Profile for Tiktock:
Saffa. Jew. Chef. DJ. What else?
Dunno. But yes... but no.
Been hanging around here a bit too long. Caught my self saying "apologies for length" after a conversation and thinking "fuck me, get out of the house you chop".
Hoping to visit the UK soon, fingers crossed I can find a job over the pond (like the 100k+ others that fled across the pond).
Cheers
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- has posted 62 stories and 89 replies on question of the week
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Saffa. Jew. Chef. DJ. What else?
Dunno. But yes... but no.
Been hanging around here a bit too long. Caught my self saying "apologies for length" after a conversation and thinking "fuck me, get out of the house you chop".
Hoping to visit the UK soon, fingers crossed I can find a job over the pond (like the 100k+ others that fled across the pond).
Cheers
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Drugs
Not funny.
Apologies for length in advance.
This is not a mad crazy LOLWTFDRUGS story, merely the tale of a youngun who did some silly things and lived to regret it.
Let me begin by saying that I was not the typical South African youngster. Learning to read at age 3 and going to a "special" school for sub A (reception/year 1/first year of school) for having "learning difficulties" tends to pigeonhole a person, regardless of intention. Though I must say, I'm not completely absolved of blame, developing a massive victim complex when I was still in a cot. Looking back, it does not seem completely normal to lie in a metal cage festooned with colourful teddies and cutouts of Winnie-the_pooh whispering "everybody hates me" to myself. Yet this is the first thing I can remember from my childhood.
Primary school passed in a blur. I was convinced that I was a pariah amongst my classmates, and acted accordingly. This probably did not do my adolescent self any favours - kids remember things, guys, no matter what child psychologists say. Throughout my middle-and-high school career, I was convinced that I was looked upon as a freak, a weirdo, perhaps even someone evil and otherworldly. It was at about this time that I started reading HP Lovecraft and Edgar Allen Poe, wishing that like Fortunato, I could be sealed off with nothing but darkness and a cask of strong, tasty alcohol to keep me company.
See, this is where my story becomes interesting. If you think that this is nothing more than a badly-punctuated teenage rant, allow me to adjust your viewpoint. By the age of ten, I was regularly drinking heavily from the contents of my parents' liquor cabinet, seeking some kind of remedy to dull the edges of my own neuroses. Never mind that these were created out of whole cloth within the darkest reaches of my mind (can young minds have dark corners? I'm not entirely sure), I thought I had a problem and took steps to remedy it. It was amazing how many times I was off sick with "a cold" or "the flu". Strange that my parents did not pick up on this... the people I whom I was convinced were monsters ever since the age of 4, when I read "Where The Wild Things Are".
By the time I got to grade 10 (16 years old) I was already an accomplished drinker. Vodka? Pssh - easy. Brandy? We PERFECTED the stuff... if you're British, find a bottle of KWV or Van Rijn 10 year old, tell me how smooth and complex they are. Nothing to it. So when I went to my first house party, at age 16, people marveled at the amount I could drink. When my father picked me up (in his BMW 325 - we were and still are rather well off, this is not a tale of poverty), he commented that I smelled of alcohol. I brushed it off and got on with my life.
This continued until I was 17, at which point things got slightly out of hand, to the point I was bumming lifts home off older mates to avoid being flat-out fucked in front of my parents. On one of these occasions, I stumbled down the road to the home of my friend S. S and I had been friends of a certain kind for a long time - she was forever single, and we experimented a lot with sex and usual teenage bullshit. She, however, was very into smoking and weed, starting both when she was 14 - the same time we started experimenting.
Anyway. So I managed to walk the 800 meters to her house, to find her and all her mates smoking weed. Being drunk, I took a massive drag on what turned out to be pure chronic (serious stuff). Pulled a massive whitey and passed out on her floor. Vowed never to do it again... famous last words.
Over the course of the next two years, I took up smoking with a vengeance. 20 Marlboro Lights and about 3 grams of weed a day got me through matric, somehow, with three distinctions. Can't remember half of it, so don't ask how it happened. A year spent living in a commune in Israel didn't help much either.
Last year, I started chef training. There, I met a girl named K. Queer as a hat full of rainbows, she nevertheless became my friend. Bad Idea. K was seriously in love with coke. She got me involved, and from then on it was all systems WHOOOOOSH, line or 2 in the morning, couple of beers and a spliff at lunch and another line or 2 to come down... don't ask how that worked.
