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  • Great Times at Work

    I'm a devious weasel, everyone who's ever met me picks up on that quicker than Evil Blood shed honest tears about the malice in the song I sang for him (Ro won't even post it alongside with the rest). Everybody in the office has realized this is what I am, I'm a real character to bullshit within the break room. My best? When I enter the building, there sits a 250+ pound lady whose face lines around her mouth look *exactly* like Germany's Merkel.

    I stop, and lean in close with my elbow extended awkwardly near her; she knows it's me who'll say anything from "good morning" with a wide smile or tell her a short story she always smiles or chuckles to. So what benefit does that bring me? My own secret agent who knows what day and time it is to piss in a cup and hand it over. I was very, very busy when the fat screaming alarm made it to my ears, turning my face a color that has no name.

    I rushed into the Men's room and pretended to make sure my eyebrows were straight, and my clothes looked so sharp it's obvious I was once a soldier. I hear the nigger's piss hit the ceramic, loudly, before the mark left without even washing his flu spreaders. I immediately scooped his warm piss out of one of the convenient low-flow water-conservatoires we use and immediately walked to a line that hadn't even begun to form yet. *pops collar* I always begin and finish first *wink*

    I pretended to sip my "coffee." She smiles and lets me right through the door. I dumped my still-warm cup into the tattletale cup, quickly sealed it, and handed it over "I needed to go baaad... here." She asked me how to spell my last name while writing it on the cup (I lied about a few letters), which had remained warm enough to register fine on the cop cup . When the results came, all they learned about me was that I... SHMOKE KRAAAAAAAK NYIJJUH!!! I was called into a board meeting full of frowns and worried looks.

    "Pffft, no way that could be mine. Nope"

    "We know there was some kind of mix-up made by the testers."

    "Heh, listen folks, I've made mistakes on every test I've taken, gimme a break here guys. I gotta get back to work *serious face, soft tone*

    "We know, but we need another test to send back to them to clear things up. Now."

    I then made "The Face," which some of them returned. It became a "Chinese Stare Down," as both explained and shown in Big Trouble in Little China Town.




    I was thinking about ways to get out of taking a real one considering all the things that they found in mine would get that nigger I stole from a promotion. Yuck. I was just about to claim that as a disabled veteran, a patriot who needed drugs to keep me out of the gutters, along with all the great work I gift them with, when record breaking stench fogged up the air, making everybody catch a nose full and trying to mask their disgust while searching for the culprit . I mean, the air was already thick, containing anxiety accompanied with speculative looks.

    Then it was obvious - the only woman in the room had Shawshank Redemptioned my ass. Both genders can immediately know whose hole it escaped from. Maybe it was the coffee. A man's fart usually gives away the guy's private life while a woman's healthy diet and productive gut bacteria make them smells like burnt rotten eggs scrambled with road kill. Always silent, always.

    "We all know you don't smoke crack and we all have piles of stressful work to do so this meeting is now adjourned. Spell his last name right next time, Susan."

    The next time won't test pee, it'll be some kind of monitored thermometer-like thing that examines your saliva...


    SSS
    - I'll just French kiss the Blob!

    uyd6t

  • #2
    Ahhhh, the Angst of Arsetin returneth...


    Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
    I'm a devious weasel, everyone who's ever met me picks up on that quicker than Evil Blood shed honest tears about the malice in the song I sang for him (Ro won't even post it alongside with the rest).
    You're a whining shitbag who wants his diaper changed is what you are, the song was posted alongside with the rest long before you posted bail at the registration page.


    You are referring to the "Tell Me Who I am" piece, aren't you? The post of his you read verbatim into a microphone at -20 dB before bellowing the song name and finally moaning it brokenly over and over (again at -20 dB), out of time and out of key until it mercifully vanished into the grain and gritty noise floor of your cheapie 8 bit Sound blaster card? The one that in spite of it's shitty production values managed to survive the entire tenure of my administering Napalm Radio at Brawl-Hall, as your autobiographical rant on how you came to be in Flametown might have surviveed if only someone might have considered it important enough to furnish me with a copy for inclusion?


