dn
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Post by dn on Mar 14, 2024 18:17:55 GMT -5
virginity. Tough hymens yo
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dn
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Post by dn on Mar 9, 2024 5:18:09 GMT -5
omg dn face reveal D0XX£D 4 R3OL
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Post by dn on Mar 7, 2024 14:24:38 GMT -5
I fucking hate journalists so much it's unreal.
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Post by dn on Mar 5, 2024 18:34:11 GMT -5
Any gaymers here ready for Gamer Gate 2? Just make your own suicide squad bro. nowait
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Post by dn on Feb 28, 2024 20:46:46 GMT -5
Nonsense. I now sexually identify as a Jew. when do you go in for your totes affirming genital surgery?
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Post by dn on Feb 27, 2024 6:07:50 GMT -5
did you know that, despite making up less than 14% of the doom community, doomerboards members commit more than 50% of the racism?
Really activates those almonds.
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dn
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Post by dn on Feb 25, 2024 23:07:17 GMT -5
Auctions were not held on any one day. One look at posters for slave auctions show: Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, even, get this, Saturdays Quite literally a Man Friday included in the auction, somehow managed to miss him out of your list. lunchlunch doesn't care about black people.
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Post by dn on Feb 25, 2024 15:06:57 GMT -5
Do I look like some treehugger hippie ƒaggot to you? My dad's well-known and successful in the field. I hate ecology otherwise. I couldn't name three species of plants right now if you asked me. your alchemy build sucks then, best change specialization and become a stealth archer.
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Post by dn on Feb 25, 2024 3:18:29 GMT -5
Even on that front they're failing. Unless of course the end goal is both an uneducated and ungovernable populace. Maybe they're just taking a page out of certain three letter agency's playbook for how they deal with other nations. Might be a point. What we're seeing is the second generation, retards taught by retards. I disagree that they are ungovernable, tho: you need a bigger daddy government with a bigger fascist boot, quite clearly. And I can't help but notice a certain sector of the campus populace is calling for exactly that.
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Post by dn on Feb 25, 2024 1:53:35 GMT -5
All US education is pretty broken though and I would personally love to see the dept of education gutted for how much of a failure it's been. What makes you think it's a failure? Jesus, an educated populace is the government's worst nightmare. Can you imagine if people had enough economic nous to see what's coming down the road? Are there even enough lamp-posts in Washington to hang all those representatives? American retardation is a feature, not a bug.
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Post by dn on Feb 24, 2024 2:36:26 GMT -5
Rough draft of C10 complete. Will go back in and polish the last ten or so stanzas, but yeah, as poetry goes it's not entirely awful. Fucking nightmare of a rewrite, 0/10, pain in the ass. Remind me not to do this sort of retarded showboating ever again. 27/02/2024 Edit: made it less retarded. C10 poetry fuckeryCollated.
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Post by dn on Feb 23, 2024 16:35:28 GMT -5
depends on what the degree was, I guess.
Why did you drop out?
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Post by dn on Feb 16, 2024 9:23:58 GMT -5
Gokuma: I had to look that up to make sure it wasn't a shitpost. Iran invading Antarctica was not on my Apocalypse bingo card.
Kinda hope they outfit a little wagon train of muslim pioneers and send them out to conquer this bold new frontier. The glorious popsicle cannibal jihad is exactly the sort of television special I require.
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Post by dn on Feb 14, 2024 18:50:51 GMT -5
I was quick to assume that this thread was related to some Borderlands character but now I see that is in fact a call of the herd of some sorts. Meh. I'm not into group sex myself but whatever faggots. You do yourselves here. well, since journalism is dead, how the fuck are people meant to find new music unless by word of mouth? P.s: Doom (and boards thereof) might or might not have a passing interest in satan and satanic imagery, I dunno, I've only been doing this shit for twenty fucking years, I've not noticed. I wouldn't normally bother responding to troll bait but, but since black metal deals near exclusively with trolls, it seems fitting.
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Post by dn on Feb 14, 2024 18:13:38 GMT -5
pretty sure there was at least 35% of an asshole as well. Don't do that again.
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Post by dn on Feb 14, 2024 4:47:35 GMT -5
Black Metal is a little too highly strung for me, both in terms of singer histrionics and guitar tuning. It has the attitude and acoustics of a shiatsu tantrumming and shitting itself in a bitch's handbag, and once someone points that out there is no going back.
