|
DoggPickle posted:I’m sitting on the bench across from the escalators in the Shinsegae department store on a weekday afternoon. I’m wearing a dark navy, tailored two button suit with notched lapels. I’m wearing a dark blue tie with subtle, diagonal white stripes against a fine grid checked navy blue and white shirt. The suit is actually just a prop; I don’t have to work today, and I have nowhere in particular that I need to be, other than outside of my house. I’ve got a large paper Starbucks cup filled to the top with a mixture of approximately 70% rum and 30% Coke. I have a nagging suspicion that the aged Korean pensioner sitting next to me has caught on to my act. I think he can smell the rum, so I turn away each time I take a swig and make every effort not to breath in his direction. It wasn’t always this way. It used to be more Coke than rum, but I suppose that is a different story. Perhaps the pensioner is staring at me because my hair is a mess. This day was particularly windy here in Seoul. That’s one of the things I miss actually; the sound of wind. There are lots of old oak trees in my home town, and during the autumn months you could hear the wind ripping through the oak trees –it sounded almost like running water passing over round stones in a shallow river bed. You could smell oak and cedar in the air, and touches of salt water. The smell of freshly cut grass, summer barbeques, and chimney smoke (remember those?). In downtown Seoul, the wind rips through the concrete office buildings, and the smell in the late evening? Well, I wouldn’t exactly describe it as ‘oak’ or ‘cedar’. I check my reflection in the glass screen of my cell phone, the battery having long since died. I’d get up and check my appearance in the restroom mirror, but there are groups of roving pensioners circling the plush benches like vultures. The instant I got up, a pensioner would snatch my spot on the bench. For many of Seoul’s elderly, the plush benches in an air-conditioned department store represent a pleasant change from what they would otherwise be doing on any given weekday afternoon. So no, I won’t be giving up my seat on the plush bench. At least not until I’ve finished my rum and Coke. This particular bench is in high demand due almost entirely to its positioning on the ground floor of the department store. It is from this bench that one has a clear, unobstructed view of women coming down the escalator. Imagine a conveyor belt that deposits women right at your feet every few seconds. I used to walk around whenever I wanted to people-watch, but now I’ve got it all figured out. No need to move at all, the escalator does all the moving –technology. The pensioner sitting next to me continues to glance over in my direction, without making any attempt to disguise his glances. Wait a minute; perhaps he is staring at me because he’s seen me here before. Perhaps we shared this bench last week as well. Perhaps we are former bench mates. I’ve become somewhat of a regular here, you see. I’ve always struggled to remember things that are not important, like the faces of the people I share department store benches with. Perhaps when I’m older, and nothing else matters, and life is winding down towards its eventual end-point, I’ll have a sharper memory for the inconsequential things that I currently ignore. Perhaps I’ll remember the faces of strangers. As the time passes, my pensioner benchmate and I watch as streams of women are delivered at our feet by the magical mechanical moving stairs. As a result of Korea’s plastic surgery epidemic, watching women come down the escalator gets a bit monotonous, as it feels like I’m seeing the same women come down time after time, only in different outfits. Wait, there’s one! She looks natural! I look up from my coffee cup. Paper-white skin, tall, cheek bones higher than her eyes, arms like long wet noodles. Sweet Mary mother of Joseph, she’s like an angel descending down the second floor escalator. And here I was, about to get up and leave. My interest has suddenly been renewed. I’m thinking I should call someone and share this brilliant experience, but my phone battery is dead, and all of my friends are at work anyway (sucks being an adult). I look over at my pensioner benchmate, but he is busy looking at the woman who just came down the elevator. She is probably several centimeters taller than he is, due to dietary differences between the older and younger generations. He looks at her, and then looks at me, and then says nothing. I have often wondered if people get quieter as they age because they have been disappointed by the human race so many times. And for most of us, not too many people show up at our death bed. All those years, all of that emotion, all of those hopes and dreams, all the reaching out; and no one shows up. It makes reaching out to others look like a fairly poor investment. You are unlikely to get much back. Maybe that is why it is so rare to find people who can be selflessly kind to strangers without any sort of hidden motivation. It represents risk-taking without any obvious payback. After staring at me for a moment, the pensioner slaps me on the knee and says “예쁘다!” (beautiful).
