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View Full Version : QuikSsurfer Is teh Ghey


SLAG
02-15-2006, 10:53 AM
QuickSsurfer is teh gehyst Planet member.

Its Confirmed.

Also confirmed is Mings Chineese Restaraunt Called... they want their main course back quckie they call it the Salem Special

Dunit35
02-15-2006, 10:55 AM
Much hatred towards him I presume?

ChiefsFire
02-15-2006, 10:58 AM
did he make a pass atya Slag?

Kclee
02-15-2006, 11:00 AM
Also confirmed is Mings Chineese Restaraunt Called... they want their main course back



"Oh yeah, SLAG02? Well, the jerk store called. They're running out of you!"

SLAG
02-15-2006, 11:00 AM
did he make a pass atya Slag?

This is Pro-Active Prevention, I think he tried to slap my ass with his belt strap

ChiefsFire
02-15-2006, 11:05 AM
"Oh yeah, SLAG02? Well, the jerk store called. They're running out of you!"


wha??

Stinger
02-15-2006, 11:05 AM
CRIPPLE FIGHT!!!!!!!!!!

http://images.art.com/images/products/regular/11756000/11756058.jpg

jspchief
02-15-2006, 11:06 AM
This is a stupid thread.

Slag, if you're going to rub one out to quicksurfer, do it in the romper room.

SLAG
02-15-2006, 11:06 AM
CRIPPLE FIGHT!!!!!!!!!!

http://images.art.com/images/products/regular/11756000/11756058.jpg


You DIRTY MOTHER FU*KER

greg63
02-15-2006, 11:10 AM
"Oh yeah, SLAG02? Well, the jerk store called. They're running out of you!"

Thank you George Costanza.

Cochise
02-15-2006, 11:15 AM
"Oh yeah, SLAG02? Well, the jerk store called. They're running out of you!"

ROFL

rep!!!

Kclee
02-15-2006, 11:16 AM
wha??



"It's smart. It's a smart line, and a smart crowd will appreciate it. And I'm not going to dumb it down for some bonehead mass audience!"

SLAG
02-15-2006, 11:20 AM
"It's smart. It's a smart line, and a smart crowd will appreciate it. And I'm not going to dumb it down for some bonehead mass audience!"

ROFL

greg63
02-15-2006, 11:39 AM
You DIRTY MOTHER FU*KER


Careful Slag, buddy, there's an awful come back for this. :D

SLAG
02-15-2006, 11:41 AM
Careful Slag, buddy, there's an awful come back for this. :D

its just the line from that southpark

gblowfish
02-15-2006, 11:44 AM
Off to the Romper Room in 3...2...1...

greg63
02-15-2006, 11:51 AM
its just the line from that southpark

ROFL
Oh ok; I never seen that show.:shake:


Sad I know.

mike_b_284
02-15-2006, 11:56 AM
Where's the beef? Did he squirt in your eye, no reach-around, steal your gerbils.

sedated
02-15-2006, 12:25 PM
Did he squirt in your eye, no reach-around, steal your gerbils?


he didn't say thanks after Slag gave him a hot carl

SLAG
02-15-2006, 12:25 PM
he didn't say thanks after Slag gave him a hot carl

Yeah but neither did you..


Ingrate

Reaper16
02-15-2006, 12:31 PM
This thread is like an open herpe.

Count Zarth
02-15-2006, 12:33 PM
QuickSsurfer is teh gehyst Planet member.

Its Confirmed.


He beat out SLAG02 by a narrow margin.

sedated
02-15-2006, 12:34 PM
Yeah but neither did you..


Ingrate


I said suck the mother f*cker, you bitin it, shit!




(sublime lyric, for anyone who likes crap music)

sedated
02-15-2006, 12:37 PM
This thread is like an open herpe.


hey kids don't hurt me,
it's little old me, herpes.
cooler than your best friend,
I'll be with you til the end.

you may not see me every day,
but every few year I'll come say, "hey"

no cure for me in sight,
I won't go without a fight.
yeah it's me, herpes.

(see ya in hell, mother f*ckers)

SLAG
02-15-2006, 12:38 PM
He beat out SLAG02 by a narrow margin.

I may be in Second place..

But since your in third I wont complain

Reaper16
02-15-2006, 12:47 PM
hey kids don't hurt me,
it's little old me, herpes.
cooler than your best friend,
I'll be with you til the end.

you may not see me every day,
but every few year I'll come say, "hey"

no cure for me in sight,
I won't go without a fight.
yeah it's me, herpes.

(see ya in hell, mother f*ckers)
ROFL Kneehigh Park!

