Lurker > HotLap

Havent played an anime (I know this probably doesnt qualify) game before, but I heard some good things about this. I figured Id give it a try since it was free and Ive been really digging it.

How many characters am I supposed to have at Adventure Rank 14-15ish? I still only have the main 4.

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BeyondWalls posted...

Well, thats weird. But I dont know if that makes them a bad person necessarily.

Really depends on if fucking was an adjective or a verb.

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I will try to update soon but I am addicted to Among Us lately.

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Theyre kissing!

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Not sure how youre even eligible to vote seeing as youre 14 years old.

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Lairen posted...

Im married with a daughter so im really worried about them now......

All in your head. A delusion your mind made to protect you from the crushing loneliness.

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Not sure why, but when I saw the phrase old person noise the first sound I thought of was awooga.

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I should be around later if some games happen tonight.

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Tmaster148 posted...

Is the one where at the end the guy says his life improved under Trump, because he works for a debt relief agency?

Yup thats the one. Jordan just drops the facade and laughs in his face.

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The Trent posted...

it's so much fun
having like four beers and smoking some weed and letting the big dog eat
on a beautiful day there's almost nothing better than being drunk on the course

I initially didnt think Id like golf, but this is basically where I stand. Let the big dog hunt and slap that dimpled ball into the pond.

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No update tonight, but keeping it alive.

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I dont poop a lot, but I poop A LOT, know what Im saying?

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Im probably in.

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MabusIncarnate posted...

I swear when I was 18 and in Army basic training for 9 weeks, they put saltpeter in the food. Before I went into the Army I was beating off like 5 times a day, and then the entire time I was in, even with one of the drill sergeants being a fit, attractive latina woman, I didn't get an erection for over 2 months. Even if I was on firewatch and everyone else was asleep and I tried to sneak off to the bathroom for a quick tug, absolutely nothing. There's something to that.

Maybe they were trying to get everyone to jerk themselves out during basic so thered be nothing left when you were active.

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He nods. "Mmhmm. It was Nana Freida's ninetieth birthday. She'd never visited the U.S. before and was rightfully a little concerned. See, the German government didn't make all its citizens horny. But we had assured her not to worry. We saved up to buy a few gallons of private water. The horny chemicals were filtered straight out of it. After months of convincing, she was here. We ate and we laughed and we drank water without fear of what it might do to us. But later everyone was sitting in the living room. Something didn't feel right. Turns out... we got a bad batch."
You cover your mouth with your right hand.
"I remember everything," Lennox continues. "I remember every facial twitch, every viscous scent, every guttural snarf. I saw my Nana cum, Miss Weiner. And afterwards... we were all still horny for three days."
"I'm so sorry." You don't know what you'd do if you saw your dear old Grammy's eyes roll back in her head.
"I don't want your pity, Miss Weiner. I want your anger. Someone did this to my family. And they did it to yours too! But the fucked up thing is you all are just pretending like they didn't."
"You're starting to sound a little like Untitled," you tell Lennox.
Lennox dons a faint smile and looks over to Untitled, who is talking to a stone-faced Candace. "He and I want the same things, I think. We just have different ideas of how to get there."
"And how is it you're going to get what you want?" you ask.
"I can show you," Lennox looks back to you and offers you his hand. "But it's going to take us off of Fifth Avenue."

The waiter hastily drops two glasses on the table. "Two saisons."

What do you do?

A) He's from Queens?! No thanks.
B) Take his hand and follow.
C) Check in with Candace.
D) Decline his invitation, but call Daddy to see if you can do anything to help horny people.

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A) Buy Lennox a saison.

After finishing your fourth saison, Miss Weiner is officially on the hunt. Your eyes shift between Lennox and Untitled. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Caleb staring at you. When you meet his gaze, he gives you a half-smile and an uninspired wave that rattles the "RHYMER" sign around his neck. You make sure to make direct eye contact while giving him a violent thumbs down. He was brave for trying, however.

You don't mean to be cruel, but sometimes cruelty can be a time saver. There's nothing worthwhile to say to Caleb because he had an opportunity to say something worthwhile to you on that stage and he didn't. His big moment was him telling everyone that his life was better before the government put horny pills in the water supply. No shit, Caleb! Fuck. And he fucking rhymed it! But with Untitled, there's a man of rage. Not a violent rage, but a righteous rage that he can channel and articulate into results. He overcame so much adversity just to claim his identity, and now others are trying to attach themselves to it. All while sneaking around and fucking on the weekends, as if having sex on Fifth Avenue doesn't count. Hell, you do it too. Looking at Untitled makes you feel like the worst version of yourself is who you really are. And if that weren't enough, there's one unsolvable problem with making Untitled your prey.

