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

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Well, I've finished the thread (I'll leave my bookmark at the howler monkeys) and I just want to say: that'll do pig.

Excelent work gentlemen. Kiwis, Brothermen, Null, Quasi, everyone. Everyone gets a car. If I had to single out one high point it would be the story collection In the Fat. Funny I mentioned comedy/tragedy in my first post and the structure there is exactly the same as Greek drama (different takes on a canonical legend and you have to know the lore beforehand in order to read it) except comic instead of tragic. It's nothing less than a crime that we can't get their Tiny Tim story now. Think of how much literature exists for no other reason than making fun of some other asshole but Patso is aligned with our rotten censorship regime so he just gets to shut everything down.
 
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JustStopDude said:
I still chuckle when I think about Pat on that podcast, trying to argue that he lost the lawsuit on a technicality, and then referred to section 230.

That's like me doing time for fire bombing a house and when someone asks me why, I say the same and then reference the criminal statute for arson.
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Wrong, atalker. The arson statute would have something to do with why you're in prison. Section 230 had nothing to do with Rick's lawsuit. He lost on the "technicality" that it was frivolous based both on the current statutes and on centuries of the common law, he borderline failed to state a claim. Even if he had obtained the identities of the Does, his failing to do so not being related to Section 230, he would have just been filing more frivolous suits he would have lost on the same "technicalities" except in perhaps a rare case involving the absurdities of the legal system. Pat ran into Section 230 only because he thought he could break Quasi with a frivolous lawsuit and "negotiate" to a settlement where Quasi turned snitch. Enjoy prison.
 
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God it’s amazing how good Pat is at being dead wrong almost 100 percent of the time.

His beloved New York Times led the “hospital bombed by Israel” hoax and even got busted (by Twitter addict Yashar Ali) for using a picture of a completely different location to illustrate the story. Pat’s Democrat heroes like Tlaib were still repeating the debunked story to crowds and on television hours afterward. And this is somehow Elon Musk’s fault?

I swear when this nigger stubs his toe he screams at Elon Musk. Pat is profoundly disturbed on both mental and emotional levels.
 
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Pepperonified said:
What's the story on the Triumph? It was missing right after Quasi got paid, but then he tweeted a picture of it stating that it was in the repair shop. Also a local brotherman spotted it parked behind his hovel. Did something change?
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Alright, I'll take the Oopsie Doodles on that one. I never believed the "it's in the shop" story because like you said, it was missing pretty much right after A24*. But here's a more recent Owen thread about it.

*A24 is the Tomlinson version of J6. All of us who entered the courthouse to protest the steal, I mean, squeal; we're all going to prison.

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OtherLastTrainHome said:
a few months back i made a joke just like this and @Wodanaz's reply still sticks with me. no joke, i genuinely think back on it from time to time and it hasn't stopped being funny to me.

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Porcine, he was. My gaze was drawn by the flaps of meat that hung under his arms. When he raised them to gesticulate at me, the fatty flesh formed a fascinating flourish which foretold a frisson of foreboding in my frontal lobe.

"For the last time, stalker, I am not fat."
His voice was high and reedy. The squeal of a pig.

I stared in amazement at this specimen of pure meat and gristle instead of replying to his weak protest. He lowered his head and I knew that he would charge soon. Such a crushing insult to his pride could not be borne. I began to recite the Lord's Prayer under my breath.

The creature started to advance, but his gait was so wobbly and unbalanced that it was a simple matter for me to sidestep his clumsy lunge. As his grasping fingers missed my arm, he stumbled and fell to the ground. A noxious fart escaped this misshapen hominid, birthing a miasma of truly awful sensation.

He struggled in the mud, churning it in a fury, somehow seeming more at home on the ground than he had standing on his own two legs. I began to seriously consider, for the first time in my life, the chain of evolution that Charles Darwin had studied on a select few islands. Perhaps this abomination before me represented a missing link? So many questions.

No time for that now, as the beast rose to stand erect once more. He seemed completely out of breath, and I marveled at the way his stomach expanded contracted as he gasped and heaved. He now resembled nothing so much as a cross between a bullfrog and a swine, somehow managing to twist the most hideous aspects of each animal into one deformed body.

I desperately wished for some kind of recording equipment, so that I could study this creature later in relative safety. But somehow I knew that there would be no safe place remaining for me on this earth, now that he had promised to see me in prison. Such a hideous soul consumed by so much rage and malice was not to be taken lightly. I prepared myself for what I had to do.
 
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So many questions. Each ran through my mind as I wrestled with the beast. What was "atalker"? Why did he hate the one called Quasi? And what was in that special pepperoni, which I had tasted on that fateful night, so many moons ago? Desire for the truth had brought me to this, but now the only thing I could do was struggle for my life as the beast sought my death.

He was powerful, weighing nearly five hundred pounds, but his strength was illusory. His muscles were long since atrophied and covered by many thick layers of fat. I was fortunate - if he possessed even a fraction of the strength he claimed, I surely would have been killed within moments. As it happened, he exerted little control over his mass, making him easy to topple.

A blow to his legs sent him reeling. The feeling of his flesh was strange, somehow less solid than I expected. Regardless, I seized my chance and leapt upon him. Raising my fist, I sunk it into his face, intending to beat the life from him.

My hand sunk into his head completely. I could feel no bone where the skull ought to be. A distinct feeling of dread started to creep over my spine as the beast writhed, bucking me off in an instant. The surge of power I felt in that movement was staggering, and the sticky residue that clung to my hand as it was sucked free of his head made me gag.

"Stalker child! "
The roar of the beast, now stoked to a mighty anger. I had underestimated it. This thing was not fully human.

The transformation was slow and grotesque. The eyes darkened and fused over its nose, which had swollen to the size of a melon. The cyclopean gaze presented nothing but hatred for me as its limbs elongated and seemed to take on the aspects of a tentacle. A black tail with a wicked spike protruded from behind, the tip coated in a toxic green poison. Short grey fur sprouted from its hide, rank and matted. Fangs grew and split the beast's lips as they filled the mouth from ear to ear. A sickening smile.

The truth was too dangerous. That old web forum had warned me, but I was foolish enough to think I could master the beast.
 
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Plaintiff had a 1.7 gpa said:
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I love how, even in art made by (presumably non-Patposting ) AI, Rick's size and weight won't stop growing. At the beginning of this series, he is enormous, but not TOO big: his knees are just above average human height, and his face about the size of a person or two. As the panels progress, he gets visibly larger and more repulsive, until the last one, where he is covered in tears, snot and slobber, and it takes tens of Stalker Children just to cover his jowls.
 
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Gentlebastard said:
I love how, even in art made by (presumably non-Patposting ) AI, Rick's size and weight won't stop growing. At the beginning of this series, he is enormous, but not TOO big: his knees are just above average human height, and his face about the size of a person or two. As the panels progress, he gets visibly larger and more repulsive, until the last one, where he is covered in tears, snot and slobber, and it takes tens of Stalker Children just to cover his jowls.
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And that's why the machines will win. Plus they're immune to prison.
 
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