goose willis posted:

Zipperelli. posted:

It's an almost literal impossibility to date someone for 3 weeks without knowing they have cancer, especially with all the extraneous poo poo they have to do, both pre-, and post-chemo.

gently caress.

JGdmn posted:

"I went on a date with a person three weeks ago, and after incessantly calling them they told me they had cancer.

Just my luck."

The Warlizard Chroniclist posted:

Too late to the thread but this is a good story:

Everyone has worked with someone they hated. I’ve never had a job where there wasn’t someone who made my life miserable, or whose very presence pissed me off. Usually you just have to put up with them, but every once in a great while, you can get even…

“Dave” was a dick. Stoop-shouldered, balding, in his 50’s, Dave was a patronizing and irritating bastard. He’d been at IBM his whole career, had been making good money, and hated contractors. He thought they were bad for the company, that the only people worth a poo poo were regular employees, and he made it his personal priority to gently caress with all of us. Nothing overt, but constant subtle pressure was put on everyone whose badge said “Contractor” on it. I think he developed this attitude from working with the guys from India, probably because they were so soft-spoken and accommodating, but maybe he was just a racist. I dunno, but whatever the reason, he took every opportunity to send us on little errands, wouldn’t get back to us if we needed something, criticized anything we did and generally made our lives hell in a way that couldn’t be directly protested.

I was pretty good friends with the guy sharing the room with him, another full-time employee and one day “Robert” called me up. “War. We’re going for coffee.”

“Um, ok, let me just finish up a few things.”

“You don’t understand. We need coffee NOW!”

Right. I headed over to his office and he met me about halfway there. His eyes were shining with glee but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on until we had our coffee in the cafeteria. Once we finally had a table, he said, “Ok. Dave’s a fetish wrestler!”

“Huh?”

“He’s a fetish wrestler!”

“Dude, I’ve got nothing. WTF is a fetish wrestler?”

It turned out that there were men who pay women to wrestle them into submission. Some of them did it as a sort of hobby and others were extremely serious about it. Dave was one of the latter. Several times a year, he’d tell his wife he was meeting up with old Army buddies but went to Fetish Wrestling conventions instead. They were highly organized, had rings set up for use, referees to score the matches and everything. I never quite understood the need for refs, but hey, it’s not my fetish. There were web pages devoted to the women who were available to wrestle and Dave’s favorite was a woman named “Red Robin”. She was a little tiny woman who was an absolute beast and he paid her thousands of dollars every time he’d go to one of these conventions for her to wrestle him for about 20 minutes per match. We went back to my office and pulled up Red Robin’s website.

“Why does he pay this woman to wrestle him? She’s ugly as hell. Do they gently caress after?”

“He says no.”

“Let me get this straight… Dave lies to his wife, flies out to California to have an ugly woman named Red Robin wrestle him into submission, pays her $400 per match, and DOESN’T gently caress her?”

“Yep.”

“Bullshit.”

I went on to the main wrestling site and started reading Dave’s posts. And there were a ton of them. He talked in great detail and depth about the “sport”, had invented his own move, called the “Twisted Ostrich”, and told stories about amazing matches he’d won and lost. Look, I’m all about people’s private lives remaining private, and I probably wouldn’t have done anything if he hadn’t so consistently been a gently caress to me. But he had, so game on! I registered a fake account under the name Sue_Plex on the wrestling web site and started corresponding with him.

I started by asking him some technical questions about the Twisted Ostrich, but it wasn’t long until he started asking me personal questions. As time went by, I fleshed out the character so within about a month he had become quite good friends with Miss Plex. I told him I was a late-20s single lawyer living in D.C. My marriage had ended because my husband just didn’t understand my interest in such a harmless sport. It was so nice to talk to someone like him who really understood me.

It was unbelievably satisfying. Every time he’d send me on some stupid errand, I’d think of how he was confessing his private life to the character I’d created. Oh, and he lied his rear end off. He dropped a good ten years and his wife somehow. Finally, he asked for a picture. Well, I’d already downloaded a whole set of a girl who looked about that age, and the photos didn’t look professional. I started with a simple one and he gushed about how hot I was. Over the next few weeks, I sent him more and more photos, each more revealing than the last, until the girl was fully nude, but didn’t look posed.

He started trying to be really sexy, and started talking about how the best way to end a good wrestling match was with sex. Hold the phones! He’d told Robert that there wasn’t any sex at the matches! I probed a bit and he finally admitted he had sex with the girls he wrestled.

I loving knew it!

They were hookers working a special kind of crowd. It made more sense he was spending 400 bucks per match. I amped up the sexy talk too, including wrestling into it. It was gold.