|
#
¿
May 1, 2015 01:40
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ May 14, 2024 09:54 |
|
|
DoggPickle posted:I’m sitting on the bench across from the escalators in the Shinsegae department store on a weekday afternoon. I’m wearing a dark navy, tailored two button suit with notched lapels. I’m wearing a dark blue tie with subtle, diagonal white stripes against a fine grid checked navy blue and white shirt. The suit is actually just a prop; I don’t have to work today, and I have nowhere in particular that I need to be, other than outside of my house. I’ve got a large paper Starbucks cup filled to the top with a mixture of approximately 70% rum and 30% Coke. I have a nagging suspicion that the aged Korean pensioner sitting next to me has caught on to my act. I think he can smell the rum, so I turn away each time I take a swig and make every effort not to breath in his direction. It wasn’t always this way. It used to be more Coke than rum, but I suppose that is a different story. Perhaps the pensioner is staring at me because my hair is a mess. This day was particularly windy here in Seoul. That’s one of the things I miss actually; the sound of wind. There are lots of old oak trees in my home town, and during the autumn months you could hear the wind ripping through the oak trees –it sounded almost like running water passing over round stones in a shallow river bed. You could smell oak and cedar in the air, and touches of salt water. The smell of freshly cut grass, summer barbeques, and chimney smoke (remember those?). In downtown Seoul, the wind rips through the concrete office buildings, and the smell in the late evening? Well, I wouldn’t exactly describe it as ‘oak’ or ‘cedar’. I check my reflection in the glass screen of my cell phone, the battery having long since died. I’d get up and check my appearance in the restroom mirror, but there are groups of roving pensioners circling the plush benches like vultures. The instant I got up, a pensioner would snatch my spot on the bench. For many of Seoul’s elderly, the plush benches in an air-conditioned department store represent a pleasant change from what they would otherwise be doing on any given weekday afternoon. So no, I won’t be giving up my seat on the plush bench. At least not until I’ve finished my rum and Coke. This particular bench is in high demand due almost entirely to its positioning on the ground floor of the department store. It is from this bench that one has a clear, unobstructed view of women coming down the escalator. Imagine a conveyor belt that deposits women right at your feet every few seconds. I used to walk around whenever I wanted to people-watch, but now I’ve got it all figured out. No need to move at all, the escalator does all the moving –technology. The pensioner sitting next to me continues to glance over in my direction, without making any attempt to disguise his glances. Wait a minute; perhaps he is staring at me because he’s seen me here before. Perhaps we shared this bench last week as well. Perhaps we are former bench mates. I’ve become somewhat of a regular here, you see. I’ve always struggled to remember things that are not important, like the faces of the people I share department store benches with. Perhaps when I’m older, and nothing else matters, and life is winding down towards its eventual end-point, I’ll have a sharper memory for the inconsequential things that I currently ignore. Perhaps I’ll remember the faces of strangers. As the time passes, my pensioner benchmate and I watch as streams of women are delivered at our feet by the magical mechanical moving stairs. As a result of Korea’s plastic surgery epidemic, watching women come down the escalator gets a bit monotonous, as it feels like I’m seeing the same women come down time after time, only in different outfits. Wait, there’s one! She looks natural! I look up from my coffee cup. Paper-white skin, tall, cheek bones higher than her eyes, arms like long wet noodles. Sweet Mary mother of Joseph, she’s like an angel descending down the second floor escalator. And here I was, about to get up and leave. My interest has suddenly been renewed. I’m thinking I should call someone and share this brilliant experience, but my phone battery is dead, and all of my friends are at work anyway (sucks being an adult). I look over at my pensioner benchmate, but he is busy looking at the woman who just came down the elevator. She is probably several centimeters taller than he is, due to dietary differences between the older and younger generations. He looks at her, and then looks at me, and then says nothing. I have often wondered if people get quieter as they age because they have been disappointed by the human race so many times. And for most of us, not too many people show up at our death bed. All those years, all of that emotion, all of those hopes and dreams, all the reaching out; and no one shows up. It makes reaching out to others look like a fairly poor investment. You are unlikely to get much back. Maybe that is why it is so rare to find people who can be selflessly kind to strangers without any sort of hidden motivation. It represents risk-taking without any obvious payback. After staring at me for a moment, the pensioner slaps me on the knee and says “예쁘다!” (beautiful). He may not be a player anymore, but he knows quality when he sees it. He’s no longer a player, but he’ll always be an enthusiast. Our bodies, and energy and stamina wane with time, but enthusiasm is something we can all maintain until the end. Perhaps he’s got a cranky old wife at home, 할머니 tits hanging past her belt, who gets on his case about money, and soju, and cleaning the house, and smoking, and “Why do I always have to wash the goddamned dishes?” He and I are not players, but we are actors on the same stage, at the same point in time. Many, many years ago, before I set foot in Korea, I had a beautiful girlfriend just like the one who came down the escalator. She never really had much to say, but she was gorgeous. I assumed that she was quiet and reserved because she was ‘deep’.
