Hot Karl Marx posted:

What about an Audi rs4

Plinkey posted:

lol no

gently caress this engineering fuckup

Joementum posted:

my brain is broken

LORD OF BOOTY posted:

i'm not gonna lie a 19th century fuckmachine would be an absolutely hilarious username, too.

Goo Boy posted:

I've loving had it with you assholes. This is easily the most poo poo infest gay rear end place on the internet. You rear end fucks get erections from posting the same crap-filled bullshit (and sucking each other off. Richard Kyanka, you are an evil evil man, and I hope that your wife's womb is barren. For all you fucks that messed with me or the only friend that I found on these forums, all I can say is that revenge will be swift and true, and it will also be mine.

Oh, AND gently caress ALL OF YOU

(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)

EorayMel posted:

Karate Bastard posted:

I mean thanks? I guess?

Why are you people clicking through the gas chamber again?

Karate Bastard posted:

I mean thanks? I guess?

Why are you people clicking through the gas chamber again?

Karate Bastard posted:

Wow someone swims through the poo poo
So they can get their hit

EorayMel posted:

Bertrand Hustle posted:

If anyone is justified in swearing vengeance against God, Patton Oswalt definitely qualifies.

Krankenstyle posted:

honestly i really like the cadence of "all I can say is that revenge will be swift and true, and it will also be mine"

like imagine someonoe like patton oswalt saying it with a clenched fist and a look to the horizon

cumshitter posted:

Personally, I like my twinks to be completely hairless, vaguely mulatto, androgynous, to speak in a singsong voice, and to wear silver jumpsuits. I like the "reactionary fever dream of a liberal dystopia" look. No eyelids is a plus, and the Lil' Orphan Annie no-pupils look will just make me weak in the knees.

FactsAreUseless posted:

These are just Mormons

value-brand cereal posted:

barf carton posted:

I guess I should start this off two days ago, when I woke up and hobbled out of bed, down the stairs, and into the bathroom. Picking the crust from my filmy ocular cavities, I blinked a couple times and looked at the clock. 8:03, no problem. Class isn't until 9:30.

So I stumbled into the kitchen all helter-skelter and grabbed a couple cookies and then ascended the stairs to return to my dwelling. It was only when I was pulling my trendy, overpriced t-shirt around my shoulders that I realized something was terribly amiss. "Tuesday is...the eighth," I said to myself. "The eighth of...oh poo poo."

Oh poo poo.

Cut to me, 9 AM, hurrying out the door and saddling my bike because I have an English Lit midterm in THIRTY loving MINUTES. A midterm I had completely and totally forgotten about. Now, wait. I can't be completely to be blamed for this. Well, maybe I can. See, the way my school has it set up, all the midterms are one week, then you take one midterm and some point during the next. It's weird, it's unconvential, and Tuesday, it really really hosed me up. The way it basically pans out is, English Lit was originally scheduled for Friday, but they moved it to Thursday at the last second, and being the irreverent dumbass that I am I had completely neglected to commit that to anywhere external of my own memory. So it's 9:15, I'm pedaling vigorously, with a million thoughts racing through my loving head at once. I could call in sick, but they would need doctor's exemption, because kids try to pull that all the time and they don't gently caress around with midterms. I could try to slip out without handing in my test and blame the proctor for losing it (lovely, I know, I wasn't thinking). Anyway, my final resolve is I'm going to have to go fail this loving midterm for the class I'm a complete space cadet in and try to plead on my knees for the professor to let me retake it.

I park my bike at the rack outside the library, where the midterm is. As I'm clicking the digits of the lock into place, my eyelids are starting to feel heavy, and I feel myself getting quickly drenched in my own cold sweat. I'm going to loving fail English lit and have to repeat the year. The professor doesn't have any idea who I am, there's no WAY I'll be able to take this over again. Slowly, like I'm on a death march, I start to ascend the stairs into the library, where almost everybody is already in a seat with a paper working busily. gently caress, I think. Double gently caress. I AM the only one who got hosed up by the scheduling.

There's adreneline surging through me at this point. I'm going to have to sit here for three hours and stare at a test I have no idea how to deal with. I mean, Christ, I never even read the loving literature. And I'm going to have to repeat the year. I reach out my shaking fingers and take a paper, take a seat, and take a deep breath. Maybe it won't be so bad, I try to reassure myself.

I read the first question, and I flip out.

I don't know a single answer on the entire god drat test. Not only am I going to fail, the entire thing is essays, so I'm going to get a loving ZERO. I was planning to cram, I really was, but I didn't, and now I'm going to fail. I start looking around nervously, hoping that at any second I'll wake up, but I know I won't. Right now, I am hosed, and the sweat is pouring down my face in waves and my palms are shaking and I have my pen in a death grip. And then I reach into my pocket and I have the answer, and I know what I have to do.

