- Joined
- Sep 10, 2020
Rick claims to owe Quasi nothing, and Swingin' Door is much further away from the half-hovel than Hooli's, @GamerGateSurvivor, child. I'm sorry you're so stupid.
Patrick Sean Tomlinson / @stealthygeek / "Torque Wheeler" / @RealAutomanic / Kempesh / Padawan v2.5 - "Conservative" sci-fi author with TDS, armed "drunk with anger management issues" and terminated parental rights, actual tough guy, obese, paid Quasi, paid thousands to be repeatedly unbanned from Twitter
- Thread starter Caverlock
- Start date
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2021
Maybe Niki drops him off there when she's on her way to her mom's to beg for money. He's surely made himself unwelcome at her mom's since he's such a fat abrasive workshy deadbeat, so she drops him off with 20 bucks and his smartphone, maybe his fascist-killing laptop too, if he wants to pretend to work.
- Joined
- Feb 16, 2021
He wouldn't even need ghosts. It could be a perfectly ordinary hotel during the Winter season and he'd lose his marbles the minute his phone lost signal and he couldn't tweet his every fat thought, every waking minute of the day.
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2021
There wouldn't be a child around if it were Pat.
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2020
It's not every day someone actually Bix Noods at you, savor it. And that man has won awards for his writing and editing which only hammers home the fact how much of a token he is.
- Joined
- Dec 12, 2022
I'm starting to see this guy for the first time since Porky Pig, aka Shane Nokes is his orbiter.
Why does he say "Enjoy prison, stalker" in his tweets? It's like a retarded tic to deal with people or something?
Why does he say "Enjoy prison, stalker" in his tweets? It's like a retarded tic to deal with people or something?
- Joined
- Mar 23, 2022
He's convinced himself that everyone who laughs at him and calls him fat on the internet has actually broken the law and every single person is responsible for whatever Rick says they are including swatting and bomb threats.
One of the funniest was a twitter user called Prison Enjoyer which pretty much went,
Rick "enjoy prison, stalker"
Prison Enjoyer "I will"
Rick "No, you won't"
It also shows just how much the ONA folks have gotten to him over the years, he used to just condescendingly child everyone "No, child, you didn't. And yes, child, I did."
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2020
Pour one out for prison enjoyer, we lost a real one.
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2019
My personal interpretation is that he believes the reason his court case whatever did not go the way he planned it in his little piggy brain is that he accidentally engaged too much with the sTalkerchild; so that by sticking to a defined repertoire that any day now it will go his way.
But he can't actually not reply because that would let the idiots win, or something. Definition of seething.
- Joined
- Oct 7, 2020
I think Curly Bill hit a nerve...
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2021
It’s his coping mechanism. When he tweets this, he’s doing the following
1) signaling to his followers that he’s so important he has stalkers
2) signaling to his followers that he’s witty and tough enough to confront these stalkers
3) scratching that itch of compulsion, he can’t not respond, that would be letting the idiots win and his followers will think he’s not manly enough. He’s manly btw, so manly that his geek tendencies are stealthy.
See?! MANLY. he’s quite confident in his masculinity, that’s why he mentions it so much!
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2020
- Joined
- Mar 23, 2022
I can't help but read Ricks tweets in his overly effeminate gay childing voice. (Maude Snew beat me to it)
- Joined
- May 20, 2020
"[...]
Dick Hallorann, sweating in the heat of his Floridian kitchen, felt the disturbing scream for help coming from the Overlook even at this distance. It was made all the more disturbing by the fact that the hotel itself seemed to be calling for aid and felt, in spite of its decades of unresting malice and guile, indignant and helpless. It must be that fat new caretaker; the man's mind was, even in the fine Autumn afternoon they had met, full of nothing but undirected fury, the fear of a perpetual prey, self delusion, and a niggling hunger for pepperoni.
Dreading the upcoming conversation, Hallorann used a lull in activity to run to the kitchen's phone and sneak a call to Mr. Ullman, and was surprised to find him in a similarly worried disposition: Tomlinson had failed to contact him a single time so far. This was expected as the real Winter began and the phone lines went down, but Boulder had yet to see snowfall, let alone the blanketing frost that awaited at the season's heart. Hallorann agreed to contact the Ranger station near the hotel and ask for a check on the unpleasantly plump caretaker, as the manager was seen in the city as little more than an useful nuisance.
Tom Staunton was glad for the task, as it would take him away from his boss, and into a long, silent drive on a brisk Fall morning. Arriving at the Overlook, he was assaulted by a vivid childhood memory, and stood shaking, doorknob in hand, as his five year-old self cowered at the sight of an ewe fending off a wild dog to protect her lamb at his uncle's farm. After regaining his composure, Staunton entered the hotel's lobby, and was greeted by the girthy, sweat-sodden sight of Patrick Tomlinson. Still in the clothes he had arrived in a week prior, Patrick dragged himself across the floor, squashing his bitch tits, as he drew little squares and wrote a few dozen words in each of them, smirking smugly to himself as he finished each one. The walls, up until where Patrick's pudgy arms could reach them, were also covered in the same arcane chicken scratch, in pen and pencil.
'Mr. Patrick Tomlinson? I'm Thomas Staunton, Park Ranger. I was asked to see if everything was ok here. You have not contacted Mr. Ullman since the hotel closed down for the season, so he was worried about you.'