|
|
#
¿
May 1, 2015 01:41
|
|
|
DoggPickle posted:I’m sitting on the bench across from the escalators in the Shinsegae department store on a weekday afternoon. I’m wearing a dark navy, tailored two button suit with notched lapels. I’m wearing a dark blue tie with subtle, diagonal white stripes against a fine grid checked navy blue and white shirt. I’m sitting on the bench across from the escalators in the Shinsegae department store on a weekday afternoon. I’m wearing a dark navy, tailored two button suit with notched lapels. I’m wearing a dark blue tie with subtle, diagonal white stripes against a fine grid checked navy blue and white shirt. The suit is actually just a prop; I don’t have to work today, and I have nowhere in particular that I need to be, other than outside of my house. I’ve got a large paper Starbucks cup filled to the top with a mixture of approximately 70% rum and 30% Coke. I have a nagging suspicion that the aged Korean pensioner sitting next to me has caught on to my act. I think he can smell the rum, so I turn away each time I take a swig and make every effort not to breath in his direction. It wasn’t always this way. It used to be more Coke than rum, but I suppose that is a different story. Perhaps the pensioner is staring at me because my hair is a mess. This day was particularly windy here in Seoul. That’s one of the things I miss actually; the sound of wind. There are lots of old oak trees in my home town, and during the autumn months you could hear the wind ripping through the oak trees –it sounded almost like running water passing over round stones in a shallow river bed. You could smell oak and cedar in the air, and touches of salt water. The smell of freshly cut grass, summer barbeques, and chimney smoke (remember those?). In downtown Seoul, the wind rips through the concrete office buildings, and the smell in the late evening? Well, I wouldn’t exactly describe it as ‘oak’ or ‘cedar’. I check my reflection in the glass screen of my cell phone, the battery having long since died. I’d get up and check my appearance in the restroom mirror, but there are groups of roving pensioners circling the plush benches like vultures. The instant I got up, a pensioner would snatch my spot on the bench. For many of Seoul’s elderly, the plush benches in an air-conditioned department store represent a pleasant change from what they would otherwise be doing on any given weekday afternoon. So no, I won’t be giving up my seat on the plush bench. At least not until I’ve finished my rum and Coke. This particular bench is in high demand due almost entirely to its positioning on the ground floor of the department store. It is from this bench that one has a clear, unobstructed view of women coming down the escalator. Imagine a conveyor belt that deposits women right at your feet every few seconds. I used to walk around whenever I wanted to people-watch, but now I’ve got it all figured out. No need to move at all, the escalator does all the moving –technology. The pensioner sitting next to me continues to glance over in my direction, without making any attempt to disguise his glances. Wait a minute; perhaps he is staring at me because he’s seen me here before. Perhaps we shared this bench last week as well. Perhaps we are former bench mates. I’ve become somewhat of a regular here, you see. I’ve always struggled to remember things that are not important, like the faces of the people I share department store benches with. Perhaps when I’m older, and nothing else matters, and life is winding down towards its eventual end-point, I’ll have a sharper memory for the inconsequential things that I currently ignore. Perhaps I’ll remember the faces of strangers. As the time passes, my pensioner benchmate and I watch as streams of women are delivered at our feet by the magical mechanical moving stairs. As a result of Korea’s plastic surgery epidemic, watching women come down the escalator gets a bit monotonous, as it feels like I’m seeing the same women come down time after time, only in different outfits. Wait, there’s one! She looks natural! I look up from my coffee cup. Paper-white skin, tall, cheek bones higher than her eyes, arms like long wet noodles. Sweet Mary mother of Joseph, she’s like an angel descending down the second floor escalator. And here I was, about to get up and leave. My interest has suddenly been renewed. I’m thinking I should call someone and share this brilliant experience, but my phone battery is dead, and all of my friends are at work anyway (sucks being an adult). I look over at my pensioner benchmate, but he is busy looking at