Calling you out @theburntpeanut. If you don't care that there is another peanut in the world besides you...why am I BANNED from your discord? I'm not banned in your Twitch stream but my name is blocked in your chat so everything I type doesn't go through... Your own manager reached out to me about that fake cease and desist letter, but hasn't shown me the kindness of reaching out for any follow up, nor has responded to any other inquiries. I'm a well known content creator, but you don't have the BALLS to let me on your rust server, and I have asked several times... It's The Deputies Vs. The Bungulators What are you afraid of?

BREAKING: 🇺🇸 US national debt reaches new all-time high of $38 trillion.

Fousey was pissed and almost walked off stream after seeing NEON struggling to do a simple push-up 😭

I Just Heard The Worst Rap Song/Verse Ever..Now Yall Have To Too..🤷🏾‍♂️

What happens when you drink 10 oz of Magnesium Citrate? I’m glad you asked. Buckle up. 12:05 p.m. — It begins. You down the 10-ounce bottle like it’s a lukewarm PBR at a college tailgate. The label says “cherry flavored,” but it tastes like someone described cherry to a chemist who’s never eaten fruit. Regret sets in instantly. 12:06 p.m. — You grab a handful of chips for moral support. They’ll be liquified before they clear your throat, but who cares? Life still feels okay right now. Remember this peace. You’re about to enter the darkest chapter of your gastrointestinal history. 12:37 p.m. — The rumbling starts. There’s movement in the depths. You’ve got five pounds of impacted regret in your colon, and you just drank the “human-safe” version of Drano. You think it’s go time. It’s not. You get one sad little snake turd — a warm-up act. That’s the last semi-solid you’ll see for the next 24 hours. 12:57 p.m. — The situation escalates. Your stomach is in full revolt. You have 0.3 seconds to make it to the toilet. Running is risky business — one wrong step and you’ll paint the walls. You pray for sphincter strength like never before as you waddle at Mach 3, pants half down, whispering, “Please, God, not like this.” 12:58 p.m. — Impact. You sit, and the gates of hell open. The explosion is biblical. It hits the back of the bowl with such violent force it ricochets like a sprinkler system. You ask yourself, Is that blood? No — false alarm. Just the ghost of a cherry pie you ate in 2004. The smell is unspeakable. The acoustics? Terrifying. The neighbors think you’re performing an exorcism. 1:06 p.m. – 8:30 p.m. — Time becomes meaningless. You’ve evacuated everything you’ve ever eaten, plus a few ancestral meals for good measure. Your colon feels like it’s been sandblasted with lava. The burn is real. You’re sweating. Crying. Contemplating life. You meet Jesus briefly, but He sends you back — says your mission’s not over yet. 8:37 p.m. — You’re empty. Broken. Reborn. Your butthole? A war veteran. Your spirit? In recovery. You’ll never be the same, but you will survive. Tomorrow, you’ll rise from the ashes, slip into your last clean pair of underwear, and waddle into Walmart like a survivor of gastrointestinal warfare — to buy a new toilet brush and reclaim your dignity. You’ve earned it. Feeling thankful. 💩🙏

Reverend Al Sharpton was a confidential informant for the FBI for years and helped take down mob bosses, music executives, and more 👀