boofhead posted:

ive used my non-dominant hand hundreds of times and not once has it ever felt like somebody else was jerking the guy off

Stupid_Sexy_Flander posted:

drat. Just found a book where a woman has sex with a door. As in 🚪. That's gotta involve some weird anatomy. Book is Unhinged, which is both a fantastic title and probably an apt description as well.

Platystemon posted:

It was a dildoor.

Milo and POTUS posted:

I mean, it's got a knob

Twat McTwatterson posted:

I'm so loving jacked outta my mind right now. I'm loving yoked! They be stoppin n starin when they see me go by. Gotta get dem reps in baby.

(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)

Milo and POTUS posted:

I mean, it's got a knob

Chubby Henparty posted:

the swelling is probably a staff infection

Phyzzle posted:

1/2 +7 is an excellent rule. Every other year, leave your girlfriend for someone one year younger.

Arc Hammer posted:

Settle down there, DiCaprio

EorayMel posted:

Hatebag posted:

i bet sun tzu would approve of a general with big swingin mamms. what a way to confuse and distract your enemies!

MonsieurChoc posted:

Legend has it he trained a squad of concubines to prove a point.

Grapplejack posted:

When the warrior concubine enters the battlefield, the enemy quakes; when your mother enters the battlefield, the entire field quakes. - Sun Tzu

Regulus #5 posted:

Leviticus 20:13 - If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.

(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)

Malachite_Dragon posted:

So does a wizards staff, right on the end

quote:

This morning I was awoken by my alarm clock powered by electricity generated by the public power monopoly regulated by the US department of energy. I then took a shower in the clean water provided by the municipal water utility. After that, I turned on the TV to one of the FCC regulated channels to see what the national weather service of the national oceanographic and atmospheric administration determined the weather was going to be like using satellites designed, built, and launched by the national aeronautics and space administration. I watched this while eating my breakfast of US department of agriculture inspected food and taking the drugs which have been determined as safe by the food and drug administration.

At the appropriate time as regulated by the US congress and kept accurate by the national institute of standards and technology and the US naval observatory, I get into my national highway traffic safety administration approved automobile and set out to work on the roads build by the local, state, and federal departments of transportation, possibly stopping to purchase additional fuel of a quality level determined by the environmental protection agency, using legal tender issued by the federal reserve bank. On the way out the door I deposit any mail I have to be sent out via the US postal service and drop the kids off at the public school.

After spending another day not being maimed or killed at work thanks to the workplace regulations imposed by the department of labor and the occupational safety and health administration, enjoying another two meals which again do not kill me because of the USDA, I drive my NHTSA car back home on the DOT roads, to my house which has not burned down in my absence because of the state and local building codes and fire marshal’s inspection, and which has not been plundered of all its valuables thanks to the local police department.

I then log on to the internet which was developed by the defense advanced research projects administration and post on freerepublic.com and fox news forums about how SOCIALISM in medicine is BAD because the government can’t do anything right.

Milo and POTUS posted:

Now post the one where they're throwing gold cubes as payment in the free market wasteland

buddhanc posted:

i sat in my living room sipping my cup of chicory and looking out my window and pondering my choices. overhead flocks of ghang gliders soared through the soot, taking advantage of the unregulated skies to make their morning commute. i shifted, somewhat uncomfrtable. i needed to make a decision soon, before my neighbor rumbled out of his driveway in his abrams tank and the vibrations from the tearing of pavement made the decision for me

i read through the billboards on the sidewalk again. joe's sewage: faster than anyone! poo poo-b-gon [as i read the name i silently thanked z0r for the death of the nannu state and the freedom to curse in public]: no clogs! there were five others that i passed over, but i knew, that morning, i was a poo poo-b-gon man. i trotted outside and grabbed the sewage hose that sat dribbling on my lawn. where was the nearest linkup station? i jogged down the street, briefly warming my face on the fire from my neighbor's house, before i tripped on a stray corpse and fell face first onto the sidewalk. as i pushed myself up and wiped the blood [not mine ] from my hands, i saw the linkup station. after paying my thirty dollar day-fee [a small price to pay for fredom] and jogging the mile back to my house, i was soon happily doing my business. like a free man

