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Pookum
Mar 5, 2011

gaming is life

permabanned posted:

The Huns are back, whether you like it or not, pleb.

shut the gently caress up

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permabanned
Aug 12, 2008

優しい野菜
Relevant for https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IadVYYuUSYEyour username

GenderSelectScreen
Mar 7, 2010

I DON'T KNOW EITHER DON'T ASK ME
College Slice
Make like your username and gently caress off plz

Applewhite
Aug 16, 2014

by vyelkin
Nap Ghost

SquadronROE posted:

You ever work in the medical retail field? Like a pharmacy?

Big surprise, my pharmacy story is also an "old people" story.
So I used to work behind the medicine counter at a Walgreens. Since I was the new guy there, it was my job to distribute the placebo medications (because they are basically impossible to mess up). Just about 49% of Americans are secretly on placebo meds. Doctors make a secret sign on their prescriptions that tells the pharmacy when a patient is supposed to receive a placebo instead of the real thing. The insurance companies are in on this and they make sure to charge you the same as if you were receiving the real drug so as not to break the illusion. They don't want to do this but they play ball with the medical establishment because your health comes first, and sometimes that means lying to your for your own good.

Anyway, one day an old man shuffles up to my counter and he's got a throbbing mass of black and purple flesh the size of a golf ball growing out of the side of his neck. It takes all my training not to gag when I look at him. This thing is oozing pus and stinks to high heaven and you can see the other customers waiting in line are very uncomfortable. He hands me his prescription slip and I'm shocked when I see that it has the secret sign!
I couldn't fathom what this guy's doctor was thinking! The fleshy mass was obviously real, something like that's not going to go away with the placebo effect. So, thinking I knew better than his doctor, I decided to cut the old guy a break and give him real pills instead of sugar ones.

Big mistake

The next week the guy comes back into the store and the thing on his neck is bigger than ever! The thing looks like something out of Akira. It's spread to cover most of the side of his face and left shoulder, and its throbbing tendrils extended down the collar of his shirt and shifted visibly beneath his clothes.
He shambles up to my window, (not even waiting his turn!) and starts chanting "One flesh! One flesh! One flesh!" While clawing ineffectually at the plastic divider with his withered hands.
I'm still trying to be polite and I say to him "excuse me, sir, but you have to wait your turn. These other people are ahead of you." and I call forward the woman who was supposed to go next.
Well, the old guy is having none of it. As soon as the lady steps up to the window, he lets out an unearthly scream and one of the steaming pustules on his tumor thing bursts open and sprays her down with slimy pus. The woman immediately starts screaming and I can see that the pus must be some kind of acid because her flesh is melting away and she is basically a screaming skeleton thrashing on the ground! The other customers start freaking out and running away meanwhile the old man is back to scratching at my window!
Worse still, all the commotion attracts my manager, and he's all "Applewhite, what's going on here?"
Confession time, I explain to him about how I gave the old man real meds instead of placebo ones. Of course he's furious and tells me I'm fired, but not before he makes me get the shotgun out of the back room and blast the old man's head off. I put some buckshot into the woman who got sprayed with acid, too, to put her out of her misery. My manager wasn't happy about me wasting ammo but I was already fired so there wasn't really anything more he could do to me.
They had to close the store and I got to spend the rest of the day mopping up pus and blood by myself. ICK!

Kitchner
Nov 9, 2012

IT CAN'T BE BARGAINED WITH.
IT CAN'T BE REASONED WITH.
IT DOESN'T FEEL PITY, OR REMORSE, OR FEAR.
AND IT ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT STOP, EVER, UNTIL YOU ADMIT YOU'RE WRONG ABOUT WARHAMMER
Clapping Larry

Applewhite posted:

I put some buckshot into the woman who got sprayed with acid, too, to put her out of her misery. My manager wasn't happy about me wasting ammo but I was already fired so there wasn't really anything more he could do to me.



But did her family write a letter to the company to tell them the great service that you offered their dying loved one? Did they gently caress. Typical.

Bippie Mishap
Oct 12, 2012


So and Anyway immediately discredit your story

we know you're lying

Kitchner
Nov 9, 2012

IT CAN'T BE BARGAINED WITH.
IT CAN'T BE REASONED WITH.
IT DOESN'T FEEL PITY, OR REMORSE, OR FEAR.
AND IT ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT STOP, EVER, UNTIL YOU ADMIT YOU'RE WRONG ABOUT WARHAMMER
Clapping Larry

Bippie Mishap posted:

So and Anyway immediately discredit your story

we know you're lying

How dare you accuse a goon of lying on the internet.

