scranton reality wanker

Nothing Doing no. 22

The sewing guardian refutes some slanderous accusations

everyone has a minimum of One (1) Funny Little Animal inside of them. Some people have a handful more, some have tens, or even hundreds, but everyone, everyone, EVERYone has at least a single funky lil critter inside them

you will be issued one from stores

I'm calling them Lentil the Rental

You wake with a start from uneasy dreams of global turmoil as your monitor loudly degausses, your face smashed against your filthy keyboard. Lateralus is blaring from your Discman. You must have passed out while fucking around in Project M, silently RPing as Fippy Darkpaw's beautiful stepsister

days later, you can't quite shake a terrible sense of loss. you are bumping [SOAD]Link_Fill_Up_Your_Hearts.mp3 while begging for a corpse summon in /auction because you drowned while trying to glitch thru the rocks into The Hole

months later, visions of another lifetime have all but faded. You are playing Jesmaster_-_Pizza_Matrix.avi on loop in VLC in the background while getting scammed by a jboots multiquester for the third or fourth time this week

Bush is invading Iraq...again? Whatever. You're too busy getting KOSed by the entire League of Antonician Bards & permanently exiled from Qeynos because you thought it would be funny to chain kite Cordelia Minster in Karana for a few levels while binging shitty audiobook cassette rips of Discworld

Speakerboxxx/The Love Below is thrumming somewhere nearby as you drop stacks of 999 copper directly in front of Blackburrow & patiently watch dozens of overencumbered lowbies get torn apart by gnolls

They still haven't found any WMDs. Something tells you they never will. You are preoccupied with feign death pulling a guard from the Misty Thicket zone line into Rivervale for a quest exploit to earn hundreds of plat per hour while rockin the fuck out to the greatest track ever committed to MIDI

College application deadlines are coming up fast, but you're focused on sampling the complete works of The Minibosses while leaving a trail of naked dwarf corpses halfway across Luclin to become the first person in your guild to buy one of those shitty moon horses

HFS is playing a techno remix of the Howard Dean Scream. bored of selling res runs on your max lvl cleric, you roll up a Beastlord. on a whim, you toggle the gender to F in the character creator, and are suddenly flooded with a dizzying sense of euphoria you won't fully understand for another decade