NEW MIXTAPE DROPPIN ON YA NIGGAS AT DQN
UNDA DA KUSH HITTA NO ISSHO
AWW SHEEYUT AINT NOBODY GOT MOR PURP DEN ME
YOU TRYIN TA FRONT?!
I ran a game of GURPS PURPS at GenCon. It was well received and a good time was had.
>>666 replaces all the mirrors in anorexia clinics with concave ones.
>>666 blasts rotten-egg smelling farts whenever he enters an occupied room.
>>666's obnoxious, opinionated yelling about anything and everything is so loud, it must only be a few posts from here.
>>666 keeps standing behind you, and when you aren't looking he edges a little closer and you know he's going to do something really obnoxious in just a few posts
( ﾟ ｰﾟ) Letting a guy know his password was showing.
( ﾟ ｰﾟ) Seeing my old post about urinating on the daddy-longlegs and reminiscing.
( ﾟ ｰﾟ) releasing a long, smooth, single-piece shitlog after having pooping problems for such a long time.
( ﾟ ｰﾟ) When programming at it works on first run
( ﾟ ｰﾟ) A decent object model
( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)( ﾟ ｰﾟ)
( ﾟ ｰﾟ) Taking a dump that's way bigger than it felt coming out.
( ﾟ ｰﾟ) Being nicknamed "mittens" for a day due to my warm and affable personality.
Stare at ceiling for about ten hours.
The spider seems to have gone somewhere else now, and none of its bretheren make themselves apparent. After a couple hours, your vigil is interrupted by the arrival of a humanoid figure in torchlight. As it approaches the barred door, you may see that it looks a lot like Pennywise from the movie rendition of It, except that having amnesia, you can't remember that movie.
"Huehuehue, are we ready to play, kiddies?" cackles the clown in a high pitched voice, pulling a key ring out of his pantaloon pocket.
Lecture clown on dialectical materialism.
"'Matter disappears' means that the limit within which we have hitherto known matter disappears, and that our knowledge is penetrating deeper; properties of matter are disappearing that formerly seemed absolute, immutable, and primary, and which are now revealed to be relative and characteristic only of certain states of matter." You say to the clown, affecting your most pompous tone of voice, "For the sole 'property' of matter, with whose recognition philosophical materialism is bound up, is the property of being an objective reality, of existing outside of the mind."
The clown looks baffled, but proceeds to unlock the barred door anyway, chuckling, "Well, we're all mad here."
You lift the disc containing your copy of Amnesia: The Dark Descent to your mouth and bite firmly. The disc is now scratched and probably suffered data loss, but the plastic is more durable than your jaws can handle and you find yourself unable to grind it up into bits small enough to be swallowed.
Suddenly remember that you are a dog. Eat the clown.
Yes! It all comes back to you now; regardless of your earlier philosophizing you are now certain that you are a being of the canine persuasion. In a fit of primal, coulrophobic rage, you snarl and plant yourself on all fours before lunging at the clown, your snapping jaws aimed for his testicular region.
With a high-pitched hoot of surprise, the clown falls back, the cell door swinging wide open. As you intended snack flees down the corridor, you pursue, galloping after him on all fours.
You drop broken dagger and Amnesia.
You are in a dungeon corridor. Cells line the walls. One of them behind you lies open. In the other direction, a flight of stairs leads upwards.
You see: lit torches, scary clown (moving rapidly towards stairs)
Apologise to clown.
You pause and bark, making puppy dog eyes and waggling your posterior in your best canine apology. Quite rudely, the clown ignores your efforts at reconciliation and darts up the stairs.
The undoubtedly delicious clown is no longer here.
You are in a dungeon corridor. A pair of brown furry feet appears on the stairs where the clown's oversized shoes just disappeared. A man in a bear suit is approaching.
These are the files. I hope you have everything you need.
Be Jack. Put on the guard's uniform and do a cartwheel.
Lick up blood from the floor. Wonder what killed the guard, that no skill points nor mana were allotted.
Ignore the pain and dance like a monkey.
Be the dead guy. Ignore the monkey and dance like a pain.
Plead for necromantic romance.