I lost many people's trust, I almost lost my family (almost got kicked out of the house many times, but that's a story for another time) and all my so-called "friends" fucked off at high speed as soon as they noticed how fucked I was. Thankfully, I never got too out of control - never arrested, never convicted of any crime.
In January of this year, K and I decided to drink a case of Savanna (crap cider) and do about a R1000 (about #100)'s worth of coke. The last thing I remember is going to sleep, and waking up naked in her bed, with her dealer sleeping on the floor. In a strange clear moment, I got in my car, drove off, phoned a series of people (K her dealer, my dealer and his friend) and told them all to fuck off. This sounds impossible, I know, but it actually happened. I was fucking lucky to get off scot free - there were so many times that I could have killed myself and people around me.
I'm by no means clean now - I still smoke way too much and drink enough for five people. However, six years of meditative therapy has given me a new perspective:
Still with me? OK, cool. Read on.
It's like this: Whatever happened, I did to myself. NO one else is to blame, neither my parents nor those people I went to high school with whom I thought were gunning for me. My life is in my hands, and any drug-or-booze-related fuckups are my own problem.
Reading B3ta helped too - it's really nice to know that people don't always see the negative side of what could be a terrible situation. So thanks, guys. You helped me see the lighter side of things.
I'm getting on my feet now. Four years of culinary training helped me land a job as sous-chef at a fantastic restaurant in Cape Town, where I'm earning enough to achieve independence and move into my own place, away from my parents. On October first, four of us are moving into a beautiful house in Plumstead, in the south of Cape Town. This is a new deal for me... no more coke, no more weed and no more fucking people around.
Apologies for length. This came as a surprise for me too, I didn't expect to contribute to this QOTW at all - for some reason, I felt this had to be said.
Dan X
(Tue 21st Sep 2010, 0:27, More)
Not funny.
Apologies for length in advance.
This is not a mad crazy LOLWTFDRUGS story, merely the tale of a youngun who did some silly things and lived to regret it.
Let me begin by saying that I was not the typical South African youngster. Learning to read at age 3 and going to a "special" school for sub A (reception/year 1/first year of school) for having "learning difficulties" tends to pigeonhole a person, regardless of intention. Though I must say, I'm not completely absolved of blame, developing a massive victim complex when I was still in a cot. Looking back, it does not seem completely normal to lie in a metal cage festooned with colourful teddies and cutouts of Winnie-the_pooh whispering "everybody hates me" to myself. Yet this is the first thing I can remember from my childhood.
Primary school passed in a blur. I was convinced that I was a pariah amongst my classmates, and acted accordingly. This probably did not do my adolescent self any favours - kids remember things, guys, no matter what child psychologists say. Throughout my middle-and-high school career, I was convinced that I was looked upon as a freak, a weirdo, perhaps even someone evil and otherworldly. It was at about this time that I started reading HP Lovecraft and Edgar Allen Poe, wishing that like Fortunato, I could be sealed off with nothing but darkness and a cask of strong, tasty alcohol to keep me company.
See, this is where my story becomes interesting. If you think that this is nothing more than a badly-punctuated teenage rant, allow me to adjust your viewpoint. By the age of ten, I was regularly drinking heavily from the contents of my parents' liquor cabinet, seeking some kind of remedy to dull the edges of my own neuroses. Never mind that these were created out of whole cloth within the darkest reaches of my mind (can young minds have dark corners? I'm not entirely sure), I thought I had a problem and took steps to remedy it. It was amazing how many times I was off sick with "a cold" or "the flu". Strange that my parents did not pick up on this... the people I whom I was convinced were monsters ever since the age of 4, when I read "Where The Wild Things Are".
By the time I got to grade 10 (16 years old) I was already an accomplished drinker. Vodka? Pssh - easy. Brandy? We PERFECTED the stuff... if you're British, find a bottle of KWV or Van Rijn 10 year old, tell me how smooth and complex they are. Nothing to it. So when I went to my first house party, at age 16, people marveled at the amount I could drink. When my father picked me up (in his BMW 325 - we were and still are rather well off, this is not a tale of poverty), he commented that I smelled of alcohol. I brushed it off and got on with my life.
This continued until I was 17, at which point things got slightly out of hand, to the point I was bumming lifts home off older mates to avoid being flat-out fucked in front of my parents. On one of these occasions, I stumbled down the road to the home of my friend S. S and I had been friends of a certain kind for a long time - she was forever single, and we experimented a lot with sex and usual teenage bullshit. She, however, was very into smoking and weed, starting both when she was 14 - the same time we started experimenting.
