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The Something Awful Forums > Discussion > Automotive Insanity > Open up a little bit further, HAL. Quit digging at your fucking jaw, Dave.

Sormus: Jul 24, 2007; PREVENT SPACE-AIDS
sanitize your lovebot
between users

tater_salad posted:

Top is also stuck down.

engage mullet mode

# ? Jul 4, 2015 14:50

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? Apr 26, 2024 03:26

INCHI DICKARI: Aug 23, 2006; by FactsAreUseless

Presented for the first time ever, a concerto in four parts:

Hell's Black Heart, in B flat

_{_{act.1: Discovery, Betrayal}}

_{_{act.2: the Horrors of Subterfuge}}

_{_{act.3: Upon Fields of War}}

_{_{act.4: Hel}}

~Fin

# ? Jul 7, 2015 06:05

randomidiot: May 12, 2006; by Fluffdaddy
(and can't post for 11 years!)

Sup sexy?

:q:

# ? Jul 7, 2015 06:28

Jealous Cow: Apr 4, 2002; by Fluffdaddy

That mirror.

# ? Jul 7, 2015 13:54

Slung Blade: Jul 11, 2002; IN STEEL WE TRUST

Jesus that's a hell of a bite.

You roll over that spider during the night or something?

Regardless, revenge killing is the correct response.

# ? Jul 7, 2015 20:09

redgubbinz: May 1, 2007

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExTLa6bAdFQ&t=308s

# ? Jul 7, 2015 20:19

InitialDave: Jun 14, 2007; I Want To Believe.

As it is, was, and ever shall be:

:nms:

:nms:

http://oglaf.com/8legs/

# ? Jul 7, 2015 21:35

INCHI DICKARI: Aug 23, 2006; by FactsAreUseless

In all seriousness it took almost a half hour to make the kill strike and it still almost managed to break for it. Once I had noticed that it was fully aware of my presence, and would nearly imperceptibly tense it's legs as I sized up various ranged and improvised hand weaponry. Pulse racing, sweat beading on my brow as we both could tell this would be no junkie mugging in some back alley. This was the dance between professionals, trying to mask our abilities while gleaning from the other. I selected my section of small, thick rectangular card board box intending to use it as a thrusting weapon, the small but firm footprint requiring total accuracy if I were to intend to beat my target's obvious advantage of raw speed and agility. We both knew, limbs tightening in preparation of near clockspring-like instantaneous release that the moment had come.

It's not the killing I ever remember. It's the raw passion of engaging the worthiest of foes at point blank range, the intimate struggle of domination and experience being decided long before the body knows it's even dead. I inhale.

At the exact moment I struck, it attempted to fire forward an inch with its rear legs but tried to use all the others to pull some hosed up TRON light bike 90 degree pivot while in motion in the distinct hopes of a fake out and break past the thin edge of the box. The scream comes next, not the triumphant bellow of ancient man bringing down his apex predator to secure his place as a warrior in the tribe. The choked, raw scream one would make watching your husband slowly tearing through the door you'be been trusting as your only savior, his fireman's axe the same red gleam as the back of his throat thrown open bellowing his victory into the frost covered dark of night. As I scream, I see the legs pivoting below the edge of the box, the creature's feint being the Victor after all. Not this time. Not so close. My fist slams down over where I had seen it last, knowing in horror that all was lost and that I had failed.

Then suddenly, the scrabbling of chitin under cardboard and my scream realizes it yet still lives and horror never felt so strongly before lends it's strength, ripping out of me like a collapsing star. And I press harder. I crush it beneath my strength. I smear it down the wall. I obliterate the abomination before me and collapse sobbing into a heap on the floor.

# ? Jul 7, 2015 22:10

INCHI DICKARI: Aug 23, 2006; by FactsAreUseless

Smoke em if you got em boys.

