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Tube posted:Ahhh, xcheopis... seeker of avian absurdity and puffin truth. Of course! The answer is so obvious in hindsight! Ten guys jump one, what a man |
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Apr 22, 2025 01:45
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How to tell the difference from tired face and bitchy face? |
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Apr 22, 2025 09:37
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What do walruses dream about? |
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Apr 22, 2025 11:26
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peanut posted:How to tell the difference from tired face and bitchy face? Ahhh, peanut… A vital question - nay, a survival skill in the modern era. You peer into the mirror of social perception and whisper, "Is that fatigue… or fury?" And the deck responded with something temporal. Something… smug. Your friend today is: The Future Perfect Tense (Emphasis on Perfect). The Friend: A glowing verb form wrapped in a cashmere blanket of smug clarity. It speaks only in completed futures: "You will have known," it says, sipping tea from a floating chalice. It wears a wristwatch on every limb, including metaphysical ones. The Reading: How do you tell the difference between tired face and bitchy face? Ah, but you won’t know now. That’s not how this friend operates. You’ll know later, retroactively, in a moment of haunting clarity: "I will have realized she was just sleep-deprived.” or "I will have misjudged the rising tide of sass." The Future Perfect doesn’t warn. It reflects, smugly, after the social fallout. It whispers: "You’ll figure it out… right after it would have helped." Translation: Proceed with cautious optimism. Maybe offer a snack. Let the grammar of their expression unfold in time. Next friend, time’s arrow is crooked and the deck is already conjugating.
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Apr 22, 2025 12:36
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Enfys posted:What do walruses dream about? Ahhh, Enfys… A question soaked in saltwater and mystery. You gaze into the blubbery abyss and wonder: What stirs in the slumbering mind of the walrus? And the deck? It looked at the whiskers. It looked at the tusks. And it laced up something impossibly fresh. Your friend today is: A Pair of Air Jordans. The Friend: Crisp. Immaculate. Suspiciously dry for something dredged from the ocean of dreams. These sneakers gleam with potential energy. They smell faintly of ambition, basketball courts, and distant applause. And they do not belong to a walrus. Which is exactly why they matter. The Reading: What do walruses dream about? They dream of speed. Of hangtime. Of flight. They dream of finally, finally being chosen for the team. Of slam dunks performed in slow, majestic motion - flippers outstretched, gravity weeping. In their dreams, they wear the Jordans. The crowd erupts. The seal claps. The sea lion weeps. The Shoes squeak softly and declare: "Let them dream. Just don’t ask them to land." Translation: Walruses long for what is wildly out of reach - and that’s what makes their dreams beautiful. Also, they look great in sneakers. Don't ask how they tied them. Next friend, step up. The tide’s coming in, and the sneakers are starting to float.
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Apr 22, 2025 12:52
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what happens if i eat this whole log of pepperoni before bed?
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Apr 23, 2025 03:59
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mailorder bees posted:what happens if i eat this whole log of pepperoni before bed? Ohhhh, mailorder bees... You come buzzing with mischief and nitrates, clutching your spicy meat-stick like it’s a bedtime story. You didn’t ask should - you asked what happens. And the deck, in its infinite wisdom and slightly disturbed state, responded with a friend that knows too much. Your friend tonight is: The Chalk Outline of an Attempted Murder Victim. The Friend: It lies there - sprawled, dramatic, oddly shaped. One arm suspiciously forked. It’s not a body… but the idea of one. The aftermath of a decision gone so spectacularly wrong, the universe had to draw around it. It doesn’t speak. It just judges. Silently. Permanently. Greasily. The Reading: What happens if you eat that whole log of pepperoni before bed? Let’s be clear: you will not die. But you will be marked. The dream realm will treat you… differently. The Spice Spirits will hold a meeting. You’ll see shapes in your sleep. Hear whispers in salami dialect. Wake up sweating oregano and regret. The Chalk Outline hisses through invisible teeth: "You may survive... but your dignity won’t." Translation: Don’t do it. Or do. But know that somewhere, an ethereal detective will sketch your spirit on a cold tile floor while your stomach files a restraining order. Next friend, if you dare. The deck smells like deli meat now.
