Copypasta thread - Mmmm pasta

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you fool. you absolute buffoon. you think you can challenge me in my own realm? you think you can rebel against my authority? you dare come into my house and upturn my dining chairs and spill coffee grounds in my Keurig? you thought you were safe in your chain mail armor behind that screen of yours. I will take these laminate wood floor boards and destroy you. I didn’t want war. but i didn’t start it.
 
He shows up to challenge you when you have just done something great and are worn down.

You are standing second in line for your brand new Wii console. There is one left on the shelf and guess who's right in front of you? GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK.

You have just been rewarded with your Masters Degree in Cancer Research. In ten minutes you are going to have an interview to get the job of a lifetime with a six digit salary. You'll be able to pay off your student loans no problem. You flip on the TV right before you leave and what do you see? GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK has just found the cure for cancer.

You're training on Route 22 for Brock's Gym, your Pokémon are tired, and who do you see? GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK.

You just beat Lance, the last one of the Elite Four, with all of your revives and healing items used up and being almost raped by his onslaught of shitting dick nipples. In the middle of jamming the A-button, he says you WOULD be the champion, but who has to be in the next room that's so bare it's epic? GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK.

It's 1997 and you're downloading Pokémon porn on your 56k modem. Oh boy, this zip file full of Misty nudes only has 10 minutes left. You've been waiting six hours for this. When the file gets to 99.9%, you start unzipping your pants and are getting ready for the fap of your life. At that moment, guess who picks up the phone and disconnects you? GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK.

You have just fended off a shark, you are bloody and tired but you can climb onto the boat when who shows up to stomp your fingers? GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK.

You're on the Titanic, its sinking, you're in the lifeboat, its the last one and there is only room for one more person, who takes the last seat? GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK.

You and your girlfriend (both virgins) are ready to have sex for the first time. At the moment you get nude and horny and ready to bang your bitch, GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK already took away her virginity. Good luck getting another virgin from CraigList.

Congratulations, You have finally beaten Gary Oak and have no healing items left over. You head over to the Pokemon center and then the PokeMart, guess who blocks the entrance to the Pokemart. GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK That's Right, Gary Oak is just that Epic

You and your wife have been trying to have kids for a while now. It turns out, you're infertile. You go to a sperm clinic, and have your wife artificially inseminated. 18 years later, your son is finally told that you are not his biological father. GUESS WHO IS!

You're walking home at night and a nigger attacks you with a knife. You are able to drive him off using years of karate lessons, still sustaining some deep knife wounds. Guess who shows up and asks you for your wallet with a baseball bat? GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK, that's who.

Gary Oak just finished owning your ass with kung-fu. He's walking to the hospital to recover from the wounds he got. He's tired. He crashes into a mirror, and ends up in a coma. Why? Because not even GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK is safe from GARY MOTHERFUCKING OAK.
 
Many people are beginning to come around about Tor, finally, but the real reason is so damned strange in it's simpleness that most people have a difficult time accepting it.

And believe it or not, much of that reason has to do with simple high school algebra. All that stuff about having to indentify and control the proper exit nodes in sequence has always been a bunch of bullshit, and it won't be long before open-source software will enable almost anyone to crack it. The even wackier part is that each grid location (IP/device) being compromised statistically weakens the security of unrelated, as-yet-uncompromised network locations.

The intelligence gathering potential of tools that solve problems like Tor node abstraction makes it so valuable that the powers-that-be don't want to blow their whole wad chasing wanna-be-ghosts, dope dealers and pedos.

Think of the whole concept of cracking Tor as a gigantic algebraic math problem. In algebra, the largest number of unknown variable solvable in any single equation is 5, and only 5, not matter what equation is constructed.

Now, think of these 5 variables as numbers representing processes that interact mathematically in such a way that the progress from one to the other just like links in a chain.

Or traffic in a network.

So the largest number of solvable variables in any single equation is 5, with an unlimited number of additional variables that may incorporated with the eqation as it unfolds, i.e. sort of like continually solving and continually adding to an equation at the same rate, so that there are always 5 unique variables, or known IP/device metada, to work with.

Now comes the interesting part.

Imagine that there are a very large number of equations that have the same variables that other equations do, BOTH known AND UNKNOWN.... this is the important part.

Now, in algebra, the most efficient way to solve a polynomial equation is to work both sides of the equation simultaneously... think 'inputs' and 'outputs'. These often have compatible variables on both sides, so in that case the fastest and most efficient way to solve for it is to 'cancel out' or 'merge' your variable. This simplifies the equation, coming closer to the solution. This mathematical analogy is at the very core of the matter.

Additionally, you could also be working on two different problems simultaneously. They may be related problems, or completely unrelated problems, or maybe this too is uncertain. However, IF they share the same variable (think device ID, geolocation data, etc), it is often possible to abstractly extend these problems "deep", as in, using related variables to merge seperate equations as subsets of one another linked by the SAME variables. Whether they have been solved for yet or not isn't important, only that in our analogy we use collected metadata, or known information about other information, to perform a bit of mathematical wizardry in our equation.

The metadata tells us which equations, or interacting processes are related, and then a statistical software calculation automatically attempts to solve both equations coterminously by narrowing down the range of possible shared variables(cont)

The factor that makes the previously mentioned process possible, AND ideal, is time itself.

As time progresses, data and flow rates change across any network. Various kinds of authentication is performed and various kinds of information is rerouted to various places. This behavior is what links some factors, both known and unknown, across multiple equations, i.e., network traffic.

The last part is the creepy part though.

This information may be solved for and reassembled into a computational table of sorts, which we must use to cross-reference variables from separate equations with their known outputs in our computational table.

This table may be 2- , 3- or 4-dimensional in construction. A 2D table would look similar to a multiplication table from an elementary school math book. A 3D table would look like a cube who's volume represents the sum total of data contained with it, and who have 3 axes (x/y/z) that converge on a single output, just like our 2D table has 2 axes (x/y). Our 4D table is identical to our 3D table, except it runs as a changing simulation in real time, with different inputs and outpus altering the "volume" and nature of data contained within it. In otherwords, our 4D table takes changes in network topography into account, while our 3D and 2D tables do not.

First, you start with simplest table, a 2D table. This is not just because it is the simplest, but because it is where we store data that doesn't take the Time Element and the User Element into consideration. It is the data collected first, consisting of both known and possible network addresses as one kind (known data is entered into our table as numbers, while unknown data is ALSO entered, but in the form of a letter (a/b/c/n/x/y/z). And, just like a standard multiplication table, its collumns and rows are listed like an Excel spreadsheet, and may also be labled with numbers or letters, depending on whether they are known or unknown.

Now, breaking down a network into known data streams and crunching the numbers within sort of "sets the stage" for the remainder of our enterprise. It "commits" our number cruncher to a specific probem solving methodology. That methodology has a weakness: it cannot solve for more than 5 static variables in a single equation, meaning that if we prioritize that equation ("We must begin by solving this first, entirely"), then that requirement becomes a limiting factor if one variable remains impossible to solve without additional information. But where do we get this information? Well, if "we must" prioritize one equation to solve for it completely, yet one variable remains unsolvable, then that equation must contain AT LEAST ONE value already known or solved for which it has in common with another equation.

Why is this? Because if does, and/or if we decide in advance that our first priortized equation "must" contain a second known value it shares in common with another incomplete equation...

...Then we will always have a way to continuously solve for data (and/or metadata) EVEN WHEN THERE ARE MORE THAN FIVE UNKNOWNS.

Now, take a minute to pause and ask yourself the implications of this math excercise, and why the NSA absolutely *has to be* lying about domestic surveillance and data farming.

The NSA has to remember something that the rest of us sometimes forget: communications traffic arbitrarily passes back and forth across physical boundaries that have no equivilent in cyberspace.

Depending on who's using what software and who coded it to accomplish what specific task... that task might be analyzing social networks through memetic mapping, or it might be needed to keep cellular networks running efficiently (this is impossible without IP geolocation, which is required for a phone to jump towers without call disruption and wasn't created to track people... that came later). Conversely, it might be used by a government agency to more efficiently operate a stingray network... because without something like this (not identical but similar), normal cellular network operation would conflict with the stingray's function of nabbing phone IPs.

Or it could be used to establish a behavioral and contextual "metaprint" across Tor nodes so that an exit node doesn't have to be tracked across all the preceding IP addresses to the point at which the user entered the network.

It's the final piece of the puzzle that implements this requirement for us:

The combined outputs of known and unknown variables contained within any table, whether it be a static 2D grid composed of geolocation and IP data, or a 3D/4D table which ouputs metaprints of greater complexity, and either databased (as in a 3D table that doesn't change over time, except occasionally being sync'd/updated) or processed in real-time for live action and analysis (as in a 4D table that incorporates continuously changing variables in server time).

They are not just establishing the 'outputs' like calulations in Excel, their primary goal is establishing the parameters of ALL possible collumns and rows as well, building larger and larger "virtual tables" filled with any kind of data or metadata that can be imagined.