'Go away, child. Everything is under control, the stalkers will not defeat me. I'm the peak of masculinity, and there is no task too arduous for me; taking care of an empty hotel is a piece of cake for a genius (and a genius handyman) such as myself.'
'Ok, sir. May I ask why you're writing on the walls and floor? I don't think the owners would be pleased to return and find their walls and floor covered in scribbles.'
'These are not scribbles, child. I'm adding to this place's value by embedding it with my genial writing. In a few years, you'll be able to say that you witnessed the creation of one of mankind's greatest literary works.'
'I am not so sure about that, sir. I'll have to call Mr Ullman and check if he's ok with this.'
'Do as you will, stalker. But let me know when you're done, I'll have to call the police and have you imprisoned for felonious interruption of a masterpiece's creation.'
'Sir, that's enough. Please get up, I'll take you to Boulder, and there we'll call Mr. Ullman and see what to make of this mess.'
'No, stalker, it is not. And no, stalker, I will not, you will not, and we will not.'
'Alright, this is it.'
After a brief struggle to close his handcuffs around Patrick's hams, Staunton dragged him to Boulder's police station. There, he called Hallorann to tell him what happened, and had a good laugh when Ullman arrived, fuming, to solve the mess before the roads closed. The end."
Dick Hallorann, sweating in the heat of his Floridian kitchen, felt the disturbing scream for help coming from the Overlook even at this distance. It was made all the more disturbing by the fact that the hotel itself seemed to be calling for aid and felt, in spite of its decades of unresting malice and guile, indignant and helpless. It must be that fat new caretaker; the man's mind was, even in the fine Autumn afternoon they had met, full of nothing but undirected fury, the fear of a perpetual prey, self delusion, and a niggling hunger for pepperoni.
Dreading the upcoming conversation, Hallorann used a lull in activity to run to the kitchen's phone and sneak a call to Mr. Ullman, and was surprised to find him in a similarly worried disposition: Tomlinson had failed to contact him a single time so far. This was expected as the real Winter began and the phone lines went down, but Boulder had yet to see snowfall, let alone the blanketing frost that awaited at the season's heart. Hallorann agreed to contact the Ranger station near the hotel and ask for a check on the unpleasantly plump caretaker, as the manager was seen in the city as little more than an useful nuisance.
Tom Staunton was glad for the task, as it would take him away from his boss, and into a long, silent drive on a brisk Fall morning. Arriving at the Overlook, he was assaulted by a vivid childhood memory, and stood shaking, doorknob in hand, as his five year-old self cowered at the sight of an ewe fending off a wild dog to protect her lamb at his uncle's farm. After regaining his composure, Staunton entered the hotel's lobby, and was greeted by the girthy, sweat-sodden sight of Patrick Tomlinson. Still in the clothes he had arrived in a week prior, Patrick dragged himself across the floor, squashing his bitch tits, as he drew little squares and wrote a few dozen words in each of them, smirking smugly to himself as he finished each one. The walls, up until where Patrick's pudgy arms could reach them, were also covered in the same arcane chicken scratch, in pen and pencil.
'Mr. Patrick Tomlinson? I'm Thomas Staunton, Park Ranger. I was asked to see if everything was ok here. You have not contacted Mr. Ullman since the hotel closed down for the season, so he was worried about you.'
'Go away, child. Everything is under control, the stalkers will not defeat me. I'm the peak of masculinity, and there is no task too arduous for me; taking care of an empty hotel is a piece of cake for a genius (and a genius handyman) such as myself.'
'Ok, sir. May I ask why you're writing on the walls and floor? I don't think the owners would be pleased to return and find their walls and floor covered in scribbles.'
'These are not scribbles, child. I'm adding to this place's value by embedding it with my genial writing. In a few years, you'll be able to say that you witnessed the creation of one of mankind's greatest literary works.'
'I am not so sure about that, sir. I'll have to call Mr Ullman and check if he's ok with this.'
'Do as you will, stalker. But let me know when you're done, I'll have to call the police and have you imprisoned for felonious interruption of a masterpiece's creation.'
'Sir, that's enough. Please get up, I'll take you to Boulder, and there we'll call Mr. Ullman and see what to make of this mess.'
'No, stalker, it is not. And no, stalker, I will not, you will not, and we will not.'
'Alright, this is it.'
After a brief struggle to close his handcuffs around Patrick's hams, Staunton dragged him to Boulder's police station. There, he called Hallorann to tell him what happened, and had a good laugh when Ullman arrived, fuming, to solve the mess before the roads closed. The end."
Last edited:
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2019
I would be curious to see what gender random strangers think this person is if you cut out everything else except this:
Very womanly hands (that he is very sensitive about) coupled with the posture and at least C-cups. What a survey that would be!
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2020
That's a man's watch and ring though and you can tell the nipples shamefully point to the outside. Now if you'll excuse me, I need eye bleach.
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2019
Fixed that for you.
In other news, about 30 kids have gone missing in the Cleveland area over the last month or so. Is Pat expanding his pepperoni empire?
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2020
"Waiter, give me the most autistic dish you have."
Gigasneed
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Feb 20, 2019
I get it now!
Wow, it took me years to finally understand that was the intended meaning behind his username, I really lack the towering intellect of our 1.2 GPA piglet. To my credit it didn't help that all of his supposed manly tendencies are hidden behind two big (fat) bitch tits and a manner of speaking/attitude more effeminate than most gay men.