hot, or boiled. The egg-tremity of philosophical trees of rooted probabilities in the field of thinking, I have posited the supposition that the repository of recognition has become a not so apparent predicament in the nature of philosophical law, and that sounds like word salad, and it is, that's keeping modern day philosophy to its highest accepted standards, dead, boring and stupidly nonsensical.
My first philosophical thought passed while I was potty trained as an infant long ago, but since then, I have made it my philosophical duty to sit on walmart toilets on display to mystify the world with my deepest inspirations that roar with curiosity from my exquisite bowels of contemplative affirmation.
Shadow is a reality.
Shadow depends on light.
Reality depends on light.
After milking an ostrich on the side of the road, I have come to the philosophical conclusion that male nipples are not useless, they are only the shadow of a woman's breast . My brain's stem shakes in bewilderment like a clock dong swaying side by side in the shadows of a typical home setting, so quiet you could hear a mouse fart. Upon this reasoning that I declare to be philosophically superior in my much accepted small print, that male nipples would no longer be useless once women stop sun bathing, for without the light, there is no shadow, and if there is no shadow, then the male nipple is no longer a shadow of the breast. This is my ultimatum, to raise awareness on the pepperoni-shape phenomenon on a masculine apparatus. The philosophical question is, if male and female chest protrusions are made of a duality, like the sun and moon, could the sun and moon be technically regarded as the universe's breast , or maybe even its esoteric eyes? I would stop here, but with philosophy comes small run-on walls of text that never go anywhere, so I'll keep the nature of modern day philosophy alive and well by being as boring and mundane as humanly possible. With that sentiment, I bestow the ideological point of great philosophical masturbatory that an egg that is laid by a rooster on the apex of a roof that slants both ways does happen to slide down both ends, even though a rooster doesn't lay an egg, ideologically the rooster can become more consciously aware of its surroundings and take an egg from a hen then break it instead by laying it, this would technically prove contradictory notions have plagued the riddle of the rooster, which is poppycock. This ordains the need to go back and make sure that all riddles which have been globally accepted as true, to be sure that we can conclude that the core assessment of these riddles have not been overlooked by temporary lapses of observation. The people have become blind to their perception, so their perception has become blind to the people, for perception and people go hand-in-hand. I have dropped many nuggets of egg-traordinary egg-xamples to egg-stract for philosophical egg-ency. I cracked the riddle in my thinking storm, coming in like it's hot, or boiled. The egg-tremity of philosophical trees of rooted probabilities in the field of thinking, I have posited the supposition that the repository of recognition has become a not so apparent predicament in the nature of philosophical law, and that sounds like word salad, and it is, that's keeping modern day philosophy to its highest accepted standards, dead, boring and stupidly nonsensical.
My first philosophical thought passed while I was potty trained as an infant long ago, but since then, I have made it my philosophical duty to sit on walmart toilets on display to mystify the world with my deepest inspirations that roar with curiosity from my exquisite bowels of contemplative affirmation.