the woman who just came down the elevator. She is probably several centimeters taller than he is, due to dietary differences between the older and younger generations. He looks at her, and then looks at me, and then says nothing. I have often wondered if people get quieter as they age because they have been disappointed by the human race so many times. And for most of us, not too many people show up at our death bed. All those years, all of that emotion, all of those hopes and dreams, all the reaching out; and no one shows up. It makes reaching out to others look like a fairly poor investment. You are unlikely to get much back. Maybe that is why it is so rare to find people who can be selflessly kind to strangers without any sort of hidden motivation. It represents risk-taking without any obvious payback. After staring at me for a moment, the pensioner slaps me on the knee and says “예쁘다!” (beautiful). He may not be a player anymore, but he knows quality when he sees it. He’s no longer a player, but he’ll always be an enthusiast. Our bodies, and energy and stamina wane with time, but enthusiasm is something we can all maintain until the end. Perhaps he’s got a cranky old wife at home, 할머니 tits hanging past her belt, who gets on his case about money, and soju, and cleaning the house, and smoking, and “Why do I always have to wash the goddamned dishes?” He and I are not players, but we are actors on the same stage, at the same point in time. Many, many years ago, before I set foot in Korea, I had a beautiful girlfriend just like the one who came down the escalator. She never really had much to say, but she was gorgeous. I assumed that she was quiet and reserved because she was ‘deep’. Perhaps there was character there, somewhere. Maybe she was the ‘one’. After time, I realized that she was not ‘deep’ – she was just a stupid, vapid, aimless drifter with hardly any brain activity at all. But I liked her. I’ll never know why. The pensioner sitting next to me probably has several decades of knowledge to impart on a younger person such as myself. From time to time, in situations like this, I wished I'd spoke Korean well.
|
|
#
¿
May 1, 2015 01:41
|
|
|
DoggPickle posted:I’m sitting on the bench across from the escalators in the Shinsegae department store on a weekday afternoon. I’m wearing a dark navy, tailored two button suit with notched lapels. I’m wearing a dark blue tie with subtle, diagonal white stripes against a fine grid checked navy blue and white shirt. The suit is actually just a prop; I don’t have to work today, and I have nowhere in particular that I need to be, other than outside of my house. I’ve got a large paper Starbucks cup filled to the top with a mixture of approximately 70% rum and 30% Coke. I have a nagging suspicion that the aged Korean pensioner sitting next to me has caught on to my act. I think he can smell the rum, so I turn away each time I take a swig and make every effort not to breath in his direction. It wasn’t always this way. It used to be more Coke than rum, but I suppose that is a different story. Perhaps the pensioner is staring at me because my hair is a mess. This day was particularly windy here in Seoul. That’s one of the things I miss actually; the sound of wind. There are lots of old oak trees in my home town, and during the autumn months you could hear the wind ripping through the oak trees –it sounded almost like running water passing over round stones in a shallow river bed. You could smell oak and cedar in the air, and touches of salt water. The smell of freshly cut grass, summer barbeques, and chimney smoke (remember those?). In downtown Seoul, the wind rips through the concrete office buildings, and the smell in the late evening? Well, I wouldn’t exactly describe it as ‘oak’ or ‘cedar’. I check my reflection in the glass screen of my cell phone, the battery having long since died. I’d get up and check my appearance in the restroom mirror, but there are groups of roving pensioners circling the plush benches like vultures. The instant I got up, a pensioner would snatch my spot on the bench. For many of Seoul’s elderly, the plush benches in an air-conditioned department store represent a pleasant change from what they would otherwise be doing on any given weekday afternoon. So no, I won’t be giving up my seat on the plush bench. At least not until I’ve finished my rum and Coke. This particular bench is in high demand due almost entirely to its positioning on the ground floor of the department store. It is from this bench that one has a clear, unobstructed view of women coming down the escalator. Imagine a