Welcome to SimpCity.cr, the crusty underworld of internet obsession—where your favorite celebrities aren’t worshipped for their talent, but for how well they fill out a crop top. This place is the Vatican of gooning, and the celebrities forum is its holy altar, where dudes from every timezone come together to collectively jerk their brains out to people way out of their league. No requests, no mercy, no shame. Threads appear like mushrooms on cow shit—fast, sudden, and a little gross if you think too hard about it. But that’s the beauty of SimpCity. It’s a lawless fuckfest of celeb thirst. You want Selena Gomez pics from 2009? It’s there. You want people dissecting Millie Bobby Brown’s Instagram like it’s the Zapruder film? That thread’s been active since breakfast. It’s disgusting. It’s beautiful. It’s the internet in its purest, horniest form.
And why does it work? Simple. Celebrities are a global fetish. They’re safe. Familiar. They’ve already done the work of seducing us through films, songs, red carpets, award speeches, awkward interviews. We already know them, and that makes jerking off to them feel like a parasocial threesome. You’re not just horny—you’re emotionally invested. When Olivia Rodrigo posts a sad selfie, some guy in Michigan types “my queen looks tired” while stroking his shaft like a violinist. And SimpCity is where that energy lives and breathes. It’s a digital confessional booth for the celebrity obsessed. A horny, chaotic, guilt-soaked safe space. This isn’t about porn stars. It’s about the fantasy of your dream girl also being a household name. The forum is basically Reddit’s sleazier, unmoderated cousin, with a celebrity section so active it’s like TMZ after four lines of coke.
Yahoo Account Required?
Let’s talk about the gates of hell, because trying to make a SimpCity account is like trying to break into the Pentagon while drunk. You can’t just click ‘Sign Up’ and be done with it. Nope. This place is exclusive, bitch. You either find an affiliate link through someone who’s already part of the shadow cult, or you log in with Yahoo. Yahoo. Not Gmail. Not Discord. Not your Google-linked everything. Y-A-H-O-O. Like it’s 2004 and you’re trying to join a fantasy football league with your uncle. I’m sitting there, refreshing the page, wondering if I need to boot up my Myspace too just to get access. What’s next? Ask Jeeves verification?
But like any good addict, I didn’t stop. I dug deep into the graveyard of the internet and found my old Yahoo email. Reset the password. Two-factor authenticated my dusty account like I was hacking into the Matrix. Typed it into SimpCity, excited, desperate. And then? BAM. “New registrations are currently not accepted.” Just like that. Like a boot to the face after crawling through barbed wire. So now I’m half-erect, emotionally broken, and staring at a login screen that might as well say “fuck off.” I’ve never been cucked by a website before, but SimpCity made it happen. It’s the only place online where a rejection message feels like getting dumped by a girl you’ve never met.
The cruel twist? Even though you can’t make an account, you can still browse. You can peek through the window while everyone else inside is jerking off in synchronized rhythm, sharing GIFs, leaking unseen pics, swapping conspiracy theories about Kylie Jenner’s belly button. It’s like edging with no climax in sight. You’re allowed to lurk but not touch. It’s pure digital blue balls.
Dua Lipa Has 3 Million Views. I Have Regret
I started scrolling. No login, no likes, no replies—but full lurk mode activated. And sweet baby Jesus, the content. I land on the Dua Lipa thread. Three million views. THREE. MILLION. What the hell is in there? A sex tape? Her personal nudes? A handwritten letter saying “yes daddy”? Nope, I’ll never know, because I’m locked out like a broke loser peeking through the strip club window. That thread’s been around since cavemen discovered fire, and it’s still getting action like it’s brand new. People are probably posting fresh thirst traps right now, while I sit here gnawing on my keyboard like a raccoon with trust issues.
And it’s not just Dua. Every celeb you’ve ever jerked it to has a thread. Zendaya? Thread. Margot Robbie? Mega thread. Billie Eilish? Triple thread with debates over her outfits like it’s the goddamn Supreme Court. Each post is a rabbit hole, and every rabbit hole ends in some dude reposting paparazzi pics with the caption “Imagine her riding you like this” (but without the emoji, because real gooners type raw). It’s messy. It’s unhinged. It’s like walking into a frat house that worships celebrities instead of beer pong. And even though the pics are often recycled from Instagram or TikTok or press tours, they hit different when filtered through the collective madness of a goon hive.
It’s not even about the images half the time. It’s the commentary that gets you. The desperation. The obsession. The guys arguing over ankle angles like it’s a NASA symposium. “Look at that side boob in panel three.” “She wore this twice—proof she’s a dirty slut.” “I came so hard I blacked out, someone hold me.” You start to feel like you’re part of something. A fucked-up community of perverts who found each other through their mutual admiration for tits and red carpet dresses. It’s Reddit if Reddit stopped pretending it had dignity. So here I am. Logged out. Hard. Confused. Reading decade-old celeb threads like a ghost haunting his old house. SimpCity is a black hole of lust, and I’ve fallen in without even getting the courtesy of a user profile. If you ever get in, don’t take it for granted. And if you don’t? Well, welcome to the wall. Grab a chair. We’ll watch from the shadows and dream of the day we too can comment “I’d let her sit on my face until my ancestors feel it.” Amen.
Celeb Lust And Regret
And here’s where the real pain sets in. Sixty-eight fucking pages. That’s how deep the celebrity section on SimpCity.cr goes. Sixty-eight endless, godless, lust-stained pages of bikini pics, nipple slips, paparazzi close-ups, concert booty shots, and thirst trap screenshots curated by a global cult of horny men who haven’t touched grass since 2016. It’s not a forum—it’s a museum of smut, and every page is a new wing. And me? I’m standing at the glass like a caveman at the Louvre. No account. No interaction. Just me and the scroll, like a perverted Sisyphus pushing his dick up a hill of regret.
Kim Kardashian? She’s there, obviously. Probably has her own thread with so many views it could crash a supercomputer. And it’s not just the classic A-listers, either. They go deep. Sabrina Carpenter threads packed with breakdowns of her tour outfits, horny analysis of how she moves her hips on stage. Chappell Roan? Don’t even know how half these guys discovered her, but there’s a whole ass subculture dissecting every frame of her TikToks like it’s national security footage. Kylie Jenner? Multiple pages of her standing still, looking confused, with comment threads that read like erotic poetry written by inmates. And they’re all in there. Stacked like a pervert’s Bible—chapter after chapter of celebrity sin.
Every scroll is a dagger. I keep thinking, “Surely it ends here.” But it doesn’t. I get to page 10. Then 17. Then 24. My wrist’s sore from scrolling. My brain’s leaking dopamine. And yet, I keep going like a dumbass because I didn’t sign up when I had the chance. I was lazy. I hesitated. I laughed at the Yahoo login. And now, all I can do is watch, lurk, and spiral into a porn-adjacent depression as I pass page after page of content I can’t fully unlock. It’s like standing outside the orgy window, pants down, face fogging up the glass.
