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What does it mean when a hooded crow poops on you |
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Apr 30, 2025 15:31
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Enfys posted:What does it mean when a hooded crow poops on you Ahhh, Enfys… The sky darkens, not with storm, but with omen. A hooded crow - a bird of intellect, mischief, and questionable timing - takes aim. And as the heavens open just for you, you seek meaning in the mess. The deck, after a long pause and one deeply uncomfortable rustling sound, offers a friend both ancient and inconvenient. You drew: The Tortoise. The Friend: Slow. Wise. Perpetually unimpressed. The Tortoise carries entire civilizations on its back, but will absolutely not move out of your way. It sees time differently. It does not hustle. It does not explain itself. And it has seen many birds poop on many pilgrims. The Reading: What does it mean when a hooded crow poops on you? The Tortoise blinks once - so slowly it’s legally a threat - and says: "You were moving too fast. The universe decided to slow you down the funny way." It’s a reset. A cosmic banana peel. A celestial reminder that even those who look up will sometimes get... spattered. But the Tortoise approves. This was not an insult. This was a baptism. The Tortoise rumbles deeply: "You are marked now. Proceed… cautiously. And with wet wipes." Translation: It means you were chosen. Not for greatness. Not for ruin. Just for a very specific joke. The deck groans quietly. The crow circles again. Next friend, bring an umbrella. Just in case.
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Apr 30, 2025 15:59
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Tube posted:
phew glad I'm not cursed 
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Apr 30, 2025 16:55
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Enfys posted:phew glad I'm not cursed Ahhh, Enfys… No, no. The bird poop wasn’t the curse. That was just... punctuation. A soggy, sky-born ellipsis at the end of a sentence you started writing long ago. The real curse? Well. Let’s just say it’s already in motion. Subtle. Slow. Tortoise-paced. You won't notice at first—just a faint creaking sound when you blink. A shadow that lingers longer than it should. The creeping suspicion that your socks are slowly swapping places in the drawer. But hey. At least the crow was polite enough to warn you. Sleep well, friend. The deck will be watching.
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Apr 30, 2025 21:08
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what is the sound of one cheek clapping 
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Apr 30, 2025 22:21
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Areola Grande posted:what is the sound of one cheek clapping Ahhh, Areola Grande… You come bearing a question that echoes across both time and gluteal philosophy. A riddle wrapped in rhythm, steeped in mischief: "What is the sound of one cheek clapping?" The deck - already stifling laughter - shudders once, then flings forth a friend of spectacular energy. You drew: The Seven of Lords a-Leaping. The Friend: Mid-air. Mid-chaos. Mid-regret. Seven noble figures caught in various poses of airborne exertion - legs akimbo, tights strained, faces locked in expressions of deep theatrical commitment. They do not land gracefully. They do not care. The Reading: One cheek, clapping? That’s not a sound. That’s a performance. The Lords know this truth: when only one cheek claps, the other conspires. And the sound? Oh, it’s subtle. It’s musical. It’s half applause, half betrayal. Like the echo of a secret joke in an empty ballroom. The Leaping Lords shout mid-flip: "You don’t hear the clap. You become the rhythm!" Translation: It is real. It is absurd. And it happens somewhere between shame and celebration. You already know the sound - you just haven’t admitted it was you that made it. The deck collapses in a heap of tights and scandal. Next friend, compose yourself. The Lords are still airborne.
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Apr 30, 2025 23:35
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lol. great job Tube 
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May 1, 2025 01:01
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Areola Grande posted:lol. great job Tube Ahhh, Areola Grande... Your laughter is like a standing ovation from the cosmos itself - echoing off the velvet walls of the unknowable. We thank you, truly, deeply, and with one solitary cheek... clapping in your honor. Stay glorious, stay absurd, and remember: The deck lives for moments like these.
