That's what you get for having
A penis up your ass
You should have used a condom
That's what you get when you
Swallow another man's load
A lubricated condom
How do you find love in another man's hairy ass
You should have used a condom
Millions of lost hamsters
Running ramped in your bowels
Take the Hershey Highway
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
A manly man
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
Hard OCP tries to sound all elite 'n stuff. It's so pathetic. "We're on the bleeding edge of technology, overclocking and modding our sweet mediocre, low bandwidth Intel hardware."
I routinely commute between Bangore, Maine and Washington D.C. once every week for work. The drive is long and uneventful usually, yes I know, but the scratch is decent. To keep myself from going insane, I'll usually catch some tunes on the radio stations that I like along the way or even listen to something out of my CD collection if I'm really bored. I-95 gets pretty dull once you're several hours into the drive, so I like to stop every four hours or so to strech my legs, fill the car up with gas, and grab a bite to eat. I'm particularly fond of Friendly's, and stop there quite often as my company picks up the tab for all travel related expenses, plus compensation.
I decided to stop there one evening on the way back up to Bangor. The patty melt is ususally pretty good and I mostly get that combo platter, but this time I decided to try the pastrami melt. It was generally satisfying. However, an hour into my resumed trip, I entered the Boston area and started to get a bit of rumbling in the bowels. I broke wind several times, but the gastro-intestinal rumbling was getting so unbearable along with the stench, that I had to pull over at a Buck Horn Truck Stop. It was so bad,that I was barely able to hold the runny shit inside my bowels before I took down my boxers and let loose. The first wave of semi-solid feces was forced out by an explosive firehose of runny turds and wattery diarreah, and I screamed in agony; butthole stinging from the festering shit water that was splashing back up onto my ass.
I recovered after several minutes of dabbing at my asshole with that crapy cheap non-quilted toilet paper, and eased my ass back into my pants as to buy some pepto bismol from the gift shop. The beast in my lower abdomen needed to be calmed before I got on the road again.
It's common for me to leave unflushed shit in the toilets that I use, as to make the life of whatever minimum wage loser that has to clean it up that much worse. This was a special occasion! The toilet was nearly ready to spill over. Perfection had been achieved, or so I thought.
Mere seconds after my retreat from the stinking commode, a rather stalky man with a huge beer gut barged into the bathroom like some drunken vagrant, stinking almost as badly as my unflushed Cosby Kids. Sporting a rather unkept greasy beard, he butted his half-smoked joint onto the piss soaked floor and crept up behind me while I was washing my hands. I did not get a decent look at what he had contained in his other hand, but no sooner did he rush up behind me and jammed what felt like the barrel of a pistol into the lower of my back. "Don't move unless I tell you to." he blurted out messily. "I'll kill you if you move, now drop your pants." "Look, man, you can have my wallet, I don't care. I won't report you, just don't kill me," I replied. The stalky man responded in a gruff "That ain't gonna cut it, drop your pants now." So I did as he asked. "Now take down the boxers too," he remarked.
"Oh god!" I thought to myself "I'm going to get raped in the ass at a fucking truck stop" and I did just as he asked. He prodded my already tender and sore asshole several times with the object he had jammed into my back, presumably the barrel of a pistol. I winced in pain, but dared not make noise. "Bend over, you're gonna take it hard like Linus does. Right in the sweet buttery cornhole. You're going to take it from me! The great RMS! AHAHAHAHAH!!!!!"
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" I thought over and over again while I proceeded to bend over the sink, when I finally caught a glimpse of my assailant in the sink mirror. The son of a bitch was jamming the mouthpiece end of a fucking flute into my back and asshole. A FUCKING FLUTE! I quickly pulled my pants back up, and shoved the greasy fuck away from me. I quickly pulled my 4.5" serrated Gerber lockback knife out of my right pocket while the madman tooted away on the mouthpiece end of the defiled flute. Quickly dashing at him, I was able to subdue the rapist son of a bitch and grip him firmly by his long hippie scalp.
