z2

A solitary student walked proudly to the microphone. He stood still and silent for just a moment, and then it happened.
H
All 92 students, every single one of them, suddenly SNEEZED!!!!

crotch fires and you: the untold story.

Wizard's Coat
[Body] All Races
DEF: 38 MP +16 VIT +5
Enfeebling magic skill +10 Enmity -3
Lv. 58 BLM

Calling me passive-aggressive (which is simply retarded, because I'm one of the most straightforward and blunt people in the MZX community) and accusing me of ad hominem is extremely internet cliche. Cliches have an awful tendency of being not just over done but inaccurate as well, since people are so casually imitating what they've previously heard.

that's the way of the world
what you waiting for?
she has to be loved
everybody needs somebody

tell me secrets
tell me your secret
tell me why don't you feel
tell me about reality

tell me secrets
tell me sweet secrets
what do you know
what do you know
what do you know about me?
take me to the other side
walk the line

that's the way of the world
what you waiting for?
she has to be loved
everybody needs somebody

see my face just once again
watch me fall for you
once more watch me feel
just like before, running for my life

among other horrible things

Here's all you really need to know about Throbbing Gristle. Take it away Genesis, you gibbering freak, you:

"I used to do things like stick severed chicken's heads over my penis, and then try to masturbate them, whilst pouring maggots all over it. In Los Angeles, in 1976, at the ICA I did a performance where I was naked, I drank a bottle of whiskey and stood on a lot of tacks. And then I gave myself enemas with blood, milk and urine, and then broke wind so a jet of blood, milk and urine combined shot [out and] then licked it off the not-clean concrete floor.

"Then I got a 10-inch nail and tried to swallow it, which made me vomit. Then Cosey helped me lick the vomit off the floor. And she was naked and trying to sever her vagina to her navel with a razor blade and she injected blood into her vagina which then trickled out, and we sucked the blood from her vagina into a syringe and injected it into eggs painted black, which we then tried to eat. And we vomited again, which we then used for enemas. Then I urinated into a large glass bottle and drank it all while it was still warm. This was all improvised. And then we gradually crawled to each other, licking the floor clean. 'Cause we don't like to leave a mess, y'know; after all, it's not fair to insult an art gallery. Chris Burden, who's known for being outrageous, walked out with his girlfriend, saying, 'This is not art, this is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen, and these people are sick'."

This is what we in England call "trying a bit too hard".

Meh, whenever anyone tries to make fun of me, it usually ends up backfiring at them. I accideltly bring disorder to order, usually by telling a random joke, then everyone starts ranting on about something else or flaming each other, and they say "Hey, let's make the topic about Scorch and maybe people will be distracted by the fact that we've gone completly off topic after we heared a joke we didn't like."

personally, i think it's about time. If homosexual people wish to get married, who the hell should have the right to say "No fucking way queer!" It's their life, not the life of the pope, sitting on his high chair telling people how they should behave.

I believe my true self is that of a 1978 Honda Civic. That is who I truly am on the inside, my soul-being. To express this aspect of my personality I draw pictures of myself as an anthropomorphic 1978 Honda Civic and share them with others of my kind. My girlfriend is an 1975 AMC Gremlin, and we are soul-mates. Automobile soul-mates. I communicate with others of my kind mostly through the internet, but sometimes we attend conventions. People persecute us for our true selves. My neighbor threatened to call the cops on me just for talking to his Escort. I'm not even into Fords, but that's besides the point. Just because I AM a car doesn't mean I'm going to have relations with just every car I see. It's not about the sex, though there is a 1955 Chevy Bel-Air I will never forget. You never forget your first. But I'm sick of people saying I'm perverted and wrong, and that I'm not really a car I'm just crazy. They don't understand, I have just as much right to the road as they do. Those assholes at the DMV are the worst, but I'd rather not talk about that ugly incident of carsecution. I have a good mechanic, though. You've never lived until you've had this guy change your oil. It doesn't make me gay, because I'm a Honda, not really a person. Your morality doesn't apply to me. I am a car. Beep beep, mother fucker. Deal with it.

holy shit I know that person