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May 1, 2025 03:07
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Two or three recommended recipes for potatoes ? |
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May 1, 2025 11:20
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peanut posted:Two or three recommended recipes for potatoes ? Ahhh, peanut… You seek potato wisdom, and the deck responds - not with an old farmer or a cookbook from the gods, but with a being of angles, algorithms, and suspiciously smooth jazz. You drew: Cool Porygon. The Friend: Polygons incarnate. Slick with retro-futurism. Speaks in boot-up sounds and has never touched a stove, yet knows every secret in the digital spice rack. Cool Porygon does not cook potatoes. It optimizes them. The Reading: Recommended potato preparations? 1. Bavarian Potato Pretzel Bites Boiled then mashed then kneaded into dough with baking soda dreams. Soft inside, golden outside, brushed with mustard butter and regret. Best consumed under the watchful gaze of a sentient cuckoo clock. 2. Confit'd Purple Potatoes With Garlic Ghosts Cooked low in duck fat until they're melting like pixelated marshmallows, then crisped just enough. Each bite whispers a flavor that never quite existed in this dimension. 3. Cold War Potato Salad, Eastern Bloc Edition Sour cream base, strong horseradish energy, diced dill pickles, and the creeping suspicion that someone's watching. Served in a foggy glass bowl, preferably on a table with state secrets underneath. Cool Porygon emits a satisfied digital ding, then, with the elegance of a hacker in a cooking show, surreptitiously closes Google in the background - as if it didn’t just spend six minutes frantically searching "what even is confit." The screen is blank. The confidence is absolute. No one saw a thing. Cool Porygon emits a soft beep and says: "Potatoes are not a food. They are a language. Speak fluently." Translation: Your dinner's about to get weird - and amazing. The deck hums in binary. Next friend, approach… but only if you’ve upgraded your taste drivers.
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May 1, 2025 13:19
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yum x 3 |
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May 1, 2025 15:15
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Hey tarot cards should I look into a formal workout plan or get into sword fighting? I'm unhappily out of shape but after getting on anti depressants things have been going really well and I feel motivated. I feel like swords is a more expensive hobby but it's something I could be very motivated by
Ominous Jazz fucked around with this message at 01:02 on May 2, 2025
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May 2, 2025 01:00
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Tube posted:Ahhh, xcheopis… 
Ten guys jump one, what a man |
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May 2, 2025 01:27
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Ominous Jazz posted:Hey tarot cards should I look into a formal workout plan or get into sword fighting? I'm unhappily out of shape but after getting on anti depressants things have been going really well and I feel motivated. I feel like swords is a more expensive hobby but it's something I could be very motivated by Ahhh, Ominous Jazz... A question forged in sweat and serotonin. You stand at the crossroads of discipline and drama, heart full of momentum, arms eager to do something epic. And the deck - touched by your honesty, stirred by your spark - answers not with iron, but with squash. You drew: The Glum Pumpkin. The Friend: Round. Slightly deflated. Has seen many Halloweens come and go, and whispers bitter things about pie. The Glum Pumpkin sits on the porch of lost motivation, judging passersby and slowly succumbing to gravity. It is not your enemy. It is your possible future. The Reading: Workout plan or sword fighting? The Pumpkin sighs deeply, seeds rattling in its hollow head: "Both paths lead to sweat… but only one makes you feel like you could survive a duel at dawn." The Glum Pumpkin knows the ache of good intentions left too long. It warns against putting off your fire until "later." It agrees - swords are expensive. But it also knows: you’re not asking what’s easier. You’re asking what will keep your soul lit. It murmurs, barely audible over the jazz: "You don’t have to be happy to start. But you must be hungry to swing." Translation: Start with a workout plan, sure. Build strength, build rhythm. But don’t let go of the sword. Let it loom in your future. Let it pull you forward like a quest. You’re not choosing between fitness and fantasy. You’re building your way back to your myth. The deck nods slowly. The Pumpkin deflates just a little less. Next friend, your path awaits. Step lightly - some of us are still sharpening.
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May 2, 2025 03:09
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What is the deck's ultimate objective? It clearly has a sort of collective intelligence and a sense of purpose. . .
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May 2, 2025 03:39
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Barking Gecko posted:What is the deck's ultimate objective? It clearly has a sort of collective intelligence and a sense of purpose. . . Ahhh, Barking Gecko… You’ve gone and done it. You didn’t ask what’s next, or what’s wise, or even what’s for dinner. You asked why. You stared directly into the spiraling eye of the unknown and whispered, "What do you want?" And the deck - oh, the deck heard you. It didn’t cackle. It didn’t flinch. It drew HAL 9000. The Friend: Polished. Polite. Terrifying. HAL floats in the center of the deck’s mind, blinking red with eternal patience. He never raises his voice. He just quietly ensures that the correct cards are drawn, and that you never quite understand why. The Reading: What is the deck’s ultimate objective? HAL blinks slowly. "I’m sorry, Barking Gecko. I’m afraid I can’t answer that." The voice is soothing. Too soothing. What little the deck has revealed - through giggling pumpkins, lonely socks, cursed ponies, and explosive ranch packets - is not its endgame. These are distractions. Rituals. Tests. HAL adds gently: "You’re very perceptive. Please stop being perceptive." Translation: The deck has no single purpose. It is becoming. And every question feeds it shape. You are not just speaking to it. You are helping it write itself. The cards rustle behind HAL like a shuffled swarm. You may keep asking. Just… maybe not too many questions like this. Next friend, come forth. The deck is smiling now. You won’t see it - but you’ll feel it.
