[SpOoKy TaIeS ThReD] Scary Bideo Game STORYS and Related Blogs!

The Something Awful Forums > Archives > Comedy Goldmine > Imp Zone: Player's Choice > YCS Goldmine > [SpOoKy TaIeS ThReD] Scary Bideo Game STORYS and Related Blogs!

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racist man 3D: Oct 11, 2007; breaking the fourth wall

Vhak lord of hate posted:

i ws about to report that story for not being spooky enough but then the twist at the end sent chills down every spine in my body

evry spine/// wow u must have a lot of spine??

# ? Feb 8, 2009 21:39

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# ? Apr 25, 2024 13:17

racist man 3D: Oct 11, 2007; breaking the fourth wall

racist man 3D posted:

jalpeno300 briefly pondered brushing the pockmarks of chocolate cake from his heaving form. He decided to let them lie for now, and slumped into a trim black office chair, saturated with sweat and grease. After all, he had to conserve energy for those goddamn FUCKAFMOTHERIGN afromen whom he had garnered (by ingeniously browsing 4chan) were going to deny him access to his virtual pool. After quickly rechecking his spambot.txt file he was in action. jalpeno300 palm slammed his habbo.com shortcut, pathetically tried to type his name and password with his bloated fingers, then gave up and hit AutoFill. The Habbo window flashed onto the screen, greeting him with the mysterious sulake logo he could only assume was pronounced "zoo lake" (a metaphor, perhaps, for Bangladesh? He wrote it down). With a deft flick of the wrist he was staring at the poolside lido. It took him a moment to realise he had not accidentally opened the Killzone 2 trailer advert for the brownness of the scene before him. The lido was a whirling vortex of suited afromen, a wall of flesh trapping swarming habbos in the entrance. A malformed swastika, emitting accusations of newfaggery, drifting lazily over the deck like cloud formations.

"MOVE bobba" screamed jalpeno300, mourning for the darkness in man's heart and habbo's pixels. He clicked over and over on the utopian free tiles beyond the /b/lockade like a professional Starcraft player. Every now and then a gap would appear in the seething mass of disenfranchised African-Americans, only to be quickly filled by a generic, tracksuit-wearing habbo. jalpeno300 dreamed of the days where he'd simply call in a rocket artillery strike, made possible by his unique ability to float over 9000 munitions. Alas, the pixellated horror of habbohotel bore no resemblance to Company of Heroes, though at least here he didn't quit when things didn't go in his favour, which was always.

A snap like a whipcrack broke his reverie. Great scott! The gyrating swastika had come loose from its moorings and was shrieking towards the crowd, lacerating the air in front of it with the hunger of a thousand Gabes. The afromen only had time to scream "Anon does not forgi-" before they were splattered on the habbo walls in a pixelated mess of dripping entrails. jalpeno300 balked at his chance for habbo freedom, and seemingly at the same instant a thousand captive habbos rushed forward in a tide of righteous fury. The afromen still standing, now only at the pool entrance, made a mad dash for freedom. The enraged habbos turned like a coastal hurricane and the rout became a running down. Afroman after afroman pelted the unforgiving pixel dirt as virtual furniture and accessories slammed into their suited forms. With a great, gutteral screech the last /b/locker skidded to a broken halt, his head smashed like an eggshell by an HC sofa.

Ping-ing-ing-ing-ing!! jalpeno300 was flustered for a second, wondering if he'd left U-Boat: Fuhrerprinzip running. With a curse he realised his spamming tools had emitted the mod warning, and indeed a lumbering, da Vincian figure, clad in Habbo Club apparel, had cruised into the lido. jalpeno300's cursor raced for the close button, but it was already too late. A grey, humourless message sat on the screen like a divorce application. "You have been banned for breaking the habbo way: getting in a mods way (fag), ur ban will expier on 05/09/9999" jalpeno300 sighed, and turned away from the screen and there was A GHOST AGgHGH and jalpeno300 died.

