MISC Flame/Troll Postings

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 6, 2011
Cosmic Outpost - The biggest Fail Troll Site on the Web?
By Gabriel



A troll board, or a flame board, should have a different approach to the way its run than a standard message forum. Standard forums often kick out “trolls” or trouble makers after a few (or more than a few) times. Flame forums and Troll forums, by their nature, need to operate by other standards because they are mainly geared towards general discussion of discussion on things like entertainment, family, or other topics.


By rights, a troll/flame forum should only ban someone who violates the TOS. And they should have a set TOS so that the members know if they’re following the guidelines or not. Being a troll forum, insults shouldn’t be a reason to ban a member. Neither should an insult directed at an admin or a moderator, especially if those individuals flame the members, be grounds for banning at a troll/flame forum.


Cosmic Outpost launched its “Fight Club”, now called “Ultimate Fighting” forum, over a year ago. It started out well. The Wise and Powerful, who had served as a moderator and “promoter” of matches at Flame Champs, was placed in charge of the Fight Club. He had Mr. SoulCancer (called SoulCancer at Flame Champs) as his moderator there. SoulCancer was more of a standard troll, with a short fuse, but TWAP’s experience would help balance out SC’s shortcomings. Originally the owner/admin, alternately called Unemployed Kernel and Unemployed Farmer, set standards which seemed reasonable. For instance:


1) Moderators and admins should not take sides.

2) The forum should be a neutral ground, for people from various forums and flame boards to meet, compete, and do battle.

3) PI should not be used (although PI was not clearly defined).

4) Children should not be used for flame fodder.

5) Copyrighted pictures cannot be used without the owner’s permission.


However, as things progressed, Farmer, an admitted troll, proved that whatever standards he set up meant essentially nothing. His moderators quickly began to pick favorites, as well as his administrators. Famine, a global moderator there, was one of the first who not only began flaming various people but clearly took sides. High Flyin Bryan, an admin, had obvious favorites as well. Two of these favorites were b.k. barunt and caskur. Bryan very quickly demonstrated that he would never vote against either barunt or caskur. In fact once, one time when barunt didn’t even show up for a match, Bryan voted for him to win anyway.


Things got worse at a rapid pace. It became obvious that Farmer preferred to run trolls on his own membership. These trolls included; pretending that he got a complaint to his host and that his url was in danger of being suspended; pretending that the United States government seized his domain and suspended it; repeatedly claiming he wanted to get rid of his site and turn it over to someone else when he had no intention of letting go of the ownership of it; posing as a Middlesex, New Jersey, County Sheriff and threatening a member with arrest and prosecution; signing up as a Federal agent in a copy of his own Sheriff troll; the list goes on and on. The sheriff and FBI agent handles were in direct violation of his own edict that admins and mods not take sides.


Farmer also proved to be a PI hound. Various people from other sites verified that he was known for investigating his new members and spreading around their personal information to others. One of the members he investigated was called TheProwler. Farmer googled Prowler’s IP and discovered the man was running a home server with a couple of websites off of that server. Farmer did a whois check on the websites and discovered the man’s real name, address, telephone number, and other vital information. Farmer them proceeded to send out Prowlers info to various people, including myself. Farmer allowed an admin at CO called Pogo to take the blame for spreading around the PI.


Farmer also violated several of his own “rules” that he set up. As mentioned before, he established a rule that children not be flamed or the children of members. Farmer himself flamed the child of a member called AlphaNova. Farmer stated that a member’s pictures could not be used on the board without the member’s permission; Farmer himself found pictures of caskur’s family on her photobucket account and sent links to them via the personal message system. It became clear that none of the rules that Farmer set up were going to be violated---not only by Farmer but by his other admins and moderators. The only admin who followed a code of ethics was The Wise and Powerful.


When Farmer’s deeds were exposed, he began threatening others that he would find out their PI and, as he stated, “the fun will begin”. Farmer displayed a short fuse, often banning people who flamed him back on his board. One member, called Wayne Reynolds, posted that Farmer was running a kiddie porn business off of his server. Farmer not only banned Reynolds for this but also changed a post of Reynolds so that it appeared as if Reynolds was soliciting kiddie porn. After Reynolds was unbanned, Farmer again banned the man when he posted a porn picture in a thread. Farmer falsely claimed the photo was kiddie porn; Reynolds, on other sites, proved it wasn’t. Not only that, but Farmer threw the moderator of the Fight Club, SoulCancer, to the wolves so to speak. SoulCancer posted in the thread where Reynolds posted the picture. SC did not object to the picture nor thought it was of kiddie porn at the time. Farmer, however, allowed SoulCancer to take the blame for not removing the picture from the thread.


Keep in mind that Cosmic Outpost’s Fight Club was supposed to be a combination troll/flame forum. Farmer was clearly throwing out, albeit temporarily, people for flaming him. His co-admin, High Flyin Bryan, proved just as worse. Bryan not only would ban members who flamed him, but he would additionally delete the handles of people who flamed him as well. Bryan also would go into member’s profiles and change their handles and/or their signatures. Bryan would openly threaten to delete members who challenged him. Bryan posted personal messages of people without their permission, and would put his own spin on what was said in the messages. Bryan himself admitted he discovered a member’s personal information (a member called JOODOG) and posted that info at another board (Troll Valhalla).


The global moderator and moderator of the Flame Forum, Mr. Soulcancer, also proved to be extremely short tempered. When I was tag team champion and flamed SoulCancer repeatedly, he posted openly that he had discussed with the admins how I was flaming him and that I would be stripped of the tag team title…despite no violation of the TOS. SC also threatened numerous times to post personal information about members. In a massive meltdown because members who SoulCancer disliked were not banned, SC actually spammed his own forum for an entire morning.


The clown show got even worse with EARTH RAPER, a moderator from the general forum, getting involved. ER bragged that member’s ability to report inappropriate posts was removed. This was done because caskur and TheProwler were repeatedly threatening to murder people, including myself, and both EARTH RAPER and Farmer didn’t want to have to ban them for making death threats. So Farmer prevented people from reporting the posts so as to claim plausible deniability. Farmer then began repeatedly changing the TOS. At one point he declared that members cannot flame moderators or administrators even if said people flamed the members. He also stated that members who bad mouthed the site would be banned.


Again and again Farmer, Bryan, SoulCancer, EARTH RAPER, famine and another moderator, Wick, proved that they would go into their panels if they were flamed. When Wick would be flamed, he would change the titles of threads, delete messages, and alter content. Essentially, the owner and staff of CO demonstrated that they could dish it out but they could not take it.


If Cosmic Outpost were a standard message forum then some of the actions (but not the PI spreading) might be considered appropriate. However, for a troll and/or flame site, it is not. The Wise and Powerful has made various attempts to make sure that the site is run fairly and with some standards, but the owner Farmer repeatedly sabotages those efforts. People should keep in mind that if they sign up at CO that their PI could be exposed by Farmer. Also, if they irritate the owner and staff they will use their panels and abuse their members.


I began my own site, called Cosmic-Outpost, to demonstrate what Cosmic Outpost was supposed to be. It’s located at


http://www.cosmic-outpost.com


It is not the same site as Farmer’s Cosmic Outpost, but an original site without the mod/admin abuse. The Wise and Powerful, the only ethical admin at Farmer’s site, is an admin at mine.

The author of the above article, Gabriel, is better known as AlphaNova.

Much has been written over the years about him, with perhaps the best recap of his troll activities was in this thread started by THE BRA1N at ThirdRailForum on: November 14, 2018:

Who is AlphaNova? (How Alpo Fucked Himself)
https://web.archive.org/web/20181117051606/https://thirdrailforum.com/index.php?topic=17913.0

Over his 20 years online, Alpha was known by numerous aliases.

Most online trolls never reveal themselves, but this guy has even beat AlphaNova for true trolling.

A very long article, but a very interesting read:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/nothing-on-this-page-is-real-how-lies-become-truth-in-online-america/2018/11/17/edd44cc8-e85a-11e8-bbdb-72fdbf9d4fed_story.html

Caskur at ThirdRailForum Mon Nov 19, 2018 wrote:

I can't stand him. He got outted at BH...

Gunzablazin'... what a wanker.

I'd have his head punched in...

"In his writing Blair was blunt, witty and prolific,"

Did they see him spam pages of entire Bible books at CO?

Where was there "wit" in that... more like a lumpy fat plagiarist if you ask me.


I like the part where he's kicked the poor wife out to work while he sits on his sorry arse playing on his devices the bank bought for him.

Geeze, I hope there are still food stamps around when the time comes for me to need them.