Anyway. So I managed to walk the 800 meters to her house, to find her and all her mates smoking weed. Being drunk, I took a massive drag on what turned out to be pure chronic (serious stuff). Pulled a massive whitey and passed out on her floor. Vowed never to do it again... famous last words.
Over the course of the next two years, I took up smoking with a vengeance. 20 Marlboro Lights and about 3 grams of weed a day got me through matric, somehow, with three distinctions. Can't remember half of it, so don't ask how it happened. A year spent living in a commune in Israel didn't help much either.
Last year, I started chef training. There, I met a girl named K. Queer as a hat full of rainbows, she nevertheless became my friend. Bad Idea. K was seriously in love with coke. She got me involved, and from then on it was all systems WHOOOOOSH, line or 2 in the morning, couple of beers and a spliff at lunch and another line or 2 to come down... don't ask how that worked.
I lost many people's trust, I almost lost my family (almost got kicked out of the house many times, but that's a story for another time) and all my so-called "friends" fucked off at high speed as soon as they noticed how fucked I was. Thankfully, I never got too out of control - never arrested, never convicted of any crime.
In January of this year, K and I decided to drink a case of Savanna (crap cider) and do about a R1000 (about #100)'s worth of coke. The last thing I remember is going to sleep, and waking up naked in her bed, with her dealer sleeping on the floor. In a strange clear moment, I got in my car, drove off, phoned a series of people (K her dealer, my dealer and his friend) and told them all to fuck off. This sounds impossible, I know, but it actually happened. I was fucking lucky to get off scot free - there were so many times that I could have killed myself and people around me.
I'm by no means clean now - I still smoke way too much and drink enough for five people. However, six years of meditative therapy has given me a new perspective:
Still with me? OK, cool. Read on.
It's like this: Whatever happened, I did to myself. NO one else is to blame, neither my parents nor those people I went to high school with whom I thought were gunning for me. My life is in my hands, and any drug-or-booze-related fuckups are my own problem.
Reading B3ta helped too - it's really nice to know that people don't always see the negative side of what could be a terrible situation. So thanks, guys. You helped me see the lighter side of things.
I'm getting on my feet now. Four years of culinary training helped me land a job as sous-chef at a fantastic restaurant in Cape Town, where I'm earning enough to achieve independence and move into my own place, away from my parents. On October first, four of us are moving into a beautiful house in Plumstead, in the south of Cape Town. This is a new deal for me... no more coke, no more weed and no more fucking people around.
Apologies for length. This came as a surprise for me too, I didn't expect to contribute to this QOTW at all - for some reason, I felt this had to be said.
Dan X
(Tue 21st Sep 2010, 0:27, More)
» Desperate Times
This one from just a few minutes ago
I have a neat little plugin for Emacs called "Dr Fill". You talk to it and it attempts to psychoanalyze you, with predictable results.
the following is the result of a combination of puerile infantilism and cold logic (the program talks, then the Ninja, and so forth):
I am the psychotherapist. Please, describe your problems. Each time
you are finished talking, type RET twice.
-hi. my bumhole hurts
Maybe you should consult a medical doctor; I am a psychotherapist. .
-no, the bumhole in my forehead
Why do you say the bumhole in your forehead?
-cos it hurts
Perhaps you should consult a medical doctor; I am a psychotherapist.
-ok, changing the subject: im emo
Is it because of your plans that you say you are emo?
-what plans
Maybe your life have something to do with this.
-check your grammar
What makes you believe check my grammar?
-your balls, is what
Can you elaborate on that?
-testicles
I would appreciate it if you would continue.
-my testicles are swinging
Is it because of the people you hang around with that you say your
testicles are swinging?
-yes. they jiggle my balls and make them swing
Is it because of problems at school that you are going through all
this?
-yes. my friends at school also used to thump my balls around. it made
fapping a bit difficult
Tell me about your school.
-we used to fap a lot. oh, and jiggle each others' testicles
Are you sure that that?
-yes, i am sure that that
Go on, don't be afraid.
-i am thinking that you are a dirty old man and need to be sterilised
Is it because I am a dirty old man and need to be sterilised that you
came to me?
