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Surfa

The really of-topic thread

118 posts in this topic

Don't you know that Surfa is BOTH male and woman, so he can be outside the kitchen while making himself a sammich without us making fun of him.

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I changed my avatar.

MAYBEE AVADAR WILL GIVE US SUM OF THER MONNNIEE

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...Out of nowhere, the sapper exploded, and the table sprang back to life. The machine gun rose up and pointed at the frightened Spy with pants shitting terror. He barely made out the first two letters of fuck before his head exploded in a goey mess. His body hit the ground and his open neck began to pour blood with the tenacity of a fire hose.

“TH-TH-TH-REAT NEEEEEEUTRALIZED. RE-E-E-E-ENNNNNGAGIIGIIING SEQUENCE 45B-B-B-B-3”

“That dun sound good.” Engineer observed with mild panic. What sprang up to pleasure Engineer once more was not his army of dildos and vibrators, but instead the terrifying presence of the power tools. A robot hand erratically sprung for Engy’s erection and grabbed hold of it with a bone breaking force. He screamed like a shrilly girl as a large drill above him began to rev up, aiming directly at his urethra. The drill slowly entered the dick hole, sinking lower and lower into the Engineer’s throbbing cock. Soon the drill had finally punctured the Engineer’s bladder, sending a rush of urine, semen and blood flowing out of the tip. The drill ripped out of the cock and the penis fell, half flaccid with a large gaping hole where his dick hole used to be. The semen drenched Engineer desperately tried to break free from the locks binding him, but to no avail as two arms grabbed him by the legs and spread his cheeks wide in preparation for an incoming saw blade, its razor sharp blades designed and built by the Engineer span quickly towards his open ass. He screamed in pain as the machine began to shred his ass in two, the two cheeks folding over the blade as it went deeper and deeper like a bun on a hotdog. Feces and blood splattered out of his ass onto the walls of the shack that the Engineer once called a welcoming home. The saw blade finally ruptured the thin layer of muscle holding in the Engy’s guts, releasing his intestinal track which began prolapsing out of his mutilated rectum. The table, confusing the long, veiny tube for Engy’s penis began to “satisfy” it by sending two robotic arms up to pump it up and down, further releasing his internal organs onto the table below. Engy’s desperate screams were muffled by the blazing welding torch being forced down his tender throat. His gag reflex kicked in but the horrifying wave of puke made up primarily of semen was blocked off by the flaming torch incinerating his throat.

“Bastard got away.” The Soldier growled while trudging back to base.

“Mrph, mrph mrrrph mrph!!” Pyro exclaimed.

“Yeah I guess you’re right. Let’s head back to Engy’s shack, hopefully he won’t be too pissed that we all left like that.” The gang ran up to the open shack, oblivious to the events that had just recently unfolded. They all gasped in horror and Heavy puked onto the feces, blood and semen covered floor after gazing at the mutilated carcass that laid before their very eyes, the machine still desperately trying to “please” it’s master with the saw blade repeatedly jamming in and out of his spewing rib cage.

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TF2 is great, we should all play.

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Hey guys! Remember that time I got super butthurt over being banned?

Those were good times.

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Oh my God.

I just re-read 6 pages of the absolutely most cringeworthy material I think I have ever posted myself, let alone all the other forgotten members of NMRiH of years gone by.

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"The years that have gone by in NMRiH." Yeah, there were those years. I wonder how many of us post at different forums. I'm still not ready for that. It's not about wanting to either. I just don't know where else to go. NMRiH was just a mod I luckily decided to post in, because the mod seemed very awesome during my years of enjoying the first Zombie Panic. I wanted to see more awesome mods to top Science and Industry, They Hunger, Brain Bread, Firearms, and to further renew my joy in playing StarCraft.

Seeing the high post count of Mobius and a few other members made me envy their social status. I had to have my own, I critically observe myself. I wanted to find a way to fit in and defending myself was easier than trying to understand everyone's rhetorical nature of creative expression. I could only relate with my own style of being abstract. After all, I was never "antisocial" as they may have antagonized me in my grade school years, but more precisely as autistic or catatonic. In another accurate take, I was like a walking retard who looked normal. I had to have a clinic or institutional therapy to drive me bezerk in a sociable manner for both students and a school can tolerate. Otherwise, I would just be far too afraid of being casted out, yet not knowing what to do or say at all. That's among the natures of student-gossip, trying to be popular, or represent your character in nature, juxtaposed with everyone else's social status. Trying so hard to be sociable, I could only develop understanding people by understanding myself. As said about needing an institution, I need a lot of direct-practice to really make a big change of myself during the summer. So, one new idea would pop up to savor for next year, not the current one. If you can understand that, think of how fucked that feels! I was bathing in the hay-wire of my neurons just to get by emotionally! That's like bathing in mud!

Fitting in here and situating myself with members who do love me here is still a difficulty. Being honorable about it is compelling to maintain focus, rather than mere appreciating your appreciation of my existence. Seeing that it's true, it's just more responsible to mush-on than to screech on a mountain because I'm the man. It could have worked, but how does too much vanity really work out? Some changes are as good as death. Don't our parents show us that? It's about being happy, being yourself, and being rational with the world around us. That's a gift and a great one to start with, instead of being boonie (ghetto), and treating each house and backyard like a mini-shit-creek to prey on like a raccoon sniffing bad bacteria on food. You're better off earning a home, and buying binoculars, sunglasses, and a fucking bible just to be both cheap and wondering about the world around you (surrounding homes), much cheaper than any other ideas we have. Ya na mea?

Well, my back is running out of juice. Time to switch onto another activity.

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Well, I have to defend myself. From enough evidence, like the time mom stood next to me trying to close the attic for the hundredth time, just to make me break the door from shutting it too fast, I realize mom has a side where she doesn't want me calm and okay. Although the contrary of being more ill and out-spoken may make me sound more normal or of myself, being forced to me ill, which may ever get me into a situation where I'm obligated medicine, does not sound like a life I want. So defending myself is like running for my life. Unless I can read minds, this is all I can practice.

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