For more on this subject, read https://thirdrailforum.com/index.php?topic=17931.0

and a ten page read at TRF: https://thirdrailforum.com/index.php?topic=14358.0 (not archived)

Internet troll, or harasser -- you decide:

http://barbaracamwellnessinternetharasser.blogspot.com

When a 'troll' met the president
By Jared Cohen | Fox News

Jared Cohen: How Julia Sand was the original 'troll'

Jared Cohen explains the story of Julia Sand, the 19th-century equivalent of today’s internet trolls, and her relationship with President Arthur.

On August 27, 1881, then vice president Chester Arthur had received the first of several dozen letters from a mysterious pen pal named Julia Sand. While unsolicited letters were not uncommon, her two-page letter seemed overly familiar and critical, yet spot-on in its analysis. She reminded him that “the day [Garfield] was shot, the thought rose in a thousand minds that you might be the instigator of the foul act.”

She asked, “Is not that a humiliation which cuts deeper than any bullet can pierce?” She described him as “rich” and “powerful,” but without support, noting that “all over the land not a prayer was uttered in your behalf, not a tear shed . . . the great American people was glad to be rid of you,” meaning they would have preferred to not have him as president.

Expecting Garfield to die, she expressed a “faith” in Arthur’s “better nature” and urged him to silence the critics with “reform.” She asked him to prove that he can be the “firmest companion” for civil service reform and cautioned him to lead by example and not to “remove any man from office unnecessarily.”

In future letters, she begged him to stay out of the affairs of New York State and to remain “passive.” “Stay in Washington,” she told him. Remain “absorbed in national affairs, not showing by the movement of an eyelash that you take an interest in what is going on” in your home state.

Sand’s gift with words and the intimacy of her writing elevated her importance. In reality, she was a 31-year-old invalid who lived with her family on East 74th Street in Manhattan. By her own admission, she had “not been in society for years” and “rarely go[t] out of the house.”

She suffered from loss of hearing and spinal impairment, which made mobility difficult. Politics was her indulgence and she became a harmless stalker who obsessively read about the president’s movements and paid close attention to every mention of him in the press.

Like a vigorous researcher, she triangulated each article for truths about his intentions and did not shy away from questioning him and challenging his actions. She described herself as a “detective” whose very nature is “cold, questioning, and skeptical.”

Her letters were candid to the point of being mean, digging into what must have been Arthur’s greatest insecurities and trepidations. She was the 19th-century equivalent of today’s Internet trolls.

Sand focused mostly on politics, but she often went on side tangents about his health and well-being, once inquiring about why his “pictures vary about 100lbs in weight.” She described Arthur as “Henry V” and referred to herself as his “little dwarf,” as if to suggest she was his able advisor or court jester.

In truth, she was more like a minder. It seemed that every action, rumor, and feud caught her attention and made its way back to him through her long, inquisitive, and at times accusatory letters.

She called out the detectives who surrounded him and observed this danger to be a symptom of the “absolute need for political reform.” Her letters taunted him, suggesting that perhaps he was too much of a coward to push for reform.

Sand reminded Arthur that like Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, the infamous almoner to Henry VIII, he had a habit of using his “great ability for small ends” and begged him not to slide backward.

She knew him to be capable of shepherding reform but questioned his courage and strength to act on it. “Are you content to sit, like a snake-charmer, and let loathsome serpents coil about you, priding yourself on it that not one of them dares sting you?” she asked. “I would rather think of you like St. George in shining armor striking death to the heart of the dragon.”

As early as November 1881, she began suggesting they meet. She thought he would never come and at times became agitated over his lack of response to her requests.

But to her surprise, on the evening of August 20, 1882, an elaborately decorated carriage appeared out of nowhere and parked at the entrance of the 74th Street residence owned by Miss Sand’s brother, and out stepped the president. They discussed music and he consumed some delightful claret in a sherry glass. He stayed for about an hour in what she would later describe as a “very stiff visit.”

In a letter to Arthur written four days later, she became defensive and agitated about their meeting, accusing him of using her to get to her mother and sisters. She seemed nonplussed that he had not come by the house in the morning when she was alone and noted that this led to accusations that she had used her family to protect her from a presidential scolding.

Most hurtful to her, however, was his “inexorable ‘no’ at parting when” she asked if he “had forgiven some of the harsh things” she had said. Arthur never visited again and she never received any correspondence. Over the next year, the tone of her notes became more incoherent and volatile, some addressing him as “my very bad friend” and “my very, very, bad friend.”

With a self-appointed written conscience following his every move, Arthur managed to defy expectations and have a respectful presidency. He did not sever ties with the party bosses; quite the contrary, as he frequently welcomed them to lavish banquets at the White House and lavish entertainments. But as Sand advised, he neither dished out patronage to them, nor did he fire those men whom he had fought so viciously against.

The fact that a man who embodied the spoils system became one of its biggest advocates is one of the great turnarounds in U.S. presidential history. Julia Sand, who was the 1881 equivalent of what today we think of as a troll, played her part in this.

Videos at https://www.foxnews.com/opinion/jared-cohen-troll-president-chester-arthur-julia-sand

https://flamerfailures.com/smf

Misc:

Why Murdoch's Forum Is A Failure:

https://www.spreaker.com/user/10872326/why-murdochs-forum-is-a-failure

Obi Wannosi to Murdock:

If your plan was to "de-escalte the vile toxicity, why did you have to run over to FlameTruth and battle with Dovey in the shoutbox when you should have called her out in The Pit??





http://murdysmoshpit.com/index.php/topic,78.0.html

http://murdysmoshpit.com/index.php/topic,82.0.html

http://murdysmoshpit.com/index.php/topic,85.0.html


And the band plays on:

http://www.flametruth.com/forum/main-forum/the-flame-game/8571-obligated-to-walk

Cindybin and her namesake trollboards

Cindybin1959 was a notorious personality on the old Yahoo forums for a few years until they closed on 12-26-06.  She was apparently an "Accidental Troll," a Northern Illinois housewife interested in weight loss diets and doll collecting.  

Here is her story in her own words, in one of the first blog entries of the blog she started in 2007 and continues to operate.  

http://cindybin.blogspot.com/2007/

Here's her Blogspot profile.

https://www.blogger.com/profile/10281459978987088891

The blog on geocities that may cover her Yahoo career more chronologically.

http://www.geocities.ws/cindybinproject/intro.html

Cindybin did a drive-by on the current CBT forum about 3 years ago, unless it was a good fake:  

http://boards.cindysbeentrippin.com/t/just-found-this-site-and-am-appalled/16872

So, about the various forums in what came to be known as the Cindy Circuit...

When the Yahoos closed at the end of 2006 there were already a few trollboards up and running.  I think TrollValhalla had started up in the spring of 06, and there was probably TK and BH already IIRC, and there might have been others.  I'm not able to provide histories on TrollTown as a whole.  

But the guy in Phoenix (the late Steve) opened Bad-Yahoo a week or two prior to the closing, and a guy known only as Vapor opened the first Cindybin board a day or two after.  Completely different boards, different owners, but a lot of crossover membership.  

B-Y operated 12/06 until around 2011.  Fapoleon or Oak or Deportz might have a firm ending date.  Admin was terminally ill and pulled the plug a couple of months before his demise.  Unlike other forums, B-Y had complete archives at the time it went dark.  At its peak, maybe 50 regular members, down to maybe two dozen at the end.

Vapor's Cindybin operated from 12/06 until 3/18/07.  It was a huge crazy forum with maybe 200 daily members and a thousand or more daily posts.  Vapor closed it on one day's notice without giving a reason.  
The most reliable rumor is that the Real Cindybin's lawyers contacted him about the name and using her pic in the forum banner, but that strains belief since he could have easily bought a new domain, renamed the forum, and migrated it.  

Snoop Slob from TV already had a cloned forum ready, free-hosted, and opened it the next day as CindysBeenBongin.  

Farmer also floated a cloned board a day or two later, I can't recall its name.

Within a week Snoop and Farmer came to terms, merged their members, and opened the new CBB as co-owners on a paid server.  Say about 3/25/07.

Within a month Farmer ousted Snoop and took over CBB.  It never approached the grandeur or style or excitement of the original Vapor board, and by March 2008 it was down to about 50-60 solid members.  

There was a blowup in July 2008 between HFB and Billdo, with a poll to determine the winner.  HFB was one of the admins, and Farmer got caught red-handed rigging the poll results.

On 7/18/08 Billdo left, taking nearly half the members with him, and started CBT.

CBB kept going, changing the name to CosmicOutpost in 2008-09.  Eventually Farmer added a flame board, and eventually "sold" the forum*

So the only Cindy board still extant is CBT which is little more than a small "lib" sewing circle with a dry sense of humor and lots of memories.  

