- Boko Haram
- Dec 22, 2008
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I'll go downstairs to do my laundry, forget the key so I set my basket down, as soon as I turn the flight he's out and about in the stairwell. I come back down and he goes back in. Same thing happens after I leave the washroom. When I go to my car he will leave his apartment and go up the stairs and stand at the entrance to the building looking out the glass as I leave, sometimes he pokes his head out. Dude is so weird, should I invite him over? I'm friends with his assisted living therapist so maybe I should ask him the backstory, dude always stops by my place when he has a visit.
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Jan 18, 2016 17:42
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- Adbot
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ADBOT LOVES YOU
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#
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May 10, 2024 02:05
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- Tiny Timbs
- Sep 6, 2008
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stare dudes are common
i stared back last time and the guy didn't back down
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Jan 18, 2016 17:44
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- Boko Haram
- Dec 22, 2008
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I'm thinking he's concerned about my health because I used to throw up off the balcony a lot and one time the balcony collapsed, he's gotta have a weird perception of me.
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Jan 18, 2016 17:47
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- ClamdestineBoyster
- Aug 15, 2015
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Can't post for 10 years!
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I'm thinking he's concerned about my health because I used to throw up off the balcony a lot and one time the balcony collapsed, he's gotta have a weird perception of me.
drat that's a lot of puke.
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Jan 18, 2016 17:53
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- TEAH SYAG
- Oct 2, 2009
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by Lowtax
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Prepare your rear end in a top hat for rape and devastation.
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Jan 18, 2016 17:55
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- Big Beef City
- Aug 15, 2013
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I'm thinking he's concerned about my health because I used to throw up off the balcony a lot and one time the balcony collapsed, he's gotta have a weird perception of me.
I'd come out to watch that freakshow you're putting on, too...
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Jan 18, 2016 17:56
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- ClamdestineBoyster
- Aug 15, 2015
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Can't post for 10 years!
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No poo poo, I mean to fill a balcony with puke? The guy probably thinks you are a puke monster or something.
Funny story tho.. Stopped at a motel for a night once and I hear people opening and closing the door a bunch of times next door, I'm like wtf it's been like half a hour and they're still opening and closing the door like every 45 seconds. I peek my head outside and they stop, as soon as I go back in its in and out, in and out again. Finally I see the dude wheeling in some equipment or some poo poo, they were dressed up like some old farts but lugging rollers of equipment and poo poo. Just for fun I started opening and closing my door every 30 seconds or so, and after bunch of times doing that the one old lady starts screaming out her door "oh stop it, just stop it!" It was p funny. She got super pissed.
ClamdestineBoyster fucked around with this message at 18:06 on Jan 18, 2016
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Jan 18, 2016 17:59
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- A_Bug_That_Thinks
- Mar 16, 2011
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ASK ME ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE BIG SAGGY POKEMON TITS
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poo poo into a plastic bag, and next time you walk down to the laundry, dump it out in front of his door. When he steps out to stalk you, he'll step into one of your turds. It's all about dominance displays
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Jan 18, 2016 18:06
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- Meme Poker Party
- Sep 1, 2006
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by Azathoth
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You are doing something he hates.
Probably blasting a stereo or stomping around a lot. Try not to be such an rear end in a top hat why don't you?
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Jan 18, 2016 18:49
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- ClamdestineBoyster
- Aug 15, 2015
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Can't post for 10 years!
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Yeah try taking all the cloven hooved animals out your apartment.
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Jan 18, 2016 18:50
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- ghosTTy
- Sep 22, 2008
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he's tracking your pattern so he can do soemthing very bad to you.
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Jan 18, 2016 18:52
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- social media guru
- Jan 18, 2016
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by Cowcaster
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maebye he wants to have SEX with you haHA
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Jan 18, 2016 18:56
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- spank my snatch
- Jun 4, 2009
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he intends to strangle you with a nylon cord, op, hth
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Jan 18, 2016 18:56
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- symbolic
- Nov 2, 2014
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remove his door
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Jan 18, 2016 18:56
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- Windows 98
- Nov 13, 2005
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HTTP 400: Bad post
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Here's what you do OP.
First take a broom and remove the bristle end. Get some sandpaper and a knife and begin turning the broom into a war spear. Make sure it's sharp as all hell. When you are done sharpening the end begin encapsulating the new weapon in clay. Be thorough. When your clay has covered the stick well enough let dry for a few hours. When your mold is done gently remove it from the spear tip. Feel free to cut the broom down to remove the sharp bit and repair your broom. Fill your new mold with water and let it sit in the freezer over night. In the morning you have the perfect weapon.
