Paladinus posted:

I've heard goons deny the Armenian genocide.

the goon supreme posted:

all I'm saying is if it was true there wouldn't be so many armenians now

larchesdanrew posted:

Sometimes I was pronouns cost actual money to use, like vowels on Wheel of Fortune. Supervisor does this constantly. He just walks in and launches into stories without a proper noun in sight and gets annoyed when you ask who or what the gently caress he's actually talking about.

18 Character Limit posted:

Is there an OSHA limit to your daily CE exposure? Because you're over it.

Volmarias posted:

Shaka, when the words fell

Kurieg posted:

Buffalo! It's Hard Drives Full!

Volmarias posted:

Creepy reporter, his antenna transmitting.

Dr. Arbitrary posted:

blackswordca, his audit log entrapped

Potato Alley posted:

midelne, his boss run over

Sheep posted:

dicktrauma, the office manager screaming

Dr. Arbitrary posted:

Sirotan, a seal mug in hand

Malachite_Dragon posted:

Tony, when the servers fell

E: Dick Trauma, his tools magnetized

Ozz81 posted:

Larchesdanrew, institutionalized after attacking a herd of buffalo while vacationing in Yellowstone

An Angry Bug posted:

IT thread woes and accidental slam poetry:

kalstrams posted:

I think we've settled on superiority of deep dish pizza, no?

Saint Drogo posted:

I wanted to visit America someday until I found out they call those hosed up cheese pies 'pizza'

kalstrams posted:

I think we've settled on superiority of deep dish pizza, no?

Dr. Gitmo Moneyson posted:

Direct link to the old thread, if anyone wants it (and it hasn't been posted yet).

http://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3695000

Sham bam bamina! posted:

Those are riffs on an old Star Trek episode.

CowboyKid posted:

Shove that lasagna up you rear end.

Killed By Death posted:

So I'm here to request two quotes/sets of quotes. The first is a series of posts were mocking a guy for holding the position that all of the Axis soldiers in WW2 deserved to die. I specifically remember something about a 13 year old solider panicking, failing to fire his gun and getting crushed by a Russian tank that "never even realised he was there".

The second quote was a much longer post about why the poster thinks all love/relationships are hollow and are doomed to failure. At some point, "As they lie with you, wondering how they could ever have loved someone so flawed", or something like that appears. I realise that's not much to go on and describes a lot of posts, but that's all I remember.

quote:

By all means, spend your one brief moment above the dirt toiling for the satisfaction of your
imaginary biological teleology, as an earlier generation toiled for its imaginary god.
By all means, cradle your woman in bed, and do not think about the treachery that beats in her
heart, so close to your own.

Do not think about the way she will forsake you, after the many years you spend drying her tears,
for a perfect stranger whose smell she finds more enticing, or whose clothing peaks her curiosity,
or who has nothing whatsoever to offer her other than the simple fact that he is not you.
Do not think about the truth that the mother of your children, the woman who pledged before her
god to die with you, will find reasons to blame you for her unhappiness the moment she has her
chance to make a life with a man of greater material means. Do not think about the fact that she
will be happier in her new and larger home, and that she will not think of you alone, nor will she
feel remorse.

Do not think about the way your children, to whom you gave the gift of life, for whose education
you expended the best years of your only life in soul-killing drudgery, will institutionalize you
without regret the moment you become any sort of emotional or financial burden, just as you did
to your own.

You spend the balance of your life tending to the pain of a stranger, to whom you are a stranger.
You believe that this will make your pain bearable, that your acts of mercy towards another will
be returned in kind.

They will not.

You rebel against this truth, because you are too young, and too naive, and too untested by life to
understand it.

Say whatever you wish about those of us who see the folly of this agony, for we are not
concerned by your fear of us, and understand your need to pretend that it is you who have found
that better end of this bargain.

