manyak posted:

me (trying to act intimidatintg ) what the gently caress? Dude did I just catch you takeing a peeak at my loving johnson dude? The gently caress (i walk over and try to get in your personal space, my dick is hanging out as i walk over) Are you loving gay dude? You thought i wouldnt notice, you peaking over here out of the corner of your eye, seeing the outline of my dick? (i raise my fist like im about to SOCK you) (one thumb comes out of the fist, making it a "thumbs up" ) Nice dude haha

SPACE HOMOS posted:

LOL Did you know that 1 out of 4 forums posters are raped and don't report it to the nearest moderator?

Tashan Dorrsett posted:

My sister's boyfriend used to have a golden retriever named tucker who would jump up on the table and beg for hits whenever we would spark up a blunt but he had cancer so it was ok.

Smythe posted:

Awww a bloo bloo blooo little baby doesnt like being marketed to? little baby doesnt like ebing the demographic? well heres a newsflash: thats what being a Gamer feels like. Everywhere I turn it s HEY! GAMer! heres SOME MT DEW! andim like PLEASE, leave me alone. then I turn around and ITS DORITOS!! Im screaming now and cradling my head THE MASTER CHIEF NEEDS YOU TO SAVE THE HALO!! gently caress OFF!!! GO AWAY!!! Being a Gamer is Hell.

The Golden Man posted:

Me, slowly opening the door to my dads den: dad I bought Japanese blue jeans again because of my anxiety
Dad: we hell the dowgs cuh fine her they got time time a wait fuh toma-how
My mom yelling from upstairs: tuh fine her tuh fine her tuh fine heheher

animal drums posted:

my parents: Mike we've pooled together the family's money to send you to an extremely gay and stupid school, but only on the condition that you promise to do this for real and make money

me: sure, thanks

- 3 years later-

my parents: congrats on your graduation son

me: ive learned that the extremely gay quaint profession i picked on purpose is actually useless and you can t make money doing it

my parents: im sick as gently caress right now, i cant breathe niggy

Super Waffle posted:

I thought the original quote was from WET BUTT?

Ozz81 posted:

Guessing a name change happened at some point

WET BUTT posted:

was i picked on in middle school? hmm let me think

* Weighed 750 pounds
* Parents were both Charles Manson (long story)
* Wore a bath robe to school every day
* Had the word "homo" instead of a mouth

whoflungpoop posted:

a redneck ISIS really

many johnnys posted:

Y'all Qaeda

Machai posted:

Dungbeetle, watching 2g1c: "Oh yeah!"

quote:

I came home this afternoon after picking up my copy of gta and I smelled something funny from my neighbors house. I went over there and the door was unlocked so I went right in. Sure enough there was my neighbor and two of his friends smoking to their hearts content. I told them they had two options, one- they could put the joints out or two- I would put the joints out for them. My neighbor had run ins with me before so he knew I meant business so he threw his joint down and told me to leave. I said you made a wise choice but I'm still calling the cops and then I turned to leave. My neighbor then got up off the couch got behind me and said a few cuss words and told me to mind my business. Well that did it. I turned around, took off my shades, looked him straight in the eye and said "lets get high". I then front kicked him a good 8 feet in the air. Then his other friend came at me with the bong, I grabbed his arm, snapped it and then hit him in the stomach with the bong. His other friend ran into the kitchen so I went after him. He was in the corner crying so I said "this is your brain" and then I grabbed a frying pan and said "this is your brain on drugs" and then I hit him in the head as hard as I could with the frying pan. After that I called the cops and they came over and arrested my neighbor and his friends. As I was leaving the sarge shouted out to me thanks. I turned around, took off my shades, looked him straight in the eye and said " well you know sarge, perhaps if we build a freaking dunkin doughnuts on this street it would give you guys a excuse to ride up here once or twice a week and keep the crime down. I then threw my shades on the ground to let him know I meant business. I feel pretty good about what I did for my neighborhood today. ~mjq jazz bar

quote:

Me and one of my friends went out today for some dinner so we stopped at a pretty nice restaurant. I don't smoke and most of the time I sit in the non smoking section but I didn't feel like walking to the back of the restaurant today so me and my friend sat at the first table we came to in the smoking section. Since most ppl should be aware that I don't smoke I didn't think I would have any problems. I was wrong. This jerk lit up a cigarette right next to me. I couldn't belive this fat jerk was disrepecting me like this so I turned around and looked him right in the eye and said " you might want to put that out fag..........That is,if you value your health". The guy said a couple of cuss words and told me to go to the non smoking section. Well that did it. I got up went over to the table and said "excuse me fag but you didn't clean your plate", and then I took his plate and bashed him over the head with it. Then his friend that was with him got up and took a swing at me, I ducked it and then gave him a swift round kick to the ribs. I then hip tossed him on the table and then I turned around and looked one of the waiters right in the eye and said "this orders to go" and then I tossed the table with the guy on it a good 14 feet across the room. As me and my friend were storming out the manager apologized to us but I told him it was too late as I would never eat there again. ~mjq jazz bar

quote:

So, I was at work yesterday, and I happened to walk by this guy's desk. I noticed on his computer screen that he had his personal E-mails pulled up. I asked him who he thought he was to do this on company time, and then, he told me that his daughter was sick at home, so he was checking up on her. I then punched his cimputer screen out, and Look him straight in the eye and said, " Who do you think I am? Jerry Lewis? I dont want to hear your sob story, so get back to work before I get you fired." He then said a few cusswords, and then, then He tried to punch me, I blocked it, then , I gave him a swift, round kick to the groin. I asked him if he wanted some more, and he came at me, again, so, I slapped him, then I hip tossed him into the nearest filing cabinent. I looked Over my should at anther worker who was standing near by, and I said...." File him under G..... for garbage." Needless to say, I was quite pleased, because now, that means there one less person in the company for people to look at. All eyes should be on me. I'm a stud. ~ mjq jazz bar

quote:

Well, I walk in to buy some tissues, and at the counter, I hear the manager talking about some skateboard punks in the back by the garbage bins. The guy said he was about to have to call the cops. I told him there's no need to, I'll take care of it myself. So, I walked to the back of the store, and lo and behold, a couple of good for nothings were tearing the place up. A couple of them asked me what I was doing here, so I took of my shades, looked them straight in eye, and said, " Well boys, I'm here to take out the trash, then I grabed one of their skateboards, and broke it over my knee. Then, one of them threw a punch at me. I caught it, and looked thr punk straight in the eye, and said " I'm afraid theres no need for you to be recycled, then I threw him straight over my head into one of the garbage dumpsters. Then, the rest of the kids ran away in fear. I was glad I could help my community, and look good doing it. ~mjq jazz bar

quote:

Around the corner from my weight training job they have a cafe where they make pretty good cheeseburgers. Usually I get mine with mushrooms and onions. Well today I went in there and there was this stoner bitch in there with enormous dreadlocks and a nose ring which is a violation of the safety code. I said 'Where is the regular chef' and she said 'I don't know' very rudely to me and that's when I noticed she had not sauteed up any onions for my burger. I said "you need to learn some customer service" and then she said some cuss words to me and told me maybe I should go to Burger King. But I like to support local businesses so I looked her straight in the eye and said "the customer is always right" and grabbed her by the dreads and slammed her face onto the skillet. She screamed and then the manager came running at me with a chopping knife so I looked him straight in the eye and said "chop this" and karate chopped his wrist and broke it immediately. I picked the girl up off of the floor and said "you are what you eat" and poured the boiling grease off of the fryer into her mouth. I was glad that I could set an example of what a good citizen should do in this situation, and everyone in the cafe applauded me. ~mjq jazz bar

quote:

Me and my friend went to fill up my corvette last night and there were these two punks there sitting on the sidewalk of the gas station with their radio blasting. I was trying to think as I pumped gas but their radio made that hard to do. I was not pleased. So I went in and payed for the gas and then I went up to the two punks outside. I said excuse me but I think you need to turn your radio down. They told me to chill, they were just hanging out and having a few smokes. I then looked them in the eye and said " I'm afraid this is the no smoking section boys" and then I kicked their radio up against the side of the gas station. Then one of them stood up and took a swing at me, I ducked it and then gave him a round kick to the stomach. Then the other one took what was left of the radio and threw it at me, I blocked it with my left hand which caused it to go sailing back and knock him out. Then a middle aged man which looked to be in his 50's came up and asked what was going on. I wasn't sure if he was with me or against me so I assumed he was against me, I then gave him a swift front kick to the groin and hip tossed him on top of the other guys there. I then walked back to my car where my friend just stood there in awe, I asked him why he didn't help me and he said it looked like I had things under control. I slapped him and pushed him to the ground and told him to walk home. I then got in my corvette turned up the radio to full blast and much to my suprise welcome to the jungle was playing. I then sped off with that song playing full blast. I felt pretty good about standing up for my rights and I looked good doing it. ~mjq jazz bar

quote:

It was a nice day today so I went for a walk out side. As I was walking, I heard somebody crying out in pain so I went to investigate, when I turned the corner I saw a kid that had fallen off his bike and he was grabbing his leg and crying. There was this guy already there and he told me that he was a doctor and he thought this kid had a broken leg. I could tell this guy was lying because he didn't have any white coat, I don't like liars so I pushed him out of the way. My training in medical school showed me that I had to get the kid's leg straight again, so I started pounding his knee to get the bone straight again. Thats when the guy that claimed to be a "doctor" called me a moron and pushed me out of the way. Well that did it. I got up, took my shades off, looked him straight in the eye and said " open wide doc" and then I gave him a swift kick to the mouth. I then grabbed him and said "time to make a house call " and then I threw him through a window of a near by house. The kid stopped crying then, I guess my pounding earlier worked. I told the kid not to thank me but I did need 20 dollars for my time. He only had 14 so I took his bike as well. I feel pretty good about fixing the kid's leg. ~mjw jazz bar

quote:

So I was sitting in the back corner of eat ‘n park a restaurant in the northeastern region and I hear this group of punk kids terrorizing their waitress, and I stumble over there and ask the beautiful lady what the problem seems to be. The kids being the adept punks they are give her a glare that tells her not to talk or else therell be problems but I know better than this and I tell them that if they don’t apologize to this beautiful belle theyre going to have to answer to me. I pull my shades out of my back pocket, slip a comb through my wet hair, and tell them they have 10 seconds to apologize. The leader of the gang a chubby kid tells me to get loss and then throws the peg game on his table at my face. “I pegged you as the wise sort, and I don’t play games!” says I, and I grab a tonfa from the cop sitting at the table next to them and tell them today’s special, punks served sunny side up, with a side of hollandaise. I crack the tonfa over two punk heads, do a roundkick, and then hiptoss the runt of the crew into the pie fridge. “Creamed or Key Limed? ” I ask the cop as he slips me a fiver and gives me a back high five. He tells me Ive done a good job as a citizen, and I kiss the beautiful waitress on the cheek, run my comb through my hair once more and leave the restaurant on my harley. ~mjq jazz bar

quote:

I was in town with one of my girlfriends today, and I decided to play one of those scratch off games again, I was very suprised when I won 1 million dollars on the spot, this was like the second time I won the lottery. I was about to claim my prize but then I thought to myself I'm already rich why not have some fun with this one? I told my girlfriend I was tired of her already so I left her at the gas station and went to find me some poor suckers. What better place than wal mart? I went up and down the asles until I found a bad dressed man and wife along with their kid. I went up to the guy and showed the guy the ticket, and told him since I didnt need the money I was going to give it to him and his family, when he started to tear up I tore up the ticket and threw the pieces on the ground. I then started to walk away but this spinless punk then took a swing at me when my back was turned. That did it. I turned around, took off my shades, looked him straight in the eye and said "feeling lucky". I then gave him a swift kick in the ribs and threw him into the pet section, I then caught a wal mart guy coming at me so I took a knife out of my jacket and threw it toward a chain holding up a sign, I then looked at the guy and said "watch out for falling prices" and then the sign fell on him and knocked him out. I left the store but not before I complained to the manager about the kind of people they let in there. ~mjq jazz bar

quote:

So, I bought a couple of dvds off some web site a few weeks ago and I was pretty upset they haven't come in the mail already. So today I stuck around the house until the mailman came, he brought me a package but it wasn't the dvds I was waiting for. I asked him what the problem was and he told me that he had no control over when the company sends me the dvds. He said I should try to contact them. That did it. I couldn't belive this guy, I pay my taxes and this guy thinks he has the right to sass me in front of my euro mansion, in my freaking driveway? I lifted up my shades, took the cigar out of my mouth, looked him straight in the eye and said " I'm afraid this package is marked return to sender", and then I threw the package in the air and sidekicked the package right into the guys face causing teeth to go everywhere. I then saw one of my ederly neighbors walking toward me so I assumed he wanted trouble as well so I gave him a swift round kick to the ribs, I then looked at him and said "time to take out the garbage" and hip tossed him into the garbage can. I then picked up the crying mailman and threw him into the garbage can, after I had my "garbage collected", I picked up the garbage can and said "let the good times roll" and threw the garbage can down the hill. I didn't see those two guys again but I don't really care, I took the mailbag and threw it in my fireplace since it was a little chilly here today.

whoflungpoop posted:

My grandparents had a trunk full of the letters they exchanged while my grandfather was fighting in north africa and sicily in WWII.

My grandma wrote him about how my aunt had started walking and later the first words she spoke, about how she was working as a seamstress to bring in extra money, about the trades she made with various neighbors to make the rations go further, about how his mother was doing. My grandpa wrote her asking for more pictures of my aunt, about some of the guys in his unit, how the british officers at the camp they traveled to actually had a kitchen and hot food and how he had eaten roast and potatoes on a real plate with real silverware at a real table and how happy it made him to have a real meal after so many months of rations, about how much he missed her.

The letters to him were partially waterlogged and torn from being carried around two continents; the letters to her sometimes had parts literally cut out where he might have mentioned a location or something else the army censor wanted removed. They're amazing and they make me so proud of my grandparents, of the hardships they endured and the love and partnership they maintained across half a war-torn planet.

Your grandchildren will find a thumb drive full of forums posts of their grandparents insulting a retarded man.

Quixotic posted:

"feminism?!" newsmonster kramers in the door and just keeps kramering, sliding off around the room, bouncing against walls. he kramers against your toilet, busting it up big time. you get the feeling he's trying to say something to you but he's kramering at such a high velocity you just can't quite make it out. as he finally nails a window and falls out you think you hear him exclaim "I'm a feminist, that's what's so CRAZY about this" on the way down

quote:

Why all the Golden Corral hate? Golden Corral is honestly better than a loving movie.

I have a friend named Bruce. Bruce looks to be some kind of honest-to-God pirate at first glance, and I mean Captain Jack Sparrow's crew pirate, and the ornery, mean old loving pirate you'd never, ever want to mess with because he'd bite your God-damned nose off and eat it. He's also wildly into K-pop, choreographs his own dance routines to it, and in the last year or two has started just basically eating like a Korean, which apparently means shitloads of vegetables and cabbage. Anyway, Bruce goes to Golden Corral like 2x a week, which I thought was kind of strange due to his new health kick, so finally I asked him about it.

"Dude," he said. "Golden Corral has a shitload of vegetables, and their cabbage is great. But you're missing the point. You don't go to Golden Corral just for the food, JS. It's loving dinner theater."

And you know what? He's right. For $12 you can sit and watch some of the most hilarious, downright hellishly gluttonous behavior you will see outside the Plane of Fat in the Demonic Abyss. I went with him one time and laughed so hard at some of the poo poo on display that now I go with him about once a month, get a big plate of steak and another big plate of salad, stake out a spot where you can see most of the buffets (and oh for loving sure the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL) and just observe the kind of unbelievably self-indulgent (and self-destructive) poo poo that would make a European or Southeast Asian's person head explode off their shoulders in horror and make someone with a "sick sad world" sense of humor laugh their rear end off.

Someone, say, like me.

For example, the very first time I went with Bruce I was witness to "the recon." This is a real thing, and what I am about to describe is not an isolated incident, no sirree. Humongously fat people will literally go scout the buffet. Now, I think we all do this to some extent at a buffet, in the "Hmm, what do they have to eat here?" glance-while-walking-to-the-table sense, but this is done with military precision, people. I've watched with my own eyes three people, all of whom were 300 lbs+, meet briefly and talk, then split up and go to the buffets, carefully eyeballing each selection, lips moving, fingers pointing, as if cataloging the unearthly delights that await them, then loving meeting back up in the same place to discuss what they saw and plan an attack. I'm serious. They were like 10 feet away.

"Guys it looks like the fried chicken tonight is coming out pretty fast, pretty sure that stuff's going to be good, but the rotisserie is just kind of hanging out. Pulled pork was kind of crusty but I think if we dug down a bit there's good stuff there. There was a bit of a crust on the edge of the brown gravy and someone dropped some loving broccoli in it but the white gravy's looking fine. Outside of that, hot bar A looks good. And of course the bourbon chicken looks good as always."

"Fantastic. Well, the guy cooking the steaks told me they are busting open a new box in about 20 minutes, so we should probably lay off that until then. I noticed there was a lot of bacon in the green beans right now so that should probably be one of our first stops. The mac and cheese tonight also looks loving delicious, it's got a nice crust unlike that bullshit last week when it was practically yellow water, so we need to move on that. It looks like they recently changed out the taco stuff, especially the nacho cheese, it looks brand new, so, take that for what it's worth."

"Well I've got bad news guys, from what I could see it looks like tonight's a no chocolate cake night, they only have that loving one that has those fake cherries on top, and we all know how that fucks things up."

>groans all around<

"But it's not that big a deal because they just put out rice krispies with chocolate coating and the girl said they've got tons of them. They've also got those sugar cookies and some fudge brownies that look all right, and all the other pie poo poo they usually have."

"OK, so green beans, fried chicken, the mac and cheese, the white gravy, those are tonight's superstars. Let's go."

I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. I expected a loving Wonder Twin powers-esque ring bump at this point, but instead they just all fled to a plate dispenser and began loading the gently caress out of their plates. It really reminds me of nothing so much as when people like, discuss what's going on with their favorite sports teams. Except with food.

This is also when I first experienced the phenomenon of the "multiplate."

Now, your average person will take a plate to the buffet, fill it with food, and go back to their table and eat. But, you see, that person understands that when they are done eating, if they want more, there will be more food available at that time. But the multiplater wants to hedge its bets. What if, between that first and second trip to the buffet, the restaurant suddenly ran completely the gently caress out of food? Like, not even mints by the cash register or gum in the quarter machines? WHAT THEN? Your deliciousness per second (DPS... sorry) will go down!

It doesn't bear thinking about. Now it's unlikely, gentlemen, but not impossible, so as we are smart consumers, we're going to guard against the possibility. So let's each go get three complete plates of food and come back to the table.

Now I'm not talking a meal plate and a salad plate, as I mentioned before I myself do that every time I go to watch this... whatever the gently caress it is, Theater of the Grotesque, I guess. But just imagine for a moment going up to the buffet and getting a plate loaded down with actual loving rib-sticking food. 3-4 chicken wings and legs, a big-rear end helping of mac and cheese, some mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, two corns on the cob, and a yeast roll or two, then taking it back to your table. Time to eat, right? WRONG. DIPSHIT. WHAT IF THEY RUN OUT OF FOOD WHILE YOU ARE EATING YOU GOD-DAMNED NINNY? WHAT ABOUT YOUR DPS?

So you just set this completely full plate down and go get another one, and again you just completely fill the gently caress out of it with food. A couple of steaks, a pile of pulled pork, a rice mountain topped with sugary chicken (MOUNT BOURBON), and a couple of smoked sausages with nacho cheese on them, then you take that back to your table.

You now have enough food at your table, JUST ON YOUR PLATES, to feed an entire platoon of ten year-olds who have been playing all day. Time to sit down and pig the gently caress out. WRONG. DIPSHIT. WHAT IF THEY RUN OUT OF FOOD NOW? YOU'VE ONLY GOT LITERALLY TEN OR FIFTEEN THOUSAND CALORIES ON YOUR PLATE, YOU'RE PRACTICALLY GOING TO STARVE TO DEATH. IF YOU DON'T KEEP YOUR DPS UP WE'LL HAVE TO KICK YOU OUT OF THE GUILD DUDE.

So again you set your second completely full plate down and go back AGAIN. I dunno what the gently caress you get this time, since you already have basically everything they serve, but on one multiplate I watched a dude walk(?) to the salad bar and create the following salad:

1 giant ladle of blue cheese dressing directly onto the plate
Multiple giant scoops of shredded cheese on top of this
Multiple giant scoops of those weird ham cube-bits on top of this
Multiple giant scoops of bacon bits on top of this
Multiple giant scoops of boiled egg crumbles on top of this
An enormous pile of croutons
A giant scoop of mushrooms (I think this "made it healthy" because mushrooms are like a fish or something and fish is negative calorie superfood?)
2 giant ladles of blue cheese dressing on top

Just think about that for a loving minute. OK, frankly, it sounds pretty delicious, but holy poo poo how horrid does something like that have to be for you? Imagine trying to poo poo that out a few hours down the line. But now you have your third plate, and so now you can at least quiet the yammering fear that you won't get to eat everything in the entire God-damned place before it closes down for the night, and at last you can finally start to eat.

Again, this is not fantasy. I've watched this multiple times. I've seen a woman so fat she had to use a walker to move sit by herself at a 4-person table and completely cover the surface of it with plates of food before she started eating, and she cleaned every last one of them. It has the same uneasy, somehow alien fascination of seeing a car wreck, or a really hosed-up porn where the chick is wearing spider prosthetics and hissing all the loving time. You're like, am I really supposed to be entertained by this? I kind of feel bad, and sort of weird, but... I mean, just loving look at it. It's brutal, unchained nihilism unfettered from any concept of moderation or shame or self-preservation and frankly it's kind of fascinating watching someone deliberately say "gently caress any sort of a comfortable life, WHERE IS THE THOUSAND ISLAND CONTAINER?"

So what I'm trying to say is, Golden Corral really is cheap dinner theater, and believe it or not you can actually eat there without consuming ten thousand+ calories if you just eat a steak strip or two and some salad or potatoes or something.

Oh, and did I mention the Chocolate Wonderfall? Well, frankly, if you dare to use that loving thing I salute you, because it wouldn't surprise me to find a live octopus in it. This is already too long for a dumb post about obsessive fatties at Golden Corral, but if I get a chance later I might type up some of the poo poo I've seen people do with that thing.

BTW as a disclaimer I'm a 220-lb dude (6'2" though so I don't look too monstrous) who has spent his whole life losing and then gaining weight. I know it's extremely tough to do, and it's REALLY tough to keep doing and maintain it, but there's a big difference between "I'm overweight, try my best, run 4 times a week, and occasionally overindulge in an entire tub of scoop n' eat cheesecake filling" and sticking your face to the loving ears into the Chocolate Wonderfall and sucking like Cygnus X-1 till security gets there with the the bullropes.

I hope someone liked reading that as much as I liked writing it.

quote:

OK, so, as promised, the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL.

That's right, a non-stop flowing river of chocolate decadence.
That's right, a non-stop flowing river of chocolate decadence.

What a loving weird commercial. Also note the comments on that video. User 'goldencorral' doing damage control, y'all.

"I SAW A CHILD BLOW A RIVER OF SNOT INTO THE CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL."
"Really sorry to hear that! Could you give me some follow-up info?"

I have no idea how it's legal to have this thing. At first glance it's like, "Yeah, that's kind of cool, looks tasty," but then on further reflection you begin to think of terms like "vector" and "transmission" and "patient zero" and start to reconsider. They don't let restaurants serve food "family style" (big bowls and serving spoons in a common dish on the table) and this seems like family style on steroids. I dunno.

Bruce told me about the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL one night on the way to GC. "Dude, they have like this chocolate river thing now, you'll see."

"Is it good?"

"No, dude. No. Just watch."

Now, they have a person who stands in the dessert section who is supposed to, I guess, guard the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL? But they are not always there, and occasionally disappear into the back of the restaurant to do whatever it is that is done back there. This is as effective as any guard who is randomly gone. But in case user 'goldencorral' is in this thread, I will say that every gross/unsanitary thing I've seen regarding the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL has taken place when this person, who I will call Deputy Sweeto, was gone.

Now, if you watched that commercial, you saw the way people are actually supposed to engage with the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL. Take a piece of something that would be good with chocolate, stick it on a skewer, stick it under the chocolate, you are done. Put it on a plate so it doesn't drop all over the place, go back to your seat, eat, enjoy, go home. Fifty return trips to the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL optional, but necessary.

So here are some things I've seen people do with the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL. Note that the real threat to the integrity of the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL is not adults, who although they may do disgusting and unhealthy things to it (such as using, say, actual loving fudge as the material to be chocolate-covered) most of them are conscientious enough to not be unsanitary.

Oh, but unattended children, they Do. Not. Give. A. gently caress. And believe me, at GC there's going to be some unattended children, because mommy and daddy are trying to get their DPS up people, and paying attention to their precious living things might result in someone else getting more of the mac and cheese crust covering by delaying their second multiplate.

Chocolate chicken leg: This is what I saw the first time I went there and just before the only time I contemplated chocolating something up. Just as I was about to get up, I watched a little kid, probably about 6-7 years old, walk up to the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL and stick a fried chicken leg in it.

Now, frankly, this is loving hilarious. Just really think for a minute about seeing this, the little dude just staggering over to the chocolate and plunging a fried chicken leg into it. There's no question at this point that little bits of fried batter are getting knocked off by the power of the WONDERFALL and merging with the chocolate, and I know there's nothing I'd like better on a strawberry than some soggy, chocolate-infused fried chicken coating. So already Bruce and I are laughing so loving hard we're practically injuring ourselves, but this gets better. After thoroughly chocolating this chicken leg, the kid yanks it out from under the WONDERFALL, makes no attempt to put a plate under it or anything, and turns and walks away from the thing, trailing the chicken leg at his side like a caveman's club.

Well, it is dripping chocolate. Not a lot, but some, and no one is paying attention to it, so people are walking through this liquid chocolate and just smearing it all over the place and making a hellish, God-awful mess. Admittedly, it's just around that dessert section, which is tile, but still. Little dude walks back to his table, looks at the chicken leg with some consternation, and then just throws it under the table on the floor.

Makeshift Mole: Man, chicken mole is loving delicious, and it's basically what I order at every Mexican restaurant who serves it. For those who don't know, mole is kind of like a spicy sauce that often incorporates chocolate or cocoa and, for emphasis, is loving delicious. But it tastes nothing like chocolate, it's mainly peppery spicy with just a hint of the sweet-bitterness of chocolate.

gently caress me, now I want some mole. Anyway, I've seen a dude take a plate of bourbon chicken (which, to the uninitiated, is basically chicken bits in a brown fructose sauce... but okay, it's delicious too), walk over to the CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL, and use a spoon to completely cover his already-soaked-in-loving-sugary-solution chicken pieces in milk chocolate. Ol' Deputy Sweeto was there for this one, but didn't say anything because, well, what the guy was doing wasn't unsanitary or harming the fountain or anything, it was just, you know, gross beyond belief at the cellular level. As he walked away Deputy Sweeto caught me staring. We locked eyes across the restaurant, shared a brief look of "What have we seen? Others have not...", and then went about our normal business, strangers connected by a shared glimpse into the Maw of Chicken Madness.

Dude took his chocolate bourbon chicken over to the buffet, put a little rice on the side, and went and ate the whole loving thing. Frankly I was tempted to go get a chunk or two of bourbon chicken and do the same thing myself just to see what the gently caress that could possibly taste like and why someone would eat a plate of it, but then I realized that I will at some point want to look at myself in the mirror and feel proud of my life as a human being and so I didn't.

CHOCOLATE WONDERSPRAY: Occasionally you will get someone who is not satisfied with a single layer of chocolate on their treat, and they will stand for a moment and let the chocolate on their tastybit harden a smidge and put some more chocolate on it. OK so by occasionally I mean "almost everyone does this." I don't consider this horrid gluttony unless you're up there for loving five minutes and walk away with a chocolate baseball on a stick (but yes, I've seen people stand up there and do that for literally five minutes before, I think they are mainly just trying to drip as much chocolate as possible onto the plate they hold beneath it, "Whoops, now I guess I have to eat all this too, mustn't waste!"). But this little girl takes the cake for that poo poo. If standing there and maybe gently blowing on your chocolate-covered tastybit allows more chocolate, then you know what would be better?

Blow on it like you're Superman putting out the loving Towering Inferno, that's what!

The little girl dunks her krispie, pulls it out, and proceeds to blow on it like Superman put- you get it. Well, this results in little chocolate drops being blown all over the loving place. The sheer violence of the blowing is also denuding her little treat of chocolate, so she sticks it in again and does the same thing, with the same results. So again. And again. At this point the area near her is beginning to resemble something that has seen the touch of several shotgun shells full of chocolate birdshot. At last her mother saw what she was doing and came and got her, and then, in an unusual and heartening twist, called for Deputy Sweeto and tried to help clean up. Your average mom at GC would have grabbed her child, looked around anxiously, and then slunk away. So high five, moral and responsible mom!

What the gently caress are you doing OH NAW DUDE DUDE NAW CHRIST: Short and sweet and horrible as a baboon loving a human baby. Man gets soup bowl. Man walks to CHOCOLATE WONDERFALL, fills soup bowl 3/4 full. Puts rice krispie on top. Walks back to table, crushes rice krispie with spoon, begins eating pure liquid chocolate with minor crunchy bits. JS loses faith in the future of the world.

quote:

So. Babies at Golden Corral.

First, let's just state that I love babies. They are nature's little Jokers, agents of chaos who just do not give a gently caress. About anything. They don't give a gently caress about your rules, your controls, your social mores, or your laws. They will poo poo on the floor like it's nothing. They are gonna do what they want, and when they find something they like to do they are going to do it, and they will do it as long as possible and the longer they do it the faster they will do it and the harder they will laugh. Seriously, they are about the best free entertainment in the world.

Literally the funniest thing in the world to me is to be in a crowded public place and have a baby start doing that kind of crying where they are just screaming at the top of their loving lungs with tears running down their faces, occasionally pausing and falling almost completely silent to gulp in another big lungful of air before going back to 180 decibels while the parent looks around frantically and begs them to stop. I mean, seriously, that's the funniest poo poo in the world. Bonus points if this happens at Golden Corral and Trailer Park Romeo & Juliet (see below) look at the shrieking, obviously infuriated child, shrug like, "Zis my porblem? Sheeeit izza baby, he's justa cryn," before going back to DPSing as hard as possible. Holy poo poo I'm seriously LMAO right now just thinking about it.

Now, I am a childless man. There is a really good reason for this, which is that I am a selfish rear end in a top hat who can't comprehend not being able to wake up and just do whatever I want all day without being burdened by another living thing's requirements. poo poo, I can barely take care of my snapping turtle, who only requires some sort of flesh be tossed in his tank every week or so.

FLESH. And maybe some attention. *sniffle*

But that said, even I understand at the atomic level that when you actually do have a child, that child must take precedent over absolutely everything else in your entire life including anything you may have wanted. You have to nurture it, guide it, protect it, take care of it, watch over it, and teach it how to be a good person who will contribute to society.

Unless you take it to Golden Corral. At this point, a magical alchemy occurs and you no longer have any responsibility for your baby, and you should just let it run free and learn on its own things like "steam tables are hot" and "a handful of ranch dressing feels funny."

You see a lot of kids at Golden Corral, sticking chicken legs in CHOCOLATE WONDERFALLS and things, and you do see a lot of babies also. Now when I say baby, I basically mean a being anywhere from womb-age to young enough it can barely walk unassisted and does that terrifying hard-lean-forward baby stagger while you cringe and simultaneously fear/long for the inevitable faceplant. Young enough to still have to stick in a highchair, basically.

Quite a few couples with kids you will see at Golden Corral fit the stereotype I think of as "Trailer Park Romeo and Juliet." This means:

1 partner very large, usually extremely disheveled, with a wild eye and an aggressive demeanor who speaks very loudly and has no problem yelling threats of physical violence to either partner or child, like "IMMA FUCKIN BEAT YOU" at full volume in the midst of a crowded restaurant. If this partner is the female they will always, always have at least one large facial mole with multiple black bristles sticking from it.

1 partner whisper thin, hellishly passive, instinctively flinching, watery-eyed, with a sick smile and a completely whipped and beaten-down aura coming off them in discernible waves. If this partner is the male they will always, always be sporting a disgusting pubestache with three very prominent hairs longer than the surrounding pubes which have obviously been cultivated with love and pride.

People say stereotypes are the language of hate, but they become stereotypes by being repeatedly true over centuries.

So anyway, these are the kind of people who will trail 3-4 kids from ages 1-6 into a Wal-mart and turn to the 6 year-old and say things like, "NOW LITTLE BECKY YOU WATCH YER SISTERS OK" and then walk off to the bathroom and leave them alone, or think nothing of knocking a kid to the floor when the least bit irritated.

To put it more plainly, abominable genetic misfit monsters who should never have been allowed to breed and shouldn't be entrusted with the welfare of this loving thing, much less a precious human child. Oh, but they have them, and by the bucketload, and then they take them... to Golden Corral.

Oh and before I say anything else YES, I know what I am about to describe sucks rear end for the server. I'm well aware of this. I tip extremely well when I go to any place like this because I know the poor people working there aren't making dick and are specifically having to deal with poo poo like this, so rage against that machine somewhere else.

NACHO NINO: So, as stated, I don't have a baby. But if I did, and I took the baby to Golden Corral, I know exactly the steps I would take. Here they are, in order:

Put infant in high chair.
Go get food when infant is safe.
Bring infant back some small piece of appropriate food they can gnaw on, if they are old enough to do so.
Occasionally feed infant small safe bits of food off my own plate.

Goon parents, is this reasonable? I hope so. Here is what I would not do:

Get infant a plate completely full of nacho cheese sauce and top with some chips.
Place on highchair tray in front of infant.
Ignore infant as it goes buck loving "samurai wild" on the incredibly inappropriate thing before it.

So, you know how when a baby does something it thinks is amusing, like, say, lightly slaps a stuffed animal and you go, "Ow!" and it laughs? What happens next? Well, the baby is amused, and it wants more amusement, so it will slap the stuffed animal again. Harder. And faster. If it continues to be amused, it will continue to do this. Harder. And faster. Again. And again. Until it's a little sped-up blur of slapping and hysterical giggling. It's practically a law of nature, you could probably make an equation for it.

(Baby amusement) = (Force of strikes)(Speed of strikes)

Something like that. Note that term A only gets bigger if terms B and C constantly increase, and term A must increase because FUN FOR THE FUN GOD! So, now, imagine putting a full plate of viscous canned cheddar sauce before a baby. What the gently caress do you think is going to happen?

Well, you can guess. Baby stuck its hands in the cheese, sucked some cheese off its hands, and eventually came to the realization that by sort of hitting the cheese, it could cause an amusing pattern/feeling/spatter. The baby looked at his own cheese-laden hand, fascinated, and then he laughed.

That laugh was the key. The equation had begun. There was no stopping it now. Across the room, I nudged Bruce. "poo poo's about to get real, bro." He looked up from his mountain of cabbage and roots and other leafy poo poo and saw where I was looking.

"Oh gently caress yes, they gave it nacho cheese, how God-damned dumb are they? JS they gave it a whole plate!" This said in the same tones you'd use to say something like, "It is El Dorado, a whole city made of solid gold!" Man I love that guy, he's awesome.

Now that first baby cheese-slap was just an experiment. We've all seen it, and you all know exactly what I mean. "What is this? What does it feel like? How does it respond to my power?" But once baby has figured out that A)cheese isn't fighting back and B)hey that felt funny and C)things around me turn orange! there was no turning back.

"I am Golden Corral's reckoning. Here to end the borrowed time you've all been living on."

A second slap landed in the plate of nacho cheese. Significantly harder. Significantly more cheese went flying. Already at this point Bruce and I are laughing our asses off, because just these two slaps by themselves have made a hellish mess, baby is covered in cheese, cheese is everywhere, mom and dad are DPSing and so don't have time to pay attention to their precious child, and you can just see where this is going already. See this in your mind, friends, the child's arm speeding up, harder and faster each time, the child giggling, its arm turning into a little pinwheel of destruction.

>SLAP<
Cheese flies.
>SLAP<
Cheese flies.
>SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP<
loving CHEDDARCAUST

There's loving cheese everywhere. The kid looks like they took a nacho shower, there's cheese in his loving hair, and I'm not talking an isolated drop of cheese, no sir, I'm talking "gently caress it shave the baby, there's no way we're getting this out" cheese-in-hair. The area on the floor around baby's highchair looks like someone murdered a Taco Bell with a power drill.

Mom and dad don't give a gently caress. "CURRR-TIS!" mom says, affectionate and exasperated. "Why'd you do that?"

Uh, maybe it's because you gave something without the current capacity for rational thought the equivalent of a food WMD, lady, just guessing. So after seeing the ELE-level mess her kid had made, Momma Fats just moves the cratered nacho plate away (which she ended up eating, a common enough fat person justification, "Oh honey do YOU want a giant plate of food you can't possibly eat OH I GUESS I WILL HAVE TO FINISH THAT FOR YOU CAN'T WASTE") and handed the kid a loving chicken nugget.

This mess was so awesome that the server for that section literally called over multiple other servers to see it.

poo poo this was a lot longer than I planned it to be, and believe it or not, I have to "watch" my 7 year-old nephew now, which means I am going to take him to a McDonald's with a ball pit and get some work done while he and a bunch of other kids concoct fantastic adventures that revolved around man-sized plastic tubes. Later tonight I'll type up another baby story, let's call it "Food as Toys."

quote:

This morning I was awoken by my alarm clock powered by electricity generated by the public power monopoly regulated by the US department of energy. I then took a shower in the clean water provided by the municipal water utility. After that, I turned on the TV to one of the FCC regulated channels to see what the national weather service of the national oceanographic and atmospheric administration determined the weather was going to be like using satellites designed, built, and launched by the national aeronautics and space administration. I watched this while eating my breakfast of US department of agriculture inspected food and taking the drugs which have been determined as safe by the food and drug administration.

At the appropriate time as regulated by the US congress and kept accurate by the national institute of standards and technology and the US naval observatory, I get into my national highway traffic safety administration approved automobile and set out to work on the roads build by the local, state, and federal departments of transportation, possibly stopping to purchase additional fuel of a quality level determined by the environmental protection agency, using legal tender issued by the federal reserve bank. On the way out the door I deposit any mail I have to be sent out via the US postal service and drop the kids off at the public school.

After spending another day not being maimed or killed at work thanks to the workplace regulations imposed by the department of labor and the occupational safety and health administration, enjoying another two meals which again do not kill me because of the USDA, I drive my NHTSA car back home on the DOT roads, to my house which has not burned down in my absence because of the state and local building codes and fire marshal’s inspection, and which has not been plundered of all its valuables thanks to the local police department.

I then log on to the internet which was developed by the defense advanced research projects administration and post on freerepublic.com and fox news forums about how SOCIALISM in medicine is BAD because the government can’t do anything right.

Triticum Guzzler posted:

its really amazing how the actions of goons and mods are so freaking far beyond the pale that its actually impossible for a bystander to believe.

proposal: i am going to make an environmentally sustainable yoga retreat in hawaii

reality: a y2k survivalist paid goons a "food stipend" to help me clearcut a rainforest, dig a road by hand, torture and mutilate animals to death on camera, and bathe in/drink from an improperly filtered kiddy pool that wild hogs poo poo and pissed in

proposal: i am going to make a fun zipline for kids at camp

reality: a goon spent tens of thousands of dollars constructing a machine that kills children, entirely by accident

proposal: a fad diet thread in the exercise forum

reality: a mentally ill man resembling a melted candle, the pied piper of ham joints, told people that eating nothing but eggs and bacon and lard in paint buckets (they were literally buying and eating buckets full of lard in the name of good health) would not only make them lose weight, but was so healthy it would cure heart disease and cancer. an enormous fat powerlifter who cant run for 20 seconds probated and banned anyone who challenged this wisdom until it lead to a man barely in his 20s being prescribed statins.

proposal: a thread about animal husbandry in the pet forum

reality: a moderator unrepentantly killed animals with ac/dc hadoukens and probated people who asked questions

proposal: a forum for "responsible drug users" and "harm reduction"

reality: a man falls through the earth and into parisian catacombs. taking a torch from the wall he spies row upon row of skeletons. grasping the nearest by the shoulders, he shakes it madly, yelling "my nigga have u tried lsd"

Your Gay Uncle posted:

Once when I was around 8 or 9 I was hanging out with my cousin at a park. We went back to his place and smelled something terrible. We tracked the smell down to his room and found that his beloved Guinea Pig Marbles had died. We were both very sad and decided he should be cremated like they had done with Grandpa. That way we could could save his ashes in a Batman cup and leave them on the mantle.

So we collected his remains and some lighter fluid and headed down to the public bbq to burn Marble's body like the heathen kings of old. What we didn't know was that you had to stick a corpse in an insanely hot oven to reduce it to ash. We thought you just had to light it on fire and let the natured take care of the rest. So we dumped Marbles in the bbq, soaked it in lighter fluid and lit it on fire. his hair sizzled, his toenails caught on fire but he went out pretty quick. We resoaked his half charred, toenailless corpse again and relit it.

I don't know if you have ever smell burning Guinea hair and melting flesh, but it isn't pleasant. His hair was now fully burned off and his skin was blistering, but still no ashes. At this point we were starting to gather some attention from other people at the park. We panicked and thought they would call the cops and arrest us for improper animal corpse handling and sent to to Juvie. We patted Marble's corpse out, ran to the public restroom and tried to flush it down the toilet.

It didn't go great. Marbles swirled around the bottom of the toilet like the way Curly would twirl around the flooring yelling " woob woob woob woob woob", but he didn't flush. We tried again but nothing happened. Panicking even more, we stuffed him down the toilet and flushed again. His corpse got sucked halfway down , then the toilet started to back up and overflow. Panicked completely took over at this point and we left Marbles stuck in the toilet and ran back to my cousin's house, dug a hole in the garden, buried an empty shoebox and told everyone that's where Marbles was buried.

I've always wondered what the next person to use that restroom thought when they found a half roasted guinea pig corpse sticking out of the toilet like some kind of Skeksi puppet.

Hogge Wild posted:

PCOS Bill posted:

Why would anyone jizz on haggis

titties posted:

they needed to get in them guts

adaptive systems posted:

My father’s mother recently died, in her late nineties, after two solid decades of fervent, daily, devoutly Catholic prayer for release from her increasingly humiliatingly decrepit body. I remember sitting with her in the dead of winter, in a lovely seafood restaurant, a few miles from the Atlantic. It wasn’t too long before her mind went, and almost as if she knew she didn’t have much time, she talked hurriedly, pausing only to sip her mineral water, and then returning to all the wondrous things she had the great good fortune to witness, from hearing the news that Peary had made it to the North pole, to actually seeing the Spirit of Saint Louis in person.

She remembered very keenly an afternoon spent doing the laundry in the alleyway with her mother in the Irish ghetto of Philadelphia. While they washed, they each kept an eye on her two younger brothers Frank and Joseph playing at war. A neighbor woman stopped in passing and said that she thought it wasn’t proper, to let kids play at war, what with the American boys dying over there, nowadays. And plus, it wasn’t Christian to encourage that sort of thing, now that we knew how horrible it could be, what with the mustard gas and the machine guns. My great-grandmother nodded, she understood perfectly. But, she said, since there was really no danger of these children ever having to go to war, she couldn’t really see the harm in it. Might as well let the little ones play, without scaring them by telling them that it wasn’t a game. She thought it could hardly do any harm; everyone knew there wouldn’t be any wars after this one, this war to settle all disputes, to settle the course of human civilization for the next millennia. Humanity simply couldn’t afford it, and all the leaders of the Great Powers knew it, finally. The Neighbor saw her point, and confided in her how she too felt so lucky to know that her children would never have to sail off and fight in a distant land, but that she also felt guilty, knowing that Missus O’Shea’s son had been born too soon for her to enjoy the same comfort.

Two decades later, my grandmother was living in San Francisco with her husband, a structural engineer who quit his practice designing skyscrapers and went to work for the military designing battleships. She heard the news of the Pearl Harbor attack while her husband was out boozing with his floozies. He came home late, and she clutched at him in a fearful frenzy the instant he came in the door. Assuming she was on again about his living in mortal sin and all that poo poo, he slapped her in the mouth and called her a crazy bitch before passing out. She went out to the bank that week, and remembered seeing all the pretty Japanese girls in the city all made up like movie stars, but so scared they trembled and looked like they would burst into tears at any moment.

And then, a few short years later, her brother Frank was leaning out of a tank hatch, not too far from Berlin. He was in the middle of a small town, one that had been cleared of Nazis, listening to an officer in the street, who was directing tanks forward. While he was trying to hear the officer’s voice over the din of the engines, he caught a glimpse of a man appearing in the open doorway of the ruined building across the street, and saw him instantly unleash a Panzerfaust directly at the center mass of the tank that he precariously balanced from. The Panzerfaust sparked across the street, and the officer, shouting orders, never seeing it coming, took it squarely in the back. It exploded through him, sending a shower of shrapnel and flesh cascading off the tank and through Frank’s torso, neatly slicing his left arm off just below the shoulder.

After the war, even with one arm, he was still able to find good factory work, and being a purple heart helped, though not as much as you might think, given that everyone was busy trying to get in on the rising tide and join the middle class. Frank’s brother Joseph spent the war doing clerical, rear-echelon work. After the war, he became an accountant and did well for himself. Each brother silently knew who had gotten the better end of the bargain.

