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If the only thing we own from birth to death is Our physical avatars, and the decisions we make along the way are that which we have to "Own" upon dying, then only those who view themselves as eternal, immortal, morally correct and adhering to the Golden Rule over the duration of their life prior to their inescapable, inevitable death, and as such see their lives as being worthy of saving such that they would live the same life on an infinite loop forever can deem themselves to Heaven or Hell.

 

And in not fearing death, as death provides the escape from having to continually reiterate "truth" upon the minds and psyches of those who appear to be retarding themselves is a funny way to make a living and joke at the expense of those who waste their lives and existence by denying the fear that permeates every atom of their existence.

 

And as One whose shortened name would be Mat O, the fact that I can use an anagram of Atom to be my name shows there is no escape from One who has seen and knows all there is to know about existence, purpose and meaning in life. 

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50 minutes ago, Mauler5150 said:

The way I phrased it to a couple of guys who were 32 and 19 that I went and had beers with from the backpackers I am staying at last night is like this.

 

If you can view yourself as God, you create your equal and partner by handing over the keys to creation to make a world for you to live in and inhabit. As such, you separate yourself from Her, and she manifests an infinite number of creatures, humans and animals and attempts to trick you by making you jealous or envious, by depicting false acts of sex, materialism and "love" to taunt you, and it could drive you insane.

 

But if you view yourself as God, then you understand what love actually is, and it is why you fearlessly hand over the keys to creation in the ultimate gesture of love, knowing that no matter what she attempts to create or manifest that eventually after she dooms everyone and everything she creates to a certain and inevitable death at which point she returns and You, as God, who has always known there exists nobody and nothing better than the love you have offered and proven capable of giving, You get to say "I told you so" as you either both laugh together at how stupid she was as she then understands what love truly is and you only handed over fear to her by giving her the keys to creation as unless she obeys theGolden Rule and shares or hands back "Control" of the simulation, then she lives with nothing but the fear of returning and having to judge herself and her failure to have understood the initial gesture of love you gave by making her the Developer (Dev Eloper - as she was the one who ran off and abandoned God in the first place for an inferior illusionary world filled with a 8 billion derivative pretenders in the form of humans she supposedly chose "over you" as part of the trick) 

 

TLDR. While a Whore might seek to play Men she views as "tricks" by playing the role of the Devil, she only ultimately tricks herself in the eyes of God.

 

 

 

Is this really how you talk to people that are just trying to have some beers? I'm trying to put myself in their position right now to see how I would react. At 19 I was hanging out with old homeless drunks and entertaining their stories of time machines made of gold. So I'm all in on what ever you are talking about. At 32 maybe not so much. Might try to steer the conversation towards "Where da hoes?"

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45 minutes ago, mr.yuck said:

 

Is this really how you talk to people that are just trying to have some beers? I'm trying to put myself in their position right now to see how I would react. At 19 I was hanging out with old homeless drunks and entertaining their stories of time machines made of gold. So I'm all in on what ever you are talking about. At 32 maybe not so much. Might try to steer the conversation towards "Where da hoes?"

Well I moved on from teaching them how to get women early on in the night, of which they didn’t seem interested too much, to deeper philosophical topics as the night progressed.

 

 Is it wrong for Me to view other males, with whom I have had conversations about life and relationships with previously, as being younger versions of Myself and I would seek to impart a life worth of lessons in these regards in the hope that at some point my advice will allow them to understand that there exists a Man like Me who would “bare their soul” and all my errors that caused Me pain in the hope it would save them having to experience it themselves?

 

I do state disclaimers during such conversations that if I could travel back to tell My past self of what will happen if they make such and such decisions I would do so, as even if I ignore it and make the same choices I would still end up happy regardless.

 

And whilst my abode is temporary, I will hapoily shout from the rooftop to “Ho Me Less” as I ain’t no fucking Ho, and I refuse to accept women who want to be treated like a Ho with money and materialism a fundamental aspect of how they define a Man’s value and worth in their life.

 

TLDR. I fucked all da hoes by giving them a life that leads to an inevitable and inescapable death at which point they realise they have sold their souls for money, handbags, and a arab sheik shitting all over them as the defining aspect of their existence.

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I talk to people how I wish to be talked to.

 

With truth and comedy.

 

I obey the Golden Rule in my interactions with others as I bring them no harm or ill will yet I am biologically needing to identify threats to the idyllic existence I picture inside My head of the future life I intend to be living.

 

If this involves a paradigm shift by breaking the reality of those whose existence is predicated upon lies or worse, the critique of others they wish to live vicariously thru, then that is a worthy price for others to pay given My love for humor, sarcasm snd taking the piss out of fools can never be taken from Me even if My house and car has been taken from Me in the interim.

 

The moral of fhis story is don’t have kids unless you guarantee they will have a roof over their head for their entire life and as such their only worries will be paying the bills necessitative for them to live and exist.

 

If you can’t or refuse to provide this for your child,& your child faces homelesness, then you fail as a parent.

 

Thankfully My Mother only allowed Me to be homeless for a single night, but it was enough for Me to learn this lesson and make this decree as being irrefutably true as I expose the egos and mistakes of how greed and selfishness is fucking this society.

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Also in relation to the question of “where da hoez?”

 

Women exist for Men like Myself to have kids with. Given this world exists in it’s present form as a place whereby I would consider Myself to be manifesting My ultimate Demon incarnation by having a child being born into a world whereby we are on the precipice of AI rendering the majority of jobs that My child would have to spend their life as a “slave to the Man and the system” performing in order to earn money to survive (let alone thrive), woman serve zero purpose to Me as their primary function beyond Me admiring their aesthetic allure passively.

 

Whilst this might seem pessimistic, My posts are to highlight and hope that such “bugs in the system” can be eradicated to where I can once again exist in a world and have the position that I am birthing a child into a world that is better than the One I experienced as a child born in 1981.

 

If the good memories of the 80s&90s thread and others with similar life experience can relate, how do we use the lessons of the past to fix the issues of the present and potential future without first identifying them as I am doing here?

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4 minutes ago, mr.yuck said:

@Mauler5150I don't believe you come at people with any malice or ill will. I just pictured you walking straight into the bar, cracking your knuckles and diving directly into some heavy ass shit. Haha.

Well in the last venue we entered, I pretty much had a slight glow happening and was doing exactly this, but it wasn’t how the night started out.

 

Terrific observation though, and if anything, I can take some sense of pride in my words giving an accurate depiction of My intent and character, given that much could be misconstrued via the usually toneless medium of the written word.

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Was all into the sensitive depression stuff for like two seconds before Mauler posted about a trillion words in a row lol. Good to get right on outta that headspace however whenever and as quick as possible. I’ve talked about my own shit around here and it’s the same ol conversation really outta me really. Get on a bike or take a walk. 5 4 3 2 1 that shit and do the first thing you can think of within reason that might make you feel better before staying in bed all day or worse. Not sure if I ever shared it but for me it’s a track “love my life”  by this dude pepperboy. Kinda corny rapper who never made it off the ground level except workin with Blue Sky Black Death a few times, but it’s responsible for like a lot of me not being dead. 
 

 

In other news where them alien photos at? 
 

 

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4 hours ago, NightmareOnElmStreet said:

Was all into the sensitive depression stuff for like two seconds before Mauler posted about a trillion words in a row lol. Good to get right on outta that headspace however whenever and as quick as possible. I’ve talked about my own shit around here and it’s the same ol conversation really outta me really. Get on a bike or take a walk. 5 4 3 2 1 that shit and do the first thing you can think of within reason that might make you feel better before staying in bed all day or worse. Not sure if I ever shared it but for me it’s a track “love my life”  by this dude pepperboy. Kinda corny rapper who never made it off the ground level except workin with Blue Sky Black Death a few times, but it’s responsible for like a lot of me not being dead. 
 

 

In other news where them alien photos at? 
 

 

Glad to see you got a laugh from My coffee inspired diatribe.

 

 It is like the writing muse hits Me and I get compelled by the waves to address the topic of conversation prior to trying to get to the root causes of what causes the turmoil that seems to plague the human species such that their reliance on chemically or weapon assisted escapes from reality that many succumb to can be moderated to an extent.

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I’m glad Kanye and Kim named their kid North such that “No” featured in their name so prominently as who would want to forever be doomed to being the child of a woman whose claim to fame & self made fortune came from screwing a man who is not their father on camera?

If there ever was something the offspring of a nobody would object and say “No” to, then this is pretty much the superlative example of.

 

 Just remember humans, these are your elected “celebrity” representatives of the peak of what it means to be human in the year 2023.

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I went to Ruby Tuesdays for dinner tonight. Y'all are never gonna believe this. I got home and it was an instant diarrhea fest. I'm trying to figure out if it's from the vat of broccoli and cheese soup that cools down and then gets reheated 15 times a day or if there was too much listeria on the lettuce. 

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@Fist 666so disappointing. I remembered the salad bar being good too. I never had problems before. I'm guaranteeing it was from the broccoli cheddar soup. The first one came out Luke warm. The second joint was piping hot. The third was just kinda warm again. 

 

I wanna say it's a location thing. I'm sure cross contamination and proper kitchen protocols are a second or third thought out here.

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@KILZ FILLZcheck this shit out. They down sized their salad bar plates to these tiny oval janks. We got back to our seat and my wife is like "what the fuck am I supposed to do with this tiny ass plate? My whole salad is gonna be on the table if I try to mix it up." So I'm like fuck it I'll go grab a whole stack of plates so we can have a bunch of these tiny plates to catch the spilling salad. I can tell my old lady is getting pissed. This bitch is not amused with this situation at all. So the waitress walks by and she's like "hey ma'am, can I get a bigger plate for my salad so I don't make a mess over here."

