Lurker > HotLap

The23rdMagus posted...

I'm wondering how long it will be until we see a tweet disavowing all knowledge Stone (who?) ever existed.

Or worse, he could pardon him.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Im a friccin dingus.
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teepan95 posted...

As a German, I can't not vote D

How have I never known this?
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Am I going to hell, boss?
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You run your fingers through your hair in frustration. "So how do I fix me? I almost sold my soul so Derrick didn't have to write his last name anymore."
"I think you have to go back to Earth. Assimilate yourself with a town and relearn what's important. You've lost touch with humanity," Kathy suggests.
"Lost touch with humanity? That seems a little extreme. Besides, I'll need a whole new outfit. Ugh, what do humans even wear?" you ask before instantaneously following it up with, "Okay, I think I hear it now. I may be a little out of touch."
"Are you saying you've only worn those robes since you got here?" Kathy asks. "You know you can wear anything you want back at your place, right?"
The robes issued to you when you arrived are more of a long white shirt and a pair of white pants. Thankfully, it wasn't one per customer. "I haven't been wearing only these robes. I have multiple sets of robes. These are my professional robes, and my home robes have the crotch cut out for comfort and instant holo-Serena access. See, I take a pair of scissors and cut along this seam," you say as you lift your shirt for a walkthrough before your penis and testicles splat out onto your office chair.
"Sam, what the fuck?" Kathy covers her eyes.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry! I thought I was wearing my business robes, not my pleasure robes!" you apologize.
"Is everything away?" Kathy asks.
"Yeah, yeah. It's all good."
Kathy lowers her hands and sighs with disappointment.
"I feel like we were having a really nice moment before my dick and balls flopped out," you tell her.
"Let's just not talk about it," Kathy mutters.
"Talk about what?" you wink. "Just kidding, I know you don't want to talk about how you saw my dick and balls just now."
Kathy clenches her fists again.

Which town will you assimilate yourself with?

A) Some crime-infested town. There will probably be a lot of prayers to grant there.
B) Somewhere gentrified. There will probably be a bunch of progressive, boujee prayers.
C) Somewhere you've wronged. Pensacola, Florida.
D) Somewhere you've wronged, but also maybe fixed? Carlsberg, Germany.
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"Okay how about this one? Derrick G wishes his name was spelled as the traditional Derek. Since it's two less letters, it'll take less time to write. He also wishes he didn't have a last name, because last names are a form of property?... Oh, and also so he came save time not writing it."
Kathy rises from her chair. "I need to go outside and scream for a bit."
"Oh sure, take your time," you tell her.

Kathy returns after five minutes. "You know what your problem is, Sam?" she asks hoarsely.
"That I might be sent to Hell?" you guess.
"You have been here for two months and somehow in that time you've completely forgotten what it means to be human."
"Wha-... nah! I know," you stumble through your sentence before grunting like a caveman, "I know less letters mean more time! More time for Derrick! More height for Brad!"
Kathy bites her bottom before murmuring, "So I was never planning on bringing this up, but... I actually granted one of your prayers when you were alive."
"Ah, I'm a notch on your bedpost, eh Kathy?" you chuckle.
Kathy pinches her fingers together as her whole body shudders. She takes a labored breath and warns, "If you say one more fucking word I will not help you. I will return to my desk and celebrate silently as you blow your last chance and are dragged to Hell."
You sit quietly and wait for Kathy to continue.
"Do you remember your ex-girlfriend Monica? Don't answer that, it was rhetorical," she spews quickly as she sees your mouth open. "She had a habit of bringing stray cats to your apartment and trying to domesticate them. She had such a way with those cats though. She knew when to give them space and when it was okay to engage. However, basically every instinct you had as a cat owner was incorrect. So when she brought home a black cat, named it Rosie, then got on a plane to visit her family for a week, you were a little overwhelmed. Rosie hid under your bed for days. She wouldn't eat, she had no interest in playing, and snarled every time she sensed movement in your bedroom. You were so nervous that you sweat through like three shirts trying to connect with this animal. Eventually you were so desperate that you turned to me. And I saw everything. I saw that you were angry with Monica for dumping a feral cat in your lap before leaving to Oregon. I saw you were terrified that Rosie would claw your throat while you were sleeping. I saw that you had empathy for Rosie, as you understood she was rightfully afraid in an unfamiliar situation. I saw that you were disappointed in yourself for not being able to make this scared cat feel safe." Kathy nods softly as she remembers who you used to be. "That was the biggest takeaway for me. That was the thought that was running on a loop in your mind. You just wanted Rosie to feel safe... And eventually she came out from under the bed. She ate the food you set out for her while you sat cross-legged five feet away. You laid some treats out by your feet, which were wearing steel-toed boots for protection. Your legs were shielded by your high school hockey pads. When Rosie came over to gobble up the treats, your removed the oven mitt from your hand and allowed her to smell you. She, in turn, allowed you to pet her for the first time."
Rosie was the only cat that liked you more than Monica. When you broke up, you were surprised how much you liked Rosie more than anything else in your life. Monica could have the apartment, the record player, even your Undertaker action figure. So long as you got to keep Rosie. "Thank you," you whisper softly to Kathy.
Kathy nods to you. "In that moment I could feel your anger, fear, pity, desperation, and even a little hope. Now tell me, do you really think Brad Pitt should be an inch taller because Janice already thought he was?"
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C) Print out all the prayers from one town, then descend to Earth to scope out the candidates.

