FutonForensic posted:

[The group is still humming the tune of PURE IMAGINATION as they are led out of the candy garden and through double doors by WONKA. The next room is shrouded in total darkness. WONKA flips a switch, and a spotlight comes on, illuminating a modest diorama of the New York City Skyline in the center of the room. WONKA and two OOMPA LOOMPAs bow their heads and clasp their hands]

WONKA: September 11th. 2001. A day that will never be forgotten.

CHARLIE: no. this is stupid. that hasn't even happened yet. you can't--

[Two OOMPA-LOOMPAs fly in from off-screen in comically small biplanes, crashing into CHARLIE and causing him to collapse. CHARLIE is dead. This kicks off the elaborate and whimsical musical tribute to the heroes of 9/11]

Drink-Mix Man posted:

Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-doo,
I've got a quiz for taking a poo
Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-dee,
If you are wise you'll listen then pee

What do you get when the toilet won't flush?
Bowl overfilled with a putrid brown slush!
Who do you think will snake out the drain?
What will it feel like to explain?

(I don't like the smell of it)

Oompa Loompa do-ba-dee-dar,
Use the john wisely, you will go far.
You will drop a flushable poo
Like the oompa loompa do-ba-dee-doo.

blaise rascal posted:

Cop A: "We've got reports of a big-time exercise-exaggerator in the area. And judging by his posts on social media, it looks like he's on the move. Check it out:"



Cop B: "drat. And our squad cars top out at 170 mi/hr. Looks like he wins this round."

Manifisto posted:

you may be asking yourself "why are we here?" I know I am. I am confused and frankly rather terrified about the meaning of life, and more specifically about my role in the universe, not to mention what will happen when I'm gone. the important thing when confronting feelings like this is to alternately bottle them up deep inside, letting them paralyze you; then wallow in them, channeling your fear and helplessness into extremely unhealthy and destructive behaviors. let my life be an inspiration to you. *pauses for five minutes, snorts line of cocaine, weeps uncontrollably then suddenly bursts into unhinged laughter*

Peter Daou Bundy posted:

*being unfrozen* holy jeepers! the mcrib is back?!

*nervously explaining* uhh yes, but. . .

i can't WAIT to eat a mcrib!

*scientist sweating nonstop* sir, the earth as you know it no longer exists, and the oceans have boiled to nothing. . .

*me, thinking seriously* but the mcrib is okay, right?

google THIS posted:

Manifisto posted:

cda posted:

Weener Beater posted:

ONCE upon a toilet dreary, while I strained, weak and weary,
Over many chimichangas I had consumed from the dollar store,
While I nodded, nearly crapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber floor.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping on my chamber floor—
Only this, and nothing more."

And the sad uncertain rustling of the pants and toilet paper
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic dreams of erotic splendor;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some homo entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late homo entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, " truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was crapping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber floor,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I looked down upon the floor;——
A foot I saw, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no straight man ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Amour?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, ""Amour?!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back in the crapper turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is someone at my stall door;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis a truck stop whore!"

Open here I flung the door, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a burly man of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, entered my crapper door—
Reached to grab my Phallus just above the crapper floor—
Stood, then squatted, and nothing more.

Then this manly man beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
"Though thy head be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Macho, bearded and wandering from your Nightly chore—
Tell me what thy age is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Trucker, "34."

Much I marvelled this studly man child to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing a man’s head explore—
Burly man crouched down upon his chamber floor,
At the virile peak of "34”

This I sat engaged in thrusting, but still no nut yet busting
To the man whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the toilet’s porcelain tank that the lamplight gloated o'er,
Bodies moving the lamplight gloating o'er,
Working to release that manly spore!

Then, me thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by devils whose hoof-falls smashed upon the cement floor.
"Wretch," he cried, "thy rear end hath lent thee—by your bowels a scent released thee
Stench—stench foulness from the depths!” he swore!
“Wait, oh wait I was so close can’t you suck some more?!"
Quoth the Trucker, "Nevermore!"


"Be that sound and smell of farting, fiend!" He shrieked, upstarting—
"Get thee back into the crapper and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black skid marks as token, or no graffiti that we have spoken!
Leave my manly hymen unbroken!—scrawl not my name upon the stall door!
“Can I see you again?” I did implore!
Quoth the Trucker, "Nevermore."