Ultra Peanut
02-15-2006, 02:25 PM
"Oh yeah, SLAG02? Well, the jerk store called. They're running out of you!"
This thread needs more uuuughhahalahalguah.

chagrin
02-15-2006, 04:20 PM
"It's smart. It's a smart line, and a smart crowd will appreciate it. And I'm not going to dumb it down for some bonehead mass audience!"

"Oh yeah? Well...I had sex with your wife!!"

chagrin
02-15-2006, 04:21 PM
"Oh yeah, SLAG02? Well, the jerk store called. They're running out of you!"

"What's the difference? You're their all time best seller!"

CHENZ A!
02-15-2006, 04:30 PM
I said suck the mother f*cker, you bitin it, shit!




(sublime lyric, for anyone who likes crap music)

That is an Eazy E sample that the DJ for Sublime cut in.

chagrin
02-15-2006, 04:37 PM
That is an Eazy E sample that the DJ for Sublime cut in.

ROFL

Oh the irony

:p

Halfcan
02-15-2006, 09:49 PM
bumb

SLAG
02-15-2006, 10:00 PM
Hey Tuwntboy

http://www.forumspile.com/Understand-Panda.jpg

Rausch
02-15-2006, 10:09 PM
This thread needs more uuuughhahalahalguah.

Like I don't have enough trouble sleeping.

You EVER post that picture again I'll kill your family and seal them in those cool plastic infomercial vaccum bags...

Jenny Gump
02-15-2006, 10:10 PM
Like I don't have enough trouble sleeping.

You EVER post that picture again I'll kill your family and seal them in those cool plastic infomercial vaccum bags...

Ahhhh...that's the Brad I love.

SLAG
02-15-2006, 10:25 PM
Like I don't have enough trouble sleeping.

You EVER post that picture again I'll kill your family and seal them in those cool plastic infomercial vaccum bags...

ROFL ROFL

Ultra Peanut
02-15-2006, 11:57 PM
Pork-chop gets me a job at the Honker burger, and then he’s pushing a gun in my mouth, telling me the first step to eternal life is that you have to die. For a long time, Pork-chop and I were best friends. People were always asking me about my dog.

The gun presses harder into the roof of my mouth, wet now from the stew of saliva and sweat leaking around in my orifice. “Arf arf arf, arf arf arf.” he hisses.

“No Pork-chop,” I say, “You’re thinking of vampires.” The words are dulled into nothingness by the gun.

As Pork-chop removes the barrel, I realize that all of this - the Honker burger, Mr. Dink, the revolution - has something to do with a girl named Patty Mayonnaise.

Patty. I’d chased that bitch since junior high, running after her on a mix of testosterone and pure stupidity. It took some changes for me to realize that nirvana didn’t sprawl shining between her legs. It took Pork-chop.

Pork-chop had been my dog as long as I could remember. Most of the time, he was inoffensive. Cute even, with his barely audible barks and strangely anthropomorphic characterization. Things changed when I got to high school. Pork-chop changed.

I was scrawling in my journal that night. I don’t remember what about, but I’m sure it was just more bitching about Patty. Those days seem far off now, from this cluttered principal’s office. Everything in life looks distant from atop 5 barrels of timer set nitro-glycerin.

Pork-chop seemed strangely quiet sophomore year. Worse, he seemed uninterested in my piddling personal problems. He was all I had. The silence broke that night I was writing in my journal. As I’d done for what seemed like a lifetime, I reached for the light switch. A small gray hand intercepted my arm.

“What is it Pork-chop?”

“Arf Arf Arf Ar Arf Ar Ar Arf Ar Arf Arf” he asked.

“What?”

“Arf Arf Arf Ar Arf Ar Ar Arf Ar Arf Arf.” he repeated.

“What, why?”

“Arf Arf Arf Ar A Arf?”

“No, but that’s a good thing.”

“Arf, arf. Arf Arf Arf Arf Arf Arf-arf ar Arf Arf Ar Arf?”

“Jesus, man, I don’t know.” I put the journal down.

“Arf Arf Ar, Arf Arf Arf Arf Ar Arf.”

So I did it. I hit him as hard as I could. Pork-chop’s tiny frame flew across the room, smashing into my trophy case. Grade school victories were stained by his dark red doggie blood.

“Jesus, Pork-chop, I’m sorry...”

He just growled something approving, and charged back at me.

That was my first real fight. I got deep bruises that night. Cuts so severe that they bled real blood. These were not the pin pricks of childhood. This was something new. Something I wanted more of.

