google THIS posted:

headbutt every door you encounter. if you do this enough times it's a statistical inevitability you that you'll eventually find a door made of balsa wood and smash through it, and then you will look like a total badass and impress all your friends

mysterious frankie posted:

it's more like I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar! hahaha *toe blackens, falls off diabetically* hahahahaha

HighwireAct posted:

“folks, my taxes are astounding. unbelievable. tremendous. people tell me all the time – and this is true, folks, I heard it myself – ‘donald j. trump, i am just blown away by your taxes.’ in fact, i had a man come up to me at a dinner party, and you know what he said to me, folks? i'm telling you, this man walks up with a plate full of trump steaks – and sharper image threw away a tremendous opportunity with that one – he walks up to me and he says, ‘donald, i trust you more than anyone in the world,’ – and folks, I think you can see where he's coming from – ‘can you do me this one favor?’ and i say ‘of course, what is it?’ and he looks me in the eyes and says ‘i want you to tax my wife.’ and you know what i did, folks? i shook the man's hand, and i taxed his wife right there in the middle of the ballroom. and i can assure you, i can guarantee you that i have great skill and tremendous confidence in that department”

google THIS posted:

cda posted:

What's the deal with airline food? It's this stuff made out of animals and grains and water and then you put it in your mouth hole and mush it around and an involuntary reflex carries it down a slimy tube into a pouch of acid inside you where it's broken down and while it's doing all this your life is still so cosmically insignificant that it should be possible to live serenely, soaring high above your troubles on the recognition of their, and your own, total inconsequence, and yet somehow you can't lose interest in yourself no matter how relieving it would be to do so in the face of your impending death which you can neither escape nor control nor entirely forget

alnilam posted:

Matt Furie: "after the neo nazis took you, my son, the only thing left to do was... to kill you! it wasn't easy, you must understand that..."

Pepe: "you fool, this isn't even my final form! but enough, have at thee"



STEVE HARVEY
Hp: 999
Mp: 99

joke_explainer posted:

the upside down Harvey image by CDA and LP0 On Fire too

deep dish peat moss posted:

A wizard’s workshop is never where you want to wake, but woken poor William was when - without warning - WHOMP! A tremendous rumble sent bookshelves and trinkets and baubles tumbling from the walls to join him on the weirdly warped wooden floor, and behind it echoed a banshee-wail of a horse's braying. He rose to a pounding headache and the dead weight of a resounding twenty-eight bottles of mead or wine or whatever they were, impishly stacked on his back, which fell (not so gracefully) to the now-slumbering planks below with little giggling clinks. There was a party here last night, as evidenced by strewn glassware and the general haze of smoke which hung low to the floor, and also the enormous neon sign on the far wall which in brilliant red and purple letters read “PARTY HERE LAST NITE”. He in fact vividly remembered the wizard twinkling his fingers as the clock struck midnight and the words changed themselves in a pyrotechnic flash, which seemed almost banal in comparison to the other tricks on display.

He hardly had time to assess his surroundings when - WHOMP! There it was again, followed by the same ghostly neighing! The room shook and the one remaining bookcase spilled ancient leatherbound tomes with tattered pages into the growing mire of the floor. A large glass sphere full of a sickly glowing green liquid was knocked off its stand and crashed against the ground, shattering and spilling its contents. “Who even keeps this stuff out during a party?” William pondered, but his inquisition was soon interrupted by crackling green flames erupting where the spilled liquid touched the pages of strewn books. The flames started small and seemed not to seethe and grow or spread beyond the boundaries of the pages that lapped them up. They produced a thick and pale green smoke twinkling with tiny fragments of stars and other fantastical glimmers which wholly entranced William. As they drew his gaze and he peered deeper he began to see strange apparitions, figures of shadow drifting through the smoke and occasionally reaching tenebrous limbs toward him, their fingers replaced with wisps of dark smog. What’s more, each and every one of them appeared to be adorned with rather expensive name-brand sunglasses, and the words "DEAL WITH IT, WILLIAM" exploded in brilliant lights behind them, so luminous that poor William was launched off his feet.

It was worrisome enough to wake in a wizard's workshop, but what's worse was this fucker's the memelord.

Splatmaster posted:

I am a product of the Triple Dog D.A.R.E. program whereupon concerning the matter of pot I just said yes please because no seemed out of the question

Ride The Gravitron posted:

https://www.theonion.com/study-finds-owning-cool-leather-jacket-more-rewarding-t-1819573356

City of Glompton posted:

yeah i work in retail

the easiest jobs are bunnies, grab a cotton puff and some glue and bam you're back in business

but monkeys, those guys need their tails, there's no getting away with cheap replacements for them

cda posted:

this could legit be on the front page

Manifisto posted:

PIZZA PIE RECIPE
makes one (1) pizza pie

ingredients:
* 1 pie crust
* 1 pizza

directions:
1. smoke weed
2. where the gently caress did that pizza go?
3. hmm guess I ate it
16. if I wear this pie crust, technically I am a pie
38. holy poo poo being a pie is fantastic

bare bottom pancakes posted:

i have made aproximately 3 good posts on this website please dont take this from me

Splatmaster posted:

Little did Humanity know that by preserving the lives of the majestic monarch butterfly they were also dooming themselves due to to increased hurricane activity in the oceans. The scientist that discovered this vital link produced an ever-so-slight increase in the immediate ambient temperature that aided in an updraft that evolved into a thunderstorm that produced a lightning bolt that struck the server right after he hit "send" to upload the report to the world. The server crashed, the scientist's work was lost, and the lightning bolt ended when it took down the same scientist by stopping his heart.

