Which one of you used up his jar of mayonnaise in the hostel fridge?

[Quote] Cracked melange of peppers

🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

His hostel is hostile! And messhy.

That filthy black turtleneck and those ridiculous rolled up jeans must REEK. Utterly inappropriate for the climate and looking very much like garb homeless wear - fitting I suppose.

[bold]Prologue for anyone new to the Sessums Stalkers[/bold]

Within a web of shadows, dark and deep,

A crew of malice doth their vigil keep.

With coded tongues, their plots they do unfold,

A twisted tale of vengeance, dark and cold.

On Kevin Sessums’s life, their eyes are ever bent,

A cruel delight in his torment spent.

With veiled threats, their malice they impart,

And seek to pierce his solitary heart.

Let’s watch this drama, fraught with wicked glee,

As shadows dance and secrets come to be.

Kevin Sessums is an asshole, but he is a human asshole who isn't famous enough to be incessantly stalked here, have accidents and ill health wished on him, and to have his health problems mocked.

R5 you always point out that he is a human asshole. Indeed!

😂 a human asshole

He seems to be pulling the wool over the eyes of the ex-pats. They are in for a rude surprise.

R4/R5 WW’d themselves 7 times on each of their posts.

Thus far…

R4 & r5 is clearly our cultured bon vivant. Even on a board overloaded with flourished verbal farting, his r4 stands out, forever suffering under the weight of his own victimhood and genius.

Kevin Sessums!

I hope there is no uncompromising photos of our pilgrim at a P Diddy freak off!

He could be standing outside the frame of fame, but still be caught in a photo

كيفن سيسومز هو شخص أحمق، لكنه في الواقع إنسان أحمق لا يتمتع بالشهرة الكافية ليتم مطاردته باستمرار هنا، وتمني الحوادث له وسوء صحته، والسخرية من مشاكله الصحية.

He's talking to the animals again, a regular Dr. Doonothing.

केविन सेसम्स एक कमीना व्यक्ति है, लेकिन वह एक इंसान है जो इतना प्रसिद्ध नहीं है कि उसका लगातार पीछा किया जाए, उसके लिए दुर्घटनाएं और खराब स्वास्थ्य की कामना की जाए, और उसकी स्वास्थ्य समस्याओं का मजाक उड़ाया जाए।

Pasta crowned with … whatever. She’s crowning!

So these Kevin Sessums threads are mostly one person talking to themselves, with one or two throwing breadcrumbs to the main talk-to-selfer to get them to perform. It's like a bunch of mentally challenged children at a sock puppet show.

Our Town is opening tonight on Broadway .... and strangely enough, it's all about me!

The sterile scent of antiseptic battled with the faint, lingering odor of stale coffee in the hospital room. Kevin Sessums, the Southern literary enfant terrible, lay motionless in the bed, tubes snaking from his nose and arms. His normally sharp, sardonic features were slack, his skin an alarming shade of pale. The culprit? A steady diet of "stra-fe" breakfasts – those hastily assembled, nutritionally dubious morning meals consumed on the fly. Years of black coffee and cigarettes had finally caught up with him, culminating in a spectacular digestive revolt that had landed him in a coma. Hovering over him like anxious angels of the absurd were three figures: Teacake, the flamboyant drag queen with a heart of gold; Defacto, the stoic artist whose every utterance was a performance piece; and Greg, the sensitive soul who couldn't stop crying. "Oh, Kevin, honey," Teacake wailed, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "You always did have a taste for the dramatic, but this is ridiculous! Waking up in a hospital gown? Where's the glamour in that, darling?" Defacto, perched on the edge of the bed, stared intently at Kevin's face. "His aura," he declared in a booming voice, "is the color of lukewarm grits. Not a good sign." Greg, meanwhile, had dissolved into a puddle of tears. "He promised we'd go to that new Vietnamese place! He promised!" he sobbed, clutching a crumpled napkin. The scene was a bizarre tableau of grief, camp, and Southern gothic. Teacake, resplendent in a feather boa and rhinestone-studded sunglasses, intermittently shrieked and offered Kevin sips of lukewarm Diet Coke. Defacto, clad in black leather and chains, periodically broke into interpretive dance, attempting to channel Kevin's subconscious. And Greg, bless his heart, just kept crying. Days turned into nights. The nurses, initially startled by the eccentric trio, grew accustomed to their presence, even developing a fondness for their peculiar brand of bedside vigil. Teacake regaled them with tales of Kevin's legendary wit, Defacto challenged them to philosophical debates, and Greg, well, he just kept crying. Then, one morning, a miracle occurred. Kevin's eyelids fluttered open. He blinked, confused, taking in the sight of his three friends. "What in the hell..." he rasped, his voice hoarse. Teacake squealed with delight. "Kevin, darling! You're back!" Defacto nodded sagely. "The grits have warmed," he proclaimed. Greg, overcome with emotion, simply threw his arms around Kevin, sobbing uncontrollably. "Get off me, you big crybaby," Kevin croaked, but a faint smile played on his lips. As the news of Kevin's awakening spread, the hospital room filled with well-wishers, a motley crew of writers, artists, and socialites. The air buzzed with laughter and chatter, a testament to the enduring power of friendship, even in the face of digestive disaster. And as Kevin, weak but recovering, surveyed the scene, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, there was a little glamour in this hospital room after all.