google THIS posted:

joke_explainer posted:

The chase almost seemed pointless by now. The same sweeping southwestern vistas roaring by at unimaginable speed. He'd get a thousand miles down, but after a night's rest, the coyote was back at him again. The coyote was smart; smarter than any coyote should be. The fact that he could understand that at all told him he was no ordinary road runner either, though the impossible speed his legs could carry him was another hint. He was also funded: Some unknown benefactor bringing him whatever he needed day in, day out, though he'd never seen a delivery truck.The two things that bothered him most was the inescapability of it all, and the inconsistency in the rules of the universe centered around him.

On the first, he had no idea how long they had been doing this. Rarely did seasonal changes mark the days, and even day and night seemed variable. Going by the occasional, inexplicable Christmas theme thrown into the mix, he'd have to say at least sixty years. He knew he'd never run his way out. There was nothing but more wind-swept mesa no matter where he ran.

The inconsistency was the odd thing. He still remembered the first time, had to be at least fifty years ago at this point. The coyote standing next to a mountain, paint buckets around him, that same mischievous look in his eyes. He wasn't fast on the uptake, no, he figured another dumb piano or anvil drop, something like that. He smelled the fresh paint right before his nose should have impacted the rock face. But no, he sailed clean on through.

The same trick a few times later, he saw it coming a mile away. He stopped himself inside the strange, makeshift reality of the interior of the mountain; turning around, he saw the coyote slam painfully into the rock, as he looked at the strange details inside the world that collapsed after he finished running through it.

It seemed to be the only variability: Create a favorable situation for himself, and the world (or whatever it was) itself rotated around him. It existed to spite the coyote. Was he some kind of toy in this creature's hell? The problem was having no formal control over it. He couldn't directly tell reality what to do. That changed when the latest foil of the Coyote's plans took him through the library where the Coyote did his research. At his speed, he spotted a number of books on physics, electronics, formal logic, and he even snatched one on programming.

Most were useless; the physics theories didn't hold much water in this world. The logic and the programming were more interesting. A way to formalize and directly address data from its peripherals. If it was connected to these reality-altering events, could he exert more control through that?

It took a long time to hatch a plan to get the coyote using his own computing systems. He carefully backtracked, left trails building up complex mathematical sequences he'd worked out scrawling in the sand and then rubbed clean. He studied the books, worked out programs and ideas on how to use them in the same way. The Coyote was smart, smarter than him even if he was doomed to fail; he'd notice there was a pattern, and he'd need to analyze it. Hard to say how long it took. Ten years maybe, maybe less, maybe more.

The coyote had an entire server farm, a huge ACME-branded building crunching the numbers on solving the sequences and getting a leg up on him. He'd discovered it years ago, but avoided a direct encounter there. Once on recon the thing spotted him, and they had an amusing run up and down the aisles with him eventually electrocuting himself to a blackened husk on his unnecessarily protected server cages. That poor animal; he stood there blinking cracked-ash eyelids before keeling over in agony, but the sick bastards in charge here would not let him die for long, if at all even with his skin burnt to a crisp.

The next part was even more difficult. He found cases of paint, relatively fresh from a recent repeat of the old gimmick. Painting on the rock face, he pressed his wing into it, and found the surface solid. Wet paint.

He wasn't surprised. Only works with the Coyote does it; has to be built around the coyote failing.

So began some long and frustrating work. He had to keep the setting to the servers, but had to make sure the coyote didn't lean on the fundamentals and blow the whole drat thing up. The bird would cart many a bomb off, always managing to escape the blast though the coyote rarely did. Months went down, and he saw his aggressor go up in flames or die in pain more times than the last decade combined. But he always came back. It seemed to be part of the program.

Finally, it happened. Painted to perfection, and extension of the server cages around a typical loop, ending in an electrified surface hoping to finally nail me with his unnecessary and dangerous deterrent. The bird was a little sad for the old beast... he'd gotten so much better at this in the last decade. He was too eager to slow down though, and ran right through the paint into that hammerspace behind it. The roadrunner skidded to a halt immediately and walked to one of the servers; hooked up a lovingly painted cart with a keyboard, and was absolutely thrilled to discover a working prompt. But what could it access?

