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N. Senada posted:Did you actually write that poo poo out? Lmbo
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May 26, 2014 17:15
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I want this thread engraved on my tombstone.
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May 26, 2014 21:07
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an autistic detective would own because he would be able to notice the slightest thing out of place at a crime scene
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May 26, 2014 21:09
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Alexzandvar posted:an autistic detective would own because he would be able to notice the slightest thing out of place at a crime scene 
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May 26, 2014 21:19
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he would still be annoying as gently caress and a pain to be around
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May 26, 2014 21:20
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The Bridge
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May 26, 2014 21:28
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I looked at my watch. Not yet midnight. She said she would meet me before midnight. It will be midnight in 37 minutes. 37 minutes divided by 2 is 18.5 minutes. I can calculate numbers at incredible speeds.
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May 26, 2014 21:59
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Does this count, since the sperglord is female and also sexually active? At least it was in the original, don't know how badly it's hosed up in this version.
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May 26, 2014 22:03
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Bobby Brown posted:your husband died of asp burgers" 5
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Jun 26, 2014 15:08
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The rain was pouring down, cascading into puddles and rivers that this city's sewers were nowhere near capable of dealing with. It poured off the brim of my fedora as I stood waiting in the gloom of the alley. There. The mark came in just as she'd promised - a sleek black Buick, licence ARF - 6431, pulled up outside the bar. Billy, the driver, scuttled out and held the door open for her, one smooth long leg with the promise of more to come slowly uncurling itself from the leather interior. She walked through the bar's neon-lit door as Billy took off at high speed. There were exactly 52 exposed redbrick tiles in the alley, and I knew that if I stopped counting them, something terrible would happen. I tapped my gloved hand on the bricks for the 6th and final time and slowly wound my way between the parked cars, my brand new white Asics getting dirty. Dirty Asics. Dirty Asics. Dirty Asics. I gulped my last Risperidal and pushed through the door, a little bell tinkling three times to let the crowd know I was in. She was right there at the bar, a half-empty dirty martini next to her, hugging that thug Steven in his too-tight suit. Picking my way between the chairs, exactly 42 of them, I slid up to the bar, pulled the fedora down low and muttered "Mountain Dew, Diet Supernova" at the barkeep. The glass he put in front of me still had thumb prints all over it, and it needed to be clean. Clean. Clean. It's gotta be clean. It was in this moment that Steven saw me, tore himself out of her arms and stepped too close to me."I thought I'd told you to stay away after you dragged that printer to her house!" He was screaming at me but the glass still wasn't clean. It was all dirty and it must be clean. A fist hit my temple with a crunch, and the last thing I saw before fading to black was 32 more glasses with stains. Not clean. Not clean. Junior G-man fucked around with this message at 16:09 on Jun 26, 2014 |
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Jun 26, 2014 16:01
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this is the best thread on the forums right now don't ever stop
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Jun 26, 2014 16:05
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Forget it, Jake. It's Dragoncon.
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Jun 26, 2014 16:14
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It was a cry for help, alright. She stood there, motionless, those big black eyes with the blue rings soaked with tears. "Mom, I gotta go!" I yelled downstairs as pulled on my trenchcoat and pulled the fedora down over my eyes. Without me, Pinkie Pie's party wouldn't succeed, and a man can't let that happen.
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Jun 26, 2014 16:17
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why isnt this goldmined????
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Jun 26, 2014 19:55
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Yesss this thread is why I was sad that the forums were down.
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Jun 26, 2014 20:00
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as the apartment building burned down around us he flailed his pistol wildly, firing shots in every direction. "this can only end one way, sam. either one of us dies or we both do." he couldnt see me from my hiding place beneath my computer desk. as acrid smoke filled the air, dried semen and boogers scraped against my scalp from the underside of the desk. if i'de have known not being able to read dangan ranpa for 2 days would drive him to the edge, i'de have never taken the forums down in the first place.
