how the fuck is senior woodchuck still a mod.

«‹›28 »

The Something Awful Forums > Archives > Comedy Gas Chamber > how the fuck is senior woodchuck still a mod.

Casual Male XL Fan: May 26, 2008

That Juice posted:

post these in gbs

He will probate you and edit them out just like I said before

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:23

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? May 23, 2013 19:54

Bang Me Please: Jul 15, 2003; im so mumped up lmao

Bang Me Please posted:

Future Rapist

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:24

Nutmeg: Feb 8, 2004

0 comments
0 comments
0 comments

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:24

Casual Male XL Fan: May 26, 2008

Hoop Laced poo poo posted:

0 comments
0 comments
0 comments

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:25

No Hephaestus: Aug 7, 2010; im fucking furious.

lmao he's been posting this poo poo for 8 years

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:25

No Hephaestus: Aug 7, 2010; im fucking furious.

Hoop Laced poo poo posted:

0 comments
0 comments
0 comments

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:25

halleys comet: Feb 29, 2012

8 years. For 8 lonely years I have been fighting to ensure comics stay free of gaslighting, victim blaming, and kinkshaming. I have posted several hundred comic book reviews, each containing around 300 words. Do you FYAD fucks, for all your knowing irony, understand what that means? Do you understand what it means to have a cause that you would devote yourself to, utterly, no matter how much you get made fun of for it? No? Then gently caress Off.

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:25

Volte: Oct 4, 2004

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:26

Daikatana Ritsu: Aug 1, 2008

there's a "gently caress you" valentines post for almost every year

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:27

paraone: Mar 22, 2003

That Juice posted:

post these in gbs

do this at your own peril, guaranteed ban

keep it in fyad folks, and dont post personal info if you run across it either or i will queue you for a ban myself

other than that have at it

fuckin sticky

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:27

Bunny Cuddlin: Dec 12, 2004

paraone posted:

do this at your own peril, guaranteed ban

keep it in fyad folks, and dont post personal info if you run across it either or i will queue you for a ban myself

other than that have at it

fuckin sticky

also don't post comments over there

----------------
This thread brought to you by a tremendous dickhead!

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:28

Volte: Oct 4, 2004

can someone mirror this just in case he takes it down

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:28

paraone: Mar 22, 2003

Car posted:

also don't post comments over there

yeah this too

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:29

O__O: Jan 26, 2011

gently caress Them
This is a personal one. If you came for pop culture crap, come back Tuesday.

He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.

Mine was not a happy childhood or adolescence. As I've discussed here, some of it was my own drat fault, and some of it was matters beyond my control. But I've never talked about the part that was the other kids. In some ways, it was the worst, and had the longest-reaching effect on my life.

I'm not gay myself, but I've always been able to sympathize with gay people who have talked about always knowing, even back into childhood, that they were different from other people. I can't think of a time where I didn't feel a step removed from the rest of humanity. I think it's because of the part of me that's a writer, the part that's always looking at the world from a detached, unsympathetic point of view. It cuts through illusions and says, "This, here, is how the world is." It makes it hard to connect to people when part of you automatically thinks of them as grist for the mill of observation and dissection. But whatever it is, I could always tell. And so could the other kids. Kids are generally more perceptive than adults that way. It's a trade-off, though, of perception for compassion. Childhood is where we're closest to our primal, animal ancestry, and in the jungle, difference is weakness, and weakness is to be dealt with unforgivingly.

It wasn't everyone; it never is. But there were a lot of them. For nine out of twelve years of schooling, I was a very popular target (although not by far the only one, and I confess with shame that I was more than willing to deflect attention from me to those lower on the totem pole). I was "That Weird Kid"; even many of the ones who didn't actively harass me often looked at me askew. Changed direction to walk on the other side of the hall, pointedly sat in other seats, and so on.

Them, I didn't mind so much, because I was too busy with the overt cruelty. Gym class, regular classes, lunch, the playground, the school bus; nowhere was safe. The school bus was the worst; there was a song. I won't discuss the song. Suffice it to say that when the word "malice" turned up on a word-a-day calendar I owned, I read the definition with a hideous sense of intimacy.

He thrusts his fists against the posts, and still insists he sees the ghosts.