However, due to two server catastrophes during its run CBT does not have complete archives.  The present version only goes back to maybe 2013 or so.

___________________________________________________________________________________

* Admin note:

The missive above was posted by Peaches. I did make one correction re: Farmers' "selling his forum".  

Farmer "gave" CO to Flea, Caskur and Serafina, but took it back. Blackmuse became the eventual "owner". Some say Farmer still owns the site, but lost the owner keys in a password theft.

Farmer does still have the 100's of thousands of member PM's to peruse, as he does control the CO email accounts to this day.

Blackmuse shared his ownership with V-Agent and cw. Somewhere along the line, those three are responsible for CO's demise.

Note: cw claims she had no involvement in the ownership, yet she does have the all the files and folders downloaded when she attempted to move CO to another platform.

Government Internet Trolls:

https://ootikof.forumotion.com/t971-government-internet-trolls



.

The Wise And Powerful wrote:

CosmicOutpost Match Results

---

THE CHAMPIONS


Lemon ~ Singles Champ ~ ~ ~  Simon Lister & The Master ~ Tag Champs

---

2012 P.O.P. Holder ~~  thedukeisnotdead

2013 P.O.P. Holder ~~  V-Agent

---

WON / LOSS RECORDS

Member	Wins	Losses	Ties
The Master aka Tony Stark aka King Martini aka King Poofer	23	22	1
Blackmuse	11	3	0
IRON MONKEY aka JOODOG	8	3	0
The Spirit aka Gabriel aka Son of Satan	8	4	0
The Wise and Powerful	8	9	0
Wayne Reynolds	7	4	0
King Herpes	6	4	0
Caskur	6	16	2
Fmig aka Reaper	5	4	0
Mr Pickles	5	4	1
Mustache Feeling	4	0	0
V-Agent	4	0	0
Ender	4	1	0
b.k.barunt	4	2	0
Tyrant	4	2	0
Gunzablazin	4	3	0
Lemon	4	4	0
Mr SoulCancer	4	5	0
Trollsbane	4	5	0
Ladr	4	6	0
Flabio	4	8	1
Dancing Mustard aka The Gronk Identity	3	1	1
AlphaNova	3	3	0
Din365	3	4	0
Sezza4	3	5	0
Executive President	2	0	0
Unemployedkernel	2	0	0
snowangel aka IT_JUST_IS-	2	2	0
Chaosfactor	2	3	1
ATVile	1	0	0
Cassandra	1	0	0
Lady Clubskittles	1	0	0
Rancidmilko	1	0	0
Simon Lister	1	0	0
Sir Heretic	1	0	0
thedukeisnotdead	1	0	0
Icky_Retardo	1	0	2
Dr. WINO	1	1	0
Flynn	1	1	0
Lord Vader	1	1	0
Mr. NiceGuy	1	1	0
Oman	1	1	0
The Judge	1	1	0
Sir Sacrifyx	1	2	0
Strapon	1	2	0
Zeropoint	1	2	0
TheProwler	1	5	1
AmazingSting	0	1	0
Anomalous	0	1	0
Atom	0	1	0
Dean West	0	1	0
Dexter	0	1	0
Dr_Goats	0	1	0
enigma	0	1	0
Fat Freddie Scat	0	1	0
Flea aka Spunkbubble	0	1	0
Gargoyle	0	1	0
Hard0n	0	1	0
Kit	0	1	0
Kruppenhaler	0	1	0
Murdock	0	1	0
Nick Cave	0	1	0
Pussy Paws	0	1	0
Sublime	0	1	0
Alien Necromancer	0	2	0
Anonymous	0	2	0
Demeters Daughter	0	2	0
Jarleston Chew	0	2	0
Peaches	0	2	0
Vixen	0	2	2
HIGH FLYIN BRYAN	0	3	0
JIMMYBANG	0	3	0
Nightstalker	0	3	0
Serafina	0	3	0
Kurt S	0	3	1
Reggie Essent	0	4	0
Cissey Twiddle	0	7	0

God that reaper guy was a terrible match flamer.

The tard is even below bloody Caskur on that list lulz.

reaper wrote:

God that reaper guy was a terrible match flamer.

The tard is even below bloody Caskur on that list lulz.

Agreed

The old hall of flame (Flame4Cash.Com)
« on: January 24, 2021, 09:16:24 pm »

"Someone apparently rerouted your brainstem to your asshole and you've crapped yourself a nice little opinion on this whole subject.." -Ruthless1

"I took your mother's virginity, but I let your pops have the box it came in." -poo

"I advise you to split like your drawbridge asscheeks for an on coming gang of drunken sailors, because the only thing your throwing around here is a hissy fit, Pippy." -Eddy Torezs

"Close your lip smacking bitchmouth before I headbutt you into a midget, twinkletoes. " -Ruthless1

"Shush your fuck blistered lips already and dont let me hear that dick speedbagged yap babble-on any more, lest I unzip your mask and plant a man gland hand grenade in the confined restraints of your leather clad face prsion, ya piston fucked fetus. " -Sicness

"You're not Sherlock Holmes, so close the fucking case and stop this miserable attempt to follow my trail of footsteps while wearing a deerskin hunting cap and sucking in smoke from your Sir Conan O'Doyle signature series crack pipe, ya delusional dick detective with one private eye on my trouser prize." -Running Gag

"And again the point sails over your head like the cardboard cutout hand of Bugs Bunny measuring kids at the fun park, shrimp." -Ruthless1

"You couldn't look like a bigger ass if you were attached to the backside of Oprah." -B.Hankins

"You're the only person I ever knew who won a hotdog eating contest with his ass." -Vanius Gullius

""Now plop your loose hinged ham catcher into your clapper activated wheelchair and watch as we send you off a third floor balcony with a rousing round of applause, Skipper." -Running gag

"People in glass bath-houses shouldnt throw stones." -Ruthless1

"What? You won?! You couldnt win a cigar after giving birth in a tobacco field in Havana, fucko" -Ruthless1

"You, sir, are gayer than Grahm kerr cooking a meaty rumproast while wearing a see-through teddy." -Ruthless1

"When you flame something besides the legs of your Mudd Jeans when you spray them with unleaded gasoline at a self serve then try to strike a blue tip on your frisbee sized NAMBLA beltbuckle, I'll take you a little more seriously, clod." -Herro

"If you ever fucking waste my time again with another one of these sonnets to your new Triple H doll with removable spandex and chokehold dick grip, I will uppercut your retractable jaw so hard your head snaps backward and the tracheotomy hole in your throat spits out rainbow flavored M&Ms like the gayest pez dispenser ever made." -Running Gag

"Now I do admit that the fact that you consider yourself my own personal pet chimp is cute, however I've already punted you like a big furry football twice now and I'm about to do it again, Coco." -flu

"If I want your opinion, I'll unzip your mask, gimp.." -Ruthless1

"SHUT THE FUCK UP or I will personally call you out and beat you like a 4' 6" camel jockey trying to take over a Pittsburgh Steelers chartered jet to Philadelphia with a rubber knife." -Bailey Hankins

"You're a fucking treadmark on society. I could scissorkick your asshole up your back so hard you'd look like a volcano if someone buried you up to your neck and you took a shit, shemp." -Tuff

"Just because I've popped one of your glass eyes out, stuck my index finger into your ocular cavity and spun your head around like a rotary phone, while listening to the sounds of the dried baby batter rattle around in your head like a maraca doesn't mean I'm cuing you to start gabbing away like Riki from 'My So Called Life'." -flu

"What? I know you'd love to take your dentures out and spitshine my jousting stick for an indian head nickel like in the "good ol' days", but here's a newsflash you wheelchair bound aboriginee: you only need to save sheet metal to patch up the skylight in your tincan townhouse and the great depression will be over as soon as you button your flapping upturned lip, pappy." - Buzzsaw

"'Flame'? You couldnt blaze up a motherfucking Chinese fireworks plant built on top of a busted propane pipeline with an M2A1 flamethrower strapped to the fucking Hindenberg." -Captn Yoaz

"Now clap your fucking hands, powering up your clapper activated rough rider with wheels, pull your legs behind that watermelon head of yours and rectum roll the fuck out of here." -flu

"Your main dysfunction is caused by the irrational belief that flaming someone is the same as belching a rancid cum bubble in their direction. Even if you can light it on fire, it still pops, releasing the note from your last fortune cookie: "You will meet a tall dark stanger. Wear knee pads." -Bailey Hankins

"Do us all a favor, and dive headfirst off the Brooklyn Bridge with a 1978 GE microwave tied around your neck." - Running Gag