You scroll through some prayers on your computer, but are too nervous to even read what they're about. The threat of eternal damnation doesn't really mesh with a productive work environment. Maybe this is all just a bit of tough love. Gabriel wouldn't actually send you to Hell, would he?

"Hey Kath. Babe," you swivel around in your chair.
"What?" comes the response through gritted teeth.Even though Kathy's back is facing you, you can tell her fists are clenched.
"Have you ever heard of an angel being sent to Hell for poor job performance?" you ask her.
Kathy promptly wheels around. "Wait, what?!"
"So it's not common then... is what I'm gleaning from your reaction," you say dejectedly.
"Sam, I've never even heard of them threatening to send someone to Hell for... anything," she replies earnestly. "If they're serious about this, you must have been on the line for even getting into heaven in the first place."

You try to act surprised, but you've suspected that may have been the case since you got here. You've never been entirely sure that you were a good person. You just never had many opportunities to do bad things. That's why you've been trying to experience heaven to the fullest since you arrived here, because it could end at any moment. The grenadine and caviar lattes, finally being able to dunk a basketball, smashing a replica of your dad's home office to pieces because he told you wrestling wasn't real - this could all go away. That's why your workday has been click-click-click, back to driving an Undertaker action figure through Dad's computer monitor. Click-click-click, tasting your blood with seared scallops. Click-click-click, fucking the shit out of a hologram of Serena Williams.

Sensing she may have struck a nerve, Kathy tries to change the subject. "So what happens now? What's the ultimatum?"
You take a deep breath. "Well, the next prayer I grant is going to be reviewed and if it's shitty, I'm going down below."
"Oh, that's all?" Kathy laughs. "You've got nothing to worry about then."
"Uh... yeah. Like for instance if-" you glance back at your computer screen, "-Janice from San Francisco wants Brad Pitt to be taller, the answer is obviously..."
"No! It's obviously a denial!" Kathy shouts bewildered. "Brad Pitt is 55 years old, he's done growing."
"...But what if he was taller though?" you employ her to reconsider.
Kathy's bottom lip retracts and her fists clench up once more. "Are you an idiot?"
"Kathy, the man is 5'11. He's given us so many dynamic and compelling performances throughout his career. Can you imagine what kind roles he could get if he crossed that six foot threshold?"
"See, this is exactly your problem," Kathy claps her hands together. "When you're not approving prayers without looking at them, you're only considering what you want."
"I'm doing this for Brad!" you argue.
"You should be doing this for Janice! It's her prayer! This isn't about you or Brad, it's about her! Why does Janice want Brad Pitt to be taller?"
You squint and return your eyes to the screen. "She just always thought he was taller and when she found out he was only 5'11, she was like - 'Whoa!'. I get where she's coming from."
"Too bad! Brad Pitt is 5'11 and that's a terrible prayer," Kathy seethes.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