-yes. i want you to stroke my bumhole and stop it from hurting because
you are a dirty old man
Does it bother you that I am a dirty old man?
-not at all. i love it. it means that you will jiggle my balls and
stroke my bumhole
When did you first know that I will jiggle your balls and stroke your
bumhole?
-when you pooed on my forehead. that's normally a good indicator
What do you think?
-it was tasty
Earlier you said I am a dirty old man and need to be sterilised?
-yes. the argument stands
How do you reconcile any hobbies you have?
-by sticking my cock in them. normally, cake is involved
Are you afraid of sex?
-no. only sex with chips. the oil makes my shlong blister
Talk about something about your sexual history.
-this one time, i fucked a plate of chips and got blisters on my wang,
it made screwing the rubber giraffe impossible for a few days
Perhaps you could discuss your sex life...
-i take my pleasure from foodstuffs, rubber animals and pictures of
janet jackson with a dong photoshopped onto her forehead. also, i love
it when dirty old men poo on me
What happened when dirty old men poo on you?
-i jizzed on their faces
Do you really think you jizzed on their faces?
-yes. the white streaks of spaff were fairly telling evidence
You mentioned that I am a dirty old man?
-yes. you are.
Perhaps this has something to do with your sex life?
-we've already covered this...
Is it because of hangups you have that you say we've already covered
this?
-yes
I see... Well, what makes you think this is so?
-goodbye. you've been supremely unhelpful
My secretary will send you a bill.
-fuck her. i pooed on her face.
Apologies for length, it was trimmed by an old man's false chompers.
(Thu 15th Nov 2007, 22:09, More)
This one from just a few minutes ago
I have a neat little plugin for Emacs called "Dr Fill". You talk to it and it attempts to psychoanalyze you, with predictable results.
the following is the result of a combination of puerile infantilism and cold logic (the program talks, then the Ninja, and so forth):
I am the psychotherapist. Please, describe your problems. Each time
you are finished talking, type RET twice.
-hi. my bumhole hurts
Maybe you should consult a medical doctor; I am a psychotherapist. .
-no, the bumhole in my forehead
Why do you say the bumhole in your forehead?
-cos it hurts
Perhaps you should consult a medical doctor; I am a psychotherapist.
-ok, changing the subject: im emo
Is it because of your plans that you say you are emo?
-what plans
Maybe your life have something to do with this.
-check your grammar
What makes you believe check my grammar?
-your balls, is what
Can you elaborate on that?
-testicles
I would appreciate it if you would continue.
-my testicles are swinging
Is it because of the people you hang around with that you say your
testicles are swinging?
-yes. they jiggle my balls and make them swing
Is it because of problems at school that you are going through all
this?
-yes. my friends at school also used to thump my balls around. it made
fapping a bit difficult
Tell me about your school.
-we used to fap a lot. oh, and jiggle each others' testicles
Are you sure that that?
-yes, i am sure that that
Go on, don't be afraid.
-i am thinking that you are a dirty old man and need to be sterilised
Is it because I am a dirty old man and need to be sterilised that you
came to me?
-yes. i want you to stroke my bumhole and stop it from hurting because
you are a dirty old man
Does it bother you that I am a dirty old man?
-not at all. i love it. it means that you will jiggle my balls and
stroke my bumhole
When did you first know that I will jiggle your balls and stroke your
bumhole?
-when you pooed on my forehead. that's normally a good indicator
What do you think?
-it was tasty
Earlier you said I am a dirty old man and need to be sterilised?
-yes. the argument stands
How do you reconcile any hobbies you have?
-by sticking my cock in them. normally, cake is involved
Are you afraid of sex?
-no. only sex with chips. the oil makes my shlong blister
Talk about something about your sexual history.
-this one time, i fucked a plate of chips and got blisters on my wang,
it made screwing the rubber giraffe impossible for a few days
Perhaps you could discuss your sex life...
-i take my pleasure from foodstuffs, rubber animals and pictures of
janet jackson with a dong photoshopped onto her forehead. also, i love
it when dirty old men poo on me
What happened when dirty old men poo on you?
-i jizzed on their faces
Do you really think you jizzed on their faces?
-yes. the white streaks of spaff were fairly telling evidence
You mentioned that I am a dirty old man?
-yes. you are.
Perhaps this has something to do with your sex life?
-we've already covered this...
Is it because of hangups you have that you say we've already covered
this?
-yes
I see... Well, what makes you think this is so?