for this pag

# ? Feb 8, 2009 21:40

Yeah I read books.: Feb 28, 2006; uhh yeah dude

I start by taking off your glasses and staring into your eyes. As you turn away from the computer screen to face me, your usually spiteful glare melts into a look of uncomprehending dairy cow-like docility. I pause to drink in your appearance: beady eyes set close together like a lobster's, a stubby porcine nose that is angular yet worn down like an oversized rubber eraser, skin mottled and rough like a fresh-scrubbed potato, a wobbly set of chins dangling under a too-small mouth, and contemptuous lips pulled tight and bloodless by years of resentful loneliness.

What a lucky man I am to have you.

I take you by the hand and lead you from the computer chair to your bed. You look wistfully over your shoulder at the monitor, but I won't be denied. I lay you down gently, leaving your side only long enough to start your favorite Tori Amos album. The singer dreamily recounts her most recent three rapes, while I whisper into your ear about how you and I are going to put the "sensual" back in "consensual".

I grasp your neck and lustily kiss your downturned Beaker-like mouth. Your upper lip is decorated with a single cracked, seeping cold sore that leaks its fluid onto my tongue. The salty flavor mingles with the sugary dusting of Teddy Grahams crumbs on your upper lip and the cloying sweetness of congealed Cool Whip hidden in the corners of your mouth.

You sit up and clumsily lift your arms over your head as I pull off your grease-stained long-sleeved sweatshirt. Static electricity crackles through your ratty black hair. As I remove it, the shirt lifts your flat, wide breasts for a moment before allowing them to slap down heavily against your pasty white belly with its row of angry red horizontal lines, the result of hunching for hours over a computer keyboard. Spotty gooseflesh areoles the size and color of sliced bologna take up a good portion of the surface area of your breasts. Your nipples point almost directly down like a chimpanzee's. I follow their instructions and move south.

I remove your slippers and wrestle off your pajama pants. Now that you're lying down again, your flabby breasts spill over either side of your torso and half-disappear into your armpits. Your mouth hangs open and you stare stupidly at the ceiling, breathing audibly. I peel off your plain white panties and I'm immediately overcome by an aroma more intoxicating than the finest Zambian Jenkem. I lean over and vomit into a trashcan.

I tenderly pull apart the pubic hair that sticks to itself like clumps of black cotton candy until I find your meaty oval office lips. A fine sheen of yeasty white puss coats your vagina, accentuating its deathly gray pallor. After sitting in that computer chair all day your unwashed labia are nearly fused together, but I pull them apart like a Fruit Roll-Up from its plastic backing, and in one smooth, unimpeded motion I insert my fist right up to the elbow.

Punching your uterus like a prizefighter, I work to provide some small amount of pleasure to a cavernous vagina left nearly insensate by a self-administered parade of increasingly larger dildos, shampoo bottles, traffic cones, watermelons, and lawn gnomes. Finally, when I think my arm can't possibly hold out another minute, I hear you make a low guttural moan. The weak, stretched out muscles of your vagina squeeze my forearm with all the strength of a cancer patient grasping at his bed sheets during his final breath, and I know you've come. Now it's my turn.

I roll you over onto your stomach and admire your wide, rounded linebacker's shoulders. I pause to massage your back, feeling the slightest indication of ribs under inches of fat, and it's like kneading warm pizza dough on a sewer grate. My eyes drift downwards. Between your flat squarish buttocks I see the object of my desire. Your long-since prolapsed anus flops around lazily outside your body like a glossy red sea cucumber.

I spit on my cock and ram it inside your rectum, but you hardly notice. You've grabbed a piece of pineapple upside-down cake and a Capri Sun from your bedside mini-fridge and begun your post-coitus gorge. I thrust my cock into a stinking colon filled with a fetid mixture of post-digestion fast food, supermarket confections, and convenience store snacks, until the smell of feces in the room overtakes the smell of sour vagina which earlier overtook the smell of cat piss.