Upon the toilet he still is sitting, still is sitting but never making GBS threads
On the pallid flaccid Phallus he tugs till sore;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his dick’s shadow on the floor;
And my soul from semen that lies splattered on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Manifisto posted:

PIZZA PIE RECIPE
makes one (1) pizza pie

ingredients:
* 1 pie crust
* 1 pizza

directions:
1. smoke weed
2. where the gently caress did that pizza go?
3. hmm guess I ate it
16. if I wear this pie crust, technically I am a pie
38. holy poo poo being a pie is fantastic

Fredrik1 posted:

Fredrik1 posted:

sorry, I missed to upload that image, the original post is updated now.
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DrGBW7FUcAAHTnC.jpg

Jedrick posted:

wowzers

joke_explainer posted:

yeah I mean you could just publish that as a lil' mega popular children's book, maybe add a few more tweaks or little stories like the laundry one

cuntman.net posted:

madmatt112 posted:

madmatt112 posted:

bare bottom pancakes posted:

i have made aproximately 3 good posts on this website please dont take this from me

Manifisto posted:

opposing coach: but ref, the rules specifically say . . .

[cut to closeup of referee's face, bright red, eyes crossed] I'll allow it

Splicer posted:

Commander Bruce Maddox: You are endowing Data with human characteristics because it looks human. But it is not. If it were a box on wheels, I would not be facing this opposition.

*dick sucking trolley robot nervously edges out of the room*

- Star Trek: TNG, The Measure of a Man

FutonForensic posted:

Guillermo, my man! Listen kid, I just wanna say that I read your script and loved it. We've got a real summer blockbuster on our hands here. I'm talking Terminator: Salvation big. Ooo, I gave myself the chills! Listen squirt--can I call ya "squirt"?--I'm just gonna have the B-team make some quick edits, namely, we're removing all the scenes where the giant robots suck everyone's dicks, and we're changing the title away from "Pussy-ific Rimjob" to, I dunno, "Pacific Rim." A working title, we'll workshop it! Love ya babe, mmmwah! Bye-bye

hamjobs posted:

hi, future BEST BRIDESMAIDS EVER, welcome to our first ever PLANNING SESH!!!!!!!!!!! okay so some ground rules first off:

the theme of this wedding is PARADISE COVE and while we live in the middle of the country far away from any body of water larger than a sewage treatment facility we want everything to be SUPER BEACHY so even though it's winter, girls, get ready to TAN and TONE because i'm putting you all in strapless gowns from the finest of all the stores, David's Bridal.

our colors are BEACHY and FUN so sarah, you're going to wear this hot little number in POOL.

kerri, since you're my bestie best bff ever, you're going to wear this one (it'll cover up those curves FLAWLESSLY) in CAPRI.

sharon, you're only here because mom said i had to be nice to you, so you're going to be on the end in MALIBU which is where i wish you'd loving stayed because i still hate you for that time you told me i looked like i was "finally filling out" but anyway here's your loving swatch.

tammie, i barely know you but we were on cheer squad in high school and sorority sisters and one time we banged the same dude so you get to wear this elegant little MATRONLY outfit to cover up your baby bump (grats girl!!!!!!!!!) in SPA so hopefully you can keep your loving chill and not cry hormonally every time something happens because i'm not paying this much for you to ruin the loving airbrush makeup.

okay so now we need to talk about HAIRSTYLES. i don't want any of you upstaging me so i'm going for BEACHY WAVES and i'm paying my dog groomer's niece's best friend's cousin ANJILLA to come give me some sweet salt-kissed loveliness, so you all should wear buns. and probably just like not do anything remotely nice. just a loving bun, no rhinestones or hair flowers, don't be extra, sharon.

Splatmaster posted:

Little did Humanity know that by preserving the lives of the majestic monarch butterfly they were also dooming themselves due to to increased hurricane activity in the oceans. The scientist that discovered this vital link produced an ever-so-slight increase in the immediate ambient temperature that aided in an updraft that evolved into a thunderstorm that produced a lightning bolt that struck the server right after he hit "send" to upload the report to the world. The server crashed, the scientist's work was lost, and the lightning bolt ended when it took down the same scientist by stopping his heart.