    Sure I posted it. Just because I didn't seek your permission first, doesn't mean that it wasn't archived for posterity along with the rest. Funny, I don't remember it being overly malicious, though there was a component of real life information in there which is why the post is presently inaccessible to regular members. I had planned on redressing that oversight (along with completing work on the two Ceedub pieces and a number of cunTBlood & the d`Aspinettes tunes dealing with Dopeman, Tyrant and the Iron Duke), I may yet even do so despite your incessant whining about it, though it will be in my own good time if and when it happens since I don't see you reaching into your pocket for the $50 an hour required for me to give a flying fuck about it.


    Nah, you'll just show up moaning as if mine is a public service you've somehow got a claim on. Fucking cheapskate liberals, always expecting a handout from the ruling class. Just what the fuck are you doing in Texas anyhow? I thought people out your way were supposed to be Men, not welfare mooching maggots!


    Oh, and for the record, gargle plenty of minty mouthwash before your next breathalizer. It won't register positive on a drug test, but it will blow the roof off anything designed to register your blood alcohol content, giving you a smug smirk at the bewildered looks of the officer as he tries to process how you could possibly be capable of finding the ignition keyslot when his little black box is telling him you're practically enbalmed at that point.

    "I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable. I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do."
    - Robert A. Heinlein

    Comment


    • #3
      All of that off-topic babble just to say "SSS, your song did contain very sensitive, private information that BunnyBunBun shouldn't have posted for all to see. Cassandra and others pointed out how great it was: weaving Evil Blood's tear jerking search for his real folks combined with insults and a fantastic voice."

      How is the ^above undeniably true??? For starters, the short bald unwanted orphan never once claimed what BBB "found" was a troll job. It wasn't, the squatty kike was honestly searching for his mother who threw him away in the first place. Why the fuck would he wanna meet the bitch now?

      Next, it was so damn damning that to this day you won't dare share my damn song with the group. You've still got the song. You played it on Howard's answering machine on his birthday. I gotta love ya man, openly crawling out of the closet to finally admit that the use of PI shouldn't be allowed! How funny.

      EB loved to regularly harp on a poor poster's PI, and then outta nowhere... BOOYAA! Ethics was on holiday at the time. Always will be.

      So EB never once mentioned the song and his BFF (you) won't post it here, proving it fuckin' rekt him. I've also rid these parts of the internet from your old pal Mini Me/Nazi Admin/NA. That's a fact - Erik wouldn't/couldn't accept my tough-guy challenge because he'd feel half as bad as EB did while he read the onslaught of nasty descriptions about him and his "work."

      And hey, I just love how you stretched my forehead in my Napalm picture! It was your quiet way of making my forehead look just like yours, which says it all, doesn't it? *slowly shaking my head from side to side, truly smiling for all the right reasons instead of flashing my semi-convincing public one*



      SSS
      - thanks for building the nervous anxiety surrounding my best song

      uyd6t

      Comment


      • #4
        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        It's called "hijacking a thread", get over it. Your anecdote, much like your urine test, was never going to stand on its own merits, I took the liberty of taking something from your OP and running with it. Suck your own dick if you have a problem with that, you're the one who brought it up in the first place.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        just to say "SSS, your song did contain very sensitive, private information that BunnyBunBun shouldn't have posted for all to see.
        Don't care. The twisted and tortured path it took and the amount of people who pawed about with it before your non-creative garbage got his hands on it is irrelevant, as are the amount of years I and others allowed it to stand on BH is irrelevant. Full names are not permitted here.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        Cassandra and others pointed out how great it was: weaving Evil Blood's tear jerking search for his real folks combined with insults and a fantastic voice."
        Don't care. No matter how great you or anyone else thought it was, full names are not permitted here.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        How is the ^above undeniably true??? For starters, the short bald unwanted orphan never once claimed what BBB "found" was a troll job. It wasn't, the squatty kike was honestly searching for his mother who threw him away in the first place. Why the fuck would he wanna meet the bitch now?
        No idea and don't really care. Full names are not permitted here.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        Next, it was so damn damning that to this day you won't dare share my damn song with the group.
        Except that I did share it, I posted it in the Media forum along with your other efforts. Ceedub required the removal of some of your content because it had full names in it. Accordingly I removed it.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        You've still got the song.
        I do. And when I can be bothered, I will denoise it, re-eq it, compress it, minimise that boxy bachelor pad room reverb and remove all full names from it, full names not being permitted here.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        You played it on Howard's answering machine on his birthday.
        Did I? I don't know when his birthday is and never knew him to own an answering machine. Have you got a team of monkeys helping you on your prewrites or something?


