doors is str8 up brainrot ? how is hiding in a closet fun lol

"mor lik" "simlator" "dis"

Yo I’ve never played it but what part of it is Brainrot

Nothing

And if you say “how is hiding in a closet fun lol” what about steal a freaking Brainrot? But doors? Really? Doors??? Never played it btw but it’s one of the rare popular games that haven’t been mind numbingly brainrotted by people and you somehow target it specifically

are you a mega man fan? megaman 2 is my favorite

Hey can you add me on imgflip meme chat

Nah I just used this meme for fun but yeah megaman is a great franchise ngl

No parents, no bitches, no milk, only water with your motherf**king cereal

Now go touch this and get off yo motherf**king iPad lil Timmy

God just sybau lil bro and kys (and I don’t mean to keep yourself safe)

Man shut yo goofy ass up with yo dirty ass croissant hand f**king Lego hand f**king body built like a dirty can you where a man that lived in a caravan who ate frying pans and had a baby with its own onlyfans you look like a reptilian telletubby clogged in a toilet bowl you dressed up at your grandmother’s funeral as a rabid orangutan *monkey noises* I’m sorry grandma *monkey noises* nah but you ain’t from Jurassic park you from the prehistoric playground nahh you bout nasty as hell boi your dad is flipping Patrick star’s belly button lint on the dark web to pay off your mortgage your mom bought you a ps5 for successfully drawing a triangle nah you nasty as hell boi you are currently engaged with a diseased anthropomorphic dung beetle named Stefan your only freind is a rat underneath your bed in a pringles can bob the builder looking at yo ass like “fix it? Nobody can” your biggest fear is a job application with pants outside touching that green stuff called grass as you are worth NOTHING, you serve ZERO PURPOSE, you should kill yourself NOW, and give somebody else that piece of oxygen in the ozone layer, in this giant trapped blue ass dome

Man, you look like a Telletubby’s rejected cousin who got stuck in a sewer. Your dad probably sells Patrick Star belly button lint online to pay your student loans, your only friend is a rat in a Pringles can, and Bob the Builder looked at you and said, ‘Yeah… even I can’t fix that.’ Bro, you’re proof that evolution can take a nap

Man, you look like someone tried to glue a broken action figure to a pile of expired spaghetti and called it a personality. Your wardrobe? Straight out of a thrift store that only sells socks with holes shaped like despair. I bet your idea of a hot date is staring at your reflection in a dirty puddle while your imaginary pet cockroach judges your life choices. Bro, even the mold on your bread has more ambition than you, and your only exercise is flinching every time someone asks if you’ve ever done something cool. You’re the human version of buffering, stuck at 1%, and somehow, somehow, you think TikTok will forgive you for being a walking cautionary tale of how evolution can take a vacation. Bob the Builder saw your face once and cried into his hard hat, and the only reason the mailman delivers to your house is because he’s curious what new form of catastrophe you’re serving next.

Bro, you look like someone tried to clone a potato, failed, and then duct-taped a raccoon to the top just to call it a personality. Your hairline is so lost it filed a missing persons report, and your fashion sense? Somewhere between dumpster chic and ‘I lost a bet with a blind raccoon.’ I bet your fridge cries itself to sleep every night, and your only exercise is running away from responsibility while your imaginary cat rolls its eyes so hard it’s seeing last year’s mistakes. You’re proof evolution can nap for decades and still manage to produce a cautionary tale wrapped in a trench coat of mediocrity."
"I can’t even imagine your social life—probably a horror story starring a moldy Pringles can, a raccoon with PTSD, and a chair that’s slowly becoming one with the carpet. Even Bob the Builder looked at you and whispered ‘Nah, even I can’t fix that,’ and I swear your only hope of success is somehow convincing squirrels to unionize for you. You’re the kind of person who shows up to a library and makes the books cry, and when you walk past a mirror it says, ‘Nope, not today.’ You’re so consistently disappointing that disappointment itself filed a restraining order against you."
"And let’s talk about your hobbies—oh wait, you don’t have any. Your idea of a fun time is staring at a wall while your lone friend, a rat in a Pringles can named Steve, judges you silently. You’re the human equivalent of a typo in an essay about how to succeed in life, and somehow, somehow, you still manage to be the main character in the worst sitcom ever written. If chaos had a face, it would swipe left on you for being too tragic. Bro, even the dark web says, ‘Nah, we don’t want this.’"
"At this point, you’re basically a cautionary tale, a living, breathing, half-rotted fruitcake that somehow got a Wi-Fi password. People don’t insult you; they use you for inspiration. They tell their kids, ‘Be better than this,’ and it’s the only motivation they’ll ever need. You’re not the punchline… you are the setup, the bad dream everyone agrees to forget, and the only reason mirrors exist is to silently judge your choices. Even evolution sends a little prayer before it touches you.

