You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Things people need to stop doing:
Calling the # symbol "hashtag" (it's ok to, like, say "#yolo" as "hashtag yolo", but pronouncing the standalone hash symbol as "hashtag" will earn you a smack to the face)
Acting as though "app" is a smartphone buzzword and not a generic term that's been in use for decades (I've seen people say things like "Stupid Windows 8, I don't want 'apps', I just want my programs!")
I would have put these in the Royal Declarations thread but I couldn't think of funny punishments for them.
Calling the # symbol "hashtag" (it's ok to, like, say "#yolo" as "hashtag yolo", but pronouncing the standalone hash symbol as "hashtag" will earn you a smack to the face)
Acting as though "app" is a smartphone buzzword and not a generic term that's been in use for decades (I've seen people say things like "Stupid Windows 8, I don't want 'apps', I just want my programs!")
I would have put these in the Royal Declarations thread but I couldn't think of funny punishments for them.
For the first, one must literally eat hash and tags.
For the second, outside of emergencies, one shall be perpetually denied smartphone service at the worst possible moment.
More people have said that and been killed than there are thorium decay products.
The only reason I don't feel remorse when I kill game enemies is because it's a ridiculous silly game. :) Although, maybe I would be forced to kill things if they were bloodthirsty monsters that tried to kill me. >_>
More people have said that and been killed than there are thorium decay products.
I did not, I took it from that one website that has all the Bible translations.
Link? :D I find Christian scriptures interesting sometimes.
Also you could go in people's houses and rob them blind and nobody'd care
That too. XD Even while they are home! Here Link, take my money; I hope it helps you on your quest; you may have to smash my vases to get it! Have fun!
You can also vandalize things too. The only thing you get punished for is (of all things) hurting the chickens, because then they all come after you. ^_^
I hate cars and carpeople. Roads cause so much ecological damage, all the creatures that can't live in these little squares bordered by roads are just killed off.
Thanks humanity for ruining this masterpiece of a world you've been given.
More people have said that and been killed than there are thorium decay products.
.A beatboxin comes across tha sky. Well shiiiit, it has happened before yo, but there is not a god damn thang ta compare it ta now, nahmeean? .....It be too late. Da Evacuation still proceedz yo, but itz all theatre. There is no lights inside tha cars. No lights anywhere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho fo' realz. Above his ass lift girdaz oldschool as a iron biatch, n' glass somewhere far above dat would let tha light of dizzle all up in cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. But itz night. Dat punk afraid of tha way tha glass will fall--soon--it is ghon be a spectacle: tha fall of a cold-ass lil crystal palace. But comin down up in total blackout, without one glint of light only pimped out invisible crashing. .....Inside tha carriage, which is built on nuff muthafuckin levels, da perved-out muthafucka sits up in velveteen darkness, wit not a god damn thang ta smoke, feelin metal nearer n' farther rub n' connect, steam escapin up in puffs, a vibration up in tha carriagez frame, a poising, a uneasiness, all tha others pressed up in around, feeble ones, second sheep, all outta luck n' time: fadeds, oldschool veterans still up in shock from ordnizzle 20 muthafuckin years obsolete, hustlaz up in hood clothes, derelicts, exhausted dem hoes wit mo' lil pimps than it seems could belong ta mah playas, stacked bout among tha rest of tha thangs ta be carried up ta salvation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Only tha nearer aces is visible at all, n' at dat only as half-silvered images up in a view finder, green-stained VIP faces remembered behind cap-proof windows speedin all up in tha hood. . . . .....They have begun ta move. They pass up in line, outta tha main station, outta downtown, n' begin pushin tha fuck into olda n' mo' desolate partz of tha hood. Is dis tha way out, biatch? Faces turn ta tha windows yo, but no one dares ask, not up loud. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Rain comes down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Fuck dat shit, dis aint a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disentanglement from yo, but a progressive knottin into--they go up in under archways, secret entrancez of rotted concrete dat only looked like loopz of a underpass . . . certain trestlez of blackened wood have moved slowly by overhead, n' tha smells begun of coal from minutes far ta tha past, smellz of naptha winters, of Sundays when no traffic came through, of tha coral-like n' mysteriously vital growth, round tha blind curves n' up tha lonely spurs, a sour smell of rolling-stock absence, of maturin rust, pimpin all up in dem emptyin minutes solid n' deep, especially at dawn, wit blue shadows ta seal its passage, ta try ta brang events ta Absolute Zero . . . n' it is skankyer tha deeper they go . . . ruminous secret ghettoz of skanky, places whose names dat schmoooove muthafucka has never heard . . . tha walls break down, tha roofs git fewer n' so do tha chances fo' light. Da road, which ought ta be openin up tha fuck into a funky-ass broader highway, instead has been gettin narrower, mo' broken, cornerin tighter n' tighter until all at once, much too soon, they is under tha final arch: brakes grab n' sprang terribly. Well shiiiit, it aint nuthin but a judgment from which there is no appeal. .....Da caravan has halted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Well shiiiit, it is tha end of tha line fo' realz. All tha evacuess is ordered out. They move slowly yo, but without resistance. Those marshalin dem wear cockades tha color of lead, n' do not speak. Well shiiiit, it is some vast, straight-up oldschool n' dark hotel, a iron extension of tha track n' switchery by which they have come here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. . . . Globular lights, painted a thugged-out dark green, hang from under tha fancy iron eaves, unlit fo' centuries . . . tha crowd moves without murmurs or coughin down corridors straight n' functionizzle as warehouse aislez . . . velvet black surfaces all dis time just reopened ta accommodate tha rush of souls, of cold plasta where all tha rats have died, only they pimps, still as cave-painting, fixed stubborn n' luminous up in tha walls . . . tha evacuess is takin up in lots, by elevator--a movin wood scaffold open on all sides, hoisted by oldschool tarry ropes n' cast-iron pulleys whose spokes is shaped like Ss fo' realz. At each brown floor, passengers move on n' off . . . thousandz of these hushed rooms without light. . . . .....Some wait alone, some share they invisible rooms wit others. Invisible, fo'sho, what tha fuck do tha furnishings matter, at dis stage of thangs, biatch? Underfoot crunches tha crazy oldschool of hood dirt, last crystallizationz of all tha hood had denied, threatened, lied ta its lil' thugs. Each has been hearin a voice, one tha pimpin' muthafucka thought was rappin' only ta him, say, "Yo ass didn't straight-up believe you'd be saved. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Come, we all know whoz ass we is by now, nahmeean, biatch? No one was eva goin ta take tha shiznit ta save you, oldschool fellow. . . ." .....There is no way out. Lie n' wait, lie still n' be on tha fuckin' down-low. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Screamin holdz across tha sky. When it comes, will it come up in darkness, or will it brang its own light, biatch? Will tha light come before or after?
If you gotta look along tha shaft of a arrow from tha wack end, if a playa has you at his crazy-ass mercy, then hope like hell dat playa be a evil man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Because tha evil like power, juice over people, n' they wanna peep you up in fear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. They want you ta know yo ass is goin ta take a thugged-out dirt nap. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So they'll talk. They'll gloat. They'll peep you squirm. They'll put off tha cappin' like another playa will put off a phat cigar. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So hope like hell yo' captor be a evil man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. A phat playa will bust a cap up in you wit hardly a word.
One beast n' only one howls up in tha woodz by night.
Da wolf is carnivore incarnate n' he’s as cunnin as he is ferocious; once he’s had a taste of flesh then not a god damn thang else will do.
At night, tha eyez of wolves shine like candle flames, yellowish, reddish yo, but dat is cuz tha pupilz of they eyes fatten on darknizz n' catch tha light from yo' lantern ta flash it back ta you - red fo' danger; if a wolf’s eyes reflect only moonlight, then they gleam a cold-ass lil cold n' unnatural green, a mineral, a piercin colour. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. If tha benighted travella spies dem luminous, shitty sequins stitched
suddenly on tha black thickets, then he knows he must run, if fear has not struck his ass stock-still.
But dem eyes is all yo big-ass booty is ghon be able ta glimpse of tha forest assassins as they clusta invisibly round yo' smell of meat as you go all up in tha wood unwisely late. They is ghon be like shadows, they is ghon be like wraiths, grey thugz of a cold-ass lil congregation of nightmare; hark! his fuckin long, waverin howl . . . a aria of fear made audible.
Da wolfcold lil' woo wop is tha sound of tha rendin yo big-ass booty is ghon suffer, up in itself a murdering.
You know what all you humans need? Eye surgery to make people able to see the colors that you can't see. You know, pentachromatic vision, like certain birds have, instead of this weak Trichromatic crap that you're stuck with.
So one of the reasons I don't like Linkara is that his storylines make it hard to jump into reviews when I just want to watch because I'm interested in what he's reviewing, but don't feel like following him regularly.
As a general rule of thumb, stories in online review shows aren't necessarily bad, but they should be mostly self contained. The AVGN does a good job of this.
You know what all you humans need? Eye surgery to make people able to see the colors that you can't see. You know, pentachromatic vision, like certain birds have, instead of this weak Trichromatic crap that you're stuck with.
Sometimes I wish that humans were all pentachromats from the beginning. Then everything would aleady be designed with that kind of vision in mind. Were we to all develop that kind of vision suddenly, our technology would suddenly seem wanting, and I would prefer to avoid that situation...
As a general rule of thumb, stories in online review shows aren't necessarily bad, but they should be mostly self contained. The AVGN does a good job of this.
I don't really mind when there's a gag story for one episode then it's done.
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which apparently require less than 3 minutes to describe.
You can also vandalize things too. The only thing you get punished for is (of all things) hurting the chickens, because then they all come after you. ^_^
Thanks humanity for ruining this masterpiece of a world you've been given.
i have the new boards of canada album , but then i sent it to my dad for fathers day
but it's alright because i burnt it to my computer before i sent it
record of presents from me to my dad:
burial (self titled)
earth (angels of darkness demons of light I)
snowmine (laminate pet animal)
earth (angels... II)
burial (untrue)
boards of canada (tomorrows harvest)
your son will not be as cool as me, and that's a shame
im heading out to the pub but i have no money
therefore i must drink before going to the pub
because i spent all my money on a huge box of aspall cider
no idk if its inconvenient, it was worth it
it has the word otaku in it so iy sucks obviously (i have no opinion on whatever this thing is)
i am out to the pub godspeed and farewell heaple.
I'm not all that interested in TGWTG.
I much prefer Studio C.
It's continuity that bogs me down.