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        I gotta love ya man
        Yuck, Gross. Put it away you homo, I don't feel like giving you a reach around you know.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        ....openly crawling out of the closet to finally admit that the use of PI shouldn't be allowed! How funny.
        Nevertheless, full names are not permitted here.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        EB loved to regularly harp on a poor poster's PI, and then outta nowhere... BOOYAA! Ethics was on holiday at the time. Always will be.
        Rest assured, if he ever deigns to register at Flame Truth for the purposes of posting full names in text or in song, I shall tell him the same thing that I've told you today. Full names are not permitted here.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        So EB never once mentioned the song and his BFF (you) won't post it here, proving it fuckin' rekt him.
        I have posted it here, I removed it when I was told full names are not permitted here. There goes your theory.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        I've also rid these parts of the internet from your old pal Mini Me/Nazi Admin/NA. That's a fact - Erik wouldn't/couldn't accept my tough-guy challenge because he'd feel half as bad as EB did while he read the onslaught of nasty descriptions about him and his "work."
        NA? I don't believe he ever registered here to begin with so it's a little disingenuous of you to claim you've run him off. Perhaps you meant TRF, I know he still posts there on occasion.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        And hey, I just love how you stretched my forehead in my Napalm picture! It was your quiet way of making my forehead look just like yours, which says it all, doesn't it?
        I figured increasing the size of your brainpan might encourage you to start behaving like you had a brain to put in it. You're welcome.


        Originally posted by SirSuperSouthern View Post
        All of that off-topic babble...
        *slowly shaking my head from side to side, truly smiling for all the right reasons instead of flashing my semi-convincing public one*


        SSS
        - thanks for building the nervous anxiety surrounding my best song
        Actually, that honour goes to "Fuck Your Way To The Top". At least it's the only one that anyone's seen fit to comment upon since it was posted here. And guess what? Of all your submissions to date, it's the only one you didn't pepper with full names.


        I think there's something in there for all of us, don't you?

        "I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable. I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do."
        - Robert A. Heinlein

        Comment


        • #5
          We've all heard the old saying before - "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree" because both 'children' grow up after they spring from big nuts. Makes perfect sense. In Australia "they" take samples from probable fathers in deep denial. The line was long, so one of 'em broke out his meth and laid a cock sized line on the guy's shoulder standing in front of him who didn't even notice it was done so fast. The now-pleasant hooptie-do was soon arrested afterwards but the nurses scratched his name off the list because the woman in labor kept calling out for more morphine despite the fact they hadn't given her any in the first place.

          An hour-and-a-half later it was your turn, Ro, after you'd already pissed twice seeing as how the wet stream made it all the way down your long skinny left leg, soaking one of your unmatched socks. You could've rung it out into the cup but the temperature dropped too far because hospitals don't Jew folks out on the air conditioning, dodging as many complaints as possible in that morgue. You couldn't piss out a lit match by the time it was your turn; they noticed, and insisted you re-enact "Two Girls, One Cup" before handing you one.

          There were no porno magazines left atop the toilet, and many different consistencies of the goop globs that spattered almost everywhere, mainly on the room's floor. All of the finishes kept pushing the guys further and further back. Good thing bein' tall, eh? No; nice clothes don't fit you and you had to sit on the sloppy seat in order to produce a sample while simultaneously injecting a fresh new splash into the dying age of internet HD pornography (is that a genital wart!?).

          The screams from both rooms sounded like the ones coming out of a Civil War tent equipped with bonesaws and booze. At the end, Ro staggered out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to his shoe with even more hanging from the back of his highwaters. The tramp looked exhausted too, demanding a smoke (?). The timely coincidence of Ro's bloody turd and the whore's bloody cry baby indistinguishably looked like each other. It was a perfect match, so the scabies scratching junkies were turned loose. Ro had a hole responsible for [i]both[/] of the twins, and he smiled for the first time since about five hours earlier he found a functional vein.

          The similarities stacked up between Ro and his . When the little got smacked like Barry Bonds used to do the same to baseballs, the cried when he landed, and Ro doesn't save princesses or his own. The 's twin behaved much better than the rest of its family (in-laws included) so it got better presents every year. Ro is alone now, his old insta-pics are as faded and yellow as his teeth, and that stripe running down his back. He will relapse - fact - before collapsing in the random bathroom he chose to shoot up in semi-privacy, pants-less on yet another public toilet seat for old times...