-goodbye. you've been supremely unhelpful
My secretary will send you a bill.
-fuck her. i pooed on her face.
Apologies for length, it was trimmed by an old man's false chompers.
(Thu 15th Nov 2007, 22:09, More)
» Sticking it to The Man
PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP - or how the vuvuzela ruined my weekend
I live in Cape Town. Right opposite the world's biggest toilet seat Cape Town Stadium. For said stadium to be built, seven sports fields and a golf course had to be bulldozed and approximately 50 million homeless had to be coaxed to put down their Crackling* and be moved to a less salubrious area for the duration. Sounds awfully familiar *coughapartheidchoke* but I digress.
When this whole World cup thing kicked off (see what I did there?) there were numerous restrictions placed on residents living around the stadium area. Among these
*No parking in the road before and after games
*No loitering on pavements before and after games (in other words, unless you're going to a match, fuck off back inside you cheap bastards)
*Residents are encouraged to vacate their premises during the tournament in order to facilitate housing (we want your house, and good luck getting anything out of us for it).
My housemates and I duly considered this situation, and decided that we'd comply, whatever, it's just a fucking game, right?
Until the tourists started in on local customs. Namely, the vuvuzela.
From June 11th, we've been subjected to a never-ending cacophony op retards and drunks playing the only note the Devil's FOghorn can play. From 6.30am to Pooflake-knows-when, we hear all the greatest hits:
6.30: PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP
9.30: PA PA PA PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRP
12.00: MEEP (Bafana had a shit game)
14.30: BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAART (Kuduzelas start)
20.30: PARP PARP PARP PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP (WE SCORED!!!!!! LADUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! PARPARPARPARPARPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP)
Revenge, as they say, is best served loudly.
MY mate Tiaan installs car audio in taxis. As those of you who have come to SA know, our minibus taxis are known for their ability to fit a primary school inside their clapped-out deathtraps and for their sound systems. One can hear these guys' bass (above the screams of his passengers) from about a KM away.
We built a rig consisting of 4 of the biggest fucking bassbins I've ever seen (here) coupled to a truck horn. We aimed this behemoth out of the window of our ground floor flat, pointing at the traffic lights.
Take 1: We have 4 young guys, drinking from cans of Castle and shouting at each other. THey have the horns. Good thing we have the horn for them!
Drunk aggro guy (DAG): Aweh BAFANA!!!! *PAAAAAARP
Us: OK then BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP
That's what it sounded like. Those guys just ran.
10 minutes later, the cops turned up and made us dismantle it. We were fined for disturbing the peace, and warned that next time we would be locked up.
So that's it, really. How the man stuck it (the vuvuzela) to us.
First serious (and vaguely coherent) post - *pop*
EDIT: Linky now fixed. Apologies :)
(Tue 22nd Jun 2010, 23:44, More)
PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP - or how the vuvuzela ruined my weekend
I live in Cape Town. Right opposite the world's biggest toilet seat Cape Town Stadium. For said stadium to be built, seven sports fields and a golf course had to be bulldozed and approximately 50 million homeless had to be coaxed to put down their Crackling* and be moved to a less salubrious area for the duration. Sounds awfully familiar *coughapartheidchoke* but I digress.
When this whole World cup thing kicked off (see what I did there?) there were numerous restrictions placed on residents living around the stadium area. Among these
*No parking in the road before and after games
*No loitering on pavements before and after games (in other words, unless you're going to a match, fuck off back inside you cheap bastards)
*Residents are encouraged to vacate their premises during the tournament in order to facilitate housing (we want your house, and good luck getting anything out of us for it).
My housemates and I duly considered this situation, and decided that we'd comply, whatever, it's just a fucking game, right?
Until the tourists started in on local customs. Namely, the vuvuzela.
From June 11th, we've been subjected to a never-ending cacophony op retards and drunks playing the only note the Devil's FOghorn can play. From 6.30am to Pooflake-knows-when, we hear all the greatest hits:
6.30: PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP
9.30: PA PA PA PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRP
12.00: MEEP (Bafana had a shit game)
14.30: BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAART (Kuduzelas start)
20.30: PARP PARP PARP PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP (WE SCORED!!!!!! LADUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! PARPARPARPARPARPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP)
Revenge, as they say, is best served loudly.
MY mate Tiaan installs car audio in taxis. As those of you who have come to SA know, our minibus taxis are known for their ability to fit a primary school inside their clapped-out deathtraps and for their sound systems. One can hear these guys' bass (above the screams of his passengers) from about a KM away.
