You got it, little 🐸! I hope you like it! Also, to any of my emoji anons, you got your own little tag and url on my master-list. If any more join in the future you will be added as well! its (whatever emoji)!anon, so like as such 🐸!anon.
Summary: Twitch meme stream with Blarg, aka Blarg Antics pt 2.
TW: Boyfriend!Blarg, funny moments, Stream moments
“Alright, chat! What up, nerds and beautiful people!” Blarg’s voice boomed, rattling the cheap microphone that, despite its cost, somehow managed to perfectly capture the raw, untamed essence of Blarg. He gestured wildly with both hands, nearly knocking over a precariously stacked tower of energy drink cans and a half-eaten bag of cheese puffs. A stray puff fragment bounced off his forehead, landing perilously close to the ‘A’ key on his keyboard.
I sighed, a small, quiet sound that was thankfully swallowed by Blarg’s booming enthusiasm and the stream’s opening music. I offered a more subdued, albeit genuine, smile to the webcam. “Hey, everyone. Thanks for joining us for… whatever this is.”
Blarg, ever oblivious to my subtle sarcasm, just grinned, a broad, manic display of teeth that probably sent jitters down the spines of any new viewers. “This, my love, is content! Peak internet culture, curated by the finest algorithm minds, delivered straight to your eyeballs by yours truly, and my stunning, long-suffering co-host!” He leaned in, nudging me with his elbow. “She loves it, chat. She’s just playing coy.”
“Oh, I’m playing, alright,” I muttered, adjusting my headset. The stream was already exploding with a flurry of emotes: Blarg’s custom ‘BlargRage’ and ‘BlargDerp’ alongside the usual ‘Kappa’ and ‘LUL’. Someone typed, ‘She’s got that thousand-yard stare, Blarg.’ I caught it out of the corner of my eye and chuckled. “It’s called existential dread, chat. You get used to it when you live with him.”
Blarg just guffawed, clearly taking it as a compliment. “See? She’s a natural! Anyway, tonight, no sweaty competitive gaming, no rage-quits from yours truly – mostly! Tonight, we embark on a journey through the digital ether. A journey of memes, TikToks, and whatever fresh hell the internet has concocted in the past week!”
He clicked a button, and the screen shifted. On the main display, a compilation video began, framed by our two webcam feeds. The first video opened with a shot of a fluffy cat, mid-sneeze, its face contorted into an expression of pure, unadulterated horror. The sound effect that played was a cartoonish, exaggerated ‘ACHOO!’ followed by a glass shattering sound.
I burst out laughing, a genuine, unrestrained peal that made my shoulders shake. “Oh my god, its face! It’s like it just realized it forgot to turn off the stove after leaving for vacation!”
Blarg was already wheezing, his head thrown back as he slapped the desk. “THE STOVE! Exactly! That’s peak feline anxiety right there! You know, like when you’re halfway to work and you suddenly remember you left the front door wide open? That’s this cat’s vibe!” He pointed at the screen, tears welling in his eyes. “Look at its eyes! It’s seen things, chat! Horrifying, unspeakable things!”
Chat was a blur of ‘LUL’ and ‘POGCHAMP’. Someone spammed cat emotes. ‘Relatable cat,’ one user typed. ‘Blarg, you relate to a cat who forgot the stove?!’ another asked.
“Hey, I’m a complex man!” Blarg defended, wiping a tear from his eye. “Okay, next one, next one!”
The video transitioned smoothly. This time, it was a short clip of a person in a full dinosaur costume, attempting to navigate a crowded grocery store. The T-Rex arms flailed comically as they tried to reach for a box of cereal on a high shelf, eventually knocking over a pyramid of canned goods with a loud clatter. The accompanying music was a dramatic, slow-motion orchestral piece.
“Oh, no, no, no,” I groaned, pressing a hand to my mouth to stifle my giggles. “The poor cashier. Someone’s gotta clean that up.”
Blarg was roaring with laughter again, making a pathetic attempt to mimic the dinosaur’s flailing arms. “This! This is why I love the internet! Who wakes up and thinks, ‘You know what? Today’s the day I embrace my inner prehistoric predator and wreak havoc in Aisle 7!’?” He smacked his desk again. “And the music! Chef’s kiss! It just elevates the sheer idiocy to an art form!”
‘Dino streams are peak content,’ someone in chat suggested. ‘Blarg, wear a dino suit next stream!’
“Oh, god, don’t give him ideas,” I pleaded, looking directly at the camera. “You guys, he’ll actually do it. He has a history of bad ideas.”
Blarg puffed his chest out. “They’re not bad ideas, they’re innovative ideas! Cutting-edge performance art! Okay, what’s next on the agenda for our cultural critique?”