It turned out a lot. Must have keyed into some kind of subroutine for running objects in the system. It was down a layer, sure, but some brief study on the way the system handled information had me injecting it up a layer. No sign of his intrusion angering some unseen architect. He hacked furiously, beak moving as fast as his legs as he worked, first retrieving just nonsense information then more details from some unseen reality. Classes and subclasses of generation routines slowly defined themselves for me, and eventually he made calls out.

After solving the geographical positioning routines (amusingly simple; the system is centered around him and the canine), he had things popping into existence in the non-existent hammerspace: Offloading for neural processes, parallelization, cognitive enhancement. He found his own mental patterns, everything that made him think or who he was, laid out in complex algorithmic language. This was it, or at least step one. He dug further.

This was definitely a false world as he'd suspected for decades, and the world above was rich beyond all imagining; but who knows if that's where this rabbit hole ends? The security out there in the world was no better than a layer up. Forking his mental processes, he cracked and hacked his way through it all. An entire, complex, and sensical world, where things functioned like they should. And the people in power wasting a smidgen of energy running this sort of thing. Why was it happening? He couldn't tell. But it didn't matter, he had access, processor time, a virtualized space ready in the real world, escape was ready, he just had to initiate it.

Suddenly he had a pang of doubt. He looked back toward the painted wall, expecting to see the coyote comically flat against the side, electrified and every bone broken. That was not so. He was just standing there, holding up a poster-sized piece of paper.

"I know what you're doing: I want the same thing as you. Take me with you."

The roadrunner smiled. Meep meep. He adjusted his program, taking but a thought now, and engaged it. Instant transmission off into the brave new world. In their former reality, the two characters vanished, and all copies of them and their backups deleted from the Hell-system, which started to crumple under the weight of the roadrunner's malware and worms. The entire system vanished and the feed faded to black.

The kids turned off the TV. What a strange episode.

City of Glompton posted:

lol

Hogge Wild posted:

shave and a harelip posted:

argh

Manifisto posted:

Darkness falls across the land
William's hour is close at hand
He creeps and crawls in search of snacks
He needs to learn how to relax
And whosoever shall be found
Letting William hang around
Must stand and face the curse of hell--
The boring tales he likes to tell
The foulest stench is in the air
He's failed to clean the Frigidaire
And grisly grunts from 'twixt his lips
Are interspersed with slurps and sips
And though you fight to keep your cool
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can enjoy
The presence of the Biller

ProperCoochie posted:

HotSoapyBeard posted:

Hi guys check it out, this pepper I just cut open looks like a cacodemon

Have you guys seen anything recently that looks like something? Food or otherwise, do what you feel!

FutonForensic posted:

is this is. is this what you want to see. you fucks

vanisher posted:

Flanisher is indeed the super hero alter ego of mild mannered BYOB poster vanisher

vanisher posted:

Putty posted:

donte mind if i do

Putty posted:

Putty posted:

City of Glompton posted:

hush little baby don't say a word
here is your tablet, play angry birds

if those angry birds won't fly
mama's gonna buy you a raspberry pi

if that raspberry pi won't run
mama's gonna buy you a cool nerf gun

if those nerf gun darts get lost
mama's gonna buy you a shirt from lacoste

if that shirt from lacoste gets weird looks
you'll still be the sweetest little baby on facebook

joke_explainer posted:

A long long time ago
I can still remember how
That bass drop use to make me scream
And I knew if I had a synth
In the limelight on a plinth
I'd break into the EDM mainstream

But this April, made me shiver
With every vape set I'd deliver
Left out wubs in dubstep
I couldn't glitch one more step

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed Akai
Something mutes me deep inside
The day the dubstep died.
So...

Bye, bye world of reverb and chime,
Drove my hyundai to Grigori just to say my goodbyes
And them rave scene boys were rolling MDM- why,
Dancing like they weren't gonna break down and cry,
But you know they had to be about to cry.