He was hooked. His work slowed down, he became obsessed with Sue_Plex and quite frankly, my work suffered as well having to answer all his notes. Fortunately, he didn’t notice because he was too busy sending off love letters. Now it was driving me nuts, because here was this creepy 50’ish guy who was still giving me a daily ration of poo poo but was secretly having an online affair with a character I’d created. Robert and I had a ton of fun loving with the poor guy, but one day, he called me up again – “War. Coffee. Now.” At the cafeteria he told me that Dave had another “Army reunion” coming up and we should see if we could get him to come to D.C. to meet “Sue” instead. Hmmmm. Genius! I sent Dave an email and said we should get together some time. Boom. In a flash, he responded that he had been thinking the same thing and had some time off in a few weeks. Would I be interested in him coming to visit?
Yes. Yes I would.

As Sue, I arranged to meet him in D.C. at local hotel. As the day approached, Dave became more and more excited and hosed with us less and less. He still tried, but the conviction and heat wasn’t there anymore. Robert and I were going nuts, having to act like nothing was going on while Dave prattled on about how happy he was to hook up with his old Army buddies, what a fun trip it would be, how he was hoping he didn’t get pinned down by the snow, etc. I guess he thought he was being clever, but since we already knew the entire story, it just came across as pathetic.

He left early on a Friday to catch his flight, smiling like a champ.

Tuesday morning, he showed up looking like his best friend had died. We asked what was wrong and he tried to play it off like he was just tired from his long weekend, but as soon as he could, he sent Sue a message asking what the hell had happened and why hadn’t she showed up? We waited to respond until after lunch. He was a basket case. Finally we fired back a furious message that we’d called his house on Friday just to leave him a message and some WOMAN ANSWERED! We said we’d pretended to give her a survey and we knew about his wife and 4 kids. So he’d been lying to us all along. Basically, we went batshit crazy on him. We told him if he ever tried to contact us again, we’d tell his wife everything. We waited for him to get the email, watched him surreptitiously read it and then we watched him have a meltdown.

He started sweating like crazy, called his wife to check on her, and finally left early. He was never the same after that. He pretty much stopped messing with contractors and kept to himself. We never sent him any more emails and he never sent any to Sue. My contract ended not too long after that and that was the last I heard of him.

It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

EDIT: Motorsagmannen gave me Reddit gold for this story. Thanks man.

EDIT 2: Multiple people have called me out for plagiarizing this story from a book, then link the actual book I supposedly stole it from. Funny thing -- That's MY book. I wrote it. The name "The Warlizard Chronicles", the author name, "Warlizard", and hell, since my picture is on the cover, all of those things should help clarify things.

chitoryu12 posted:

Also he's not kidding about making a loving STDH book.

Garrand posted:

The most unbelievable part of that is that there's this fetish wrestling site going on for years and yet nobody had ever registered the name Sue Plex

walrusman posted:

Why would you go with "I AM FASCIST..." instead of "I AM A FASCIST..."? If it's just for space considerations, couldn't they do "I'M A FASCIST..."?

Also who wants a coffee mug with just a plain old number on it?

walrusman posted:

Why would you go with "I AM FASCIST..." instead of "I AM A FASCIST..."? If it's just for space considerations, couldn't they do "I'M A FASCIST..."?

Also who wants a coffee mug with just a plain old number on it?

Anti-Defamation League posted:

1488 is a combination of two popular white supremacist numeric symbols. The first symbol is 14, which is shorthand for the "14 Words" slogan: "We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children." The second is 88, which stands for "Heil Hitler" (H being the 8th letter of the alphabet). Together, the numbers form a general endorsement of white supremacy and its beliefs.

Ein cooler Typ posted:

If mug shops can refuse to make fascist mugs, bakeries can refuse to make gay wedding cakes

Moon Slayer posted:

walrusman posted:

I know the significance of that number, I just don't know why you'd bother to get it on a coffee mug. Either cover it with swastikas and SS runes, or just use a normal boring non-Nazi mug.

Turtlicious posted:

Wait, that's a Nazi thing? My co-worker told me it was Scottish pride thing for his Clan, because it's the year the Battle of Sauchieburn happened, which leads to James IV of Scotland becoming king.

I'm loving livid, he was going on for like 5 minutes about it just today.

putrid aidsman posted:

Jerry Cotton posted:

oldpainless posted:

Hags

eating only apples posted:

I appreciated this.

Biplane posted:

I've always wondered if that bit was scripted or improv, cracks me up every time.

Biplane posted:

I've always wondered if that bit was scripted or improv, cracks me up every time.

walrusman posted:

edit: someone also once told me that 88 was a popular number because the Wehrmacht used 88mm artillery.

Prism posted:

They didn't, or if they did it was a one-off design that I forgot about. They mostly used 7.5cm and 10.5cm.

Edit: I take that back, Nazi Germany's major flak gun was 8.8cm. Let the post stand as a monument to me jumping the gun.

WampaLord posted:

The Edgar Wright movies are heavily scripted, what with all the setup and payoff, I doubt very much it was improv'd.

St Evan Echoes posted:

Everyone watch this if you haven't already, dude is the best at visual gags:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FOzD4Sfgag

Turtlicious posted:

Wait, that's a Nazi thing? My co-worker told me it was Scottish pride thing for his Clan,