The next video was… different. It was a surreal animation of a sentient piece of toast slowly transforming into a tiny, pixelated humanoid figure, then back into toast, all while a distorted, sped-up version of an old nursery rhyme played in the background. It was abstract, unsettling, and utterly nonsensical.
I stared at the screen, my smile slowly fading into a look of profound confusion. “Okay, Blarg, what… what is this? Is this supposed to be funny? Am I missing something?”
Blarg, surprisingly, was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, he slowly nodded. “Ah. Yes. I see it.”
“You see it?” I asked, skeptical. “See what? The profound existential dread of being a piece of toast?”
“No, no, no,” Blarg explained, leaning forward, suddenly serious. “It’s a commentary on the fleeting nature of identity in the digital age. The toast represents the self, constantly being reconfigured, pixelated, distorted, then returning to its base form, untouched yet fundamentally changed by the experience. The nursery rhyme? That’s the persistent, almost oppressive, echo of childhood innocence, forever trying to anchor us while the world around us shifts into bizarre, undefinable shapes.” He paused, dramatic effect. “It’s deep, babe.”
I stared at him, then back at the pixelated toast. Chat was spamming ‘BlargPhilosopher’ and ‘PogU’. Half were clearly making fun of him, the other half genuinely impressed by his impromptu analysis. ‘Blarg went to art school for this,’ one person mused.
“Blarg, are you high right now?” I deadpanned.
He gasped, feigning offense. “Never on stream, my love! My mind is simply an open conduit for the universe’s unspoken truths! But really, though, what even was that? Like, legitimately. Who makes that? And why?” He leaned back, the philosophical facade crumbling. “Okay, that one actually confused me a bit.”
I snorted. “Welcome to my world.”
The compilation moved on, and this one made me physically recoil. It was a TikTok of a young man, clearly trying to be edgy and mysterious, lip-syncing to a dramatic monologue about heartbreak while looking intensely into the camera. His facial expressions were hilariously over-the-top: exaggerated pouts, wide, sorrowful eyes, and a slow, single tear rolling down his cheek that looked suspiciously like a drop of water flicked on just before the recording. The background was a messy bedroom, and his reflection was visible in a dirty mirror, showing him clearly holding his phone up with one hand while struggling to maintain his composure.
“Oh, my god. No. No, no, no, no, no,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “The melodrama! The pout! And the single tear! Oh, honey, no.”
Blarg, meanwhile, had gone completely silent, his eyes wide, a look of horrified fascination on his face. He slowly reached out and pressed his hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He was clearly trying to suppress it, but a high-pitched squeak escaped him.
“Blarg, don’t encourage him by looking at it! Turn away!” I mumbled through my fingers.
“I… I can’t,” he whispered, voice strained. “It’s like… a car crash. A beautiful, train-wreck car crash of human emotion. The sheer effort he put into that tear! I respect the hustle, but my soul is shriveling.” He shuddered dramatically.
Chat was a flurry of ‘CRINGE’, ‘YIKES’, and ‘OMEGALUL’. Someone typed, ‘My dude is trying so hard.’ Another: ‘I felt that second-hand embarrassment.’
“You know what the worst part is?” I said, finally looking up, though still wincing. “Someone probably told him he was doing great. Or even worse, he genuinely thinks he nailed it. That’s the internet, Blarg. It’s a place where everyone thinks they’re a main character.”
Blarg finally let loose a burst of loud, uncontrolled laughter, nearly falling out of his chair. “Oh, god, you’re right! We’re all just supporting characters in someone else’s cringe compilation!” He pointed at the screen. “Dude, get a grip! Go clean your room first, then maybe try expressing your sorrow to a therapist, not a camera!”
The compilation continued its relentless assault on our senses. A video of a dog chasing its tail, only to trip over its own paws and roll down a small grassy hill. Another of someone attempting a complex dance move, only to slip on a rug and nearly take out a floor lamp. Then a series of increasingly bizarre food combinations, like pickles dipped in peanut butter, or hot dogs encased in jelly.
My laughter became more frequent, merging with Blarg’s booming guffaws. My initial reluctance had worn off, replaced by a kind of frenzied amusement. I found myself anticipating the next absurdity, leaning closer to the screen.
“Is that… is that a banana peel in a sandwich?!” I exclaimed, utterly horrified by one culinary monstrosity.
“It’s called texture, babe!” Blarg yelled, then made a gagging noise. “No, wait, it’s called a war crime against gastronomy!”
‘Blarg, you’d eat it though,’ someone challenged in chat.
“I would not!” Blarg protested, then hesitated. “Okay, maybe if you dared me and it was for charity. And I got a sub goal out of it. And it was covered in enough hot sauce to mask the banana peel taste.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s got his conditions. See? Ethical eating, apparently.”