"And while you were blundering around the room like a starved blind sweaty sumo searching for the slab of steak I tied to your to your headset antennae and dangled in front of your mouth because I unhitched your eyebrow clamps, I was jogging laps around your airliner capacity colon, stopping only to punch your slanted agoogle eyes back into the sockets mid lap, and to hand out anti-alternative lifestyle booklets every time I caught a puerto-rican loitering around your ham-hatch." -Herro

"As you whirl and gibber across the stage you scream "This is ART! This is ART!" almost as loudly as your belly shirt, rawhide chaps, and patent leather Shirley Temple autograph tap shoes scream "I'm in love with Ricky Martin!" -Bailey Hankins

"I cold clocked you on the top of your lemon shaped/sized head so hard your retractable jaw unhinged and dangled around down your knocking knees for about three seconds before my second blow sent it right back up where it came from, only past your treadmarked poodle face, over the top of your head, and down behind your "arse", swallowing the upper half of your body and sending you stumbling blindly back into the "time out" chair in the corner." -Herro

"As it is, you couldn't even figure out how to use a Craftsman screwdriver without a manual, so I highly doubt you'll be doing much of anything except strap it on to the top of your head backwards and headbutt your friends in the ass." -Tuff

"Break that carrot off you have lodged inside you sideways, take a bite of it and swallow in hopes that your eye sight gets better because at this rate the only thing your eye socket will be good for is having a hard cock bottom out inside of it." -Flu

"I guess that makes you just about the 493rd retarded, drooling hobo to get all up in your nappy weave about it only to find out that your "Weave" is actually your Fruit of the Loom Y-fronts, which are now unraveled around your knocking knees, thus exposing your two and a quarter inches of uncut manhood to the entire chuckling audience." -Herro

"Bitch, I was looking for a fight NOT a wheelchair race." -Blackout

"Draw an asshole around an electrical socket and fuck it, pussy."- flu

"Now take your one fucking clue, your six week supply of bunion brillo and your fold out Will Smith Willenum pictorial collection and bounce right on out of here before I deflect your pugnose mug off the nearest doorjamb like a superball, Stuart." -Herro

"Listen, you Barry Williams fucker, I'll lance my fuckin' fist through your two giant front teeth like saloon doors and proceed to bust it out the back of your pre-hollowed noggin, you Clydesdale cock mounting moron." -Ruthless1

"The only thing you're slamming into is the three foot tall Maginot line of Lego's you surround your Muscle Beach sandcastle with when I finally manage to gain a firm hold of your shit slicked rattail and launch you headfirst into the barricade like a lightning pink blitzkrieg with your mullet flapping behind you in a farewell salute to Deutschland." -Running Gag

"I'm about two seconds from driving down to the airport, booking an immediate flight to Pee-Wee's alternative Playhouse and stomping that talking cock box beachball size melon of yours into enough ground beef quarter pounders to infect your whole hick truck stop community with Mad Gay disease." -Herro

"The only thing you're slamming into is the three foot tall Maginot line of Lego's you surround your Muscle Beach sandcastle with when I finally manage to gain a firm hold of your shit slicked rattail and launch you headfirst into the barricade like a lightning pink blitzkrieg with your mullet flapping behind you in a farewell salute to Deutschland." -Running Gag

"Why bother, kicking you around is almost as fun as impregnating your buck toothed momma, promising her this time I won't make her get an abortion only to shove my fist so far into her stomach, I shake hands with her spine and a dead little fetus pops out from between her catfish lips. How the fuck did you survive that anyway?" -Flu

"I'm about to hook up a pair of fucking jumper cables to your nipple engagement rings and sent ten thousand volts through your semen stream until you light up like a queer Bat signal telling the Fleet to come back in." -Running Gag

"One thing's for sure - you'll never be mistaken for Henry Wadsworth Longfellow; not even if your first name were Henry, your cock spanned the Atlantic and you ejaculated gold bars." -girl

"Why bother? I'll just throw a stick into the spokes of your rainbow colored tandem razor scooter and let the asphalt do the work ." -flu

"Someone apparently rerouted your brainstem to your asshole and you've crapped yourself a nice little opinion on the whole subject, ya squid. -Ruthless1

"Once again the point sails over your head like the cardboard cutout hand of Bugs Bunny measuring kids at the fun park, shimp. -Ruthless1

"One more whelp out of you and I'll tie your three fingered left hand to the laces on the worn, splitsole converse hightop on your right foot, pull your poison wifebeater up over your mascera running eyelids, duct tape a festive bow to the sqeaky bald spot on the side of your sideways head, and send the entire gay package to the salvation army as a belated christmass donation for the homosexual underclass, you turkey slicking shit slurpee" -Herro

"If I wanted the time of day I'd lay you out at high noon and read your beak like a fuckin' sundial, Babs." - buzzsaw

"Quit performing analingus on your loose bowelled labrador and reveal your pointed head so that I can level it back out with my highschool's pottery kiln." -Peeing Dog

"So maybe you should rethink your strategy, because sitting back with a glazed over look on your face while I yoyo with your heart isn't what I would consider intimidating, unless of course you're trying to drown me with your spunk infested man juices, in that case, oh no, you got me you twisty turny deep sea rod wrangler." - flu

"The reason that you don't appear to be getting 'it', is because 'it' is rythmically clubbing the fingerprinted balt spot on top of your KFC greased monk cut into the far reaches of that STD playground and denture depository you refer to as a small intestine." - Herro

"You're still a crippled half assed fuckwit rolling over for a belly rub and a chance to lick your own balls." - Blackout

"Go back to your retarded cubby hole where the only thing you're proud of is the 8 inch corn row you did on your mother's happy trail." - Lady Phoenix

Re: Dovey/Murdy FlameTruth Shoutbox
« Sent to: The Wise and Powerful on: July 11, 2019, 09:03:38 pm »


The Saga of Dove ~ the end of a 10 year friendship

By Murdy

Well, when I had filed for my divorce, I called her because I had gotten really close with Chaos40/Joo/Biggie Smiles and I wanted to go see him. They had been broken up for like 2.5 years, she had lived with Jason and was then married to Gene and just had the baby... so I called her, said you know I’ve always had a thing for him and asked for her blessing to go see him. I was just friends with him at that point, but told her I kinda wanted to see what would happen. She told me I know you will take care of him and the boys and gave me her blessing.

She didn’t contact me at all and my divorce was pretty public on FB... which hurt. I was eventually invited to an online group with her and we discussed prolife... and we both gave pretty strong arguments on both sides.

In early May 2019, Biggie contacted me asking me to return to the site SG that I helped open and Dove and I had both left. Big had been asking me for a week... and finally after dinner and a couple cocktails I decided to log in. The board is aggressive, and I made some aggressive posts... what I wasn’t aware of was that she had already relapsed.

So, instead of coming to me via text or pm and telling me that she had an issue with what I was saying.... mind you, we had been friends for 10 years at this point... she goes to Big and another poster Flea about this. I don’t get along with Flea and Dove is friends with her.

Less than a week later Dove is telling me that she has an issue with my seeing Big. Um, hello... WTF? It was 2 years ago and we are just friends!!!

So she starts going on and on about how much she still loves him... and then 2 weeks later she is all over this other poster Martini... who she straight cuckolded Gene for. Gene actually logged into SG and saw all of this. People were NOT happy about this and no one was saying anything to her, but they were to me. I tried talking to her... told her he was her husband and he deserved one chance to make this work. I mean, he isn’t hitting her or cheating. He plays video games and the dude she is saying now is a professional gamer... um, hello?

So backtrack to that initial prolife argument with Dove... I have psychic ability and I told Big I think this is about you... but I thought it was coming from Flea because she has always had a thing for Joo and banned me after my prolife fight with Dove. So ,I told Flea that she was the only one on the board he hasn’t slept with... and Flea went nuts, which was what I wanted. I don’t get along with her and I’ve been friends with Dove for 10 years.. back the fuck up, interloper bitch.

So, I keep getting banned on SG, there are a few posters who want to leave the internet for good and Dovey comes at me with well they are going to make me a global on SG. I told her that isn’t going to keep these posters here. I told her that 2 of them were only logging in because of me and wouldn’t stay unless I’m an Admin. Eventually, she threw a fit about this... saying that these are her people to and why don’t they trust her. Um, because you have fucked people over and we have all watched and people don’t trust you.

So I open the new board and Martini wants to be involved. I think great. SG was rumored to die anyways... he is dating my good friend from online... Big built the forum... this is great! Well, Martini takes this as his chance to troll the new forum owner. I’m not a flamer and I’ve been in retirement now for 5 years. I sense that he is fucking with me because I have so many phone conversations and I interrogate people for a living. I have text messages from him giving me his word that he won’t troll the admin panel while the board is new... and that he isn’t going to PI rape any of my members because I’m getting sent all this shit from other posters about how bad he has been in the past. So martini schedules an interview with me to talk about the board that he claimed will be a podcast to promote the board.