Frank suffered a stroke in the bathroom at eighty. Three more the next week, and a drooling but largely lucid death that I am sure he thanked his loving Catholic God he had lived long enough to enjoy. Losing your arm as a kid teaches you a few things, I think. Like, “Better to die flat on your back in bed than cut in half on the cobblestones,” and don’t let the liars fool ya, kid.

Everyone is sad to see the greatest generation go, and rightly so. The wars of the past century are myths to us; we all want to draw near the old veterans sitting around the dimming campfire and be regaled by the tales of their heroism, and fanaticize about the acts of courage we would have been capable of, if only history had seen fit to grace us with the chance. The simplest of us mourn openly for lack of an opportunity to prove ourselves, though most of us, even the most decent, will find some similar longing if we search honestly enough .

But none of us is too eager to have been the wives of some of these heroes, trying to understand why they could only sleep on the floors for years after coming home, or deal with them sinking into Alzheimer’s, limping around the house shouting. Where are you? Where are you? Sergeant, Donny’s in the street! Sergeant! Get out of my way you German bitch! Sergeant! Donny’s hit! And none of us fantasize about being the mothers, getting the telegraph with the details of our only child’s death. And none of us, honestly, is too eager to have died at Iwo Jima, no matter how much fun Hollywood makes it look.

Instead we imagine what it must have been like, wearing bomber jackets, flak flying by on our left and our right, having no fear, knowing we were as pure as Arthurian Knights. We relish the thought of outflanking our enemy and taking vengeance for poor, poor Kowalski’s death, because we always imagine it’ll be our best friend to go, and never us. We comfort ourselves with the compliment that it will be us that stays coolly, crucially detached in the heat of battle while the blood of our fellow teenagers is hacked brutally into our faces, between hideous pleading sputters.

For some, the fact that I should merely pause to reflect upon these truths is disgraceful; a sign of cowardice and shameful slander on the dead, if not outright treason. For them, for those brave souls unencumbered by dread of slaughter, who weep not for broken cities, who see shallow corpse-strewn puddles as a paths to glory, who see war coming to them as a sacred calling, a chance to make prideful sacrifices and secure a lifetime’s worth of valor, for them I bring this consoling reassurance:

Have no fear. There is still time to be a war hero. The Great War is still coming. It’s there, over the horizon, and its sails are full with the wind that beats from the wings of the angel of history on her endless journey to escape us.
That ghost ship rushes towards you every bit as fast as you could hope.
Faster than you might have wanted, in hindsight.

Assuming you get to enjoy that peculiar wisdom of the living.

FreudianSlippers posted:

whoflungpoop posted:

Your grandchildren will find a thumb drive full of forums posts of their grandparents insulting a retarded man.

Skeesix posted:

Someone post the thing about Rush Limbaugh being vaccinated after minions with gold chains drag him before Obama, after which Obama decides it's time for him and a group of terrorist leaders to have a conversation. I can't find it on Google.

Weekend Bridges posted:

[Rushing into room, panting, out of breath, sweating] Who wants to see my dick?

im full of poo poo posted:

[bursting into the room a few seconds later, equally exhausted and sweaty] you gotta see this guy's dick

Petite Dinklage posted:

Someone buy me an Audi for Christmas

Soothing Vapors posted:

ill give u audiz nuts

Petite Dinklage posted:

Your nuts are much like an Audi diesel in that they are both being investigated for toxic emissions

Jesus Christ posted:

Last year, I have no idea why, but I had a Mexican pesos on me while I was in Dunkirk. There's a nature reserve nearby across the border in Belgium so I buried it a couple feet down so that it wouldn't be disappeared by erosion or construction or what have you, and hopefully discovered a few hundred years later, leading future paleontologists to be like "wtf?"

I'm thinking of going back with a whole bunch of pesos and just burying them around all around the reserve to further confound them.

What are you doing to gently caress with the future?

Volume posted:

this but with my dick pic

origami posted:

Presumptuous to assume future generations will have microscopes.

CannonFodder posted:

Limoscalade

Drink Cheerwine posted:

Adventure Pigeon posted:

I wish these people would take a moment to try to understand the squatstika, and its importance in the long and disadvantaged history of my people, the poop nazis

RPATDO_LAMD posted:

JediTalentAgent posted:

I prefer to think of the party by their full name: Nationanal Socialshits.

Improbable Lobster posted:

i'd be a cyborg as long as my robot legs or whatever didn't have drm or firmware patches

SmokaDustbowl posted:

don't be stupid dude, it'd be like wearing glasses. you could have bombass leg designs

Trig Discipline posted:

yeah but your loving insurance only covers like 1/4 the cost of the designer legs and the off brand ones make you look like an idiot

Trig Discipline posted:

MOM I CAN'T WEAR THESE LEGS TO SCHOOL NOBODY WEARS RUDE DOG LEGS ANY MORE

gently caress

I HATE YOU

*slams door*

Trig Discipline posted:

honey i understand, but we just don't have money for expensive legs that are just going to go out of style again in six months. if you want to get a job yourself you can buy all the legs you want, but if you keep behaving like this we're not going to let you have any legs at all

Trig Discipline posted:

and then poo poo gets more and more trendy and designery until they don't even work as legs any more and from the waist down the really fashionable people are just an onyx plinth that says _{feets by dre} in small letters on the side and the fashionable people have to have a less fashionable person to move them from street corner to street corner where they will wait to be noticed while pretending to talk on their cell phones

Chard posted:

*camera zooms in real close to my poo poo-coverd face* "OH BOY, HERE WE GO AGAIN" *laugh track plays for ten minutes while I hold your gaze, adder-like*

quote:

You have to remember that tropers essentially engage in cargo cult literature, where they can recognise the components of a story, but not how they interlock and work. Which is why you see story descriptions that have the names of tropes liberally peppered through them as if a story is nothing but a collection of clichés put together into a cohesive mass of horribleness.

By way of analogy: A troper will spend years learning about what kind of ingredients typically go into cakes, and compile an exhaustive list of every ingredient and what they taste like on their own. Then the troper will present all of the other tropers with a bowl full of whole unshelled eggs, raw flour, oil, milk, and sugar, all in unstirred heaps, and say 'look at my cake'! And everyone will agree that the cake is delicious because it has eggs, flour, oil, milk, and sugar in it.

And there's an unopened packet of instant icing on top, and the icing is rape.

Beast of Bourbon posted:

sfbay goons, come meet esteban from dec 1 - dec 16th then we're moving.

i'm unemployed so just come chill with them and take pics and rub his belly and feed him treats.

you can even brush him and i'll show you a special trick for making him drool

Portals posted:

if I weren't concerned about being murdered by internet strangers I'd take you up on this

Roosevelt posted:

the notorious cat poster murderer yes seems likely

Base Emitter posted:

cat food aint cheap man