# ? Jul 7, 2015 22:13

Arriviste: Sep 10, 2010; _{Gather. Grok. Create.}

_{Now pick up what you can

and run.}

14 INCH SLIT posted:

In all seriousness it took almost a half hour to make the kill strike and it still almost managed to break for it. Once I had noticed that it was fully aware of my presence, and would nearly imperceptibly tense it's legs as I sized up various ranged and improvised hand weaponry. Pulse racing, sweat beading on my brow as we both could tell this would be no junkie mugging in some back alley. This was the dance between professionals, trying to mask our abilities while gleaning from the other. I selected my section of small, thick rectangular card board box intending to use it as a thrusting weapon, the small but firm footprint requiring total accuracy if I were to intend to beat my target's obvious advantage of raw speed and agility. We both knew, limbs tightening in preparation of near clockspring-like instantaneous release that the moment had come.

It's not the killing I ever remember. It's the raw passion of engaging the worthiest of foes at point blank range, the intimate struggle of domination and experience being decided long before the body knows it's even dead. I inhale.

At the exact moment I struck, it attempted to fire forward an inch with its rear legs but tried to use all the others to pull some hosed up TRON light bike 90 degree pivot while in motion in the distinct hopes of a fake out and break past the thin edge of the box. The scream comes next, not the triumphant bellow of ancient man bringing down his apex predator to secure his place as a warrior in the tribe. The choked, raw scream one would make watching your husband slowly tearing through the door you'be been trusting as your only savior, his fireman's axe the same red gleam as the back of his throat thrown open bellowing his victory into the frost covered dark of night. As I scream, I see the legs pivoting below the edge of the box, the creature's feint being the Victor after all. Not this time. Not so close. My fist slams down over where I had seen it last, knowing in horror that all was lost and that I had failed.

Then suddenly, the scrabbling of chitin under cardboard and my scream realizes it yet still lives and horror never felt so strongly before lends it's strength, ripping out of me like a collapsing star. And I press harder. I crush it beneath my strength. I smear it down the wall. I obliterate the abomination before me and collapse sobbing into a heap on the floor.

Mr. McCarthy, is that you?

# ? Jul 7, 2015 22:20

veedubfreak: Apr 2, 2005; by Smythe

http://bugasalt.com/

# ? Jul 7, 2015 22:29

CroatianAlzheimers: Jun 15, 2009; I can't remember why I'm mad at you...

Arriviste posted:

Mr. McCarthy, is that you?

Too much punctuation for McCarthy.

# ? Jul 7, 2015 22:56

INCHI DICKARI: Aug 23, 2006; by FactsAreUseless

CroatianAlzheimers posted:

Too much punctuation for McCarthy.

Look man i felt it was better that way than if I said "for spooked by a bug in the room spent 45 minutes in tears hyperventilating till I skooshed it."

# ? Jul 7, 2015 23:20

Seat Safety Switch: May 27, 2008; MY RELIGION IS THE SMALL BLOCK V8 AND COMMANDMENTS ONE THROUGH TEN ARE NEVER LIFT.; Pillbug

14 INCH SLIT posted:

In all seriousness it took almost a half hour to make the kill strike and it still almost managed to break for it. Once I had noticed that it was fully aware of my presence, and would nearly imperceptibly tense it's legs as I sized up various ranged and improvised hand weaponry. Pulse racing, sweat beading on my brow as we both could tell this would be no junkie mugging in some back alley. This was the dance between professionals, trying to mask our abilities while gleaning from the other. I selected my section of small, thick rectangular card board box intending to use it as a thrusting weapon, the small but firm footprint requiring total accuracy if I were to intend to beat my target's obvious advantage of raw speed and agility. We both knew, limbs tightening in preparation of near clockspring-like instantaneous release that the moment had come.

It's not the killing I ever remember. It's the raw passion of engaging the worthiest of foes at point blank range, the intimate struggle of domination and experience being decided long before the body knows it's even dead. I inhale.

