Riatsala posted:

I always placed the threshold of basic SS13 competency at successfully smoking a cigarette without harming yourself or others

My favorite iteration of the game, though, is colonial marines, because even when everyone has the best intentions the proliferation of new players, dangerous equipment, and labyrinthian control schemes makes every single operation fall apart in a orgy of slapstick violence followed by gruesome actual violence. Panicked friendly fire, misused explosives, tank hit and runs, and hilariously doomed last stands are all par for course.

CzarChasm posted:

And then the story teller takes these actions and adds flavor text. It's like hearing someone talk about their D&D campaign. If you were to just transcribe the mechanics of what happened it would be a bunch of numbers going back and forth. But when you put it in the hands of someone who can paint a scene with words, it's a much richer experience.

CannonFodder posted:

Well there was the thread about repetitive sets of dead babies, don't remember bjs

Fleta Mcgurn posted:

The more they post, the better they feel
So let's call the police on Granos

Weembles posted:

I once shopped for a small digital scale for weighing coins for my collection and in return I got recommendations for small vials and baggies for weeks afterwards.

I'm sure I'm on a list somewhere.

Outrail posted:

Pretty smart algorithm to realize you needed dime bags.

bring back old gbs posted:

someones firing up the meat smoker this weekend

QUACKTASTIC posted:

while true, she'd still prefer it if you just called her 'mum'

sebmojo posted:

Take my wife, please! She is a murderer and I am afraid.

Dirt Road Junglist posted:

I got cut off by a Model 3 with a temporary license plate, and then a Grimes song shuffled up on my playlist.

Send help, for I am actively dying.

christmas boots posted:

lets just say that Buffy was a female dog and my depravity knew no limits

sneakyfrog posted:

that was the literal quote friend.

boar guy posted:

SCORE BIG ON MOTHERS DAY FOR UNDER $40!!!!!

gently caress off
nice can i speak to your manager talons, i guess they know their market

Xand_Man posted:

drat your mom's offering a pretty good deal

boar guy posted:

what? no....NO!

Turpitude II posted:

Unlike Aatrek, goons don't lose interest in things that are more than a few years old.

Imagined posted:

gently caress yeah

Jerry Cotton posted:

OKCupid has a city

H.P. Hovercraft posted:

Feranon posted:

everyone deserves the feeling of fat pussy energy sometimes even if they don't have a fat pussy imo

Screaming Idiot posted:

So it's like a fauxlva.

Alucard posted:

More like a sham-el toe

Coolness Averted posted:

synthesis:
camelfaux

Chichevache posted:

Congratulations. You killed it. The vagina jokes finally dried up.

Fleta Mcgurn posted:

Siljmonster posted:

How many suicides can be linked to Steve Jobs?

Dumb Lowtax posted:

At least one high profile one

animist posted:

i believe in the abrahamic god only because i dream of one day killing him

Giga Gaia posted:

big jrpg energy

Hodgepodge posted:

if on your path you should meet the buddha, cast vanish and then doom on him

Lastgirl posted:

https://twitter.com/Forbes/status/1197979317885636609

net worth~

also get a load of this galaxy brain

https://twitter.com/adbean1/status/1198314436529774592

Shalebridge Cradle posted:

You see people all laughed when I poo poo myself on stage in front of millions of people, but actually it was a brilliant bit of viral marketing.

gschmidl posted:

Shalebridge Cradle posted:

You see people all laughed when I poo poo myself on stage in front of millions of people, but actually it was a brilliant bit of bacterial marketing.

doctorfrog posted:

slice through the cold cuts and
dice through the pork butts and
slam with the pommel of my
tacula-aaah

5er posted:

High speed, low dragula.