I wrote a story recently, currently in revision, about ghosts. My take is that they're not revenant spirits, but psychic parasites made of a kind of living memory. They attach themselves to hosts and force them to relive their most painful and horrible memories, often related to the death of loved ones, and feed on the anguish and self-loathing that follow. When I was writing the first draft, I thought this was simply a McGuffin I'd pulled at random out of the ether. Upon revision, I know better; this ghost story is based on a real-life haunting. Mine.

My ghosts are still with me. To paraphrase Adrian Cronauer, I am in more need of an exorcism than any man in history. They take the form of any from a long list (yes, there is a list; the names come to me more easily than those of friends and relatives) of faces and voices twisted with the hideous contortions of the adolescent torturer. They've taken up permanent residence in my brain, bountiful source of food that it is. I hear them constantly. Every time I think, I'm no good. None of these people wants anything to do with me. My writing is meaningless. No would could possibly care what I have to say. Don't bother talking to her, she's not interested in me, I'm pathetic. I'm a nuisance. I'm a failure. I'll never be anything. I'm going to die alone. It's no more than I deserve.

He thrusts his fists against the posts, and still insists he sees the ghosts.

There's a cute little one-off cartoon from Animaniacs about a back-country woodchuck who goes to Hollywood to get famous in the movies. One of the running gags set against some wonderful Jonesian physical comedy is that the woodchuck asks people who piss him off to sign their name in a notebook, so that when he's famous he can make it a point not to like them. At the end of the cartoon, as he returns home in disgust and defeat, the list fills a stack of notebooks so tall it dwarfs the woodchuck, who promptly retires to his room to stew in his own juices.

The scene is farcical, but all too real. Richard Nixon was hardly alone in keeping a detailed list of those who had wronged him, and devising elaborate revenge. Don't we all have at least one person whose crimes against us we enshrine as an immortal testament to the heartlessness and calumny of the universe? In some cases, of course, it's justified: an abuser, a swindler, a rapist. But all too often, we give too much weight to the slings and arrows of people we barely knew and will never see again; petty, venal, incidental figures whose words are worth less than a gnat's fart.

Or maybe that's just me. I am, as has been noted, an obsessive motherfucker. Which is the answer to the obvious question, why do something that stupid? Why base my personal life around the opinions of assholes from fifteen years ago? Well, everybody does stupid things, and for me, they all revolve around letting thoughts fester and metastasize in my head until they're all but running the joint.

Well, gently caress that. In fact, let that be the "The power of Christ compels you!" for my exorcism. gently caress those thoughts, gently caress those people, and gently caress the person I was then for listening to them. And gently caress the part of me now that still does.

gently caress not talking to people in a crowded room.

gently caress being afraid of what an attractive woman might think if I approached her.

gently caress thinking I've got nothing to offer.

gently caress giving over control of my life to anyone or anything else.

gently caress what they think. They don't know poo poo. I'm a good writer, a good friend, a good man, and gently caress anyone who says otherwise, myself included. Because I'm loving good enough, I'm loving smart enough, and goddammit, people loving like me.

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:30

my bitter bi rival: Mar 21, 2011

O__O posted:

gently caress Them
This is a personal one. If you came for pop culture crap, come back Tuesday.

He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.

Mine was not a happy childhood or adolescence. As I've discussed here, some of it was my own drat fault, and some of it was matters beyond my control. But I've never talked about the part that was the other kids. In some ways, it was the worst, and had the longest-reaching effect on my life.

I'm not gay myself, but I've always been able to sympathize with gay people who have talked about always knowing, even back into childhood, that they were different from other people. I can't think of a time where I didn't feel a step removed from the rest of humanity. I think it's because of the part of me that's a writer, the part that's always looking at the world from a detached, unsympathetic point of view. It cuts through illusions and says, "This, here, is how the world is." It makes it hard to connect to people when part of you automatically thinks of them as grist for the mill of observation and dissection. But whatever it is, I could always tell. And so could the other kids. Kids are generally more perceptive than adults that way. It's a trade-off, though, of perception for compassion. Childhood is where we're closest to our primal, animal ancestry, and in the jungle, difference is weakness, and weakness is to be dealt with unforgivingly.

