Lurker > HotLap

Eevee votes in my CYOAs so her.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

It would have been a record, but its not going to be.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Scrubs
The Good Place
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Atlanta
Silicon Valley
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Debraaaaa!
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Zikten posted...

PrettyBoyFloyd posted...

For survival reasons, why not have the animals eventually turning against each other and killing each other off.

Every animal for themselves.

because they need each other to survive. they are a pack

I guess they all get dog syphilis then. Even Sassy.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Caution999 posted...

Only Chance returns home with porcupines stuck to his face.

And dog syphilis that he got from a stray.
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Tappor posted...

i want to @CJayC and tell him to close his account, but I'm afraid he might actually do it

Slightly scared about my first post now tbh.
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o shit
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HEY

HEY

HEY CJAYC

U A BlTCH

SQUARE UP MOTHERFUCKER

HEY
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Next Sunhawk topic is gonna talk about how great the morgue is.

"They just lie there! If you get tired of one, just open a new drawer!"
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Formerly known as AssMuff if that helps.
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Fuckboi
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ThyCorndog posted...

don't make me pick

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I liked the show but I don't think Hey Arnold deserved a movie.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Master of None
Parks and Recreation
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Scrubs
The Good Place
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Atlanta
Silicon Valley
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Master of None
Party Down
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Looking forward to the @Foppe pee tape.
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Get a bunch of garbage people that will be gone in two years. The most fun I have in Madden is scouting and developing rookies.
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Scrubs taught me that people are bastard coated bastards with bastard filling.
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WaterLink posted...

So Thursday then?

I have Friday off, so maybe. Two updates in a three day span would be a personal record this far into a story I think.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Scrubs
The Good Place
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Atlanta
Silicon Valley
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Honestly, it makes no difference to you. The endorphins will still buck the same if you're down here on earth or kicking it in the ethereal. "No, Mills. I'm not ready. You gave me a job to do and I'm going to do it. Don't give up on me just yet."
Mills rubs his temple. "Why? I'm sending you back to heaven scot-free, why would choose to stay here instead?"
"Because we're friends, Mills."
Mills eyes flutter as he bites the inside of his cheek. "Yeah?"
You give him a single nod. "Yeah."
He nods back. "Okay."
You set the hammer down on the ground and say, "I know what happened was kinda messed up, for you at least, and I know you won't share your plan with me, but ask yourself one question. If it all works out, would it be worth it?"
Mills purses his lips together as a tear forms in the corner of his eye and rolls down his chin. "We should wait until nightfall before going back to the marina."
"Okay. We can't stay here either, since I accidentally made this cave a pretty huge bear attraction."
"True," Mills agrees. "By the way, what was the gooder news?"
"I found us a houseboat," you answer.
"Of course."

Where do you and Mills go until nightfall?