EngineerSean
Feb 9, 2004

by zen death robot
why didn't the doctor just prescribe the shotgun blast in the first place? I hate when HMOs delay care.

Applewhite
Aug 16, 2014

by vyelkin
Nap Ghost

EngineerSean posted:

why didn't the doctor just prescribe the shotgun blast in the first place? I hate when HMOs delay care.

It's all about money these days.

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Zorblack
Oct 8, 2008

And with strange aeons, even death may eat a burrito with goons.
Lipstick Apathy

Applewhite posted:

Working in the yarn store was pretty chill. We sold buttons and knitting needles and other yarn-related paraphernalia, but we didn't carry general craft stuff. Our regular clientele was a smal but loyal bunch and we got to know each of them pretty well, or at least learn each of their names.
Also, my boss at the yarn store was by far the coolest boss I ever had. He was a big, gentle giant of a man named Yarn Henry.
Yarn Henry was a wool knitting man. Seven feet tall he was, with arms like tree trunks. Skin as black as ebony and a deep laugh that seemed to rise straight up from his belly.
Owning and operating a yarn store had been his dream ever since he was a tyke, and he built his store with his own two hands. He loved the store like his own child, and his passion for yarn and knitting was infectious. In our time there all of us became avid knitters, though none of us could hold a candle to old Yarn Henry.
In a single afternoon, he could knit a sweater big enough for three men, and still have enough time left over to knit them each a scarf as well. It was the damndest thing I'd ever saw, and I wouldn't tell you about it unless I'd seen it with my own two eyes.
Yeah, it was a great job working at the yarn store, but all good things must come to an end...
One day, a slick talking city man showed up in town with a newfangled automatic knitting machine. Set himself up in the town square and boasted that his machine could out knit any man. To old Yarn Henry, that was like saying that you could build a machine that could fly like a bird, or sing like a chorus girl, or love like a beautiful woman. It couldn't be done!
Nope, Ol' Yarn Henry took this slick talker's words to be the gravest personal insult. He stepped forward and in a deep, booming voice declared "Ah reckon Ah could outknit your machine!"
The city man laughed and said "I reckon you're a drat fool, but if you want to try, just bring me some yarn and we'll see you eat those words!"
Yarn Henry got a fire in his eyes then. He sent us back to the shop, had us gather every scrap of yarn in the whole place and bring it back to the town square.
We divided the yarn up into two piles. Each one as big as a small hill. Great pains were taken that both piles contained exactly the same amount of yarn. Whichever contestant, man or machine, that knitted all his yarn into a scarf first would be declared the winner. The loser would leave town in shame.
Well, the city slicker pulled some levers and turned some knobs. His machine gave a great rattle and a hiss and drat if it didn't start spitting out a scarf lickety split!
But Yarn Henry wasn't bothered at all. He was knitting like the wind! His needles flashed so quick they were nothing but a blur, and yarn flew off the ball so quick I'd swear it was ready to catch fire!
Yarn Henry and the machine knitted all day long and into the night. We worked in shifts to make sure Henry always had a fresh ball by his side ready to grab when he needed. He'd worked up a fearsome sweat, and his fingers were worn and bloody from hours of intense knitting.
Meanwhile the city slicker just kept feeding yarn into the machine's tray as cool and calm as can be.
By dawn the next day, the two piles had shrunk down to the last few balls and, miraculously, Yarn Henry was ahead by a whole ball! The city feller was tuckered out from feeding yarn into his machine all night, and couldn't load them up as fast as he'd done when the contest started. We cheered and whooped because we all saw Yarn Henry was going to win!
Just as the city slicker was loading the last yarn ball into the hopper of his contraption, the mayor held up Yarn Henry's hand and gave out a great cry
"He's finished!"
Sadly, truer words were never spoken. Yarn Henry'd won the contest, he'd beat the machine, but he'd pushed himself too hard. Poor Yarn Henry was dead.
Well, you can bet the city slicker left town in a hurry. People weren't feeling too friendly toward him or his fancy machine after they'd seen what had happened to the great Wool Knitting man.
With no yarn in the store and the owner dead, we had to close the store, and I went to go work at Whole Foods.

It's this one. This is the best one. You have worked at some classy establishments, sir.

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