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Jun 26, 2014 20:03
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It's a dark and stormy night as Sam walks into his office. "I'm sick of the rain I hate it. When's it gonna be sunny? I'm sick of it. Maybe we should fire it!"
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Jun 26, 2014 21:42
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Bobby Brown posted:why isnt this goldmined???? for real
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Jun 26, 2014 22:00
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swampland posted:I found him half asleep at the bar in the Ace Tavern, a washed up grifter getting grifted by the bottle. Thousand drunks just like him at a thousand joints in this city but Larry was special. Larry was the last man to see Margaret Johnson before she disappeared. haha holy poo poo bumping because this thread should never die
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Jun 30, 2014 04:30
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Good stuff
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Sep 4, 2014 15:54
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A misanthrope posted:haha holy poo poo This and the Miles O'Brien thread made me love the new GBS.
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Sep 4, 2014 16:09
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There are a million stories in the Windy City (aka Chicago). Actually, Chicago's population is 2.715 million (as of the 2012 census according to Google, the Wikipedia article estimates closer to 2.718). So if each individual life is regarded as its own narrative, then there are approximately 2.718 million stories. However, if the definition of "story" is taken to mean a series of events which encompass the lives of several characters framed in the context of a narrative with a beginning, middle and end, then there may actually be fewer than one million stories. The lives of multiple individuals could be coinsidered to be covered by a single "story" as most lives interact with many others. Not mine though. My story started with a dame. They all start with a dame. Where's the "equality" in that? Makes you think. Spoiler alert: My story also ends with a dame, though I didn't know it when she walked in. "What can I do for you, sweeheart?" I asked. It was option B. "Uguuuu! Get away from me!" her eyes squeezed shut and she clenched her tiny fists into featureless spheres. Her love meter bleeds out, red pixels vanishing from the glass pipette hovering over her head like fun size Hershey bars vanishing from a bulk bag of Halloween candy. I never saw her again. Bad Ending. drat.
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Sep 4, 2014 16:34
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The night's as hot as hell. It's a lousy room in a lousy part of a lousy town - I'm staring at a goddess. She's telling me she wants me. I'm not going to waste one more minute wondering how I've gotten this lucky. She smells like angels ought to smell, the perfect mare... the Goddess. Fluttershy. She says her name is Fluttershy.
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Sep 4, 2014 16:43
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"What were you doing at the time of the disappearance?" I asked the woman curtly. "We were watching a movie," she said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "Which film?" "Which film? It was, um, The Fly." "Which one?" I asked, leaning into the dust-specked curtain of light below my lamp. "Excuse me?" "The original or the remake?" She was quiet for a moment. "The remake, I guess. The freaky one from the 70s or 80s. I don't know. Anyway, the doorbell rang. It was the middle of the night. Todd went to see who it was, and he never came back to the sofa. So I put on my robe and went to look for him. The front door was open, but there was no one around. Just some tail lights out on the street, leaving." I tapped my finger thoughtfully against my chin. "The thing is," she continued, "when I went upstairs, some of his clothes were gone. His suitcase, too. And his wallet. The police think that he might have left with someone, that it might have been planned all along. They say there's nothing they can do. I don't know where else to turn." She looked at me pleadingly. "The Fly was released in 1986," I said.
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Sep 4, 2014 22:14
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I knew every issue of Death Note from front to back, but I couldn't make heads or tails of this suicide letter.
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Sep 4, 2014 22:40
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I was sweating bullets, the night air cool on my folds. I had exactly 10.45 seconds on me before my hearthstone turn ended. My hand instinctively reached for my Mtn. Dew. I had promised myself i'd quit the stuff... Im not a very good liar. With shaking hands i unscrewed the lid, took a big draft and hit Fireblast. The click echoed through the empty room like the tolling of a funeral bell. As i watched his Hit Points drain, i swigged the rest of the Dew. The night was just beginning.
