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Robot Made of Meat


Uxzuigal posted:

Day 1 (the Kennel):
I am 8 weeks old today, there seem to be alot of people very excited about that.. people are coming and going, petting me and the other puppies... They are all gone now, I suspect it may be a suprise party.. I will have to pretend to be suprised in order to not dissapoint them.

Day 1 (Location unknown):
I was a fool to think that it was a suprise party... some guy and a noisy kid and a weird looking woman just pupnapped me.. I am in a car, sniffing man toes while some old crone that I can only guess spawned this smelly feet guy drives real fast... No doubt trying to escape my furious kennel owners in pursuit.

Day 1 (Location unknown):
I am tired, cold... completely exhausted - My attempts to lick myself through the car window has been futile... It tasted good... but it was futile... The car has stopped and I am being carried inside a red house... If this is the last I write.. know that I died fighting. I've am in a room.. too exhausted to do anything.. I will sleep now.

- - - -

Day 2 (Prison):
I woke up with a headache.. my captor has decided I needed to be rushed outside quickly for some reason... the grass here is nice so I decided to poop and pee on it to spite my captor... For some reason I got praise.. I am wondering if my captor might be mentaly unstable.. He also seems to be fond of making weird noises and petting me.. I am confused.

- - - -

Day 3 (Prison):
I see no sign of my owners or my mother.. There is no milk, no meat... they insist on feeding me a bowl of dry food and some water... I am not sure how long I will survive this.. I fear that I will never see my mother again or my litter mates.

- - - -

Day 4 (Prison, Mental Hospital?):
Stil no sign of anyone but my captors.. There is little change in routine but my captors has brought me a massive, fluffy bed that I must admit to liking... There were some treats today, but at a price.. I was force to sit and lay down.. the treats were however very tasty.. so for now I will let it go.. Perhaps this is some kinda slave camp where mentaly disturbed "people" are allowed to keep puppies for their entertainment.

- - - -

Day 7 (Mental Hospital?!)
My captor insists on calling me Fenris.. and keeps feeding me treats.. I've decided to follow him around everywhere in order to spy on him, gain intel and perhaps figure out what is going on. I seem to be getting treats for this, which leaves me to believe that my plans have not been discovered.. And I don't mind the treats..

- - - -

Day 14: (Mental Hospital!!)
I've been following my captor around for a week now... today I suspect that I might have been discovered.. My captor was making a spectacle, jumping around with the ear of a pig.. no doubt his previous capitive.. He threw it on the floor before me and pointed at it.. I am afraid.

- - - -

Day 15: (Mental Hospital)
My captor left me alone today.. With no food, only water... in despair I decided to eat the pig ear... Shamefuly I must admit it was delicious... If one animal had to die to feed me... with this savory taste.. I can live with that.

- - - -

Day 21: (Home..?)
My captor seems to have adopted feelings for me, he seems to actualy care for me.. I am getting more food now, water, treats... and even pig ears.. I think that he knows how much I like pig ears.. Perhaps it was not a warning after all... I will stay for now.. as long as I get more pig ears... *drool*


- - - -

To be continued!


Thanks to Manifisto for the sig!

Adbot
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super mario batali

Dice-a the Mushroom


google THIS


FutonForensic posted:



references used: mating slugs, melted bundle of Twizzlers

Ace of Baes

by Nyc_Tattoo

mister magpie posted:

Me: OK. I'm going to show you a photograph-
Cop: Yeah
Me: -and you just tell me what you would do.
Cop: Ok
Me: First thing that pops in your head, just say it.
Cop: First thing?
Me: Uh huh.
Cop: Got it.
Me: *holds up photo of innocent unarmed black man*
Cop: Shoot him.
Me: I see. Just like that?
Cop: He's resisting arrest.
Me: And this one? *holds up another photo of an innocent unarmed black man*
Cop: Shoot him. He came at me.
Me: Interesting. What about this one? *holds up one more photo of an innocent unarmed black man*
Cop: He's probably arm-
Me: Clearly he isn't.
Cop: ...I can't take that chance. Shoot him.
Me: I see. Now, imagine... what if you did something different?
Cop: ...I don't follow.
Me: Ok, you see this man here. *shakes photo in hand*
Cop: Ok.
Me: and you ...don't shoot him.
Cop: ...I don't understand.