Instead of posting the podcast, he gives this BS recording issue excuse... and the next thing I know, Dove goes to see him and they start podcasting about this public cuckold. Then martini turns around and bashed my forum.

Ok, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that she was in on this. So, I’m done.

How are you going to lash out with some vindictive retaliation against me for Big? Oh that’s right, you’re on relapse and an ex-stripper with a vindictive mean streak.... and you’re falling off the rails because you’ve relapsed, went crazy and you’re in self-destruction mode now.

I was friends with her for 10 years. I was one of her only friends when she ended up in the gutter on heroin after I was telling her to not get involved with Gene.

~ THE END OF MURDY & DOVEY ~

BH Classic: Lord of the Ringpiece

LORD OF THE RINGPIECE – another story about Yoyo

Chapter 1
by Evil Blood

It was a fine sunny day in the Elven Kingdoms. The birds twittered merrily in the trees, lambs gambolled happily in the fields and a sense of peace and tranquillity filled the land. All was fine with the world.

Sadly for him, Yoyo wasn't IN the Elven Kingdoms...he was stuck in a poor neighbourhood filled with niggers in Oklahoma City...and it was raining. It wasn't the rain that was bringing Yoyo down...nor was it the niggers, each of whom had sent him death threats since reading the flyers put through their mailboxes containing Yoyo's rather explicit views on black people. It wasn't the fact that he was a talentless nobody, a Netdead piece of detritus fit only for the electronic oblivion of the Recycle Bin. What was pissing Yoyo off was the simple fact that, once again, he was getting a kicking at everybody else's hands on the forums. Yoyo's life was a series of one unmitigated disaster after another and, just lately, it had been going downhill as if rocket powered. What was he to do? Apart from bitch at everybody, complain about his lot in life and post everybody's personal details, which made him feel less insignificant that it had any right to do; he could do precisely nothing about it.

After several minutes worth of crying at the fate of his latest Gimpfighters style forum fiasco he decided to spend another fruitless hour writing letters of complaint to Homeland Security which, due to advanced handwriting recognition software, always got forwarded to a Ms. Muriel Worsnip, a 53 year old hairdresser from Gary, Indiana who used to be a welder named Mr. Roger Matthews before he decided that his 6' 5", 297lb body looked cute in a dress. The Roger half of the personality was under the impression that Yoyo was dangerously unhinged and in need of electro-shock therapy whilst the Muriel half was convinced that Yoyo had the hots for her and would like nothing more than to ram her dainty 10" cock down his throat and choke him to death on a tidal wave of cum – Muriel had some serious personality disorders and had never managed to come to terms with the fact that her ass looked big in a skirt.

Anyway...we digress. Yoyo decided to take his welfare check and go shopping. He was running low on "Joy Boy Anal Lube" and had a hot date set up for that night at Club Liquid...he still remembered the friction burns on his ass from his last unlubed adventure and was determined not to let it happen again. It had been a week before he could sit down properly. No, Yoyo was certain that he would never again suffer the indignity caused by 'ring of fire'. Off he minced to the drug store with a spring in his step (he'd forgotten to remove his vibrator) but, before even half way there, reality, as so often happens in these shitty stories, decided to give a little twist and our little Yomosexual fairy found his life turned upside down.

One minute he was walking down the street getting soaked by the rain and blaming everybody else for his own shortcomings when, all of a sudden, there was a stomach-wrenching rip in the fabric of time and space and Yoyo found himself transported to a strange place whilst the contents of his bowels found themselves transported into his underwear – due to the fact that he was full of shit at the best of times, he didn't notice this. He looked around but couldn't recognise his surroundings...the rain had mercifully stopped trying to pound his head down into his shoes but he was also aware of a rather nasty smell, the location of which always seemed to be behind him, no matter which way he turned. Yoyo shrugged it all off and decided to make the best of it...let's face it, when you're as big a loser as Yoyo, ANY change has to be good.

Yoyo walked towards a small knot of trees in the distance, it looked as good a place as any to walk to and, if the truth be told, he had rather fond memories of trees...the feel of the rough bark scraping the skin from his face as his attacker rammed his full length into Yoyo's anus...the guy hadn't bothered to call or write even once after Yoyo had been released from the hospital.

No matter how far or how quickly he walked, that smell still followed Yoyo and it was starting to worry him: a faint miasma of corruption overlaid with the unmistakable aroma of Crisco...what could it be? Yoyo began to know fear - if the unknown thing that gave off the stench were to catch him in the open, it would be likely to rip open his gizzard and eat his entrails for breakfast...or possibly brunch, depending on the time of day. His entire life flashed before his eyes...fortunately, this had happened to him so many times that he was able to sleep through the boring bits (which was most of it). He began to run. The smell kept pace. It was behind him...whenever he turned his head and looked back, the stench got worse. He ran faster...run Yoyo, run. Sadly, he wasn't looking where he was going and fell into a deep hole.

When he regained consciousness, he found that he wasn't alone: a small man with hairy feet knelt beside him shaking his head.

"Hey, mister" said the man, "you've shit your pants".

The light of understanding filled Yoyo's eyes (hey, there's a first time for everything!)...of course...that would explain the smell of crisco.

"Hi" said Yoyo "my name's Yoyo...who are you?"

"My name is Bimbo Bunghole and I'm a Nobbit."

"A Nobbit? Don't you mean Hobbit?"

"Look, you dumb fuck, I think I should know what species I am. I'm a Nobbit...okay. We're related to Hobbits only we differ in one important way."

"Oh" said Yoyo, intrigued by this strange creature. "And what is so different about a Nobbit?"

"Take down your trousers, clean your ass and you'll find out, bitch." Said Bunghole with a nasty gleam in his eye.

Yoyo couldn't help smiling...it seemed as though things were looking up after all.


Chapter 2
by Vitriol

As Yoyo started to unbutton his soiled trousers, smiling coyly at Bimbo the Nobbit, he felt the sudden impression that the universe had just did a backflip. There was also new warmth on his buttocks, announcing the arrival in his shorts of additional fertilizer, and an accompanying rise in intensity of the stench permeating the air. Forgetting to refasten his pants, Yoyo looks around.

"Bimbo? Mr. Bunghole? Nobbit person?!"

The Nobbit was nowhere to be seen.

"Awww, just when things were getting good. Story of my life, I reckon."

Reluctantly admitting to himself that a little fun with a Nobbit was out of the question, the miasma pouring from Yoyo's ass saw its opportunity and redoubled its efforts to gain his attention.

"Gack! I really, really stink now. I wonder if there's any place I can wash up?"

For the first time since experiencing the quantum acrobatics, Yoyo took close note of his surroundings. He was no longer in a hole, just in the bottom of a bowl-shaped depression in the countryside. From Yoyo's current vantage, all he could see was grass, and a few trees rising above the bowl's rim. He rebuttoned his fetid pants, and trotted up the grassy incline toward the nearest tree.

"Wow!"

Below him, stretching from one end of the horizon the other, is a vast city. Turning, Yoyo sees that the city actually surrounds the half-dozen or so acres of grass and trees of which the depression marks the approximate center.

"I've never seen so many buildings in one place! I'll bet there's billions of people here, and lots of bars, with drunken men... *millions* of drunken men!... just waiting for me!"

With a renewed sense of purpose, Yoyo sets off as fast as his bandy little legs will carry him.

As he approaches the edge of the grassy area, he sees that there's a wall surrounding the park. Off to his right he can see an open gate, and heads toward it.

At the gate are two women talking. When Yoyo is five yards from the women, one of them sees him. Her eyes open wide, and her mouth gapes. The other woman, with a curious tilt to her eyebrows, turns and then mimics her friend's expression.

Yoyo now stands before them, and in his most genteel and suave manner asks: "Hey, bitches. Where are all the cute guys in this dump?"

One of the women turns and runs away. The other, pulling her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose, is braver.

"What are you, and what *is* that foul stench?" she asks.

"I'm Yoyo, and I shat my pants. Twice now, in fact. Can I get directions to the nearest cock farm, or what?"

The woman is obviously bewildered, and doesn't answer. Exasperated, Yoyo passes through the gate into the city.

"Fucking sow. Guess I'll just have to find a bar on my own."

The woman is still frozen to her place, and appears to be fighting dry heaves. Yoyo dismisses her from his thoughts, as he's determined to search for drunken men, and can only process one cognitive act at any given time.

Making his way deeper into the city, passing people going in and out of buildings as well as making their own way along the sidewalks, Yoyo begins to feel there's something odd about the whole place, although he can't spare the brainpower to pin down whatever is making him increasingly uneasy.