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Sep 4, 2014 22:48
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The ferris wheel turned once again. Like my stomach. He stared me dead in the eye. I was found out. "Have you ever seen any of your victims?" I replied. "You know, I never feel comfortable on these sort of things. In fact, emotions were always something I had trouble understanding. Victims? Don't be melodramatic. Look down there. Tell me. Would you really feel any pity if one of those pixels stopped moving forever? If I offered you twenty thousand bitcoins for every pixel that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money, or would you calculate how many pixels you could afford to spare? Free of paypal fees, old man. Free of paypal fees, shipping and handling fees - the only way you can save money nowadays."
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Sep 4, 2014 22:52
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He walked in wearing a three piece suit minus a couple of pieces. Upper class guy gone to the dogs, a shaved peacock if I ever saw one. “WHY ARE YOU HERE SIR?” “Where do I even begin? God it seems like just yesterday we were walking down the aisle, hand in hand, she was wearing the most expensive dress from the most expense store in town. We looked into each others eyes and swore to be together forever. She held my hands like a...” “WAS THAT FUN?” “Yeah...sure it was fun. It was the best day of my life we -” “DID YOU KISS EACH OTHER?” “Uh, yeah.” “WAS THAT FUN?” He stared at me for a moment and I licked my lips slowly. “Yeah, listen you're a strange guy but people tell me you're the best. And the kind of problem I've got here, well I don't feel comfortable leaving it with some two bit alley cat.” “THANK YOU VERY MUCH!” “Don't worry about it.” “OKAY!” “So the thing is my girl's been cheating around on me. Or at least that's how it seems. See she keeps going off at all hours, hell sometimes she even disapears for days, and if I so much as ask her why she's right out the door again in a huff. I want you to follow her and find out if...hey what the gently caress, are you even listening to me?” I turned my gaze back to my new friend, smiled and shook my head. “Well why the gently caress not?” “THE CLOCK SAYS ITS TIME FOR BED.” “Bed? It's three o clock in the afternoon.” “THE CLOCK SIR, THE CLOCK.” “Listen there's a lot of money in this for you if you just hear me -” “NO! IT'S MY BEDTIME YOU NEED TO LEAVE NOW!” “Jesus, okay fine, just calm down man.” “I AM CALM.” The guy looked more rattled than a shaken up Gadsen flag. Tough break but everybody who's anybody in this town knows when I take my naps. This isn't amateur hour at the five quarter speak easy and I ain't no broken down waitress turning tricks on the side. This is Los Angeles and I'm Sam Sperglord, Autistic Private Detective. swampland fucked around with this message at 23:01 on Sep 4, 2014 |
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Sep 4, 2014 22:52
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"You know, doll, if it werent for the fact that you know my IQ has been confirmed multiple times as being well above 160, I'de think you thought I was stupid enough to believe you." I smirked the way I had practiced in the mirror many nights before, but my cheek twitched a few times. Im sure she didn't notice. "I'm gonna ask you one more time. Where is Anita Sarkeesian, and how can we stop her?"
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Sep 4, 2014 22:57
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Pulp Can Move posted:"What were you doing at the time of the disappearance?" I asked the woman curtly. Gold
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Sep 4, 2014 23:09
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I talked to dame about the deep intricacies of anime and how it was intellectually superior in comparison to Western cartoons. It went on for what felt like hours. But, the dame was a tough nut to crack. I couldn't tell if she was interested or not. Was she even listening?
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Sep 4, 2014 23:38
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The dame had tears in her eyes. We had finally captured the perp. He'd be brought to justice soon enough. "All in a day's work ma'am, making the world a little bit better... one scumbag off the streets at a time." "Oh Sam, you're my hero. What can I ever do to repay you?" the dame whispered right into my ear. "Gross, don't do that. You're getting spit in my ear and I don't like it at all. Now my ear is all WET!" "Oh Sam, you're so funny! How can you keep such a great sense of humor after all we've been through tonight? You're so different from all the other guys." She then looked at me in a way that I had never seen anyone look at me before, but I did not understand the meaning of it because I am not good with facial expressions. Exactly 12.4 seconds later I replied "All in a day's work ma'am, making the world a little bit better... one scumbag off the streets at a time." Then I got down on all fours and meowed like a cat as I slinked out of the room, hoping I had provided enough diversion that she wouldn't notice my boner as I tucked it under my belt and made my escape. GreatGreen fucked around with this message at 00:31 on Sep 5, 2014 |
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Sep 5, 2014 00:26
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mods not goldmining this thread is proof that there a bunch of buncoing galoots
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Sep 5, 2014 00:57
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Applewhite fucked around with this message at 01:33 on Sep 5, 2014 |
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Sep 5, 2014 01:30
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should've...sent..a poet.. 