Little did I know that It’d leave me here. In Mr. Bone's abandoned office, a gun violating my mouth, while the grimy timer in the basement counts down from sixteen hours. Then this whole school will be so much undifferentiated rubble. This second floor will just be a point in space. An invisible dot in the air, where my journal really ends.

Ultra Peanut
02-16-2006, 12:02 AM
Mr. Dink.

Mr. Dink had bitch tits.

Huge monstrous breasts, hanging from his chest like gelatin filled balloons. Swaying rhythmically as he waddled towards me. Those awkward little steps. His glasses drooping down his purple gherkin nose, eyes straining to hold back tears.

I’m motionless as he hugs me. Arms draped with middle age flab. “How you doin’, Douglas?” He sobbed.

“I’m fine, Mr. Dink.” I said. I put my arms around him, but the whole time I’m thinking about last night when Pork-chop landed a kick square across my jaw. I’m thinking about the ice water jolt of pain in my skull. The Novocain feeling still running through it as it heals. “I’m better than fine, Mr. Dink.” I add.

He unwraps his arms from around me, stepping back and motioning to his indescribably large rack. “It was an invention, Douglas,” he spat through a leaking veil of tears, “An experimental helicopter lawnmower. It blew up, some of the radioactive fuel splashed on my chest...” his eyes jerked about in teary convulsions.

Mr. Dink charged me again, burying his flabby purple head in my shoulder. His tears soak into my shirt like blood from last night’s fight. I think about Pork-chop, and his hard kick. The rest comes naturally.

“But I’m still a man, Douglas...”

“Mr. Dink?”

He sniffs, raising his face out of my shoulder. “Yes?”

“There’s a club meeting at my house tonight. I think you’d like it.”

The next time I see Mr. Dink, he’s charging at me drenched in sweat and mainlining adrenaline. He’s slow. I land a good chop along his nose. Blood rolls down purple skin, reminding me of his tears that afternoon. As he grabs my hair, ramming my head into the concrete wall again and again, I look him in the eyes. I see the same thing I saw in myself that first night with Pork-chop. My head hits the concrete again, making a sound like raw meat. Through blood soaked eyes I see Pork-chop smiling at the edge of the basement.

Saggysack
02-16-2006, 12:08 AM
Typing 'teh ghey' is pretty damn gay in itself.

Oh... shi...

Ultra Peanut
02-16-2006, 12:12 AM
Pork-chop pulls the gun out of my mouth, its barrel soaked from the stay. “Arf arf arf arf ar arf?” He barks.

“I can’t think of anything, Pork-chop.” I spit. Blood is caked around my head. Memories are sizzling inside it like eggs on a Texas sidewalk. Mr. Dink’s brain spilling out onto the floor of my parent’s kitchen. The chanting that followed, all about him, his name. “His name was Bud Dink,” they said. Masturbating into mayonnaise at the Honker Burger. Shoving a gun to the back of Phoebe’s skull, telling her that if she doesn’t get on the way to being a doctor in 24 hours she’s going to die. Good times.

Old times.

Everything is old now. It’s old because it’s dark in Mr. Bone’s office. It’s old because of the sixteen minutes I have until the nitro goes up. It’s old because my alternate personality is a tiny gray dog that communicates only in vaguely understandable barks. I think that means I’m a furry.

It also means that he can’t hold a gun. The gun has to be... in my hand.

I recognize the weight in my hand, the sexy curve of the metal grip, even though it’s been there the whole time. Pork-chop lights up a cigarette, eyeing me coolly from across the room. “Arf arf. Arf arf arf arf.”

“No, Pork-chop,” I stand up. Cold sweat runs down my brow like anti-freeze. “It ends here.” I jam the gun between my gums again.

Pork-chop raises an eyebrow. He knows I don’t have the guts to do it. I’m just a kid, writing in my journal about my obsession of the day. Living half my life in powerful fantasies about spies and superheroes. I can’t do it. I’m frozen by own inadequacy. Impotent.

I close my eyes, and pull the trigger.

My jaw is torn off in a Chinese dragon smile as the bullet hurtles through the bone and meat that was my face. I hit the ground, the yodeling equipment strewn around the office swirling in my eyes.

---

In my father’s house are many mansions.

When I pulled the trigger, I hit the floor as meat. Dead. An object devoid of thought and energy.

Liar.

I went to heaven. Where god sits behind a big oak desk and tells me we’re all beautiful and unique snowflakes. No, I say. That’s wrong. We aren’t unique and beautiful, but we aren’t crap or trash either. We just are.

God says that’s wrong. And god writes about me in his journal as the angels lead me out of the room. I can almost see god click off his light, and whistle in the darkness.