Slumfrog posted:

I always imagined cumtown was part of the Fury Road landscape. Quite a bit friendlier than most of the wasteland too. I mean, there you are, a chromed up, violently nihilistic skeevoid fanging your War Rig across the red sands from Gastown to the Bullet Farms, a new mob of impractically themed motor enthusiasts trying to murder you every few k's. In fact here's a new bunch of arseholes out of nowhere, nicely turned out in speedos, footy boots and kfc bucket helmets, a monstrous legion of malformed tigers, sketchy wizards and improbable women dancing on the airbrushed flanks of their Sandman panel vans as they swarm maniacally with the apparent aim of being exploded hilariously by your guys and their high yield vaudeville acrobatics. I mean, painted fellas cavorting atop long bendy poles is a belter of an act at the fringe, but what fucko bases a defensive strategy on the ouvre? Mind you, worked but eh.

Anyway you've got a murderous headache, those pozzas hangin off the Rig keep yelling stuff at you despite the stonkingly obvious fact that you can in no way understand any of it from inside the cab of this thundering smashwagon, the boss's moronic son, the musclebound one with the lungs by dyson, is on the cb asking you to pick up some paddlepops for him and his mates - presumably from the abundant icecreameries in this post apocolyptic murder desert - the fukkin muppet, you're starting to realise the bottle of pills you chugged before setting out were not awareness and stamina enhancing amphetamines but were pretty strong laxatives and the wise woman you got them off was actually that guy who you're pretty sure was eating a poo that one time and also you have to stop drinking petrol coladas, it's your birthday and no one remembered except your mum who called you a posh wanker when you mentioned it, the only radio station is just a dude called Dave screaming obscenities over and over and they're not even real obscenities coz Daves a loving idiot, it's loving hot out again, your dog's an arsehole, and that loving dipshit with the amplifier truck and guitar gimp have been blasting the same three loving chords for the last five loving hours.

Then something new appears on the horizon, something that doesn't belong to this world of dust and spiky pants. It....glitters. You never knew what that word meant before. As you approach the thing flashes through the spectrum, visible and imaginary, each coruscating display surely the peak of brilliance you think, until the next eclipses it utterly. The torrential splendour wipes away the world around, the shattering roar of the engine fades to a gentle purr, the screams of the dying merely a contented sigh. Finally nearing the source you slow, craning out the window to get a better view of the wonderous thing, until it suddenly snaps into focus. It's a billboard, a billboard sprung from the fevered brow of the very god of fabulous. Rolling to a gentle stop you exit the cab and stand slackjawed gazing up at this outrageous wonderment. Amid the swirling glory a face slowly fades in. A man, but unlike any man you have seen before. His face handsome, smooth, unblemished. A rougish twinkle in the eyes, a forehead unfurrowed by the coarse stuff of everyday struggles, . Teeth neither yellow nor missing, but pearlescent white, as he looks down at you and smiles in welcome. A welcome that engulfs your dessicated rag of a soul and holds it gently. Just as gently the face fades away, the eyes last to go but holding yours locked throughout, and a message replaces it. Blinking through tears of wonder, as the font is breathtaking, the kerning a perfection of topological nuance, you read:

WELCOME TO CUMTOWN
We aim to please

As you consider this and marvel at the mind that could birth an entendre of such cardinality, a figure steps from the shadows beneath the billboard. It is the man from the sign. With a leonine grace and finely judged sway he strolls up to you, the lines of his perfect suit playing off against his devasting features in a subtle dance. Placing his hands on your shoulders, he flashes that smile and looks deep into your eyes, and finally speaks.

He says, "Hi, I'm the mayor of this place. People call me cumshitter. Give me your money."

Fleta Mcgurn posted:

Hitchens was a sexist dink who probably jerked off to his own farts.

Son of Thunderbeast posted:

You're thinking of James Joyce

Fleta Mcgurn posted:

That was other people's farts.

WampaLord posted:

https://mobile.twitter.com/TUSK81/status/1206248399290286082

Noblesse Obliged posted:

Finally a bust in the public square I can really admire

Atrocious Joe posted:

NUMBER GOING UP

https://twitter.com/lisaabramowicz1/status/1206914981607940099?s=20

Krazyface posted:

What's BofAML???

Epic High Five posted:

BOFA DEEZ MARXIST-LENINISTS

EorayMel posted:

sebmojo posted:

It's from 2005

Captain_Indigo posted:

Though outside of Japan it's been subbed to 'Friendzone'.