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| YUGO |
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YUGO LABS |
| ALSO WIK |
| Substance X | |
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until his exposure to Substance X, he was just a mild-mannered linear actuary, blissfully fomenting lateral financial movement in the lower intestines of a fortune 9000 corporation. orders and push. pushback and orderback. but then the Substance X, and he was all hollaback~!; alarming himself when no one answered back to themselves. he became convinced he was a mild-mannered ant-mite on a virtual reality vacation, and that the ant-mite was suffering a schizoid embolishment, and yes sir he was now thoroughly anti-embolishment because the embolishment is sabotaging my hot water taps and stealing my ted nugent records. DO YOU HAVE THEM? DO YOU?!
clearly the experiment, had unantiplated clonsuquoncenners-ment. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-11 18:46:22 | |
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| atypical reaction to riced out subspace | |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-10 06:46:35 | |
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| three for ten | |
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the gentle cleaver of logic. it was my most powerful ally, just as fear was to darth vader. i just had to let the logic float through a point in me, and then into this man's cranial overhead comportments.
"it says three for ten. there are three of whatever strange vegetable is, in this bag. therefore, the cost is ten." "well, sir," the clerk explained, "you only have one bag, not three." i nodded. he nodded. "i'd like to speak with your manager, please." i calmly requested. he seemed noplussed. "look, i'd be happy to just let you pay ten for this bag of, uh ...strange purple vegetables... but, like, i have to ring it up through the computer! i can't change that! only my manager can change the..... oh, hold on. one moment please." triumph, as always. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-10 03:58:48 | |
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| veedidyajay | |
| the man said he was going to go off and play some "vidja." i asked, joshingly, if he was a "veedidyajay" without realizing that i'd executed an embarrasing slide from texan to urdu -- and, texan's don't noe shit about urdunomics. or hindi, perhaps that was more hindian pubjabi? the disanskreet formulation, rather than continuous hindi? it was no matter. in the time i'd taken to reflect on my alarming turn of phrase, he seemed to have went off for that there vidja. i deemed this outcome to be acceptible and resumed counting my scones. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-10 02:56:32 | |
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| GOLDEN OMEN 3 | |
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A sullen figure trudged through the verge, stumbling and adjusting balance according to some rule known only to the beholder. Distant cries of confined animals echoed throughout the night. The road was long and barren, Itself woke up to fields stretched out beyond imagination, the dew in the moonlight looked crystalline. Understanding of the situation was thin, Itself had wandered far from the light. A town was not far over but the unforgiving terrain merited some caution. Occasionally a car would pierce through, blinding and unforgiving. Street lights in the distance caught Its eye, “home” It uttered in the darkness. The process of putting one leg in front of the other was now an instinct, a homing beacon shone out from the hills above. Chimes reverberated from distant plantations and the road seemed alive stretching out in front as a snake would. As the town approached an alarming sight greeted It at the gates, 8 hooded figures spaced randomly across the road as if waiting. Itself froze, fear struck like an ancient animal relic. At first it seemed merely a trick of the light, the figures were so still and lifeless. A dark, low voice suddenly reverberated the landscape as if it was merely a stones throw away: “A great valley must be traversed, the passage navigated, then you may find a home”. Startled Itself turned to the direction the voice had been coming from in the hedgerow, he found nothing. Clearly this journey was tainted by the touch of demons. A moment of madness, a moment of suicidal rage, Itself laughed manically into the darkness. Tonight was the night. An end was in sight. A stumble became a walk, a walk became a jog, a jog became a full on sprint towards the towns gates. Suddenly pain, Itself was smashed in the opposite direction by a blue forcefield type structure spreading across the width of the road. Dazed, Itself pulled his injured figure across the tarmac. “You... must not continue” the voice chanted, this time seemingly inside Itselfs head. It was bemused and uttered into the night “Where is she, the maiden of the dead. Another temporary excursion into materialistic abhorrences?”. The voice of the eerily still group echoed back “Why do you persist, they have moved into other narratives. The valley is all you care about now”. “It's wrong” Itself shouted, “this was the right universe and I stepped into it to be happy”. As suddenly as they appeared the group was gone from the road, leaving nothing but mist behind. Cautiously Itself edged up to where the forcefield was, it was gone. The walk back into town rolled on, an odd hangmans noose swayed from a tree. The buildings and lights seemed to spiral inwards, an infinite fractal perforated the shattered fabric of reality. Itself collapsed. |