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Sep 5, 2014 01:31
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The night was approximately 2 hours and 16 minutes old as per the sunset time given on today's newpaper. I was sitting in my recently built IKEA chair which I built 13 days ago after following the instructions exactly though I found myself trying to read the facial expressions of the little man in the instructions who apparently had to go back to the store for reasons I cannot guess right now. I was 6 hours and 13 minutes into my Dark Souls II gameplay sometimes losing focus because I had to curse the people I PLAINLY EXPLAINED TO ONLINE IN A VERY RATIONAL MANNER (UGH!) why this game was true gaming. loving plebs they cannot understand true art like I can. A knock came at my door causing me to slam the controller into the ground and let out a HUNH because it helps me relax before contacting people. I open the door and there is a women with a wide-eyed, gaping expression on her face which caused me to pull out my pocketbook to find the facial expression this emotion corresponds to. She said "It's fine, the police are doing enough" to which I said "The police do a very good job and I wish to become a policeman one day" before closing the door immediately afterwards. What a strange message to be delivering this time of night.
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Sep 5, 2014 01:32
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The rain dropped from the sky and splashed to the ground with no recognizable pattern or beat. It made me uneasy. I stood just outside the light of the streetlamp and waited for the bus to pull away. Mother wouldn’t drive me anymore, she said I was too old to be driven around, as if that meant something, as if I wanted to be shackled to her gynocracy all the time. The bus door closed with a hiss and I couldn’t help but feel a little calmed by it; it wasn’t quite the hiss of a steam engine locomotive, but it would have to do. As the bus pulled away it revealed the dingy bar across the street. I knew they were in there. I’d been tipped off by a contact in /r/stoolpigeons that these mooks weren’t as sneaky as they thought. I finally tracked them down to this bar by an ad I found in the craigslist personals. From the outside it might look like your usual neurotypical bar, but I knew le goods they were pushing out le back room, le goods they’d killed to keep a secret. I skipped over the sewer grate and avoided the cracks in the road as I crossed. Whilst standing in front of the door I reached inside my jacket for the Klingon mek'leth I kept handy for just such an occasion. Its cold and smooth texture was reassuring. The bar was loud like all cisgendered mating establishments. The sensory overload made my head spin, but I forced myself to worm my way through the small crowd up to the bar. This was where it went down, this was where they took out Green Henry, Big Gordon, and Tommy the Tank. I shuddered as I felt all of the feels, all the feels that there were to feel as I remembered those greats. I shouldered my way around a dame sitting on one of the crooked stools and eyed the place for an even one. Nothing to be found, so I’d stand. She glanced over at me, and not for the first time I wish I was able to read emotions in others' faces. She had a face with makeup on, presumably to attract some non-otherkin in the room. In her right hand she held a bottle of Woodchuck Cider, and I shuddered; a place like this truly catered to the heavy drinkers. I tipped my fedora at her, but couldn't muster a "m'lady." I leaned on the bar and pulled out three crisply ironed one-dollar bills, Philadelphia mint, and hoped that the look the bartender gave me meant he saw me. I held my hand high so that he could see the green I held, “ONE SHIRLEY TEMPLE, STRAIGHT!” GBonicus fucked around with this message at 02:26 on Sep 5, 2014 |
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Sep 5, 2014 02:23
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Sep 5, 2014 04:46
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Sep 5, 2014 08:13
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