          SSS
          - your nose it runs
          you bust your buns
          you always finish last
          and just your luck
          you really suck
          im so damn sick of you
          uyd6t

          Comment


          • #6
            Dearie dearie me, the dreariness of fifteen year old self authored trolls that even yet hobble the broken and overly medicated vet class of the Wahhmurrikkkan welfare set. The best that can be said for the inner one-track workings of our boilerplated cranium from the Sodden State of Texico is that if you're going to remove all doubt as to your Fool status by opening your mouth, you'll go the full nine yards and flap it over a number of paragraphs.

            Very well, if that's all he has to bring, then let us at least converse in a language which is intimately familiar to him, In a day and age where most have come to realise the illegitimacy of any claim to being "Australian", Noah's Ark is still navigating the crushing waves of his own confusion on a sea of self-cried tears. Whereas his biblical namesake only had to contend with forty days and forty nights of inclement weather, the decade and a half long odyssey of lurching from one gut wrenching wave of personal failure to the next has seemingly not left enough time for our beleaguered beaner bothered brother in arms to burp up a fresh pu pu platter based on the little even the most ill-informed among the rest of us know to be true. Something involving moose for instance, or an overly buck toothed beaver beaner baby in braces (dental of course)... nope, much better to run with the tales he was suckered in with fifteen years prior. Like an old MASH re-run, SirSupe merely soups up the same old slop... mind you, with the amount of times it's happened to him personally in some tent canteen on the outskirts of Fallujah before that unfortunate incident behind the officer's mess led to his dishonourable discharge (to say nothing of the officer's discharge left to dribble stickily from Noah's gaunt jowells) it is probably to be expected. After all, literary excellence is assuredly not something you go searching the military for, right? Right.

            Which is probably why after waddling out of the wadi with a size nineteen army boot wedged up his crack, Noah's first point of call wasn't Gay4Pay or even its intellectually poorer cousin Bald-Bawlz... nope, he'd have to work his way up to that. Instead, the newly homeless fuck trudged his way to Constipation Junction. Or whatever the fuck it was called, who cares, it's probably long been a 404 skid mark on the net and good riddance to it, even if it did once house graphical evidence of the utter pigsty Noah was forced to sling his shingle at before Veterans Affairs came through with the scratch for him to afford Mexcrement cleaning details and Boy George posters to cover up the worst of the stains afflicting the yellowing calcimined opulence of his eight by five cardboard bachelors pad. "Living large" as they say, and the testimony was on display for all to see; care packages of last week's ramen surprise and knotted condoms (well, knotted baby socks filled with semen from his mother's place) liberally distributed among piles of ill-folded, ill fitting jump and sailor suit hand-me-downs, dead pizza boxes and other assorted examples of last month's trash, some of it lovingly preserved from emu-bobs through years worth of council roadside collections and the envy of (get this) nonce ex-coppers from Adelaide who presumed it important enough to bring it to this writer's attention.

            Top stuff, but apparently not enough for a shit-spangled bannerman from yet another lost and best forgotten war. Not that I personally blame him for the intent (and failure) of his government's attempts at remedial population control. The Wahhhmurrikkkan elite have been doing their level best to wipe out their working and welfare classes for decades now and it's testament to knobgoblin' Noah's *ahem* QUICK thinking... the realisation that if he dropped to his knees like a toddler still learning to walk and simply opened his mouth, his masters might recognise the value in his fellatory skills in spreading thee AIDS in the mother country and ship him off to a no-expenses paid cardboard box in Arsetin Texarse. Trouble being of course that one he got a taste for the old homo milk, knobgoblin Noah discovered he liked it...and wasted no time whatsoever in seeking out the tastiest, creamiest spooge of anyone and everyone from his corrugated castle, extending his special favours to those who lovingly tapped on the back of his head as his cheeks caved in eagerly about their gravy dispensing groinal udders and endlessly petitioning the more reluctant targets of his newfound homoerotic queerdom with attempts to ape the very trolls that made them justly famous.