conveyor belt that deposits women right at your feet every few seconds. I used to walk around whenever I wanted to people-watch, but now I’ve got it all figured out. No need to move at all, the escalator does all the moving –technology. The pensioner sitting next to me continues to glance over in my direction, without making any attempt to disguise his glances. Wait a minute; perhaps he is staring at me because he’s seen me here before. Perhaps we shared this bench last week as well. Perhaps we are former bench mates. I’ve become somewhat of a regular here, you see. I’ve always struggled to remember things that are not important, like the faces of the people I share department store benches with. Perhaps when I’m older, and nothing else matters, and life is winding down towards its eventual end-point, I’ll have a sharper memory for the inconsequential things that I currently ignore. Perhaps I’ll remember the faces of strangers. As the time passes, my pensioner benchmate and I watch as streams of women are delivered at our feet by the magical mechanical moving stairs. As a result of Korea’s plastic surgery epidemic, watching women come down the escalator gets a bit monotonous, as it feels like I’m seeing the same women come down time after time, only in different outfits. Wait, there’s one! She looks natural! I look up from my coffee cup. Paper-white skin, tall, cheek bones higher than her eyes, arms like long wet noodles. Sweet Mary mother of Joseph, she’s like an angel descending down the second floor escalator. And here I was, about to get up and leave. My interest has suddenly been renewed. I’m thinking I should call someone and share this brilliant experience, but my phone battery is dead, and all of my friends are at work anyway (sucks being an adult). I look over at my pensioner benchmate, but he is busy looking at the woman who just came down the elevator. She is probably several centimeters taller than he is, due to dietary differences between the older and younger generations. He looks at her, and then looks at me, and then says nothing. I have often wondered if people get quieter as they age because they have been disappointed by the human race so many times. And for most of us, not too many people show up at our death bed. All those years, all of that emotion, all of those hopes and dreams, all the reaching out; and no one shows up. It makes reaching out to others look like a fairly poor investment. You are unlikely to get much back. Maybe that is why it is so rare to find people who can be selflessly kind to strangers without any sort of hidden motivation. It represents risk-taking without any obvious payback. After staring at me for a moment, the pensioner slaps me on the knee and says “예쁘다!” (beautiful). He may not be a player anymore, but he knows quality when he sees it. He’s no longer a player, but he’ll always be an enthusiast. Our bodies, and energy and stamina wane with time, but enthusiasm is something we can all maintain until the end. Perhaps he’s got a cranky old wife at home, 할머니 tits hanging past her belt, who gets on his case about money, and soju, and cleaning the house, and smoking, and “Why do I always have to wash the goddamned dishes?” He and I are not players, but we are actors on the same stage, at the same point in time. Many, many years ago, before I set foot in Korea, I had a beautiful girlfriend just like the one who came down the escalator. She never really had much to say, but she was gorgeous. I assumed that she was quiet and reserved because she was ‘deep’. Perhaps there was character there, somewhere. Maybe she was the ‘one’. After time, I realized that she was not ‘deep’ – she was just a stupid, vapid, aimless drifter with hardly any brain activity at all. But I liked her. I’ll never know why. The pensioner sitting next to me probably has several decades of knowledge to impart on a younger person such as myself. From time to time, in situations like this, I wished I'd spoke Korean well. We are two men sitting on a department store bench, sharing the sight of a beautiful woman. We are like two old fishermen staring at the night lights of a luxury oceanliner as it passes us by. The pensioner has stories to tell, and I have stories to tell, but neither of us can communicate with the other. What a shame. A decade from now, I’ll probably still be coming here, to this same bench. My benchmate having long since passed away, the rum and coke having been replaced by straight soju, and the tailored suit no longer fitting like it used to. In life, it’s important to realize what makes you happy, and to chase it.
