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#412
03-02-2018, 02:15 AM
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<Jinks You Owe Me A Woke>
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Draconite - 60 Warlord
Sond Cerulean - 58 Preserver  Quote:
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#414
03-02-2018, 04:49 AM
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Quote:
24 / 7
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Kirban Manaburn / Speedd Haxx
PKer & Master Trainer and Terrorist of Sullon Zek Kills: 1278, Deaths: 76, Killratio: 16.82 | |||
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#415
03-02-2018, 04:58 AM
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Quote:
__________________
Kirban Manaburn / Speedd Haxx
PKer & Master Trainer and Terrorist of Sullon Zek Kills: 1278, Deaths: 76, Killratio: 16.82 | |||
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#416
03-02-2018, 04:59 AM
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Quote:
The Boy playing a pickup game of basketball on the playground after team practice, one of the kids has downs syndrome. we are all civilized gentleman, its 2018, u gotta let him participate. why not. he breaks all the rules, double dribbles, fouls constantly, drools on everbody, with incoherent excited moaning. hes never done this before. god bless his gentle heart, poor soul. during the awkward and bizarre pickup game, you accidentally bump him with just enough force to knock him to the ground. he slams the ground with a deafening autistic screech, twitches violently for a moment, then is completely still. then all is quiet... you could hear a pin drop. you could cut the silence with a knife. in agonizing slow motion, you gaze up from the kid - all eyes are on you, piercing your very soul through the window of your dumbfounded look. the faces are a confused, intense cacophony of extreme rage, sorrow, and utter shock. after what feels like an eternity, the soccer mom mother of the child, who knows nothing about basketball, stands up abruptly and begins the fiercest, most estrogen charged mamma bear social justice tongue lashing youve ever heard. everyones mouths fall agape. she charges towards you, red faced, hot and bothered screaming. the basketball coach/cuckold husband tries to restrain her gently and grabs her upper arm. big. mistake. you see her slap the taste out of his mouth, shouting incoherently into his face as he apologizes profusely, and submissively. as the spectical is momentary shifted away from you, you take this opportunity to slink away. a few minutes later from the parking lot you eagerly peer through the cars to catch a glimpse of what has happened. is he ok? Did he get hurt? To your amazement, you see everyone standing around him, a few extending their arms, others beginning to help him up. As the players begin to slowly hoist him up, hes comes to - lets loose and angry wail, and frantically slaps the hands of the helpers away. They step back cautiously, and again the boy tumbles to the ground, moaning. He angrily, painstakingly, with great frustration, scrambles and scrapes to get onto his feet like a baby horse trying to get his legs underneath him. It is clear he does not want help, but standing on his own too feet unassisted appears to be a great source of pride for him. Does he understand pride or? Eventually he stabilizes himself, the spectators gasp. The situation is playing out like a movie, and everyone is captivated by it. The boy instinctively shuffles to the free throw line, then glances at the coach with a hint of his mothers ferocity, signaling - its time for a foul shot. The ball is passed to the boy. he shoots. he scores. There is a roar from the crowd that has now formed, the scene is at an absolute climax. Tears stream down the face of the mother, makeup streaks forming on her cheeks, as the coach hands her tissues. Everyone is beside themselves, hooting and hollering, singing the praises of the boy. No one is more pleased and ecstatic than the boy however, who is lifted onto high into the air, onto the shoulders of the tallest players. He is paraded around with his hands held high, eyes tightly shut, streaming tears of pure happiness are everywhere. He begins chanting something, you swear it sounds like "Adrian" as he peppered by flash photography that has now gathered at the event. The sensation of guilt, and mixed happiness twists your heart in a strange direction. In a strange chaotic way, you realize you've played the villain, in order to set the stage for great heroics. Then, at that very moment, the sensation of slow motion takes over again. Miraculously, somehow, across the parking lot you lock eyes with the boy. Time stands still, and you see a highly intelligent facial expression begin to form, one that conveys a deep sinister, conceiving, telling, highly manipulative cunning. You again are shocked and utterly dumbfounded, as the demonic, thug-like face winks at you as if to say, and you swear you hear in the deep recesses of your mind "gotcha bitch." Then as quickly as the trance like state began, it ends. The boy breaks eye contact, his face shift back into a grimacing highly excited crying baby like before. You regain control your senses, and fall to your knees, clutching your chest in a cold sweat. What.... what just happened? later that afternoon your approached by the coach. "hey man, i know this wasnt practice... but we feel its best you to take a month off to let this blow over"
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#418
03-02-2018, 07:33 AM
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#419
03-02-2018, 08:28 AM
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Love how these CSG ppl keep playing modest saying "oh we won't get pixels while AW is off since AM will snag them all up, it won't help us at all.
As I see them winking and lightly nudging Sirken with their elbow hoping for another double suspension to hit so they can take 36+ hours to clear NToV and extend windows out over an entire week..... | ||
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Linear Mode
