ToxicSlurpee posted:

Morrowind is a unique, insane gem in gaming history. It definitely shows its age but the game had things like insane, ancient wizards living in weird mushroom towers, a city built in and around the shell of an ancient, gargantuan crab, and "dwarves" that weren't really dwarves or even that small. They were rather normal elves that a race of giants started calling "dwarves" and it stuck. They were insanely advanced and left behind artifacts that people are still trying to figure out. Nobody can replicate their weapons or armor so it's valuable partly as a curiosity and partly because it's stupidly good.

Oh, the dwarves also all vanished one day. How? To where? Nobody has any drat idea. None. They started dicking around with some pretty crazy advanced stuff and then one day they just weren't around anymore. They built a god. They literally put together an artificial loving god on their own. This may or may not be related.

Meanwhile outside of Morrowind other insane stuff was happening. Cyrodiil, where the Imperials are from, was originally supposed to be a bug gently caress crazy jungle instead of your bog standard giant blob of farm land. That went away as did some of the really mad lore that was put in. There's a road in the capital named Green Emperor Way. Why is it called that? Because the spirits of dead emperors inhabit trees there to give advice to new emperors. None of that made it into Oblivion which is very sad.

Ferrule posted:

I just figured out you have never been laid.

Edgar Allen Ho posted:

There’s mods for that

Jerry Cotton posted:

Not once you're past a certain age.

pantslesswithwolves posted:

Jesus the former director of the FBI has fully embraced the sad staged photos of the mid 2000s. Someone take away his burned Dashboard Confessional CD-R.

a peck of pickled peckers posted:

OP slips face first into the urinal and accidentally pulls the flusher on his way down, washing his entire face in piss. Blindly grasping around for something to dry his face, he grabs what he thinks is a paper towel, but is in fact the hairy dong of a big burly lumberjack-type Character. OP wipes his face off on the irate guy’s dick before slowly looking up in horror.

Yakety Sax starts playing.

Viruswithshoes posted:

Sandwich Anarchist posted:

Every panel he gains a baguette

Stoatbringer posted:

That's to show the pain increasing.

By popular demand posted:

hippos are intensely territorial and waaaaay faster than most tourists expect.

Aramoro posted:

I think people tend to be surprised how slow people are, Hippos can run at 30km/h for short bursts.

M_Sinistrari posted:

Hippos are also very determined and grudge holding. I remember reading some years back that some guy ticked off a hippo and it tracked him down for miles to get even.

Milo and POTUS posted:

I read this as hippies at first

Proteus Jones posted:

Don't let those flowers and scent of patchouli fool you, an enraged hippie will stalk and kill like a terminator.

By popular demand posted:

Well the Manson family was a thing.

Captain Hygiene posted:

He slept with my wife, also calling me that is very hurtful

Jose posted:

https://twitter.com/MirrorTech/status/1119158135418019841

LIVE AMMO ROLEPLAY posted:

Seems counterproductive to include a pussy in that thing.

Al! posted:

ha ha, good one punchy

PHIZ KALIFA posted:

And the strapon was Frankenstein? And the divorce is Frankenstein's Monster?

CannonFodder posted:

Only if the strapon is purple.

Beachcomber posted:

Frankiestein

Mr. Apollo posted:

https://i.imgur.com/yh2WDxH.mp4

Shai-Hulud posted:

Shai-Hulud posted:

I think someone on this forum once did the math and figured out that those tits would have to move a hypersonic speed to do that.

Platystemon posted:

The bullet is moving easily half the speed of sound, so if the tits are moving at least twice as fast as the bullet (they are), they’re breaking the sound barrier.

Kennel posted:

Bra was invented to prevent constant constant sonic booms when jumping on a trampoline.

Karate Bastard posted:

I awoke to the thundrous clapping of tits in the street.

chitoryu12 posted:

"I'm trying to kill these zombies, but my chest is dummy thicc and the sound of my tits clapping is alerting them!"

darthbob88 posted:

I'd guess that's more like Mach 2.5-3.5, going off usual muzzle velocities for .223-.308 caliber cartridges, so those tits are flopping around at Mach 5-7. Although I think that's the wrong way to think about it; they're oscillating 1 complete cycle in the time it takes that bullet to cross her chest, so they're vibrating in the low kilohertz range. She should be emitting a piercing whine, possibly two given that this can't be pleasant.

The Lone Badger posted:

That'd make a pretty effective weapon. Anything coming into contact would be pulverised instantly.