A) Head to the local yacht club.
B) Find resurrection supplies for Mills in case you accidentally kill anyone else.
C) Go to your house and see if your wife will let the two of you stay until sunset.
D) Let Mills lead the way and just follow him.
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Mills doubles over again and gags, but doesn't quite retch. "How are you so calm about this?"
"Death has kinda taken away my ability to feel fear, or guilt, or sadness," you explain. "All those... blah feelings... just a thing of the past. Probably can't barf anymore either. I admit I will miss that."
Mills seems to regain his composure. "So... why did you kill him again?"
"He had a boat, we needed a boat," you explain. "I asked him to give us a ride, he refused, then hot diggity dog the rest was history."
"Hot diggity dog? That's how you gloss over that you bashed his head in with a hammer?" he squeaks.
"Look, if it really bothers you so much, why don't you resurrect him like you did with me? I left him on the boat," you suggest.
"I can't resurrect him," Mills growls. "It's not just muttering a couple phrases, there are supplies that go along with the ritual."
"Supplies?" you repeat. "In Harry Potter, Wormtail cut off his hand to resurrect Voldemort."
"Harry Potter isn't-" Mills starts to explain.
"Oh my god, did you cut off your hand?" you interject.
"I didn't-"
"How did you dig up my grave with only one hand? you ask him. "My god, if you resurrect someone else you'll have no hands."
Mills is getting beet red. "Slim! You need to f-"
"Can I see your stump?" you plead.
Mills slaps the sandwich out of your grasp with one hand and flips you off with the other. "I have both my hands you fucking idiot. Did you say you left the body on the boat?"
"Aww, I wanted to return the parts of the sandwich I didn't use to Jason," you say as ants begin to crawl on the bread.
"Slim!"
"Oh! Yes, he's still there.," you confirm.
"Did anyone see you do this?" asks Mills.
"Just Marge, but I left her in charge of keeping people off the houseboat," you answer. "Hehe, Marge in charge. Hey, have you ever played the rhym-"
"Did you just say houseboat?" Mills interrupts you.
"Yeah."
"We needed a yacht!" he booms. "We can't take a houseboat out onto the open ocean!"
"Well... you should have been more specific," you critique him.
"I literally never said houseboat. I specifically said yacht every time," recalls Mills.
"You also never... you never said 'not houseboat' either, so..." you trail off.
"And who the fuck is Marge? Why would she agree to help you kill an old man and steal his houseboat?"
"Oh she did not like the murder. She called the police," you relay. "But I was hoping she'd watch the boat until I came back with you anyways since I complimented her crocs."
"You told her you were coming back?" Mills asks dumbfounded.
"Yes, with my young friend," you clarify.
Mills squats and stares into the lantern. "So you killed a guy with a boat that can't go outside the harbor, and will be seized by police? And on top of all that, now the marina is hot?"
"Everywhere's hot, Mills. It's August," you say.
"That's not what I..." Mills sighs. "Yeah. You're right, Slim."
You nod to yourself proudly.
"Maybe this was a huge mistake," he mutters.
"What do you mean?"
"You killed a guy, Slim. And it's my fault," Mills chokes up. "Look, do you want to go back to heaven, Slim?"
You blink, even though you don't really need to. "What?"
"You want to go back, Slim? I will release you from your servantly bonds or whatever."
"But I haven't even helped you yet."
"It's fine," Mills stands up straight. "You ready to go?"
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Jason leaves for a few moments before returning with his lunch in a ziploc bag. "Here."
"Thanks," you smile. "As I said before, it was really good to see you, Jason."
Jason inhales sharply as he bites his lower lip. "Get. Out. Of. Here."

You duck your head around the barricade and can no longer hear any sirens. You quickly cross the street and make your way back into the cemetery. You can see some early morning grievers have come to pay their respects to their loved ones. You decide to stick to the edge of the graveyard to not attract attention. Soon you reach the entrance to the path Mills led you down and head into the forest.

The stroll through the woods is just as magical as your sunrise expedition, but for different reasons. You see chipmunks skitter across the tree branches and rabbits hop along the edges of some brush. In the dim morning light, you couldn't see the rotting stump that was just covered in bird crap. It's like someone had painted it. You even spot an empty plastic nip of vodka on the path. The forest is a truly wondrous place.

Soon you find yourself at the mouth of Mills' cave. "Alright," you whisper as you take Jason's sandwich out of the bag. As you make your way through the cave, you rip off small pieces of the sandwich and drop them on the ground behind you. The cave path winds to the left, then back to the right a couple times. As you come around a bend, you see light emanating from an electric lantern on the cave floor. "Mills?" you call out.
Mills emerges from the darkness of the cave wall, his black hood resting down by his shoulders. You're surprised you couldn't see his hair through the darkness. "Slim? You're back already?"
"Yup," you announce proudly.
Mills spots the mostly torn apart sandwich in your hands. "Leaving a trail Hansel and Gretel style, huh? This cave only has one path, but I have to say I'm impressed by your resourcefulness."
"Oh, this isn't so I could find my way out," you correct him. "This is for the bears. If the bears come, they'll be too distracted eating the sandwich, and we can escape."
Mills lets out a disappointed sigh. "Or it's a path of food that entices bears into the cave and leads them right to us."
"Ooooh haha," you chuckle. "You know, that's probably way more likely to happen than my thing."
"Jesus, okay. So is this all you've been doing? Trying to protect me from bears when I asked you not to?" Mills demands.
"Not at all. I have good news and gooder news," you report.
"Alright, give me the good news first," Mills requests.
"I killed a man with this," you show Mills the hammer. You point to a grey lump surrounded by red. "I think this is part of his brain."
Mills stares at Ed's brain chunk, his breath growing more rapid until he turns around and hurls onto the cave floor.
"Haha eww," you laugh. "Barfing is fun though, mad respect."
Mills wipes his mouth before asking exasperatedly, "You killed someone?"
"Mmhmm," you nod. "I killed an old man."
"Why?" Mills demands.
"You told me to not be afraid to get my hands dirty. It's kill or be killed. That's what you told me," you answer.
"I absolutely did not tell you that," Mills denies.
"Um, I'm pretty sure you did," you argue. "You told me all about how you stabbed girls from a rival sorority."
"What?!" Mills shout echoes through the cave.
"Oooooh," it suddenly dawns on you. "You're right, that definitely wasn't you. It was that sorority girl I met at a bus stop. Man, what a hilarious misunderstanding."
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