i jammed my foot on the gas and grinned as my engine roared. it was free of catalytic converters and other emasculating controls, and at last, was the robust and mighty machine i had always known it could be. i flipped my sunglasses open and jammed them over my eyes and the cloud of black smoke behind me was witness to the power of my works. ther umble of gravel beneath me was like glorious harmony to the howl of the engine. for nearly fifteen seconds i was grinning like a maniac as the car jolted and crunched down the crumbling street. of course , i had to slow and toss my tiny cube of gold into the toll box, and wait for my neighbor to wave me past, but soon i was back to full speed, living life as free as the birds used to do before we shot them all.

i downshifted into third as i caught side of an unfamiliar barricade ahead. smoke rose in a plume behind the stacked wood and bodies. as i came to a stop a man with a cigar gritted in his teeth and a shirt soaked red and cracked sunglasses waved me to roll down my window.

"what seems to be the problem?"

"new repairs on this stretch. going to need double tolls till weve got it fixed"

i grimaced as i searched around my glove box for an extra cube. at this rate id never make the public hanging…

i run into the center of bear-baiting ring. my stomach churns as i face the beast. howls and cries from the crowd wash over me like hypodermic needles at the beach. i feint left b ut as i push off the blood-soaked earth my foot explodes throgh the my shoddily-constructed shoe. with a silent curse for whatever nameless ten-year-old sewed it i kick it off and dash to the right. thank z0r i always ccw, i think to myself as i air-somersault past the bear. the crowd of mercenaries roar at the sight of my acrobatics.

if i can win the crowd then perhaps the king of this stretch of road will let me go…good thing i have an ace up my sleeve.

make that two, i think as i pull out my twin desert eagles, locked and loaded with the finest hollow-tip bullets that our local toy/gun store carry. the recoil from both firing at once knock me back against the blood-drenched wall of the arena but i keep firing at the bear.

as it finally staggers back and crashes to the ground i air somersault forward again and kneel, crossing my arms in front of my chest and holding my guns against my shoulders and feeling the cheers of the crowd wash over me. i have won my freedom. i let only the briefest pity for the less skillful travelers wash over me, but content myself with the thought of penning a scathing letter against these mercenaries tonight. then i grin. score one for the market, motherfucker

shoeless and gasping i run down the road toward the city, dodging shards of glass and the bones of long dead children. i had paid the last toll with my car itself. once the consortium has purchased enough of sick and dying bodies from the local hospital to grind into cement, we'll have our new roads [or so the ads promise], but it's too late for my car.

i hear a faint stirring in the underbrush that stretches out toward the asphalt. with all the nimbleness of an unregulated manufacturer responding to demand, i do a three-quarters cartwheel while simultaneously firing ten shots from my dual DEs. i chuckle at the crashing and groaning from the brush in the silence after my deafening barrage. oen step closer to that new road.

i take off running again. by three p.m. i'm at the office. as i approach the elevators there's a deafening crash and smoke comes from behind the elevator doors. i note the name of the manufacturer and use my bleeding feet to write a message of warning on the floor of the hall. i ignore the moans and take the stairs to my office.

my manager scuttles toward me as i enter. "eight hours late? you're fired. and you can be sure no other company will hire your scummy rear end in the future"

my left eye twitches as i calmly respond. "you forgot one thing."

"what's that?"