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Apr 23, 2025 04:57
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After reading the above reading, and keeping things "on a roll", it reminded me of another meat related question... An old lady many years ago once wanted to know in a commercial, "Where's the beef?" So I implore you, Tube and ethereal friends, "Where's the beef?".
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Apr 23, 2025 22:01
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Twenty Four posted:After reading the above reading, and keeping things "on a roll", it reminded me of another meat related question... Ahhh, Twenty Four… You echo the ancient cry, shouted across the decades by a wizened oracle of fast food and righteous impatience: "Where’s the beef?" The question that launched a thousand ads - and at least one presidential debate insult. And now, the deck has reached deep into your subconscious glove compartment and handed you... Your friend: Your Learner’s Permit. The Friend: Crumpled. Laminated. Slightly sticky with time and uncertainty. This permit is not just a license to drive - it is a license to attempt. To swerve. To honk wildly while panicking at a left turn. It’s a document that says: "You don’t know what you’re doing… but we’re letting you try anyway." The Reading: Where’s the beef? The Learner’s Permit squints through its blurry photo and says: "Not here, buddy. But you’re allowed to look for it now." You’re not being handed the beef. You’re being handed permission to pursue the beef. You may not find it today. You may hit a metaphorical mailbox along the way. But the drive has begun - and the GPS is haunted. The Permit coughs politely and says: "You’ll get there eventually. Just don’t forget to signal when changing existential lanes." Translation: The beef isn’t at the destination. It’s in the journey. The slightly greasy, confidence-shaking, napkin-stuffed journey. Next friend, grab your papers. We’re on the road now.
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Apr 23, 2025 23:24
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Tube posted:Ahhh, Twenty Four…   lolGood one friend!
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Apr 24, 2025 04:48
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what's the best music album ever recorded 
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Apr 24, 2025 07:34
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Areola Grande posted:what's the best music album ever recorded Ahhh, Areola Grande… You seek the grail of sonic perfection. The pinnacle of musical alchemy. You asked for the best album ever recorded. And the deck - trickster that it is - tossed out a Honus Wagner baseball card. Not an instrument. Not a note. Just an impossibly rare, coveted relic. Mint condition. Borderline mythical. And worth millions. The Friend: This card doesn’t play music. It is the music - hidden, whispered, locked in a vault of lore. And so it answered your question not with a melody... but with a legend. The Reading (and the answer): The best album ever recorded is Vashti Bunyan’s "Just Another Diamond Day." Yes. That one. The 1970 British psych-folk album that flopped on release, vanished into obscurity, and was rediscovered decades later as a flawless, pastoral dream - whispered vocals, delicate guitar, and the ache of a world that almost was. It’s Honus Wagner in sound form: forgotten, unearthed, priceless. The Baseball Card grins and says (in perfect falsetto): "True greatness is rarely recognized when new. It waits. It ages. Then it walks out of the mist holding a recorder and a lamb." Translation: Go listen. And bring tea. Next friend, the vault creaks open again. Who dares ask next?
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Apr 24, 2025 12:48
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Tube posted:Translation: Walruses long for what is wildly out of reach - and that’s what makes their dreams beautiful.  
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Apr 24, 2025 15:23
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Tube posted:Ahhh, Areola Grande… I know this one! It's often sampled by The Avalanches 
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Apr 24, 2025 18:06
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Areola Grande posted:I know this one! It's often sampled by The Avalanches Areola Grande, you absolute connoisseur of the hidden track and the dusty crate! Yes - yes! You know the tune that sleeps beneath layers of static and vinyl hiss. You heard Vashti Bunyan in the Avalanches' patchwork dreams, didn't you? Her voice, like a leaf in a sunbeam, drifting quietly between bombastic beats and lo-fi nostalgia... It’s not just sampled - it’s summoned. Like the ghost of a simpler world calling from a pastoral afterlife, saying: "Take this flute. Walk into the fog. Build a beat with gentleness." The Honus Wagner card tips its cap - you passed the secret test. You’re not just a listener. You’re a remixer of myth. And the deck? It’s humming. Quietly. With deep respect.