I held the knife to his throat and yelled "You fuck! It's time to eat shit!" I forced his fat head and person into the stall, down into the shit I had left in the commode miniutes earlier. I recall the warmth of the shitbath being about lukewarm as I plunged his head multiple times into the crapper. "Nobody fucks with me on my fucking commute, you piece of shit!" I screamed at him as I kept dunking his head into the spoiled chunks and bacteria and finally applied a hefty blow to the base of his skull; leaving him passed out face down in my feces.
I left the truck stop after calmly purchasing a travel size bottle of pepto, downed the sucker, and eventually made it home in time to watch the conclusion of CHiPS.
If you have any further information on my assailant, I've included an artist's rendering of him here
I routinely commute between Bangore, Maine and Washington D.C. once every week for work. The drive is long and uneventful usually, yes I know, but the
scratch is decent. To keep myself from going insane, I'll usually catch some tunes on the radio stations that I like along the way or even listen to something
out of my CD collection if I'm really bored. I-95 gets pretty dull once you're several hours into the drive, so I like to stop every four hours or so to strech my
legs, fill the car up with gas, and grab a bite to eat. I'm particularly fond of Friendly's, and stop there quite often as my company picks up the tab for all
travel related expenses, plus compensation.
I decided to stop there one evening on the way back up to Bangor. The patty melt is ususally pretty good and I mostly get that combo platter, but this time I
decided to try the pastrami melt. It was generally satisfying. However, an hour into my resumed trip, I entered the Boston area and started to get a bit of
rumbling in the bowels. I broke wind several times, but the gastro-intestinal rumbling was getting so unbearable along with the stench, that I had to pull
over at a Buck Horn Truck Stop. It was so bad,that I was barely able to hold the runny shit inside my bowels before I took down my boxers and let loose. The
first wave of semi-solid feces was forced out by an explosive firehose of runny turds and wattery diarreah, and I screamed in agony; butthole stinging from
the festering shit water that was splashing back up onto my ass.
I recovered after several minutes of dabbing at my asshole with that crapy cheap non-quilted toilet paper, and eased my ass back into my pants as to buy
some pepto bismol from the gift shop. The beast in my lower abdomen needed to be calmed before I got on the road again.
It's common for me to leave unflushed shit in the toilets that I use, as to make the life of whatever minimum wage loser that has to clean it up that much
worse. This was a special occasion! The toilet was nearly ready to spill over. Perfection had been achieved, or so I thought.
Mere seconds after my retreat from the stinking commode, a rather stalky man with a huge beer gut barged into the bathroom like some drunken vagrant,
stinking almost as badly as my unflushed Cosby Kids. Sporting a rather unkept greasy beard, he butted his half-smoked joint onto the piss soaked floor and
crept up behind me while I was washing my hands. I did not get a decent look at what he had contained in his other hand, but no sooner did he rush up
behind me and jammed what felt like the barrel of a pistol into the lower of my back. "Don't move unless I tell you to." he blurted out messily. "I'll kill you if
you move, now drop your pants." "Look, man, you can have my wallet, I don't care. I won't report you, just don't kill me," I replied. The stalky man
responded in a gruff "That ain't gonna cut it, drop your pants now." So I did as he asked. "Now take down the boxers too," he remarked.
"Oh god!" I thought to myself "I'm going to get raped in the ass at a fucking truck stop" and I did just as he asked. He prodded my already tender and sore
asshole several times with the object he had jammed into my back, presumably the barrel of a pistol. I winced in pain, but dared not make noise. "Bend over,
you're gonna take it hard like Linus does. Right in the sweet buttery cornhole. You're going to take it from me! The great RMS! AHAHAHAHAH!!!!!"
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" I thought over and over again while I proceeded to bend over the sink, when I finally caught a glimpse of my assailant in the sink
mirror. The son of a bitch was jamming the mouthpiece end of a fucking flute into my back and asshole. A FUCKING FLUTE! I quickly pulled my pants
back up, and shoved the greasy fuck away from me. I quickly pulled my 4.5" serrated Gerber lockback knife out of my right pocket while the madman tooted
away on the mouthpiece end of the defiled flute. Quickly dashing at him, I was able to subdue the rapist son of a bitch and grip him firmly by his long hippie
scalp.