But Lennox is a man who knows what he wants. He's not afraid to say what he wants. And he wants everyone to see him as he gets what he wants. "I'm going to go buy Lennox a saison."
"Are you joking?" Candace asks.
"Absolutely not."
"He's going to smell like pork."
"He better."
"You need a cold shower."
You bite your lower lip. "I'll take a pork bath."
"What?"
"Cover your eyes, Candace. It could get bloody."
"In the pork bath? Whatever, I'm going to talk to Untitled. He's much taller and probably smells like an alpine spring."
"What?"
"An alpine spring," repeats Candace.
You try to find the right way phrase it, but ultimately you just come out and ask, "Candace, you know he's asexual, right?"
"A sexual what?" asks Candace.
"Nevermind, he'll tell you himself. You go... you give it your best."

Your neck snaps back to Lennox. Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. Strut. Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. Strut. That's one strut for every four steps. No one could ever say you were strutting through the bar. People can gasp at the one strut and think, "Did Miss Weiner just strut? Is she strutting? Oh no, my mistake. There's four consecutive non-strut steps. My eyes are playing tricks on me." But then the strut kicks in again and they'll forever have their doubts if you were strutting or not.

You arrive at Lennox's table. He saw you approach. He must have seen at least three struts. You sit down on a stool next to his. He opens his mouth. Here it is. His opening line - just dripping with genuine concern, "Are you okay? I have a cousin who has scoliosis. He would walk like that sometimes."
My, my, my. Isn't someone a curious cat? This wasn't the intended effect, but he will forever have his doubts about your fervent scoliosis denial. "My backbone is as straight as the Prime Meridian. it's a shame my head grew there to stop it."
"I'm... I'm glad. Both about the straight backbone and the existing head attached to it."
"And I'm glad to meet a man who's not afraid to say what he wants."
Lennox smiles. "And what do you want, Miss Weiner?"
Your heart misses a beat. "You recognize me?"
"Please, your father is one of the wealthiest men in the city. You could be on the cover of Socialite Magazine."
You overcome the urge to ask if Socialite Magazine is real. You'll Google it later and if it is, you'll be on the cover within a month. "Well, to be perfectly honest - all I want right now is a bite of that currywurst."
Lennox thinks it over. "Ah, what the hell?" He pins the end with his fork a takes a knife to the flesh. Once the blade punctures the coating, a spurt of grease shoots out of the opening and onto the table.
"Oops," falls out of your mouth in a breathy whisper.
Steam rises from the meat as Lennox has severed the link between chunk and shaft. "Careful, it's hot," he warns. "You might want to blow on it."
"I will if I could get some help."
You lock eyes with Lennox as your faces descend to the fork. You both halt inches away and loose streams of cool air onto the steaming meat. His stream smells like pork.

You're startled out of your trance by an abrupt, "Everything okay over here?"
"Jesus Chr-!" you jump as you separate from Lennox.
"She's not bothering you, is she?" the waiter asks him.
"No, she's not-"
"What the fuck kind of question is that?" you interrupt.
The waiter responds, "It's just earlier you said you were horny, and now you're over here fraternizing with this patron, and I thought-"
"You thought I better not mind my own fucking business, apparently."
The waiter drops his customer service faade and tells you plainly, "Remember where you are, Miss Weiner."
You give him your most insincere smile. "I'd advise you to do the same. Two saisons. Please."
The waiter sighs as he shuffles away.