You leave Marge to her own devices and begin the walk back to Mills' cave. Right as you get back to the construction site, you hear police sirens in the distance. You pop into the site to avoid detection as the cruisers go by.
The foreman who shouted at Jason spots you. "Hey! What are you doing? You can't be back here."
"I just needed to return this hammer to Jason," you tell him.
The foreman's brow furrows. "He let you borrow a company hammer?"
"Yeah, but it's no big deal. I'm bringing it back, see?"
"What's all that on the end of it? Is that blood?" he asks.
"No, it's just dried paint," you lie.
You can see Jason drop some lumber on the ground and race over to the two of you. "Hey hey hey, sorry chief! I'll take care of this."
"Loaning out hammers, Burnett? That's strike two," he warns, putting two fingers to his eyes then pointing at Jason's before walking away.

"Dude you are going to get me fired," he whispers to you.
"What's the big deal? I brought it back. Here - catch," you toss the hammer to Jason who grabs it on instinct.
He looks at the red smears on the face of it and groans, "God dammit, what is all this?"
"That is Mr. Zeller's blood and brains," you confirm his worst fears.
"What? No. What? No no no-," he starts to mutter.
You start to talk loudly over his stammers, "And since you did provide me the hammer, that does make you an accomplice I th-."
Jason quickly covers your mouth with his hand and seethes through gritted teeth, "Shut the fuck up! Oh shit, shit, okay. I just need time to think."
You pull your mouth away from his hand. "Wow Jason, you're sweating so much!"
"Shut up, Rosen! Fuck you, man!" he shoves you. "I hadn't seen you in years before you died! You're alive for a few hours and you come and fuck up my life? What the hell?"
"Ah, come on Jason," you playfully punch him on the arm. "We're friends, dude."
"We are NOT friends!" Jason corrects you. "I saw you like twice in the ten years since we graduated."
"Did you go to my funeral, Jason?" you ask him.
Jason exhales in frustration. "Yeah, I mean-"
"Aaaaah, yeah I got you. We're friends." You call out to the nearest construction worker. "Hey! This guy's my friend!"
"Don't fucking talk to him!" Jason commands. "Don't talk to anybody. I went to your funeral because your wife and my wife are friends. That's it. Our wives, not us. Now listen, did you mention my name at all down at the docks?"
"I don't think so," you say. "I... I can't really remember."
"Focus, Rosen. This is important." He grabs you by the shoulders. "You have to remember."
"No, I didn't," you conclude after like one second of introspection. "What reason would I have to mention your name?"
Jason lets out a sigh of relief. "Okay good." He quickly puts his sleeve over his hand and runs it up and down the handle of the hammer before thrusting it back to you. "Now get rid of this. Burn it, bury it, put it in your coffin, I don't care. Just make sure no one ever finds it."
"I'll do it on one condition," you say.
"Oh god, what is it?"
"What did you bring for lunch today?"
"A ham and cheese sandwich," he answers.
"Alright, I want your sandwich," you tell him.
"What? You're dead. What do you need a sandwich for?" he demands.
"That's my price," you ignore the question. "If you want the hammer gone, I want the sandwich."
"Whate- okay. Okay. Fine, whatever," he trips through his acceptance.
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D) Go to the cave without Ed and explain you've acquired a vessel.

Marge's calls for help echo throughout the marina. You look down at Ed and see his head blood starting to approach your nice dress shoes. You sit on the edge of the boat to keep your feet dry. A seagull lands on the dock behind you and squawks. You turn to it and ask, "Do you want to eat Ed?"
The seagull looks up at you and screeches again.
"Alright, you don't have to if you don't want to," you shrug. "You think Mills will like this houseboat?"
"Skwaaaah!"
"I think so too. Mission accomplished, I guess. See in you heaven, birdo!" you exclaim as you stumble back onto the dock. As you walk away, you turn around and ask the bird, "Do you think Marge is mad?"
The seagull spreads its wings and takes off over the ocean.