"Now if I were a hot stud looking for action, where would I go?" he thinks to himself.

Yoyo wanders around for another fifteen or twenty minutes, ignoring the looks of disgust and bewilderment that meet him everywhere he goes. Finally, tired and frustrated, he decides to rest on what appears to be a bus stop bench. He plops himself down upon it, and is mildly aroused by the squishing sensation caused by his butt hitting the bench seat.

Having broken the crust which had formed in his shorts, the smell of several pounds of fecal matter again wafts around Yoyo like an evil cloud.

Yoyo turns to the bench's only other occupant, an elderly lady who has just turned an alarming shade of green, and notes: "Whew! That's pretty rotten, isn't it?"

The poor lady vomits copiously into the street, and begins to stagger off. Realizing she is still downwind of Yoyo, she turns and staggers even faster in the other direction.

Yoyo shrugs, and sits back to relax for a minute.

As has already been stated, Yoyo can only think about one thing at a time. As he allowed his mind to momentarily release its grip on the manhunt, the something's-not-right feeling rose to the top of his counciousness like a methane bubble in a particularly rancid swamp.

Looking around, Yoyo knows he should be alarmed... but is still unsure why that should be. On the surface, this was simply a city like any other; women walking along alone or in small groups, women arriving at or departing stores and offices, women driving up and down the streets, women...

"HOLY FUCK!" shouts Yoyo, jumping up from the bench. So shocked is Yoyo, he doesn't even notice that his pants were slightly glued to the bench seat, and came loose with a damp "shhhrrick!" when he stood.

Staring aghast up and down the boulevard, Yoyo breaks out in a cold sweat.

"Wh-wh-where... where are all the FUCKING MEN?"

Indeed- every single person Yoyo has seen since entering the city, he now recollects with horror, has been female.

Wild-eyed and more than somewhat unglued, Yoyo races to the nearest woman; a twenty-something girl who immediately puts both her hands over her lower face and mumbles: "Eeeewww!"

"Where? WHERE?!?" demands Yoyo.

"Where what, and do you even *know* how much you stink?" replies the lass, from behind her fingers.

Yoyo, making an enormous effort, calms himself somewhat and asks as nicely as he knows how: "Where are all the men, bitch?"

"I don't understand. What's a 'men'?" answers the girl, beginning to back away.

Yoyo loses it again: "Men, men, MEN dammit! You gotta have men! Like meeee!"

Yoyo starts to follow the retreating girl, reaching out as if he would shake the answers he wants off of her.

The young lady, who has been taking ju-jitsu lessons since she was nine years old, reacts instinctively. Her first punch breaks Yoyo's nose. That's followed by a kick to his solar plexus, and another punch that lands clean on his weak jaw.

Yoyo has just enough time to wonder why it got dark so suddenly, before he plummets into unconsciousness.

The sound of laughter and jeers slowly worm their way into his hearing. Before he opens his eyes, he notes that he seems to be lying on cold concrete with something, perhaps straw, scattered over it. An odor assails his nostrils, and he concludes that whatever else has happened since that little bitch knocked him out, he hasn't been hosed down or given clean clothes.

Tentatively he opens one eyelid.

"Look mommy! It's awake!"

Yoyo sees a young girl, on the other side of a stout set of metal bars, pointing at him and tugging on the skirt of a woman standing beside her.

"Huuh? Wazzut... argh?" is the entire query Yoyo can dredge up from what was always a limited vocabulary in the best of circumstances.

The girl's mother wrinkles her nose, and says to the youngster: "It called itself a 'men', according to the news story. It even said it was looking for other 'men', although how anyone could've made sense of those grunts and whistles I'll never know. It must be very lost, or very confused. There are no 'men' on our world. Someone surely would have noticed the awful reek if there were others."

Yoyo heard, and was stunned. "No men?" he thought to himself. "None at all?"

The women gathered in front of Yoyo's display cage all took a surprised step backward when the thing they were studying lifted its head to howl long and loudly. Although most of the women just thought it sounded beastial and mindless, a few considered that the noise had an almost lonely undertone.

One of the latter spoke her thoughts aloud: "Poor creature. It must really miss the other 'men', wherever and whatever they are."

As Yoyo continued to blubber and moan, even the sympathetic women became annoyed at the din, and wandered away to explore the rest of the zoo.

Yoyo; broken, forelorn, and extremely foul-smelling; banged his head on the bars of his cage, and wept.

Chapter 3
by Evil Blood

The constant banging on the bars reminded Yoyo that it had been a little while since there had been any banging at his back door. Ahhh, a rather sticky situation...or, rather...lack of stickiness. Suddenly, there was the familiar gut-wrenching sensation as every atom in his body was pulled apart and transported to another dimension. Yoyo, once again, noisily voided the contents of his bowels – if this carried on, he'd exhaust the cum reserves stored in his lower intestinal tract and would be forced to take drastic steps to recharge it. This had only happened to Yoyo once before – he'd lost his job at the Sperm Bank as a result for drinking on the job - whilst THEY'D lost 3 years worth of deposits.

Yoyo looked around. What the fuck? He seemed to be on the bridge of some futuristic ship. A very strange looking man stood at the controls wearing a headscarf and a very nasty dirty sanchez which, on closer examination, proved to be a threadbare goatee - the buttocks were cut out of his trousers.

"You look familiar". Said Yoyo. The man looked up... "Welcome on board the Starship GenderBenderprise, fag. I am Captain Cock." The man moved to another set of controls..."and I'm Mr. Sperm"...yet another move..."Ensign Jerkoff"...and another "Lt. Screwlu"...

"Wait a minute" said Yoyo..."you're all the same person."

"Shit," said Captain Cock, "it worked okay for my ancestor when he ran gay4pay.cum...fag."

"Ahh," said Yoyo, "that's why you look so familiar – you're related to Jeremy 'Dicklips' Daspin."

"Yup", said Cock, "he was my great, great, great, great-grandmother, fag. He married Redeye in a ceremony in L.A. and they lived happily ever after until the riots in 2004 when he was DJ'ing in a nightclub, farted and drowned half of Oakland in a sea of cum. They never did find all of his body parts but there was enough shit left on the end of Redeye's dick to clone Jeremy and so, here I am, fag – 5 generations on and just as gay and crap as fagazzbugsy@webtv.net herself."

"Wanna buttfuck me?" asked Yoyo.

"Can't," said Captain Cock, "I can only get it on if I'm the bitch, fag."

"Shit, I have exactly the same problem." Whined Yoyo, "what shall we do?"

"We could always call the Doc up here and see if he's interested, fag." Cock moved to the intercom..."Dr. GayBoy to the bridge."

Seconds later a nasal Australian voice crackled into life..."Dammit, Jeremy, I'm a doctor, not a gigolo. Anyway...Dr. GayBoy is my brother, not me and, even if it was me, I don't live in sick bay because I moved. HAHAHAHAFUCKINGHAHAHA, you're owned so fucking leave me alone and I'm not having a meltdown, jewboy fag...I'm just waiting for my money to clear so I can buy another domain name but it doesn't mean that I'm penniless because I lost my own one and I owned you and I'm repeating everything you've ever said to me back at you but I'll deny it and claim to have posted proof so fuck off, PKB owned bitch and this isn't really me because I committed suicide..."

Cock switched off the intercom shaking his head in frustration. "Sorry about that, fag...Dr GayBoy suffers from terrible psychotic episodes and this, sadly is one of them. In fact, fag, it's the same episode that he's had non-stop for the last 50 years."

"Hmmmm," said Yoyo, "he reminds me of somebody I once had cyber-sex with...he was crap and suicidal too."

"Would that be Adam Tyrelle of Emu Heights NSW, fag?"

"How the fuck did you know that?" asked Yoyo, amazed.

"Easy...he locked himself in his freezer in 2003 trying to commit suicide but forgot to switch it off first. Nobody missed him and it wasn't until they sent somebody round to repossess all his shit in 2343 for not paying his electric bill that he was found. That's him down in sick bay...he's a lousy doctor, an even lousier fuck but he works for free because nobody else wants him and this is the first job he's ever had, fag."

"Okay, but that doesn't solve the problem of my cock hungry ass". Whined Yoyo, starting to feel sorry for himself again.

"Well," said Captain Cock, "we could always go to Starbase Deep Throat 9 and look up a couple of my old friends...Captain Crisco and Queerk, the bartender."

"What about Captain Jean Luc Dickhard, Ensign Wesley Felcher and Geordi LaFag?" said Yoyo, really getting into the swing of things. "By the way, you didn't say "fag" just now."

"What the fuck are you talking about, bitch? There's no such people, now shut up and bring me a beer you faggy fag of a faggot."