I raise my hand and the proctor comes over and asks what the problem is. Ripping my hand out of my pocket, there's a sickening TEAR that draws the eyes ubiquitously of everyone in the library. My shaking palm, emerging bloodily from the green lining, is drenched with my own blood, and I thrust my bloody eviscerated urethera at the proctor and proceed to stand. My vision begins to blur as I shoot my right hand down to my crotch and grip my penis which is searing with agony and staining the front of my pants with the same sickening claret that's quickly covering my palm. I feel my eyes beginning to roll back, and I pass out and hit my head on the concrete. Everyone around me is screaming, whipping out their cell phones, crowding around me with the most horriffic looks on their faces I've ever seen, and a smile curls across my lips right before it all goes black.


But at least I didn't fail English Lit.

spookygonk posted:

Azhais posted:

Yeah, but years from now he's gonna look at that painting and crumble to dust

chitoryu12 posted:

The Picture of African Grey.

Krankenstyle posted:

why is there concrete in the examination room, is that what america is like?

Brainwrong posted:

Perhaps I am missing the special logic chip in my brain that equates "excrement on roof" to "FUCKSOCKS! MAN IN HOUSE, ARM SELF. CALL EMERGENCY SERVICES. DEFCON1. WAAAARGH!"

I think I'd just go "Oh, weak, someone shat on my roof"

Elbonio posted:

Maybe the poo poo was there first and your house was accidently built under it?

cadex posted:

I have a certain amount of admiration to someone who can climb onto someones roof without detection, pull down their pants and continue be relaxed enough to curl one off and piss without losing his balance, making a sound or laughing uncontrollably.

Dude deserves to have a root around the house he just blessed with such skill and finesse.

TheLastBasselope posted:

Op is probably insane - he poo poo on his own roof. It's like Number 23 only with more making GBS threads. I'm sorry to inform you, OP, but when you come out of your psychosis you'll realize you first, poo poo on, then murdered your family. This is all a delusion, and you have no neighbors - your roof making GBS threads drove them away years ago. You heard it here first.


Shitcount: 5

ps you did not grab a gun, you grabbed more poo poo

BLANCHES oval office posted:

agh im going to squat on crazy batshit gun mans roof!!! i hope he has children in the home while i squat barefoot onto his badly done roof and push out me colon snakes. his wife is probably cozy in her snuggly fleece wizard looking robe and the man is drinking a beer. they are not expecting something so bizarre as a child like me to be making GBS threads above them. ahaha im a gradeschool kid who is drinking gin out of a gatorade bottle and now im shot in the stomach by a stupid as gently caress person from the worst state in the country. aaaagh im gutshot and me turds are pouring out silly putty like from the birdshot that riddle me full of deathholes. hail satan death to america i was in band and i was learning clare de lune on the oboe and my mother loved me but now im dead because of guns and idiots.

tactlessbastard posted:

One of my little brothers poo poo on a cop car and the cops got so mad he had to join the army to get to safety. He had to go to Iraq twice but the cop wound up fingering a preteen and going to prison so in the long run I guess you could say my brother won

EorayMel posted:

Anybody want a vintage gbs dunkfest about the OP going into code red locked-and-loaded-door-breaching-mode upon discovering poop on his roof, full of Funny Forums Quotes™? Have I got the treat for you!

tactlessbastard posted:

One of my little brothers poo poo on a cop car and the cops got so mad he had to join the army to get to safety. He had to go to Iraq twice but the cop wound up fingering a preteen and going to prison so in the long run I guess you could say my brother won

Outrail posted:

Doesn't are troops Trump cops?

FactsAreUseless posted:

One of the most American sentences in history

christmas boots posted:

There’s a great American novel in there somewhere

FactsAreUseless posted:

No, but cops are Trump troops.

Son of Sam-I-Am posted:

If the president sent out a memo to soldiers heading out to find ladies of the night, warning that there were sting operations in effect and giving pointers to elude them, would the first few be Trump's top troop tramp trip trap tips?

Chill Penguin posted:

I’ll never forget staying up all night playing this game while my then-GF read poetry to me and we railed crack-grade cocaine, the night Obama beat Mitt Romney. That was a fun shift at Five Guys the next morning.

sweet thursday posted:

Hmm yes you can always tell a post isn't racist and bad when it has attached footnotes

sweet thursday posted:

Before you think my post is bad, allow me to take you back to a little place called Johannesburg in the 1950's. First slide please

LORD OF BOOTY posted:

no that's just a list of Mitt Romney's kids

Son of Sam-I-Am posted:

If the president sent out a memo to soldiers heading out to find ladies of the night, warning that there were sting operations in effect and giving pointers to elude them, would the first few be Trump's top troop tramp trip trap tips?