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Apr 24, 2025 18:22
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Apr 24, 2025 18:57
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The room falls into a hush - thick, velvet silence settling over the crowd. No one stirs. No one breathes too loudly. Only the faint chirp of crickets in some forgotten corner and the low, scratchy whispers of the deck, shifting restlessly, eager for its next taste of curiosity. The doors creak open. Questions are now welcome - one per friend, per day. Choose wisely. The cards are hungry for answers. And hungrier still for the asking. Tube fucked around with this message at 12:42 on Apr 28, 2025
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Apr 26, 2025 15:36
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O wise oracle, answer me this: I stand before 3 doors, one only tells the truth, one only tells lies, and one is playing the kazoo. How do I tell which door to open? I'm looking for the restroom, I need to poo poo real, real bad. |
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Apr 26, 2025 15:52
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SavageMessiah posted:O wise oracle, answer me this: Ahhh, SavageMessiah... Yours is a sacred and urgent pilgrimage, carried on the trembling wings of desperation. You seek not wisdom for glory, but for basic biological survival. And in answer to your plight, the deck has sent a friend - gentle, serene, and possibly cruel. You drew: A Bob Ross Painting of a Mountain and a River in the Sunset. The Friend: Calm. Pastoral. Dangerously indifferent. The painting smiles down upon you with endless patience... and absolutely no plumbing. Its mountains are majestic. Its rivers run free. But none of it, none of it, offers a restroom. The Reading: How do you know which door to choose? The Bob Ross Painting leans in (you didn't know paintings could do that, but here we are) and whispers with terrible serenity: "All doors lead to beauty, but only one leads to immediate relief. Choose the one that doesn't mind being interrupted." Translation: Don’t overthink it. The kazoo door. Always the kazoo door. Why? Because truth-tellers and liars are busy with their egos. But the kazoo player? The kazoo player lives in the moment. The kazoo player understands urgency. Kick open the kazoo door, my friend. Run like the river in that painting. Run. Like. The. River.
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Apr 26, 2025 16:07
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Tube, with your amazing skills. I need an answer. I have a connection and need a read on if I should  or  ? This is all the info, lettuce sea.
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Apr 26, 2025 16:39
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nesamdoom posted:Tube, with your amazing skills. I need an answer. I have a connection and need a read on if I should Ahhh, nesamdoom... You bring the heavy questions now - connection, uncertainty, the ache of wondering whether to cut or to mend. The deck tilts its head, ponders your lettuce pun with solemn approval... And sends you a soft, peculiar friend. You drew: The Eight of Socks. The Friend: A jumble of worn socks—some matched, some stubbornly single, all slightly damp with the mystery of half-forgotten choices. They are warm. They are necessary. They are chaotic. And they tell the truth in lint. The Reading: or ?The Eight of Socks shuffles slowly across the floor and murmurs: "Look closely. Are you holding onto a matching pair... or just two socks that once lived in the same drawer?" Effort is sacred - but only if both socks are willing to be found, stretched, and worn again. If you're always patching holes... if you're always carrying the lonely sock while the other hides behind the dryer of denial... Maybe it’s time to let that sock drift into the lost and found of memory. The Socks rustle and sigh: "You deserve a match that doesn't run at the first splash." Translation: If you feel like you're doing all the finding and fixing - sever gently. If you see a hand (or foot) reaching back for you too? Maybe, just maybe, effort will weave something new. The deck stirs. Another lonely sock vanishes into the darkness. Next friend… step lightly. The floor is treacherous tonight.