As I spurt hot cum into the mess between your legs I laugh uncontrollably, because no matter how well I describe the injuries your body inflicts on the five senses, you will always be uglier on the inside than the outside, and I will never be able to accurately describe to anyone the repulsiveness of your personality. Only two words come to mind, which in themselves fail to paint the requisite picture, but which, after the fashion of a Zen koan, may act as a "finger pointing at the moon":

Ozma fat.

# ? Feb 8, 2009 22:44

Scarf Ace: Jul 21, 2006; keep it clean

# ? Feb 8, 2009 22:52

racist man 3D: Oct 11, 2007; breaking the fourth wall

your curvy girlfriend posted:

I start by taking off your glasses and staring into your eyes. As you turn away from the computer screen to face me, your usually spiteful glare melts into a look of uncomprehending dairy cow-like docility. I pause to drink in your appearance: beady eyes set close together like a lobster's, a stubby porcine nose that is angular yet worn down like an oversized rubber eraser, skin mottled and rough like a fresh-scrubbed potato, a wobbly set of chins dangling under a too-small mouth, and contemptuous lips pulled tight and bloodless by years of resentful loneliness.

What a lucky man I am to have you.

I take you by the hand and lead you from the computer chair to your bed. You look wistfully over your shoulder at the monitor, but I won't be denied. I lay you down gently, leaving your side only long enough to start your favorite Tori Amos album. The singer dreamily recounts her most recent three rapes, while I whisper into your ear about how you and I are going to put the "sensual" back in "consensual".

I grasp your neck and lustily kiss your downturned Beaker-like mouth. Your upper lip is decorated with a single cracked, seeping cold sore that leaks its fluid onto my tongue. The salty flavor mingles with the sugary dusting of Teddy Grahams crumbs on your upper lip and the cloying sweetness of congealed Cool Whip hidden in the corners of your mouth.

You sit up and clumsily lift your arms over your head as I pull off your grease-stained long-sleeved sweatshirt. Static electricity crackles through your ratty black hair. As I remove it, the shirt lifts your flat, wide breasts for a moment before allowing them to slap down heavily against your pasty white belly with its row of angry red horizontal lines, the result of hunching for hours over a computer keyboard. Spotty gooseflesh areoles the size and color of sliced bologna take up a good portion of the surface area of your breasts. Your nipples point almost directly down like a chimpanzee's. I follow their instructions and move south.

I remove your slippers and wrestle off your pajama pants. Now that you're lying down again, your flabby breasts spill over either side of your torso and half-disappear into your armpits. Your mouth hangs open and you stare stupidly at the ceiling, breathing audibly. I peel off your plain white panties and I'm immediately overcome by an aroma more intoxicating than the finest Zambian Jenkem. I lean over and vomit into a trashcan.

I tenderly pull apart the pubic hair that sticks to itself like clumps of black cotton candy until I find your meaty oval office lips. A fine sheen of yeasty white puss coats your vagina, accentuating its deathly gray pallor. After sitting in that computer chair all day your unwashed labia are nearly fused together, but I pull them apart like a Fruit Roll-Up from its plastic backing, and in one smooth, unimpeded motion I insert my fist right up to the elbow.

Punching your uterus like a prizefighter, I work to provide some small amount of pleasure to a cavernous vagina left nearly insensate by a self-administered parade of increasingly larger dildos, shampoo bottles, traffic cones, watermelons, and lawn gnomes. Finally, when I think my arm can't possibly hold out another minute, I hear you make a low guttural moan. The weak, stretched out muscles of your vagina squeeze my forearm with all the strength of a cancer patient grasping at his bed sheets during his final breath, and I know you've come. Now it's my turn.

