/b/ is the guy who tells the cripple ahead of him in line to hurry up.
/b/ is first to get to the window to see the car accident outside.
/b/ is the one who wrote your number on the mall's bathroom wall.
/b/ is a failing student who makes passes at his young, attractive English teacher.
/b/ is the guy loitering on Park Ave. that is always trying to sell you something.
/b/ is the one who handed his jizz-drenched clothes to Good Will.
/b/ is one who introduced you first to Goatse.
/b/ is a hot incest dream that you'll try to forget for days.
/b/ is the only one of your group of friends to be secure in his sexuality and say anything.
/b/ is the guy without ED who still likes trying Viagra.
/b/ is the best friend that tags along for your first date and cock-blocks throughout night. The decent girl you're trying to bag walks out on the date, /b/ laughs and takes you home when you're drunk, and you wake up to several hookers in your house who /b/ called for you.
/b/ is a friend that constantly asks you to try mutual masturbation with him.
/b/ is the guy who calls a suicide hotline to hit on the advisor
/b/ is nuking the hard-drive next time someone knocks on his door.
/b/ is the one who left a used condom outside the schoolyard.
/b/ is the voice in your head that tells you that it doesn't matter if she's drunk.
/b/ is the friend who constantly talks about your mom's rack.
/b/ is the only one who understands what the hell you saying.
/b/ is someone who would pay a hooker to eat his ass, and only that.
/b/ is the uncle who has touched you several times.
/b/ is still recovering in the hospital, after trying something he saw in a hentai.
/b/ is the pleasure you feel guilty of when you tried playing with your anus during masturbation.
/b/ is wonderful.
Bam to behold, a public bulletin board, built of both brilliance and barbarity by bastards with boners. This bastion, no mere bulwark of boredom, is a brutal barrage of blistering bullshit, barely benevolent... but behind the bigotry and boobs, beyond the bitter broadcasts of bragging buffoons: here be the body politic. A brotherhood of blasphemy, blessed with more balls than brains, battling the bland, the bogus, the benign. Bedlam? Bring it on. But I babble... better to be brief.
You may call me /b/.
4chan's "Random" image board. A place where you go to become your inner asshole, or, live out your sickest fantasies.
"I'm going on /b/ tonight."
The Africa of the internet, sure there are a few gems but more likely than not you're going to leave scared, stunned, ashamed, and with AIDS.
I just went to /b/, now I've gotta go get tested at the clinic.
I went to /b/ today. OH GOD MAKE ME UNSEE IT
/b/ is where the internet goes to die. Its a place where both God and Satan vow to stay away from. /b/ is where every internet meme ever ends up. /b/ is rule 34. /b/ in is my mind forever. You cant undo /b/, but you can undo your search history.
If /b/ where a city, it would be Manhattan. Beacuse its the only place newfags know about, and all the trash winds up there. But....
/b/is my life
I am /b/
The people before me need to read the rules
Hey, everyone! Would you like to know what /b/ is?