It wasn't everyone; it never is. But there were a lot of them. For nine out of twelve years of schooling, I was a very popular target (although not by far the only one, and I confess with shame that I was more than willing to deflect attention from me to those lower on the totem pole). I was "That Weird Kid"; even many of the ones who didn't actively harass me often looked at me askew. Changed direction to walk on the other side of the hall, pointedly sat in other seats, and so on.

Them, I didn't mind so much, because I was too busy with the overt cruelty. Gym class, regular classes, lunch, the playground, the school bus; nowhere was safe. The school bus was the worst; there was a song. I won't discuss the song. Suffice it to say that when the word "malice" turned up on a word-a-day calendar I owned, I read the definition with a hideous sense of intimacy.

He thrusts his fists against the posts, and still insists he sees the ghosts.

I wrote a story recently, currently in revision, about ghosts. My take is that they're not revenant spirits, but psychic parasites made of a kind of living memory. They attach themselves to hosts and force them to relive their most painful and horrible memories, often related to the death of loved ones, and feed on the anguish and self-loathing that follow. When I was writing the first draft, I thought this was simply a McGuffin I'd pulled at random out of the ether. Upon revision, I know better; this ghost story is based on a real-life haunting. Mine.

My ghosts are still with me. To paraphrase Adrian Cronauer, I am in more need of an exorcism than any man in history. They take the form of any from a long list (yes, there is a list; the names come to me more easily than those of friends and relatives) of faces and voices twisted with the hideous contortions of the adolescent torturer. They've taken up permanent residence in my brain, bountiful source of food that it is. I hear them constantly. Every time I think, I'm no good. None of these people wants anything to do with me. My writing is meaningless. No would could possibly care what I have to say. Don't bother talking to her, she's not interested in me, I'm pathetic. I'm a nuisance. I'm a failure. I'll never be anything. I'm going to die alone. It's no more than I deserve.

He thrusts his fists against the posts, and still insists he sees the ghosts.

There's a cute little one-off cartoon from Animaniacs about a back-country woodchuck who goes to Hollywood to get famous in the movies. One of the running gags set against some wonderful Jonesian physical comedy is that the woodchuck asks people who piss him off to sign their name in a notebook, so that when he's famous he can make it a point not to like them. At the end of the cartoon, as he returns home in disgust and defeat, the list fills a stack of notebooks so tall it dwarfs the woodchuck, who promptly retires to his room to stew in his own juices.

The scene is farcical, but all too real. Richard Nixon was hardly alone in keeping a detailed list of those who had wronged him, and devising elaborate revenge. Don't we all have at least one person whose crimes against us we enshrine as an immortal testament to the heartlessness and calumny of the universe? In some cases, of course, it's justified: an abuser, a swindler, a rapist. But all too often, we give too much weight to the slings and arrows of people we barely knew and will never see again; petty, venal, incidental figures whose words are worth less than a gnat's fart.

Or maybe that's just me. I am, as has been noted, an obsessive motherfucker. Which is the answer to the obvious question, why do something that stupid? Why base my personal life around the opinions of assholes from fifteen years ago? Well, everybody does stupid things, and for me, they all revolve around letting thoughts fester and metastasize in my head until they're all but running the joint.

Well, gently caress that. In fact, let that be the "The power of Christ compels you!" for my exorcism. gently caress those thoughts, gently caress those people, and gently caress the person I was then for listening to them. And gently caress the part of me now that still does.

gently caress not talking to people in a crowded room.

gently caress being afraid of what an attractive woman might think if I approached her.

gently caress thinking I've got nothing to offer.

gently caress giving over control of my life to anyone or anything else.

gently caress what they think. They don't know poo poo. I'm a good writer, a good friend, a good man, and gently caress anyone who says otherwise, myself included. Because I'm loving good enough, I'm loving smart enough, and goddammit, people loving like me.

gently caress it all! gently caress this world!
gently caress everything that you stand for!
Don't belong! Don't exist!
Don't give a poo poo!
Don't ever judge me!

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:31

my bitter bi rival: Mar 21, 2011

Bang Me Please posted:

Future Rapist

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:31

Casual Male XL Fan: May 26, 2008

glad to see i wasn't loving insane about that Charlie Brown thing.

