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Edgar Allen Ho posted:do you mean when a bunch of goons got hacked for having 123456 and abcdefg as passwords and then Lowtax got pissed and made everyone have 14 character all the specials passwords and I never bothered to remember my SA passwords ever again. his password screen yelled at me 
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Oct 11, 2019 22:22
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Turtlicious posted:I find it kind of cool that people's personalities are so powerful that they're remembered between accounts. dare was very easy for that, hard mode is the fact that ryan gosling is an active goon and i will not reveal his forum identity. good luck
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Oct 11, 2019 22:24
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Oxxidation posted:his password screen yelled at me BOOGEYMAN
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Oct 11, 2019 22:28
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pog boyfriend posted:dare was very easy for that, hard mode is the fact that ryan gosling is an active goon and i will not reveal his forum identity. good luck You overplayed your hand a bit there, Ry
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Oct 12, 2019 00:29
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Inexplicable Humblebrag posted:oh hey a Wren, i thought they all died of cancer this isn't funny at all, different poster and also maybe don't be a jerkass about a good poster dying of cancer
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Oct 12, 2019 00:35
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Turtlicious posted:I find it kind of cool that people's personalities are so powerful that they're remembered between accounts. Benny the Snake wrote so badly in the CC Thunderdome that people refused to read his terrible words, so he rereg and posted under a different name but people would still find out it was him, because he would never stop writing in his flash fiction pieces inexplicable and unprovoked ultraviolence (usually against people explicitly drawn from his life)
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Oct 12, 2019 00:44
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That's not fair, a lot of his fiction also involved hating his father.
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Oct 12, 2019 00:48
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Arivia posted:this isn't funny at all, different poster and also maybe don't be a jerkass about a good poster dying of cancer Yeah, what the gently caress?!
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Oct 12, 2019 01:02
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The Saddest Rhino posted:Benny the Snake wrote so badly in the CC Thunderdome that people refused to read his terrible words, so he rereg and posted under a different name but people would still find out it was him, because he would never stop writing in his flash fiction pieces inexplicable and unprovoked ultraviolence (usually against people explicitly drawn from his life) Didn't someone call the mods on him after pre-reading a draft that was completely "here is my plan to shoot up my actual workplace?" I vaguely remember this but not the details. Also, Benny once PMed me to ask for advice about writing a forums-based It's A Wonderful Life pastiche, where Lowtax is George Bailey and gnarlyhotep is Clarence, shortly after gnarly asked to be permabanned. I never heard back from him after I replied ("please do not write forums fanfic, wtf"), but knowing Benny, he may have still written the drat thing.
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Oct 12, 2019 01:13
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The Saddest Rhino posted:Benny the Snake wrote so badly in the CC Thunderdome that people refused to read his terrible words, so he rereg and posted under a different name but people would still find out it was him, because he would never stop writing in his flash fiction pieces inexplicable and unprovoked ultraviolence (usually against people explicitly drawn from his life) Hmm sounds like hes got the raw style of a Flannery O'Connor.
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Oct 12, 2019 01:32
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The Saddest Rhino posted:Benny the Snake wrote so badly in the CC Thunderdome that people refused to read his terrible words, so he rereg and posted under a different name but people would still find out it was him, because he would never stop writing in his flash fiction pieces inexplicable and unprovoked ultraviolence (usually against people explicitly drawn from his life) I wrote so badly in Thunderome that I was unmemorable, then missed a week, then toxxed for the second week, then didn't produce. And that's my thunderdome rereg story. I also post like 10000x more now than I did then.
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Oct 12, 2019 02:05
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Edgar Allen Ho posted:I wrote so badly in Thunderome that I was unmemorable, then missed a week, then toxxed for the second week, then didn't produce. And that's my thunderdome rereg story. *Looks at rap sheet, scratches head* brb
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Oct 12, 2019 02:28
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Nevermore!
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Oct 12, 2019 02:32
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Edgar Allen Ho posted:I wrote so badly in Thunderome that I was unmemorable, then missed a week, then toxxed for the second week, then didn't produce. And that's my thunderdome rereg story. sebmojo posted:*Looks at rap sheet, scratches head* A comedy in two acts
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Oct 12, 2019 03:21
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In fact: edgar Allen ho did get toxx banned under their previous name so all is well with the world.
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Oct 12, 2019 09:24
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*makes jerk off motion* The Saddest Rhino posted:Nevermore!
