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# Well, it wasn't quick but it's certainly dirty
it wasn't quick but it's certainly dirtyand still it haunts me I think it always will too many nights I close my eyes and all I see are the rags hanging from her sacred centre violated by the jagged broken member of the ancient old one and the blood and the smell and the fearful agony in her eyes a window to a mind not yet too broken to know what happened to it



I never knew how out of practice I was.
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 0:15, archived)
# I think I broke the board
I also need to go to bed, to listen for the cockroaches and the caterpillars and the earwigs that crawl into your nostrils at night to lay eggs but these aren't earwig eggs they're conduits for the harbingers of the ancient one dark and distant and lofty and cruel he was banished before the first apemen peered fearfully at the growing vistas of savannah that consumed their homes but he loves us oh he loves us and he sends his creatures to bring us his love the barbs and the lies and the dripping spatter of viscous tarlike pleasure exuding from his glistening glans lethally toxic and excruciatingly deadly and you'll feel his hands dig into your sides as he grasps on and pushes himself in and you'll puncture, your skin rupturing blood pumping in startled scarlet fountains and his claws filthy and slimed with the excrement of aeons locked under, his claws they'll tear at your flesh as the barbs shred your insides and he'll pump and burst fire into you and you'll wish to die but he loves us and lies and keeps us alive and he lies and he lies and he lies
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 0:27, archived)
#
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 0:32, archived)
# A prophecy that soon came true
I'm dying on the spot here so I actually am going to bed. A good night to B3ta, one and all.


Edit: I love the barbs all over his cock :)
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 0:34, archived)
# They pierce the back of your throat and you first taste blood but soon after the tar boils and thickens and fills your stomach with the purest of evil.
You must drain the beast of his hatred for you thus sparing what is left of your god forsaken soul which has now turned black with the sins of the modern world.
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 0:39, archived)
# And now here's Laura with the weather.
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:02, archived)
# Thanks, Brad.
I felt a chill which was not of the hot autumn; for as we stalked out on the dark moor, we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil snows. Trackless, inexplicable snows, swept asunder in one direction only, where lay a gulf all the blacker for its glittering walls. The column seemed very thin indeed as it plodded dreamily into the gulf. I lingered behind, for the black rift in the green-litten snow was frightful, and I thought I had heard the reverberations of a disquieting wail as my companions vanished; but my power to linger was slight. As if beckoned by those who had gone before, I half-floated between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the sightless vortex of the unimaginable.

Screamingly sentient, dumbly delirious, only the gods that were can tell. A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that are not hands, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-seen columns of unsanctified temples that rest on nameless rocks beneath space and reach up to dizzy vacua above the spheres of light and darkness. And through this revolting graveyard of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods — the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep.

(by HP Lovecraft of course, not me)
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:11, archived)
# That's all very well, but what about the pollen count?
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:29, archived)
# Medium to low. Hay fever sufferers should avoid the Occult section of New England university libraries.
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:40, archived)
# Thanks, now here's Tom with the denture report.
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:49, archived)
# Looks precarious, Tom. How are the markets reacting, Lori?
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 2:09, archived)
# I love all of these, they are fantastically creative...
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 0:55, archived)
# I live for Boris's posts.
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 2:07, archived)
# \o/
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:39, archived)
# I'm gonna have to see 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown' very soon
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:45, archived)
#

(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:46, archived)
# They smell BLOOOOOODDDD!
ALSO: Lies
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:51, archived)
#
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 1:52, archived)
#
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 2:08, archived)
# what are u trying to say
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 2:26, archived)
# It seemed to fit the
sequence
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 3:48, archived)
# I got inspired:

I always forget how fun that is.
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 5:32, archived)
# I am exceptionally proud of what this thread became
A good job done by all
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 8:44, archived)
# Well you made me dust off my tablet.
Or in this case clean it. I did it (I am not kidding) with a drop of beer on tissue paper. Hence the quality of the results.
Cheers!
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 8:58, archived)
# It looks fine to me :)
You should keep it cleaner and use it more often. Like cocks.
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 9:59, archived)
#
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 11:02, archived)
# Zalgo
He comes.
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 9:31, archived)
# Pan, not Zalgo!
Honestly, some people.

The first one of these was called "derivative tosh".
(, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 9:58, archived)