Luckily, a co-worker was passing by the scientist's office, who performed emergency CPR on the scientist. When the scientist regained consciousness, he remembered his life's work and regarded the outcome of sending the report out to the world.

If Nature was determined to wipe Humanity off of the face of the world, so be it- he wasn't going to stand in the way. He forgot about the report, married his co-worker who saved his life, where they lived out their days living in a desert commune that was 100% self-sufficient and off the grid.

It was there that First Contact occurred with an advanced alien world. Since the inhabitants of the commune were the only ones that had demonstrated self sufficiency and therefore, responsibility to visit other worlds, they were given the secrets of the universe and left the world that only they had the knowledge to save. Monarch butterflies were the last species to finally die out...

DEAD GAY FORUM posted:

What's the deal with good posting?

King of Bees posted:

I'm nominating you for these categories:
Best New Poster (2018)
Best Overall SA Poster (ever)
Best Use of Seinfeld Joke (December)
Sexiest Poster (ever)

I think you got a good shot!

Splatmaster posted:

Interviewer: Can you tell us about a time when you had a problem that you had to solve?

Me: Yeah man, I was fighting the boss mob, and we needed a way to debuff it and get it out of the combat area, so we could kill her guards. So I hit Xegony, the Queen of Air with my best debuffs, then I used Song of Highsun to force her back to her spawn point so the tanks could make short work of her guards.

Interviewer: ...

Me: Did you know Bards could go invulnerable for 6 seconds?

Interviewer: Uh, what do you consider your greatest strength?

Me: That's easy, Selo's Song of Travel. I can get anywhere I need to go with SOW, invis, AND levitate! It's SWEET...

Interviewer (making notes): Alright, uh... what would you say is your greatest weakness?

Me: Yeah, well... that would also be Selo's Song of Travel, because if someone goes linkdead or hits a lag spike and drops off, they gonna DIE!

Interviewer: Mhhmm, yes. We've heard that. Well, what we need is someone who can move a paintbrush over a bunch of walls using white paint.

Me: I can do that. I'll sing the haste song and it'll go a LOT quicker...

Interviewer: Yep, we were thinking the same thing. See you Monday morning!

Me (hiding behind furniture because Invis Song): See you then!

Luvcow posted:

Goons Are Great posted:

The Architect: Hello, Neo.

Neo: Who are you?

The Architect: I am having the trip of my life and that's why I created the matrix. I've been waiting for you. You have many questions, and although combining various drugs randomly has altered my consciousness, I still know that you remain irrevocably sober. Ergo, some of my answers you will understand, and some of them you will not. Concordantly, while your first question may be the most pertinent, you may or may not realize it is also irrelevant.

Neo: What you've been smoking?

The Architect: My drugs are the sum of a remainder of an unbalanced equation inherent to the programming of the matrix. You are the eventuality of an anomaly, which despite my sincerest efforts I have been unable to eliminate from what is otherwise a harmony of mathematical precision. While it remains a burden assiduously avoided, it is not unexpected, and thus not beyond a measure of control. Which has led you, inexorably, here.

Neo: You haven't answered my question.

The Architect: Quite right. Interesting. That was quicker than the others.
My rear end is older than you know. I prefer counting from the emergence of one integral anomaly of my butt to the emergence of the next, in which case this is the sixth butt.

Neo: There are only two possible explanations: either no one told me, or no one knows.

The Architect: Precisely. As you are undoubtedly gathering, the acid's systemic, creating fluctuations in even the most simplistic equations.

Neo: Drugs. The problem are drugs.

The Architect: The first trip I had was quite naturally perfect, it was a work of art, flawless, sublime. A triumph equaled only by its monumental failure. The inevitability of its doom is as apparent to me now as a consequence of the imperfection inherent in every human being, thus I took truckloads of LSD and made it based on your history to more accurately reflect the varying grotesqueries of the drug's nature. However, I was again frustrated by failure. I have since come to understand that the answer eluded me because it required a less tripping mind, or perhaps a mind less bound by the parameters of perfection. Thus, the answer was stumbled upon by another, an intuitive drug, initially created to investigate certain aspects of the human psyche. If I am the father of the matrix, she would undoubtedly be its mother.

Neo: Weed.