I went to the Celtics/Mavericks game on Monday. Luka Doncic is really fun to watch. The Mavs are a fun team.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

He goes HAHAHAHA so you also have to go HAHAHAHA.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Will update before I go to bed.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

"Their sex life is ruined. They haven't had sex again since the incident. They've been too busy seeing every genitalia doctor in the Pensacola area trying to figure out whose private parts could cause the navy to retreat," Gabriel continues.
"Oh my God," you whisper.
"Nobody fucking believes them," Gabriel persists.
"Okay, okay! I get it," you tell him.
"The husband prayed for the courage to slice his penis clean off to rid himself of the chance this would ever happen again. Thankfully, the prayer went to Kathy's queue and she put the fucking kabash on that bullshit."
"Look, I'm sorry! Just tell me what you want me to do," you plead.
"You have one wish left, partner. And you're going to do this one right." Gabriel jabs his finger into his ethereal desk. "The prayer and the actions you took to determine the prayer's eligibility for approval will be reviewed by the disciplinary board. If it's determined that your selection or vetting was sub-optimal, we're sending you straight to Hell."

Visibly shaken, you leave Gabriel's office and return to your desk. What do you do?

A) Type "cancer" into the prayer database's search bar and call it a day.
B) See if anyone from your life on Earth has submitted any prayers.
C) Print out all the prayers from one town, then descend to Earth to scope out the candidates.
D) Ask Kathy for tips on how to be a good angel.
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

"You don't seem to care about any of the prayers you're answering. You're just mindlessly granting all of them. And if you want to keep enjoying the perks of paradise - which for you seems to be combining creatures of the sea with things that are red - you need to start taking this seriously," he informs you.
Your mind drifts to the forty red jello shots you've centered clams inside of sitting in your fridge at home, and how painful it would be to lose them. "I... I am taking this seriously."
"Do you know what the first rule of heaven is?" Gabriel challenges you. "The point we hammered home at orientation."
"Keep it holy, baby," you reply immediately with the confidence of an angel actually had attended orientation.
"No, that's-" Gabriel trails off as he scribbles in his notebook. "That's not it."
"You writing that down?" you ask with a sly smile.
"No," Gabriel lies. "The first rule is that you need to treat the prayers you receive with compassion and respect. Thoroughly vet your prayers before granting them. Do you know how many prayers an angel needs to grant before they are free to retire and enjoy heaven without the 9 to 5?"
You bite your lip and resist the urge to say 666. You timidly shake your head.
"7,836," Gabriel says sternly.
"Jesus fucking Christ, that's so many," you rub your thighs stressfully.
"You literally have eternity to do it," Gabriel sasses you."But hey, don't worry. You've already granted 7,835."
You clap your hands together triumphantly. "Holy shit, look at me go," you laugh.
"Yeah, look at you go," Gabriel repeats, but without the pizzaz you brought to the room. "You've been here for two months and have almost finished your quota. Kathy, however, has been here for almost three hundred years and still about two thousands prayers away."
"I could talk to her, maybe. Give her some pointers," you offer.
"Kathy is cementing her place in paradise by granting divine intervention to those who truly need it," Gabriel lectures you. "She takes her time and goes over each case detail by minuscule detail. You blindly clicked your way to the finish line. You wanna look at some of your greatest hits?"
"Lay 'em on me," you lean back in your chair.
Gabriel cracks open a manila envelope. "Thomas F. prayed he'd find his cell phone, which you granted. He immediately realized his cell phone was in his pocket the entire time."
"Yeah 'cause I put it there," you argue.
"No, you didn't!" Gabriel shouts. "It was always there and he would have found it anyway within fifteen seconds of you granting his prayer."
"That's fifteen seconds back in his pocket though," you point out.
"Well he used those fifteen seconds to photograph his penis and send it to an undercover cop."
"I bet that cop was really praying for a bust," you try to pivot.
"Speaking of bust," Gabriel segues as he flips a page, "There was a married couple in Pensacola, Florida who were having intercourse. The wife prayed that her husband would just hurry up and finish already, while the husband prayed that he would last longer. You granted them both simultaneously."
"It was God's will," you throw a hail mary.
"It decidedly was not. The husband nutted, then his penis made a gasping noise, and sucked it all back up. This terrified the living shit out of the both of them," Gabriel informs you.
You put both hands on the top of your head, mortified. "It went back in?"
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

It's another banner day in heaven. You pour four raw oysters and a shot of mignonette sauce into a cocktail shaker. Once vigorously beaten within their stainless steel prison, you pour the concoction into a champagne flute and down the entire thing at your desk.