Methylethylaldehyde posted:

3-5 pounds of anime tit-meat striking something at ~5k ft/sec would indeed pulverize anything smaller than an Abrams. The shrieking 8Khz tone vaguely reminiscent of tinnitus would be loud enough to cause permanent hearing loss at a truly alarming distance, to say nothing of the constant, oscillating sonic booms they would produce. Truly a weapon to surpass Metal Gear!

Anime Tits: The Most OSHA! Premiering this fall on Cruchyroll!

solarNativity posted:

Now I know exactly how I want to die.

Gripweed posted:

dialhforhero posted:

I tried this as a kid after watching Mary Poppins.

You know what I didn’t do? Murder people after playing Doom.

What is the real danger to kids?

Keru posted:

Does anyone have the old forums quote about Slavos Zizek dressed up as a dog mauling two people in an elevator shaft?

quote:

Slavoj is wearing mostly fur. To his right, on the floor, is the headpiece of a dog costume, which is upturned and rather pungent.

Slavoj’s face is a blinking slab of clay looking out through thickets of drenched grey hair. His mouth is moving rapidly, but he has not spoken in several minutes. His immense mind is swelling palpably.

At some point, a sound like a stalled car engine echoes through the elevator, and the whole scene slips down several feet. One of the men in the corner screams. Slavoj, in a kind of perversely hygienic zen state, is unperturbed. The intercom crackles and buzzes, then clicks off. A set of emergency strip lights perks up.

One of the smartly dressed people steps cautiously toward the center of the elevator to try and peer through the doors. Slavoj quickly grabs the man with one paw and his own nose with the other. “Birds,” he spits.


The man gasps and slaps hysterically at Zizek’s thick fur arm.

“We say, you know, like animals, like this, birds,” Zizek says. His grip is jaw-like. “Oh we are animals, we are animals. We are birds trapped. This is vulgar.”

Zizek lets go in order to swat at his own eyeball and tug his own nose simultaneously. The liberated man tumbles backward into his smartly-dressed fellows, who are now stacked more tightly than before. “Obscene,” Zizek notes, squinting at the carpet.

“Of course in this film, the Dark Knight Ascending or whatever, you know, you have this wealthy industrialist, stockholder, whatever, who dresses up in an obscene costume, to look like a bat. And then you have a cat woman, and so on, and so on.” Zizek is interrupted by a pen that somebody has thrown at his face.

“Don’t, no,” one of the persons whispers.

“Violence,” Zizek conjectures. He is gathering fresh thoughts and chewing on them.

“Is he talking about the new Batman movie?” one of them asks. Nobody answers.

“But the mainstream you know critical response is that this is a very serious film. It is such bull poo poo. But this, I claim, is ideology. That we do not notice that our characters are dressed like animals, doing, you know, insane things, with violence and technology and so forth, and we applaud, say, yes, this is real, this is the real world, finally, thank god.”

Zizek is creeping toward the corner. The three smartly-dressed persons are keeping pace, sliding across the elevator wall to another corner. One of the persons stretches out and slaps the emergency alarm bell one more time, just before it is out of reach.

“Why not? Why do we not see it? The world that Christopher Nolan, who has made this film, wants to paint for us, he does not hide it at all. The background is the centerpiece, you know, the lower classes and criminals and so on, fighting the plutocracy, this is not simply the world that the animal people live in. It is actually their story, they talk about it, so we cannot see it except as they do. Very stupid.”

Zizek’s head suddenly shakes left and right very rapidly. Swarms of baby sweat beads burst off his facial hair and float away.

“I think that, you know,” Zizek continues, excitedly plucking at his nose, “a tension between the characters, you know, living their own lives, and so on, and the world that they do not notice. This is the world as it really is, you know, these are stories that happen. The stories about us cannot exist without the world we live in, but we don’t worry about so much. We worry about, my god, my wife, you know, she cheats on me with the senator, or whatever.” Zizek laughs.

“Is he… married?” one of the smartly-dressed persons asks, their hand raised to their mouth.

“So this grand operatic play, drama, film, where the hero is one society and the villain is another society, you know, but really they are a bat person and some kind of robot man, my god, give me a break. It is disgusting. But there is another irony, you know. This Bruce Wayne, the philanthropist playboy et cetera with such business acumen, he is not real to the film. He is like a ruse. And really it is when he is unmasked, when you know the situation gets bad, that he puts on a simple physical mask but becomes what we really already know of ourselves. He is then this violent,” Zizek pauses here to ruffle his own hair madly, “insensate, raving lunatic who climbs buildings and frightens criminals and whatever. This I claim. Let me start, with, an example, which may surprise you.”