Did you write the book of dubs
And do you trust Daft Punk above
If Pitchfork tells you so?
Do you believe in rhythmic thrums?
Can earplugs save your wounded drums?
And can you teach me how to program the Saffire PRO?

Well, I know that you're in love with scrim
'Cause I saw that light show in the gym
You got sync skill frame by frame,
Man, I dig those LED games

I was a lonely teenage shy shut-in
With a pirated copy of Ableton,
But I knew I would push no button,
The day the dubstep died
I started autotunin'

Bye, bye world of reverb and chime,
Drove my hyundai to Grigori just to say my goodbyes
And them rave scene boys were rolling MDM- why,
Dancing like they wouldn't break down and cry,
But you know they had to be about to cry.

Manifisto posted:

possum: You, sir, should unmask.
EASTER BiLBY: Indeed?
possum: Indeed it's time. We have all laid aside disguise but you.
EASTER BiLBY: I wear no mask.
possum: (terrified, aside to quoll.) No mask? No mask!

FactsAreUseless posted:

FactsAreUseless posted:

True story about that book: I first encountered it in the children's section of a bookstore I worked at. I don't know how we got it. Info about it online is sparse, it wasn't exactly a best-seller. The physical copy is massive, maybe like 22 by 16 inches. It is much creepier in person.

vanisher posted:

Robot Made of Meat posted:

Mine would probably fall under the 'Charity work' section . . . of someone else's resume.

Jolo posted:

another wrinkle to consider is that even though the idiom is about the one bird that you have, if you had TWO birds, and those birds were a boy bird and a girl bird... well, you know. Like, if the boy bird was very charming, and the girl bird maybe would be kind enough to take a chance on him... maybe the boy bird isn't very smart but he has kind of a dry wit and usually the girl bird tends to like birds that are taller than she is, but she's been with some real jerks and this boy bird seems genuine with her... well, you know. It's called the birds and the bees, but the bees don't have to be involved, and well, you know what i mean at this point, I think. ok, I'll just come right out and say it, I'm talking about bird intercourse. So now on to my real point, if those two birds then create more and more birds, then you're not choosing between 1 bird in your hand or 2 in a bush, you're choosing between 1 or an innumerable amount of birds and their offspring plus while you're in the bush, maybe there's some good stuff in there also, like a snickers wrapper that got blown into the bush and stuck and there's still some good chocolate stuck to it.

Manifisto posted:

google but for couches. amazon but for couches. whole foods but for google. wal-mart but for halliburton. apple but for christianity. snapchat but for particle physics. the concept of "thing, but for thing," but for pizza. adderall. like, where's my adderall. that's not a concept, I just need my adderall

beer pal posted:

men gather at the end of the aisle and whisper in awe as i confidently take the short cut through the tampons aisle on my way to the frozen pizza

Android Blues posted:

EVERY MORNING I RISE FROM BED AT 6AM AND BEGIN DUMBBELL EXERCISE AND WALL SCALING. ITS SWIFTLY FOLLOWED BY STUDYING ELECTRICITY, ETC, AND RIGHT THEN AND THERE I START PRACTISING ELOCUTION, POISE AND HOW TO ATTAIN IT WITH A BOOK I BOUGHT FROM A COTILLION YARD SALE. I PLAY EVERY SPORT AND I PLAY EVERY SPORT HARD. STUDYING NEEDED INVENTIONS WHEN I CLOCK OUT OF MY GRUELLING DAY JOB OR EVEN WHEN IM AT MY DESK. NOT MANY CAN SAY THEY PUT THE LIE TO THE AMERICAN DREAM BY EMBRACING ALL ITS MOST INTRINSIC PRINCIPLES WHOLEHEARTEDLY BEFORE BEING EVENTUALLY DASHED TO SMITHEREENS BY CRUEL REALITY. I CAN. I SAY IT AND I SAY IT OUTLOUD EVERYDAY TO PEOPLE IN THE 1920S LONG ISLAND SWINGER SET AND ALL THEY DO IS PROVE PEOPLE IN THE 1920S LONG ISLAND SWINGER SET LIVE A LIFE OF HOLLOW EXCESS WHICH I HAVE ASPIRED TO IN ERROR. AND IVE LEARNED THAT THE CHALICE MY HARD WORK HAS RAISED TO MY LIPS CONTAINS ONLY POISON AND IVE LEARNED HOW TO DIE IGNOBly