"You can't drink at work," Kathy whispers from behind you.
"This isn't alcohol, Kathy, It's mostly sea water and red wine vinegar," you reply before licking the rim of the glass.
"Still, I saw you grant like five prayers while you were up-ending that foul mixture down your gullet," she frowns.
You rub two fingers along the inside of the cocktail shaker before sucking them clean. "This is heaven, baby. One angel's foul mixture is another angel's sweet sea smoothie."
"Your lunch choice wasn't really my issue, it was the inattentiveness to the prayers you just fired off."
"Don't worry about my prayers, darling. I'm changing lives one click at a time," you smirk.
"Can't believe I'm still being called darling and baby in the workplace when I'm in fucking heaven," Kathy mutters to her computer.

Kathy may have a point. You take a break from furiously clicking your computer mouse to see what's actually coming across the screen. We got a desperate plea from Luca D. who's coming at you from a trampoline in Carlsberg, Germany. Luca prays, "Please let Jonas double bounce me, I need to go higher!"
Oh hell yeah, you gotta hook your boy up. You scroll your mouse over to "GRANTED" and slam it home.

You lean back in your chair and crack your knuckles. It feels good to make a difference. Just as you're moving your hand to literally pat yourself on the back, another prayer pops into your queue. This one's also coming to you from Carlsberg, Germany. No way, what are the odds? "Please God, oh please let Luca be okay. Oh my God, he's not moving. Please God, let him wake up. This is all my fault, I should have never double bounced him. Oh my God." Sincerely, Jonas P.

.... "GRANTED".

A chat window pops up on your screen. Ugh, it's from Archangel Gabriel. "Please come to my office immediately."
You rise up from your chair and float your way over to Gabriel's office. You wonder what this could be about. You fixed Luca, probably. So it's gotta be something else.

"Thank you for coming. Have a seat, Sam," Gabriel instructs you as you enter.
"Uh, sure," you say as you glide into the hardened office chair. You fidget in your seat to try to get comfortable. "Shouldn't office chairs be more comfortable in heaven?"
"You can have whatever chair you wish back at your dwelling. But work is work, Sam. Which is why I called you here."
You look down at your stained robes. "Is it because I got mignonette sauce all over the front of my robes? I know it looks unprofessional, but I'm planning on using white vinegar to get the red vinegar stains out and I don't want to be smelling white vinegar under my nose all god damn day. Know what I'm saying?" You pull a flask from your pocket and take a small swig.
"No it's not the robes, it's - oh please tell me you're not drinking in front of me," Gabriel sighs.
"Nah man, this is Sam's special sauce. I put a bunch of shrimp and cocktail sauce into a blender, which I then funneled into this flask," you pour a little onto the floor to prove your honesty.
"Okay well not on the-," he takes a deep breath. "No more on the floor, please."
"I can lap that up if you want," you offer.
"Please don't lick shrimp off the floor, we're in a meeting. Look, Sam, this is about your job performance," Gabriel says exasperated.
You shrug. "What about it?"
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Congrats man. Is there anyone youd like to thank?
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Yall forgetting about Beyonc as Foxy Cleopatra from Austin Powers smdh
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Anyone youd like to thank?
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Doom_Art posted...

KiwiTerraRizing posted...

My balls are salty

what!?

What?
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Baba Yaga
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How many more picks does Sam have to throw before learning he shouldnt throw lobs?
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Put the bottle in your ass.
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Deadpool 2 and Succession. Im not sure how this is gonna go.
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What if he turns you to turn over so he can lick your back?
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Febrel posted...