I held the knife to his throat and yelled "You fuck! It's time to eat shit!" I forced his fat head and person into the stall, down into the shit I had left in the
commode miniutes earlier. I recall the warmth of the shitbath being about lukewarm as I plunged his head multiple times into the crapper. "Nobody fucks
with me on my fucking commute, you piece of shit!" I screamed at him as I kept dunking his head into the spoiled chunks and bacteria and finally applied a
hefty blow to the base of his skull; leaving him passed out face down in my feces.
I left the truck stop after calmly purchasing a travel size bottle of pepto, downed the sucker, and eventually made it home in time to watch the conclusion of
CHiPS.
If you have any further information on my assailant, I've included an artist's rendering of him here
You've got bigger problems than finding the best OS for you if your heart was broken at all in the first place, after all, they're just tools Mr. Cocksmoke.
Today for lunch I decided to go to Chevy's, a
large Mexican food restaurant a couple minutes
away from where I work. Being alone, I decided
to sit at the bar and grab lunch there--
there was a 15 minute wait for tables today.
Choosing my spot, I sat next to an older gentleman, who
looked about 50 or so. As I waited for my chips and dip
(the poor girl behind the bar, April, was swamped) we
started talking. After a few minutes about the weather
we've been having (60 degrees, I had my windows down
and Broken blaring on the way there) he pulled closer
to me and imparted some knowledge on me I'd been in
want of since I moved out here.
"You like Mexican food? There's a really good place
near here you should try." he said quietly. What sort
of conspiracies had I wandered into today?
He went on to tell me about two other places as well, a
blues bar that served barbecuse, and a fried chicken
house (sounded like a soul-food restaurant to me) that
were further away. I was glad he was telling me this.
"Those are the kinds of places I've been looking for
since I came out here," I told him. "I am sick of the
big chain restaurants in these yuppie shopping plazas.
I used to go to the smaller local places back East, but
hadn't found them out here yet."
It turns out he was a chemical control supervisor for
the county (I figured so, he was dressed in jeans, a
hoodie, and a baseball cap-- certainly not the typical
faggot whute yuppie softflesh system-heads out here)
and we talked about my rusty industrial roots back in
Ohio.
Basically, there is no point to this entry. I found a
random man who told me about my soul---
PSYCHE! Hahahahaahhaha.
It was just nice to meet someone who wasn't so full of
themselves and so full of shit it that I get angry just
hearing them talk about their microcosmic little credit-
card replicant consumerist lives. Since this place is
99% preppie scum and giant chain restaurants, it was
very pleasing to meet a nice person who told me about
good restaurants.
The next time I spill illegal chemicals down my drain
or laugh out loud when I drive past the industrial
parks here and see the water treatment plant that is
treating several dozen thousand turds as I watch from
afar, I'll think of today's lunch.
Come on folks, you know the words! "Oh I'm knock knock knockin'! Knock knock knockin'! Knockin' on Buck-A-Day's door! Ooh I'm knock knock knockin'! Knock knock knockin'! Knockin' on Buck-A-Day's doooor! Sing it!" Buck-A-Day offers for only $1 CAD per day or $999 a complete Intel Pentium III 800MHz system, 64MB of RAM, and 20GB hard drive! Chorous: "Ooh I'm knock knock knockin'! Knock knock knockin'! Knockin' on Buck-A-Day's doooor!"
Slashdot Mirror
You have no idea what 'T-Ranger' has accomplished for the good of humanity. Get off of your RMS-cock high horse.
All without any sources cited. 1930s, political scene. Yeah, that's some really good anecdotal evidence. Thanks sparky.
Ars Digita was.....?
That's what you get for having
A penis up your ass
You should have used a condom
That's what you get when you
Swallow another man's load
A lubricated condom
How do you find love in another man's hairy ass
You should have used a condom
Millions of lost hamsters
Running ramped in your bowels
Take the Hershey Highway
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
A manly man
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
Fudge packing men
That's you, TACO.
