Desribe the issue:
Add a description of the issue you’re seeing here…
Within a bowl of dead dog tea sack boiling disgusting victorian undetached human fingers based on a hypervlog of how to turn shit to gold lies the nuke to blast these wastes- the legend of the roaches pay little mind as mind is reserved to the roaches themselves. Everything is on fire. A serenade of saxophones burst magnanimous- Argeon screams, “FUCK LOLIS”, and Brome retorts: "Future You Just Called WIth A Tachionic Anti Telephone To Say “Truly You Lie In A Pitiful State Of Yet-To-See-The-Marvel-That-Is-Disemboweling-Your-Own-Body-To-Microcosmoganic-SLIMY-GORE, Asshole”. Z’iran rises, leaning heavily to the shitstained doric collumn that marks the entrance to the Post-Agora; she is naked. One of her legs is maters away, her fight went awry. Argeon shakes his middle finger vehemently until it rubs into Brome’s face, which swirls and implodes into itself, enlongating momentarily to suck in the mass of the offender, leaving only the one’s face in another’s head, and fat ass bizarre body. An unattached purple whisper floats by- “too much FLAVOR for your FUCKASS PROVOKE DICKSTICKS… 
”… Bromgeon enters almageist supernova as it rages incomprehensible noises, using his axe to beat the shit out of the floor with complete disregard for technique. Zir’an vomits in the background, collapsing, tits out in the sun, blood and dirt becoming each other in this dizzy nightmare that sets ablaze sky and earth. “One lazt zuck of that Vitriol… of that Pizz Elixir…” she ponders, blinded by the bright. I’d dispel this bitch any day. Fake bells and bird sounds echo the hall she’s falling through- accelerating, yet feeling ever slower, and spreading her arms, yet losing her exponential surroundings, closing her eyes, yet the fractal is still seen…
What’s your Phone/Model?
i lost it