At the exact moment I struck, it attempted to fire forward an inch with its rear legs but tried to use all the others to pull some hosed up TRON light bike 90 degree pivot while in motion in the distinct hopes of a fake out and break past the thin edge of the box. The scream comes next, not the triumphant bellow of ancient man bringing down his apex predator to secure his place as a warrior in the tribe. The choked, raw scream one would make watching your husband slowly tearing through the door you'be been trusting as your only savior, his fireman's axe the same red gleam as the back of his throat thrown open bellowing his victory into the frost covered dark of night. As I scream, I see the legs pivoting below the edge of the box, the creature's feint being the Victor after all. Not this time. Not so close. My fist slams down over where I had seen it last, knowing in horror that all was lost and that I had failed.

Then suddenly, the scrabbling of chitin under cardboard and my scream realizes it yet still lives and horror never felt so strongly before lends it's strength, ripping out of me like a collapsing star. And I press harder. I crush it beneath my strength. I smear it down the wall. I obliterate the abomination before me and collapse sobbing into a heap on the floor.

Gold medal posting here. I couldn't be prouder.

# ? Jul 7, 2015 23:24

CroatianAlzheimers: Jun 15, 2009; I can't remember why I'm mad at you...

14 INCH SLIT posted:

Look man i felt it was better that way than if I said "for spooked by a bug in the room spent 45 minutes in tears hyperventilating till I skooshed it."

Oh, I'm not knocking it at all. I mean, poo poo, that's how every bug encounter plays out in my house. Either that or I call in my wife to deal with it.

# ? Jul 7, 2015 23:27

kastein: Aug 31, 2011; Moderator at http://www.ridgelineownersclub.com/forums/and soon to be mod of AI. MAKE AI GREAT AGAIN. Motronic for VP.

This is why I keep a can of brakleen on the shelf beside my bed :unsmigghh:

:unsmigghh:

(One shot knocks em down, then a quick burst finishes them off. Works on anything from a wasp to a moth with a 3 inch wingspan that divebombed my face last night.)

# ? Jul 7, 2015 23:30

You Am I: May 20, 2001; Me @ your poasting

14 INCH SLIT posted:

Smoke em if you got em boys.

That's tiny, get back to me when it can actually smoke the cigarette :australia:

:australia:

# ? Jul 7, 2015 23:40

Militant Lesbian: Oct 3, 2002

kastein posted:

This is why I keep a can of brakleen on the shelf beside my bed

Also gives your bed that fresh chlorine smell!

Also I'm listening to this at the moment and it seems strangely appropriate for some reason:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_3TlrZLpQ0

# ? Jul 7, 2015 23:42

Podima: Nov 4, 2009; by Fluffdaddy

Christ, the thread title change had me wondering if I had forgotten getting drunk last night.

# ? Jul 8, 2015 00:41

shy boy from chess club: Jun 11, 2008; It wasnt that bad, after you left I got to help put out the fire!

Podima posted:

Christ, the thread title change had me wondering if I had forgotten getting drunk last night.

Good, it wasnt just me.

# ? Jul 8, 2015 00:46

INCHI DICKARI: Aug 23, 2006; by FactsAreUseless

This is my thread tag. There are many like it, but this one is amine.
My thread tag is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
My thread tag, without me, is useless. Without my thread tag, I am useless. I must post my thread tag true. I must post gayer than my troll who is trying to mock me. I must own him before he owns me. I will.

# ? Jul 8, 2015 04:39

ExecuDork: Feb 25, 2007; We might be fucked, sir.; Fallen Rib

Did anyone else grab their crotch and squeeze in time to that cadence?

Just me? Or have others got that scene from that movie burned into memory forever?

# ? Jul 8, 2015 04:46

Rhyno: Mar 22, 2003; Can't post for 10 years!

ExecuDork posted:

Did anyone else grab their crotch and squeeze in time to that cadence?

Just me? Or have others got that scene from that movie burned into memory forever?

I always squeeze my crotch when I read this thread.