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| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2016-02-10 02:02:13 | |
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| Properational Ollue Vopparitioning | |
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The man came in front of the assembled group and spoke. It was not in any common language, but only in high-minded abstractions, not tethered to any reference point: the essence of Maximum Business Value for the Customer. I waited politely for a break in the flow, past the effluvium of "I'm here to balance the books and bring us through our growth stage" type suit-wearing nonsense. I had to see if this man-shaped blot in my vision, soaking up brickloads of my time, had even the faintest glimmer of a soul. There was my pause, and the words came out: "Yeah, uh, who's your favorite author?" Everything changed in that moment. The shell of a man imploded, and this black hole of stammering awkwardness emptied the air from the room. It took a minute for the shocked "um, uh, errr," to replenish the oxygen, but by that time, the damage was done. |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2016-02-06 06:29:30 | |
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| summary | |
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we were smoking ziggurats outside the arby's, when troble happened -- as it usually does. a carefully-kept automaton approached my compatriot and i and demanded to know what we were doing. without waiting for an answer, she let us know that the issue (aka her fucking problem) was that we were smoking ziggurats outside the arby's. i explained to her: "madame, it is raining, this ledge provides shelter, and rain gets in the windows if we smoke in the horseless mirage. thus, we have sought shelter under the ledge of noble arby's, through which we shall smoke out this rainbromonium. can you not see my pants are wet? are your pants not wet? clearly, you see, it is the sane choice."
she seemed nonplussed, but still irate. "i have no idea what you're talking about!" she snapped sea spells by the sheshore that did it. "you see, ma'am," i kindly explained, "i'm afraid that if you can't sense the sense, then we can't talk the talk." "you're making nonsense! nothing you say makes anysense to me!" "well, uh.. then fuck off?" she stared at me for a tense moment, then snorted, about-faced, and stormed inside the arby's, reeking of ziggurat smoke. clearly, that attempt at more succinctly conveying my position had solved the problem. i made a mental note to try and summarize more often |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2016-02-04 01:26:42 | |
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| Net Scape 2 | |
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| Posted by ...my name. is. THE PLAGUE @ 2016-02-01 07:18:46 | |
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| bad microwave interface | |
| Microwave (80) > defcon 1 > start. Now enter the launch codes. Spin the dial slowly otherwise the time increase will stop, or set itself to 95 minutes. Press the start again. Pray. | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2015-12-12 08:25:19 | |
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| bike theft | |
| half life 3 confirmed. finite infamatum on the dot matrix procligator. juice shortage minus expenses. lack of tubes in the data set | |
| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2015-12-11 05:10:09 | |
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| GOLDEN OMEN 2 | |
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Itself emerged from Mauve Julius HQ, confident stride undermined by a parasitical weakness which soon reduced It to crippled pile of soon to be cadavers. Considering the season, a positive forecast had been bestowed upon the shire, but around Itself was inside a localised torrential downpour. Early in the day the maiden had given light as a prophecy, a glorious ember in the dying night. It brought colour into the park like the visible spectrum had just exploded in a great expansion of consciousness. Hope had shone again in the hallowed wastelands. Itself thought upon the workings of the long obsolete religions, complete one way devotion, blindly, despite rational thought. The followers loved the deity. This love was absolute even when entire civilizations were destroyed without warning, or explanation. Instructions were received, some of which were absorbed by followers in proximity. These followers were strict followers of the shire's meticulous etiquette and would never directly question a riddle from the maiden. The dark night continued, inside it rained, the intensity of the storm only exacerbated by increasingly maniacal messages albeit convincingly delivered. Moments of doubt were sensed and swiftly reprimanded by serpentine decelerations. Through watery vision the spectre of Itself continued its sullen journey, a great burden pressed amongst Its chest. The night was still, not a soul in sight, chess algorithms and profit margins suddenly seemed materialistic, the prophecy was all that mattered and all that needed to be processed no matter the cost. The ground started to shake, the maiden had not come out of the trance soon enough. Suddenly the humidity in the air around was dried out instantly as the world started to burn. Itself welcomed death. |