Sharing as little Wine with RMS as possible is a wise descision indeed. That bastard is such a glutton!
Hahaha, proud not to be you since....now!
Hard OCP tries to sound all elite 'n stuff. It's so pathetic. "We're on the bleeding edge of technology, overclocking and modding our sweet mediocre, low bandwidth Intel hardware."
If the subject whose hands are in the photos is male, a word to you: CUT YOUR FINGERNAILS FAG!
Let's hope that some of the more....intoxicated patrons won't try to do more "racey" things with the robotic hands.
ppfftt.
Everybody knows that Open Sores developers either clean the grease trap at McDonalds, or if they're resourceful they work drive-thru.
Neither could Linux. Your point?
I routinely commute between Bangore, Maine and Washington D.C. once every week for work. The drive is long and uneventful usually, yes I know, but the scratch is decent. To keep myself from going insane, I'll usually catch some tunes on the radio stations that I like along the way or even listen to something out of my CD collection if I'm really bored. I-95 gets pretty dull once you're several hours into the drive, so I like to stop every four hours or so to strech my legs, fill the car up with gas, and grab a bite to eat. I'm particularly fond of Friendly's, and stop there quite often as my company picks up the tab for all travel related expenses, plus compensation.
I decided to stop there one evening on the way back up to Bangor. The patty melt is ususally pretty good and I mostly get that combo platter, but this time I decided to try the pastrami melt. It was generally satisfying. However, an hour into my resumed trip, I entered the Boston area and started to get a bit of rumbling in the bowels. I broke wind several times, but the gastro-intestinal rumbling was getting so unbearable along with the stench, that I had to pull over at a Buck Horn Truck Stop. It was so bad,that I was barely able to hold the runny shit inside my bowels before I took down my boxers and let loose. The first wave of semi-solid feces was forced out by an explosive firehose of runny turds and wattery diarreah, and I screamed in agony; butthole stinging from the festering shit water that was splashing back up onto my ass.
I recovered after several minutes of dabbing at my asshole with that crapy cheap non-quilted toilet paper, and eased my ass back into my pants as to buy some pepto bismol from the gift shop. The beast in my lower abdomen needed to be calmed before I got on the road again.
It's common for me to leave unflushed shit in the toilets that I use, as to make the life of whatever minimum wage loser that has to clean it up that much worse. This was a special occasion! The toilet was nearly ready to spill over. Perfection had been achieved, or so I thought.
Mere seconds after my retreat from the stinking commode, a rather stalky man with a huge beer gut barged into the bathroom like some drunken vagrant, stinking almost as badly as my unflushed Cosby Kids. Sporting a rather unkept greasy beard, he butted his half-smoked joint onto the piss soaked floor and crept up behind me while I was washing my hands. I did not get a decent look at what he had contained in his other hand, but no sooner did he rush up behind me and jammed what felt like the barrel of a pistol into the lower of my back. "Don't move unless I tell you to." he blurted out messily. "I'll kill you if you move, now drop your pants." "Look, man, you can have my wallet, I don't care. I won't report you, just don't kill me," I replied. The stalky man responded in a gruff "That ain't gonna cut it, drop your pants now." So I did as he asked. "Now take down the boxers too," he remarked.
"Oh god!" I thought to myself "I'm going to get raped in the ass at a fucking truck stop" and I did just as he asked. He prodded my already tender and sore asshole several times with the object he had jammed into my back, presumably the barrel of a pistol. I winced in pain, but dared not make noise. "Bend over, you're gonna take it hard like Linus does. Right in the sweet buttery cornhole. You're going to take it from me! The great RMS! AHAHAHAHAH!!!!!"
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" I thought over and over again while I proceeded to bend over the sink, when I finally caught a glimpse of my assailant in the sink mirror. The son of a bitch was jamming the mouthpiece end of a fucking flute into my back and asshole. A FUCKING FLUTE! I quickly pulled my pants back up, and shoved the greasy fuck away from me. I quickly pulled my 4.5" serrated Gerber lockback knife out of my right pocket while the madman tooted away on the mouthpiece end of the defiled flute. Quickly dashing at him, I was able to subdue the rapist son of a bitch and grip him firmly by his long hippie scalp.