You're welcome.
Still like this album tho. It's probably not tvre kvlt, but whatever.
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Post by dn on Feb 14, 2024 4:09:33 GMT -5
clearly the bed was asking for it.
Maybe the sheets looked like their sisters in hajibs?
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Post by dn on Feb 14, 2024 3:38:24 GMT -5
Turns out that deciding to rewrite C10 in verse was a mistake and I regret it entirely.
First draft, have got halfway thru the damn thing before running out of fucking brain...
...womb / tomb dark / lark vodka / ha-ha...
Aye. This fucking ship of fools sore piloted by Rhombus. Fuelled by Scottish Special: brought to you by Brewers Caledonia. Beloved, accidental muse, and intellectual / contrafoetal / intraceptual damager. Let us join them, you and I, as overhead the clouds peel wide as buttons – fumbl'd onna alkie's spavver. Let's go lap 'round cemeteries, 'round roads, and roads 'round council schemes; see schemies scheme by town latrines and Spraffer spraff. See Cocky mutter, Rhombus dream and hear God laugh.
...uppers / downers petroleum / vallium huff / puff munch / crunch...
Behind F. Rhombus: Fischer, Arson (progeny of local parson). Larboard9: Andrew-James' station, Cocky wedged between said persons. Navigating, Spraffer sits and talks inconsequential shit and talks and talks for hours and hours and talks and talks for hours; it soon abrades abscesses into the brain. But suffer through this psychic erosion, for from this lap is booze apportioned.
...watch the empties rise and fall / ignoring poor McGonagall...
Aye. Twenty-four were number'd tins afore predation winnow'd them and left the crate a hollow'd thing, Scarce worth our time. Harrow'd, hear the harrow'd ring: —Time, gentlemen, time... (running empty?)
...rhyme / time tick / tock...
Time, gentleman time. If we had world enough, and time... To order all, and set to rights the world – enough! – but... lacking time...
...pissed / mist drunkenness / unconsciousness...
To TESCO, then; our future set, our destination: CIDER. Wrecked in bodies, minds, on distant shores, our souls and clothes and hands well soiled,..
...boast / toast beers / cheers...
So here's to TESCO, in Blairgowrie: onion fraud, and Robbing Hoodies looting shops of all they see; to thieves and insobriety. Here's to us – for who's like we? Precious, damméd few. And so, we payeth not, and booze for free: —To thieves and insobriety!
...breathe / teethe tipple / nipple lay / pray...
We five within the cabin have the foresight to restrain; for blessed are those who belt themselves lest from the road we stray. But in the boot there languishes the midget Ten Inch Dave: the sixth of us who fled the shed when Justice there was laid. ...head / dead stars / dark descend / amen...
The midget nestles in the dark; he gnaws upon a teat. He swallows vodka – Vladivar's – and chews up ketamine. In truth the dwarf-chile doesn't mind his time within the trunk: This banishment to sightless realm – this hellish petrol sump. Imagine then it serves him for an isolation tank: A haven where one doesn't suffer jibes or glib remarks; Away from Spraffer waxing forth on dwarves or lack of height, And verbalizing ordinate coordinates of shite. With bendzedrine and vodka darkened trunks can be endured: Hallucinations better company than fucking Stewart.
...route / boot throttle / bottle...
We power down the Welton Road but suddenly, F. Rhombus roars:
—AE FUCKKIN CAPERCAILLIE!
...and sets the universe to rights.
The bird explodes in chunks of gore and feathers fly and block the road from sight. Window wipers Rhombus turns – clears away the blasted foul; not before disaster hoves25 and Arson's pants are filled with shite.
...uppers / downers flying / falling flood / blood bloom / doom...
Now hurling along As a force irresistible Into the back of the object immovable Bonnet impacts and explodes into shrapnel As shattering glass shreds up faces and hands.
Seatbelts contract crushing ribcages whole And the sudden whiplash fractures vertebrae bones With an audible crack from the base of your skull to the tips of your toes.
Vision grey-black from the collapse of arteries Retina detached in the aqueous jelly As blood in your ears hammers constantly constantly constantly –
So we belong dead. We ought to be dead. And yet. Somehow. We live. —Blessye thankit and Jesus be thankit and God be ye thankit! … (Jesus be fuckit furgot Ten Inch Dave)
...watch these bodies rise and fall / ignoring poor McGonagall...