            It's a living I suppose. Not one I'd personally subscribe to, but then who am I to tell him that he's wrong? Thankfully they don't let his kind north of the border so the closest I'll ever come to finding him on my doorstep is in the virtual world, an infinitely more agreeable prospect than physically having to plant my boot in his maw and propel him down the steps should I otherwise have found his knees on the welcome mat. Everyone is welcome to their dreams though, and if his include blowing me year after year after I've trolled him into thinking I'm someone I'm not then all I can say is "good on him... and good on the US government for not wasting a single dime more than they had to on his faggy ass".

            "I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable. I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do."
            - Robert A. Heinlein

            Comment


            • #7
              I read as quickly as I speak; cool, chilled, interesting, etc. Not this time. My eyes were zipping around faster than a cop with a red laser to see if you're somewhat buzzed while driving, and those motherfuckers do it for like five to give their subjects orbital pain, like your post above, Rodog. Anyway, here we go:


              *Rowan is dwelling in yet another unwelcome place when the fucking police knocked. Everybody started scrambling and jumping outta second floor windows when Ro had the balls to open it:




              * Freud! I've been cooking, despite my nic-name White Ethiopian. Good enough to stick, anyway. You want some brunch?*

              - Is it that time? I don't have a watch.

              * Great! This soul food is good enough to eat regardless of the time. Sit down, sit down, I'll be right back!

              - Where? Do those box lookin' things used for chairs, or are they posing as them while hiding something strangers aren't meant to see. Ever.

              * *cackles* I love you man. Food's on its way after I pour the salt:




              *Just like momma used to make, aaahhhhhh. Bein' on the lam is fun, teaches you how valuable things that normal people just throw away.

              - Whatever, my lappy got soaked under my bridge and I need to use yours right quick. Gimme.

              * *hands it to Freud.

              - You know what? I'm just gonna close out whatever this shit you were watching and...

              * And what mate?

              - Good God!!! Your desktop background is that picture of Noah's dick that he posted a few years ago. What the FUCK is wrong with you man?

              * Shit. You better not tell anybody! Please?

              > cw_ walks into the room not quite as naked as she was when she was born. Lots more hair. Lots. But then outta nowhere her theme song started playing. A bit annoyingly loud, following wherever she walked off to, checking under the boxes:
              https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaJAxdGeZ4E

              - Well, if you're truly infatuated with Noah's dick you should get it tattooed on your two-foot-high forehead so you can see it every time you both open and close your eyes:






              SSS
              - cocktales
              uyd6t

              Comment


              • #8
                * Hello, misteeeeeer Southern?

                - Shyeah

                * Well, we're checking in our employees to see how happy they are with their jobs here. So what do you do, and how much do you enjoy doing it?

                - Uh, well, it's like, um, alright - lemme try to put it into an honest cognitive. Come back next Tuesday.

                * Hah! You're a real joker aren't you!? It's my job to collect data based on our hard working company employees. So one more time, please. What do you do here?

                - pshyt, between you and me? Nothing. I do nothing.

                * Well that's a lot, lemme tell ya! How much nothing would you do on any giving day?

                - Well, I do nothing all day every day, so there. I walk in my office, if you'd call it, and most of the time I don't even turn on my computer. That would actually be doing something.

                * There you go! Your damn hard work is doing tons of nothing here. I wish all of the gang here does as much work as you do.

                - Really?

                * Of course. "Doing" is the verb in your professional brief self-assessment, "nothing" is your noun. And you do so much every day you deserve a big raise!

                - Shyeah. I do nothing; day in, day out. Does anyone else here do their job as non-stop as myself?

                * How could they? I'm putting you in for whatever awesome award you'll get, along with a better chair to sit on to do what you do so well.

                - Well, I am doing something now - talking to a person. You're really eating into my long day, you've already set me back by four minutes. Get out.

                * Yes Sir! I'm very sorry for disturbing you, please don't hold a grudge. If we needed to change a light bulb we'd call you in to do it better than anyone else here. You'd stand on a chair under the hole, raising your right arm, and o-o-o-or your left arm. I almost messed up again. Whoof, caught myself there. So there you will stand still, and as the world turns around you, in particular, the buld would shine as bright as you are, and would undoubtedly win you another award to place on your Wall of Awesome for certainly doing what you're here for all day, an unaccountable times a week.

                - Shyeeeeeeah...


                SSS
                - *brushes shoulders
                uyd6t

                Comment

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