Yoyo went and got the beer, he'd always liked being treated rough – perhaps that's why his ass was designated as an official truck stop.

The ASS GenderBenderprise minced its way to Deep Throat 9 but it was taking too long...Yoyo's cum reserves were dangerously low and, if he didn't get a hot beef injection soon, he was going to go crazy and felch everything in sight. As the only things in sight were the clone of a gay L.A. DJ and a suicidal Australian Gimp with manic depression and enough dick cheese to bring the French fromage industry to its knees – he didn't much relish his options.

"Shit," thought Yoyo..."there has to be a dimension where I can get my sphincter sundered by a guy who's hung like an elephant. Why does this crap happen to me all the time? Everyone fucks me over but nobody wants to fuck my ass."

"USE THE FORCE, YOUNG SHETLEY." Called out a disembodied voice.

"Arrrgggghhhh," said Yoyo..."I'm suffering cock withdrawal and now I'm hearing voices!"

"THE FORCE WILL BE STRONG UP YOU."

"Fuck off, leave me alone...I've told the FBI and Homeland Security about you. It's illegal to hack into my head and implant voices...you'll go to jail – I've taken a screendump of my alpha waves and that proves that you're just trying to scare me".

"SHUT UP GIMP AND USE THE FUCKING FORCE"

Suddenly...

Chapter 4
by Uterus on Toast

....the stirring sounds of a 1000 kazoo orchestra were heard, and opening credits began to roll....

Part IV - A New Grope

Long ago in a galaxy far away, Yoyo was dreaming wet and sticky dreams. Hordes of Klingons had infested his arse hairs and were using his shrivelled testicles for target practice, while no less than three Borg spheres were involved in a vain attempt to ass-immolate the Yomosexual's infected rectum. Yoyo giggled in his sleep as the conquerors rolled about in his glory hole like a trio of galactic beng-wah balls and was nearing a shuddering climax when a particularly ugly Klingon sank his teeth into Yoyo's scrotum. A sickening feeling feeling in his gut jerked Yoyo back to reality to discover space and time had folded yet again and he had crapped the equivalent of a planet-sized swamp out of his shitter. He was once more, quite alone.

"Aww, shit", sniffed Yoyo.

Shit indeed. As the yomosexual surveyed his foetid surroundings, he realised he was standing in a crappy quagmire of his own making. He suspected as much for not only had he suddenly lost a lot of weight, but he could see condoms and empty crisco bottles everywhere. In the distance, families of hamsters and gerbils he recognised from long ago were eyeing him warily lest he try a little anal insertion, while nearby a chipmunk he had used in a felching session on his last trip to Disneyland was amusing itself by scooping up turd patties and hurling them at him with unerring aim.

Yoyo also realised he was coated from head to toe in sloppy green shit.

"Worse it gets", he trilled in his delirium of madness, forgetting every grammatical rule ever fucked into him at grade school. "A man I want, Man I need, yes?"

"Splut". A particularly smelly hunk of Yomodung hit poor Yoyo square between the eyes. The chipmunk chattered and ran off. Suddenly, a fierce roar was heard from above. Yoyo, being as he was for the first time in his life completely void of shit, wet himself instead. What if that was the evil beast who had stalked him unseen though all his adventures making this dreadful noise? What would poor Yoyo do? What he always did in such situations of course. He cowered in abject fear while the roar increased in volume.

A large pink Bow-Tie fighter rocketed through the mists and crashed into the swamp, deluging Yoyo in more green shit and knocking him forcibly back into a pile of well used condoms. The roar stopped, bringing a sullen silence to the world, broken only by the sounds of sewerage gently lapping at Yoyo's feet. Suddenly, the half submerged fighter beeped out the chorus to "In The Navy" and a hatch on its side sprang open. Out pranced the most delectable sight Yomo had seen all day, clad in a sequined leather g-string and wielding an inflatable cocksaber festooned with twinkling christmas lights. Yoyo's breath was quite taken away (yes, he'd forgotten to breathe again). In imminent danger of asphyxiation, some warning signal deep in Yoyo's mind brought his attention back to basic survival skills. His choking and spluttering alerted the interloper to his presence.

"Hi", it said. "My name is Shittalker. What's yours you sexy beast?"

Yoyo couldn't believe his good fortune, or the size of Shittalker's cocksaber either for that matter. He coughed up a hunk of shit from off his cleft palette and spoke.

"Jedi master am I, yes. Make you strong and powerful I will, hmmm?"

"Sounds good", said Shittalker. "Will there be nookie?"

"Silly young Shittalker" giggled Yoyo, "What think you I mean? Nookie you want, Nookie you have, I think, yes?" as an R2D2 unit launched itself out of the fighter's hatch headfirst into the swamp, beeping angrily as it went. Shittalker minced over to Yoyo undoing his g-string as he advanced, but stopped short when he caught the pungent aroma wafting from the yomosexual fuckmuppet.

"You smell" he lisped.

"Smell bad I do, yes. Much better I bend over, young Shittalker" said Yoyo, seeing his chance slipping away like fresh turds down his calves after a particularly nasty curry.

"No, I don't think so" said Shittalker backing into the R2D2 unit which had since re-emerged from the swamp and was trundling about looking for a vantage point from which to hurl itself back in. "But Adam here will do the honours, wont you Adam?"

The R2D2 unit swivelled to look at Yoyo and various phallic appendages sprang from its flank, twirled rapidly and retreated with a loud clang. It's beeps and whistles adopted an alarmed undertone as it reversed back into the swamp with an evil "splut". Yoyo, mildly alarmed at the prospect of yet another day without sex, was nonetheless intrigued with the R2D2 unit (or more accurately its appendages, many of which surpassed his wildest crisco lubricated fantasies).

Shittalker noted Yoyo's interest. "Thats Adam, my state of the art R2D2 unit" he said, "equipped with internet capability and all the latest in marital aids".

Yoyo drooled. He didn't know what an internet capability was, but if it was anything like the bewildering array of dildoes and vibrators he'd just seen, he wanted a piece of it. A BIG piece. Repeatedly.

Shittalker, noticing Yoyo's interest in the R2D2 unit which was even now emerging warily from the swamp, seized his chance and made good his escape. Skipping down the path, inflatable cocksabre at the ready (just in case he bumped into any more yomosexuals) he suddenly stopped short as the sounds of flutes and mandolins assailed his earlobes.

"That's pretty" he breathed.

"Can you feel my gums, Tardmongooooo" sang an as yet unseen bard. "Can you feel them wrapped around your manmeat sucking you to meeeee...."

Shittalker was entranced. Anything who sang that well couldn't be evil, right? Adjusting his g-string and putting fresh batteries in his cocksaber, he pranced down the path, his anus tingling with anticipation as the singing grew louder.

"I was cumming in your hair last night, your hole was tight, Tardmongooooooo....."

The sound was closer now. Rounding a corner in the path Shittalker spied a man sporting a dirty sanchez and baseball cap with a small bulge in his hot pants deejaying to a party of sockpuppets. The sockpuppets themselves lay on the ground immobile as most normal sockpuppets do. In fact, had sockpuppets been imbued with mobility, these ones would have assuredly been hobbling off in search of seamstresses and washing machines. Some were more hole than sock, and all were starched beyond belief. Shittalker only had eyes for the deejay, who was currently segueing from one Abba song to the next.

"Ring, Ring, give me the juice of your nut" sang the deejay, his hand slipping into his shorts and tugging wildly at its meagre contents. "Ring, Ring, pound my bum like I'm a slut" he continued before he noticed Shittalker tugging on his nipple tassels.

"Oh hi", he said, tugging a crusty sockpuppet from his pants and tossing it on the pile. "I'm Analin Vader".

"Hi" said Shittalker. "Will you be my friend?"

"Sure thing" said Analin as he felt up Shittalker's crotch. "Where do you want it?"

"Right here will do fine" said Shittalker, undoing his g-string and draping himself provocatively across the mixing desk. Analin Vader grunted as he forced his two inches of erect throbbing manmeat between Shittalker's quivering thighs and went for the reacharound, smacking Shittalker's oblong head about with a penis-shaped microphone.

"Oh yeah" barked Analin. "Feel the power of the Dork Side. Who's your Daddy? WHO'S YOUR DADDY???"

Meanwhile back in the swamp, the ever hopeful Yoyo was putting the moves on Adam who had re-emerged from the swamp innumerable times, only to hurl itself back in at vain attempts of suicide. No matter how much Yoyo pleaded, the recalcitrant R2D2 unit with the vibrating attatchments seemed to prefer the repidly congealing fecal matter to Yoyo's ample shitter. Which was not after all so surprising, as the yomosexual fuckmuppet was at this point cutting a particularly terrifying figure, a wildly slavering hairy turd on legs with an ever growing army of flies in attendance. Not even a mother could love it.