We built a rig consisting of 4 of the biggest fucking bassbins I've ever seen (here) coupled to a truck horn. We aimed this behemoth out of the window of our ground floor flat, pointing at the traffic lights.
Take 1: We have 4 young guys, drinking from cans of Castle and shouting at each other. THey have the horns. Good thing we have the horn for them!
Drunk aggro guy (DAG): Aweh BAFANA!!!! *PAAAAAARP
Us: OK then BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP
That's what it sounded like. Those guys just ran.
10 minutes later, the cops turned up and made us dismantle it. We were fined for disturbing the peace, and warned that next time we would be locked up.
So that's it, really. How the man stuck it (the vuvuzela) to us.
First serious (and vaguely coherent) post - *pop*
EDIT: Linky now fixed. Apologies :)
(Tue 22nd Jun 2010, 23:44, More)
» Desperate Times
Any port in a storm
This is how I was banned from Verizon's data center in Cape Town:
They don't allow any sort of liquid in the data center - it makes sense, what if some crazed maniac was to throw water all over someone's servers? Anyway, so I got locked inside the colocation room (which has a 1" thick steel firedoor) and was desperate for a drink.
Eventually, I went to our rack, opened the water cooling unit and drank half the fluid in the reserve bottle (one of the joys of having built your own cooler is that you can build in an emergency reservoir).
They guy who filled it hadn't bothered to tell me that he had topped it up with antifreeze. Suffice it to say that when I eventually got out of there I shat liquid mud for three days.
Coincidentally, that was the day I was fired.
(Thu 15th Nov 2007, 15:30, More)
Any port in a storm
This is how I was banned from Verizon's data center in Cape Town:
They don't allow any sort of liquid in the data center - it makes sense, what if some crazed maniac was to throw water all over someone's servers? Anyway, so I got locked inside the colocation room (which has a 1" thick steel firedoor) and was desperate for a drink.
Eventually, I went to our rack, opened the water cooling unit and drank half the fluid in the reserve bottle (one of the joys of having built your own cooler is that you can build in an emergency reservoir).
They guy who filled it hadn't bothered to tell me that he had topped it up with antifreeze. Suffice it to say that when I eventually got out of there I shat liquid mud for three days.
Coincidentally, that was the day I was fired.
(Thu 15th Nov 2007, 15:30, More)
» Protest!
The Apple shop ran out of iPads.
I sat outside and repeatedly set myself on fire, all the while screeching invocations to Cthulhu, pleading him to drive all those inside insane. Eventually, with a wet 'schlurp' sound and a torrent of blood and faeces, the manager relented and gave me his personal, platinum-inlaid unit, pulling it violently from his rectum. Elated, I pranced home in a cloud of eldritch turpentine-smelling smoke, cradling my prize in my wizened claws. It felt amazing, having fought for a just cause and defeated the Man. Standing outside my home was a small crowd of indigents, holding handwritten signs protesting their eviction by the government. I kicked several of them out of the way and forced the door open. As I closed it, one of them grabbed me. His eyes streamed tears as he piteously begged me for shelter. I turned up the volume on my shiny toy and pulled the door to, severing his arm at the elbow. Fucking lower classes... Still, the claw-like hand makes a nice stand for my glittering porn appliance. On-on!
(Sat 13th Nov 2010, 15:54, More)
The Apple shop ran out of iPads.
I sat outside and repeatedly set myself on fire, all the while screeching invocations to Cthulhu, pleading him to drive all those inside insane. Eventually, with a wet 'schlurp' sound and a torrent of blood and faeces, the manager relented and gave me his personal, platinum-inlaid unit, pulling it violently from his rectum. Elated, I pranced home in a cloud of eldritch turpentine-smelling smoke, cradling my prize in my wizened claws. It felt amazing, having fought for a just cause and defeated the Man. Standing outside my home was a small crowd of indigents, holding handwritten signs protesting their eviction by the government. I kicked several of them out of the way and forced the door open. As I closed it, one of them grabbed me. His eyes streamed tears as he piteously begged me for shelter. I turned up the volume on my shiny toy and pulled the door to, severing his arm at the elbow. Fucking lower classes... Still, the claw-like hand makes a nice stand for my glittering porn appliance. On-on!
(Sat 13th Nov 2010, 15:54, More)