|
|
#
¿
May 1, 2015 01:42
|
|
|
I demand that sexy tribe be tested for substance abuse. Nobody can copy paste that fast! THEY ARE JUICING!
|
|
#
¿
May 1, 2015 01:50
|
|
|
imgay posted:Hey guys just wanted to share my vampire erotica based practice quotation hell thread. lmao
|
|
#
¿
May 1, 2015 16:08
|
|
|
LETS GET READY TO RUMBLE
|
|
#
¿
May 5, 2015 01:28
|
|
|
Fast Luck posted:Questions for all - To be honest, not a whole lot happened. Met was voted out like we expected. He revealed to some people that he might have the idol beforehand and we considered the possibility, but ultimately there wasnt really any "fallout" -Losing sucks Jeff. It sucks bad. I think we are hungry for a win at this point so the Sexy tribe needs to check themselves before they wreck themselves. Sexy winning is just a fluke. We will show them who is boss this week. -It sucks seeing your tribe get slowly picked off, even if you have a hand in voting them out. If it comes down to 4 or 3 it will become very difficult for us, and honestly the game and decisions just keep getting harder.
|
|
#
¿
May 5, 2015 01:36
|
|
|
Fast Luck posted:Are you learning anything from the challenges so far that you think you can carry forward into future ones? Organization, preparation, things like that, things that the Sexy tribe has apparently been doing well? No.
|
|
#
¿
May 5, 2015 01:39
|
|
|
Fast Luck posted:So far, this Tribal Council couldn't be more different from last week's. People seem to be playing it close to the vest with their answers. Is there nothing that needs to be discussed here tonight? To be frank, I think everyone knows how this one is going to play out and we kind of just want to get it over with. At least that's what I think.
|
|
#
¿
May 5, 2015 01:45
|
|
|
Shame shame dogg
|
|
#
¿
May 5, 2015 02:01
|
|
|
Thanks for the kind words! 
|
|
#
¿
May 5, 2015 02:12
|
|
|
Bye Pmush. Sorry it had to go down this way!
|
|
#
¿
May 5, 2015 02:31
|
|
|
AnonymousNarcotics posted:Survivor edit: or Tuesdays TOO BAD 
|
|
#
¿
May 5, 2015 03:20
|
|
|
DoggPickle posted:I would sincerely like to apologize for my behavior last night. I wasn't just fighting typing on a bad keyboard while it was plugged in (and windows 8). I was fighting a laptop that kept shutting down because it was THAT MUCH out of power. I thought at the time that I was killing it faster than it could recharge just by the action of making it boot up and navigating to this thread and making a post before it powered off again. I said some things that I would not have posted so blatantly, but I was typing as fast as I could so that it wouldn't shut down again. I was only about 50% successful. 
|
|
#
¿
May 5, 2015 17:56
|
|
I did not even get to see the votes last night. My first view of them was today at 12:30. I'm not OCD or anything, but try losing your internet (basically) and not seeing the votes at all by a couple minutes, and trying to get a good night's sleep. Plus, I was typing fast and stupid, expecting that I could fix it later, and I could not. I swear to god, I had no idea how the votes came out until now, and I was honestly worried that I'd made such a butt-face of myself that I might be on those papers. I'm really really glad that my friends didn't decide to ditch me at the last minute.
I still don't know my SA password though 
|
TOO HARD HOW DO I DO IT
|
|
#
¿
May 7, 2015 17:13
|
|
|
I'll take a clue.
|
|
#
¿
May 11, 2015 00:50
|
|
|
Hi friends!
|
|
#
¿
May 12, 2015 03:31
|
|
|
Preliminary offer: Give me all of your machetes and I will give you something ~good~ in return.
|
|
#
¿
May 12, 2015 03:33
|
|
|
|
|
#
¿
May 12, 2015 03:42
|
|
|
DaisyDanger posted:wow what a thrilling group of players eat it
|
|
#
¿
May 12, 2015 04:52
|
|
|
|
|
#
¿
May 12, 2015 04:56
|
|
|
Fast Luck posted:
Im not worried at all about the merge. I look forward to it, they all seem like pretty cool people from the hour or so i got to talk to them. It should be a rip-roarin' time!