In dire need of something to uplift your spirits, you try to sing a nice song. Unfortunately, you don't know any nice songs. Instead, you end up singing to yourself some sort of threnody about regicide, which doesn't make you feel much better. You try to crawl out of wherever you are, but you cannot reach any sides; it is just a flat, stone floor as far as you can feel. In your blind gropings, you accidentally grasp a human foot. It is cold to the touch, and there is no response from any human that may or may not be attached to it.
You are now playing as Stove Stove. You are disappointed to find that your telekinesis skill works only for items which can move independently of one another, whereas the tunnel and the ground above it are firmly attached to the rest of the Earth, which is a little above your limit of 10,000kg. Even more distressingly, you find that it has clouded over, and is beginning to drizzle. Your pitiful inability to cast sunlight on the godforsaken lifeless maze below leaves you so upset that you accidentally self destruct prematurely.
Quickly find something to cover the Void of Doom in your pantie area.
Wield the espada ropera in one hand and six forks in the other.
Thankfully, the piece of armour you're wearing already reaches down to your knees, so the most precious, intimate and murderous part of your anatomy is safely concealed from prying eyes. Unless you try to do the splits or something, that is.
You grasp the elegant, thin sword as best you can in your left hand; the one with the right number of fingers, and gather the forks in your right hand in a clumsy, loose fistful.
From upstairs, the bewitching voice calmly comments, "I can see you've had a lot of fun down there, but, why, it seems you're lonely, you poor thing. Fear not, my dear! Here comes some company." At this moment, the door to the West is blown clean off its hinges, cast through the air so hard it flies all the way to the other side of the room and shatters into splinters. You are mercifully uninjured. Through the now vacant doorway, you can see a large ballroom with intricate parquet flooring. The room extends out of sight to the North and South. The Western wall is lined with large, elegant windows, overlooking a stately garden. Above, a mezzanine encircles the room.
You are, however, more distracted by the large, rather threatening looking humanoid robot, standing near the centre of the room. It is about four metres in height, sleek matte blue in colour, with decorative white panels in places along the limbs. It is standing in a battle-ready pose, legs spread and half crouching. The right arm - which terminates in a large, circular barrel - is pointed at where the door just was. The left is hanging at its side. It has a humanoid hand, but also a set of slim, cylindrical barrels, reminiscent of a Gatling gun, extending from the forearm. In place of a head, there is a small, white rabbit in a padded seat, hunched over a set of controls. The rabbit is looking at you with a cruel glint in its eye.
Give the robot a spine buster.
They should troll the world and ask to join Russia. Oh, the lulz they will have!
This is pretty awesome.
>>973 there was something a wee while ago about Alex Salmond saying something pro-Putin that annoyed people http://www.theguardian.com/politics/2014/apr/30/alex-salmond-vladimir-putin-remarks
i liek blastoise he looks like a tortuss and shots watur
everyone's all "omg wtf hello kitty's not a cat!?" but I already knew that from reading the comics and watching the cartoon, am I cool?
I wanna play with my ween
Found two more hibernating butterflies in my house. I don't understand reality any more.
Venus with a penis
If you truly love it, memorise it.
Please make my ween happy
Give it a slice of cake!
I'm sorry, but we're going to have to ween both you and it off happiness. A HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
...well, okay, I'm amused, anyway.
Rub it and say nice things to it!
Flowers and chocolate?
push th' little daisies and make em come up
I'm a skinny short man who usually doesn't want to have anything to do with anyone. I never rub others the wrong way, and tend to stay out of trouble. But one day I met my match. At a pub, I met a tall, huge, lumbering woman with copious amounts of fat covering her body, not quite chubby but rather in a well proportioned manner. Her breasts were large and generous and her thighs looked like a soft and wonderful heaven to rest one's tired sleepy head on. Her hips were wide and flabby and you sort of wanted to slap it to hear that satisfying 'plap' sound and watch it wiggle. She rather had a certain look to her, as if she would make a good mother. If I could describe her body in one word, it would simply be 'pudding'. Ah, pudding, a word which immediately reminds you of feelings like soft, warm, sweet and comforting. A melt-in-your-mouth moment that seizes your tastebuds in a trance of pleasure. Yes, pudding.. Thats the word.
Her face was a different story though. Framed by an aggressive straight locks which suddenly changed their minds and curled at the end, she always peered up at you from under her eyebrows as if to say "What are YOU lookin' at?". Her lips, coated in shiny gloss, was always shaped with the slight pout that you see on African-American women who had an attitude. And she always stood around with her weight resting on one leg, with one hand on her hip, as if she were judging you- no, as if she was staring you down. Objectively, she was beautiful, but trying to chat her up would just be an invitation for her to open up her butch, tomboyish, vitriolic personality.