But Zizek is interrupted as the elevator creaks again and seems to very slowly lurch sideways. Then, with a terrible whipcrack, everything drops another ten feet or so. The elevator stops again with a deafening clang, then settles, groaning. Zizek has lost his balance while the three smartly-dressed persons lean on one another for theirs. Seeing an opportunity, one of the smartly dressed persons kicks Zizek squarely in his tan dog belly, and Zizek tumbles backward, yelling “barbarians!”

“Quick!” yells one of the smartly dressed persons. “The maintenance hatch!” And they point to the hatch which, indeed, seems to have come loose.With frankly impressive unspoken coordination, they hoist one another up through the new aperture and on top of the elevator. Two of them make it out. The third man, left in the elevator, is beaten senseless by the force of Zizek’s random kicks and flails. His suit wrecked and ruined, the man collapses backwards, mumbling about indecency. After the other two have reached the top, they spot a ladder that runs some endless length up the shaft.

No sooner have they all begun to climb the ladder, however, when they hear a tremendous bang behind them. The elevator has not started to fall again. But, looking back, they see a horrifying dog head peeking out from the top of the elevator, one terrible dog eye fixed on them, the other staring wildly into the dark. Zizek has begun to extricate himself with awful strength.

Transfixed, the two smartly dressed persons watch as Zizek pulls himself fully upward, stands triumphantly atop the elevator, and places the dog head over his own shoulders. Now fully costumed, he shakes his entire body. His tail whips at his legs and he begins coughing.

“It’s not possible,” one of the smartly dressed persons gasps.

Zizek resumes speaking, but his voice is transformed by the dog head. What comes out instead is an absurd, menacing growl, made louder by his desperation to be heard. His hands shoot out from him like the snapping mouths of blind coyotes. “RAGGH BAGGHH GAGHHH,” he bellows. The two smartly dressed persons nearly kick one another in their desperation to climb away.

Zizek too leaps onto the ladder, and not a moment too soon. As soon as he bounds off of it, the elevator finally gives way, scraping down the seemingly infinite shaft and screaming the entire way. Zizek is kicked in the face, and his dog head flies off. Its gaze does not relent as it disappears into the shaft’s inscrutable pit.

“I think I cannot imagine a better example of ideology,” Zizek explains, completely undeterred. The two smartly-dressed persons are nearly choked by the toxic odor that rises from Zizek. “Rise, rise,” Zizek mimics, “and so on. But what does this mean, rise.”

Somewhere far up the ladder, a short burst of light cracks the tunnel.

“So when the film presents its own ideology, and of course, is so awful that it makes a mockery of itself and of the audience, we are most noble as animals, and so on, how do you stand even further back and say, what is the real ideology that the film is based on. And I say then, look at how the characters are rewarded for their actions, the archetypes they embody, and so on.”

The smartly dressed person at the top stops and clutches his stomach. “I can’t breathe,” he says. “I can’t breathe. We’ve got to slow down.” Zizek refuses to stop, although he does not address the complaint. When he meets the second person down, who has also stopped, he simply reaches out and grasps the person’s ankle with his terrible dog hand. Then he yanks hard on it, and the second person’s trousers are ripped off. “Degenerates,” Zizek belches. The second man, now pantsed, pauses to examine himself. In his embarrassment, he loses his grip on the ladder and falls, tumbling down the naked pit, still horrified by the loss of his trousers.

The remaining smartly dressed person redoubles their efforts and climbs ever harder. Zizek’s pace remains constant, and with a dancer’s grace, he has incorporated nose tugs and beard slaps into the spaces between steps.

“Nolan tries to do something that I think he cannot do, which is to say something by remaining silent. There are a lot of arguments on these degenerate websites you know, newspapers and Huffington Post and so on, about whether the villain is the Occupy Wall Street or the, my god, Mitt Romney’s old company, I mean. Who thinks of these things, I don’t know. But in the film, Nolan leaves it open, what he thinks, he does not say it explicitly, so you know we are left thinking that maybe he is saying something through the story itself, instead of having Batman stand up at the end and say ‘OK, I believe this and this and so on and so on.’”

“Have you even seen the movie yet?” asks the smartly-dressed person. “I don’t think it’s been released.”

“Vulgar,” Zizek remarks.

He continues: “But it is precisely because everything in the film has already been recognized, given significance, by the moral actors in the film, that he cannot do this, because their judgments must then be his, which he hands to us. So either he is saying the obvious, you know, that it is necessary to dress like an animal and beat back the savages, my god, for Nolan, these poor and imprisoned or whatever. Or he is trying to distance himself from that statement by remaining ambiguous, but then only saying nothing.”

“My god,” Zizek laughs. “Either it is a disgusting film or it is a very bad film.”