Resist the fact that you are not loved, as an earlier generation resisted the fact that it must die.
Eventually, the considerable time you spend alone in miserable solitude will grant you
opportunity for detached observation of humanity, something people who run around giggling
with their lovers never get. You will find it depraved and bestial. You will turn your hatred
outwards to all of humankind and loath both women and men; You will become purified by your
hatred, morally invincible and free from the bonds imposed by human companionship, free to
wage the unwinnable, glorious war of reprisal on an intrinsicly twisted and brutile ethnos eversodomized
by the universal order of eternal injustice.

There is a reason that all the world’s religions have insisted on dragging down the possibility of
love between humans and made it subordinate to the love of an Other that is perfect, precisely
because that Other is beyond our reach. The best of lovers is the one that is far, far away, to
whom you write love letters in fervent anticipation, and who is not besmirched by the endless
disappointing humiliation of contact. And that is why it is those who truly love best, the forsaken
soldiers dying in distant lands, suffer the most, for they love the most, and the most sincerely.
That perfect lover, the one that patiently dries all of your tears, that knows all of your fears
without thinking less of you, that comforts you in the long nights that precede those most
desperate of trials, cannot, and does not survive contact. That is precisely why the greatest lover
cannot, must not, be met. And that is why the most desperate of lovers call their beloved God and
say to themselves that were He to be seen, were merely His name to be spoken, it should mean
certain death.

And that is why for the lovers of God heartbreak is always merely a prelude to an even more
passionate reconciliation, because their beloved always takes them back, always accepts them
back into its bosom, for that beloved which those penitent lovers seek to draw near is permitted
one ultimate, unconquerable strength denied to all other things of which we can have thoughts. It
does not exist. And in not existing, it does not suffer as a lover does, when the pain of its beloved
is inflicted upon it. And it does not become frightened, when it sees how much its beloved has to
fear. And it is not wounded by the infidelities of those who swear eternal love, for it has no heart,
and no mind, and no presence, and no existence, and no way to hurt, and no way to suffer, and it
cannot lie awake at night in your arms, thinking about how foolish it once was to believe in your
perfection, and feel those first timid thoughts of escape into the arms of another, one that shall
remedy your failings. As the perfect lover does not exist, so the perfect love is that of what does
not exist. And that is why, unlike the soldiers abandoned by those that sealed their treachery with
solemn kisses, the priests suffer not at all, for they love nothing at all, and are not kissed, not by
any, forever, for all time.

Some of us are destined to never find companionship, never find lasting solace in the arms of
another, and the sooner we accept this, the sooner a new world of previously unimagined dangers
opens up to us.

In the exploration of these dangers, we become living testaments to the virtues of struggle, and
gain a stamina that others shall never have the privilege to know.

Rather than drift into slumber in the bed of an eternal stranger, we seek a bed of flames, and with
no partner, no pair, no twin, we attain a singular uniqueness and inflict upon ourselves a solitude
that is the unhealing wound from which all our strength flows.

We alone know that all flesh is grass, that all promises are fantasies, that all dreams are narcotics.
We alone live without lies, without the need to enslave or to be enslaved.

We write the stories of our lives patiently, and from the other side of death. The realm of eternity
is ours alone.

I heart bacon posted:

Also again on guns. Goons are weirdly against them for some reason. Guns are fun.

quote:

It amazes me that so many allegedly "educated" people have fallen so quickly and so hard for a fraudulent fabrication of such laughable proportions. The very idea that a gigantic ball of rock happens to orbit our planet, showing itself in neat, four-week cycles -- with the same side facing us all the time -- is ludicrous. Furthermore, it is an insult to common sense and a damnable affront to intellectual honesty and integrity. That people actually believe it is evidence that the liberals have wrested the last vestiges of control of our public school system from decent, God-fearing Americans (as if any further evidence was needed! Daddy's Roommate? God Almighty!)

Documentaries such as Enemy of the State have accurately portrayed the elaborate, byzantine network of surveillance satellites that the liberals have sent into space to spy on law-abiding Americans. Equipped with technology developed by Handgun Control, Inc., these satellites have the ability to detect firearms from hundreds of kilometers up. That's right, neighbors .. the next time you're out in the backyard exercising your Second Amendment rights, the liberals will see it! These satellites are sensitive enough to tell the difference between a Colt .45 and a .38 Special! And when they detect you with a firearm, their computers cross-reference the address to figure out your name, and then an enormous database housed at Berkeley is updated with information about you.