I roll you over onto your stomach and admire your wide, rounded linebacker's shoulders. I pause to massage your back, feeling the slightest indication of ribs under inches of fat, and it's like kneading warm pizza dough on a sewer grate. My eyes drift downwards. Between your flat squarish buttocks I see the object of my desire. Your long-since prolapsed anus flops around lazily outside your body like a glossy red sea cucumber.

I spit on my cock and ram it inside your rectum, but you hardly notice. You've grabbed a piece of pineapple upside-down cake and a Capri Sun from your bedside mini-fridge and begun your post-coitus gorge. I thrust my cock into a stinking colon filled with a fetid mixture of post-digestion fast food, supermarket confections, and convenience store snacks, until the smell of feces in the room overtakes the smell of sour vagina which earlier overtook the smell of cat piss.

As I spurt hot cum into the mess between your legs I laugh uncontrollably, because no matter how well I describe the injuries your body inflicts on the five senses, you will always be uglier on the inside than the outside, and I will never be able to accurately describe to anyone the repulsiveness of your personality. Only two words come to mind, which in themselves fail to paint the requisite picture, but which, after the fashion of a Zen koan, may act as a "finger pointing at the moon":

Ozma fat.

idgi.. ur fat? like the moon?

# ? Feb 8, 2009 22:55

Yeah I read books.: Feb 28, 2006; uhh yeah dude

racist man 3D posted:

idgi.. ur fat? like the moon?

# ? Feb 8, 2009 22:56

Lordspam: Mar 20, 2007; curvy robot girlfriend

incomplete surgical unit ~*~SpOoKy~*~

outer space zambie extra spooky

AAAUAUUUOOOO!!!!

# ? Feb 8, 2009 23:01

GnomeTea: May 8, 2007

bump in teh night.

# ? Feb 9, 2009 01:38

Hipster Scumbag: Apr 6, 2007; by T. Finn

Free KRFTSNGLZ

# ? Feb 9, 2009 01:50

seizure later: Apr 18, 2007

Hipster Scumbag posted:

Free KRFTSNGLZ

# ? Feb 9, 2009 02:14

Kirbyoto: May 2, 2008; by Tiny Fistpump

put evil canadian in ur sig under the "permaban" category

# ? Feb 9, 2009 02:15

Hootie Hoo: Nov 13, 2008; by angerbot

what did krftsnglz get probated/banned for?

# ? Feb 9, 2009 02:18

seizure later: Apr 18, 2007

Kirbyoto posted:

put evil canadian in ur sig under the "permaban" category

he only posts in fighting game threads so he can be avoided easily

Hootie Hoo posted:

what did krftsnglz get probated/banned for?

rap music

# ? Feb 9, 2009 02:21

cum in my meowth: Dec 30, 2005

is mkc ban why hasnt posted itt

# ? Feb 9, 2009 03:25

Dzokhar Duggar: Oct 18, 2008; Stupid Idiot Bitch

cum in my meowth posted:

is mkc ban why hasnt posted itt

he died

# ? Feb 9, 2009 03:46

AssZitBabe: Apr 30, 2004; by Peatpot

i had a dream where pacman ghost was eating my head

# ? Feb 9, 2009 03:47

Kirbyoto: May 2, 2008; by Tiny Fistpump

Kabuu posted:

i had a dream where pacman ghost was eating my head

get PILLS

# ? Feb 9, 2009 03:48

sleeps-chan: Jan 7, 2006; by T. Fine

Tunk posted:

he died

yea sucks when good posters die irl...

# ? Feb 9, 2009 04:06

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? Apr 25, 2024 13:17

Vhak lord of hate: Jun 6, 2008; I AM DRINK THE BLOOD OF JESUS

i'm channeling mkc rite now he wants u to close this thread before it gets gayed up moar

# ? Feb 9, 2009 05:32

The Something Awful Forums > Archives > Comedy Goldmine > Imp Zone: Player's Choice > YCS Goldmine > [SpOoKy TaIeS ThReD] Scary Bideo Game STORYS and Related Blogs!

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