The smartly-dressed person pauses to argue with him. “You haven’t seen the loving movie,” he shouts, turning around and hanging onto the ladder with one hand. But Zizek merely tugs at the person’s tie, pulling their face down to Zizek’s. An enormous furry paw caps the man’s head and pulls down what appears to be a toupee until it is obscuring the man’s eyes. Blind, flailing, the man drops off the ladder and hurtles into the pitch-black abyss, still complaining that nobody has seen the movie.

“Idiots,” Zizek explains.

As he continues to climb the ladder, he speaks at length about the stupidity of Commissioner Gordon, the feminist inversion of the Catwoman, and so on, and so on. Some untold distance down the pit, a dog’s head with long powerful ears nods and blinks and sniffs at the impenetrable air.

Pastry of the Year posted:

I feel about Zizek as Obama felt about Geodude

jobson groeth posted:

https://twitter.com/PrettyBadLefty/status/969341599086936065

Phy posted:

Coincidentally (or not) about Zizek, and it's not even from here, but it is a celebration of the English language

chitoryu12 posted:

Hellblazer187 posted:

In the US do you not usually sit in the front? In Costa Rica they ask you to sit in the front, because Uber is technically illegal here. So it looks more like two regular friends in a car, and less likely to get harassed by the official legal taxis.

MarcusSA posted:

Hey I was just there! They never once asked us to do that? Did something change recently?

ante posted:

I wouldn't want you sitting in the front with me, either, laws be damned

hard counter posted:

gender illusionist posted:

Red One goes faster

Nessus posted:

What do you say to greet a wheat-based protein talking about the hard truths regarding IQ and human biodiversity on a cruise full of trafficked Ukrainian hookers?

Heil Seitan

EorayMel posted:

Outrail posted:

Someone's going to have to unpack this for me.

Grassy Knowles posted:

Seitsn is a wheat-based meat substitute
Heil is what nazis say
The trafficked human cruise thing?I have no insight into

quote:

By midnight on day three, the booze-infused insecurity is dialed up to 11. There is a pirate-themed ‘Russian dance party’ on deck. A hallucinogenic light show pulses over the black Mediterranean all around us, to the frantic heartbeat of music that sounds like a robot toddler having a tantrum in a trash bin. Models waft around listening to shouted explanations of Ethereum; investors spasm vaguely across the deck and neck drinks that were as free as they were, meaning that someone else had paid. Let us never speak of this dance party again.

Dumb Lowtax posted:

drat this is the best post I've ever seen from the best SA poster:

EorayMel posted:

I think maybe this as well: https://breakermag.com/trapped-at-sea-with-cryptos-nouveau-riche/

An insightful story about a woman spending time on a bitcoin-themed cruise ship. It also includes such excerpts as:


It is a very good read

Dumb Lowtax posted:

drat this is the best post I've ever seen from the best SA poster:

EorayMel posted:

While jumping from forum to forum via the bottom menu, there is this:



Trying to view it gives me the "fly away nerd" message:



You may also notice it's tucked under QQCS but you cannot view it from the main forum menu.

So, what could this be for? Is it just for "Apps In Developmental States" or maybe the whole thing is a placeholder for a new forum for a specific brand of topics as forumid 261?

Or were normal users never meant to see this and now the whole cover is blown?

klafbang posted:

You mean you don't get this?

Karate Bastard posted:

Thanks, why!

Mooey Cow posted:

I used to message with a girl who also casually dropped that into the conversation after I showed a picture I'd taken of a lake nearby or something and there were some contrails I guess

Then later she equally casually dropped that she soon planned on going to Switzerland so she could visit one of those suicide clinics

Infinite Karma posted:

Sounds like a really simple breakup. She was planning on ghosting him.

Jose posted:

Pirate Radar posted:

okay but... now show me a graph of it over the last 8 years

Tunicate posted:

Weird request but okay

Syd Midnight posted:

Failson posted:

Telsa board: "Okay, it was a rough weekend. A model S exploded in Shanghai, the refurbished Crew Dragon blew up during a test. We REALLY need to keep Elon from saying something stupid toda..."

Musky: "You can set autopilot to crash into other cars!"

Krankenstyle posted:

Baron von Eevl posted:

"Elon, stock prices are dropping rapidly don't tweet the lyrics to Dragula"

@elonmusk: DEAD I AM THE ONE

Baron von Eevl posted:

"Elon, stock prices are dropping rapidly don't tweet the lyrics to Dragula"

@elonmusk: DEAD I AM THE ONE

sebmojo posted:

CFO (on earnings call): conquering the worm