Lennox seems perplexed by the interaction you just had. "What is public horniness a crime on Fifth Avenue?"
You gingerly take the currywurst off the fork and chuck it into your mouth. "Might as well be."
"And are you still?" Lennox asks.
"Still what?"
"Publicly horny."
You take a deep breath and rub your temples in exasperation. "What is it with men today thinking it's acceptable to ask me if I'm horny?"
"I'm sorry. That was rude of me to ask," Lennox admits. "Still, must be nice to get asked that question without everyone automatically assuming the answer was yes."
"... What are you talking about?"
"When's the last time you left Fifth Avenue, Miss Weiner? I mean, the wealthy families of New York City essentially walled off several blocks of Fifth Avenue. Private security surrounding the perimeter. Your own supply of filtered spring water coming in from out of town, off the public line. You think the people in Queens have a private line?" He leans in closer to you and asks in a gruff whisper, "How many guys in Queens do you think have boners right now? Hm?... Probably more do than don't, I'd say."
"It's not my fault-"
"I never said it was. You didn't do this to us. The government did. And in the beginning, granted it was hell, but we were all equals. Just millions of people orgasming without control. But when everyone finally figured out what happened, the wealthy made sure to reinstate their status. You made bubbles for yourselves and said everyone outside it can fuck themselves to death."
"Aren't you forgetting you're here too? This speech of yours might be more effective if you weren't standing on Fifth Avenue right next to me."
"I'm a guest. You let us in because we entertain you with our poems and we brew beer for you. And the pay is shit, but we do it anyways because the real pay is staying in the bubble for three days and away from the hell that's outside this place." Now Lennox leans all the way in until his lips are nearly on your ear. "Have you ever seen your whole family cum at the same time before?"
He leans back to view your horror.

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Whens the Mira HQ night again?

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Monday: Return of the Dongs

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The Trent posted...

boys, this is how you earn a follow from The Trent

What can I say? I get The Trent.

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You cant plug your Dildozer into the wall or else thatll happen. Just hook it up to a couple car batteries and youre golden.

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Barring any additional votes, well talk to Lennox tomorrow.

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CableZL posted...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oOd0TxEneI

This will forever be one of the greatest gameshow moments.

Howard you fucking animal.

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@AssAssasin69 , I never left, my child.

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I could probably do some rounds Thursday or Friday.

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A) Wait for the next poet.

Your mood is a mild one. Mild inebriation, mild horniness, with mild anticipation for the next poet. You haven't had a slam throw you into the wilds of passion in quite some time. The next poet steps to the stage. White tank top, black denim pants, and faint traces of a beard recently shaved away. He's a slender man, but seeds of a beerbelly have rooted themselves in him. You're drawn to his sunglasses. Why? They're on indoors.

"Hallo. I am Lennox and I am originally from Berlin," he introduces himself.
"Oh, Berlin?" you try to sound intrigued, but end up coming off as concerned. Which you are.
"I'm concerned," Candace whispers across the table.
"Yes, me too."
"Berlin? I bet he brought a pilsner or - heaven forbid - a lager."
"I brought with me a saison that I brewed in Greensboro, Vermont," Lennox announces.
Relief washes over the two of you.
"Crisis averted."
Lennox looks nervously out into the audience. "Do you say go or...?"
You snap. Candace snaps. The audience snaps. It's time for art.
Lennox lifts the mic out of the stand.

Liebe Currywurst
How divine is your great Duft
Get into my Bauch

Lennox drops the microphone on the floor and leaves the stage. He darts through the crowd to return to his table for one. Waiting on a plate is a decadent, steaming currywurst. Lennox aggressively shoves a fork into the sausage, brings it to his mouth, and rips a chunk away.
Confused snaps. Half-hearted mutterings of bravery.
"My, my, my," you say under your breath, impressed. "Aren't we full of surprises?... Candace, flag down the waiter."
Candace waves both hands over her head.
"Yes?" the strong jawline returns.
"Is the speakeasy serving food now?" you ask.
"No, ma'am."
"Then how come he has that currywurst?"
"He brought that from home, ma'am."
"He brought it from home?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"He cooked a currywurst at home, brought it to a poetry slam, recited a poem about how he was going to eat it, and is now eating it in front of all of us?"
"It appears so, ma'am."
You run the tips of your fingers along your collarbone. "That'll be all. Thank you."
The waiter turns to leave, but then leans in and asks, "And how is your horniness, ma'am? Has it subsided?"
You sigh and shudder at the same time. "Horribly inappropriate. I appreciate your concern, but that's a terrible thing to ask."
"Very sorry, ma'am."
"Awful."

Another poet strides to the stage and snatches the mic from the ground. He's tall, he's thin, and with his announcement of "I didn't brew anything," he's got your attention.
"This next piece is called Houseplant, but this artist is untitled."
"Untitled?" Candace repeats, followed by a curt sip of saison. "A bit pretentious."
"Oh come now, Candace. I don't think we should be beholden to the names we were given to us by people who didn't know who we were. Just look at Lennox over there. His parents named him Lennox, but eating a pre-prepared sausage alone in a dark club isn't very Lennox of him. He's very clearly a Doug. After over three decades of being you, do you think you're a Candace?"
"You're only making this argument because your last name is Weiner and everyone calls you Miss Weiner."
"Do you not see him Douging out over there?"
"My parents retired to upstate Maine and have an alpaca farm. They used your approach and did not name the alpacas to allow them to choose their own identities."
You snap.
"Stop it," Candace swats your hands. "All of their names are some form of hiss, scream, or bray.
"You fence me in and make me eat hay and my identity will become a hiss too."