Luvcow


google THIS posted:

*reporter sees a stream running down the mountainside*

excuse me, sir, may I have a moment?

*water picks up its pace, reporter jogs alongside the stream holding out their microphone*

I have some questions for you, water. is the Loch Ness monster real?

*stream joins a river, tries to get lost in the crowd*

scientists are saying that we know more about outer space than the depths of our own oceans

*river quickens, reporter has to yell over a roaring sound*

WHY ALL THE SECRECY? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING?

*water disappears over a giant waterfall*

THE PEOPLE HAVE A RIGHT TO KNOW! WE'RE 65% YOU!



thanks to city of glompton for this sig

thanks to vanisher for this sig

Uxzuigal

Chill Berserker Dude

On excuses for skipping homework:

FutonForensic posted:

my home died. can't do homework without a home. that's just work, and child labor is illegal. are you a criminal, teach?

<3 <3 Vanisher

cuntman.net


FutonForensic posted:

GIRL FINDS BAG OF WEED WHILE PLAYING POKEMON GO
Girl Who Found Dead Body Says "That Girl Got a Much Better Deal"

e: Fixed it for you Twist Fist. - Uxz.

Somebody fucked around with this message at 09:35 on Jul 30, 2016

alnilam

Postin in the springtime



joke_explainer posted:

The chase almost seemed pointless by now. The same sweeping southwestern vistas roaring by at unimaginable speed. He'd get a thousand miles down, but after a night's rest, the coyote was back at him again. The coyote was smart; smarter than any coyote should be. The fact that he could understand that at all told him he was no ordinary road runner either, though the impossible speed his legs could carry him was another hint. He was also funded: Some unknown benefactor bringing him whatever he needed day in, day out, though he'd never seen a delivery truck.The two things that bothered him most was the inescapability of it all, and the inconsistency in the rules of the universe centered around him.

On the first, he had no idea how long they had been doing this. Rarely did seasonal changes mark the days, and even day and night seemed variable. Going by the occasional, inexplicable Christmas theme thrown into the mix, he'd have to say at least sixty years. He knew he'd never run his way out. There was nothing but more wind-swept mesa no matter where he ran.

The inconsistency was the odd thing. He still remembered the first time, had to be at least fifty years ago at this point. The coyote standing next to a mountain, paint buckets around him, that same mischievous look in his eyes. He wasn't fast on the uptake, no, he figured another dumb piano or anvil drop, something like that. He smelled the fresh paint right before his nose should have impacted the rock face. But no, he sailed clean on through.

The same trick a few times later, he saw it coming a mile away. He stopped himself inside the strange, makeshift reality of the interior of the mountain; turning around, he saw the coyote slam painfully into the rock, as he looked at the strange details inside the world that collapsed after he finished running through it.

It seemed to be the only variability: Create a favorable situation for himself, and the world (or whatever it was) itself rotated around him. It existed to spite the coyote. Was he some kind of toy in this creature's hell? The problem was having no formal control over it. He couldn't directly tell reality what to do. That changed when the latest foil of the Coyote's plans took him through the library where the Coyote did his research. At his speed, he spotted a number of books on physics, electronics, formal logic, and he even snatched one on programming.

Most were useless; the physics theories didn't hold much water in this world. The logic and the programming were more interesting. A way to formalize and directly address data from its peripherals. If it was connected to these reality-altering events, could he exert more control through that?

It took a long time to hatch a plan to get the coyote using his own computing systems. He carefully backtracked, left trails building up complex mathematical sequences he'd worked out scrawling in the sand and then rubbed clean. He studied the books, worked out programs and ideas on how to use them in the same way. The Coyote was smart, smarter than him even if he was doomed to fail; he'd notice there was a pattern, and he'd need to analyze it. Hard to say how long it took. Ten years maybe, maybe less, maybe more.

