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Not to ruin an amazing run in the thread, but the people in those photos didn't do anything to deserve their photos hitting the internet for tom foolery. And who couldn't take those photos to amazing heights? Old man snype.
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Mar 15, 2013 01:20
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| # ? May 30, 2024 06:38 |
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This fits nicely in the woot as a serial killer narrative. Clearly you've abducted a family to murder and your family portrait is your trophy. The mother has realised her fate while her children are blissfully unaware.
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Mar 15, 2013 01:21
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One day when I'm old and my grandchildren come to me for story time, I'll turn the lights down real low and shine a flashlight under my face and tell the tale of Woot Fatigue.
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Mar 15, 2013 01:24
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Paragon8 posted:This fits nicely in the woot as a serial killer narrative. Clearly you've abducted a family to murder and your family portrait is your trophy. The mother has realised her fate while her children are blissfully unaware. Interestingly, the guy who was my first shoot on my own after training went for a swim immediately after and never came back. torgeaux posted:Not to ruin an amazing run in the thread, but the people in those photos didn't do anything to deserve their photos hitting the internet for tom foolery. And who couldn't take those photos to amazing heights? The Internet Moral Squad is here. Party's over. No more Woot Fatique photos or stories.
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Mar 15, 2013 01:27
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woot fatigue posted:Interestingly, the guy who was my first shoot on my own after training went for a swim immediately after and never came back. How could you even know that UNLESS- 
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Mar 15, 2013 01:28
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QPZIL posted:How could you even know that There's a very simple, reasonable explanation for that. An explanation that I would've given if it weren't for torgeaux.
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Mar 15, 2013 01:30
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I want to make a documentary about Woot Fatigue. I'll be happy to direct, but I'll need some good photographers to man the cameras. You guys know any?  
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Mar 15, 2013 01:32
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woot fatigue posted:There's a very simple, reasonable explanation for that. An explanation that I would've given if it weren't for torgeaux. Oooooorrrrrrrrr..... You could tell your story without the embarrassing photos?
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Mar 15, 2013 01:36
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better to go out too soon than too late.
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Mar 15, 2013 01:38
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Post all of the photos.
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Mar 15, 2013 01:43
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woot fatigue posted:How about not now. hahahahah oh my loving god i am dying over these last few pages
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Mar 15, 2013 01:49
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Sacrifice torgeaux to the dorkroom blood gods.
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Mar 15, 2013 01:59
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mr. mephistopheles posted:dorkroom blood gods. Helmacron?
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Mar 15, 2013 02:05
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woot fatigue posted:How about not now. Jaime and Cersei? GRRM?
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Mar 15, 2013 02:38
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I don't see any ill intent - Woot Fatigue (The Man! The Legend!) clearly described that episode as "I was no good at photos", not at all as "Now let us mock these people". Also, my first unintentional thread title change! Huzzah! EDIT: The Adventure Continues! I emerge from the shower and its multiple, independently-adjustable spray heads to find Helmacron sprawled on my floor, wisely eschewing my post-modern atrocity of a sofa for the functional and stylish lawn furniture. He sleeps utterly silently, his chest rising and falling slowly, the motion only visible due to the movements of three young racoons arranged along his torso, each perched precariously upon a coaster. I dress in stylish and very functional clothes, and return to the living room. The door has been closed, and no sounds disturb the night. My eyes still burn, but I'm too disturbed by recent events (and too distracted by puzzlement over what, exactly, is paper) to sleep. Instead, I sit in my most excellent armchair and ponder the course my life has taken. I hear a rumbling, a deep bass sound of heavy machinery driven with