"there's only one monopoly we don't tolerate. a monopoly of force." i backflip as i pull out my DEs and start firing. the screams of the dying fill the air like mercury. this is one market that just got regulated.

before i leave the office, i loot the bodies of my dead coworkers, murdered by my hand, like an irs employee mailing a 1040. i leave the office a tomb; a blood offering to the hungry god i worship now. stepping back into the stairwell is like stepping through a looking glass. i am wearing shoes ripped from the dead feet of my former boss. call it an audit.

with a ninja's grace i leap from stair to stair as i exit the building. light bulbs flicker and dim; the local smallpox epidemic is two weeks old and they've almost run out of bodies to burn for power. they're talking about charging customers one child per year as fuel. some people were upset about it but at least the government isn't behind it.

my shoulders are heaving as i crash through doors into the lobby. a pack of wolves lurk around the receptionist's desk. night is almost here. they begin to howl as i jog outside into the gathering darkness

i check my watch—6 oclock. I had meant to run a few errands before going home. Just one, actually. I run down the street until i see a dimly-lit verizon store. the salesman doesn't even blink an eye when i enter, dripping blood and gore, desert eagles jammed in my waist. then i pull out my guns and point them in his face.

he blinks.

"i paid 5 bucks more last month, you know?" i growl between gritted teeth

"so?" he says

i put the guns back in my waist. the salesman exhales in relief

then i kneel and draw my katana. with one smooth motion i behead the clerk.

"i wish to file a complaint," i say, as gouts of arterial blood spray paint the ceiling.

at last i'm home. i recline back in my babyskin chair and swirl some orange juice in a mug. as i bring the mug up to my limits i feel a sudden pain in my lip. i fish around in the juice and pull out a shard of glass. rolling my eyes i toss it on the pile in the corner.

my pet tiger pads into the room. not for the first time i offer a silent thanks that no gang of criminals can tell me not to keep it. then i see the blood dripping from its jaws.

i curse as i ease out of my chair and walk into the next room, following the blood. the corpse of my neighbor's son is still warm on the floor of the kitchen. i turn on the alarm system and set up the house defenses just in time for the doorbell to ring.

I look out my front window; my neighbor is carrying a shotgun and has a crazed look on his face. I call out:

"What do you want?"

"I want that damned tiger."

"No."

"GIVE ME THE TIGER."

"Come and get him."

My neighbor shudders as he considers his options: 1) wait to ambush me later, 2) attack now, 3) write a scathing letter and mail it to all our neighbors. He cocks his shotgun and fires it at the door.

My defense system activates. With fury and power that would warm the heart of a Blackwater soldier it reduces my neighbor to ash. As the whir of the chainguns slows i walk back to my babyskin chair. it feels soft. it feels warm. it feels like freedom.

alarms wake me from my slumber. not my house; the neighborhood coop alarms are ringing. i listen to the sound. next to me my slave girl stirs. i casually backhand her across the mouth to keep her quiet. three horns followed by a low ringing—possible outsider invasion.

i check to see that her chains are secure then lower myself out of bed. a low whistel summons my tiger. i press a button next to my bed; a slave child scurries in. i order him to bring me my katana.

wrapped in my robe and with my sword strapped across my back i slip outside into the ringing night. the noises are coming from the south. i see a neighbor across the street slap his wife in the face as she begs him not to leave and i thank z0r no slave has tempted me.

the light from torches flicker in the distance at the watch point. there are already several neighbors gathered in a circle. i can hear a low muttering but i cannot see what they have surrounded

i reach the outside of the circle with my tiger at my side. it carelessly bites one of the men in the circle on the leg. he falls to ground and i take his place and see…

it is worse than i had feared…a face as dark and soulless as the night sky looks up at me. tears stream down his face. i shudder at the thought of more of them…out in the darkness…i lope away from the circel and call my tiger to my side. tonight…we hunt

i see the fear in their eyes as i approach the campfire. i wear a chain of tiny ears around my neck and my face is spattered with blood. i grip the head of my enemy in my right hand.

ashen-faced, my neighbor asks me of the forces in the darkness

"it's a group seeking medicine for sick children," i reply. "it was." i suppress a giggle. i toss the little head into the middle of the circle.