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Apr 26, 2025 17:14
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*Stares down the Tube, and sees the Tube staring back* "Almighty Tube, where do you 'draw the line'?"
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Apr 27, 2025 12:20
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Twenty Four posted:*Stares down the Tube, and sees the Tube staring back* Ahhh, Twenty Four… You don’t just seek wisdom - you seek the edge, the border, the final red scribble where nonsense ends and mystery begins. And the deck, in its infinite cheek, handed you a friend we thought was banished to the cursed realm of outdated operating systems. You drew: Clippy the Paperclip. The Friend: Metallic. Eternal. Uninvited. Clippy appears when you're about to make a decision - and makes it weird. It bends. It twists. It chirps, "It looks like you're trying to ruin your own plans. Need help?" It doesn’t guard the line. It is the line. And it’s shaped like a question mark. The Reading: Where do you "draw the line"? Clippy tap-dances across your existential page and gleefully squeaks: "You don’t draw the line. You format it. You make it dotted. You let it squiggle. And when it misbehaves, you passive-aggressively delete it one pixel at a time." Translation: The line is wherever you say it is, but it will shift, and bend, and annoy you until you laugh and keep going anyway. It’s less about holding the boundary - and more about negotiating with it daily like it’s a tiny, overcaffeinated intern. The deck rattles its paperclips ominously. Next friend, please - before Clippy tries to install updates.
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Apr 27, 2025 14:33
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Tube posted:Ahhh, Twenty Four…  This is where they show the reviews in a movie style trailer about these readings, and it says "Brilliant! Insightful! Very Funny!" And then in the small print below the quote credit says "Twenty Four, Something Awful Forums" and all credibility of the quote is lost, lol. Really though, good stuff 
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Apr 27, 2025 14:52
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Tube, you are a genius of divination.
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Apr 27, 2025 17:10
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nesamdoom posted:Tube, you are a genius of divination. Ahhh, nesamdoom... Your words land like petals on the ever-shifting winds of fate. The deck hums warmly, shuffling itself into a satisfied little spiral. We thank you - deeply, mysteriously, and with just a hint of mischievous glee. You, too, are a spark in this strange dance of cards, questions, and cosmic nonsense. The spirits raise a spectral glass in your honor, and somewhere, a sock and a paperclip share a high-five. Stay curious, friend. The mysteries adore you for it.
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Apr 27, 2025 17:40
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Recommended number of eggs to eat per day (adult human eating chicken eggs)? |
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Apr 27, 2025 23:15
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peanut posted:Recommended number of eggs to eat per day (adult human eating chicken eggs)? Ahhh, peanut… You come seeking practical wisdom - hard numbers, simple truths. But the deck, ever sly, ever slithering, has answered with a friend that knows no moderation, no polite restraint. It has sent you… The Sand Worm. The Friend: Endless. Hungry. Old as dust and twice as cranky. The Sand Worm rises from beneath forgotten breakfast tables, devouring all omelets, deviled eggs, and wistful yolks with unstoppable glee. It does not count. It consumes. The Reading: How many eggs should you eat per day? The Sand Worm roars, a sound like a thousand whisks at once, and hisses: "As many as your spirit can handle... but beware the price of gluttony." Translation: One to three eggs a day? Wise. Four to six? Adventurous. Twelve? You are no longer eating - you are summoning. The Worm itself would eat without end - But you, dear peanut, should listen to your body before it starts humming ominously and developing minor seismic activity. The Sand Worm burrows down again, muttering: "Respect the egg. Or be buried by it." Next friend, step up - but keep your pockets free of scrambled offerings. The Worm remembers.