>>8 My ween died after exposure to this post. I hope you've made him happy by sending him to heaven.
(・-・ ) We're going to have to ween you off the use of that word, >>1.
Feed it and take it for walks and play fetch with it.
"total crap, but I enjoy it"
I am a quartet, only my main avatar is whit my waifu.
they all have ostrich-like legs, horns that are actually antenae, One of them uses sabers red like blod they are basically demons, because In my fantasy I am the one that causes devastation, I often imagine my kind invading defenceless worlds.
In my lore they are all born from quasars that gained conscience and fromed bodies for themselves, my waifu is a monster so it all fits, I wonder what would hapen if I made a tulpa whit the purpose of relasing a demon.
I returned to civilization shortly after that and went to Cornell to teach, and my first impression was a very strange one. I can't understand it any more, but I felt very strongly then. I sat in a restaurant in New York, for example, and I looked out at the buildings and I began to think, you know, about how much the radius of the Hiroshima bomb damage was and so forth... How far from here was 34th street?... All those buildings, all smashed ― and so on. And I would go along and I would see people building a bridge, or they'd be making a new road, and I thought, they're crazy, they just don't understand, they don't understand. Why are they making new things? It's so useless.
But, fortunately, it's been useless for almost forty years now, hasn't it? So I've been wrong about it being useless making bridges and I'm glad those other people had the sense to go ahead.
Why when I shoot into imp's crotch with Sniper Rifle, I shoot his head off?
No "corporation" has ever paid a cent in taxes. All corporate taxes ultimately are paid by employees, shareholders and/or customers.
Another bus broke down on Rape Street and GEE I WONDER WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE PASSENGERS.
One day the Feminists get all blustery, and decide they’re going to teach 4Chan a lesson, and the next, they’re posting videos of cutting themselves, blacking out, and apparently one even tried to commit suicide.
Fuck that shit, sunshine. It's all about Teletubbies with their wangs hanging out and that hoover thing sucking them off.
It could be a lot worse for parents these days. Image if your kid came home from collage claiming to be an omni-sexual dragon-kin who identifies as being gender fluid-- YOU WILL ADHERE TO MY SELECTED PRONOUNS CISHET SCUM!
I pray that my kid is a normal homosexual.
Of course another possibility is that DB is at this very moment "punking" me. That would be the double reverse punk. An extremely difficult move but not beyond the satanic skill set of this trickster...
I like the verb "punk".
If nothing else the DCF is refreshing my urban lexicon.
! ! 人|,.iﾉl_ﾉ）
i 乂-‐ −! i And then goes right out that door.
＼ヽ .ゞ - ﾉノ
== SMOKE MANMUSCLE'S LITTLE TASTE OF ITALY ==
<丶｀∀´> I want cat, nida. Also apolojuice, nida.
§ﾐ彡ﾟωﾟミ I'd like a shit sandwich if you'd be so kind.
§ﾐ彡ﾟωﾟミ Yay. ____
∪ ミ (,,,,,,;;;)
ﾐ,,,,つ,,,,,,つ ( ・-・) Don't eat me!
(″･_･)っ-~ Wow. Someone got fed. Call MSNBC!
! ! 人|,.iﾉl_ﾉ）
i 乂-‐ −! i No smoking in the diner, hon.
＼ヽ .ゞ - ﾉノ
｀｀フ i´ ____
/ ＼ﾉゝ (,,,,,,;;;)
/__i |丱!| (″･_･) Uh oh.
== THE REI'S DINER ==
( ﾟ ヮﾟ) Smokey Bacon Cheesebucky please!
>>248 Hacked into every computer in a Catholic school, and made all the computers play a certain type of porn. Bukakke on girls wearing school uniforms.
Then some humorous message about asshole Catholics blamed the downfall of society on slutty clothing would be displayed every few minutes.
Also, rule 34 was used on the current pope, and popes of the past.
>>250 Translated "Smells like teen spirit" into Korean. Now he calls it "Smells like kimchi."
>>251 smells like kimchi. He says that sunlight burns him, like hygiene.
>>253 invented a programming language with ROBOT9000 rules applied to it.