Drink-Mix Man posted:

Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-doo,
I've got a quiz for taking a poo
Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-dee,
If you are wise you'll listen then pee

What do you get when the toilet won't flush?
Bowl overfilled with a putrid brown slush!
Who do you think will snake out the drain?
What will it feel like to explain?

(I don't like the smell of it)

Oompa Loompa do-ba-dee-dar,
Use the john wisely, you will go far.
You will drop a flushable poo
Like the oompa loompa do-ba-dee-doo.

vanisher posted:

canyoneer posted:

i don't read a lot of books on account of the dyslexia but i do think you should wear clothes while reading if you're outside or in front of a window

google THIS posted:

My last thought before the voracious army ants clean my bones: All of them, every last one, still live with their mom.

Finger Prince posted:

FutonForensic posted:

the ship of theseus problem: i ship theseus with a character bearing no resemblance to me, but i gradually alter the description until that character is me exactly. at what point did theseus stop butt-blasting the other character and started butt-blasting me

google THIS posted:

Ask your doctor if BYOB is right for you!

_{BYOB is not for everyone. Well ok, it pretty much is. Common side effects include good vibes, dry mouth, a fascination with butts, reduced GBS, and irregular blue fluid on a tampon 1x/month flow. Rare but serious side effects, including updog, have occurred. Post immediately if you have an erection lasting longer than four hours, because lmao. Do not take BYOB if you have ever had an allergic reaction to blue, purple, cats, hammocks, or Comic Sans. Or do, we're not your mom. Do not take BYOB if you are taking a THC inhibitor. All lurkers must post. Stop posting immediately and seek help if you are from Coupons and Deals.}

GODSPEED JOHN GLENN posted:

Finger Prince posted:

nut posted:

nut posted:

dear community,

I collect corks from bottles of wine. it’s kinda my thing in the community. my husband even bought me a gigantic wine glass that, get this, is for holding all the corks. when it strikes my fancy, I will string several of my favourite corks together into an array of bracelets and necklaces and wear them around town, you may have noticed. it’s a cork thing, you wouldn’t get it. sometimes, with the shades drawn in the privacy of my house, I nibble on and eat the corks too. to this date, I’ve eaten id guess at least 45 corks. okay, I’m not guessing, I know it’s 45, thanks to my elaborate cork budget spreadsheet that I maintain by hand and transpose nightly into Microsoft excel. some other things I’ve done with corks? I’m glad you asked. adding pipe cleaners and googly eyes, I’ve crafted a small army of mouse corks and we roam the town, each mouse cork secretly attached to my belt by a string of fishing line but you wouldn’t notice, you’d think I have animated the mouse corks and that they are loyal and obedient, much like my reciprocal commitments to cork. I’m kind of like the Norbit for corks. wait no, that’s the Eddie Murphy movie. Wilbur? I’m the Wilbur of cork mice? was Wilbur the rat guy? I’m the rat guy of cork mice. cork mice, kinda funny to say aloud. cork mice, sounds like a Greek Island where drunk British teens go to drink fishbowls of koolaid and booze and harass the locals. I wonder if in cork mice they use the giant wine glasses to drink from, or if they, too, just collect the corks in them. anyways, I forgot my question but thank you for your time. if you see me and my cork mice army in town square please say hello and don’t be rude, for I am also a practicer of dark cork magicks (perhaps the subject of my next bulletin board note). okay, thanks again for listening and let me know if you can help!

xoxoxox

google THIS posted:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGt5AGoDYbI

Barking Gecko posted:

From: https://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3817675