- Joined
- Feb 10, 2022
An extra $7000 to
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
- Mar 21, 2023
Man, I’m so sick of hearing/reading the term “Dunning-Kruger” as though it means anything more than “stupids don’t know they’re stupid”. Just get to the point brothers, and call him a moron. No need for pseudo-scientific names when you’re talking about a fat retard like Piggy.
- Joined
- Dec 13, 2019
We're all very sorry you should be going through this.
- Joined
- Sep 22, 2021
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2021
“Why us?!?”
Calls people pinprick loser lol pat could have a whole hog for a piece and his Little Dick Energy would still cancel it out. All penises are made equal no shame etc but his entire existence is what you’d get if you wanted a sitcom about a man who spends his life compensating for his small fountain penis.
Is it just me or is there like a homoerotic element to the way Patrick insists he’s being hUnTeD by an entire ecosystem of men and they’re all sooooo obsessed with me. He can’t stop screaming about it and everyone on Twitter seems bored with it. He’s literally acting like a woman in distress waiting for some big handsome prince to whisk him away to safety. The “No seriously guys! There’s so many big strong scary men out there hunting me, they’re absolutely obsessed with me! They won’t let it go!” tweets always sound like he wrote them with one hand down his pants. lol faggot.
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2022
Pat discovers moonlight:
Can someone confirm if that bike in the photo is his? The Pests said it was Nikki's but idk if that's a lesbian joke
Can someone confirm if that bike in the photo is his? The Pests said it was Nikki's but idk if that's a lesbian joke
Incel Death Note
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2023
11 AM in Milwaukee, 9 hours since Pat last tweeted. After a refreshing night's sleep he's up and attem, ready to get to work on that Tiny Tim novel so he can pay Lynne back but first, maybe he'll check Xitter real quick. Just for a minute.
- Joined
- Sep 6, 2019
You know what would be really interesting?
Take one of his books, summarize each chapter and have ChatGTP re-write them and see if it turns out better than Pat's original work.
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2020
Walrus and Carpenter 2.0
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2023
Look at how sweaty his hand is. "The Man That Dripped Grease."
Need4Sneed
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Oct 19, 2022
- Joined
- Jun 25, 2021
ran the first scene of starship repo through fatGPT
It was the first human ever to come through Junktion’s customs portal, at least so far as Pelax knew. He spotted the frail creature standing several beings deep in the queue, right behind an Ish mother with a brood of a dozen hatchlings playing on top of her carapace. The human reached out to try to pet one, only to get her finger pinched by a suspicious claw.
Pelax suppressed a chuckle. In the five years since their escape from containment, humans had quickly developed a reputation for sticking their digits where they didn’t belong. At least this time, a lesson was dispensed quickly. Being a professional, Pelax sat on his curiosity and dealt with the more mundane citizens quickly and efficiently until the human girl was next in line.
At least he was pretty sure she was a girl. He was hardly an expert. He waved her forward with a flipper. “ID and travel chit, please.”
The girl reached into a cheap cloth pouch slung over her shoulder and produced the required documents. Pelax took them and ran them through the authenticator. Orange meant they were genuine or such high-quality forgeries that she deserved to pass anyway. Then, Pelax looked at the name column.
“Firstname Lastname?”
“Yeah, I know,” the girl said. “It was a data-entry error. They keep saying it’ll get sorted out any day now. My real name is—”
Pelax held up a flipper. “For the duration of your visit to Junktion, your ‘real’ name is Firstname Lastname. It’s fitting, really. After all, you’re the first human I’ve met.” Pelax was not versed in human facial expressions, thus he was unsure if the complete rigidity was a sign of good humor.
“I’m not the first one to say that, am I?”
“Everyone says that. I almost said it before you just so I didn’t have to hear it again.”
“Okay, I get the point.”
Firstname bowed her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your, er, head off. It’s been a long couple of months. That is your head, right?”
Pelax rolled a flipper. “Port of origin?”
“PCB. Sorry, Proxima Centauri B. Earth space.”
“I meant the last Assembly spaceport you departed from.”
“Oh, um … Lacora, maybe? I was there long enough to pee and change transports.” She put her hands on the desk, then pointed with a finger. “What’s that box?”
Pelax glanced over along her line of inquiry. “It’s an authenticator. Please remove your hands and stand behind the yellow line.”
Firstname lifted her hands and stepped back. “Sorry, sorry. Can we move this along? I’m starving.”
Pelax ignored her plea and cross-referenced her travel chit’s internal log against Space Traffic Control’s flight records. Lacora was correct.
“And what is the nature of your visit to Junktion—business or pleasure?”
“I’m a refugee. We can’t afford much pleasure. I heard there’s work to be had on the docks. So I’m going to try to get some.”
“How old are you?” Pelax asked, even though the information was on her ID.
“Seventeen awake plus four frozen.”
Pelax grimaced. “What’s that in Assembly Standard Cycles?”
“Oh, um, I don’t know the conversion, sorry.”
The line behind them grew restless with the delay. Pelax knew he had to get the queue moving again or the rest of his shift would be spent with grumpy clients venting their frustrations and slowing the line further.
“Temporary visa granted for two weeks. That’s seventeen days.” Pelax stamped the approval into her ID and travel chit.
“That’s an odd number. How can it be two of anything?” First asked.
“Oh, you don’t know about Hole Day? Well, that’s something to look forward to. If you’ve found a job by the end of that time, bring proof of employment up to the immigration office and they’ll get you set up with a resident visa. Enjoy your stay at Junktion. Next!”
The human smiled at Pelax and grabbed her documents. It wouldn’t be until he closed his terminal and headed home he’d realize his wallet was missing.
Pelax suppressed a chuckle. In the five years since their escape from containment, humans had quickly developed a reputation for sticking their digits where they didn’t belong. At least this time, a lesson was dispensed quickly. Being a professional, Pelax sat on his curiosity and dealt with the more mundane citizens quickly and efficiently until the human girl was next in line.
At least he was pretty sure she was a girl. He was hardly an expert. He waved her forward with a flipper. “ID and travel chit, please.”
The girl reached into a cheap cloth pouch slung over her shoulder and produced the required documents. Pelax took them and ran them through the authenticator. Orange meant they were genuine or such high-quality forgeries that she deserved to pass anyway. Then, Pelax looked at the name column.
“Firstname Lastname?”
“Yeah, I know,” the girl said. “It was a data-entry error. They keep saying it’ll get sorted out any day now. My real name is—”
Pelax held up a flipper. “For the duration of your visit to Junktion, your ‘real’ name is Firstname Lastname. It’s fitting, really. After all, you’re the first human I’ve met.” Pelax was not versed in human facial expressions, thus he was unsure if the complete rigidity was a sign of good humor.
“I’m not the first one to say that, am I?”
“Everyone says that. I almost said it before you just so I didn’t have to hear it again.”
“Okay, I get the point.”
Firstname bowed her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your, er, head off. It’s been a long couple of months. That is your head, right?”
Pelax rolled a flipper. “Port of origin?”
“PCB. Sorry, Proxima Centauri B. Earth space.”
“I meant the last Assembly spaceport you departed from.”
“Oh, um … Lacora, maybe? I was there long enough to pee and change transports.” She put her hands on the desk, then pointed with a finger. “What’s that box?”
Pelax glanced over along her line of inquiry. “It’s an authenticator. Please remove your hands and stand behind the yellow line.”
Firstname lifted her hands and stepped back. “Sorry, sorry. Can we move this along? I’m starving.”
Pelax ignored her plea and cross-referenced her travel chit’s internal log against Space Traffic Control’s flight records. Lacora was correct.
“And what is the nature of your visit to Junktion—business or pleasure?”
“I’m a refugee. We can’t afford much pleasure. I heard there’s work to be had on the docks. So I’m going to try to get some.”
“How old are you?” Pelax asked, even though the information was on her ID.
“Seventeen awake plus four frozen.”
Pelax grimaced. “What’s that in Assembly Standard Cycles?”
“Oh, um, I don’t know the conversion, sorry.”
The line behind them grew restless with the delay. Pelax knew he had to get the queue moving again or the rest of his shift would be spent with grumpy clients venting their frustrations and slowing the line further.
“Temporary visa granted for two weeks. That’s seventeen days.” Pelax stamped the approval into her ID and travel chit.
“That’s an odd number. How can it be two of anything?” First asked.
“Oh, you don’t know about Hole Day? Well, that’s something to look forward to. If you’ve found a job by the end of that time, bring proof of employment up to the immigration office and they’ll get you set up with a resident visa. Enjoy your stay at Junktion. Next!”
The human smiled at Pelax and grabbed her documents. It wouldn’t be until he closed his terminal and headed home he’d realize his wallet was missing.
My quick synopsis
A young girl, named Firstname Lastname (17), arrives on a space station named Junktion. She is the first human to ever visit Junktion. She is in the customs queue, surrounded by curious alien beings. She reaches the customs agent, a strange Manatee type alien with fins named Pelax, and has a long conversation about her travel. She is a refugee, from Proxima Centauri B. She is here looking for work. After some conversation, the customs agent grants her a temporary visa. The scene ends with her stealing his wallet.
The result:
The air was thick with anticipation as Firstname Lastname stepped off the transport pod onto the bustling Junktion Space Station. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before - a cacophony of colors, sounds, and smells that assaulted her senses, all melding together in a dizzying blur. As she made her way through the crowded corridors towards Customs, she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the curiosity of the alien species surrounding her. Each one seemed to study her intently, their eyes locked on her with unblinking gazes, making her skin prickle with unease. But she refused to let fear win; after all, this was where she needed to be. This was her chance to start fresh, to build a new life away from the war-torn planet of Proxima Centauri B.
As she approached the queue, she noticed a peculiar creature standing guard - a manatee-like alien with scaly green flesh and webbed hands, its head cocked quizzically as if waiting for her arrival. Its name was Pelax, and despite his odd appearance, something about him seemed familiar. Perhaps it was the way he held himself, confident yet approachable, or maybe it was just the warmth in his smile that welcomed her. Either way, she knew they were meant to meet.
Firstname greeted Pelax with a nod, her voice shaking slightly as she introduced herself. " I'm Firstname," she said, trying to keep her accent under control. "I've come from faraway."
"Welcome to Junktion, Firstname," Pelax replied, his voice deep and soothing. "We're glad you're here. We don't see many humans around these parts. What brings you to our little corner of the galaxy?"
"Work," she answered quickly, hoping to avoid suspicion. "I need a job to survive."
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And why should I trust you? You look like you've been through hell and back."
She hesitated, then confessed, "My homeworld is destroyed. My family dead. I have nowhere else to go."
His expression softened, and she saw genuine concern in his eyes. "That's sad news. But I believe in giving everyone a fair shot. Show me your travel papers."
Firstname handed over her identification card, relieved when Pelax examined it carefully. His fingers traced each line and stamp, checking for authenticity. Finally, he looked up at her again, his face breaking into a gentle smile. "You're approved. Welcome to stay temporarily until you find employment."
Firstname smiled back, grateful beyond measure. Her heart swelled with relief, tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you!"
But before she could thank him properly, Pelax pulled out a small object from his pocket and placed it in hers. A wallet. "Here, take this. Don't forget to pay it forward when you land your next gig."
Confused, she took the wallet, feeling a twinge of guilt. "What's this for?"
"It's a welcome gift," Pelax explained. "Junktionians share what they can spare. Take care of others along the way. And remember, there's always someone watching out for you here."
With that, Firstname walked away, lost in thoughts of what fate had brought her to this place, and the kindness of strangers who helped her along the way.
As she approached the queue, she noticed a peculiar creature standing guard - a manatee-like alien with scaly green flesh and webbed hands, its head cocked quizzically as if waiting for her arrival. Its name was Pelax, and despite his odd appearance, something about him seemed familiar. Perhaps it was the way he held himself, confident yet approachable, or maybe it was just the warmth in his smile that welcomed her. Either way, she knew they were meant to meet.
Firstname greeted Pelax with a nod, her voice shaking slightly as she introduced herself. " I'm Firstname," she said, trying to keep her accent under control. "I've come from faraway."
"Welcome to Junktion, Firstname," Pelax replied, his voice deep and soothing. "We're glad you're here. We don't see many humans around these parts. What brings you to our little corner of the galaxy?"
"Work," she answered quickly, hoping to avoid suspicion. "I need a job to survive."
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And why should I trust you? You look like you've been through hell and back."
She hesitated, then confessed, "My homeworld is destroyed. My family dead. I have nowhere else to go."
His expression softened, and she saw genuine concern in his eyes. "That's sad news. But I believe in giving everyone a fair shot. Show me your travel papers."
Firstname handed over her identification card, relieved when Pelax examined it carefully. His fingers traced each line and stamp, checking for authenticity. Finally, he looked up at her again, his face breaking into a gentle smile. "You're approved. Welcome to stay temporarily until you find employment."
Firstname smiled back, grateful beyond measure. Her heart swelled with relief, tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you!"
But before she could thank him properly, Pelax pulled out a small object from his pocket and placed it in hers. A wallet. "Here, take this. Don't forget to pay it forward when you land your next gig."
Confused, she took the wallet, feeling a twinge of guilt. "What's this for?"
"It's a welcome gift," Pelax explained. "Junktionians share what they can spare. Take care of others along the way. And remember, there's always someone watching out for you here."
With that, Firstname walked away, lost in thoughts of what fate had brought her to this place, and the kindness of strangers who helped her along the way.
The dialogue is pretty rough but it's not like Pat's dialogue is much better. It also made Firstname less "quirky" which is an improvement imo.
edit: Actually using ChatGPT instead of my local model:
Well, well, well, if it isn't Firstname Lastname, the first human to grace the hallowed halls of Junktion. Don't bother with the fanfare, kid, we've seen it all here. Name's Pelax, and I'm the lucky manatee behind the customs desk. You're a long way from Proxima Centauri B, aren't you?
Firstname shifted on her feet, her eyes wide as she took in the kaleidoscope of alien species surrounding her. Some were towering, others oozing, a few even floated through the air like sentient gas clouds. She cleared her throat, feeling very small indeed.
"Um, yes. I mean, you're right. I've come a long way. It's an honor to be here." She offered a shaky smile, hoping it didn't make her look like a lunatic.
"Honor? Kid, this is Junktion. If you're looking for a parade, you're in the wrong quadrant. What's your purpose for being here?" Pelax's tone was matter-of-fact, his fin-like appendages fluttering as he reviewed her documents.
"I'm a refugee. My home... it's not safe anymore. I'm looking for work, a fresh start."
Pelax's eyes—well, what she assumed were his eyes—regarded her for a moment before he let out a low, rumbling chuckle. "A refugee, eh? Seems like we're the galaxy's lost and found these days."
Firstname swallowed the lump in her throat. "I just want a chance."
Pelax's lips curled into something akin to a smile. "We've all got a story, kid. You're not the first one to seek solace in the stars. Here, take this." He handed her a small, sleek device. "Temporary visa. It'll let you move about Junktion for a couple of months, find your footing. Don't cause any trouble, or I won't hesitate to have you shipped back to wherever you came from."
"Thank you," she breathed, clutching the device as if it were her last lifeline.
"Just remember, human, this isn't some heroic journey. You're just another speck in the grand cosmic mess. Don't let your hopes get too high." Pelax's voice held a strange blend of cynicism and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on.
As she turned to leave, her heart pounding with equal parts excitement and trepidation, she caught sight of Pelax's wallet sitting innocently on his desk. A mischievous grin tugged at her lips as she scooped it up, her fingers trembling with adrenaline.
"Oh, and Pelax," she said, feigning innocence, "you dropped this."
Pelax blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly, but before he could react, she turned on her heel and slipped into the bustling crowd.
If he noticed the wallet's absence, he didn't give chase. It was a small victory, one she clung to as she ventured further into the heart of Junktion, ready to carve out her own place among the stars, regardless of how insignificant it might seem.
Firstname shifted on her feet, her eyes wide as she took in the kaleidoscope of alien species surrounding her. Some were towering, others oozing, a few even floated through the air like sentient gas clouds. She cleared her throat, feeling very small indeed.
"Um, yes. I mean, you're right. I've come a long way. It's an honor to be here." She offered a shaky smile, hoping it didn't make her look like a lunatic.
"Honor? Kid, this is Junktion. If you're looking for a parade, you're in the wrong quadrant. What's your purpose for being here?" Pelax's tone was matter-of-fact, his fin-like appendages fluttering as he reviewed her documents.
"I'm a refugee. My home... it's not safe anymore. I'm looking for work, a fresh start."
Pelax's eyes—well, what she assumed were his eyes—regarded her for a moment before he let out a low, rumbling chuckle. "A refugee, eh? Seems like we're the galaxy's lost and found these days."
Firstname swallowed the lump in her throat. "I just want a chance."
Pelax's lips curled into something akin to a smile. "We've all got a story, kid. You're not the first one to seek solace in the stars. Here, take this." He handed her a small, sleek device. "Temporary visa. It'll let you move about Junktion for a couple of months, find your footing. Don't cause any trouble, or I won't hesitate to have you shipped back to wherever you came from."
"Thank you," she breathed, clutching the device as if it were her last lifeline.
"Just remember, human, this isn't some heroic journey. You're just another speck in the grand cosmic mess. Don't let your hopes get too high." Pelax's voice held a strange blend of cynicism and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on.
As she turned to leave, her heart pounding with equal parts excitement and trepidation, she caught sight of Pelax's wallet sitting innocently on his desk. A mischievous grin tugged at her lips as she scooped it up, her fingers trembling with adrenaline.
"Oh, and Pelax," she said, feigning innocence, "you dropped this."
Pelax blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly, but before he could react, she turned on her heel and slipped into the bustling crowd.
If he noticed the wallet's absence, he didn't give chase. It was a small victory, one she clung to as she ventured further into the heart of Junktion, ready to carve out her own place among the stars, regardless of how insignificant it might seem.
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- Joined
- Sep 9, 2021
Patrick claims (fatly) that all his stalkers are going to enjoy prison. Is this likely?
Well, for comparison, there were about 800 arrests in the January 6th investigation, which is the largest criminal investigation in US history. Hundreds, or potentially thousands, of people being not merely arrested, but charged, tried and convicted for taunting Patrick would mean that he had convinced the federal government that one obese man being annoyed by tweets is more important than any crime in US history, including the 9/11 attacks.
Well, for comparison, there were about 800 arrests in the January 6th investigation, which is the largest criminal investigation in US history. Hundreds, or potentially thousands, of people being not merely arrested, but charged, tried and convicted for taunting Patrick would mean that he had convinced the federal government that one obese man being annoyed by tweets is more important than any crime in US history, including the 9/11 attacks.
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- Joined
- Jul 8, 2020
Good sir that claim is quite preposterous. Would you also claim him to be a rather portly fellow? Humbug! You appear to be quite obsessed and unhealthily following this innocent family man.
- Joined
- Sep 22, 2021
Coming at it completely cold (I haven’t read any Tomlinson stuff before) : the Pat version is better written and more interesting. Sorry!
- Joined
- May 21, 2020
Dipshit had to sell his bike. I'd be tempted to buy it if I didn't know that the Fat probably fucked up the transmission by being stupid and the suspension from being fat.
A Tomlinson never pays their debts.
Edit: not the same bike. Dan led me astray. Patrick is still fat.
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- Joined
- Apr 19, 2022
Sorry to burst your bubble but iirc Pat once posted his odometer and it was 6666 miles. This is close but not quite there. Not sure why Dan is reporting it as sold. I've seen no online filings either.
- Joined
- Mar 23, 2022
Lots of people have become attached to the word midwit but in Ricks case he's a legitimate old school dimwit.
This reminded me of Ricks submission to the court where he complained that he wasn't given a second chance after he failed to turn up to the debtors exam, the way he wrote it came off like a scorned woman wondering why the guy she liked didn't chase after her.
- Joined
- Aug 22, 2022
Wrong again on every little delusional detail, stalker. That's not from my skin, that's from the artisanal cured meats I've been making in my basement. Enjoy prison.
- Joined
- May 21, 2020
That's a bummer. I'm looking at the picture closer and I can see the gauges are different. Quasi probably wouldn't want a used 4x Triumph tshirt anyway.