Finally, exhausted, Yoyo sat down and began to weep. Oklahoma City had never looked so good - at least it had plenty of drunken men and a fire hydrant on each street corner. Yoyo would have done just about anything for 5 minutes with a fire hydrant to fill his crack with. "Even sleep with a woman" blubbed the abject yomosexual, as behind him Adam finally slammed into a particularly solid and evil smelling turd and fell forever silent.

Will Yoyo forsake the primitive swamps for the fresh fields of Endor for tea, crumpets and Nookie with the lovable Ewoks, or will he merely be transported to midwestern america to be digitally pack-raped by the glowing fingers of an army of stranded ET's hell bent on dialling home on his ring? Will Shittalker discover Analin Vader is indeed his father and turn to the Dork Side? Will ANY of us be able to contain ourselves for the next extremely gay instalment of "Yoyo - Lord of the Ringpiece"???

Tune in next week and find out...

WebTV Classic: Throwing Tumble A Bone
Reposted by Vitriol

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Tumble = Temple
Obiwannosi = ThWAP
Kwirk = Poppy/Regan

I don't think you know the others; SunCe rarely posts anywhere now and KiNo (King Nothing) passed away in 2005.

------------------------------------
Throwing Tumble A Bone

[fade in]

Tumble is outside by the 'tard pool, resting on a tattered old lounge chair. He appears to be dozing, and laying open on his chest is a dog-eared copy of "Creeativ Spelling For Fun and Prophet; Forth Edishun".

[camera moves in for a close-up of Tumble's pocked face, as a thin line of drool runs down his chin and he begins to snore]

[fade out]

[cut to Sir Vitriol in his workshop]

Vit's rummaging through a box- occasionally picking up an item, looking it over, then dropping it back into the box. Finally, he seems to find one that satisfies him and takes it to a bench on the other side of the room. There's a vice on the bench, and Vit clamps the item into the vice. He then reaches to the wall behind the bench, and pulls down a hand saw. Vit puts the saw to the item, and begins to efficiently make a horizontal cut. Streams of dust fall regularly from alternating sides of the item.

[cut to a hallway- the walls and floors are squared fieldstone, the ceiling is made of large rough-hewn wooden beams]

Sir SunCe walks down the hall, easily making his way by the light of oil lanterns spaced comfortably apart along the walls. He's whistling lightly, almost soundlessly. He slows outside a sturdy door, and then stops. He seems to listen for a moment, then opens the door and walks into Vit's workshop.

SunCe: "Whatcha doing?"

Vit: "Hmm? Oh, hey dood. I'm making a present for Tumble."

[Vit continues to use a drill press, where it looks like he's hollowing out the same item he'd been sawing on earlier]

SunCe: "A present... for... *Tumble*?!?"

Vit: "Heh. You'll see. I'm gonna be busy for a while; want me to let you know when I'm ready to give it to him?"

SunCe: "Sure... I have a feeling I shouldn't miss this. Later!"

Vit: "See ya."

[SunCe returns to the hallway, shuts the workshop door, and stands there for a couple of seconds with a thoughtful look on his face. Then he shrugs, and continues down the hall]

[cut to Tumble, still sleeping in the lounge chair. He snorts, tosses his head twice, and opens his eyes. He yawns, stretches, then picks up the "Creeativ Spelling" book where it's landed on the ground beside him. He starts to read the book, but within a few seconds is nodding again. As the book slides once more to the sparse grass beneath his chair, he resumes his temporarily halted snoring.]

[fade out]

[fade in on Vit, at a different bench within the workshop. He's wearing padded coveralls, and wearing what looks almost like a welder's helmet and visor. With bulky leather gloves, he combines two vials of murky liquid, then pours the result into an already half-full beaker of some clear substance. The beaker rattles around on the bench for a while, and the stuff inside turns an evil-looking crimson shade. A hapless fly buzzes across the bench, and directly over the beaker. The fly bursts into flame and vanishes in a puff of ash. Vit grins.]

[cut to Obiwannosi striding down the hallway toward the door to Vit's shop. At the door, he turns and tries to open it, only to bounce off as the door refuses to budge. Muttering, he knocks on the door.]

Vit: "Come in, it's open."

Obi: "Like hell! You think I didn't already try that?"

[Vit opens the door from the inside]

Vit: "Sorry... guess I forgot to unlock it after I finished up with the chemicals. Better safe than- well, you remember what happened to Kwirk..."

Obi: "Heh. You have a point. The poor little numbskull never was the same after that."

Vit: "Wassup?"

Obi: "I ran into Sunny, and he said something I just couldn't believe. You *really* making a gift for Tumble, for crying out loud?"

Vit: "Absolutely. As soon as I finish one or two last details, I'm going to give it to him. Say, why don't you round up Sunny and meet me on the battlements in, say, twenty minutes? I'll bring you both up to speed."

Obi: "I think you've fuckin' lost it, but okay."

[Obi walks out, shaking his head]

[Vit walks over to the bench he'd originally been working at, and starts gently screwing a top piece down onto the one already in the vice.]

[cut to Tumble, face down on the lounge chair. A shadow passes partly over him, halts momentarily, then moves away.]

[fade in on the battlements atop Castle OOTIKOF]

Obi: "I'm telling you, it ain't right."

SunCe: "He's got his reasons, I'm sure."

KiNo: "Are you *sure* he was making something for that mook Tumble? He might've been making a birthday present for DTBW, and just didn't want anyone to tell her."

Obi: "I think he meant it, KiNo. It was weird."

Vit: "Talking about me behind my back, you fuckheads? Heh."

SunCe: "Dayum, dood. Don't sneak up on people like that."

Obi: "Alright, dammit. What the hell kind of drugs are you on?"

KiNo: "Funny... he doesn't *look* like a raving lunatic. No more than yesterday, that is."

Vit: "Bite me, KiNo. My, it's awfully bright out here, isn't it?"

[Vit produces a pair of dark sunglasses, and puts them on]

[SunCe KiNo and Obi look at each other]

SunCe: "Uh, it's almost dusk, mano. And the sun's behind us."

[Vit pulls out two more sets of shades, and hands one each to Obi and SunCe]

Vit: "I didn't know you'd be here, KiNo. Got sunglasses?"

KiNo: "Always carry my RayBans. Um, you really think I need them?"

[Vit grins devilishly]

Vit: "You just might. You very well just might."

[KiNo Obi and SunCe study Vit's diabolical grin, then hurriedly don the shades]

[cut to Tumble. He's laying on his side, and making erratic pawing gestures at thin air, grunting sporadically. As the camera pans back a bit, an alarm clock can be seen on the ground next the lounge chair. In a few ticks of the second hand, the alarm suddenly goes off with a raucous chiming. Tumble flies off the chair in a mighty spasm, then crawls to the alarm and flails at it blindly. After a few wild misses, he manages to disarm it... probably by luck.]

Tumble: "HmmphWozzat?"

[Tumble slowly gets to his feet. He staggers back and forth a few times, then seems to collect himself enough to remember his book and chair. He folds the latter, and bends to pick up the former...]

Tumble: "Ooooo, munchy!"

[Tumble drops his chair, and lunges for a discarded, partly chewed MilkBone biscuit. He looks suspiciously around as if he might expect the bone's former owner to pop up and claim it, quickly stuffs the treat into his mouth, and begins to gum it zestfully]

Tumble: "Grrmpthmmmgahahaha!"

[cut to the battlements]

[Vit reaches into his jacket, and pulls out what looks to be a small remote control with only one largeish red button]

KiNo: "What you got there?"

[Vit pulls out a telescoping antenna from one end of the device]

Vit: "Darn it, I gave Tumble his present, but forgot to leave a card."

Obi: "Umm... huh?"

Vit: "I'll just have to think of some other way to let him know who it's from. I believe this ought to do it..."

[Vit presses the button]

[After the shockwave passed, and their ears stopped ringing- Vit, Obi, KiNo and SunCe look down the valley toward the 'tard pool. Where the 'tard pool used to be, anyway. All that's left is a mildly steaming mud pit.]

Obi: "Nice one. The 'tards are going to pissed, though, when they see what you did to their favorite wallow."

Vit: "There's a well of idiocy feeding the Pool. It'll fill back up soon enough."

KiNo: "Hot damn! Better than the 4th of July!"

SunCe: "Too bad that Rump idjit wasn't with him... speaking of which, you got any more of that stuff?"

Vit: "Buckets. It's easy to make, and not like it takes much to incinerate one of 'em."

[slow fade, roll credits]

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https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/resources/idt-sh/the_godfather_of_fake_news



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