Of course, this all works fine during the day, but what about at night? Even the liberals can't control the rotation of the Earth to prevent nightfall from setting in (only Joshua was able to ask for that particular favor!) That's where the "moon" comes in. Powered by nuclear reactors, the "moon" is nothing more than an enormous balloon, emitting trillions of candlepower of gun-revealing light. Piloted by key members of the liberal community, the "moon" is strategically moved across the country, pointing out those who dare to make use of their God-given rights at night!

Yes, I know this probably sounds paranoid and preposterous, but consider this. Despite what the revisionist historians tell you, there is no mention of the "moon" anywhere in literature or historical documents -- anywhere -- before 1950. That is when it was initially launched. When President Josef Kennedy, at the State of the Union address, proclaimed "We choose to go to the moon", he may as well have said "We choose to go to the weather balloon." The subsequent faking of a "moon" landing on national TV was the first step in a long history of the erosion of our constitutional rights by leftists in this country. No longer can we hide from our government when the sun goes down.

Mayor Wilkins posted:

I'm like a scientist who's conducted the same experiment a hundred times, an experiment where he coats a man with raw meat and then tosses him into a shark tank. Yeah, he's pretty sure the sharks will eat him, but he just wants to make sure, for science. He wants to give the sharks a chance to prove him wrong, to demonstrate that they do have the capacity to value human life and to appreciate human suffering, to prove that they're not just mindless evil eating machines.

a bone to pick posted:

I'm the juggernaut bitch.

rejutka posted:

A instead of E, shameful.

Eox posted:

There is no overlap, nerd. I only name my pokemon after women I've slept with and men I've beaten up.

Blhue posted:

Yeah I don't nickname either

Testekill posted:

I was actually considering posting about survivor series last week. There's just something beautiful about the WWE attempting to make Roman Reigns as sympathetic as possible and the fans booing him afterwards so loudly that they have to turn off the crowd mics and pump his music way up. It just shows that they don't learn since the exact same thing happened the last time they tried to make Roman a big deal.



They actually got the crowd to boo the Rock for celebrating with Roman after he had won the Royal Rumble. The crowd hated Roman so much that they hated Rocky for associating with him and he was supposed to be the badass hero that overcame two giants and a Russian.

snergle posted:

why do they hate him? did he murder his family but forget to commit suicide?

Adaptive Systems posted:

By all means, spend your one brief moment above the dirt toiling for the satisfaction of your
imaginary biological teleology, as an earlier generation toiled for its imaginary god.
By all means, cradle your woman in bed, and do not think about the treachery that beats in her
heart, so close to your own.

Do not think about the way she will forsake you, after the many years you spend drying her tears,
for a perfect stranger whose smell she finds more enticing, or whose clothing peaks her curiosity,
or who has nothing whatsoever to offer her other than the simple fact that he is not you.
Do not think about the truth that the mother of your children, the woman who pledged before her
god to die with you, will find reasons to blame you for her unhappiness the moment she has her
chance to make a life with a man of greater material means. Do not think about the fact that she
will be happier in her new and larger home, and that she will not think of you alone, nor will she
feel remorse.

Do not think about the way your children, to whom you gave the gift of life, for whose education
you expended the best years of your only life in soul-killing drudgery, will institutionalize you
without regret the moment you become any sort of emotional or financial burden, just as you did
to your own.

You spend the balance of your life tending to the pain of a stranger, to whom you are a stranger.
You believe that this will make your pain bearable, that your acts of mercy towards another will
be returned in kind.

They will not.

You rebel against this truth, because you are too young, and too naive, and too untested by life to
understand it.

Say whatever you wish about those of us who see the folly of this agony, for we are not
concerned by your fear of us, and understand your need to pretend that it is you who have found
that better end of this bargain.