The stream was buzzing. Pings for donations and new subscribers popped up intermittently, each met with an exaggerated ‘THANK YOU, MY GENEROUS OVERLORD!’ from Blarg, and a more sedate ‘Thank you so much, guys!’ from me. It was all part of the chaotic symphony.
Then, a longer video started. It was a POV shot from someone’s phone, seemingly at a school talent show. A kid, no older than twelve, was on stage, dressed in a black trench coat and sunglasses, attempting to rap. The beat was tinny, clearly from a cheap Bluetooth speaker, and the lyrics were… well, they were something. They were a melodramatic tale of unrequited middle school love, filled with rhymes like ‘heart’ and ‘fart’, and lines about ‘my feelings, they are deep like the ocean floor, but you just walk away and slam the door.’
My initial reaction was a slow, agonizing slide down my chair. “Oh, Blarg. Oh, no.”
Blarg, however, was mesmerized. His mouth was slightly agape, a mixture of awe and pity on his face. “He’s… he’s really going for it, isn’t he? The confidence! The sheer, unbridled chutzpah!”
The kid on screen finished his rap with an awkward mic drop that missed the floor by a good foot, followed by a smattering of polite, confused applause. He then took a bow, his sunglasses falling off and revealing wide, nervous eyes. The video ended with the camera panning to the audience, showing a group of his classmates desperately trying to suppress their laughter, one kid visibly snorting soda out his nose.
“That poor kid!” I cried, finally sitting up straight, clutching my chest. “Oh, my heart! On one hand, good for him for putting himself out there. On the other hand… never again.”
Blarg, who had been completely silent during the entire rap, suddenly let out a strangled cry. “THE SODA! He snorted the soda! Oh, that’s just… that is just the cherry on top of the cringe sundae!” He wiped his eyes again, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks. “That’s it, I’m done. I can’t. My soul has been cleansed of all prior shame by that kid’s performance!”
Chat was a riot. ‘F FOR RAP GOD,’ one user typed. ‘He put the RIT in tragic,’ another quipped. ‘I need therapy after that.’
“You know what, Blarg?” I said, shaking my head, a lingering smile on my face. “You say you’re ‘done,’ but I think we just found your next stream idea. ‘Blarg’s Cringiest Talent Show’ featuring you rapping.”
Blarg’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Oh, you know what? That’s not a bad idea! I could get a trench coat! And sunglasses! And a cheap beat!” He started bouncing in his chair, already planning. “Okay, chat, next stream, prepare yourselves! Blarg’s lyrical debut!”
‘NO BLARG PLEASE NO,’ chat immediately exploded. ‘SAVE US.’
I laughed, a warm, genuine sound. Despite the chaos, the cringe, and Blarg’s often-exhausting energy, these streams were undeniably fun. There was a raw, unfiltered joy in just reacting to the internet’s weirdest corners with him, and seeing how chat reacted to both us and the content.
Blarg, oblivious to chat’s pleas, clapped his hands together. “Alright, alright, one more video before we wrap things up tonight, you beautiful people! And this one… this one is a classic.”
The final video was a short loop of a golden retriever enthusiastically attempting to catch a treat, only to continuously miss it and then look profoundly betrayed by its own reflexes. It was simple, pure, and utterly adorable.
“Aww,” I cooed, feeling my heart melt. “Poor baby! You get all the treats, sweetie!”
Blarg chuckled, a softer, more genuine sound than his usual boisterous laugh. “Okay, that’s a good one to end on. Wholesome. We needed that after the rap god.” He turned to me, a mischievous glint in his eye. “See? I knew you’d love it. All the chaos. All the internet’s glory.”
I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder briefly. “Okay, fine, it was fun. But if you actually wear a trench coat and rap next stream, I’m hiding all your snacks.”
Blarg gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, I dare,” I said, looking at the camera with a conspiratorial wink. “She dares, chat. She definitely dares.”
He scoffed playfully, then turned back to the camera, his chaotic energy returning in full force. “Alright, everyone! Thank you for joining us for tonight’s journey into the internet’s glorious, weird, and utterly cringe-worthy underbelly! Don’t forget to smash that follow button, subscribe for more Blarg and his long-suffering co-host, and I’ll see you all next time! Maybe with a trench coat. Maybe with a rap. You just never know with Blarg!”
As he launched into his outro music and began waving goodbye, I offered my final, more elegant wave. “Thanks, everyone! Stay safe, stay sane, and don’t make any TikToks you’ll regret. Or do. We might react to them.” I winked again, a sense of happy exhaustion washing over me. Living with Blarg was a constant, delightful assault on the senses, and streaming with him was just an amplified version of our everyday chaos. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if it meant occasionally questioning the very fabric of reality, one bizarre internet video at a time.