Exiting, the men congeal Around the mangled vehicle. In trepidation, none approach Unless by inches; inching closer, 'Til upon the metal frame Reflections warped and half-insane As horror turns to mangled laughing Turned again to horror, passing Fingers over eyes, we shun Dread consequences...
For an emotion, dread suffices. And for the occasion, dread will suffice.
...bang / bang bang / bang bang / bang... Rhombus thumbs the lock: the frantic hammering from deep within has slowed, slowing; slowing down; it slows unto a weak heart-beat. Rhombus turns the lock: the boot flips open, spewing noxious fumes into our faces: toxic mix of alcohol and petrol.
Chloroformed, we gasp, withdraw, but not before our cortex stores the sorry sight that lies within: a midget mangled on his side, curled foetally, he's writhing, choking, choking, writhing breathless retching eyeballs bulging wide.
His hands are wrapped around his throat – rigid midget fingers – Strangling, he chokes himself, and I see blood between his fingers spill.
I see blood – thick clots of blood – I watch the blood from digits oozing. Words he chokes through slitted throat amidst the shattered glass. His croaking fades; his eyes turn glazed as lifeblood drips away. Red drizzles down beneath his palm for fucked is Ten Inch Dave.
Chaos erupts upon the Welton Road.
Spraffer screaming: —Ambulance! as Rhombus foot-to-foot does dance, and Andrew-James and Noodle Chef claw at each other: —Get more pressure! Pressurize the wound.
Rhombus wails, his thoughts consumed: appliances soon summoned – blame will once again be heaped upon his coiffured head, of this he's certain.
Ambulance alas begets constabulary; constabulary alas begets judiciary: judiciary begets Barlinnie...
and a century spent at her Majesty's pleasure: sewing mail bags; slops aplenty; getting raped by all and sundry; arsehole hanging down in tatters. Bumhole broken, prolapsed utterly, penduluming between knees like a shopping bag with the arse ripped out that's spilling tins and groceries...
He ignores the plight of Ten Inch Dave, favouring his skin to save: Rhombus dives head-first into the ruins of the Rhomulan. Kleptomaniac from pocket pulls a handkerchief, embroidered: DAVE: des-per-ately wiping steering clean of Rhombus DNA.
Meanwhile Dave is hoisted from the boot and lain to rest on the embankment: rigor dolor head-to-foot, alive, but only slightly.
Broken words, he gutters out; words, forced from choking lungs. Spat through teeth that gape and chatter, stainéd red, the violent taste of copper.
...pray / day save / Dave God / Dave God / save help / help help / Dave... ...and would we promise please tell parents love them..
Spraffer has ceased the flapping of arms, the screaming of: —Help! at no-one in particular. Now, he walks like those infused anew with purpose bloody-minded.
Belatedly, he pulls his Nokia out his trouser pocket. Quaking digits – triple nine - he thumbs and tolerates the queue quite patiently. Until...
(page break?)
...finally, an operator answers.
—Ambulance, so sayeth Spraffer. —Accident, he so informs her. —Slitted throat; we're on the Welton Road... ...maybe a half-a-mile from TESCO? No – fucksake! – he doesn’t know if we are east or west of TESCO... Please, you have to save The man called Ten Inch Dave...
...east / west cold / crow fly / die...
Come. Bend your head to his, and listen to those rattling breaths and hear the words of his confession body racked across the seven sins: wanton, careless self-destruction, alcohol and drug addiction, unloved, save for masturbation; impotent, save in aggression. And inclined in pride to verbalize in rhymes, but use unmetered stanzas and thesaurus. Uncounted are his crimes...
...sleep / keep wake / take...
Remove the lace from his left bootie. Sting it up between your hands in preparation: sighing soothing consolations, wrestling with the tourniquet...
...stand across the poor man now, eyes stare in horror abject, let's garotte his head clean off his fucking poetasterous shoulders.
There follows a brief argument between Spraffer and the NHS 24, re: the wisdom of tying a bootlace around someone’s neck in order to staunch the flow of blood.