As you reach the beginning of the docks, you can hear Marge's panicked cowering as she crouches behind a bench. "Hi!" you give her a friendly wave.
Marge does not return your greeting, but instead lets out a shrill yelp and moves to the other side of the bench to put the length of it between you two.
"Aww, Marge. I'm not gonna hurt you," you try to reassure her. "We're friends."
"We are NOT friends!" she shouts back. "You murdered Ed Zeller and the police are on their way here."
Shucks, she is mad, the seagull just didn't have the heart to tell you. "I'll never let the cops take me alive," you joke.
Marge doesn't laugh.
"Y'know, because I'm already-"
"I have a gun!" she interrupts you. "And I know how to use it!"
"You don't have a gun, Marge," you sigh.
"I sure do, f-fucko!" Marge chokes out as she shoves her hand aggressively into the pocket of her windbreaker.
You shake your head. "That's just your hand."
"No it's not!"
"Did you get that windbreaker at Marshall's?" you ask her.
Her eyes are dead set on you. She's hardly even blinking. "It... It doesn't matter!"
"Did you though?"
"Yes!" she blurts out, a tear falling from her squint against her will.
"Did you get the gun from Marshall's too?" you press her.
"No."
"Where'd you get the gun?"
"The gun store," she answers.
You give her a sideways glance. "There's no gun, Marge."
"Yes there is!"
"If you need something to protect yourself with, I can give you this hammer," you offer.
"The murder weapon?" she asks, still haunted by the blood and brains on the end of it. "Are you kidding me?"
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," you concede. "Well, I gotta go Marge. Sorry about killing your friend."
"You're not going anywhere until the police get here," she raises her windbreaker pocket to be pointed at your head.
"But I have to. I said I was sorry, Marge," you protest.
"You're not sorry," she scolds you.
"No, not really," you admit. "But I feel like that's just something people say. Don't worry though, I'll be back soon."
"What?" she asks fearfully.
"Yeah, I have to go grab this young teenage boy that I know, then we're going to come back to Ed's boat, probably dump Ed into the ocean, and head out to sea," you inform her. "I'm leaving you in charge of Ed's boat, Marge. Don't let anyone else take it while I'm gone."
Marge is too stunned to speak.
"Hehe, Marge in charge," you giggle. "That rhymes. You want to play the rhyming game? I'll go first. Balloon."
"Shut up!" she demands.
You shake your head. "Not even close. Like way off."
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Master of None
New Girl
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

BoJack Horseman
Parks and Recreation
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

I can't tonight and definitely can't Wednesday, so I'll try my best to get it done Tuesday.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Brooklyn Nine Nine
Party Down
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Scrubs
The Good Place
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Just answer me one question. What came first, the chicken or the Beto?
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Whataboutism is just a way to avoid fixing a problem. Most of the time I see it, it's being used in a context to get off the hot seat and not to point out hypocrisy. It's basically Y, when confronted for doing X, saying, "Well what about when Z did A?" The two are entirely unrelated. If we're going to defend our shitty actions by pointing out the shitty actions of others, then it doesn't really matter how shitty we are because there's no accountability anymore.

However, let's say that whataboutism is being used to point out hypocrisy. Y is being called out for doing X and points out that Z also did X. Nothing's being done to fix X. Again, there's no accountability, as Y will continue to do X while using Z as an excuse, when really what should happen is we should be finding a solution that disables both Y and Z from ever doing X again.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Atlanta
Silicon Valley
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

"Hey Beto! We have another vote for you as long as you promise not to fuck some dude's birds!"
"Which birds?"
"Chickens."
"Where?"
"I don't know, does it matter? It's not like you're gonna fuck every chicken in Texas."
"Eh... It's just one vote."
"Beto what the fuck?"
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

From the front or the back and am I spreading?
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Curb Your Enthusiasm
New Girl
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

DuranOfForcena posted...

American Vandal

This show was so much better than it had any right to be.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Atlanta
The Good Place
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

ThatMuttGuy posted...

I forgot to make a topic >.>

I can't do it tonight, but I can host it tomorrow.

Whew, okay sounds good.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

I'm tipsy and ready to mingle.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Don't really know either one, but I'm guessing K3V included a pic to earn some handsome votes.

And fuck, it worked on me.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

They'd force me to wear super short shorts and I don't want that.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.