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:31

Casual Male XL Fan: May 26, 2008

Night Turds posted:

there's a "gently caress you" valentines post for almost every year

ahahahahah gently caress

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:32

my bitter bi rival: Mar 21, 2011

seriously lol at that long rear end QQ post i only read the one sentence paragraphs of

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:32

Weed Death: Feb 3, 2011

Thing #476 That Bugs Me About Geoff Johns's Rainbow Lantern "Mythos"

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:33

Casual Male XL Fan: May 26, 2008

its hard as gently caress to read any post of his 8 year old blog aha gently caress

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:33

Lumpy the Cook: Feb 4, 2011; GaOwDaHkEeAnD

Monday, February 18, 2008

An Open Letter To Lindsay Lohan

I'm a fan of Marilyn Monroe. I've jerked off to Marilyn Monroe. And you, my dear, are no Marilyn Monroe.

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:34

here comes cask: Jul 7, 2003

paraone posted:

do this at your own peril, guaranteed ban

keep it in fyad folks, and dont post personal info if you run across it either or i will queue you for a ban myself

other than that have at it

fuckin sticky

i like owning people as much as anyone, but listen to paraone everybody, because he knows what's up

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:35

Casual Male XL Fan: May 26, 2008

My sincere gently caress you to all women on every Feb 02/14. More girls should be like Peppermint Patty..

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:35

sausage paddy: Feb 25, 2009

idiotbitch.fucker posted:

its hard as gently caress to read any post of his 8 year old blog aha gently caress

gently caress what they think. They don't know poo poo. I'm a good writer, a good friend, a good man, and gently caress anyone who says otherwise, myself included. Because I'm loving good enough, I'm loving smart enough, and goddammit, people loving like me

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:35

No Hephaestus: Aug 7, 2010; im fucking furious.

hahaha he slipped in a lil woodchuck reference in that big whiny post

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:36

Weed Death: Feb 3, 2011

why is wayne gretzky probated now...

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:37

Dr. Spiderman: Oct 22, 2010; post so hard
É¯ÉÉ¯É¹ÉpÄ±ds

he's gonna have like a hundred new posts in the mod forum tomorrow morning

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:37

O__O: Jan 26, 2011

Two Quick Proofs Concerning the Nature of the Universe
I know God loves men, because he gave us women.

I know God loves women, because he gave them free will and a strong sense of discrimination regarding men.

I give up reading the blog but it's all: gently caress women and Comic book reviews with 0 comments

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:37

Nutmeg: Feb 8, 2004

lollll what a bitch at life

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:37

Daikatana Ritsu: Aug 1, 2008

what if someone were to post an image, with 3 or 4 people at a table, without context

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:38

Nutmeg: Feb 8, 2004

idiotbitch.fucker posted:

My sincere gently caress you to all women on every Feb 02/14. More girls should be like Peppermint Patty..

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:39

moonshine: Dec 7, 2001; the holocaust literally never happened

ahaha oh my loving god what a sad sack of poo poo

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:39

here comes cask: Jul 7, 2003

Weed Death posted:

why is wayne gretzky probated now...

calm down, it was only 6 hours

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:39

moonshine: Dec 7, 2001; the holocaust literally never happened

Night Turds posted:

what if someone were to post an image, with 3 or 4 people at a table, without context

i like peepin a few dudes chillin, having a good tabletime, without wondering who they are at all

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:40

Quote My Ass: Jul 17, 2006; i can handle this but i can't handle anything else

Hoop Laced poo poo posted:

0 comments
0 comments
0 comments

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:40

halleys comet: Feb 29, 2012

Jacques Lacan: Feminism and the Problem of Gender Identity, With Examples From Captain N. 0 comments.

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:41

my bitter bi rival: Mar 21, 2011

hhaahaha mopey pussy with no self-esteem aks for no quarter when enforcing his forum's rules, and no quarter is given. not one domino shall fall. smell the glove

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:41

Bunny Cuddlin: Dec 12, 2004

justice for twisty & ruder. no justice no peace.

----------------
This thread brought to you by a tremendous dickhead!

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:43

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? May 23, 2013 19:54

moonshine: Dec 7, 2001; the holocaust literally never happened

hey senchuck if you need like some guidance on how to be a man or something and feel better about yourself u can like pm me im sorry daddy never hugged or whatever the gently caress turned you into that

# ? Mar 27, 2012 04:43

«‹›28 »

The Something Awful Forums > Archives > Comedy Gas Chamber > how the fuck is senior woodchuck still a mod.