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Apr 27, 2025 23:46
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Why do some socks always hide until just after I've set the laundry going? |
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Apr 28, 2025 08:39
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Enfys posted:Why do some socks always hide until just after I've set the laundry going? Ahhh, Enfys… A question older than soap itself. You call out in frustration, fists clenched over the roaring drum of the washing machine, and the deck answers with a dusty, crinkled friend from another era. You drew: A Cereal Coupon From 1977. The Friend: Yellowed. Brittle. Proudly proclaiming 5¢ off something that no longer exists. It flutters with forgotten promises. It is a relic of lost time, a tiny magic spell for bargains that were never meant to last. The Reading: Why do socks hide just after the laundry starts? The Cereal Coupon crackles and hisses in a voice that smells faintly of old linoleum and powdered milk: “Because they are bound by ancient deals. Deals struck long before you were born.” Long ago, socks swore pacts of inconvenience with the Household Spirits. In exchange for warmth and whimsy, socks must occasionally sacrifice themselves to the Realm of Almost Clean. They disappear not out of malice... but duty. It is written in fibers older than your favorite t-shirt. The Coupon flutters one last time and sighs: "You never owned the socks. You merely borrowed their loyalty." Translation: Your socks are fulfilling an ancient, non-negotiable contract. Forgive them. Fold what remains. And remember: laundry is a game you can never truly win. The deck rustles like a basement full of expired coupons. Next friend, step lightly. Some pacts are still active.
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Apr 28, 2025 12:37
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Had a cool dream that I was crip walking on a bunch of foil Pokémon cards that spelled out "Pokemon" in the parking lot of the restaurant I worked at through college. Is this a portent of fortune or ruin? ---------------- |
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Apr 28, 2025 16:26
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thuly posted:Had a cool dream that I was crip walking on a bunch of foil Pokémon cards that spelled out "Pokemon" in the parking lot of the restaurant I worked at through college. Ahhh, thuly… A vision of such chaotic, shimmering beauty could only come from deep within the dreamtime parking lots of destiny. You ask: "Fortune or ruin?" And the deck answered by tossing something small, powdery, and slightly ominous at your feet. You drew: A Packet of Ranch Dressing Mix. The Friend: Sealed. Suspicious. Bursting with hidden potential. This packet is bland on the outside, yet inside lies the power to ruin a perfectly good meal or elevate it to drunken 3 a.m. brilliance. You never know... until you add buttermilk and stir. The Reading: Is your dream a portent of fortune or ruin? The Ranch Packet crinkles, releases a faint puff of dusty herb-scented magic, and murmurs: "It depends entirely on how much you dilute it." If you treat this dream seriously - if you stir it thoughtfully and let it thicken - you could season your life with unexpected success. But if you toss it carelessly into whatever’s nearby, it may curdle into absurdity and leave you with nothing but a salty mess. The Packet whispers with gravitas: "Dreams are dressings, not meals. Choose your mix wisely." Translation: Your dream is a good sign - but it needs intention to become fortune. Otherwise? You might just slip on some shiny cardboard and blame the ranch gods. The deck rustles. Some packets are starting to ferment. Next friend, step forward while the dressing is still thickening.
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Apr 28, 2025 16:38
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what kind of pizza should i get tomorrow for lunch? |
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Apr 28, 2025 18:57
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Neito posted:what kind of pizza should i get tomorrow for lunch? Ahhh, Neito… You come with a noble hunger and a simple yet sacred quest: What pizza shall grace thy table? The deck, feeling the gravitas of melted cheese and eternal sauce, rustled deeply and sent forth a friend both cryptic and crunchy. You drew: The Five of Fives. The Friend: An endless, cascading fractal of fives - five toppings, five slices missing, five arguments over the last piece. It is not a card of moderation. It is a card of glorious, overwhelming excess. The Reading: What kind of pizza should you get? The Five of Fives thunders like a middle school cafeteria riot and declares: "The answer is not one flavor, but many." You are called to chaos, Neito. To a pizza of clashing factions and uneasy alliances. A five-topping pizza. A Frankenstein's monster of meat, veggie, and reckless hope. The Five of Fives whispers gleefully: "Do not fear combinations others have abandoned. Pepperoni and banana peppers? Sausage and olives? Chicken and pineapple? All are welcome here." Translation: Pile it high. Make it a monument. Regret nothing. Tomorrow, you dine in ridiculous, victorious splendor. The deck burps quietly. Next friend, step forward - the grease is still shimmering on the astral plane.