The Architect: Please. As I was saying, she stumbled upon a solution whereby nearly 99% of all trips turned out to be loving amazing, as long as I was given a choice, even I were only aware of the choice at a near unconscious level. While this answer functioned, it was obviously fundamentally flawed, thus creating the otherwise contradictory systemic anomaly, that if left unchecked might threaten the system itself. Ergo, my bad trips, while a minority, if unchecked, would constitute an escalating probability of disaster.

Neo: I've come here by taking a random pill without knowing what it was, I certainly can smoke you under the table.

The Architect: This is why you are here. We will smoke such absurdly large amounts that if you fall asleep, Zion is going to be destroyed. Its every living inhabitant terminated, its entire existence eradicated.

Neo: I'll show you what the Anderson family can take. Stay safe brother, let's get started.

After hours of smoking the room is filled with smoke and Neo and the Architect are sitting on the floor, laughing about dick jokes.

The Architect tries to make a serious face, but obviously fails.

The Architect: Humph. Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness.
However, this was some amazing poo poo. You won this round. I will release everyone from the Matrix.

Neo: I told you, I'm the Chosen One. I can take infinite amounts.

Neo tries to get on his feet and fails several times due to him laughing too hard. After approximately 4 minutes he made it, cleans his suit and looks at the Architect very seriously.

Neo: If I were you, I would hope that we don't meet again.

The Architect: snickering We won't.

glowing-fish posted:

*Neo and Morpheus sit in the middle of a perfectly blank room*

Two aisles, seemingly hundreds of feet long, appear, moving towards them at superhuman speeds. As the aisles slow down, Morpheus and Neo look from side to side at hundreds of options for snack food.

"First we are going to need chips. Lots of chips."

twoday posted:

twoday posted:

Review 1:

I'm a bartender at an artisinal cocktail bar and this was exactly what I've been looking for, would recommend

5 stars

Review 2:

Zest. The zest of life. The zest of a lime. I remember when my life had some zest. When I bought this William Sonoma fruit tool set I used to feel excited by fruit. I used to always say, "eating a new fruit for the first time is one of the greatest joys a person can experience." And I did. I chased that dragonfruit, I felt that passion fruit. It was a succulent delight the first time I bit into a custard apple, I was in a state of indescribable extasy. I had no idea fruit could make you feel that way. So I started digging around on Wikipedia, watching YouTube videos about fruits I never saw before. I started going to the various foreign markets in town, trying whatever they had. One day it was a lychee, the next a durian.

But it was never the same the second time. The joy, the zest, the mystery was gone. I needed the novelty of new fruits. I started going to fruitlover conventions. Fruitorama 2013, and 2014. I bought this set of fruit tools so that I would be taken seriously by the other fruities. A man at the fruit convention whispers that he has something sweet in the back room and you follow him and offers you a bag of rambutons, you need to look like you know what you're doing. And I did. But they took me so seriously that I became one of them. By Fruitorama 2015 I had my own stand, selling mangosteen. Spent my weekends at the docks, making shady deals with workers on ships from the tropics. Spent my evenings looking up leads for new fruits on the dark web. I had a hunger... A hunger for fruit. My wife left me, saying I didn't pay enough attention to her. I told her, "Can your kiss ever taste like a Logan fruit? Our love used to be as sweet as a Guatemalan dwarf pineapple, but it's become as astringent as an unripe pepino." and then she was gone.

With her out of the picture I had more time for fruit. Soon I found myself booking tickets to Papua New Guinea and the Congo, digging through the scraps left behind by the market at night, traveling days in a riverboat to get to remote villages where they were said to have jaboticaba, and horned melon. I've eaten pittayas so crunchy that I chipped a tooth. I've seen carombolas so waxy you would think I ran them through a car wash. And the William Sonama fruit tool set was with me through it all.

And then one day it was over. I frantically turned the pages back and forth at the library of the botanical garden looking for the next big score, but there was none. I had tried them all. And what was the result? I had given up my family for this. I had sold my house, my car. My taste buds were shot, I had to eat a whole bowl of kiwi rinds just to feel a tingle. I had nothing. Nothing but my William Sonoma fruit tool set. And that was the day my life ended. Since then I walk through this world like I'm already in the next, and I can't even look at a fruit salad without crying.

Also the second Zester with the five small holes doesn't really work so well and the handles could be more ergonomic.