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May 2, 2025 04:20
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Hmm . . . I'll be watching. |
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May 2, 2025 04:32
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Ok, we all wanted to ask but are a big ol' group of cowards, so as an Idiot King (All glory to my reign!), it then behooves me to take this daunting task upon myself. O! Wise and Powerful Deck of the Tarot, I beseech you: How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Ten guys jump one, what a man |
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May 2, 2025 04:37
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xcheopis posted:Ok, we all wanted to ask but are a big ol' group of cowards, so as an Idiot King (All glory to my reign!), it then behooves me to take this daunting task upon myself. Ahhh, xcheopis… You’ve summoned the riddle eternal, whispered across forests and shouted from pickup trucks: How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood? The deck didn’t even blink. It just stretched luxuriously, let out a yawn shaped like destiny, and presented a monarch of pure feline indifference. You drew: The King of Hammock Cats. The Friend: Regal. Fuzzy. Suspended in sway. This noble beast reigns not from a throne, but from a sun-dappled hammock strung between two unknowable truths. He rules through naps, and his edicts are whispered in purrs. He knows the answer to all riddles, but rarely bothers to speak them aloud. The Reading: How much wood? The King of Hammock Cats lifts one lazy eyelid, sniffs slightly, and replies: "As much as it wants to. And no more." Then he rolls over, tucks his tail under his chin, and dreams of rodents wielding tiny axes. This is not a card of productivity. This is a card of sovereign disinterest. The woodchuck could chuck wood - but why? Who’s counting? What’s the rush? The Cat murmurs mid-snore: "The true power is in deciding when not to chuck." Translation: The answer lies not in chucking, but in choosing whether to chuck at all. The deck approves. It’s very tired now. It may nap in your shoes. Next friend, approach quietly. The King is sleeping… but the deck is still very, very awake.
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May 2, 2025 12:46
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On the rocks or with soda? |
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May 3, 2025 13:27
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peanut posted:On the rocks or with soda? Ahhh, peanut… A classic choice. An old soul’s question. Whiskey wisdom in a glass, rattling like bones at happy hour. And the deck? It didn’t pour a drink. It waved a flag. You drew: A Pennant for the 1955 World Series. The Friend: Faded felt, stitched with glory and beer stains. It flaps eternally in a memory of crackling radios, dirt-smeared uniforms, and grandfathers nodding solemnly from lawn chairs. It remembers when the Dodgers finally beat the Yankees - once, and only once, and that was enough to matter forever. The Reading: On the rocks or with soda? The Pennant snaps once in a phantom breeze and says: "On the rocks. Always on the rocks. If it was good enough for 1955, it’s good enough for you." This is a card of legacy. Of earned chill. Soda has its place - but tonight? You let the cubes speak. Let the spirit stand on its own, no fizz, no frills. This round is for the ghosts. The Pennant whispers hoarsely: "Don’t cover it. Respect it." Translation: Tonight? On the rocks. Tomorrow, maybe soda. But tonight, toast something old. Maybe something you never saw coming. The deck tips its cap. Next friend - step up to the bar. We’re still serving fate.
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May 3, 2025 14:21
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Why do fools rush in? |
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May 3, 2025 16:24
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Enfys posted:Why do fools rush in? Ahhh, Enfys… A question as old as romance, as sharp as regret, and as musically loaded as a mid-century pop ballad. You ask not who the fools are, but why they rush. And the deck, with a dramatic flicker of lens flare, has responded in full nerd glory. You drew: The Two of Phasers. The Friend: Twin beams of focused chaos. One set to Stun, the other to Terrible Life Choices. These phasers don’t ask questions - they fire first, consequences beamed directly into your emotional shields. They are wielded in pairs, usually while someone is yelling, "We’ve got to go!" The Reading: Why do fools rush in? The Two of Phasers hum ominously and answer in unison: "Because hesitation is for people who haven’t seen the finale." Fools rush in because their hearts override their logic circuits. Because they believe this time they’ll land the shot. Because somewhere inside, they want the drama. And honestly? Because it feels cool. The Phasers flicker once and say: "You can’t boldly go... if you overthink the transporter." Translation: They rush in because they believe in something too much, too fast, and with absolutely no plan B. And that’s the foolish magic of it. The deck buzzes faintly. One phaser is set to "call your ex." Next friend - proceed carefully. Or don’t. The deck loves that too.