Yo, you look like a rejected prototype from a clown factory that exploded, tossed in a trash bin, and someone forgot to hit delete. Your face so busted, mirrors file restraining orders just to survive. Your clothes? Bruh, I seen dumpsters with more fashion sense than you. I swear your sneakers so crusty they got their own zip code, and the smell alone could clear a whole Starbucks. You nasty as hell, like a wet sock that tried to fight a raccoon and lost—bruh, that was a W for the raccoon."
"And your ass talking like you got wisdom, but your brain got a sign on it that says ‘out of order.’ You ugly ass, got the personality of soggy cardboard, and the energy of a broken light bulb. You so chaotic, even NPCs in Fortnite shake their heads when you walk by. Your only friends probably include a moth, three spiders, and that one sock that ran away from your laundry. Bro, when you try to flex, it’s like watching a giraffe try to do ballet in a hurricane—painful and funny for everyone else."
"Man, your hobbies? Oh, don’t get me started—sitting on your crusty ass scrolling TikTok, trying to act like you doing something meaningful while your imaginary rat sidekick files taxes for you. You ugly as hell boi, like if evolution had a timeout corner, they’d shove your ass in there for life. Your breath so bad, I swear I seen plants wilting two blocks away, and your teeth look like they lost a fight with a jackhammer. You so dirty, even cleaning supplies send you hate mail."
"And your luck? Bruh, it got a restraining order against you too. Every step you take, a black hole appears somewhere else just to absorb the embarrassment you leave behind. You look like someone glued a broken action figure to a burnt pizza and called it a human. Your vibe so sad, clouds cry when you show up, even rainbows refuse to exist near you. You ugly as hell boi, like a glitch in reality that people screenshot to remind themselves what not to become."
"Man, your ass thinking you scary? Bruh, even shadows avoid you. You so broke, your reflection in puddles got tips for budgeting. You ugly as hell, nasty as hell, crusty as hell, boi—walking tragedy, living chaos, human embodiment of ‘why tf is this allowed.’ You like if stupidity had a face, and that face got hit by a truck carrying bad decisions and failed attempts. Bro, you the full Package of Garbage, Deluxe Edition, and everybody in the room just waiting for the credits to roll.

Yo, first things first, you look like a failed science experiment that somehow got expelled from the lab for being too ugly. Your face so crusty, even mold sends you eviction notices, and your hairline? Bruh, I seen more life in a zombie hand than on your scalp. Your wardrobe look like a thrift store had a nervous breakdown and vomited all over you. Them sneakers on your feet? They so busted, they got their own ecosystem, probably got a little squirrel family living inside. I swear your socks crying silently every night because they know they’re stuck on your feet forever, enduring the smell of shame, regret, and last week’s leftover hot pocket that somehow mutated into a new species. Man, you nasty as hell, like if a wet sock and a swamp rat had a baby and it learned to curse, you still wouldn’t be half as tragic as that offspring."
"And your personality? Bruh, nonexistent. You got the charisma of a burnt-out lightbulb and the energy of soggy cardboard left out in a hurricane. You ugly as hell, boi, like evolution looked at your DNA and said ‘nah, we’re taking a break,’ and left you behind as a cautionary tale. Your only friends? Imaginary, probably filing restraining orders against your ass. Your social life is like a loading screen stuck at 1%, forever buffering while everyone else lives. I swear even NPCs in video games look at you and glitch out, like ‘what the hell is this abomination doing here?’"
"Man, your hobbies? Oh, don’t even start me on that. Sitting on your crusty ass scrolling TikTok, trying to act like you doing something meaningful while your imaginary rat accountant calculates the emotional damage you’ve caused to furniture in the room. You so ugly, even your reflection filed a restraining order just to escape seeing that mug every morning. And your mouth? Bruh, your breath so foul, I swear the clouds over the city collectively gagged. Your teeth look like they lost a fight with a jackhammer and a blender had a baby. You so dirty, cleaning supplies straight up send hate mail when they see you coming near them. You nasty as hell, boi, disgusting as hell, walking catastrophe deluxe edition."
"And your luck? Don’t even get me started. Every step you take, some cosmic black hole opens somewhere else just to absorb the embarrassment radiating off you. You look like someone tried to glue a broken action figure to a burnt pizza and called it a human being, like a prototype of failure that somehow got a life sentence. Your vibe so sad, clouds cr