"are you ok?" one asks

the others mumble, afraid to look me in the eyes

i look him in the eyes. he twitches. i say

"sanity is like a rule. a regulation. i am free."

i heft my katana in my right hand, then bring it to his neck

"will you question me, or will you do as i say."

it is not a question.

"a man chooses" i say.

they kneel before me. alarms wail in the distance. i see the earth soaked in a tide of blood. i finger the necklace of ears like a rosary.

"we are strong," i say. "together we are free".

they murmur in assent. one man remains quiet. i remove his head, then hand it to one of my followers.

"we are free. put it on a stake, to warn those who would oppose us."

i order the rest of the men to secure the neighborhood gold. we will keep it at my house; i will disperse it as necessary. the gold is mine…the precious…

…

i sit on a throne of skulls inside my new house. palace. i run my fingers through the head of the slave who kneels at my side. in my other hand i grip the femur of a dead enemy. a slave used a rock to hone the end of the bone to sharp points. the walls and floor are red, spattered with blood and smeared with dirt; the ceiling is black with soot. my tiger stalks outside.

when the snows come we move to the caves in the hills for warmth. i will spread my seed.

a beast stirs. i breath in the fetid air, thick with blood and death. law is dead. i am the law. the market is dead. i am the market. i scratch at my fur loincloth and crush a louse. government is dead. i am the government. god is dead. i am a god.

somewhere in the distance i hear the howl of the alarms and the chatter of guns.

and this is heaven.

But you remember one thing: if you screw up just this much, you'll be flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog poo poo out of Hong Kong!

epilogue

the cave is dark but warm. the women huddle under furs and blankets for warmth during the day. i lead the hunting parties out in search of game but any creature larger than a chipmunk has long since been slaughtered. we hunt squirrels and rodents with our AK-47s; sometimes a scrap of meat is still left after the hail of bullets.

one of the women is heavy with my child. i alone may mate with them. the heads of the men who objected rot on stakes outside the cave mouth.

one evening after we have returned from our mighty hunt with two squirrel carcasses and a dead robin someone almost tripped on, we spy a man in the distance staggering toward the cave. we watch as he winds his way through the badlands. black snow falls, mixed with ash. his powder blue shirt is badly torn and bloody and there is no spark in his eyes.

he begs us for shelter. i explain that our food supplies are low but that there is room in our cave if he will hunt and accept my rule. he nods, exhausted, and starts to shuffle past me to the fire.

then i catch sight of the patch on his sleeve. a stylized white eagle on a field of blue. the mark of the oppressors. i grab his collar and growl in his face "you're one of them"

"what? what are you talking about"

"one of them. the patch. the eagle."

"p-p-please…i just…delivered mail"

i grip his throat in my hand and lift him and shout "A CRIMINAL!!!!!"

my tribe huddles around me.

"HE WORKED…FOR THE GOVERNMENT!!!"

i see the rage in their eyes. hooting, they jump up and down, calling for blood. i lower the man to the ground and they mutter with disappointment. i beckon for a slave to bring me my club: all sharpened bone and shattered glass. i put my mouth next to the man's ear and i grasp the club and hold it in front of his eyes. "If you want a vision of the future," I say. "Imagine my warclub, smashing a human face, forever."

then i swing it against his head, and it crunches, and he falls to the ground. "we eat meat tonight" I say with a smile. the cheers are deafening.

Mycroft Holmes posted:

It is shredded wheat. Not frosted. A big block of it in a plain white bowl, half full of milk. It is on a table, where a man sits. There is no other food on the table.

The man is dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, and he'll put on a tie when he's finished. Maybe he's not alone, it's just very early and his family is still asleep. He takes his spoon and turns the block of shredded wheat over in its bowl, so that the other side can soak. He feels his hunger, but he waits anyway. After a period of time, of a length roughly the same as yesterday, and the day before (this time-period has become instinctual for him), he picks up his spoon and begins to break the block up. Not completely of course, just into chunks that fit squarely onto the spoon. The chunks usually have one side that's soggy and one side that's still a little bit crunchy. The way he spoons each into his mouth, along with an appropriate quantity of milk, puts the crunchy side at his teeth and the soggy side on his tongue.