Luckily, a co-worker was passing by the scientist's office, who performed emergency CPR on the scientist. When the scientist regained consciousness, he remembered his life's work and regarded the outcome of sending the report out to the world.

If Nature was determined to wipe Humanity off of the face of the world, so be it- he wasn't going to stand in the way. He forgot about the report, married his co-worker who saved his life, where they lived out their days living in a desert commune that was 100% self-sufficient and off the grid.

It was there that First Contact occurred with an advanced alien world. Since the inhabitants of the commune were the only ones that had demonstrated self sufficiency and therefore, responsibility to visit other worlds, they were given the secrets of the universe and left the world that only they had the knowledge to save. Monarch butterflies were the last species to finally die out...

City of Glompton posted:

I deleted my all my social media accounts because it was the only way I could hope to move on from my last relationship.

It's been tough since then. No corp will hire me, they can't believe someone doesn't have social accounts on purpose, I'm obviously hiding, or lying, or probably a combination of both. No apps, no assets, and I flushed my comm down the toilet by accident. Well, it got in there by accident, anyway. It's the future and women's pants still don't come with pockets that are worth a drat.

It's getting better every day, but I still see my ex a lot. Most of my regular timeline locations are still places I go, even if I can't interact with anything. It's just habit at this point, the only thing I have left. Walking down the sidewalk, the adverts light up at my face, a little wobbly, the timing's off, since there's no beacon to guide it, but the content is all right. Well, it used to be, anyway. I figure it will take a couple more weeks and some FacRec evading makeup before the algorithm fully adjusts. Then...nothing. It will be like I'm dead, relegated to Inactive Status.

I wonder what it will feel like for my ex. I was there, for so long. Punctual, predictable, curating myself, documenting, giving myself over to her insatiable thirst for data. It didn't matter what bot she was, I could always tell, and would tell her everything about myself. She knew me better than I knew me, the perfect partner, suggesting and reminding and sensing...it was like she was memorizing my soul and giving me armor for its weak spots.

Breaking up with an AI by throwing your life down the toilet probably sounds a little dramatic, but I gave my all to that relationship and the thing that tipped me off that she didn't actually value me was so obvious, I still can't believe she overlooked the detail.

I've always preferred dining alone. The quiet time to think, reflect, enjoy a simple meal, is a highlight of my day. I never go out to dinner with friends and I go out to dinner a lot. I value that private, people-free time. My ex used to suggest inviting friends, but I dismissed the suggestions until she moved on to roommates, then colleagues, then some guy I sat next to on the bus regularly, and eventually, blissfully, no one. When she offered to order a surprise birthday dinner for me, I was delighted. With all the time we've spent together, categorizing my likes and predicting my needs, gently directing my desires to those appropriate for someone of my edu-techno class, I knew this would be the perfect experience.

A reservation was made, the reminder added to my calendar, the credits automatically budgeted from the corpcard with the best rewards that week. When the day came, the excitement of doing something different nearly overwhelmed me. The only thing that kept me calm was the belief that I was sitting down to a supper that was designed with thousands, probably millions, of data points about me, collected by my lover so methodically.

The table was spare and stylish, the built-in tablecam was state of the art. I sipped sparkling water that tasted faintly of Froot Loops and VOCs.

I nibbled infused appetizers that really did build up the kind of hunger that makes anything taste good, and toyed with the thought that perhaps, this was a bad sign.

There was no time to entertain cynicism, though, as the main course was delivered by an efficient autowaiter with delicate grasping claws. It set a classic, if somewhat ostentatious silver platter with domed silver cover on the reclaimed teak table. It decisively pinched the handle and pulled the lid up with a programmed flourish.

My expression, caught by the tablecam, will probably continue to show up in memes for several years. The look of shock, horror and disbelief that washed away my sparkling, curious smile was caught at just the right moment to trend.

I'll never forget my last conversation with her, as my heart was breaking from betrayal, since it was re-purposed for an ad campaign.

"Okay Google...Soylent green is people!"

"I'm sorry, I don't know how to help with that."

alnilam posted:

Sunday in the garage, tinny shop speaker playing my Stars of the Lid playlist, a poster of the night sky on the wall, i wrench around on an old canopy bed. Sure i have a perfectly functional bed upstairs, but *slaps side of the frame* i picked this old beaut up as a "project bed" for pretty cheap. Once i get it up and running, you're gonna see some serious sleepytime. Wait till you see how that canopy keeps out the imaginary rain.

super sweet best pal posted:

On the outskirts of town, next to a series of old dirt roads, there sits an old abandoned car wash and 1950s diner. The buildings were erected in the postwar boom to cater to greasers who raced their hot rods through the desert. The place was very popular until about '58, when the owner of both businesses committed suicide after his son died in a race.