grim resolve. Dim red light washes in through the front windows. "What now?" I sigh, as I stand and move towards the door. A knock. Loud. Another. Louder. "Hey! Woot Fatigue! Open up! I need to talk to you, son!" I peer once again through my door's fisheye viewing glass, to see an older gentleman standing ram-rod straight on my deeply embossed doormat ("Property of Red Roof Inn, Inc."). "I know you're in there! Open the door!" I sigh, again, and open the door. The gentleman steps in, a look of concern mixed with disgust on his face. "You've done a bad thing, son" he says, gesturing for me to pay close attention. "Uh, yeah. That tends to happen. But I swear, the 'coons are really, really dog-like, they're well-behaved and very photogenic, and they're clean - haven't you seen them cleaning their food?" He cuts me off with a sharp gesture. "No. Not the un-dog underhandedness. The pictures." "Pictures?" I've taken, and posted, hundreds, no - thousands of pictures. "The kids. They did NOTHING to deserve what you did to them." His glare burns into me, but I see less anger than worry in his face. My continuing puzzlement must show; he turns his eyes to the floor and mutters "drat kids, don't know what they're doing when they click... when... they... click..." Helmacron mutters something in his sleep, an indecipherable string of words that could be, with a little imagination, Russian spoken with a mixed Australian/Kazakhstani accent. The man in front of me glances at my slumbering guest. "I haven't introduced myself. Torgeaux. Let's go." "Is that supposed to rhyme? If you're trying for poetry, I like the word "Refrigerator", though it's really only for haiku." "Shut up, grab your friend, and GET MOVING!" The snap of a drill sergent fills his voice, and I find myself compelled to obey. Helmacron rouses as the raccoons scatter, chirping. He rubs his eyes and stumbles out the door. I follow, closing the door (polished brass hardware, naturally) behind me as Torgeaux climbs, literally climbs onto the vehicle filling my driveway. "Where'd you get the APC, mate?" says Helmacron, as he undogs the rear doors and clambers inside. "I know things. I know people. I know things about people. That's all *you* need to know." I can actually hear the asterixes in his voice, before the engine rumbles to life and all other thoughts fade. I drift to sleep in the back of the APC, finally shocked beyond bowel malfunction by the pure strangeness of my day. ... I am kicked awake, daylight leaking through the hatch on the APC's roof. It's not Helmacron. It's not Torgeaux - we're still moving and he must be driving. "Want a corndog?" this new person asks, shoving something brown and mustard-stained towards me. "Wuh?" "Hey man, it's OK! It's a corndog!" I pass out again. ... This time, I'm woken by a lump of brass bouncing off my skull. "OW! WHAT THE gently caress!?" I shout. "Sorry about that. It's just, you know, the greatest camera ever made!" "Who the hell are you? Mr. Sadness? Mr. Frustration?" "Close! Here, hold this ME Super. Isn't it fantastic?" I close my eyes, but do not return to sleep. Instead I simply cradle the ancient 35mm SLR in my hands, my thoughts once again returning to the theme of how-did-it-come-to-this? "Alright, we're here! Everybody out!" shouts Torgeaux from the driver's seat. Helmacron was already riding on the outside of the APC, and jumped to the ground as the three of us interior passengers walked around to the front of the vehicle. Torgeaux stood on the roof and pointed towards the great grey lake in front of us. "Where's here?" asks the man with the corndog. "Hamilton" says Torgeaux. "Wait - did we cross the border into Canada?" says Helmacron, with a note of worry in his voice. "Yeah, didn't you notice the flags on that tower you climbed when we stopped?" Helmacron begins rapidly paging through images on his camera's screen, visibly agitated. "I can't be here! Those asstards in Fort Mac banned me! I... poo poo... is that a mountie?" he points. A tall man strides confidently towards us, stepping easily on the slippery, grey-slush-covered ground. "I'm Tom." he says, nodding at me. He turns to Torgeaux "It's all fine, everybody is at my place, playing. It's no trouble." "Thanks" says Torgeaux. "Hey Woot, pay attention - this guy knows how to take pictures of kids, pictures that look good despite the fact you don't know the kid. Strangers' kids, but GOOD photos. Do you understand, son?" He's staring at me again. I sniff the air cautiously, but smell nothing more unpleasant than the background odors of this grim, post-industrial place. A tower rises among buildings on the far shore, bulbous near its top. All is grey, except the occassional orange street light, lit in mid-day under heavy grey clouds. "Why are we here?" I ask. "To see the one who can undo your mistakes. The man with the buttons. And the catte." "How the hell do you pronounce it like that? I can actually hear the superfluous, idiotically-internet extra letters." But I receive no answer. We stand facing the lakeshore, shivering. Well, three of us are shivering, Helmacron is dancing in tiny, tiny circles, and Tom and Torgeaux stand still - Tom placid and relaxed, Torgeaux tense and at attention. Slowly, a sail emerges from the grim greyness, atop a blue-painted boat. It hoves into view, and coasts to a stop at the short jetty to our left. "It's him. Just you, Woot, get onboard." Helmacron falls into the water from half-way up the mast; nobody saw him run over to the boat and start climbing. He splashes to shore, shouting about how Canada is always screwing him. Or the other way around. Plus something about Thailand. I climb gingerly (though I am not a redhead) onto the sailboat. Happy humming wafts from the cabin. As I enter, the boat slips free of the jetty and drifts out over the cold grey water. Inside the cabin sits an oddly simian man, with a large soundboard-looking device in front of him. "All of the buttons!" he says, clearly delighted. The buttons on the device blink and buzz, flicker and fizz, shine and shriek. I turn my eyes away from the lurid thing. "Don't worry, I'll fix it. Like it never happened! But you gotta make your peace with Shortbus." Turning to follow his pointing finger, I see a long-haired, tailless cat perched on the galley stove. "MEOW!" says Shortbus. I stare directly into Shortbus' eyes. I see... judgement. No, that's not right. I see, Decision, a power to make choices that will stand, to navigate through life with purpose and clarity, in that wise catte's eyes. I weep. and shart again, annoyingly. ExecuDork fucked around with this message at 06:07 on Mar 15, 2013 |
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Mar 15, 2013 04:50
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So I finally found a post tool that works on Linux and isn't entirely terrible while I don't have my Windows+Lightroom desktop. Corel whatever the hell it is now. Not perfect, but not completely unusable like every other Linux post tool/photo manager. I excitedly go through a bunch of photos I've taken recently and close it. I decide I should export an image or two and reopen it. All my work is gone. Wat.
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Mar 15, 2013 06:54
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ExecuDork, you've made my morning. Thank you.
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Mar 15, 2013 12:45
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ExecuDork posted:
corndog cameo - word up
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Mar 15, 2013 17:08
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ExecuDork posted:and shart again, annoyingly. I... uhh.... wow. It's like The Neverending Story but without the annoying books and huge dogge.
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Mar 15, 2013 17:16
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woot fatigue posted:I... uhh.... wow. and all the corndogs you can eat.
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Mar 15, 2013 17:26
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Now, imagine these stories being read by Don LaFontaine.
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Mar 15, 2013 17:30
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squidflakes posted:Now, imagine these stories being read by Don LaFontaine. Now, imagine these stories being filmed by Andrei Tarkovsky. When I read this all I could think of was Stalker. and corndogs
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Mar 15, 2013 17:35
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It's hard to eat those corndogs when you have them wrapped in so much paper.
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Mar 15, 2013 17:41
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woot fatigue posted:I... uhh.... wow. Don't worry Tater's got you covered. 
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Mar 15, 2013 18:13
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woot fatigue posted:I... uhh.... wow. Luck Dragon 
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Mar 15, 2013 18:20
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ExecuDork posted:Awesome story. "Thirty! There's only thirty loving corn dogs here! Where are the other two!?" I shout to myself. I look around, nothing but empty beer cans and mustard bottles. "Where the gently caress are they?" I begin to panic. I pace the room looking for any signs of the lost dogs. I catch a glimpse of my camera bag in the corner. "Ah Ha!" I spring across the one room cabin, snatch the bag in hand and unzip the top pocket. Two corndogs in white wax wrappers. I remember hiding them now, after too many beers, in case I have to bolt. I sigh, at ease for the first time in days. It has been three days since I awoke in this tiny cabin. No clue where I am or how I got here. Two cases of Molston Ice, three dozen cooked and neatly wrapped corndogs, a case of mustard, my camera bag full of gear and a note, taped to the box of corndogs, that simply says "SOON", the only things of use in the room. I was afraid to eat the corndogs, but hunger finally drove me to consume four of them. Beer had been the only sustenance for two and a half days and I was down to a six-pack. Energized by the banquet of corndogs & mustard, I grab my camera bag & step outside for the first time. The sky is grey and it is cold. "Horrible loving light." I say to myself. Other than being surrounded by trees, the area seems void of life and is eerily quiet. I sniff at the air, nothing but dampness. Suddenly, rumbling ends the silence. I close