All that is left now is to stab your neighbor to death with your new ice dagger. After you kill him just peace the gently caress out while the murder weapon melts away and disappears forever. Confusing police.
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Jan 18, 2016 19:11
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- Snatch Duster
- Feb 20, 2007
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by FactsAreUseless
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have you considered murdering him and leasing his apartment, that way you can have two apartments
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Jan 18, 2016 19:14
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- Nathilus
- Apr 4, 2002
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I alone can see through the media bias.
I'm also stupid on a scale that can only be measured in Reddits.
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Make eye contact and growl. Male stuff is easy.If he wont back down pee on his things.
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Jan 18, 2016 19:16
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- Tomato Burger
- Jun 18, 2007
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The secret is granola.
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have you considered murdering him and leasing his apartment, that way you can have two apartments
Just sublet, dude.
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Jan 18, 2016 19:18
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- Obeah
- Apr 12, 2013
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GO OVER GO OVER GOOVER GOOVER IT'S ALL GOOVY, BABY!
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When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
Obeah fucked around with this message at 20:11 on Jan 18, 2016
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#
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Jan 18, 2016 20:09
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- City of Tampa
- May 6, 2007
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by zen death robot
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dude is watching to make sure that you leave so he can go into your apartment and rub his musky unwashed dong all over your toothbrush and silverware and TV remote
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Jan 18, 2016 20:34
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- I Dunno
- Apr 7, 2014
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What the gently caress
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#
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Jan 18, 2016 20:34
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- Meme Poker Party
- Sep 1, 2006
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by Azathoth
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Holy crap.
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#
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Jan 18, 2016 20:35
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- satanic splash-back
- Jan 28, 2009
-
|
When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
whoa
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Jan 18, 2016 20:36
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- symbolic
- Nov 2, 2014
-
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what
the gently caress
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Jan 18, 2016 20:38
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- solar energy panel
- Apr 30, 2007
-
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Your neighbour obviously wants to beat your sorry rear end for making everything around the building smell like puke. Each time he almost wallops you, he has second thoughts and retreats quickly away in an attempt to gather enough courage for next time.
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Jan 18, 2016 20:40
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- Big Beef City
- Aug 15, 2013
-
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GBS: "F-fingerblast this little turd."
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#
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Jan 18, 2016 20:41
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- Dr. Pangloss
- Apr 5, 2014
-
Ask me about metaphysico-theologo-cosmolo-nigology. I'm here to help!
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GBS: "F-fingerblast this little turd."
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#
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Jan 18, 2016 20:53
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- a shiny rock
- Nov 13, 2009
-
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disconnect the pipes from your toilet so when you poo poo it just falls directly into his apartment
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#
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Jan 18, 2016 20:57
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- Digital Fingers
- Sep 2, 2012
-
|
When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
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#
?
Jan 18, 2016 22:00
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- Demonachizer
- Aug 7, 2004
-
|
Here's what you do OP.
First take a broom and remove the bristle end. Get some sandpaper and a knife and begin turning the broom into a war spear. Make sure it's sharp as all hell. When you are done sharpening the end begin encapsulating the new weapon in clay. Be thorough. When your clay has covered the stick well enough let dry for a few hours. When your mold is done gently remove it from the spear tip. Feel free to cut the broom down to remove the sharp bit and repair your broom. Fill your new mold with water and let it sit in the freezer over night. In the morning you have the perfect weapon.
All that is left now is to stab your neighbor to death with your new ice dagger. After you kill him just peace the gently caress out while the murder weapon melts away and disappears forever. Confusing police.
Could you use a shovel instead of a broom?
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#
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Jan 18, 2016 22:02
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- Cowman
- Feb 14, 2006
-
Beware the Cow
|
When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
dude you got raped holy poo poo
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#
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Jan 18, 2016 22:06
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- Adbot
-
ADBOT LOVES YOU
|
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#
?
May 10, 2024 02:05
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- Tardcore
- Jan 24, 2011
-
Not cool enough for the Spider-man club.
|
When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?
Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my rear end." It was nonstop during the summer months.
So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.
So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.
"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."
I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.
"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."
Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):
Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. The sinking feeling as I realize his hard cock (still in pants, though) is pressed against my back. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.
I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.
All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny on SA or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.
wow
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#
?
Jan 18, 2016 22:08
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