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| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2015-12-11 02:30:12 | |
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| GOLDEN OMEN 1 | |
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Amongst the cold morning were feelings of extreme distaste. The maiden who proclaimed many a criticism was gone, such verbose diatribe could be a contributing factor. So yeah in this book everything is gone, but maybe actually nothing is gone. Hold on I'm speaking normally let me revert to pseudo intellectual bullshit. Oh sorry, apparently that was already turned on let me turn that off and then correct a pigeon amongst peers. It was a cold ominous morning, but it was july, and people wondered strongly if It might be june. A sound uttered amongst the dawn chorus, so earth shattering that it reverberated the air itself. Sonic disturbances oscillated, rolling into frequencies not previously heard by any Neosapien. It awoke. It had held his people close to him, this was to become a downfall. At first It felt a great sadness, loss of unfathomable magnitude. Whilst pondering if Itself was an itself, the writer tapped away in the smoky attic, prophetically unwinding his own demise. Thy heart amongst thee is banished, great envy amongst thy newly accepted vagabonds. It had been misunderstood, a creature formed of crystal and stone. A beast, a triumph and a tragedy. Itself continued into the hazy landscape that could have been but is not quite. 'Hypothetically a thesaurus could help with such an endeavour amongst people expecting sentences': Thoughts like this were generally dismissed and thrown into a pile amongst severed arteries. An infant screamed out, piercing the air with the kind of frequency humans were most sensitive to. It was the baby that would later be called Jesus. He was an OK kid but to be honest the miracle stuff is all bullshit, mild coincidence at best. My own infant came suddenly, the wife progressed from about 4-9 months in what would be considered 2 earth weeks. This was a couple of weeks after Jesus, I feel a little bit overshadowed if I'm honest.. and who wants to be born in the year zero. I talked to a man that showed up in our flat (our flat was basically a stable and people used to mistake it whilst storing horses) who told me of the tale of the Golden Omen. If one were to posses said artefact it would restore past loves and heal all open emotional wounds. Naturally Itself was keen to seek such a infamous treasure, a unfounded relief. There was only one man to go to. Itself found itself in the offices of Mauve Julius Ltd, looking for a step up in the detective ladder. Broads were piling up with their ear to the stone, absorbing word after word of exquisite wisdom on domestic abhorrence. I shift my hat to the side and glance over at Itself, I will be gone from here soon.. a mere pixel or speck on the canvas of space. Itself snatches a ticket and waits, a sublime patience emitted from the act itself. 'Y'dont speak easy do ya?' the presumed receptionist called. 'Why no I-' Itself proclaimed before stumbling into a large filing cabinet. After a bemused look from the secretary Itself was startled by a moth that had escape from a nearby file, as first impressions go Itself was not on great terms with the help. |
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| Posted by Mahjong The Wisest @ 2015-12-07 04:38:35 | |
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| tonearm robbery | |
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the accents on this beat are no accident; they infringe on my client's bank account. indeed, in his puportedly original track "bankfone2," this richard d. james (if that is his real name) has made himself the alexander grahmn bell of the ball to the elisha gray of a cherished, bonded, and certified riced out records artist. as you can clearly see on the internet, here, the track is largely constructed with sampled waveflams from "the welsh chef" (penned by none other than juke highbert himself!) and topped with crouton-sized chunks of the blade techno opener (penned by the studio techs responsible for preventing new order from making a mess, and/or cleaning up their mess in the event that new order should, indeed, make a mess). this has caused my clients -- riced out juke and highbert records -- significant damage to bankroll, disposition, and all eyebrows involved. the flagrant lifts hoisted with the pnumatic bluster of a pensive ginger, using his fame, there, to foment accidents that are not accidents, but note accidents, to the stemuegan phloe of a highly parallel record label, an artist it grover, and eyebrows, via a shameless beatnik. if we let this stand, how can we sit at the same table with ourselves? this richard d. james (if that his his real name) must be made an example of -- and not just because it is deserved, but because it is the law.