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Oct 12, 2019 19:48
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sebmojo posted:In fact: edgar Allen ho did get toxx banned under their previous name so all is well with the world. do we have an edgar allen bro
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Oct 13, 2019 18:47
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edgar allen j/o crystal
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Oct 13, 2019 18:53
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Headger Phallus Chode
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Oct 13, 2019 19:43
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The Saddest Rhino posted:Benny the Snake wrote so badly in the CC Thunderdome that people refused to read his terrible words, so he rereg and posted under a different name but people would still find out it was him, because he would never stop writing in his flash fiction pieces inexplicable and unprovoked ultraviolence (usually against people explicitly drawn from his life) This sounds amazing. Do you have links to any examples? I want to read them!
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Oct 13, 2019 20:02
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Benny the snake doesn’t have an SAclopedia entry. What a shame.
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Oct 13, 2019 20:23
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The Oracle [permalink] rate this story The Oracle By Benny the Snake I knew a person with silver-colored eyes. Where I come form, those born with eyes of silver are blessed with the gift of prophecy. When they become of age, they are taken to the temple to serve as oracles. I once had my future told by an oracle. To this day I still remember what she told me. I spent my days back then toiling over the blacksmith forge as an apprentice for only a few copper pieces a day. One day, I had saved enough to where I decided to have my fate revealed to me by the oracle at the temple. I climbed up the steps and reached the outside where giant columns supported the roof and the archway was guarded by a monk. “I wish to see the oracle,” I told him. “Present your offering before entering,” the monk said and pointed towards a collection plate on top of a pedestal. I thew five gold pieces in the plate. “Your offering is accepted. You may enter,” he said and stepped aside. Inside the temple was a statue of the God of prophecy: a one-eyed man holding a star in his hand with the words “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king” written on the base. The oracle herself was a young woman wearing silk robes who had eyes of silver so polished I could see my reflection in them. Incense was burning inside, filling the air with a sweet scent that made me drowsy. I immediately bowed in front of her. “Oh great oracle, I have come to seek my destiny.” She looked into my eyes. Her gaze was so intimidating that I looked away. “Tell me,” she said, “What do you think about fate?” “What do I think about fate?” I asked. “Well, I never thought much about it. All I really know is that it's unavoidable,” I said trying my best not to look into her eyes. She gave me a faint smile. “That is true. There is a saying that as man plans, the Gods laugh. On a cosmic scale, the fate of man is as insignificant as a grain of sand.” “Well my fate matters to me.” “Of course it does. Give me your hand,” she told me. I held out my hand. She took it and pulled a knife from behind her. “Don't worry. For me to see your fate, I need only a drop of blood,” she said and pricked my thumb. After squeezing it to draw blood, she took my thumb and pressed it against her forehead. “Yes...” she said faintly. “Oh dear...” “What?” I asked as a lump started to form in my throat. “I see you at your home with blood on your hands.” “What?” “Yes, I see blood on your hands and the bodies of three people at your feet,” she told me. “I see a bloodstained dagger and madness in your eyes.” “No, this cannot be,” I said as fear overtook every fiber of my body. “I am sorry, but that is all I can see," she said. “Th-thank you,” I said weakly and turned around to leave. About halfway through the temple I started running. How could I raise my hand in anger against my own flesh and blood? How could I kill them? I left home that night with nothing more than the clothes on my back. A year later I slaughtered my whole family in cold blood.
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Oct 13, 2019 20:23
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...so it turns out it is possible to be worse at endings than Stephen King.
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Oct 13, 2019 20:41
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I expected bad but my word.
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Oct 13, 2019 20:43
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that's spectacular, thank you for finding and reposting it.
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Oct 13, 2019 20:45
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It's like The Eye of Argon with slightly better spell-checking.
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Oct 13, 2019 20:58
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sebmojo posted:...A year later I slaughtered my whole family in cold blood. Oh goodness! I mean, it's much better to create something in general, and everybody has to start somewhere, but I take it from the discussion of his posts here that he didn't respond well to constructive criticism.
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Oct 13, 2019 21:03
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He was a pretty hosed up guy. I’ve never been an e/n regular but after the financial crisis there was a train of hikikomori including him and the aptly named Manchild King.
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Oct 13, 2019 21:06
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sebmojo posted:Inside the temple was a statue of the God of prophecy: a one-eyed man holding a star in his hand with the words “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king” written on the base. The oracle herself was a young woman wearing silk robes who had eyes of silver so polished I could see my reflection in them. These two sentences are so incredibly bad it is hard to believe it wasn't just lovely on purpose. CaptainSarcastic has a new favorite as of 22:01 on Oct 13, 2019 |
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Oct 13, 2019 21:10
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sebmojo posted:The Oracle Please post Rural Rentboys.
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Oct 13, 2019 21:16
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Lmao that's someone earnestly writing and not a riff on a copypasta?