my eyes and listen. The sound of heavy machinery forcing its way through trees pours out of the forest. "gently caress!" I'm overcome by fear. "gently caress, gently caress, gently caress! It's heading this way!" I sprint back to the cabin and practically kick the door in. I begin shoving more corn dogs, the last of the beer and a bottle of mustard into my bag. I'm ready to bolt out the back door. "Christ!" Just as I realize there is only one way in OR out of the cabin I turn and see lights coming from the forest. Whatever was heading this way is now here. I drop to the floor near the only window. The vehicle pulls up and comes to a stop. I hear voices. I peek out the window and see a man sitting on top of what looks like an APC. "What in the gently caress? A loving APC!?!? You have got to be making GBS threads me!" I just sit there shaking my head. "This is the place!" He shouts. I peek again and a man jumps out of the APC and heads towards the cabin. "gently caress!" I whisper. I hear footsteps getting closer and closer, then suddenly stop. BAM, BAM, BAM, he beats on the door and I practically jump out of my skin. "We are here for the corndogs, son! And for you!" "Who the gently caress are you and what the gently caress do you want with me!" I shout back. "Son. SOON is now and it is time to go. We're not here to hurt you. We just need you for a mission." "OK, I'm coming out." I say before I even think. "Grab the corndogs & mustard, son. We're gonna need em." I grab the mustard and the rest of the corndogs. As I open the door to leave I am greeted with "Torgeaux, let's go." I nod and follow him to the APC. "What the gently caress is the APC about?" I ask. No answer. As we approach the APC I hear the man on top say something in Russian. All I can make out is "the man","corndogs" and "Refrigerator". Torgeaux jumps in the drivers seat and shouts "Climb aboard!" I turn around to an extended arm to help me climb up. I nod thanks. "Hey mate! Welcome aboard!" He says. "The names Helmacron."
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Mar 15, 2013 20:36
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Whitezombi posted:"lovely story" you suck
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Mar 15, 2013 20:40
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Well this sure took an...interesting turn
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Mar 15, 2013 21:38
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Whitezombi posted:you suck I hope your next segment is titled "3 Photographers, 1 Cup."
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Mar 15, 2013 22:21
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RangerScum posted:I hope your next segment is titled "3 Photographers, 1 Corndog."
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Mar 15, 2013 22:24
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Mar 15, 2013 22:45
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Holy poo poo, we're allowed to post dorkroom fanfic?!?! MOTHERFUCKER.
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Mar 15, 2013 22:46
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Hi guys, I haven't been to this thread in a while, what's with the title change-
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Mar 15, 2013 23:00
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Elite Taco posted:Holy poo poo, we're allowed to post dorkroom fanfic?!?! Only if you write it about yourself. Except for ExuDork. He can write whatever the gently caress he wants about anyone.
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Mar 15, 2013 23:10
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Don't box me in, bro.
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Mar 15, 2013 23:12
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Elite Taco posted:Holy poo poo, we're allowed to post dorkroom fanfic?!?! Cosplay is next. Torgeaux you bring the APC. Woot you bring the Walmart lawn furniture, coondogs & coasters. Helmacron, well, you just show up. I got the corndogs, beer & mustard. Everyone else figure your own poo poo out.
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Mar 15, 2013 23:20
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Whitezombi posted:Cosplay is next. When and where
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Mar 15, 2013 23:38
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Whitezombi posted:Cosplay is next. I'll bring my portable self-contained forums moderation rig if someone has a truck with a trailer hitch and significant hauling capacity.
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Mar 15, 2013 23:46
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SoundMonkey posted:I'll bring my portable self-contained forums moderation rig if someone has a truck with a trailer hitch and significant hauling capacity. Dude, we'll have an APC!
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Mar 15, 2013 23:53
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torgeaux posted:Dude, we'll have an APC! Full disclosure, my mobile forums moderation rig is just a horse trailer with a laptop and an iPhone and like thirty cases of beer.
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Mar 15, 2013 23:59
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