Medical training: non-existent. Andrew-James, alas, insistent, has seen injuries consistent; Black Hawk Down by Ridley Scott. Cognizant a dirty finger rudely thrust into a spewing artery may dam the worst, and cease the endless haemorrhaging of systems circulatory.
...nee / naw nee / naw nee / naw...
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Post by dn on Feb 13, 2024 12:05:08 GMT -5
please do. I am intrigued by gay muslim storytime.
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Post by dn on Feb 12, 2024 15:36:21 GMT -5
did you refuse to suck a devout muslim's dick?
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Post by dn on Feb 6, 2024 16:27:28 GMT -5
Not sure about the second text, but the first is an early version of the bible with the Jews Irish centrestage.
I'd say it's notable for a couple of reasons: first, it's an attempt to reconcile Irish folklore with the biblical stuff imported from overseas. Second, what the fuck is the Gogmagog / Magog conundrum doing in there, that's proper pre-Roman shit, that's Giants rising from the Bones of the Earth and Fucking the Anglos up stuff. Third, it's the products of feking monks, again. Forth, it's definitely heresy, and pre-Lutheran heresy at that, which means fuck knows what pre-catholic christian religion in Ireland looked like, that shit's actually super interesting.
Not sure why the grapes look sour to you, tho. It's an example of what I described: those involved in the aborted Irish Nationalism movement took manuscripts like that and recognised that the biblical stuff was a later addition, a layer of Christian sediment that's collected over (probably pre-Gael whateverthefucktheWelshwere) legend. So, rather than present the material sans Abraham, they just made shit up to fill in the blanks.
"No explanation for this. Fuck it, let's just say druids did it."
That's fiction masquerading as scholarship, and you don't get away with that, even if the primary source you butchered is twelve centauries old.
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Post by dn on Feb 3, 2024 15:44:34 GMT -5
Hardly black-pilled. But if you're gonna go waltzing through the 18th and 19th centaury teuchter scene, then it helps to be aware that all teuchters are liars.
The closest modern version of this phenomenon I can think of is the failed Irish literature revolution at the start of the 20th centaury: Irish ex-pats & IRA wannabes were really agitating against the British state, and the university tweed-types needed to get in on that action. They noted that Ireland had no history, no legends to speak of - there was no Irish Iliad, no Beowulf, because Gaelic never got written down. There is a bunch of shit about Cullach / Cú Chulainn, but those are mostly redressed legends from abroad (we wuz Hercules, &c) and are fairly obviously so. England has the same problem (Arthurian legend is French - thank Willie the Conqueror for that). And so does Scotland.
Basically, legends got lost as the languages were replaced, and we got colonized by a people in the process of being colonized. We still have *no* idea about what the original Picts thought about things (Gaelic is Irish, not Scots - it was restricted to the west coast, and the idea that it's somehow the True & Original Scots language is exactly the sort of lies I'm on about here). Anyway, a bunch of Irish nerds decided to get together and form a literary movement to address this lack of legend - they would "miraculously" discover ancient super-secret Irish texts and translate them for general dissemination.
Turns out that the Ancient Irish hated the English, coincidently. And so fake history turned into propaganda in the space of about a year and a half.
Anyway, that whole shitshow eventually turned into modernism, because the intellectuals rebelled against what was a fundamentally dishonest way of doing things (it's no coincidence that James Joyce went on to write Ulysses, which is at least a more honestly come-by Irish version of the Iliad), and it wouldn't be until Tolkien finally pulled his finger out that the entire genre of fake reinvented legends & folklore would become anything other than semi-inspired claptrap.
The Scots *had* played with certain similar ideas before: Walter Scott's romances, but again, those are mostly retellings of French bumfuckery moved into a Highland setting, and Walter Scott was the most English Scotsman who ever lived. Away from the intellectual / university scene you have gypsies and teuchters, who claim that their songs and stories have been passed down through 160 generations, but in reality came mostly out of the glasgow gin-houses last thursday.
