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Topic: Secrets of the admins of a right-wing memes page  (Read 56611 times)

Sherman Tank

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Detonate the atomic bomb.

Gyro

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Try to calm down the angry people in the hall. Tell them the inspiring story of Jack Chick and the Whiskeynanners, and tell them that if Jack Chick can soldier on through eating those disgusting sulfurous nanners which look like poo-poo, then they can manage to survive eating a total lack of red sauce.

Meet up with CoDA. Ask Yaru and CoDA if they know anything about Lena Boll or the people who run ESEX, and if they think they're good people. Also, ask if it sounds like a good idea to accept Vince's offer. We're gonna Deus Ex NPC dialogue the shit out of this.

Also read that email about the sleep study if you have time, that looks weird yo.

Detonate the atomic bomb.
Sherman Tank, March 22, 2016, 02:13:09 am
If "atomic bomb" is a cocktail and by "detonate" you mean "drink," I'm all for this.
Bodark

Zekka

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Detonate the atomic bomb.
Sherman Tank, March 22, 2016, 02:13:09 am

Acknowledged!

Try to calm down the angry people in the hall. Tell them the inspiring story of Jack Chick and the Whiskeynanners, and tell them that if Jack Chick can soldier on through eating those disgusting sulfurous nanners which look like poo-poo, then they can manage to survive eating a total lack of red sauce.

Meet up with CoDA. Ask Yaru and CoDA if they know anything about Lena Boll or the people who run ESEX, and if they think they're good people.
Dog Magma, March 22, 2016, 10:12:29 am


















DOTASPORT ONLINE
Dota -> eSports General -> Fandom -> RijaLeu
== Is the boots@reptoid address real? ==
esports_MIKE
Member
30 posts
--------
RijaLeu is the coolest esports competitor in the world for me right now. I really, really, really want to get a picture with him. I'm willing to use photoshop to make this happen.

I'm at trump condos right now but they're not letting me in since I don't have an evt pass.


Yaru
Verified
358 posts
---------
I didn't really want to respond to this topic, but I felt obligated seeing as I'm the one who leaked it.

Yes it's real. (It's reptoid.me by the way.) Please don't abuse it. He is probably receiving a lot of spam right now from fans and promoters, at least that's what happened when my personal email got leaked.

We're in the green room right now, about to go looking for a friend -- stand somewhere conspicuous, maybe we'll see you. He seems like a really nice dude. You can get in the lobby, right?
« Last Edit: March 22, 2016, 01:02:41 pm by Zekka »

Zekka

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Bodark

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OH FUCK THAT'S WHY I WAS SUPPOSED TO SAVE THOSE NUMBERS

EDIT TO CLARIFY: I FORGOT TO SAVE THE NUMBERS

EDITED AGAIN: I FUCKED IT UP GUYS I FUCKED IT UP
Zekka
« Last Edit: March 23, 2016, 11:34:56 pm by Bodark »

Zekka

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OH FUCK THAT'S WHY I WAS SUPPOSED TO SAVE THOSE NUMBERS

EDIT TO CLARIFY: I FORGOT TO SAVE THE NUMBERS

EDITED AGAIN: I FUCKED IT UP GUYS I FUCKED IT UP
Bodark, March 23, 2016, 11:30:50 pm

Oh no!

Bodark

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OH FUCK THAT'S WHY I WAS SUPPOSED TO SAVE THOSE NUMBERS

EDIT TO CLARIFY: I FORGOT TO SAVE THE NUMBERS

EDITED AGAIN: I FUCKED IT UP GUYS I FUCKED IT UP
Bodark, March 23, 2016, 11:30:50 pm

AS IF BY MAGIC, I SEEM TO HAVE RECOVERED THE NUMBERS WE'RE GOOD

Sherman Tank

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Sabotage Trump's supply of hairspray and fancy combs.

Ashto

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At the first available moment of downtime, head into the bathroom and fashion a miniature piñata out of toiler paper, hand towels, and whatever adhesive material may be available along the way there. Stain portions of it with different colored soaps to provide color. Stow it in your inventory until a later time, as I'm sure it will come in handy as a distraction in the case you want to trick the staff into thinking that there's a roving Mexican loose in the building.

Feeding should probably not be too big of a concern, as bite-marks can be covered up by the required collars and scarves, and the victims simply entranced into forgetting.

moooo566 (taylor's version)

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This isn't going in a friendly direction. Regain control of the situation by building a proxy starport in the loos and massing Vikings.