your honor, it is a clear case of tonearm robbery. Exhibit A: here Exhibit B: there |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2015-11-18 23:09:49 | |
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| life over RJ11 | |
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Remember that time pnrfne hit the pope with a pencil and he was all wtf then .5 got involved and HYPERFIKBOY DIED. after that bob Dobbs put up some drywall with a stable dozer. There were a good 4 balls in the forum but the nuns had no laser Vision. dirigibles were all the rage down by the funt factory where Artie made a bird lamp. mahjongggg took a screencap. nobody knew a yugo could be SO incorrigible or how much hentai ED4 watched in a watasecond. heaferimg had a GIF in the pamcrack. bjork never sounded so off kilter as the day that voice was shaved to the masses like a Sony mini disk only release. APHEX TWIN IS RICHARD D. JAMES APHEX TWIN IS RICHARD D. JAMES APHEX TWIN IS RICHARD D. JAMES APHEX TWIN IS RICHARD D. JAMES APHEX TWIN IS RICHARD D. JAMES APHEX TWIN IS RICHARD D. JAMES APHEX TWIN IS RICHARD D. JAMES APHEX TWIN IS RICHARD D. JAMES APHEX TWIN IS AN ANTIQUE RINGTONE |
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| Posted by shitbowl @ 2015-11-03 01:28:42 | |
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| un-reredacted memo | |
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with my windows redacted and my LP5 splayin' i was tryna pass taxes but subcontractas to the maxes so i redact da redactas and engage da tractas. fright might at nidmite university please don't steal my eyes. your internet won't like it, but your insane will love it. |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2015-10-26 07:27:08 | |
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| Pizza all up in this | |
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Thin tomato cheese. fat spiced meat. Pizza is everywhere in this bitch. Just look around and see the pie. |
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| Posted by wolf530 (analog hacker extraordinaire) @ 2015-09-29 18:56:08 | |
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| i dont spwak scottish | |
| A day early and a dollar short. | |
| Posted by shitbowl @ 2015-09-15 11:20:07 | |
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| stairs you must go down | |
| the members of the set "stairs you must go down" include "all the stairs in your house," amongst other stairs. like, if you throw some theoretical stair situation at me, and you are reasonably proximal to throwing yourself down the stairs, chances are those stairs are also likely a memember of the aforementioned set. | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2015-09-09 04:15:08 | |
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| asd a lawyer | |
| a lawyer who won court cases caused trouble. he represented bards. didn't think modern problems wer modern did you? my ansestor was a little man withred hair. to own property and trading companies like The Norse Dis, the irish allowed female officers in the national army in 300BC and her name was terri zucchinni and female cops and females the same rights as males | |
| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2015-08-16 00:10:04 | |
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| there's no excuse for you | |
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"I have nine cats," the man said apologetically, as if it would defuse the awkwardness of the situation.
"I should hope so!" I said, implying that it didn't. There was no excuse for buying that much cat food, with that many $5 Target gift cards. This oozed out of my intonation, making it crystal clear that, while he had utterly failed to explain himself, I did marginally appreciate the attempt |
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| Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker @ 2015-08-11 22:41:50 | |
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