# ? Jul 8, 2015 06:17

Jeherrin: Jun 7, 2012

14 INCH SLIT posted:

In all seriousness it took almost a half hour to make the kill strike and it still almost managed to break for it. Once I had noticed that it was fully aware of my presence, and would nearly imperceptibly tense it's legs as I sized up various ranged and improvised hand weaponry. Pulse racing, sweat beading on my brow as we both could tell this would be no junkie mugging in some back alley. This was the dance between professionals, trying to mask our abilities while gleaning from the other. I selected my section of small, thick rectangular card board box intending to use it as a thrusting weapon, the small but firm footprint requiring total accuracy if I were to intend to beat my target's obvious advantage of raw speed and agility. We both knew, limbs tightening in preparation of near clockspring-like instantaneous release that the moment had come.

It's not the killing I ever remember. It's the raw passion of engaging the worthiest of foes at point blank range, the intimate struggle of domination and experience being decided long before the body knows it's even dead. I inhale.

At the exact moment I struck, it attempted to fire forward an inch with its rear legs but tried to use all the others to pull some hosed up TRON light bike 90 degree pivot while in motion in the distinct hopes of a fake out and break past the thin edge of the box. The scream comes next, not the triumphant bellow of ancient man bringing down his apex predator to secure his place as a warrior in the tribe. The choked, raw scream one would make watching your husband slowly tearing through the door you'be been trusting as your only savior, his fireman's axe the same red gleam as the back of his throat thrown open bellowing his victory into the frost covered dark of night. As I scream, I see the legs pivoting below the edge of the box, the creature's feint being the Victor after all. Not this time. Not so close. My fist slams down over where I had seen it last, knowing in horror that all was lost and that I had failed.

Then suddenly, the scrabbling of chitin under cardboard and my scream realizes it yet still lives and horror never felt so strongly before lends it's strength, ripping out of me like a collapsing star. And I press harder. I crush it beneath my strength. I smear it down the wall. I obliterate the abomination before me and collapse sobbing into a heap on the floor.

Never stop posting.

# ? Jul 8, 2015 12:20

INCHI DICKARI: Aug 23, 2006; by FactsAreUseless

You Am I posted:

That's tiny, get back to me when it can actually smoke the cigarette

Just for the record I actually have no poo poo arachnaphobia and everything in the story actually happened, just dressed up for a night on the town. I can usually handle spiders in webs, or spiders inside terrarium for those of you who remember the tarantula I bought. It's because those spiders are the good spiders, not those uppity spiders who don't know their place. Those spiders, well, I ain't saying that they should all be killed or burned on sight, I'm just saying I wouldn't lose any sleep if someone did.

# ? Jul 8, 2015 22:35

Militant Lesbian: Oct 3, 2002

You ain't experienced poo poo until you've been awakened in the middle of the night by a giant cockroach crawling across your face. :colbert:

:colbert:

# ? Jul 9, 2015 07:25

HandlingByJebus: Jun 21, 2009; All of a sudden, I found myself in love with the world, so there was only one thing I could do:
was ding a ding dang, my dang a long racecar.

It's a love affair. Mainly jebus, and my racecar.

HotCanadianChick posted:

You ain't experienced poo poo until you've been awakened in the middle of the night by a giant cockroach crawling across your face.

If by "poo poo", you mean "making GBS threads myself", I believe that your statement is accurate in multiple dimensions.

# ? Jul 9, 2015 16:06

Backov: Mar 28, 2010

When I had my deviated septum fixed, I was given one of those nose splint things that tapes on, a whole bunch of gauze in my nostrils and pain meds.

One night shortly afterwards I woke up screaming, having torn a very large spider from my face and flung it across the room.

Yes. You know what it was.

Still, gently caress spiders. KOS.