Now, this stuff isn't theoretical... this is all merely the implications of high school level math upon the claim that SEVEN PROXIES make a person safer than FIVE (our magic number of solvable polynomials): false.

What I am describing for you is the technology required to draw a virtual map and track events within it at *the same rate* that it is changing...

And this isn't made possible by any one part, it's simply a macro-extension of our problem-solving ruleset that, amazingly eventually results in our ability to *identify the person(s)* who wrote the equation to begin with: Tor users, and other users of various VPNs and proxies.

Remember... the raw data doesn't have to be discovered, filtered and mirrored... only vital parts of that data and pieces of metadata which relate to it (and which fills our tables) need to be identified.

Which brings us to our final point: They don't have to capture information in real time, all they have to do is flag it and capture enough metadata about who had it and when in order to find it again later... in their own time and with their own priority as the resources to datafarm it all in huge chunks becomes increasingly available.

And that is where the user re-enters our equation again... that user doesn't know what pieces of metadata may or may not have been captured, and there's a LOT more of it lost/buried/hidden in the depths of an OS than any user could ever remove by running software. Encryption won't help, because even true end-to-end requires that it be decrypted in your current user session and transmitted to another server, providing the needed digital forensics in both places that can be independently compared and corroborated from a distance at the leisure of No Such Agency.

And since we already know that a Tor user's starting session is decrypted on their PC and that metadata related to a user's activities may be clandestinely transmitted over any wireless network whether or not there is *user access* to that network.

That's right... the backdoor capable of capturing all the metadata we require to start the digital forensic ball rolling already exists and is built into every OS and network firmware update on the planet.
 
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Today being Halloween, I decided to fuck with the major retard at school when I came out of science for break. He was dressed as Ash. Knowing this was going to happen, I brough a Mudkips doll. Thus I started the conversation, making sure no one saw me.

"So I heard you like Mudkips..." "Mudkips? I LUUUUUUUUUUUUVE MUDKIPS." "O RLY? So, would you ever fuck a Mudkips, that is.." (he cuts me off before I could said 'if you were a mudkips') "OF COURSE." "Well I just happen to have a Mudkips here, and."

Before I finished the sentence, which would have resulted in me hitting him across the face with the doll, he grabbed it. In one swift motion his pants were down and he was violenly humping it. Not to get between a man and his Mudkips I started to walk away, because there is no way I'd be caught wrestling a half-naked crazy guy humping a Mudkips.

Needles to say, within 5 to 10 seconds, some girls saw him and started screaming. I cooly walked into a restroom, pretending nothing had ever happened; not that I had intended that outcome, but now that it was in play I didn't want to be involved.

I came back two minutes later, and like any wanton act on school grounds there was now a huge crowd round him. He was still fucking it and baying this real fucked up 'EEEEEEEEEEINNNNF EEEEEEEEEEINNNF' sound. Suddenly a scuffle broke out in the middle, meaning he probably did something stupid.

I asked someone what had happened. A girlfriend of one of the football players tried to get him to stop, but he bit her for trying to take it away. Someone called in a few football players (all dressed up like Road Warrior) who proceeded to pummel the shit out of the guy. Meanwhile the school police were freaking out and having trouble getting in to the situation.

A few minutes later the intruder alarm went off and we were shuffled into classrooms. Over the intercom the principal announced that someone had thrown a flaming plush toy into the library. Uh.. what the hell.

So we were kept there and about 30 minutes later the principal came on again. This time he was saying that whoever was behind the beating should turn themselves in. All of a sudden this woman began yelling "I WILL SUE YOU FOR DAMAGES. YOU LITTLE PUNKS, I'M GONNA SUE..." and it was cut off.

I asked an office later what had happened. Apparently his mother had come to pick him up and threatened to sue for the beating and 'whatever else happened.' The school threatened to counter-sue because of lewd conduct, inciting a riot, and starting a fight.

So I ask you: do you like Mudkips?
 
By god he was right. Pohatu was right. This guy is a Toa. We attacked a Toa. We are fucked. I was wrong. How is it possible that I, Kopaka, was wrong? THIS GUY IS A TOA. I am forever shamed. I will bring doom to my Matoran. But still, how was I wrong. Did I miscalculate? Has Pohatu’s misjudgment cluttered my own? Fogged my ability to think and come to my own conclusions? No, I was just wrong. This is all my fault. I should have realized that he was a Toa. Focus, Kopaka. Focus. I attacked someone in my own team. Just. Like Pohatu.

I’ll be damned. He’s a Toa. I’m fucked.
 
Hey look, buddy, I'm an Engineer. That means I solve problems. Not problems like 'what is beauty?', because that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy. I solve practical problems. For instance, how am I gonna stop some big mean mother hubbard from tearing me a structurally superfluous new behind? The answer: use a gun. And if that don't work? Use more gun. Like this heavy-caliber tripod-mounted little old number designed by me... built by me, and you best hope... not pointed at you
 
Oh, you think the darkness is your ally, you merely adopted the dark. I was born in it, molded by it. I didn’t see the light until I was already a man; by then, it was nothing to me but blinding! The shadows betray you, because they belong to me. I will show you where I have made my home, while preparing to bring justice. Then, I will break you. Your precious armoury, gratefully accepted. We will need it. Ah yes, I was wondering what would break first. Your spirit, or your body?
 
During Christmas, nobody is safe...

Santa Cuz broke into my house one night
He held me down but in vain I put up a fight
He was black, I was white, this just wasn't right
He was big, I was tight, and his cock was within sight

He was a big, dark man who was scary
His purple mushroom tip approached and his junk felt hairy
I squirmed, fought, and tried to parry
But he managed to push through my ass and bust my anal cherry

I was unhappy that he broke the seal
As he kept pumping, I let out a squeal
I offered him money to stop but he refused that deal
His urethra vacuumed a fecalized meal

He said I had been a bad boy, so for Christmas I’d get coal
Then he pulled out his dick and shoved coal down my asshole
Then he pushed the coal down my asshole with his love shaftpole
It felt as though my body was on the verge of departing from my soul

This excruciating pain was absolutely agonizing
I could no longer take this anal terrorizing
It felt like his cock continued to grow in size,
As he continued to brutally sodomize

He was black, I was white
He was big, I was tight
Nothing at all was right
On this dreaded fateful night
Took my head, dragged me south
Forced me to employ my mouth
The name of the game was blow job
On his nob I had to slob

He’s in the neighborhood, on a rampage
Going door to door, causing anal damage
If you refuse to be his bitch
You could wind up in a six foot ditch
His only weapon is his phallus
He can always use it because it's callused
If you survive this, you can almost swear
It was nothing more than a nightmare

It was the night before Christmas, and all through the hood
Not a thang was stirring, not even my wood;
That is until I saw a white boy, through some glass,
I wanted to break it, to begin raping his ass;
So I smashed open the window, unzipping my fly,
I was just an OG muthafucka, with a queer eye;
I was in my boxers, and him in his jeans
I wouldn't settle for this to be any clean
I threw down to the floor, and kicked his ass fo sho
Now I must rape him, ho ho ho ho HO HO HO HO HO

I tore the jeans down to his ankles
A new elf to add to the flock
I presented my giftwrapped present
Sliding it out from beneath my jock

I was now the real Santa
The victim my fucking sleigh
No reindeer to pull him
His bright red face led the way

Some coal, I decided to use
No lube, his asshole I abuse
This rape, he cannot just refuse
His look, a poor lad confused

My junk, now dripping with spunk
I laughed, filled him full of crunk
My rod, now it really stunk
Oh god, it smells like a skunk

He now lay turd burgled
His anus chapped and raw
My sack had been emptied out
I HO HO HO'd at what I saw

This poor man lay bleeding
My escape must be fleeting
My cock I am now beating
I bid you season's greetings

Jingle balls, jingle balls, jingling down the street
Oh what fun it is to streak while taking a big leak
My dong is huge, from it no refuge
Your ass is now mine to take, I'll rape you with a fucking rake

The cops gazed upon my phallus
As I sprinted through the snow
Cloaked in darkness I stay hidden
Down the chimney I must go

I scurry to the icy roof
Instead I get a striking urge
Squatting over the chimney stack
My bowels begin to violently surge

My cornhole won't stop polluting
As the police keep on shooting
I squeal as a bullet hits my sphincter
Molten anal fudge spews this winter

My options are now decreasing
A bullet did some anal greasing
A rapid loss of blood I'm losing
My choice I'm mighty swift in choose

I jump, falling to the snow
My dick, sustaining the blow
I moan, agony I know
Oh no, here come the po po po

I wince, flailing from the blow
My wang, cumming at full flow
My ass, bloody diarhea hole
The cops, "arrest without parole!"

He’s in the neighborhood, on a rampage
Going door to door, causing anal damage
If you refuse to be his bitch
You could wind up in a six foot ditch
His only weapon is his phallus
He can always use it because it's callused
If you survive this, you can almost swear
It was nothing more than a nightmare

Last night, a colored individual was seen escaping from police officers in the Big Bear area, The infamous Santa Cuz has struck once again. His face was indistinguishable because of the dark night, but the officers do have a composite sketch of the offender's genetalia. If you've seen these genitals, contact the Big Bear police department immediately. We repeat, he is still at large--both literally and figuratively. Hide your kids, hide your wife, hide everyone. Nobody is safe. They rapin' everyone up in here.
 
To the Alt Right Trolls still lurking this sub:

NEVER, EVER TARGET Dan Harmon AGAIN OR YOU WILL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES THE LIKES OF WHICH FEW THROUGHOUT HISTORY HAVE EVER SUFFERED BEFORE. WE ARE NO LONGER A Subreddit THAT WILL STAND FOR YOUR DEMENTED Brigading. BE CAUTIOUS!
 
So I missed the blues clues train growing up having been too old by the time it came along. The show has had a major renaissance though as Amazon now holds distribution rights and publishes it on its Prime streaming service. Suffice to say my kids love it with the strident demand for "puppy!" being given.

I have watched a ton of blues clues since. The first set of seasons are run by "steve" and focus solely on him and his dog blue. He does a brilliant job and the kids love the show. Problems emerge a few seasons later though with the introduction of a "neighborhood". Coincidentally, Steve's neighbors are checklist of wahmen and ethnic minorities. All struggling for air time in the short 30 minute episodes. The women actresses in particular being super forced and for all his efforts "steve" clearly had a hard time shoe horning in the new cast and it shows in his acting. Leading ultimately to him being replaced by "Joe". My oldest daughter is 3 years old and she loves blues clues. Until joe and the diversity cast. At which point she ignores it entirely. Cant say I blame her either. The show is terrible by that point. How terrible? They do an episode on Kwanzaa terrible.

I have to wonder if this is patient zero for the identity politics infection in pop culture. It's certainly the oldest infestation I have come across that turned something good into something contemptable. The actor who played steve claimed he left the show because he was going bald, but considering the leading article supporting that theory is the Huffington post, I have to press X to doubt.
 
Remember Longcat, Jane? I remember Longcat. Fuck the picture on this page, I want to talk about Longcat. Memes were simpler back then, in 2006. They stood for something. And that something was nothing. Memes just were. “Longcat is long.” An undeniably true, self-reflexive statement. Water is wet, fire is hot, Longcat is long. Memes were floating signifiers without signifieds, meaningful in their meaninglessness. Nobody made memes, they just arose through spontaneous generation; Athena being birthed, fully formed, from her own skull. You could talk about them around the proverbial water cooler, taking comfort in their absurdity. “Hey, Johnston, have you seen the picture of that cat? They call it Longcat because it’s long!” “Ha ha, sounds like good fun, Stevenson! That reminds me, I need to show you this webpage I found the other day; it contains numerous animated dancing hamsters. It’s called — you’ll never believe this — hamsterdance!” And then Johnston and Stevenson went on to have a wonderful friendship based on the comfortable banality of self-evident digitized animals. But then 2007 came, and along with it came I Can Has, and everything was forever ruined. It was hubris, Jane. We did it to ourselves. The minute we added written language, it all went to shit. Suddenly memes had an excess of information to be parsed. It wasn’t just a picture of a cat, perhaps with a simple description appended to it; now the cat spoke to us via a written caption on the picture itself. It referred to an item of food that existed in our world but not in the world of the meme, rupturing the boundary between the two. The cat wanted something. Which forced us to recognize that what it wanted was us, was our attention. WE are the cheezburger, Jane, and we always were. But by the time we realized this, it was too late. We were slaves to the very memes that we had created. We toiled to earn the privilege of being distracted by them. They fiddled while Rome burned, and we threw ourselves into the fire so that we might listen to the music. The memes had us. Or, rather, they could has us. And it just got worse from there. Soon the cats had invisible bicycles and played keyboards. They gained complex identities, and so we hollowed out our own identities to accommodate them. We prayed to return to the simple days when we would admire a cat for its exceptional length alone, the days when the cat itself was the meme and not merely a vehicle for the complex memetic text. And the fact that this text was so sparse, informal, and broken ironically made it even more demanding. The intentional grammatical and syntactical flaws drew attention to themselves, making the meme even more about the captioning words and less about the pictures. Words, words, words. Wurds werds wordz. Stumbling through a crooked, dead-end hallway of a mangled clause describing a simple feline sentiment was a torture that we inflicted on ourselves daily. Let’s not forget where the word “caption” itself comes from: capio, Latin for both “I understand” and “I capture.” We thought that by captioning the memes, we were understanding them. Instead, our captions allowed them to capture us. The memes that had once been a cure for our cultural ills were now the illness itself. It goes right back to Phaedrus, really. The Plato dialogue. (You read that, right?) Back in the innocent days of 2006, we naïvely thought that the grapheme had subjugated the phoneme, that the belief in the primacy of the spoken word was an ancient and backwards folly on par with burning witches or practicing phrenology or thinking that Smash Mouth was good. Fucking Smash Mouth. But we were wrong. About the phoneme, I mean. The trickster god Theuth came to us again, this time in the guise of a grinning grey cat. The cat hungered, and so did Theuth. We’d already taken writing from him, so this time he offered us a new choice disguised as a gift. And we greedily took it, again oblivious to the consequences. To borrow the parlance of a contemporary meme, he made us a pharmakon, and we eated it. Pharmakon, φάρμακον, the Greek word that means both “poison” and “cure,” but, because of the limitations of the English language, can only be translated one way or the other depending on the context and the translator’s whims. No possible translation can capture the full implications of a Greek text including this word. In the Phaedrus, writing is the pharmakon that the trickster god Theuth offers, the toxin and remedy in one. With writing, man will no longer forget; but he will also no longer think. A double-edged (s)word, if you will. But the new iteration of the pharmakon is the meme. Specifically, the post-I-Can-Has memescape of 2007 onward. And it was the language that did it, Jane. The addition of written language twisted the remedy into a poison, flipped the pharmakon on its invisible axis. In retrospect, it was in front of our eyes all along. Meme. The noxious word was given to us by who else but those wily ancient Greeks themselves. μίμημα, or mīmēma. Defined as an imitation, a copy. The exact thing Plato warned us against in the Republic. Remember? The simulacrum that is two steps removed from the perfection of the original by the process of — note the root of the word — mimesis. The Platonic ideal of an object is the source: the father, the sun, the ghostly whole. The corporeal manifestation of the object is one step removed from perfection. The image of the object (be it in letters or in pigments) is two steps removed. The author is inferior to the craftsman is inferior to God. But we’ll go farther than Plato. Longcat, a photograph, is a textbook example of a second-degree mimesis. (We might promote it to the third degree since the image on the internet is a digital copy of the original photograph of the physical cat which is itself a copy of Platonic ideal of a cat (the Godcat, if you will); but this line of thought doesn’t change anything in the argument.) The text-supplemented meme, on the other hand, the captioned cat, is at an infinite remove from the Godcat; it is the ultimate mimesis, copying the copy of itself eternally, the written language and the image echoing off each other, until it finally loops back around to the truth by virtue of being so far from it. It becomes its own truth, the fidelity of the eternal copy. It becomes a God. Writing itself is the archetypical pharmakon and the archetypical copy, if you’ll come back with me to the Phaedrus (if we ever really left it). Speech is the real deal, Socrates says, with a smug little wink to his (written) dialogic buddy. Speech is alive, it can defend itself, it can adapt and change. Writing is its bastard son, the mimic, the dead, rigid simulacrum. Writing is a copy, a mīmēma, of truth in speech. To return to our analogous issue: the image of the cat that wants the cheezburger, the copy of the picture-copy-copy, is so much closer to its original Platonic ideal (Godcat) than the written language that accompanies it is to its own (speech). (“Pharmakon” can also mean “paint.” Think about it, Jane. Just think about it.) The image is still fake, but it’s the caption on the cat that is the downfall of the republic, the real fakeness, which is both realer and faker than whatever original it is that it represents. Men and gods abhor the lie, Plato says in sections 382 a and b of the Republic. οὐκ οἶσθα, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι τό γε ὡς ἀληθῶς ψεῦδος, εἰ οἷόν τε τοῦτο εἰπεῖν, πάντες θεοί τε καὶ ἄνθρωποι μισοῦσιν; πῶς, ἔφη, λέγεις; οὕτως, ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ, ὅτι τῷ κυριωτάτῳ που ἑαυτῶν ψεύδεσθαι καὶ περὶ τὰ κυριώτατα οὐδεὶς ἑκὼν ἐθέλει, ἀλλὰ πάντων μάλιστα φοβεῖται ἐκεῖ αὐτὸ κεκτῆσθαι. “Don’t you know,” said I, “that the veritable lie, if the expression is permissible, is a thing that all gods and men abhor?” “What do you mean?” he said. “This,” said I, “that falsehood in the most vital part of themselves, and about their most vital concerns, is something that no one willingly accepts, but it is there above all that everyone fears it.” Man’s worst fear is that he will hold existential falsehood within himself. And the verbal lies that he tells are an incarnation of this fear; Plato elaborates: “the falsehood in words is a copy of the affection in the soul, an after-rising image of it and not an altogether unmixed falsehood.” A copy of man’s flawed internal copy of truth. And what word does Plato use for “copy” in this sentence? That’s fucking right, μίμημα. Mīmēma. Mimesis. Meme. The new meme is a lie, manifested in (written) words, that reflects the lack of truth, the emptiness, within the very soul of a human. The meme is now not only an inferior copy, it is a deceptive copy. But just wait, it gets better. Plato continues in the very next section of the Republic, 382 c. Sometimes, he says, the lie, the meme, is appropriate, even moral. It is not abhorrent to lie to your enemy, or to your friend in order to keep him from harm. “Does it [the lie] not then become useful to avert the evil—as a medicine?” You get one fucking guess for what Greek word is being translated as “medicine” here. Ding ding goddamn ding, you got it, φάρμακον, pharmakon. The μίμημα is a φάρμακον, the lie is a medicine/poison, the meme is a pharmakon. But I’m sure that by now you’ve realized the (intentional) mistake in my argument that brought us to this point. I said earlier that the addition of written language to the meme flipped the pharmakon on its axis. But the pharmakon didn’t flip, it doesn’t have an axis. It was always both remedy and poison. The fact that this isn’t obvious to us from the very beginning of the discussion is the fault of, you guessed it, language. The initial lie (writing) clouds our vision and keeps us from realizing how false the second-order lie (the meme) is. The very structure of the lying meme mirrors the structure of the written word that defines and corrupts it. Once you try to identify an “outside” in order to reveal the lie, the whole framework turns itself inside-out so that you can never escape it. The cat wants the cheezburger that exists outside the meme, but only through the meme do we become aware of the presumed existence of the cheezburger — we can’t point out the absurdity of the world of the meme without also indicting our own world. We can’t talk about language without language, we can’t interpret memes without mimesis. Memes didn’t change between ’06 and ’07, it was us who changed. Or rather, our understanding of what we had always been changed. The lie became truth, the remedy became the poison, the outside became the inside. Which is to say that the truth became lie, the pharmakon was always the remedy and the poison, and the inside retreated further inside. It all came full circle. Because here’s the secret, Jane. Language ruined the meme, yes. But language itself had already been ruined. By that initial poisonous, lying copy. Writing. The First Pharmakon. The First Meme. Language didn’t attack the meme in 2007 out of spite. It attacked it to get revenge. Longcat is long. Language is language. Pharmakon is pharmakon. The phoneme topples the grapheme, witches ride through the night, our skulls hide secret messages on their surfaces, Smash Mouth is good after all. Hey now, you’re an all-star. Get your game on. Go play.
 
  • 1001.) Christmas100 Ricompensa: 100 gemme↵2.) Coalshake100 Ricompensa: 100 punti di forza
3.) Snowyspender50 Ricompensa: 50 gemm

  • 4 leggendario:100000000000000 punti di forza
(sorry about the previous edit. i deleted it.)

also.

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Thanks for your patience,

Wells All Mighty Lord Gabe.
 
Inhale.

Take in as much air as you can.

This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.

A friend of mine, when he was thirteen years old he heard about "pegging." This is when a guy gets banged up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have explosive hands-free orgasms. At that age, this friend's a little sex maniac. He's always jonesing for a better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some petroleum jelly. To conduct a little private research. Then he pictures how it's going to look at the supermarket checkstand, the lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier. All the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned.

So, my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients for a carrot cake. And Vaseline.

Like he's going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt.

At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down on it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except it hurts.

Then, this kid, his mom yells it's suppertime. She says to come down, right now.

He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty clothes under his bed.

After dinner, he goes to find the carrot and it's gone. All his dirty clothes, while he ate dinner, his mom grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring knife from her kitchen, still shiny with lube and stinky.

This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to confront him. And they never do. Ever. Even now he's grown up, that invisible carrot hangs over every Christmas dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost carrot is hovering over all of them.

That something too awful to name.

People in France have a phrase: "Spirit of the Stairway." In French: Esprit de l'escalier. It means that moment when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at a party and someone insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party…

As you start down the stairway, then -- magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should've said. The perfect crippling put-down.

That's the Spirit of the Stairway.

The trouble is even the French don't have a phrase for the stupid things you actually do say under pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think or do.

Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about.

Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks would find them, a towel twisted around the kid's neck, the towel tied to the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm everywhere. Of course the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look… better. Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad, teen suicide.

Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how guys in the Middle East jack off different than we do here. This brother was stationed in some camel country where the public market sells what could be fancy letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of polished brass or silver, maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, either a big metal ball or the kind of fancy carved handle you'd see on a sword. This Navy brother says how Arab guys get their dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole length of their boner. They jack off with the rod inside, and it makes getting off so much better. More intense.

It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases. Russian phrases. Helpful jack-off tips.

After this, the little brother, one day he doesn't show up at school. That night, he calls to ask if I'll pick up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because he's in the hospital.

He's got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says how they all have to share the same television. All he's got for privacy is a curtain. His folks don't come and visit. On the phone, he says how right now his folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy.

On the phone, the kid says how -- the day before -- he was just a little stoned. At home in his bedroom, he was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and flipping through some old porno magazines, getting ready to beat off. This is after he's heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how Arabs beat off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ball-point pen's too big. A pencil's too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle, there's a thin, smooth ridge of wax that just might work. With just the tip of one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle. He rolls it smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin.

Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit of his boner. With a good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work.

Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They've totally re-invented jacking off. Flat on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can't keep track of the wax. He's one good squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax isn't sticking out anymore.

The thin wax rod, it's slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can't even feel the lump of it inside his piss tube.

From downstairs, his mom shouts it's suppertime. She says to come down, right now. This wax kid and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much the same life.

It's after dinner when the kid's guts start to hurt. It's wax so he figured it would just melt inside him and he'd pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kidneys. He can't stand straight.

This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can hear bells ding, people screaming. Game shows.

The X-rays show the truth, something long and thin, bent double inside his bladder. This long, thin V inside him, it's collecting all the minerals in his piss. It's getting bigger and more rough, coated with crystals of calcium, it's bumping around, ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss from getting out. His kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood.

This kid and his folks, his whole family, them looking at the black X-ray with the doctor and the nurses standing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody to see, he has to tell the truth. The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote him from the Navy.

On the phone, right now, he starts to cry.

They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mistake, and now he'll never be a lawyer.

Sticking stuff inside yourself. Sticking yourself inside stuff. A candle in your dick or your head in a noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble.

What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater, sitting on the bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep breath, I'd kick my way to the bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I'd sit down there for two, three, four minutes.

Just from jacking off, I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I'd do this all afternoon. After I'd finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang there in big, fat, milky gobs.

After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each handful in a towel. That's why it was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty, my Mom.

That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, thinking she's just getting fat, then giving birth to a two-headed retard baby. Both heads looking just like me. Me, the father AND the uncle.

In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you.

The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool filter and the circulation pump. The best part was getting naked and sitting on it.

As the French would say: Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked?

Still, one minute you're just a kid getting off, and the next minute you'll never be a lawyer.

One minute, I'm settling on the pool bottom, and the sky is wavy, light blue through eight feet of water above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears. My yellow-striped swim trunks are looped around my neck for safe keeping, just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to ask why I skipped football practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I'm grinding my skinny white ass around on that feeling.

One minute, I've got enough air, and my dick's in my hand. My folks are gone at their work and my sister's got ballet. Nobody's supposed to be home for hours.

My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch another big breath. I dive down and settle on the bottom.

I do this again and again.

This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump that never ends. My dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee rubbed raw against the concrete bottom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from being so long in the water.

And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls.

It's then I need some air. But when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can't. I can't get my feet under me. My ass is stuck.

Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this way, sucked by a circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you're going to drown. Every year, tons of people do. Most of them in Florida.

People just don't talk about it. Not even French people talk about EVERYTHING.

Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt. Getting my other foot under me, I kick off against the bottom. I'm kicking free, not touching the concrete, but not getting to the air, either.

Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I'm maybe halfway to the surface but not going higher. The heartbeat inside my head getting loud and fast.

The bright sparks of light crossing and criss-crossing my eyes, I turn and look back… but it doesn't make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, blue-white and braided with veins has come up out of the pool drain and it's holding onto my butt. Some of the veins are leaking blood, red blood that looks black underwater and drifts away from little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails away, disappearing in the water, and inside the snake's thin, blue-white skin you can see lumps of some half-digested meal.
That's the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent, something that's never seen the light of day, it's been hiding in the dark bottom of the pool drain, waiting to eat me.

So… I kick at it, at the slippery, rubbery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out of the pool drain. It's maybe as long as my leg now, but still holding tight around my butthole. With another kick, I'm an inch closer to getting another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I'm an inch closer to my escape.

Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange ball. It's the kind of horse-pill vitamin my Dad makes me take, to help put on weight. To get a football scholarship. With extra iron and omega-three fatty acids.

It's seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life.

It's not a snake. It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call, prolapsed. It's my guts sucked into the drain.

Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute. That's about 400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we're all connected together inside. Your ass is just the far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps working - unraveling my insides -- until it's got my tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound shit, and you can see how this might turn you inside out.

What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels pain. The stuff you're digesting, doctor's call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme, pockets of a thin runny mess studded with corn and peanuts and round green peas.

That's all this soup of blood and corn, shit and sperm and peanuts floating around me. Even with my guts unraveling out my ass, me holding onto what's left, even then my first want is to somehow get my swimsuit back on.

God forbid my folks see my dick.

My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellow-striped swim trunks and pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible.
You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lamb-skin condoms. Take one out and unroll it. Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold it under water. Then, try to tear it. Try to pull it in half. It's too tough and rubbery. It's so slimy you can't hold on.

A lamb-skin condom, that's just plain old intestine.

You can see what I'm up against.

You let go for a second, and you're gutted.

You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you're gutted.

You don't swim, and you drown.

It's a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now.

What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating in the cloudy water of their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of veins and twisted guts. The opposite of a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital thirteen years ago. Here's the kid they hoped would snag a football scholarship and get an MBA. Who'd care for them in their old age. Here's all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm.

Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from the pool to the kitchen telephone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out the leg of my yellow-striped swim trunks.

What even the French won't talk about.

That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase. The way we say: "I need that like I need a hole in my head…" Russian people say: "I need that like I need teeth in my asshole…"

Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse

Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any coyote would tell you a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead.

Hell… even if you're Russian, some day you just might want those teeth.

Otherwise, what you have to do is -- you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind your knee and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You run out of air, and you will chew through anything to get that next breath.

It's not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss good night.

If I told you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari.

It's hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I'd got in trouble or how I'd saved myself. After the hospital, my Mom said, "You didn't know what you were doing, honey. You were in shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs.

All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me…

I need that like I need teeth in my asshole.

Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all quiet and pissed off when I don't eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me. Baked ham. Anything that hangs around inside my guts for longer than a couple hours, it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or chunk light tuna fish, I'll stand up and find it still sitting there in the toilet.

After you have a radical bowel resectioning, you don't digest meat so great. Most people, you have five feet of large intestine. I'm lucky to have my six inches. So I never got a football scholarship. Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I've never weighed a pound more than I did that day when I was thirteen.

Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swimming pool. In the end my Dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned. The dead body got pulled into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the filter casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a watery hank of intestine with a big orange vitamin pill still inside, even then, my Dad just said, "That dog was fucking nuts."

Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my Dad say, "We couldn't trust that dog alone for a second…"

Then my sister missed her period.

Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another state, after my sister's abortion, even then my folks never mentioned it again.

Ever.

That is our invisible carrot.

You. Now you can take a good, deep breath.

I still have not.

End
 
But anyways, it’s not about the glitch, it’s not about that it’s a videogame, it’s because you don't care about how this is affecting other people, you’re heartless, you can apparently live with yourself with this. Then before you know it you're going to find a way to steal somebody's money, and you’re not going to care, you don't care about others, so you're going to do it, and it’s going to get worse and worse. "I'll take 5 bucks out of my roommate's wallet while he’s gone, I don't care about him so its fine, then for the next couple of weeks I'll keep taking his money." Then before you know it, it’s a regular schedule and it would be weird if you didn't take his 5 bucks, and if anything, you'd start taking more.
 
In this video, I will be explaining exactly what I do to collect Watch for Rolling Rocks in 0.5x A Presses. But first, we need to clear something up. Because every time I post a half A press video, I get the same comments over and over asking what it means, even though I always have a whole paragraph in the description explaining it, which even starts with "If you're wondering what a half A press is, read this before commenting to ask." But maybe what you guys need isn't a paragraph, maybe you guys need an example. So, consider Wing Mario Over The Rainbow, not even the whole star. Just consider getting to that cannon platform, which is a necessary part of getting the star. So, how many A presses does it take to get there? Well, If you say zero, that's wrong. Because then Mario can't go far enough. If you say one, Well it's true that Mario can get there with one but we can do a little better. We can do it in half an A press. To do that, we start the level already holding A and then we use that A press to reach the platform. Now hold on, I know what you're thinking, "an a press is an a press. You can't say its only a half". Well TJ "Henry" Yoshi, hear me out. An A press actually has three parts to it. When A is pressed, when A is held, and when A is released. And together, this forms one complete A press. Now, usually, it's the pressing that's useful. Because that's the only part that makes Mario jump. However, sometimes it's sufficient to just use the holding part, which allows Mario to do little kicks, to swim in water, to fall slowly while twirling, and to fall slowly with the wing cap. And as for the release, well, there's currently no cases where that's useful or important, so don't worry about that part. Now, if we map out the required A presses for Wing Mario Over The Rainbow, it would look like this. We merely need to hold A to reach the canon platform, we need to press A to launch from the first canon, and we need to press A again to launch from the second canon. So, how many A presses is that total? Well, it appears to be three, and if we were doing this star in isolation, then yeah, it would be three. But, in a full game A button challenge run, there are other A presses that occur earlier in the run, such as this A press needed to get into the course. So, if we take that A press into consideration as well, then how many A presses would it take? The naive answer would be four. One to enter the course and the three within the course that we established earlier. However, we can do better. We can actually do it in three by simply holding out the first A press to be used for the half A press. Because the half A press only required A to be held, not actually pressed. So in this fashion, Wing Mario Over The Rainbow only adds on an additional two A presses to the run since the first A press just leeches off of a previous A press. So, to capture this phenomenon, we call it 2.5x A presses. On a single star basis, you'd round that up to three. But in a full game run, you'd round it down to two. So, in conclusion, since that first A press counts in some context but adds no additional A presses in other contexts, we refer to it as a half A press. So, going back to the video, you can see that I start the level with the A button already held, as indicated in the bottom left corner. And so in the full game run, this A press will just leech off of a previous one. And so it won't incur an additional A press. Okay, glad that's explained. Now, what am I doing in the video? Here, I'm using a trick called Scuttlebug Transportation. You see, like most enemies, scuttlebugs have a home, which is just a point in 3d space. And they'll patrol a certain radius around that point. So, if Mario enters that radius they will lunge at him to attack. But, unlike most other enemies, a scuttlebug's home can change positions. Because if a scuttlebug bumps into Mario, the scuttlebug's home will update to where the scuttlebug was when the collision occurred. So, by strategically luring the scuttlebug to the edge of its radius and bumping into it, we can effectively transport the scuttlebug and its home. So, that's what I'm doing here. Note that we can't actually transport a scuttlebug to outside of its native room. They actually get stuck at the door. So, if your dream was to bring all the scuttlebugs together for one big jamboree, I'm sorry but it's not gunna happen. Also worth noting is that scuttlebugs will actually disappear if they walk into a wall while too far below their current home. So, I do have to be careful to avoid that. It's pretty weird if you've never seen it before but I'm pretty sure they did it so that if a scuttlebug jumps into a hole, it wouldn't just walk around down there. Anyway, I'm transporting the scuttlebug to the corner right below the Watch For Rolling Rocks star. Because next, I do a trick called Scuttlebug Raising and here's how it works. On the left I show a bird's eye view of the scene and on the right, I show a view from the side. Now, when Mario leaves the Rolling Rocks room, the scuttlebug deactivates. That's because the room and everything in it are only active when Mario is in the room or standing in a small region right outside the door, indicated here in yellow. So, if Mario isn't in the Rolling Rocks room or in the yellow region, then the room will be completely black and everything in the room will be invisible and won't move. Conveniently, this allows us to raise the scuttlebug by preforming the following steps. First, Mario enters the scuttlebug's radius. Although the scuttlebug is invisible and can't move around, it can still turn towards Mario and activate a lunge. Then, Mario leaves the radius and the scuttlebug returns to facing its home. Next, Mario enters the yellow region to activate the scuttlebug. The scuttlebug will preform the lunge that it started but cleverly, we have Mario exit the yellow region right when the scuttlebug is at the peak of its trajectory. Thereby deactivating it so it won't fall down. And finally, since the scuttlebug moves past its home, it turns around to face its home once more. Now, we gotten all the height we could out of the scuttlebug's current lunge, but that's no problem because we could just activate another lunge by repeating this procedure. Activate a lunge while the scuttlebug is deactivated, reactivate the scuttlebug just for the upwards portion of its trajectory, and then repeat. As simple as that. So that's what I do here. And I have a second screen to show it from the scuttlebug's perspective. Fortunately, the scuttlebug's radius isn't a sphere but a cylinder that extends up and down infinitely. So really, no matter how high the scuttlebug gets, we can continue to enter its area to activate its lunges and move it upwards. There's no limit to how high we can raise it. Now, it's worth noting that I only activate the scuttlebug while I'm not inside its radius, so the scuttlebug will always lunge towards its home and not towards Mario. This causes the scuttlebug to effectively travel straight up above its home. But alternatively, I could've activated the scuttlebug while inside of its radius, and in that case the scuttlebug would always lunge towards Mario instead of towards its home. So it would actually make its way towards the door and then travel straight up from there. That means it's actually a little faster because we wouldn't have to wait for the scuttlebug to turn back towards its home before each activation. However, it wouldn't work for what we're doing because we need the scuttlebug to be right next to that corner. In fact, the top of that corner has a special property which we call a misalignment. Basically, in the game's code, there's a discrepancy between the way the game handles collision checking with floors versus walls. This results in a one by one unit area where Mario can get under the floor without being pushed away by the walls. And if Mario's less than 79 units under a floor, he'll snap right up onto it. So that'll be important later for getting up there. Anyway, now it's time to build up some speed. And I mean a lot of speed. So to get that speed, we're going to use a trick called Hyper Speed Walking and here's how it works. You probably already know that there are some slopes in the game that are too steep to stand on. Mario just slides off of them. But, did you know that you actually can stand on these slopes if they're submerged in shallow water? In fact, the underwater portion of these slopes has a special property. If you try to running uphill on them, you'll end up running backwards at an increasing speed with no upper bound. But in most circumstances, this would cause us to end up in the water before building up any real speed. We can get a little more speed by running nearly parallel to the slope by ever so slightly uphill. But, eventually, the slope runs out or we move too fast to round a corner. But, there are some ways to have Mario walk while staying in place. For example, if there's a wall perpendicular to the slope, then we can use that. That allows Mario to build up quite a bit of speed before he breaks through. However, if the wall isn't perpendicular to the slope, then we end up sliding down into the water. That's because walls are really just rectangles that push Mario out perpendicularly. So, if Mario moves into a wall at an angle, the game will calculate his intended next position, then the wall will push that position out, and then Mario ends up having a net movement along the wall. So ultimately, he will end up moving into the water. So, is all hope lost? Well no, because Tyler Kehne figured out that we can actually make use of the gate. You see, the bottom of the gate is a ceiling and the game doesn't like putting Mario too close to the area right under a ceiling because it doesn't think he fits. So, if we have Mario move backwards into the ceiling, the game will choose not to move him. So we're free to build up speed in place. But not infinite speed because we'd end up breaking free if our speed moved past the gate. So, what do we do? We turn to redirect our speed out of bounds. Notice how we have enough speed so that our intended next position is past the wall and out of bounds. And since the game doesn't like placing Mario out of bounds, it doesn't move him and instead just let's him stay in place, just like the ceiling. But unlike the ceiling, out of bounds goes on forever. So we can essentially build up as much speed as we want without having to worry about breaking free. So now, I do just that. Open the gate, use the ceiling of the gate to build up some speed, and then redirect my angle out of bounds to build up the rest. Now, you're probably wondering what I'm going to need all this speed for. After all, I do build up speed for 12 hours. But to answer that, we need to talk about parallel universes. And if you thought my other tangents were complicated, just you wait. Okay, so Mario's position is a floating point number but it's converted to a short when the game uses it to test for collision with floor triangles. In other words, Mario's position can basically be any decimal number but it's converted to an integer between negative 32,768 to positive 32,767 inclusive. So, any fractional portion is truncated and numbers too big or too small are moved into this range using the modulo operator. Graphically, that means the position used for floor detection is always inside of this box. So if Mario's in that box, then his actual position and the position used for floor detection are the same, albeit maybe off by a single fraction due to the truncation. But if Mario leaves that box, then his actual position and the position used for floor detection will separate since the position used for floor detection will just loop back around to remain in the original box. So now I ask you this. Here's the course. So if Mario is standing way over here where there's no land but the position used for floor detection is on land, can he stand over here? The answer is yes. As far as the game sees it, Mario is in fact above land over here because the game actually checks for land over here. So, for all intents and purposes, there is essentially land over here. A copy of the original map. And this is what we call a parallel universe or a PU. And this applies to every one of these boxes. So there's actually a grid of nearly infinite PUs. Here is a to scale diagram of the PU grid. As you can see, the PUs are actually pretty far apart. But I'll be taking some creative liberties and drawing them closer together for the sake of clearer visuals. Now, PUs aren't as glamorous as you might think. The graphics are only found on the original map so that PUs are completely invisible. Furthermore, PUs have no objects like elevators or item blocks, no enemies, no items like coins or stars, and not even any walls. So really, it's pretty barren. Furthermore, the N64 console will actually crash if you go to a PU and let the camera follow you. But luckily, we can avoid that crash by fixing the camera in place on the original map before leaving it. Though, that does make it even harder to tell what is going on in the PUs. So, as you just saw, you can travel to a PU if you have enough speed. But, it's not as simple as you might think. If you have just enough speed just to reach the PU one over, it won't actually work. That's because the game actually checks if Mario is above land at each quarter step of his movement. That means the simplest PU movement is moving over 4 PUs at once. That way, each quarter step is above land and therefore valid. For simplicity, we call this quadruple PU distance one QPU. Now, up until this point, I've been glossing over a very important detail, which I now need to clear up. What if I told you the distance Mario moves isn't necessarily equal to his speed? For example, look how fast Mario moves at 31 speed on this flat slope and now compare it to how fast he moves at the same speed on this steeper slope. In both cases, he has about the same speed but clearly he's moving at different rates. That's because the distance Mario moves is only a portion of his actual speed. And this portion depends on the slope of the ground. The steeper the slope, the smaller this portion is. Note that it only depends on the steepness, not whether Mario's facing uphill, downhill, or sideways on the hill. In these visuals, blue will represent Mario's actual speed and green will represent the portion of it that he moves, which we call Mario's De Facto Speed. So in these three pictures, Mario has the same speed, but he has different De Facto speeds since he's standing on slopes with different steepnesses. So, if we wanna move one QPU, It's not sufficient to have QPU speed. We need QPU De Facto speed, which often means our actual speed will need to be greater than one QPU to compensate. So to reiterate, We need to increase our speed until our De Facto speed syncs up with one QPU. And the speed needed to do this is called the Syncing Speed. So in this diagram, the blue arrow represents the Syncing Speed. When we have that speed, the quarter steps of the De Facto speed sync up with the PUs and we can move. Now, what I'm showing here is just the lowest or first Syncing Speed. A.k.a., the speed to move exactly one QPU. If we increase our speed, Eventually our De Facto speed would sync up again when it covers a distance of two QPU. And so we'd be able to move at that speed, which is two times as fast as before. So in general, any multiple of the lowest Syncing Speed is itself a Syncing Speed and will cover multiple QPU at once. So remember, every slope has a different set of Syncing Speeds. And this can make routing tricky. For example, in the video where I do PU movement to reach the secret aquarium, I had to traverse several different slopes. First this slope that I used for Hyper Speed Walking, then this slope at the edge of the water, then the flat ground of the castle foyer, then the castle stairs, which is really a steep ramp, and then the flat ground of the upstairs and note that the stairs you see there are actual stairs and not a ramp so they're just flat ground. Here is a graph showing the Syncing Speeds for each of these slopes. And so these are the speeds I need in order to have PU movement while standing on each of these slopes. Naturally, the steeper slopes have greater Syncing Speeds. Now keep in mind that I can only build up speed while I'm on the Hyper Speed Walking slope. Once I leave it, I can't generate any more speed. So my speed will only decrease from there. So to successfully preform this PU route, I better have generated enough speed to meet each slope's Syncing Speed in turn. For example, let's say I build up enough speed to reach the first possible Syncing Speed and I use that to go to the next slope. Then, I could let my speed drop until I reach this slope's Syncing Speed, go to the next slope, let my speed drop again, until I reach this slope's Syncing Speed go to the next slope, but then I have a bit of a problem. I have less than the required Syncing Speed and no way to gain any more. So is this route just impossible? Well no, because these are the just the slopes' first Syncing Speeds. But remember, any multiple of these will work as well. So now, let's factor in each slope's second Syncing Speed as well. These speeds allow Mario to move two QPU at once instead of one. So now, if I instead build up enough speed to reach the second Syncing Speed of that first slope, then I'll actually have enough speed to meet each Syncing Speed in turn and complete the route. And if that didn't work, we could've considered each slope's third Syncing Speed and so on until we did get it to work. However, which Syncing Speed we need to reach initially is kind of a big deal. Because reaching that first Syncing Speed takes about twelve hours and reaching that second Syncing Speed takes about 25 hours. So if there's a way to use a lower Syncing Speed initially, then that's a twelve hour save. So, how much speed will we need to generate for the Watch For Rolling Rocks star? Well, keep in mind that even with access to unlimited horizontal speed, we don't have any improved vertical mobility. So to get to the top of the course, we need to travel up slopes and ride up elevators. So this will be the basic route. Start on the Hyper Speed walking slope. Navigate along the path up from the lake, ride up this elevator, ride up this other elevator, make our onto the Amazing Emergency Exit platform, which is the highest point we can reach, and then launch to the Watch For Rolling Rocks platform. By itself, that still won't be enough height. But, the scuttlebug we positioned will provide the extra bounce we need. So this is the graph of the Syncing Speeds of these slopes. Unfortunately, we run into a bit of a issue with the path up from the lake. That area is made up of dozens of floor triangles that each have different slopes but that didn't stop me. After careful observation and scrutiny I isolated six triangles which I named T1 through T6. These triangles have strictly decreasing steepnesses, so we can meet each of their Syncing Speeds in turn. Additionally, their heights span the entire vertical distance we need to cover to go from bottom to top without leaving any gaps in between. So, by using the slopes of those six triangles, we can complete the blueprint for our route, allowing us utilize the first Syncing Speed of that initial slope. So building up speed only takes twelve hours instead of twenty-five. Now, we're almost ready to go back to the video but there's just some final points I wanna make. For example, you don't need to have exactly the Syncing Speed to traverse PUs. If you have slightly less than the Syncing Speed, you'll move relatively forwards in the map. If you have slightly more than the Syncing Speed, you'll move relatively backwards in the map. And the further you deviate from the Syncing Speed, the greater this relative movement will be. Additionally, if you adjust your angle slightly away from the cardinal direction, you can move relatively sideways. But keep in mind that even the smallest possible angle deviation will be magnified over the QPU distance. And thus Mario will be sent multiple feet to the side. Now, based off what I've told you, you might think you can only travel multiples of four PUs at a time but that's not actually true. For example, if one of your quarter steps is out of bounds or over a ceiling, then that quarter step will be invalid. And since Mario moves up two but not including the first invalid quarter step, he can in fact end up stopping prematurely at one of the quarter steps. Separately, if you change slopes during a quarter step, your De Facto speed will change and you'll alter the distance of the next quarter step and so most likely, it will no longer sync up with a PU and you'll end up stopping on the new slope. Finally, for simplicity, the set of PUs that are multiples of four away, we call the QPU grid. And if Mario's on the QPU grid, then we say he's QPU aligned. Remember, moving a multiple of four PUs is easy but moving a different amount requires special conditions like out of bounds or changing slopes. So, if you're QPU aligned, it's easy to stay that way. And if you're QPU misaligned, it's easy to stay that way as well. Now, if you become QPU misaligned, you'll need to correct that in order to return to the main map but that can be difficult if you're not near out of bounds and your sequence of slope changes is predetermined. So, managing your QPU alignment is one of the many challenges of planning a PU route. Okay, and now we're finally ready to resume the main video and watch the PU movement. Just kidding, first I need to explain what these screens are. These extra screens will help you follow along during the PU movement. The Standard View is just the view that the game chose. But since I fixed the camera on the main map to prevent the game from crashing, this screen won't tell you very much. The Relative View shows where I am in each PU. This is what it would look like if I let the camera follow Mario around and if PUs weren't invisible. The Relative Map also shows where I am in each PU but from an overhead perspective. And finally, the PU Map shows where I am in the PU grid. Okay, so now let's really start. So, as I explained earlier. I navigate up the path from the lake using the six triangles I isolated and I've marked them in the Relative Map so you can follow along. So basically, I get onto a triangle, let my speed drop and until I'm around the Syncing Speed for that triangle's slope, then navigate uphill on the triangle and then move to the next triangle. Using what I taught you, You should be able to follow along with my movement. For example, I'm able to move relatively backwards, because I have slightly more than the Syncing Speed. Whenever I move sideways, it's because I'm slightly angled away from the cardinal direction. And every time I move from triangle to triangle, my QPU alignment changes. But cleverly, I planned it in such a way that they'd all cancel out by the end and I'd end up QPU aligned. So right now I'm on the sixth triangle. So I do a little zigzag to bring me back towards the main map, as you can see on the PU Map screen. Remember, I need to return to the main map in order to access the elevator since there are no objects in PUs. As you may have noticed right there, the elevator didn't register me until I started kicking and that's actually the reason why I've been holding A this entire time. By holding A, I can press B to do these little kicks. Without these kicks, I go through the elevator. But with the kicks I can ride it up to gain precious height. Okay, so now we're closing in on the end. The final movement I do will be a kick onto the Amazing Emergency Exit platform, then turn and launch myself towards the scuttlebug. That movement will bring me ten PU to the right and three PU down. But since I wanna end up on the main map, I reverse that displacement and so position myself three PU up and ten PU left while doing that, I simultaneously position myself in the correct relative part of the map to make the movement work. Okay, now don't blink. And there we go. By bouncing on the scuttlebug, and ground pounding in the misalignment, I achieve just enough height to get onto the Rolling Rocks platform. Here, I show an abridged version of the scuttlebug raising, in case earlier's viewing was too choppy to follow. As you can see, the scuttlebug moves back and forth, above its home. At the end, you can see that I do two special raisings purely to move him sideways and closer to the corner since he ended up being too far away for the bounce to work. And here, I show an alternate angle of the final PU movement. The scuttlebug actually became active once I entered the PU version of this room. So I really only had a handful of frames to get over here before he fell too far. And there you have it, Watch For Rolling Rocks done in 0.5x A presses. Man, I did not expect this video to become 25 minutes long when I started commentating but I guess there was just that much to explain. Hopefully, you were able to follow along with my explanations and visuals, learn something new, and had an enjoyable experience. So, thanks for watching.
 
You have COMPLETELY misunderstood the idea of /b/. /b/ is not "hey guys take a look at this funny link ha ha." /b/ is not Facebook's whiteknighting. /b/ is not Reddit, Tumblr or 9gag.com. /b/ is a place for people to be monsters. Disturbing, cold, heedless monsters that they really are. Tsunami kills people in Asia and we laugh. Psychotic emo fulfills her sick desires with her cat and we laugh. A man rapes his grandchildren, we laugh and demand more. Suicide, foul play, genocide- we laugh. Racism, sexism, discrimination, xenophobia, rape and unfounded wrath- we laugh.

We are cruel; we do not forgive; we do not forget; we are the real face of the internet.
 
What you can't handle a bitch farting on your dick? If it really bothers you, grab her by the hair and smash her face into your asshole and fart in her mouth to teach her a lesson. But really. . .if you can't handle getting your dick farted on just wait til she shits all over it and it looks like a melting fudge-sickle. If you can't handle a little mud on the tires you better not go driving through the mud. . .
 
(Note: This is a leak adult version of a Super Mario Bros game officially made by Nintendo. The story was about the reality that was going on with the Super Mario Brothers. The transcript is the beginning intro originally from 1991 translated from Japanese to English. The game was scraped do to ideas Nintendo wanted the public to believe that they are " "more family friendly from the competition" at the time. This is the script.)

(The Intro screen shows a black screen with white text saying "Nintendo". This is similar to the Super Mario World intro. It then shows a scene of Luigi starting a conversation.)

Luigi:
"Hey Mario, look! It's new Super Mario World! Everything is different! There is water in the sky Mario! And blocks in the air! Yoshi Coins!"

Mario:
"Luigi... I've been a plumber for thirty four years. Do you think, I actually I go to some Mushroom Kingdom, I don't. I just trip really hard on LSD and Fuck some prostitutes... without a Condom."

Luigi:
"But Mario, I've been their with you, to the Mushroom Kingdom!"

Mario:
"No you haven't Luigi! You have Terminal Seven, Brain Cancer. I don't even know what that means but it's bad."

(This is where the room starts warping from a cartoonist room to an old realistic apartment )

Mario:
"This all in your head Luigi! It's in your imagination. Their is no such thing of the Mushroom Kingdom! I'm a plumber, you've been living off me and my livelihood for years Luigi! You're a useless cut Luigi and I've been supporting you because your my brother."

Luigi:
"But Mario, I saw the Princess. She's Real!"

Mario:
"That was a dead hooker Luigi. I threw her in your bed Luigi while you were sleeping. You were on Mushrooms."

(During the conversation a siting Princess Peach turns into a decaying skeleton of a woman.)

Luigi:
"But, but Mario. Mario, what about Toad? What about Toad!?"

Mario:
"Luigi... that wasn't a talking mushroom. That was my cock Luigi! That was my cock okay! That why it looked like a mushroom Luigi!"

(This is where the demo ends in black with white text saying, "Made by Nintendo with no intent to release it to the public.")

 
OR Nurse here. This is kind of a long one...

I was taking call one night, and woke up at two in the morning for a "general surgery" call. Pretty vague, but at the time, I lived in a town that had large populations of young military guys and avid meth users, so late-night emergencies were common.

Got to the hospital, where a few more details awaited me -- "Perirectal abscess." For the uninitiated, this means that somewhere in the immediate vicinity of the asshole, there was a pocket of pus that needed draining. Needless to say our entire crew was less than thrilled.

I went down to the Emergency Room to transport the patient, and the only thing the ER nurse said as she handed me the chart was "Have fun with this one." Amongst healthcare professionals, vague statements like that are a bad sign.

My patient was a 314lb Native American woman who barely fit on the stretcher I was transporting her on. She was rolling frantically side to side and moaning in pain, pulling at her clothes and muttering Hail Mary's. I could barely get her name out of her after a few minutes of questioning, so after I confirmed her identity and what we were working on, I figured it was best just to get her to the anesthesiologist so we could knock her out and get this circus started.

She continued her theatrics the entire ten-minute ride to the O.R., nearly falling off the surgical table as we were trying to put her under anesthetic. We see patients like this a lot, though, chronic drug abusers who don't handle pain well and who have used so many drugs that even increased levels of pain medication don't touch simply because of high tolerance levels.

It should be noted, tonight's surgical team was not exactly wet behind the ears. I'd been working in healthcare for several years already, mostly psych and medical settings. I've watched an 88-year-old man tear a 1"-diameter catheter balloon out of his penis while screaming "You'll never make me talk!". I've been attacked by an HIV-positive neo-Nazi. I've seen some shit. The other nurse had been in the OR as a trauma specialist for over ten years; the anesthesiologist had done residency at a Level 1 trauma center, or as we call them, "Knife and Gun Clubs". The surgeon was ex-Army, and averaged about eight words and two facial expressions a week. None of us expected what was about to happen next.

We got the lady off to sleep, put her into the stirrups, and I began washing off the rectal area. It was red and inflamed, a little bit of pus was seeping through, but it was all pretty standard. Her chart had noted that she'd been injecting IV drugs through her perineum, so this was obviously an infection from dirty needles or bad drugs, but overall, it didn't seem to warrant her repeated cries of "Oh Jesus, kill me now."

The surgeon steps up with a scalpel, sinks just the tip in, and at the exact same moment, the patient had a muscle twitch in her diaphragm, and just like that, all hell broke loose.

Unbeknownst to us, the infection had actually tunneled nearly a foot into her abdomen, creating a vast cavern full of pus, rotten tissue, and fecal matter that had seeped outside of her colon. This godforsaken mixture came rocketing out of that little incision like we were recreating the funeral scene from Jane Austen's "Mafia!".

We all wear waterproof gowns, face masks, gloves, hats, the works -- all of which were as helpful was rainboots against a firehose. The bed was in the middle of the room, an easy seven feet from the nearest wall, but by the time we were done, I was still finding bits of rotten flesh pasted against the back wall. As the surgeon continued to advance his blade, the torrent just continued. The patient kept seizing against the ventilator (not uncommon in surgery), and with every muscle contraction, she shot more of this brackish gray-brown fluid out onto the floor until, within minutes, it was seeping into the other nurse's shoes.

I was nearly twelve feet away, jaw dropped open within my surgical mask, watching the second nurse dry-heaving and the surgeon standing on tip-toes to keep this stuff from soaking his socks any further. The smell hit them first. "Oh god, I just threw up in my mask!" The other nurse was out, she tore off her mask and sprinted out of the room, shoulders still heaving. Then it hit me, mouth still wide open, not able to believe the volume of fluid this woman's body contained. It was like getting a great big bite of the despair and apathy that permeated this woman's life. I couldn't fucking breath, my lungs simply refused to pull anymore of that stuff in. The anesthesiologist went down next, an ex-NCAA D1 tailback, his six-foot-two frame shaking as he threw open the door to the OR suite in an attempt to get more air in, letting me glimpse the second nurse still throwing up in the sinks outside the door. Another geyser of pus splashed across the front of the surgeon. The YouTube clip of "David at the dentist" keeps playing in my head -- "Is this real life?"

In all operating rooms, everywhere in the world, regardless of socialized or privatized, secular or religious, big or small, there is one thing the same: Somewhere, there is a bottle of peppermint concentrate. Everyone in the department knows where it is, everyone knows what it is for, and everyone prays to their gods they never have to use it. In times like this, we rub it on the inside of our masks to keep the outside smells at bay long enough to finish the procedure and shower off.

I sprinted to the our central supply, ripping open the drawer where this vial of ambrosia was kept, and was greeted by -- an empty fucking box. The bottle had been emptied and not replaced. Somewhere out there was a godless bastard who had used the last of the peppermint oil, and not replaced a single fucking drop of it. To this day, if I figure out who it was, I'll kill them with my bare hands, but not before cramming their head up the colon of every last meth user I can find, just so we're even.

I darted back into the room with the next best thing I can find -- a vial of Mastisol, which is an adhesive rub we use sometimes for bandaging. It's not as good as peppermint, but considering that over one-third of the floor was now thoroughly coated in what could easily be mistaken for a combination of bovine after-birth and maple syrup, we were out of options.

I started rubbing as much of the Mastisol as I could get on the inside of my mask, just glad to be smelling anything except whatever slimy demon spawn we'd just cut out of this woman. The anesthesiologist grabbed the vial next, dowsing the front of his mask in it so he could stand next to his machines long enough to make sure this woman didn't die on the table. It wasn't until later that we realized that Mastisol can give you a mild high from huffing it like this, but in retrospect, that's probably what got us through.

By this time, the smell had permeated out of our OR suite, and down the forty-foot hallway to the front desk, where the other nurse still sat, eyes bloodshot and watery, clenching her stomach desperately. Our suite looked like the underground river of ooze from Ghostbusters II, except dirty. Oh so dirty.

I stepped back into the OR suite, not wanting to leave the surgeon by himself in case he genuinely needed help. It was like one of those overly-artistic representations of a zombie apocalypse you see on fan-forums. Here's this one guy, in blue surgical garb, standing nearly ankle deep in lumps of dead tissue, fecal matter, and several liters of syrupy infection. He was performing surgery in the swamps of Dagobah, except the swamps had just come out of this woman's ass and there was no Yoda. He and I didn't say a word for the next ten minutes as he scraped the inside of the abscess until all the dead tissue was out, the front of his gown a gruesome mixture of brown and red, his eyes squinted against the stinging vapors originating directly in front of him. I finished my required paperwork as quickly as I could, helped him stuff the recently-vacated opening full of gauze, taped this woman's buttocks closed to hold the dressing for as long as possible, woke her up, and immediately shipped off to the recovery ward.

Until then, I'd only heard of "alcohol showers." Turns out 70% isopropyl alcohol is about the only thing that can even touch a scent like that once its soaked into your skin. It takes four or five bottles to get really clean, but it's worth it. It's probably the only scenario I can honestly endorse drinking a little of it, too.

As we left the locker room, the surgeon and I looked at each other, and he said the only negative sentence I heard him utter in two and a half years of working together:

"That was bad."

The next morning the entire department (a fairly large floor within the hospital) still smelled. The housekeepers told me later that it took them nearly an hour to suction up all of the fluid and debris left behind. The OR suite itself was closed off and quarantined for two more days just to let the smell finally clear out.

I laugh now when I hear new recruits to healthcare talk about the worst thing they've seen. You ain't seen shit, kid.

tl;dr Don't shoot IV drugs into your taint.
 
Do you think I want one day find out who you are? You losers at kiwi farms don't know me at all. It's funny how stupid you are when it comes to me even though you stalk me for 10 years worth of data... But really what is that data? Pigeon-holed glimpses of me...None of you actually know a damn thing about me. You're all wrong about me. Ignorant liars... Most of you are probably empty lived pieces of shit who just take some sort of comfort in believing those lies... But Gengar put so much work in constructing them. I'll remember that...Gengar you're such a fucking idiot lol... One day I'm going to disappear without a Trace. Y'all lose all sight of me. They'll be a bits and pieces on the internet from this old identity... But you'll never find her see me again... But your actions against me will be all over...I'll be all over that pissant little side of yours. And don't worry Joshua I'm coming for you to one day. You'll never even see me coming. I am nothing if not tenacious, and unforgiving. And one day you will pay for everything you fools have attempted to do to me. I am not...Fucking Chris Chan. I am a marine vet. I'm a hard worker. I'm a hard trainer. I'm a good fighter. and even though I have spent the last several years soul searching and trying to figure myself out instead of training and staying deadly... That time has passed. And one day you will all pay. Not just for what you did to me. But for any person who you lied about. I'll find out everything about you all. I'll find out everything about every one of your victims. Who was guilty and who was innocent for real. Because you're idiots aren't...You idiots aren't detectives. Only a few of your victims will actually have come remotely close to deserving what you did. The terrorists, and the actually guilty sexual predators... But everyone else's lives you've ruined... I promise I will repay you one thousand fold one day.
 
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