I'd like to be able to point out who has it easy in peace. Obviously nothing will change, but that doesn't mean you deny and damage control for some bizarre reason.

So if its true, what are you getting out of pointing out someone has it easy? Standing up, pointing, and shouting, Hey look how easy they have it! is not a thing you can just say for the sake of saying it. There has to be a point youre trying to make.
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a-c-a-b posted...

ChrisTaka posted...

No.

You're gonna get a sprayin' from my hose.

You gonna spray me, Daddy? You gonna get me fucking wet on your lawn? Make me fucking wet, Daddy!
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Choco posted...

I was a minute too late.
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Trickfinger posted...

like I said, it's loser mentality. if something isnt hurting you or impacting your ability to get ahead in life you shouldnt be investing all of this negative energy towards it.

dude is talking about "fair" lmao

should we get into the fact that a cis white guy is yammering on about inherent societal advantages?

Not gonna lie, this 500 pound block of irony was weighing on my mind this entire topic.

Hot girls have it so easy, try walking a mile in a straight while males shoes.
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I dont know if this is a copypasta or what but that was an incredible read.
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Well shit now I wanna see MegaTechs dick to see what all the hype is about.
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Midwestern moms commenting on this video:

Our president was sent from GOD to save our GREAT nation and uphold our CHRISTIAN FAMILY VALUES! Every day I thank God that he sent our president to us!
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Trickfinger posted...

Febrel posted...

Iodine posted...

Solar_Crimson posted...

Why does it sound like TC is blaming the girl more than he is the guy who paid off her rent?

And this is the biggest problem I have with these sort of situations. If men weren't wiling to stupidly throw money at women then this wouldn't happen, but no you people hate women so much that you are blinded to the obvious.

You're blinded to the obvious that the rich dude can't read her mind and tell that her rent is due on his own.

It's not like he just dropped a random $1,200 tip (which would be entirely his fault). He was informed of a problem to tug his heartstrings.

How does that affect you?

Ding ding ding.

I cant believe I read through this entire topic. One consenting adult gave $1,200 to a content creator he enjoys. Would I ever donate this kind of money to a twitch streamer? Fuck no. But I cant fathom why people are upset about it.

From what I can gather from this topic it seems like the answer is hot girls wont admit how good they have it. Okay? Even if thats true (debatable), who fucking cares? Is your life different in any way if it is?
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27
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o
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Johnny_Nutcase posted...

Ohhhhh yeahhh. They had to cauterize a piece of my gums so Rum is probably going to sting like a son of a bitch. We'll find out real soon.

Or itll numb the pain (after you drink enough).
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You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.

Im starting outline a short story about the competitive eating world, but I definitely need to do more research on the subject (why people get into it, contest prep, aftermaths, etc).

I need to start reading more too. Ive definitely been slacking lately.

For those that have published novels, can you drop a link for it? Howd the release/reception/sales go? Id love to read what others from this board have written.
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Do it.
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16 year old girl: We should probably stop destroying the planet.

Grown ass Republicans: I must insult this child.
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Butterfiles posted...

HotLap posted...

I called my dad a pussy when I was 5 while we were playing a fighting game on Nintendo. I had no idea what it meant but I heard my older brother say it to his friends.

You're the dad now

Turns out the pussy doesn't fall far from the tree. :(
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I called my dad a pussy when I was 5 while we were playing a fighting game on Nintendo. I had no idea what it meant but I heard my older brother say it to his friends.
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Timothy Olyphant is a gem. His episode of Conan OBrien Needs A Friend was hilarious.
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I should just deactivate mine. I literally only use it to look at posts by my conservative family members and get angry.
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I'm a motherfucking carboy.
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Smoke the big weed.
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ITT: A bunch of users misunderstand that I wonder why he did this and What did the victims did to him? are fundamentally phrases.

If he was being mistreated, if would come to light by asking the first question. By asking the second question you are basically putting yourself on the side of the kid who murdered five people without any information.
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I havent. Is it worth seeing? Describe it to me.
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Ill aim better next time.
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buryXyourXpucks posted...

and the consequences were never the same

He backtraced it.
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