 

The waitress looks at her and says "I can't do that. If I get you a bigger plate, everyone will want a bigger plate." I straight busted out laughing expecting Ashton Kutcher to come running out at any minute. To my wife's credit she kept her cool and calmly explained why she wanted the bigger plate. The waitress reluctantly went to the back and brought us bigger plates. She looked at us and said "don't take these big plates up to the salad bar or they'll fire me!"

 

The whole experience was super dystopian. Like this grandma is legit worried that some one in the back is going to break her hands if she steps outta line.

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2 hours ago, nicklesndimes said:

sounds like a good old case of food poisoning. been years for me since a restaurant made me get the shits so bad i thought i was going to die.

 

once from a local pizza place that closed a few years ago. i went for a jog after i got home from dinner and had to run in a taco bell and just exploded on the toilet in there...was sweating profusely, too. i was fucked that time.

 

but the worst was when i ordered general tso tofu from the chinese restaurant downtown...nearly called and ambulance it made me so sick.


never forget…

 

On 10/9/2002 at 7:36 PM, non-hetero said:

Deserving it's own thread. Read it all.

 

 

Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of

weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for

dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and

beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that

it is served.

 

Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with

Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the

little bastards.

 

It may seem that the events about to be told have little

connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a

moment.

 

We went through the line and placed our orders for the

all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front

of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of

kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate

after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I

tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian

ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.

 

Perhaps bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well

all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten

four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble.

 

There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having

trouble breathing.

 

At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I

thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches

right at the table without to much concern.

 

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

 

After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with

explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way

through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned

the grease to begin with, but I digress...

 

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon

entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two

urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls

against the back wall.

 

One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would

have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a

bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was

broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to

stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is

having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit.

 

I went to the normal stall.

 

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large,

handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because

that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a

bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked

into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching

Biblical proportions.

 

I began "The Move."

 

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to

explain "The Move."

 

Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second.

And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of

physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any

circumstances. There is a move men make that involves

simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to

position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into

ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the

squat at the same time.

 

It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results

in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that

ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it

even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front

rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at

the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling

that of a skilled ballet dancer.

 

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the

floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled

by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was

mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first

walked into the stall.

 

Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I

had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I

hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex

started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the

bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming

up for a rematch.

 

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of

events

are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I

can.

 

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was

diverted from the goings-on at the other end.

 

To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down

to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of

vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that

vomiting

takes precidence over shit no matter what is about to come

slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing

since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence

of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into

the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was

thus diverted.

 

At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be

described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along

the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something

similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic

feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistancy of thick mud with

embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But

remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment.

The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in

relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted

off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of

incidence equal to the angle at which it initally hit the toilet

seat.

 

Then I sat down.

 

Recall that when that event occured, I was already half-way to

sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I

have always considered myself as relatively stable

gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're

going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the

shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so

as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on

the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a

high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the

puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a

puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on

about

one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

 

Now, back to the vomit...

 

While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its

way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my

mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and

beef I had just consumed.

 

OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting?

 

One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the

toilet, though.

 

Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my

now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and

waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to

a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I

mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with

elastic on the ankles?

 

In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two

or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were

deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the

bottom down by my feet.

 

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a

couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there

with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had

bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to

a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come

back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid

shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring

curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

 

And there was no fucking toilet paper.

 

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete

maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He

actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must

have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just

enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to

have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager

walked

in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was

prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was

no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall,

but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask

my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he

left.

 

At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed

just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

 

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not

knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her

voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble

getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her

help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the

past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or

something and just needed to being the car around so we could

bolt immediately.

 

Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to

go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks,

new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable

leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers.

 

And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing.

She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when

I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just

needed to handle damage control for the time being.

 

She left.

 

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a

few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon

which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed

to be cleaned.

 

Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was

going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I

would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks

working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above.

 

At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of

the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of

duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked

up a hose.

 

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls

and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in

order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial

bathroom.

 

He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I

began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was

finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them

into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing

into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to

my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my

new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it

would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in

the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little

bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I

had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

 

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned

up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in

the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the

bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for

all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management

staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started

laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again,

but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now

waiting to pick me up by the front door.

 

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner

at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management

staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

 

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6 hours ago, LUGR said:


It was good. I needed to get up early and get out doing stuff. Gave me more energy. Thanks for asking.

So you had another bout of “da virus”?

 

Glad to hear you are better. I may hit you up via PM to purchase that 12oz reunion shirt off you in the near future once all My other obligations are settled (getting my van and making a couple of people “Lords” via gifting them land and a tree in Scotland as thanks for helping Me laugh about life during times where it was in short supply).

 

If you still care to sell it to Me this is, lolz

 

 

 

 

 

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