Zekka

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It sounds like Boots is taking a lavatorial direction. Perfectly OK! Before entering, let's take a quick look at the plans. (as posted in the broom closet)


(action (not paperwork) will commence with haste)

Zekka

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The weird little white thing that was supposedly a pita rests in Boots' pocket. CoDA is still gasping from minor shock, but he looks totally spaced out.

Aren't you going to take a look at it?
I'm going to the bathroom.
You're not going to... flush it, are you?
I might.

Boots' pocket wriggles discontentedly. CoDA yawns.

That's not the reason I'm going though.

Eyes closed with one hand on his throat and the other on his stomach, CoDA haltingly stands and tries to follow.

You're following a stranger into the bathroom? That's weird and creepy.

Tiptoeing out he hears a brief, unsurprising thud inside the room as the doorway shuts, along with loud, undisrupted snoring. Boots has other priorities, but he'll examine the pita under the light if he gets a chance.

Regain control of the situation by building a proxy starport in the loos and massing Vikings.
moooo566, March 24, 2016, 04:58:30 am

Inside the bathroom are about a dozen tall, burly Swedes. They're pretty compliant, though, and soon Boots has urged all of them into one corner, by the hand-dryers.

Why are you here?
Religious purposes.
Do you want to do me a favor?
We'd love to. We have nothing else to do right now.
Cool. Go to the green room and make sure Yaru and CoDA are OK. Then hang out near the orchestra pit or something. Somewhere I can find you.
No, can't go outside the bathroom.
Can you go to a different bathroom while I work here?

They squabble a little bit in ancient Norse. Then their leader smiles wryly.

We can...not.
Could you, perhaps, hide in the stalls so you don't see what I'm up to?
We'd like to, but there's no room. Besides, it would be unfair. There are eleven of us and three stalls.
Maybe you can do it lying down.

Once the last viking is KO'ed, he hauls them one-by-one by their beards into the near stall. By clambering a short ways up the side of the stall he has enough vertical room to stack them up like sardines.

Whatever's in Boots' pocket jitters, stretches, and madly scrambles to escape -- but fortunately, that's what God invented pockets for.

At the first available moment of downtime, head into the bathroom and fashion a miniature piñata out of toiler paper, hand towels, and whatever adhesive material may be available along the way there. Stain portions of it with different colored soaps to provide color. Stow it in your inventory until a later time, as I'm sure it will come in handy as a distraction in the case you want to trick the staff into thinking that there's a roving Mexican loose in the building.
Ashto, March 24, 2016, 04:07:47 am

This doesn't turn out to be that hard to do. All four hand soaps listed on the custodian's notice turned out to be present. And with a little puking Boots finds he contains enough partially-coagulated blood to easily glue the sheets together. The bigger problem is the filling: the bathroom contains numerous soaps, plenty of toilet paper and other craft materials, but nothing to eat. The other problem is carrying it, but Boots cleverly built his globe-shaped pinata in four quadrants, which pack nicely between his skin and his jumpsuit. He makes a mental note to visit the dining gallery and see what he can find.

The other things he finds: some hastily altered Dendi marketing material now bearing his face, and... here it is, in a secret cabinet adjacent to the janitorial closet. This wasn't in the notice. Maybe it was implied.

Sabotage Trump's supply of hairspray and fancy combs.
Sherman Tank, March 24, 2016, 12:36:36 am

It's a Donald Haircare Kit!

The light in the room flickers -- it's just dank and unverifiable enough, alone in this space, for something paranormal to happen. The scent of the Haircare Kit has begun to carry.

His pocket bursts on the inside and he feels something (the pita, he supposes) scamper down his leg with sharp-toed feet. An alternation, actually, of sharp-toed feet and the dull clamp of a soft front limb further down. He grabs his pantleg by the ankle and quickly apprehends the pita by its left wing.

Don't worry. I'm nice.

It fixes its stare on Boots.

Let me go.
Set me on the ground.

Its eyes dart to the hair equipment.

Give me the haircare kit.

Whatever it was expecting doesn't happen.

You don't look like a pita crisp.
Come on, take a nap.
Those eyelids are so heavy you can barely lift them.
You're actually a chicken.
You have too much blood in your alcoholstream! You will have to lie down and sleep it off.

It bugs out its already-buggy eyes a little further. Then it runs its whole back along Donald's crazy curly comb.

Do you want me to pretend what you're doing is working?
Just set me down near those guys you were arguing with. I was hoping to take charge here...
Don't run away on me or anything.
In control or not, there's no one at this event I would rather hang out with.
Although my bets were on KantrIP when the tourney started.
Shave my chin a little, right here. It's getting shaggy.

It touches its chin with its thumb. Boots clips it with Donald's crazy curly shaver.