When I was ten my parents asked me if I wanted a cat or a dog.
It was okay if I needed time to think about it. No rush.
So I didn't think about it.
When I was eleven they asked me again.
There's no wrong answer. We're happy with whatever you decide.
It doesn't have to be just one.
You can choose both.
It doesn't have to be just one.
...What about like, a houseplant?

"Did you have a cat growing up?" Candace whispers as she keeps her eyes on Untitled.
You nod. "She was very sweet. Her name was Purrrrrrrrrr."
Candace's brow furrows.

Dogs eat whatever they can find. They fill backyards and sidewalks with shit. They roll around in mud and chug swamp water if you'll let them. They'll lick their ass and try to put their swamp ass tongue on your face.
Take your time.
Cats piss in a box and then the piss box just hangs out and now there's just a piss box in your house? They should have led with that. Do you want a box filled with piss? Do you want to watch an angry animal eat its fur and then barf it onto the floor several rooms away from the piss box?
It doesn't have to be just one. It can be both.
But it can't be a plant? None of the mess, but plenty of growth.
They said-

The sound of the Rhyme Gong reverberates throughout the speakeasy. Everyone turns to the bartender who holds up one finger. "Strike one!"
Untitled nods and continues.

They said you just need more time to think.
Fish are slimy.
Birds are just screams with feathers.
Ferrets are mean.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with a turtle?
Rabbits are footballs that shit and bite.
Every single one of them is gross.
Except a plant. All it needs is water.
But a plant is nothing.
It doesn't have to be just one, but it had to be at least one.
But I'm a houseplant.

Untitled's tone is getting harsher. He's angry. You grab an ice cube from your spring water and run it across the back of your neck.

The dam burst and the flow watered us all
And I watched you go from thirst to hydration to dehydration to exhaustion to acceptance
Everyone decided to pick up a plant like it's a hobby and not who I am
You motherfuckers had to binge til you puffed out dust to make me feel like I belonged
You filtered the salt from my tears and offered me a sip
But fuck you I am not thirsty
The flood is here and I'm still swimming
Everyone else was thrashing on the surface
Some drowned but you all crawled back on the shore
You hide from the flood and close your eyes on your yachts
But the flood's still here and I can breathe underwater

Untitled leaves the stage without waiting for the snaps that confirm he did art. The delayed snaps chase him to his seat at the bar. "My, my, my..." you mutter again. "Another brave boy. What a night for Miss Weiner."

What do you do?

A) Buy Lennox a saison.
B) Buy Untitled a saison.
C) Wait for the next poet.
D) Leave the speakeasy with Candace.


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Thanks for the tag!

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I'm putting a little more effort into the next poem (instead of just trying to make silly rhymes while high), so I won't update tonight. Alternatively, if any of you PM a poem you write (it clearly doesn't have to be good) and a description of a character you'd like to recite the poem, I'll put you in the next update.

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I wonder where this one might go.

Same.

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Poetry slam. A speakeasy in downtown Manhattan. Exposed brick? Yes, a lot of it. Are you thinking about the day the government put horny pills in the water supply? No. You don't think about that all too often. The next poet steps on stage. Around his neck hangs a wooden sign sprayed with vibrant red paint. One word. "RHYMER."

Does rhyming have a place in modern slam poetry? It's not your place to say. However, you're happy to frequent an establishment that forces these perverts to identify themselves. No one should be rhymed at without adequate warning.
"So brave," you say. Every artist is brave simply for creating, simply for dreaming, simply for sharing, simply for existing. Even a rhymer.
"So brave," Candace confirms.

On Wednesday nights, the hard liquor ceases to flow at the speakeasy to make way for the untamed talents of small batch breweries, often run by the poets themselves. Candance has had a saison from Burlington, Vermont, a saison from Brattleboro, Vermont, and a saison from Stowe, Vermont. You have a saison from Windsor, Vermont, a saison from Burlington, Vermont, and a saison from Brandon, Vermont.