So, if all that shit is made up, what else do we have? Burns did not write Auld Lang Syne - his contribution was actually writing old laland shit down for the first time ever, his importance is as much as an archivist as it is a poet. Some of the stuff he collated is definitely 15th centaury, but that's still not the deep history these Gaelic dipshits claim to. As for your example, of how Scottish folklore about snakes was passed down through 160 generations until it hit the Americas and somehow became about groundhogs is definitely bullshit. There are ZERO stories in Scotland about snakes, we never see the little fuckers unless they are biting unspecified cocks in some unspecified heather field to some unspecified uncle who is mostly found in a Glasgow gin-house. You *might* come across an animal fable featuring a snake (I, personally, have not), but it's unlikely, as all those were written by bored monks a hundred years before Burns, who sensibly kept very very far away from anything even remotely resembling heresy, and fucking snakes and fucking apple trees are very much included in the You'll Burn For This McTavish school of biblical literature. You see a snake anywhere from this time period, it's the fucking Devil, no exceptions.
So, where the fuck have the snakes come from, because they ain't Scottish? Viking stories sound likely - Ragnar getting thrown into a pit of snakes comes to mind, but that sounds like a Christian addendum to the fucking Ragnar story as well. And *that* definitely can happen - I've come across a 15th centaury Scots version of the LOL LMAO scorpion + toad story written by a bored monk, and that is fairly fucking weird, because Scotland doesn't have fucking scorpions either, but blah blah the moral of the story is Jesus loves you and fuck scorpions.
Christ I'm rambling now... but yeah. Your gaelic snake poem is written in modern gaelic with modern punctuation. I'd be willing to bet it's written in Irish Gaelic rather than Scots, and the fact that there are snakes in it (see: St. Paddy) suggests to me it would be from the 20th centaury Irish School of Bullshit. There are no druids in Scotland because we never had any: religion and bullshit come from the desert - thinking about the mysteries of the cosmos means not freezing to death in the pishing rain and getting eaten alive by midges, which is a more Scottish thing. And religion and bullshit also come from the universities, which is pretty much the same deal, only fatter.
All of the above said, there is nothing wrong with reading all of the mad made-up history shit you can get your hands on Looked at through the correct lens, they are a fascinating snapshot of post-colonial orphaned societies trying to deal with the fact nobody knows fucking nothing.
England included. England especially.
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Post by dn on Feb 3, 2024 2:24:24 GMT -5
Oh, and Ly De Angeles is absolutely a made up name. Translation one would be Lyde (lady) of the Angels. Translation two would be Ly de (lies of) the Anglos (English). Pretty funny, but always remember there is a Scottish industrial complex that revolves around selling bullshit to gullible Americans.
Also, that translation of the Gaelic is pretty suspect... if such a poem does exist in the oral tradition (press X to doubt), then the fact that it's talking about virgin brides and suspiciously cock-like snakes ought to give the game away.
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Post by dn on Feb 3, 2024 2:06:33 GMT -5
there are like two species of snake in Scotland, neither of which are notable for slithering nor precognition. People who call themselves druids are universally retarded.
Snake #1 is the grass snake, which is about three inches long and is possibly the most boring reptile in the history of the universe. Snake #2 is the Adder, which can't count, and is legendary for biting people in the cock. It hangs out in the heather near roads, waiting for unwary kilted Highland men to pull their cars over and go for a pish in the bushes, whereupon the snake will use its infrared vision to seek and destroy the Scotsman's cock like a heat-seeking snakey missile.
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Post by dn on Jan 30, 2024 0:54:08 GMT -5
Another odd band I like is Gogol Bordello who call themselves gypsy punk. Got a few good CD's and then the most recent one I got, Transcontinental Shuffle seemed to lose a lot of their style and was a major downturn. Seen them live twice. Defo a band to check out when they are in your area, front row of a Gogol gig was a pretty fun time. Their first two studio albums are light years ahead of the rest of their output. From what I heard, the lead singer / songwriter and the band's actual talented guitarist / accordion player / songwriter had a MAJOR fall out, probably over groupies and royalties. Accordion player left the band in a cloud of funny smelling lawsuits and the songwriting took a major nosedive into a mound of shit. Gypsies gonna gypsy. They are also Ukrainian, so I imagine their latest album is packed full of retarded political takes. It's been years since I've seen them, so their audience demographic is probably now mostly blue-haired retards cheerfully ignoring the groupie rape charges and chanting nazinazinazinazi in the chorus over soywine. Apparently Prince fucking Harry was in the front row of a gig a few years ago, so the band has definitely jumped the fucking shark. Fucking ginger prick walks into a mosh pit surrounded by 7 foot tall bodyguards, I shit you not, god I hate the aristocracy.
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