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Oct 13, 2019 21:16
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Looks like Benny is competent enough to be a screenwriter for JJ Abrams, dunno what you guys are complaining about
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Oct 13, 2019 21:18
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HopperUK posted:Please post Rural Rentboys. Remember: you asked for this. Author: Baudolino Wordcount: 860 Classic Rural Rentboys [permalink] The Year is 1985. England,Shropshire, Wroxeter, two 18teen year old boys are entering an abonend bunker. The mosscovered"do not enter"sign above the entrance is barely redable, it has not worn the gnawing of time well. They ignore it. The bunker was a perect litle shelter for them. For James and RIchard it was the ideal, that is to say the only place where they could be themselves. Wroxeter, famous for it`s old roman ruins and little else was hardly a stronghold of tolerance. Quiet little villages with piss poor work markets seldom are. Two young boys in love could not be open about their desires in such a place without risk. Tall, muscular and atheltic James and Richard cherised the attention they got from the local girls . But the School janitor with his needy blue eyes and gaunt face also appreciated their looks. Attention from a known poofter like him they could ill afford. In short things could be better for them. Mercifully they knew they always had eachother and the aboned bunker. It would have to do until they graduated. Spring was in full orgasmic explosion when they visited the bunker for the last time. Nature blossomed, it was green, moist and filled with bird song. The green hills east of Wroxter was in everyway a paradisal sigth, not including the odd discarded needle or empty beer can. Even the heavens looked magical, dotted with white puffy clouds and clothed in the colour of the ceasars. Happily the bunker was obscured behind trees and did not disturb the romantic visage. Inside the bunker James pushed Richard gently away -No, not yet, work before pleasure remember? Not even a little kiss?--- Alright, maybe just the on... They kissed, it was quick, it was sweet. -Now to the task at hand, James said and pulled away. Lying upside down in the sparse concrete room was Richard`s bike. It lacked a front wheel, the old one had gotten hosed up after a particulary nasty fall. To buy a new wheel would probaly be best, but neither Richard or James had much money to spare. And RIchard loathed to spend the small pithy the school janitor paid for his "favors" unless absolutely necessary. Instead the two boys had gradually managed to cobble together a decent rim and fit it with spokes. The tire they simply stole off the janitors bike, infront of his very eyes. What was he supposed to do, go to the police? They hoped it would do as a new wheel. After much sweating cursing and hustling about inside the bunke they finally made the wheel fit the bikeframe. It looked safe anyhow. -Seems alrigth. Wanna give it a go Richard? - You know what i want, hehe. -Seriously mate, ride it down the slope to see how it handles. We might need to make some adjustments. Richard picked up the bike and smiled. -Yeah yeah i heard you, if it makes you happy. -I just want you to be safe using that wheel. Richard walked outside and sat down on the bike. -I know you do. Richard started to roll down the hill the hill, immeadtly the bike started to shake and rumble . As he neared the first bend in the road the front wheel touched a small pothole, at once the wheel collapsed inwards and the joints holdning the rim together came apart violently. Richard was flung off his bike and landed just outside the road, where he tumbled ever faster down the slope. Running as fast as he could James found his lover lying face down at the foot of the hill. His body perfectly still despite bleeding massivly from his rigth thigh where a piece of bone protruded from his flesh. As James he got closer a terrible frigth posessed him. He could barely stand when he finally reached Richard. The horrible dark red blood was naseuating, it was downrigth gruseome. Shambling like a drunk man James tried to get awaybut quickly fell down. The blood made him dizzy, made him feel like he was drownin, made him hold his to breath. The blood the blood blo.. James lost conciousness. When he came to the sky was a little darker and the air at little colder. His lover laid on the same spot as before, the ground now toroughly draped with a dark red colour and RIchard himself curiosly pale. Like paper or snow or something. -Get up Richard please, we have to get your bike fixed. Come on mate, get up. RIchard, please, YOU HAVE TO GET UP! Several weeks later after Richard had been buried at the St Andrews church James found himself outside a yellow camping wagon. Standing in the door in his trouses and with a beer in his hand was the school janitor. With a grin he simply said-So it`s just me and you now innit, come for a job have you? - Pay me double what you gave Richard and use a loving condom and i.i.. i`ll do what you want Mr Fletcher stepped back and gave James a huge grin-Get in!
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Oct 13, 2019 21:20
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Remember this whenever you say Lovecraft was bad
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Oct 13, 2019 21:23
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You had me at abonend.
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Oct 13, 2019 21:26
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 but also  at "aboned bunker"
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Oct 13, 2019 21:26
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That's the good stuff
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Oct 13, 2019 21:27
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He couldn't even be bothered to use spellcheck.
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Oct 13, 2019 21:28
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Those kids are loving terrible at bike repair.
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Oct 13, 2019 21:31
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Bogus Adventure posted:
Dead & Gay forums, hosted from the wreckage of a boned bunker
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Oct 13, 2019 21:56
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