The rhymer speaks. "I'm Caleb. I'm from Montpelier, Vermont. For today's events I brewed a saison. This is called The Day The World Went Horny."

I learned that my son was afraid of heights
He fell off a climbing rope in gym class
I learned that fears can be passed down
The day my sink put horny in my glass

Cringing. But proud. After all, what bravery. You sip your saison. It's dry. It's wonderful. "Candace," you whisper.
Candace looks over.
"How was the saison from Burlington, Vermont? I'm thinking of ordering that next."
"It's dry. It's wonderful. A very Burlington saison."

I picked three peppers and a zucchini
More additions to the daily stir fry
I'll never forget the day the government
Put horny pills in the water supply

What's happening? Your chest? Flushed. Your heartbeat? Quickened. You look the empty glass that held the saison from Burlington, Vermont. Oh no. What was the water source this irresponsible, yet brave brewer used?

Kissed my wife goodbye as she went to work
Not in a horny way
Just a regular, y'know husband wife way
The day before she said "Let's have a daughter"
It's been a long six years since I have seen her
Seven since the horny pills have been in drinking water

Legs trembling slightly. "Candace!"
Candace looks.
"Public water was used in the brewing of the saison from Burlington, Vermont."
"How could you ever know that?"
"I am horny, Candace. Do you see how flushed my chest is?"
"You're wearing a turtleneck, darling."
"I can feel the flush, Candace! We must leave together at once, separate when we hit the street, and quarantine for three days."
"Nonsense, let me flag down a waiter. I will use a double armed wave to indicate increased urgency."

The waiter arrives. Shoulders? Broad. Jawline? Sharp. "Yes? Is everything alright?"
You slide down off your stool. "I'm horny. I'll see you in three days."
"Ma'am?"
"Where exactly does the brewery from Burlington, Vermont get their water from?"
"They built a manmade spring in Westmore, Vermont."
"Manmade?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"No public water at all?"
"No, ma'am."
"But my horniess?"
"Of your own accord, ma'am."
"Oh, what a relief." You sit back onto your stool.

I know my rhymes make your compassion hard
And I know this theme is worn and corny
But I'll never be as happy as
I was the day the world went horny

You snap. Candance snaps. The audience snaps in recognition of the art this Montpelier brewer chose to bestow upon downtown Manhattan.
"So brave," Candance snaps.
You nod and snap. "So brave of him to just go up there and rhyme like that."

What do you do?

A) Wait for the next poet.
B) Leave the speakeasy.

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https://mobile.twitter.com/PFTCommenter/status/1312790329066696705

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BillyAssManGunn

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I apologize for my betrayal of the bird bro alliance.

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Im not so sure its Edgar who is responsible for the head explosions. The last thing Raynor said before she died was, Its a fucking coup from the inside. Which I took to mean a coup against Vought/Edgar. Why would Edgar try to cover up a coup against himself?

So the church has gotta be the ones behind it, right? Thats why Shockwave has his head sploded too, to make way for A-Train.

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I made some dope fish tacos a couple weeks ago and made some lemon/garlic salmon filets on Monday. Now all I want to cook is more fish.

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OffTempo posted...

Lets go Alec and Liz!

I hope they have a threesome with Mickey Mouse. Surely the Mickey stuff was honest, right?

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Chris Wallace is going to need to vibrate in a dark room for a full day.

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The end of this was so fucking grim.

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The night went pretty much how I expected. Able to laugh at first, followed by crushing demoralization and wishing I never watched at all

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Aside from being funny, you can tell he treats his staff well and he doesnt take himself too seriously. Im way behind on his podcast, but what I heard was really great.

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Dan Quinns gotta be fired after this, right?

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Shes like a comma cause she got me waitin for the but.

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Thanks fellas. I did it. It went good.

Now Im smoking a preroll because today was stressful.

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OffTempo posted...

So that's what hacking does in among us? Theres not even any fun in playing like that though.

Theres this really cool subset of gamers who like to ruin the enjoyment of everyone else. They did it with Fall Guys and I remember thinking, Wow what a colossal waste of everyones time, that guy is awesome. Looks like were lucky enough to get them in Among Us too.

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They actually specifically asked me not to talk about them fucking in my speech. On what planet did they think I would bring up their sex life in a speech in front of their family?

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This topic sucks, Im gonna have a melty. I wanted my goober to pound sand that I poured out of my body once a month.

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