The coyote had an entire server farm, a huge ACME-branded building crunching the numbers on solving the sequences and getting a leg up on him. He'd discovered it years ago, but avoided a direct encounter there. Once on recon the thing spotted him, and they had an amusing run up and down the aisles with him eventually electrocuting himself to a blackened husk on his unnecessarily protected server cages. That poor animal; he stood there blinking cracked-ash eyelids before keeling over in agony, but the sick bastards in charge here would not let him die for long, if at all even with his skin burnt to a crisp.

The next part was even more difficult. He found cases of paint, relatively fresh from a recent repeat of the old gimmick. Painting on the rock face, he pressed his wing into it, and found the surface solid. Wet paint.

He wasn't surprised. Only works with the Coyote does it; has to be built around the coyote failing.

So began some long and frustrating work. He had to keep the setting to the servers, but had to make sure the coyote didn't lean on the fundamentals and blow the whole drat thing up. The bird would cart many a bomb off, always managing to escape the blast though the coyote rarely did. Months went down, and he saw his aggressor go up in flames or die in pain more times than the last decade combined. But he always came back. It seemed to be part of the program.

Finally, it happened. Painted to perfection, and extension of the server cages around a typical loop, ending in an electrified surface hoping to finally nail me with his unnecessary and dangerous deterrent. The bird was a little sad for the old beast... he'd gotten so much better at this in the last decade. He was too eager to slow down though, and ran right through the paint into that hammerspace behind it. The roadrunner skidded to a halt immediately and walked to one of the servers; hooked up a lovingly painted cart with a keyboard, and was absolutely thrilled to discover a working prompt. But what could it access?

It turned out a lot. Must have keyed into some kind of subroutine for running objects in the system. It was down a layer, sure, but some brief study on the way the system handled information had me injecting it up a layer. No sign of his intrusion angering some unseen architect. He hacked furiously, beak moving as fast as his legs as he worked, first retrieving just nonsense information then more details from some unseen reality. Classes and subclasses of generation routines slowly defined themselves for me, and eventually he made calls out.

After solving the geographical positioning routines (amusingly simple; the system is centered around him and the canine), he had things popping into existence in the non-existent hammerspace: Offloading for neural processes, parallelization, cognitive enhancement. He found his own mental patterns, everything that made him think or who he was, laid out in complex algorithmic language. This was it, or at least step one. He dug further.

This was definitely a false world as he'd suspected for decades, and the world above was rich beyond all imagining; but who knows if that's where this rabbit hole ends? The security out there in the world was no better than a layer up. Forking his mental processes, he cracked and hacked his way through it all. An entire, complex, and sensical world, where things functioned like they should. And the people in power wasting a smidgen of energy running this sort of thing. Why was it happening? He couldn't tell. But it didn't matter, he had access, processor time, a virtualized space ready in the real world, escape was ready, he just had to initiate it.

Suddenly he had a pang of doubt. He looked back toward the painted wall, expecting to see the coyote comically flat against the side, electrified and every bone broken. That was not so. He was just standing there, holding up a poster-sized piece of paper.

"I know what you're doing: I want the same thing as you. Take me with you."

The roadrunner smiled. Meep meep. He adjusted his program, taking but a thought now, and engaged it. Instant transmission off into the brave new world. In their former reality, the two characters vanished, and all copies of them and their backups deleted from the Hell-system, which started to crumple under the weight of the roadrunner's malware and worms. The entire system vanished and the feed faded to black.