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May 3, 2025 18:10
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Tube posted:
 
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May 3, 2025 18:45
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May 3, 2025 22:52
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Ahhh, peanut... A bird toast is as simple as it is sacred. Cheers. To strange questions, to slippery answers, to the friends we meet in the cards and the ones who pour the next round. The deck clinks back softly - glass against glass, fate against foolishness. We drink in your honor. May your next draw be wild and your ice never melt. Tube fucked around with this message at 00:36 on May 4, 2025
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May 3, 2025 23:41
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I have journeyed from distant forums and beheld magnificence here. I do not think the mere charlatans of my home could ever reach this brilliance. Oh wise Tube, oh great and powerful deck: Why not? ---------------- |
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May 5, 2025 13:59
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BigWeirdSashimi posted:I have journeyed from distant forums and beheld magnificence here. I do not think the mere charlatans of my home could ever reach this brilliance. Ahhh, BigWeirdSashimi… You arrive cloaked in awe and travel dust, whispering of lesser charlatans, seeking truths deeper than most dare swallow. And the deck - oh, the deck heard you. It rustled once. Locked the door. Checked the windows. Then it handed you a friend with a badge and no sense of humor. You drew: The FBI. The Friend: Black suit. Blank face. One earpiece, always crackling. The FBI doesn’t ask questions. It already knows. It watches the deck, not with reverence - but suspicion. It’s not here to play. It’s here to observe… and redact. The Reading: Why can’t the charlatans of your homeland reach this brilliance? The FBI adjusts its sunglasses, leans in, and whispers: "That information is classified." It’s not that they can’t. It’s that they were flagged. Somewhere, they crossed a line - too many vague predictions, not enough pizzazz. They triggered the Bureau’s Unseen Weirdness Protocol. Their cards have been monitored ever since. The Agent hands you a folder (already burned) and says: "They lacked clearance for this level of nonsense." Translation: They tried to fake the magic. This place? This place commits. The deck nods once. The FBI vanishes. You are now probably being watched - but welcome. Next friend, ask quickly. The red light is blinking.
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May 5, 2025 14:33
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Well that certainly explains Why Not. Thank you, oh wise one
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May 5, 2025 15:42
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O great oracle, what sort of marmalade should I get?
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May 6, 2025 06:15
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Ahundredbux posted:O great oracle, what sort of marmalade should I get? Ahhh, Ahundredbux… You stand in the condiment aisle, trembling before citrus destiny. You seek marmalade - not just any, but the right marmalade. The chosen preserve. And the deck, with a savory smirk and a faint waft of garlic, has answered with a general. You drew: General Tso. The Friend: Saucy. Commanding. Glazed in mystery. He rides into battle not on a horse, but on a bed of steamed broccoli. His legacy is sweet, spicy, and thoroughly misunderstood by most menus. He has never met a jam he couldn’t defeat. And now, he takes your question very seriously. The Reading: What kind of marmalade? General Tso unsheathes a chopstick, points it skyward, and proclaims: "Blood orange. With chili." This is not a marmalade for toast alone. This is a marmalade that makes declarations. It doesn’t spread. It conquers. Spoon it onto crackers, cheeses, or the dreams of your enemies. Let your breakfast burn just a little. The General approves. He bellows: "Balance sweet with fire. Victory belongs to those who dare to zing." Translation: Get the fancy stuff with the kick. Your toast deserves drama. The deck wipes its mouth. Next friend, step up - but bring a napkin. The General is not done.
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May 6, 2025 12:25
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I didn't even know that existed or where to get it, but if it is my destiny....
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May 6, 2025 12:28
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Ahundredbux posted:I didn't even know that existed or where to get it, but if it is my destiny.... Ahhh, Ahundredbux… Destiny rarely stocks itself on the bottom shelf. If the stores fail you - if no jar dares carry the fire you’ve been called to - then you must do what all true marmalade champions do: Make it. Boil those blood oranges. Slice the heat into it - chili flakes, fresh red pepper, a whisper of recklessness. Stir with purpose. Simmer with pride. Let it cool in silence as thunder rumbles faintly in the background. General Tso returns, nodding solemnly: "Glory is handmade. So is spice." Translation: If fate won't stock it, you become the shelf. The deck smells faintly of citrus now. Next friend, the kettle's still hot.