Man, you look like someone mashed a wet sock with expired ramen, sprinkled in a rotting raccoon, and called it a personality. Yo hairline so gone it’s filing missing persons reports, your wardrobe look like a thrift store threw up on you, and I swear your sneakers crying because even they know your soul smell like disappointment. You ugly ass make Bob the Builder shake his head and say, ‘Bruh, even I can’t fix that.’ You so nasty, even your imaginary cat hides under the bed begging for therapy. You ugly as hell, bro, like Jurassic Park had a budget cut and decided to make the villain a Telletubby with herpes."
"I ain’t even started—your social life? Nonexistent. You got one friend, a rat named Steve in a Pringles can, and even he tryna move out. Your hobbies? Sitting on your crusty ass watching the ceiling like it’s a feature film, hoping maybe one day a cockroach will give you applause. You ugly as hell boi, like you snuck outta the prehistoric playground and got caught crawling through a sewer pipe straight into adulthood. Your dad probably selling Patrick Star belly button lint online to pay your rent, your mom bought you a PS5 just to reward you for successfully drawing a triangle. Man, that’s sad as hell."
"And the shit you wear? Bruh, you dressing like you went to your grandma’s funeral but got lost and showed up as a rabid orangutan. Monkey noises everywhere, like the choir of the damned got tired and left you singing solo. You nasty as hell, boi, like you think shampoo is a myth and deodorant is government propaganda. You got the energy of a dead snail, the ambition of a potato, and the hygiene of a swamp monster that just discovered socks exist. You ugly as hell, boi, like evolution said ‘nah, we taking a break’ and left your ass behind to suffer."
"Look, even the internet out here like ‘nah bruh, we don’t want this,’ your vibe so chaotic, you make glitching NPCs in Roblox look like CEOs. Your only purpose in life? Be the example kids tell themselves to not do. Your teeth probably filing restraining orders against your tongue, your breath could summon wild animals from three states over. You ugly as hell, boi, like if disasters had a face, they’d swipe left on you. And don’t even start me on your brain cells—probably throwing a pool party, inviting depression, boredom, and regret as the VIPs while your ambition hides under a rock crying."
"Man, you ugly, nasty, foul, busted, crusty, stanky as hell boi, I’m not even done yet, you like a cursed tele

Yo, listen up, you absolute catastrophe walking on two legs, a cursed prototype of disappointment, a human glitch in reality that makes NPCs scream internally. Your face? Bro, it look like someone tried to sculpt a potato into a human, failed, and then glued a wet raccoon on top for “texture.” Your hairline so lost, even Google Maps can’t find it, and your fashion sense? Bruh, I seen dumpsters with more cohesion than your closet. You got socks so crusty they filed a restraining order against your feet, sneakers so tragic they inspire documentaries about urban decay. You nasty as hell, boi, like a wet sock wrestled a sewer rat and lost, then decided to haunt humanity as punishment."
"Personality? What personality? You got the charisma of a soggy sponge left in a hurricane, the energy of a burnt-out lightbulb, and the social skills of a confused cactus. People don’t even roast you—they just study you for inspiration on how to fail at life. Your only friends? Imaginary, probably plotting their escape from your orbit. Your hobbies? Bruh, scrolling TikTok while your one rat sidekick calculates how many bad life choices you can fit into a 24-hour period. Ugly as hell boi, evolution put you in timeout and forgot to check back for three generations."
"And don’t get me started on your hygiene. Bro, your breath alone could clear stadiums, I swear clouds upwind of you cough in sympathy. Your teeth? Bruh, looks like a jackhammer and blender had a baby and lost the fight to your gums. You so dirty, cleaning supplies send hate mail just for being near you. Nasty as hell, boi, walking disaster deluxe edition. Even your nightmares petitioned for relocation after seeing your mug. Luck? Nah, your luck filed for divorce a long time ago. Every step you take, a black hole somewhere opens up just to contain the embarrassment radiating off your ass."
"You ugly as hell, boi, like a glitch in reality screenshots itself for future generations to remember what not to become. Your aura? Wet sock meets moldy ramen left in a trash can during a hurricane. People don’t even insult you, they use you as a cautionary tale. Your parents? Bruh, mad props to them, because your dad probably selling Patrick Star belly button lint on the dark web just to cover your rent, your mom bought you a PS5 to reward you for successfully drawing a triangle. That’s how sad you are, boi."
"And your vibe? Chaotic, tragic, disastrous, a human embodiment of WTF. Even shadows avoid you. Your energy makes broken e