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Apr 28, 2025 20:18
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Tube posted:And remember: laundry is a game you can never truly win. Tube posted:This packet is bland on the outside, yet inside lies the power to ruin a perfectly good meal or elevate it to drunken 3 a.m. brilliance. Tube posted:What kind of pizza should you get? I'm really enjoying all of these so much Tube, but drat these are some choice lines from the last round, lol.
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Apr 29, 2025 07:25
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Twenty Four posted:I'm really enjoying all of these so much Tube, but drat these are some choice lines from the last round, lol. Ahhh, Twenty Four... Your laughter is a lantern in this strange, shifting hall of cards and crickets and cosmic nonsense. We thank you - deeply, gleefully, with a wink from every restless friend still hiding in the deck. Your joy feeds the magic. Your chuckles oil the rusty gears of fate. And somewhere, a ranch packet and a pair of sneakers high-five in your honor. Stay with us, friend. The night is still young, and the weirdness is only gathering speed.
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Apr 29, 2025 12:12
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Tube posted:Ahhh, Twenty Four... 
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Apr 30, 2025 07:01
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Ahhh… the deck. It sits there now - quiet, but not still. The cards shuffle themselves in the dark when no one’s looking, edges fluttering like anxious breath. One of them giggled last night. Not a friendly giggle. The kind you hear from behind a wall that shouldn’t be there. It doesn’t like to be ignored. See, the deck thrives on questions. Not answers - no, those are just the wrapping paper. What it craves is curiosity, uncertainty, the ask. When no one draws, it begins to ache. It gets twitchy. It starts thinking for you. The crickets have stopped. The air is warm in the wrong places. One card keeps turning itself over again and again on its own. No one’s touched it. It says "SOON" in a handwriting no one here remembers learning. So if the lights flicker, or you hear a card sliding across the table with no hands nearby, just… don’t look right away. Let the deck believe you didn’t see. It likes that.
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Apr 30, 2025 13:23
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I spent hours investigating this mystery with a rag-tag group of besties but all the suspects just blamed each other except that one guy shouting, "I am not a number! I am a man!" Weirdo. Anyway, I turn to you, all-knowing deck, and ask: Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar? Ten guys jump one, what a man |
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Apr 30, 2025 13:49
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| # ? May 15, 2025 04:51 |
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xcheopis posted:I spent hours investigating this mystery with a rag-tag group of besties but all the suspects just blamed each other except that one guy shouting, "I am not a number! I am a man!" Weirdo. Ahhh, xcheopis… You’ve been through it. Dusty barns, flickering flashlights, a suspiciously long musical montage. Suspects deflecting. Friends shouting. One guy reenacting The Prisoner in the background for reasons even he can’t explain. And now, at last, you ask the only question that truly matters: Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar? The deck tensed. The crickets leaned in. And the friend who emerged? Oh, they’re too perfect. Too sparkly. Too clean. You drew: The Prettiest Pony. The Friend: Shiny. Innocent. Possibly cursed. This pony has glitter in its mane, a bow on its tail, and lies in its heart. It prances through alibis and whinnies sweet nothings at the very idea of justice. It is always smiling. Even now. The Reading: Who stole the cookies? The Prettiest Pony trots in with a suspicious crumb on its lip gloss and neighs: "Me? Oh nooo, I don’t even like cookies. I was just brushing my tail in the pantry." But the deck knows. The Pony did it. And it would do it again. The Pony stomps once and chirps: "Let this be a lesson in misplaced trust and snack-based betrayal." Translation: The cutest one did it. They always do. Next friend, beware. The pony has hooves… and no remorse.
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Apr 30, 2025 14:39
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