I held the knife to his throat and yelled "You fuck! It's time to eat shit!" I forced his fat head and person into the stall, down into the shit I had left in the commode miniutes earlier. I recall the warmth of the shitbath being about lukewarm as I plunged his head multiple times into the crapper. "Nobody fucks with me on my fucking commute, you piece of shit!" I screamed at him as I kept dunking his head into the spoiled chunks and bacteria and finally applied a hefty blow to the base of his skull; leaving him passed out face down in my feces.
I left the truck stop after calmly purchasing a travel size bottle of pepto, downed the sucker, and eventually made it home in time to watch the conclusion of CHiPS.
If you have any further information on my assailant, I've included an artist's rendering of him here
I routinely commute between Bangore, Maine and Washington D.C. once every week for work. The drive is long and uneventful usually, yes I know, but the
scratch is decent. To keep myself from going insane, I'll usually catch some tunes on the radio stations that I like along the way or even listen to something
out of my CD collection if I'm really bored. I-95 gets pretty dull once you're several hours into the drive, so I like to stop every four hours or so to strech my
legs, fill the car up with gas, and grab a bite to eat. I'm particularly fond of Friendly's, and stop there quite often as my company picks up the tab for all
travel related expenses, plus compensation.
I decided to stop there one evening on the way back up to Bangor. The patty melt is ususally pretty good and I mostly get that combo platter, but this time I
decided to try the pastrami melt. It was generally satisfying. However, an hour into my resumed trip, I entered the Boston area and started to get a bit of
rumbling in the bowels. I broke wind several times, but the gastro-intestinal rumbling was getting so unbearable along with the stench, that I had to pull
over at a Buck Horn Truck Stop. It was so bad,that I was barely able to hold the runny shit inside my bowels before I took down my boxers and let loose. The
first wave of semi-solid feces was forced out by an explosive firehose of runny turds and wattery diarreah, and I screamed in agony; butthole stinging from
the festering shit water that was splashing back up onto my ass.
I recovered after several minutes of dabbing at my asshole with that crapy cheap non-quilted toilet paper, and eased my ass back into my pants as to buy
some pepto bismol from the gift shop. The beast in my lower abdomen needed to be calmed before I got on the road again.
It's common for me to leave unflushed shit in the toilets that I use, as to make the life of whatever minimum wage loser that has to clean it up that much
worse. This was a special occasion! The toilet was nearly ready to spill over. Perfection had been achieved, or so I thought.
Mere seconds after my retreat from the stinking commode, a rather stalky man with a huge beer gut barged into the bathroom like some drunken vagrant,
stinking almost as badly as my unflushed Cosby Kids. Sporting a rather unkept greasy beard, he butted his half-smoked joint onto the piss soaked floor and
crept up behind me while I was washing my hands. I did not get a decent look at what he had contained in his other hand, but no sooner did he rush up
behind me and jammed what felt like the barrel of a pistol into the lower of my back. "Don't move unless I tell you to." he blurted out messily. "I'll kill you if
you move, now drop your pants." "Look, man, you can have my wallet, I don't care. I won't report you, just don't kill me," I replied. The stalky man
responded in a gruff "That ain't gonna cut it, drop your pants now." So I did as he asked. "Now take down the boxers too," he remarked.
"Oh god!" I thought to myself "I'm going to get raped in the ass at a fucking truck stop" and I did just as he asked. He prodded my already tender and sore
asshole several times with the object he had jammed into my back, presumably the barrel of a pistol. I winced in pain, but dared not make noise. "Bend over,
you're gonna take it hard like Linus does. Right in the sweet buttery cornhole. You're going to take it from me! The great RMS! AHAHAHAHAH!!!!!"
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" I thought over and over again while I proceeded to bend over the sink, when I finally caught a glimpse of my assailant in the sink
mirror. The son of a bitch was jamming the mouthpiece end of a fucking flute into my back and asshole. A FUCKING FLUTE! I quickly pulled my pants
back up, and shoved the greasy fuck away from me. I quickly pulled my 4.5" serrated Gerber lockback knife out of my right pocket while the madman tooted
away on the mouthpiece end of the defiled flute. Quickly dashing at him, I was able to subdue the rapist son of a bitch and grip him firmly by his long hippie
scalp.