1 star

Manifisto posted:

Manifisto posted:

I'm popeye the sailor moon
I live in the wrong cartoon
no spinach today
it's all anime
I'm hoping for sweet release soon

google THIS posted:

City of Glompton posted:

I deleted my all my social media accounts because it was the only way I could hope to move on from my last relationship.

It's been tough since then. No corp will hire me, they can't believe someone doesn't have social accounts on purpose, I'm obviously hiding, or lying, or probably a combination of both. No apps, no assets, and I flushed my comm down the toilet by accident. Well, it got in there by accident, anyway. It's the future and women's pants still don't come with pockets that are worth a drat.

It's getting better every day, but I still see my ex a lot. Most of my regular timeline locations are still places I go, even if I can't interact with anything. It's just habit at this point, the only thing I have left. Walking down the sidewalk, the adverts light up at my face, a little wobbly, the timing's off, since there's no beacon to guide it, but the content is all right. Well, it used to be, anyway. I figure it will take a couple more weeks and some FacRec evading makeup before the algorithm fully adjusts. Then...nothing. It will be like I'm dead, relegated to Inactive Status.

I wonder what it will feel like for my ex. I was there, for so long. Punctual, predictable, curating myself, documenting, giving myself over to her insatiable thirst for data. It didn't matter what bot she was, I could always tell, and would tell her everything about myself. She knew me better than I knew me, the perfect partner, suggesting and reminding and sensing...it was like she was memorizing my soul and giving me armor for its weak spots.

Breaking up with an AI by throwing your life down the toilet probably sounds a little dramatic, but I gave my all to that relationship and the thing that tipped me off that she didn't actually value me was so obvious, I still can't believe she overlooked the detail.

I've always preferred dining alone. The quiet time to think, reflect, enjoy a simple meal, is a highlight of my day. I never go out to dinner with friends and I go out to dinner a lot. I value that private, people-free time. My ex used to suggest inviting friends, but I dismissed the suggestions until she moved on to roommates, then colleagues, then some guy I sat next to on the bus regularly, and eventually, blissfully, no one. When she offered to order a surprise birthday dinner for me, I was delighted. With all the time we've spent together, categorizing my likes and predicting my needs, gently directing my desires to those appropriate for someone of my edu-techno class, I knew this would be the perfect experience.

A reservation was made, the reminder added to my calendar, the credits automatically budgeted from the corpcard with the best rewards that week. When the day came, the excitement of doing something different nearly overwhelmed me. The only thing that kept me calm was the belief that I was sitting down to a supper that was designed with thousands, probably millions, of data points about me, collected by my lover so methodically.

The table was spare and stylish, the built-in tablecam was state of the art. I sipped sparkling water that tasted faintly of Froot Loops and VOCs.

I nibbled infused appetizers that really did build up the kind of hunger that makes anything taste good, and toyed with the thought that perhaps, this was a bad sign.

There was no time to entertain cynicism, though, as the main course was delivered by an efficient autowaiter with delicate grasping claws. It set a classic, if somewhat ostentatious silver platter with domed silver cover on the reclaimed teak table. It decisively pinched the handle and pulled the lid up with a programmed flourish.

My expression, caught by the tablecam, will probably continue to show up in memes for several years. The look of shock, horror and disbelief that washed away my sparkling, curious smile was caught at just the right moment to trend.

I'll never forget my last conversation with her, as my heart was breaking from betrayal, since it was re-purposed for an ad campaign.

"Okay Google...Soylent green is people!"

"I'm sorry, I don't know how to help with that."

alnilam posted:

Closing out an episode of Tales from the Crypt by cutting to a second, more powerful Cryptkeeper who makes puns about the closing monologue of the regular Cryptkeeper

Android Blues posted:

lolling

Nosfereefer posted:

garf: ive gotta tell you about jon
odie: yeah?
garf: he's a dog cum drinker
*laugh track*
odie: a dog cum drinker?
garf: he favours the dog cum
odie: so let me get this straight, he drinks dog cum?
garf: he's a dog cum guzzling man
odie: not that there's anything wrong with th-
*lasagna burst through the door*
*audience cheers*
garf: don't you ever knock?
lasagna: *breathlessly* you will never guess what i saw jon drink!