As he chews, the crunchy side gets pulverized while the soggy side is mashed up by the natural motion of the tongue while chewing. When he has eaten all the chunks, there is still milk left in the bowl, and in it the crumbs that resulted from breaking the initial block. He does not raise the bowl to his lips to drink the remainder; even though no one is there to see, he sticks to his etiquette and dutifully drains the bowl spoonful by spoonful. When he is finished, there are still crumbs in the bowl. He gets up from the table, takes the bowl to the sink, and quickly rinses it out. He leaves the bowl in the sink; it will be dealt with later. He walks away to get his things, and then he leaves. The sun has not yet risen.

Captain Invictus posted:

From the Sagas thread, they didn't have an original source post for it

Armyman25 posted:

We need to send this out to all the crazies:


This morning I was awoken by my alarm clock powered by electricity generated by the local public utility.

I then took a shower in the clean water provided by a municipal water utility.

After that, I turned on the TV to one of the FCC-regulated channels to see what the National Weather Service of the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration determined the weather was going to be like, using satellites designed, built, and launched by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.

I watched this while eating my breakfast of U.S. Department of Agriculture-inspected food and taking the drugs which have been determined as safe by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration.

At the appropriate time, as regulated by the U.S. Congress and kept accurate by the National Institute of Standards and Technology and the U.S. Naval Observatory, I get into my National Highway Traffic Safety Administration-approved automobile and set out to work on the roads built by the local, state, and federal Departments of Transportation, possibly stopping to purchase additional fuel of a quality level determined by the Environmental Protection Agency, using legal tender issued by the Federal Reserve Bank.

On the way out the door I deposit any mail I have to be sent out via the U.S. Postal Service and drop the kids off at the public school.

After spending another day not being maimed or killed at work thanks to the workplace regulations imposed by the Department of Labor and the Occupational Safety and Health administration, enjoying another two meals which again do not kill me because of the USDA, I drive my NHTSA car back home on the DOT roads, to my house which has not burned down in my absence because of the state and local building codes and Fire Marshal's inspection, and which has not been plundered of all its valuables thanks to the local police department.

And then I log on to the internet -- which was developed by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Administration -- and post about how SOCIALISM is BAD because the government can't do anything right.

sebmojo posted:

I just went on a little trek to see if I could locate the original, the earliest I found was this 2010 post from armyman25, but he looks like he's quoting someone else:

Grassy Knowles posted:

p sure it's from ~2007-2010 cause I was stuck browsing the forums with a kindle e-reader at the time

sebmojo posted:

yeah, there's a reddit post citing an LF poster that was dated Aug 2009 so the one I found is definitely a quote. The search continues.

e:



scandal! there's a 2009 4chan post! stolen goon valour?

Grassy Knowles posted:

Gotchu fam

sebmojo posted:

yeah, there's a reddit post citing an LF poster that was dated Aug 2009 so the one I found is definitely a quote. The search continues.

e:



scandal! there's a 2009 4chan post! stolen goon valour?

Rotten posted:

lmao I’ve never seen those libertarian posts before

Paper Tiger posted:

If I were bald and got a comb as a gift, I'd just say, "thank you, I'll never part with it"

EorayMel posted:

I prefer the shredded wheat one:

Biplane posted:

That means you're the libertarian.

Sheng-Ji Yang posted:

https://twitter.com/InbarCohen13/status/1211433505806311426?t=RCipDC1hTavUCijhkHtOZA&s=19

smarxist posted:

there's no way someone is going to hand a rifle to a man with down syndrome is there?

Filthy Hans posted:

no, you're safe from conscription smarxist