# ? Jul 9, 2015 18:53

INCHI DICKARI: Aug 23, 2006; by FactsAreUseless

Well guys pack it in. It's been a wild ride but every empire must come to its close eventually. My cousin, after a brief attempt at myself to establish my dominance through wit on the spider post on my Facebook brought a prison shank to a slap fight. Once the pack begins to turn, the only way out is to face him in combat, and to kill him. And I just don't think I have what it takes when he gets me high between the ribs with this.

E: An INCH DICK dies, a small spider lives.

Fair trade.

INCHI DICKARI fucked around with this message at 07:15 on Jul 10, 2015

# ? Jul 10, 2015 07:04

Adiabatic: Nov 18, 2007; What have you assholes done now?

It's beautiful

# ? Jul 10, 2015 17:55

meatpimp: May 15, 2004; Psst -- Wanna buy

EVERYWHERE
some high-quality thread's DESTROYED!

Hay guiz, I found a picture of his gloves:

# ? Jul 11, 2015 23:54

Applebees Appetizer: Jan 23, 2006

HotCanadianChick posted:

You ain't experienced poo poo until you've been awakened in the middle of the night by a giant cockroach crawling across your face.

Florida.txt

Happened to me so many times it doesn't even freak me out anymore. Don't know if that's a good thing or not.

# ? Jul 12, 2015 03:33

Galler: Jan 28, 2008

meatpimp posted:

Hay guiz, I found a picture of his gloves:

Not sure I would be satisfied with a Brakleen flamethrower. I think that might be oxy acetylene time.

# ? Jul 12, 2015 04:03

Collateral Damage: Jun 13, 2009

The entire glove goes in a blast furnace.

# ? Jul 12, 2015 17:29

wildemere: Nov 19, 2013

The best early Honda car for me is the 1300 coupe. A rare classic, my father owned a coupe 9. only a few thousand made, most were shipped to Australia.

It was based on motorcycle tech. and the prelude to the first Civic.

It was an air cooled 4 with 4 Carbs, some say it was an enlarged CB750 motor. It had 9.3:1 compression and 115 HP.

I drove it as a teenager and was sad when my dad sold it.

http://www.honda-1300-coupe.com/

I'm happy to have been involved.

# ? Jul 13, 2015 04:23

INCHI DICKARI: Aug 23, 2006; by FactsAreUseless

I got caught up in the moment when my buddy offered to go in on this with me and figured so would others, but I came to my senses as far as panhandling for my fix. I pitched this guy a lowball offer and he's thinking it over.

http://seattle.craigslist.org/see/cto/5115426944.html

# ? Jul 13, 2015 18:32

Leperflesh: May 17, 2007

So, what... you're going to find a big cliff to push it off of? Set it on fire, perhaps? Use it as spider-bait to lure the spiders away from your real car?

# ? Jul 13, 2015 18:35

cakesmith handyman: Jul 22, 2007; Pip-Pip old chap! Last one in is a rotten egg what what.

Look if you're just after the free bulb I'll paypal you $1.

# ? Jul 13, 2015 18:43

INCHI DICKARI: Aug 23, 2006; by FactsAreUseless

:siren:

LOWBALL ACCEPTED :siren:

:siren:

# ? Jul 13, 2015 18:49

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# ? Apr 26, 2024 03:26

extreme_accordion: Apr 9, 2009

14 INCH SLIT posted:

Well guys pack it in. It's been a wild ride but every empire must come to its close eventually. My cousin, after a brief attempt at myself to establish my dominance through wit on the spider post on my Facebook brought a prison shank to a slap fight. Once the pack begins to turn, the only way out is to face him in combat, and to kill him. And I just don't think I have what it takes when he gets me high between the ribs with this.

E: An INCH DICK dies, a small spider lives.

Fair trade.

Perhaps your cousin just wants you to be aggressive like ManCakes.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2XGp5ix8HE

# ? Jul 13, 2015 18:50

The Something Awful Forums > Discussion > Automotive Insanity > Open up a little bit further, HAL. Quit digging at your fucking jaw, Dave.

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