The kids turned off the TV. What a strange episode.

misty mountaintop

a good and cool byob poster
who makes funny and nice threads.

st1LL_51ngl3 posted:

On reflection, swimmers really aren't so different from us. We pray to Jesus, they pray to Neptune or possibly the nameless kraken God of the tartarean depths on the full moon when the tides dredge the waters and the inky black underworld of the void spills ever closer to the surface. We both pay our taxes, only they pay theirs in pearls and the spoils of the treasure chests of those land dwellers foolish enough to flitter across the surface of the sea in their puny matchstick boats, unaware of the horrors watching them from below. We both spend a ton of free time playing Candy Crush. Really more alike than not if you think about it.

problematic hug


misty mountaintop

a good and cool byob poster
who makes funny and nice threads.

google THIS posted:

adult baby, huh? that's…kinky, I guess. *absentmindedly twirls my adult umbilical cord*

google THIS


misty mountaintop

a good and cool byob poster
who makes funny and nice threads.

google THIS posted:

Chief Childe hesitated as he approached the remote cabin. This was going to open old boo-boos. But what choice did he have?

He found his target out back, smacking a pile of already split firewood with a toy axe. "A. B.," Childe said. "It's been a long time."

The stooped figure paused, his back still to the police chief. "What do you want?" he asked. There was an edge to his voice, and Childe knew he had to talk fast or a tantrum was likely to follow.

"I need you to help me catch the Daycare Killer."

A. B. laughed, finally turning to face his old boss. His matted beard was damp. Could it be...milk? "You need my help? Why me?"

"None of the other officers can do what you do," said Childe. "I need a man on the inside. No, more than that, I need a baby. I need Adult Baby."

"You kicked me off the force," said A. B. "Made me turn in my name tag. Told me I was a loose squirtgun."

"And now I'm telling you you're the only man for the job...And the only baby."

"I don't do that anymore, chief."

"Bullshit," Childe snapped.

"Poopy," A. B. corrected.

"Fine then, poopy. You think I can't hear that diaper crinkling under those jeans? Think I can't smell the stink of formula around this hovel of yours? No, you're still Adult Baby. You may have left the playpen but the playpen hasn't left you. And right now we need you. This city needs you."

A. B. pouted for a moment. Then his lips parted in a wide smile, his eyes crossed, and he giggled idiotically. Childe waited patiently for him to refocus. Finally A.B. said, "Maybe we should discuss this over a bottle of Similac?"

"No worries," said Childe, tossing A. B. a baby bottle. "I brought one. Shaken, not stirred?"

"You know me so well," said A. B., taking a drink. "Now let's give that killer a long, long nap."

HighwireAct


Pozzo's Hat

am I allowed to quote Munchables' full post in the animal hybrids thread here

Piso Mojado


HighwireAct posted:

am I allowed to quote Munchables' full post in the animal hybrids thread here

is it funny?

edit: it's awesome.

Pot Smoke Phoenix

It's not as bad as it looks

HighwireAct posted:

am I allowed to quote Munchables' full post in the animal hybrids thread here


Piso Mojado posted:

is it funny?

edit: it's awesome.

Munchables posted:























(had to improvise)













Sig by City of Glompton and God Speed John Glenn, two awesome BYOB people!

google THIS


FactsAreUseless posted:

Don't you just hate THAT guy at your job? You know the one! He's always leaving a dirty coffee cop in the break room!

*audience laughs tentatively*

You know the guy, you go to lunch and he's at his desk carefully stacking all his pens into a perfectly-balanced vertical tower...

*one guy in the audience just really starts busting up*

You know, you know, yeah, I can see you in the front, you know what I'm talking about. The guy that merges into the wall every time there's cake in the break room, and he just sits there, just a pair of eyes staring out of the wall as his skin and veins spread out across it, you know the guy!

*the audience are laughing now, riotously, a clear, joyous laughter that sounds like music and spreads for miles*

Ugh, THAT guy, you ask him what he wants for lunch but he doesn't even hear you because he doesn't have any ears and the entire lower half of his body is spinning and spinning, it's like, woah, what is this, a laundromat?