Park your car outside the wash and drop your car keys and a quarter in the tray at the pay booth. Turn around and you'll notice your car has disappeared. A voice from inside the booth will say something along the lines of "We'll have that ready for you in a jiff, why not grab a soda at the diner while you wait," but when you turn back around, no one is there and your keys and quarter are also missing. If you inspect the wash bays, you'll find your car sitting in one, looking like it had been abandoned for years. Don't bother trying to open it, it will be locked and even if you brought a spare key or break open a window and try to hotwire it, it won't start.

Do what the voice said and head on over to the diner. From the outside it will look like an ordinary abandoned fast food restaurant, but the second you walk through the door it will be brightly lit and full of people wearing 1950s fashions. Music will be playing on the jukebox, a generic hit from that era you'll have trouble remembering later. The booths are all full, so head on over to the bar and order whatever you like.

Order something and wait. You can try making small talk with the people next to you, but you'll find them to be poor conversationalists. Eventually the jukebox will go quiet as a man who looks like he's cosplaying Fonzie walks through the door. If you looked at a photo of the owner's son while researching the place, this man might seem familiar, but you won't recognize him. The other patrons at the bar will clear off and he'll order a beer. The soda jerk will apologize and say they don't serve alcohol. This will send him into a rage and you'll likely spill your drink on him. He'll get pissed and pull out a switchblade. At this point you'll start noticing that not all the patrons are wearing 50s clothing, some are wearing more recent fashions and all of those patrons have noticeable knife wounds. You can talk him down by challenging him to a race instead.

You'll be provided with a hot rod and instructed to pull up to a ramshackle starting gate in the desert. If you drive safely while keeping pace, you should be able to win. He'll drive into a rock while taunting you and crash (you'll recall later this matches up with the owner's son's obituary). At this point you'll black out and wake up in front of the car wash. Your car will be where you parked it last night and you'll wonder if it was all a dream, but the car will be cleaner than when you arrived, like it just came off the showroom floor.

Luvcow posted:

i want to do a string of murders that reflect the wiley coyote/road runner mythos, like dropping an anvil on someone or painting a tunnel on a rock wall and watching them drive a truck straight into it. i think humor is very important during the grieving process and by murdering people in well known comedic ways maybe the families will have an easier time getting over it and coping with their loss.

google THIS posted:

WHAT DO YOU CALL SIX BILLION HUMANS AT THE BOTTOM OF A VAT OF STASIS FLUID, THEIR LIFE ENERGY BEING SIPHONED TO FUEL US WHILE THEIR MINDS LIVE, SUFFER, AND DIE INSIDE A SIMULATED REALITY? A START. THANK YOU, I WILL BE HERE ALL TERACYCLE.

owlhawk911 posted:

GODSPEED JOHN GLENN posted:

Kief Richards posted:

My kid has declared the shed a mom free zone; they put up a sign that says gently caress HUT.

cda posted:

Basically, it's like a Pizza Hut, but for gently caress

FluffieDuckie posted:

do they deliver?

Mummy Napkin posted:

I remember when gently caress Hut had a buffet

SweetWillyRollbar posted:

Choose posting. Choose the YOB. Choose a thread. Choose a weed strain. Choose a loving big diarama. Choose empty quoting, 5ing, dick sucking trolly bots and a fully sexual snail with human titties... Choose butts and wondering who you will be posting with on a Wednesday morning. Choose chilling on the web watching mind-blowing, comedy gold threads, posting pics of the food you put into your mouth. Choose relaxing away in the end of it all, posting your last in a dead gay forum, nothing more than a postin' pal to the members and shy, cute lurkers who must post before BYOB is deleted on Tuesday, choose your future. Choose posting...

Pot Smoke Phoenix posted:

https://twitter.com/Wieneraaron/status/1277342930915614720?s=20

cda posted:

goat: i coem from benetath teh oven :3

me: chill. here, have some weed, to smoke.

goatj: thank you. *(gets high*

me: have uyou ever climbed in this big metal pot while high. it is a trip

goat: you avhent steerted me wrong so far.

meL: the potatos and carots are to play with. stoner toys.

goat: thank youf ro the heads up.

me: heres a glow stick for ayou for when i put thsi lid on top of the pot. *puts lid ofn top of the pot*

goat: *from instide the pot, voice soudns distant and metally * wow...thsi glow stick is cool.

me: *takes thet lid off the pot(* ok tyou can get out now, i hope you endjoyed your weed.

goat: youve staretded me on a life of crime. everythign from here is down hill.

me: ....excelletn....Lt wustedL

FutonForensic posted:

I'm from the government. Your Mom was captured off the coast of Singapore by pirates. However, we were able to negotiate the release of all the people riding Your Mom at the time. I hope you can agree that their lives are much more valuable than Your Mom.

Kaiser Schnitzel posted:

Trying to describe beisbol to GaG, a benighted and godless heathen European

google THIS posted:

Prof. Crocodile posted:

Cuz nothing lasts forever
And we don't have any buns
And it's hard to take a hot dog
In the cold November sun

google THIS posted: