geekhack
geekhack Community => Off Topic => Topic started by: demik on Mon, 16 December 2013, 22:05:55
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Please, be proper in this thread. Think about your internet reputations.
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i farted
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Sth, is this the image you want to take when you travel to Europe? Please, be serious.
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Please, be proper in this thread. Think about your internet reputations.
I don't have an internet reputation :(
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if I had a dime for every quarter I sunk down this girl's cleavage in my senior year- I'd have some change left.
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Sth, is this the image you want to take when you travel to Europe? Please, be serious.
i'm gonna fart there too
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well this thread went to ****. i guess the internet isn't as serious as i thought
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well this thread went to ****. i guess the internet isn't as serious as i thought
no i think it went to fart
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linkbane pls
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well this thread went to ****. i guess the internet isn't as serious as i thought
no i think it went to fart
well as fart as the eye can see, i agree
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ok, now we're taking it a little too fart
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I came to not be serious...
I was late
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ok, now we're taking it a little too fart
fart real?
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(http://www.seriouscat.com/serious_cat.jpg)
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Tym, you're English. Class up this joint.
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(http://stickymoments.typepad.com/.a/6a0128770ad0fb970c0148c8322234970c-800wi)
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You guys are petty bad at being serious. Let's get back on topic please.
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teach us the way Myster
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You guys are petty bad at being serious. Let's get back on topic please.
but the topic is off topic, so we are on topic, by not being on a topic.
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Today, I had real thoughts about my financial future. I think I'm going to weigh my options for a fortune 500 account and other stock options.
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I was walking to school today when I saw a group of young adults berating an ice cream merchant for a discount on his wares.
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I was walking to school today when I saw a group of young adults berating an ice cream merchant for a discount on his wares.
Oh, to be young again.
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You guys are petty bad at being serious. Let's get back on topic please.
eyepatches!
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qNqCtwzkNfs/S1oaIIk_pqI/AAAAAAAAAus/JotKzqhufvQ/s400/redthursday_7.jpg)
Super serious.
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(http://i.imgur.com/dXINkVg.jpg)
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(http://i.imgur.com/yxJdSnQ.jpg)
serious recon sniper
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Theoretically, you and your romantic partner, who is most likely of the female gender, are accompanying each other, when the cellular telephone, of which you are the legal owner, abruptly emits an audible tone, which is highly likely to be your default sound that will play when someone from another location, usually within your country of residence, depending on your telephone carrier or provider, inputs a finite pattern composed of numerical units into their legally owned cellular telephone, which in turn will send a wave that goes through a complex process that includes radios and telephone towers. You walk over to the area that the cellular telephone is physically placed, and you translate the telephone receiver from it’s resting area, where it is mechanically constructed to fit into, all the way in the direction towards your ear drums, and then place the northern part of the device to your ear, and then place the southern part near your mouth, most likely onto your cheek. A voice that resembles that of an adult male proclaims “What activity are you currently in the process of completing, that involves having my female offspring attend!?”. You immediately notify your female romantic companion, and she educates you on the objective fact that the paternal guardian that she normally refers to as “Father” has stopped living some time in the past, and is also currently deceased. If the details of this story are in fact, the truth, than it is now your duty to answer the question of ‘Who was calling you and your romantic companion on your cellular telephone?’.
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“Dear Sir, poor sir, brave sir:” he read, “You are an experiment by the Creator of the Universe. You are the only creature in the entire Universe who has free will. You are the only one who has to figure out what to do next—and why. Everybody else is a robot, a machine
Some persons seem to like you, and others seem to hate you, and you must wonder why. They are simply liking machines and hating machines.
“You are pooped and demoralized,” read Dwayne. “Why wouldn’t you be? Of course it is exhausting, having to reason all the time in a universe which wasn’t meant to be reasonable.”
You are surrounded by loving machines, hating machines, greedy machines, unselfish machines, brave machines, cowardly machines, truthful machines, lying machines, funny machines, solemn machines,” he read. “Their only purpose is to stir you up in
every conceivable way, so the Creator of the Universe can watch your reactions. They can no more feel or reason than grandfather clocks.
“The Creator of the Universe would now like to apologize not only for the capricious, jostling companionship he provided during the test, but for the trashy, stinking condition of the planet itself. The Creator programmed robots to abuse it for millions of years, so it would be a poisonous, festering cheese when you got here. Also, He made sure it would be desperately crowded by programming robots, regardless of their living conditions, to crave sexual intercourse and adore infants more than almost anything.”
“He also programmed robots to write books and magazines and newspapers for you, and television and radio shows, and stage shows, and films. They wrote songs for you. The Creator of the Universe had them invent hundreds of religions, so you would have plenty to choose among. He had them kill each other by the millions, for this purpose only: that you be amazed. They have committed every possible atrocity and every possible kindness unfeelingly, automatically, inevitably, to get a reaction from Y-O-U.”
“Every time you went into the library,” said the book, “the Creator of the Universe held His breath. With such a higgledy-piggledy cultural smorgasbord before you, what would you, with your free will, choose?”
“Your parents were fighting machines and self-pitying machines,” said the book. “Your mother was programmed to bawl out your father for being a defective moneymaking machine, and your father was programmed to bawl her out for being a defective housekeeping machine. They were programmed to bawl each other out for being defective loving machines.
“Then your father was programmed to stomp out of the house and slam the door. This automatically turned your mother into a weeping machine. And your father would go down to a tavern where he would
get drunk with some other drinking machines. Then all the drinking machines would go to a ****house and rent ****ing machines. And then your father would drag himself home to become an apologizing machine. And your mother would become a very slow forgiving machine.
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Fricken rebate processing company denied my rebate application saying that I essentially did not turn in any of the required paper work. It's like those ***** think I sent them a blank envelop or something.
Well you slimey d**** f****** c**** t***** I took a gorram picture before I mailed the fricken thing.
Time to get this sorted out properly.
One of the benefits of living in Silicon Valley means that I can write to the consumer affairs office at the DA if this really goes bad.
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thanks for playing!