*the audience are loving losing their minds, they're transcendent, their bodies have gone berserk flipping tables and smashing glasses but their souls are floating above the room*

And don't even get me started on taxes! Don't even get me started! Don't do it! Don't get me started! Don't let me get started! Don't start me! Do not allow me to begin, or to initiate, or to convey or discuss or present my opinions on taxes in any manner, any sort of tax, sales taxes

*the laughter carries to space*

property taxes

*humanity ascends to a single mind of energy*

income taxes

*the loud audience member from earlier becomes the leader of mankind*

estate taxes

*the comedian is the only man who stands apart from humanity, he remains on the stage, microphone in hand, a brick wall behind him, waiting to know when his time is up, but the rest of his kind journey beyond the stars*

Ace of Baes

by Nyc_Tattoo

FutonForensic posted:

*picks up woman that looks like wife, judges her weight carefully* this is not my beautiful wife! LETTING THE DAYS GO BY let the water pick me up

Miss Psychosis


Sup

Piso Mojado



hey

FluffieDuckie

welcome back miss p



Pomp

Pomp has also
an anime avatar



what is up, my dude

GODSPEED JOHN GLENN


I put my thumb up my bum and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth.


Welcome back!

symbolic

Will you follow me to oblivion to dance among the stars?

hello there old 'yobber, and welcome back

FluffieDuckie

ok guys we're glad miss p's back but this is actually not the thread for this so lets get back to posting our favorite posts from other threads



Munchables

Ask/tell me about legal cannibalism


google THIS posted:

there's plenty of ouroborus but the ouroborus keeps hogging it

Somebody fucked around with this message at 21:18 on Sep 5, 2016

Android Blues


Pot Smoke Phoenix

It's not as bad as it looks

From the BYOB Fall 2016 sigs thread (which belongs here, too)



Sig by City of Glompton and God Speed John Glenn, two awesome BYOB people!

misty mountaintop

a good and cool byob poster
who makes funny and nice threads.

Luvcow posted:

*basketball bounces in slow motion off of great white sharks nose and miraculously bounces into the hoop just as time expires, scoreboard shows that Amity Island wins the game by 1 point*

Becky: "omg Jaws 5 we did it! we won the big game!"

*visiting teams coach slams his clipboard down on the ground in disgust as the enormous shark begins flapping around on the floor snapping its mouth shut on various visiting players, blood begins spraying from their injuries and coating the floor*

Travis: "Becky we did it!"

*spray of blood almost makes Travis slip and fall as he runs to his big sister Becky to give her a hug, behind him Jaws slides easily across the gym floor and consumes yet another person, credits begin to roll as the camera pans out, Chumbawumba's Tubthumper begins to play as the screen fades to black*

Piso Mojado



lol

misty mountaintop

a good and cool byob poster
who makes funny and nice threads.

Music Theory posted:

Samuel L. Jackson: Welcome back, Godot.

super mario batali

Dice-a the Mushroom

Heartbroken 2Twice posted:

i heard if you hold your ear up to a new iphone where the headphone jack used to be, you can hear the sea


Pot Smoke Phoenix

It's not as bad as it looks

misty mountaintop posted:

Oscar sat down on the stoop, looked out blankly at The Street, lit the joint, inhaled. A little after noon on a Thursday, out in public with a J in his hand, he might have been wary, but he wasn’t. He had grown up on The Street, knew its rhythms, the systole/diastole of its people, its traffic. 5-0 never rolled down The Street.

Three blocks north, now that was the ghetto. The ghetto ghetto. The cops couldn’t get in there fast enough. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough either – come in hard on the heels of another burglary, another mugging, another murder, and then before they’d even got the chalk all the way around the body, a new call would come in and they’d scatter to their cars and zoom away.

But that was three blocks north, not The Street. The Street wasn’t exciting enough for cops.

Oscar took another hit. Beneath his legs, behind him, he could almost feel the brownstone breathe. Inhale: hot summer air, garbage stink, gasoline. Exhale: a floating conversation, a sharp laugh, sweet grease, baseball play-by-play. Félix Millán rounds first on his way to second. The throw comes in and…he’s safe! The cheers of the crowd. Inhale: weed tang at the back of his throat. Exhale: smoke into the clear blue sky, a lazy, unsuccessful attempt at rings.