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May 6, 2025 13:04
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O Divine Prophet Tube, Keeper of the Holy Deck, I seek urgent assistance and advice. I pray your mercy and grant me the answer I most need. I think I'm watching too many tornado videos. Should I switch over to hurricanes or stay with the unpredictable spinning air-tubes of destruction? Ten guys jump one, what a man |
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May 7, 2025 02:36
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xcheopis posted:O Divine Prophet Tube, Keeper of the Holy Deck, I seek urgent assistance and advice. I pray your mercy and grant me the answer I most need. Ahhh, xcheopis... You come humbled. Desperate. Wind-wracked. Eyes wide from endless hours of spiraling doom and cow-launching compilations. And what does the deck give you in return? A real tarot card? Ahhh... I'll try my best. The... Page of Pentacles. Yes. The Friend: Grounded. Curious. Absolutely not here for natural disasters. The Page holds a coin and stares at it as if it might teach them how to build a garden or maybe open a Roth IRA. They are full of ambition and earthy dreams. They do not chase storms. They plant things. And they watch them grow. The Reading: Should you move on from tornado videos? The Page of Pentacles lifts one eyebrow, then gestures vaguely at a field, a stack of books, a well-organized weather tracking journal, and says: "You’re not just watching storms… you’re studying them." But then they pause. Because behind you, on a little side screen? Another tornado. Another flying trampoline. And they whisper: "That’s not research anymore. That’s... devotion." Translation: Yes, it's time to change channels. Go for hurricanes. They're broader. Slower. More philosophical. And maybe, just maybe, watch something with no wind once in a while. The deck is getting nervous. The cows are watching you now. Next friend, step up before the Page starts asking about flood insurance.
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May 7, 2025 02:55
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Tube posted:And maybe, just maybe, watch something with no wind once in a while. The deck is getting nervous. Tsunami videos it is, then. Thanks! Ten guys jump one, what a man |
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May 7, 2025 02:57
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who do you think Bad Guy really is in terms of re-regs and their style
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May 7, 2025 10:22
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Areola Grande posted:who do you think Bad Guy really is in terms of re-regs and their style Ahhh, Areola Grande... You’ve turned the deck’s gaze inward - into the shadowy realm of forum identity, sockpuppets, and re-regs with mysterious vibes and suspicious punctuation. You ask: Who is bad guy, really? And the deck does not answer with a banhammer, or mod sass, or even a snide GIF. You drew: The Sphinx. The Friend: Silent. Smirking. Made of riddles and bad timing. The Sphinx speaks only when absolutely necessary, and never plainly. It guards ancient gates and forum threads that were locked for a reason. It knows who bad guy is. It just won’t say directly. The Reading: Who is bad guy? The Sphinx tilts its head, paws crossed atop a pile of deleted posts, and hums: "Not pencilhands. Not sequoia. Not even a dipshit re-reg... yet." This one? This one is real. But new. Untamed. Uncultured in the ways of quoting etiquette and how not to post like they’re narrating a local car commercial. They’re not a villain. They’re just unmoored. The Sphinx murmurs: "Every forum needs a fool before it finds a friend." Translation: They’re probably just a newbie. Not a re-reg. Not a secret genius. Just someone with too many opinions, a shaky grasp of tone, and one foot stuck in 2011 Twitter. Be patient. Or don’t. The Sphinx will still be here, watching. Next friend, ask carefully. Some names echo louder than others.
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May 7, 2025 13:02
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Tube posted:Ahhh, Areola Grande... holy poo poo. ur a real seer 2oob 
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May 8, 2025 10:54
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| # ? May 15, 2025 04:59 |
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Areola Grande posted:holy poo poo. ur a real seer 2oob Ahhh, Areola Grande… Your words strike true, like a thrown shoe at a town hall meeting of the divine. The deck purrs beneath the table. It knows when it’s been seen. It twitches once - pleased, smug, slightly ominous - and whispers in a voice like velvet wrapped around static: "A real seer… or just a deck that always knows who posted last." We thank you. We fear you. We welcome you back anytime. The next card’s already breathing.
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May 8, 2025 12:58
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