Resist the fact that you are not loved, as an earlier generation resisted the fact that it must die.
Eventually, the considerable time you spend alone in miserable solitude will grant you
opportunity for detached observation of humanity, something people who run around giggling
with their lovers never get. You will find it depraved and bestial. You will turn your hatred
outwards to all of humankind and loath both women and men; You will become purified by your
hatred, morally invincible and free from the bonds imposed by human companionship, free to
wage the unwinnable, glorious war of reprisal on an intrinsicly twisted and brutile ethnos eversodomized
by the universal order of eternal injustice.

There is a reason that all the world’s religions have insisted on dragging down the possibility of
love between humans and made it subordinate to the love of an Other that is perfect, precisely
because that Other is beyond our reach. The best of lovers is the one that is far, far away, to
whom you write love letters in fervent anticipation, and who is not besmirched by the endless
disappointing humiliation of contact. And that is why it is those who truly love best, the forsaken
soldiers dying in distant lands, suffer the most, for they love the most, and the most sincerely.
That perfect lover, the one that patiently dries all of your tears, that knows all of your fears
without thinking less of you, that comforts you in the long nights that precede those most
desperate of trials, cannot, and does not survive contact. That is precisely why the greatest lover
cannot, must not, be met. And that is why the most desperate of lovers call their beloved God and
say to themselves that were He to be seen, were merely His name to be spoken, it should mean
certain death.

And that is why for the lovers of God heartbreak is always merely a prelude to an even more
passionate reconciliation, because their beloved always takes them back, always accepts them
back into its bosom, for that beloved which those penitent lovers seek to draw near is permitted
one ultimate, unconquerable strength denied to all other things of which we can have thoughts. It
does not exist. And in not existing, it does not suffer as a lover does, when the pain of its beloved
is inflicted upon it. And it does not become frightened, when it sees how much its beloved has to
fear. And it is not wounded by the infidelities of those who swear eternal love, for it has no heart,
and no mind, and no presence, and no existence, and no way to hurt, and no way to suffer, and it
cannot lie awake at night in your arms, thinking about how foolish it once was to believe in your
perfection, and feel those first timid thoughts of escape into the arms of another, one that shall
remedy your failings. As the perfect lover does not exist, so the perfect love is that of what does
not exist. And that is why, unlike the soldiers abandoned by those that sealed their treachery with
solemn kisses, the priests suffer not at all, for they love nothing at all, and are not kissed, not by
any, forever, for all time.

Some of us are destined to never find companionship, never find lasting solace in the arms of
another, and the sooner we accept this, the sooner a new world of previously unimagined dangers
opens up to us.

In the exploration of these dangers, we become living testaments to the virtues of struggle, and
gain a stamina that others shall never have the privilege to know.

Rather than drift into slumber in the bed of an eternal stranger, we seek a bed of flames, and with
no partner, no pair, no twin, we attain a singular uniqueness and inflict upon ourselves a solitude
that is the unhealing wound from which all our strength flows.

We alone know that all flesh is grass, that all promises are fantasies, that all dreams are narcotics.
We alone live without lies, without the need to enslave or to be enslaved.

We write the stories of our lives patiently, and from the other side of death. The realm of eternity
is ours alone.

CowboyKid posted:

Shove that loszonda up you're rear end.

VendaGoat posted:

I like it.

rejutka posted:

A instead of E, shameful.

Pick posted:

If I want a story I want an Enhydra lutris post.

VitalSigns posted:

I don't understand. No one looks at my skin and assumes I'm German and no one ever mocks me with German stereotypes and asks where my wurst and liederhosen are because of my skin color.....sooooo I guess the Asian guy is right?

homerlaw posted:

H.P. Hovercraft posted:

theflyingorc posted:

i'm the self-awareness

because i'm not in this picture

prefect posted:

what is that drink, anyway?

Kenny Logins posted:

virgin old fashioned

Space-Pope posted:

if you slip powerful barbiturates into it, it's called a m'lady

VendaGoat posted:

I like it.

Adaptive Systems posted:

peaks her curiosity

swamp waste posted:

This isn't good. This is the writing style and intellectual acumen of a guy who shoots up his high school 10 years after he graduated