|
|
#
¿
May 13, 2015 03:06
|
|
|
Fast Luck posted:For all except D. Coil I didnt really care, tbh.
|
|
#
¿
May 13, 2015 03:08
|
|
|
D. Coil posted:I was born at night but not last night. I'm aware of what the likely outcome tonight is. I would argue that keeping me would be keeping someone who has proven both their loyalty to you as well as someone whom you could probably put together quite a convincing argument against in a final tribal situation - as opposed to Rurea who I think has clearly been one of the best players in the game thus far and thusly one of the biggest threats going forward but I support my tribe in whatever decision they make. I had a chance to betray them back when Met went home and I didn't because I felt loyal to them then and I still do today no matter what happens tonight and whatever other accusations the other tribe or whoever else might throw out. Perhaps I'm seen as the easy vote tonight but you don't win Survivor by doing what's easy. You win Survivor by looking beyond what's easy and doing what's difficult but smart. Im flattered.
|
|
#
¿
May 13, 2015 03:09
|
|
|
Fast Luck posted:One could argue that if you only think of the next Tribal, and never think ahead, you'll be led into elimination like a lamb to the slaughter. It's happened before in Awful Survivor. If you lose next challenge, it will be one of the four of you going home. And after that, come the merger, it also could be one of you again. What are you doing to ensure your safety down the line? Also in regards to this: If anyone is honestly playing this way right now then they deserve to get voted out. Everyone should be ensuring their safety down the line.
|
|
#
¿
May 13, 2015 03:12
|
|
|
Im here can I play
|
|
#
¿
May 14, 2015 02:11
|
|
|
Actually i probably shouldnt play because i cant be here for an hour
|
|
#
¿
May 14, 2015 02:13
|
|
|
Perhaps red dress?
|
|
#
¿
May 14, 2015 02:32
|
|
|
walking and hiking are not the same thing
|
|
#
¿
May 14, 2015 02:58
|
|
|
boom
|
|
#
¿
May 14, 2015 03:55
|
|
|
walking and hiking are still completely different things
|
|
#
¿
May 14, 2015 03:56
|
|
|
I won't be around till 6:30, hopefully won't miss too much.
|
|
#
¿
May 18, 2015 14:56
|
|
|
 Hello! First things first, good job on sticking it out this far. I don't think this game is very hard, you just need determination and motivation. Obviously all three of you have these qualities that I lack. Now, in order to get my vote and win the DOGGPICKLE Have you learned anything about yourself as a person by participating in this game and if so, what? MMM Excluding the two players here with you, who would you pick as your optimal Final 3? Why? AnonIdiot You automatically lose my vote because you bug the poo poo out of me with your long-winded, rambling, incoherent responses and I believe you incapable of responding to any question I ask in a manner that would be satisfactory to me. Good luck everyone.  Rurea, out.
|
|
#
¿
Jun 19, 2015 01:43
|
|
|
yay
|
|
#
¿
Jun 19, 2015 03:40
|
|
|
DoggPickle posted:
"Finally, and the most important point, this is a GAME."
|
|
#
¿
Jun 19, 2015 04:37
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ May 14, 2024 09:54 |
|
|
Dogg pickle I don't really like you. My first impression of you was to get rid of you. I allied with you because I saw you going far in the game and I said whatever I needed to say to earn your trust. Does that make me a bad person? I don't really care. Once I started losing interest in the game, I realized how batshit crazy you are. Please consider getting actual help. I know you supposedly could have skipped high school or whatever and think you are a genius, but you had a goddamn seizure and a stroke from alcohol withdrawal. See a loving doctor and a therapist instead of staying inside your house all day. Please. Saying you "had no choice" in voting me out is bullshit and you know it. You COULD HAVE voted for someone else, even if my self vote sent me home. It is interesting the way you justify your actions to yourself, especially after seeing your responses to the questions at FTC. I knew there was a very good chance of MMM getting the majority of the votes, if not all of them. Bottom line is, I voted the way I did because I really wanted to post that The OC mmm whatchya say video and I thought it would be hilarious to see your reaction to losing. 
|
|
#
¿
Jun 19, 2015 16:41
|
|