Grover was late. Cookie, too, but you expected Cookie to be late. Grover, though, that cat was punctual. Except today.

Oscar considered heading to Hooper’s bodega for a Yoo-Hoo but decided against it. Better to just wait and watch.

Under the heavy August haze, inside the bright green fuzz of his high, The Street seemed to move syrup-slow, like a snake coiling itself for sleep. On the other side of The Street, kids had opened a fire hydrant. They danced in the spray. Scraps of water flashed off of them at all angles: shapes like spun glass, rough diamonds. Oscar had woken up in a bad mood, but now the sunny day was chasing his clouds away. He hummed a little, a thing he liked to do when he was in a good place, improvising the lyrics as he went:

Oh these are the people in your neighborhood
In your neighborhood,
In your neighborhood,
Oh these are the people in your neighborhood
The people that you meet each day.


“What up Oscar?” It was Cookie. He flopped his rail-thin body on the stoop next to Oscar and gave him a familiar fist bump. “Sorry me late. Mom said me had to watch Telly till she get back.”

Nobody knew Cookie’s real name. Scratch that. They knew his real name: it was Cookie. So far as the inhabitants of The Street were concerned, he’d been Cookie since day one. Nobody knew where that weird-shaped head of his came from either. Prairie Dawn said it looked sort of Chinese and Cookie probably had some Chinese blood back up in his mother’s side. For a whole year in Middle School she’d called him Fortune Cookie until one day he snapped and tried to fight her. Oscar had to hold him back. That afternoon, Grover went to have a talk with her. Oscar didn’t know what Grover said, but she was nice to Cookie after that.

Oscar himself suspected that the head thing had something to do with Cookie’s brain. Cookie had a lot of half-baked ideas up in there. Sometimes the ideas were trouble, sometimes just funny as hell. Cookie was none too bright, but he was a good friend. He’d always had Oscar’s back.

Oscar held the last third of the joint out to Cookie and nodded like, go ahead brother, take a hit.

“Nah, man. You know that poo poo give me the munchies and me have nothing to eat.”

Oscar let it linger in front of Cookie and waved it back and forth like a hypnotist’s watch. He wiggled his eyebrows conspiratorially. He had thick, expressive brows.

“Alright.” Cookie took the joint and sucked in a huge hit that burnt it down to the roach.

“drat, Cook. Take it easy.”

Holding the smoke in, Cookie said, “That how me am. When me got it, me get it till it gone.” He blew the smoke out slowly through pursed lips, emphasizing how big the hit had been. “Where Grover?”

Oscar shrugged and leaned back against the steps. That was the question. That was always the question. They tried to play, him and Cookie, like they were something without him, like if Grover didn’t come, they’d find something to do, find a way to make the day worthwhile. It just wasn’t true. Without Grover they were just two idiots sitting on the stoop, blazing their youth away until…until what? Oscar had no loving clue.

Grover was the best of them. He was smarter than Oscar, more loyal even than Cookie. For Oscar, The Street was a place to look across, to observe, to live in, but for Grover, it was first stop on a way out. Everybody knew that. Oscar couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t gone already. Any opportunity out there, Grover could take it.

He’d heard The Count was looking for a couple of guys to run some corners. Grover could do that in a heartbeat, work his way up. poo poo, Oscar was thinking about it himself and Oscar was only just clever enough to know he was a dumb motherfucker. That was the problem. There was a saying on The Street: “You gently caress up the count, The Count gonna gently caress you up.” Oscar knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it all straight. He dreamed too much. Got too fuzzy. But Grover knew how to stay sharp.

Oscar’s thoughts were interrupted by someone saying “Excuse me.” Oscar looked up and saw Earnest standing in front of them, waiting for Cookie and him to move out of the way so he could go up the steps and into his apartment.