I held the knife to his throat and yelled "You fuck! It's time to eat shit!" I forced his fat head and person into the stall, down into the shit I had left in the
commode miniutes earlier. I recall the warmth of the shitbath being about lukewarm as I plunged his head multiple times into the crapper. "Nobody fucks
with me on my fucking commute, you piece of shit!" I screamed at him as I kept dunking his head into the spoiled chunks and bacteria and finally applied a
hefty blow to the base of his skull; leaving him passed out face down in my feces.
I left the truck stop after calmly purchasing a travel size bottle of pepto, downed the sucker, and eventually made it home in time to watch the conclusion of
CHiPS.
If you have any further information on my assailant, I've included an artist's rendering of him here
QNX 6 will not even install on my intel hardware that is sub-pentium. Fag.
your daily dose of small cock and bukake.
Thanks for the unnecessary and repulsively moronic conclusion sentence. Nobody gives a rat's ass about your commentary.
You've got bigger problems than finding the best OS for you if your heart was broken at all in the first place, after all, they're just tools Mr. Cocksmoke.
BeOS never ran on Motorola 68K machines.
I hate the whole lot of yeh.
I like it. Searches and siezures 4-Evar. A/S/L?
What is there left to hack on? It's a complete system. You need not hack anything into it. What are you getting at Malda?
Ha ha, what a loser, you checked my comment history. What a sad life you must live.
Today for lunch I decided to go to Chevy's, a large Mexican food restaurant a couple minutes away from where I work. Being alone, I decided to sit at the bar and grab lunch there-- there was a 15 minute wait for tables today.
Choosing my spot, I sat next to an older gentleman, who looked about 50 or so. As I waited for my chips and dip (the poor girl behind the bar, April, was swamped) we started talking. After a few minutes about the weather we've been having (60 degrees, I had my windows down and Broken blaring on the way there) he pulled closer to me and imparted some knowledge on me I'd been in want of since I moved out here.
"You like Mexican food? There's a really good place near here you should try." he said quietly. What sort of conspiracies had I wandered into today?
He went on to tell me about two other places as well, a blues bar that served barbecuse, and a fried chicken house (sounded like a soul-food restaurant to me) that were further away. I was glad he was telling me this.
"Those are the kinds of places I've been looking for since I came out here," I told him. "I am sick of the big chain restaurants in these yuppie shopping plazas. I used to go to the smaller local places back East, but hadn't found them out here yet."
It turns out he was a chemical control supervisor for the county (I figured so, he was dressed in jeans, a hoodie, and a baseball cap-- certainly not the typical faggot whute yuppie softflesh system-heads out here) and we talked about my rusty industrial roots back in Ohio.
Basically, there is no point to this entry. I found a random man who told me about my soul---
PSYCHE! Hahahahaahhaha.
It was just nice to meet someone who wasn't so full of themselves and so full of shit it that I get angry just hearing them talk about their microcosmic little credit- card replicant consumerist lives. Since this place is 99% preppie scum and giant chain restaurants, it was very pleasing to meet a nice person who told me about good restaurants.
The next time I spill illegal chemicals down my drain or laugh out loud when I drive past the industrial parks here and see the water treatment plant that is treating several dozen thousand turds as I watch from afar, I'll think of today's lunch.
Or something.
Come on folks, you know the words! "Oh I'm knock knock knockin'! Knock knock knockin'! Knockin' on Buck-A-Day's door! Ooh I'm knock knock knockin'! Knock knock knockin'! Knockin' on Buck-A-Day's doooor! Sing it!" Buck-A-Day offers for only $1 CAD per day or $999 a complete Intel Pentium III 800MHz system, 64MB of RAM, and 20GB hard drive! Chorous: "Ooh I'm knock knock knockin'! Knock knock knockin'! Knockin' on Buck-A-Day's doooor!"