How does hairspray taste?
Bad.
Even to humans?
Yeah, they hate it.
OK, just do a little, top of the head.

It sorts its fuzz into a mohawk, which doesn't really stand up straight.

Hold that.
Can't. Let's leave it for now.

Boots punctures the hairspray container and snaps the comb in half. Then he spits on it.

Aren't you hungry?

The pita quickly mutilates one of the vikings' throats. After it licks away a little blood it scowls, pisses in the toilet, lands gracefully on the flush handle, flaps its wings *upward* to force it down, then comes back.

Hate Swedish people blood. My name is Sticks.
What are you after?
Fame, sustenance, political power? Probably the same sort of stuff you're after.
We'll see.
By the way, the red sauce is like 90% blood. Humans don't like it.
My friends do.
I thought it was OK.
If you're into that... I'm not saying humans can't like it, if they're in the right company.
I'm not a human.
Oh yeah. There's none of that stuff left, is there?
None that I know of.
Event protocol dictates we don't start eating people yet.
It's OK, rules are made to be broken.
I'm cold and I'm not used to being this dry. Can you find someone to put me in?

Boots jams Sticks back in his pocket, but there's almost no need. A human pops through the door almost immediately. A human whose trousers are on his shoes.

Listen. I've got to drop a massive deuce. How about you clear out before your entire existence becomes something you regret?

He's holding hands with the other marketer. Whose trousers are also down, apparently in sympathy. He takes a break to high-five his partner over that burn.

He's not kidding. This deuce is set to blow. You'd better watch yourself or else it's going to blow on you.

The pita skitters up Boots' arm, taps his wrist a whole bunch of times, and poises right under his jumpsuit sleeve to strike.

That's a lumpy suitsleeve! Hope it didn't show up on camera. It's almost as lumpy as this giant deuce I'm about to drop.
What a deuce!

You edited his arm out of the take, the pita murmurs.

I always wanted to see someone drop a deuce... with his mouth open.
Anything for a fan, I guess.

In approaching the toilet he passes perilously close to Boots' arm. The lump under the sleeve twitches.

OK, open your mouth.
I'm not dropping it yet. Not in the mood.
Open your mouth to get in the mood.

He sets his hand (well, what you might expect a kobold to have instead of a hand) on the shoulder of the marketer.

Now we're bros.
It's awesome.
Massage me with your bro hand.
OK, perfect.

He cringes and screams in response to the pita foot that's just parked upon his deltoid.

Aaaaaaaa--

The little white blur bounds along the seam of the vest up to the ear, then swings across the temple to the mouth and hops down the marketer's throat.

What?
I look normal.
That looked like a bat. Felt like one, too...
Let's get serious. I'm hanging out with Boots now because he's my friend. You're going to fall asleep now, with no memory of what just occurred.

The other marketer nods and smiles, dazed.

Also, you are now a chicken -- and you can only talk backwards -- and you're four years old -- and you're a ghost -- and none of us are here, it's all your imagination -- and you have the power to set fires with your mind -- and...

After a really confused series of facial expressions the other dude falls to the floor, landing in the corner between the bathroom stall and the door.

OK, hold up.

His skin bleaches white and two little fangs pop out below the lip. He struggles to make just the teeth make contact, then gives up and puckers his lips, holds them to the Adam's apple, and takes a long, messy suck. After adjusting his posture to try to keep his face a little cleaner, he licks the small amount of remaining blood off the throat. His tongue isn't picking up as much as he seems to expect.

I forgot how bad human anatomy was for this sort of thing. Let me wash my face. Then get us out of this bathroom and I'll try to let this dude act naturally, more or less.
Where are we going?
I don't know. Taking a look around the chest cavity, this guy's liver is hosed, not my fault. He'll be dead before he's 30. If you could find me someone cooler to occupy, that would be a start. And then, maybe we could try to get into the secret vault?
I have a game soon.
You could just jam me in PewDiePie's braincage and get 2-2 A.S.A.P.
Or we could try to hit the buffet.

He frowns.

Crap. Really did need to drop that deuce.
Just wait outside for me and we'll think of something. I'll find something else to wear. You're a good friend.
« Last Edit: March 24, 2016, 11:59:46 pm by Zekka »

Zekka

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Brief message to Mariscos staff.

There was some concern that the autobiological pita crisps might have been a misdelivery. To alleviate those concerns I am providing an anatomical illustration of what an autobiological pita crisp looks like, complete with helpful diagnostic labeling.



-- Lena Boll
Bodark

chai tea latte

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Find Sticks a super hot body to pilot.

Sherman Tank

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Shitcan the power to the building.