Earnest was one of the only white guys on The Street. A recent, weird addition. Why the young seminarian had thought The Street would be the place for him, Oscar couldn’t understand. He didn’t talk to most people. Looked ridiculous in his clerical shirt and collar. Mostly, he just seemed to be waiting for someone to say something to him. He had a way of looking at people like he knew something was up. It made Oscar want to punch him.

A lot of things he did made Oscar want to punch him. When he’d first met Earnest, Oscar had thought he would be murdered within a week. Everything he did seemed calculated to give offense. But after observing him, Oscar started to realize that the dude was just seriously inattentive. It was like he had been holding his breath since he was born and most of his energy was being spent just stopping himself from taking that first breath.
This “excuse me” junk was typical. Oscar and Cookie were only taking up half the stoop. Earnest could have just walked around them. The two friends looked at each other meaningfully and scooted the absolute bare minimum to allow Earnest to pass between them.

“Thank you,” the seminarian said, a little too happily, as he went up into the building.

“That guy a enjoyable human being.” Cookie said when the front door closed.

“He’s all right. He’s a pain in the rear end but I don’t think he can help himself. Don’t give him trouble, ok?” Oscar wished they had some more weed. And he really wished Grover would finally hurry up and get here.
“No, Me mean he a real enjoyable human being. For real.” Cookie slapped the stoop. “He a fag enjoyable human being.”

“Man, Cook, how do you know?”

Cookie shrugged. “Me just know.”

“Well what, did you suck his dick, huh? Is that how you know? I bet you did.”

Cookie got up and pushed Oscar, not too hard, but hard enough. “What you trying to say.”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I was just loving ar-.”

Oscar couldn’t exactly remember the last time he’d actually seen police on The Street, but all of a sudden, they were there, fast and loud. Three cars blaring. Some of the hydrant kids just barely had a chance to get out of the way. They came screaming down The Street and were gone, leaving behind only the sound of the sirens, growing a bit more distant now but filling the space from all sides like a cloud that wouldn’t lift.

“What do you think that’s about?” Oscar asked.

“Me not know,” Cookie said, “Some poor motherfucker is gonna get it, though. Someone is going to have some big problems.”

“Yeah. At least it’s not us.”

What Oscar didn’t know yet, but was just about to find out, was that it was them. The sirens were beckoning, calling them out of their safety, drawing them on past their daydreams, out into the world and into adulthood, heartbreak, loss, the disappearance and return of everything they’d ever known.

Away from The Street, back to The Street, always The Street.

Three blocks north, Grover lay handcuffed and unconscious in the back of a police van.



Sig by City of Glompton and God Speed John Glenn, two awesome BYOB people!

FluffieDuckie

RazzleDazzleHour posted:

We had chipmunks burrow under our garage and destroy some of our lawn, so we created a rube goldberg trap out of a bucket filled with food and a baseball base that would fall on top of the opening when a chipmunk climbed inside so we could take them to the park and let them out. We told our neighbor who said he had a recurring squirrel problem and had done the same thing. He started spraypainting the squirrel's tails so he could identify them, and it was the same squirrels coming miles from the park all the way back to his house. If you really want to solve your squirrel problem, there's only one thing to do.





You need to call the police and file a restraining order against the squirrels. Get a lawyer to attempt to secure property damage from them. If they're the invasive red squirrels like this thread has mentioned, contact immigration services to attempt to investigate their legality. If they don't have proper authorization, you might want to contact the Trump campaign. If he hears that illegal squirrel immigrants have come into your neighborhood and are lowering your property values, you're gonna get some national recognition. I don't know if he pays people that tell their stories on the campaign trail on his behalf, but honestly, if the squirrels are ruining your lawn anyways you might as well try to get a buck out of this situation.



City of Glompton





lol





thank you vanisher!

alnilam

Postin in the springtime



i flunked out

Surfin PooSA

Luvcow


misty mountaintop posted:

Perhaps this will help




thanks to city of glompton for this sig

thanks to vanisher for this sig

Macnult




both sigs courtesy of kaiser schnitzel

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HighwireAct


Pozzo's Hat

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