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wwwwyamd: a-humble-waffle: burn-brighter-than-fire: oxfordcommaforever: etanselian: sexhaver: the LAPD is having a town hall and getting fucking eviscerated The automated YouTube captions are bad in places so here is a transcription of this incredible call. [Video description: A Zoom call featuring a video grid of seven attendees, all of whom are members of the Los Angeles Police Commission. There is a timer in the upper left corner for callers keeping them to two minutes. The current caller is Jon Barr.] LAPC President Eileen Decker, responding to the question “can you hear me?”: Yes, we can. Barr: Great. Uh, first things first: Chief Moore, you’ve got to do a better job of pretending you care about this, man. I’ve been watching you roll your eyes and offer halfhearted smirks acting like a teenager who’s falling asleep in detention. Are you not aware of the war crimes your department’s doing, or are you just that impatient to go do more of them? I see a lot of you, particularly Soboroff, only react when folks use profanity in their remarks. If you think curse words are bad, wait until you hear about these 600-plus murders your department has committed over the last seven years! As long as Moore’s out here equating peaceful protestors with cops who murder black people, you all could pretend to be as angry about murder as the F-word, okay kids? I know you’re all having a rough day, what with everyone here telling you you’re bad at your jobs. Have you considered being good at your jobs? If not, you could find new jobs in retail or restaurants. I know how desperate Garcetti is to get Angelenos consuming again during a global pandemic. Where were the curfews then, by the way? Weird. Chief Moore is morally obligated to resign. Mikey, I know you said you didn’t mean protestors are as much to blame for George Floyd’s murder as his murderers – that’s a lie! It is what you meant! And we all know it. Mikey’s made it clear in his racist actions and empty platitudes that he doesn’t care about the well-being of his constituents. He loves to tear gas them, blind them, force them indoors with curfews that are announced only a half-hour before they take effect, and racially profile as he does so! Don’t think I didn’t hear about how yesterday you sent out an alert in English saying curfew started at 5PM, and sent out an alert right after in Spanish saying it started at 6! What’s up with that, bud? All your cute Zoom background photos of the city won’t trick us into thinking you care about anyone but yourselves and what’s in your pockets. To close with a James Cameron quote, “Cops think of all non-cops as less than they are: stupid, weak, and evil. They dehumanize the people they are sworn to protect, and desensitize themselves in order to do that job.” That’s you pigs to a T. Black lives matter, act like it. Happy Tuesday. This one was amazing. I’m also a big fan of this one- short and sweet [Video description: Zoom call featuring a video grid of seven attendees, all of whom are members of the Los Angeles Police Commission. There is a timer in the upper left corner for callers set to 30 seconds. The current caller is Jeremy Frisch.] Frisch: Hello can you hear me? Woman: Hi, yes. Frisch [getting progressively louder and angrier]: Black lives matter, defund the police. I find it disgusting that the LAPD is slaughtering peaceful protestors on the street. I had two friends go to the protest in Beverly Hills a couple days ago and the protest was peaceful until the police showed up with their excessive violent force, shooting rubber bullets and throwing tear gas. [Frisch is now yelling] Is this what you think is protecting and serving? Because I think it’s bullshit! Fuck you Michael Moore! I refuse to call you an officer or a chief because you don’t deserve those titles. You are a disgrace! Suck my dick and choke on it! I yield my time. FUCK YOU! Holy mother of FUCK they went off Thank you, thank you thank you for transcribing this because I was in a position with my “neutral” family where I couldn’t listen. Thank you : wwwwyamd: a-humble-waffle: burn-brighter-than-fire: oxfordcommaforever: etanselian: sexhaver: the LAPD is having a town hall and getting fucking eviscerated The automated YouTube captions are bad in places so here is a transcription of this incredible call. [Video description: A Zoom call featuring a video grid of seven attendees, all of whom are members of the Los Angeles Police Commission. There is a timer in the upper left corner for callers keeping them to two minutes. The current caller is Jon Barr.] LAPC President Eileen Decker, responding to the question “can you hear me?”: Yes, we can. Barr: Great. Uh, first things first: Chief Moore, you’ve got to do a better job of pretending you care about this, man. I’ve been watching you roll your eyes and offer halfhearted smirks acting like a teenager who’s falling asleep in detention. Are you not aware of the war crimes your department’s doing, or are you just that impatient to go do more of them? I see a lot of you, particularly Soboroff, only react when folks use profanity in their remarks. If you think curse words are bad, wait until you hear about these 600-plus murders your department has committed over the last seven years! As long as Moore’s out here equating peaceful protestors with cops who murder black people, you all could pretend to be as angry about murder as the F-word, okay kids? I know you’re all having a rough day, what with everyone here telling you you’re bad at your jobs. Have you considered being good at your jobs? If not, you could find new jobs in retail or restaurants. I know how desperate Garcetti is to get Angelenos consuming again during a global pandemic. Where were the curfews then, by the way? Weird. Chief Moore is morally obligated to resign. Mikey, I know you said you didn’t mean protestors are as much to blame for George Floyd’s murder as his murderers – that’s a lie! It is what you meant! And we all know it. Mikey’s made it clear in his racist actions and empty platitudes that he doesn’t care about the well-being of his constituents. He loves to tear gas them, blind them, force them indoors with curfews that are announced only a half-hour before they take effect, and racially profile as he does so! Don’t think I didn’t hear about how yesterday you sent out an alert in English saying curfew started at 5PM, and sent out an alert right after in Spanish saying it started at 6! What’s up with that, bud? All your cute Zoom background photos of the city won’t trick us into thinking you care about anyone but yourselves and what’s in your pockets. To close with a James Cameron quote, “Cops think of all non-cops as less than they are: stupid, weak, and evil. They dehumanize the people they are sworn to protect, and desensitize themselves in order to do that job.” That’s you pigs to a T. Black lives matter, act like it. Happy Tuesday. This one was amazing. I’m also a big fan of this one- short and sweet [Video description: Zoom call featuring a video grid of seven attendees, all of whom are members of the Los Angeles Police Commission. There is a timer in the upper left corner for callers set to 30 seconds. The current caller is Jeremy Frisch.] Frisch: Hello can you hear me? Woman: Hi, yes. Frisch [getting progressively louder and angrier]: Black lives matter, defund the police. I find it disgusting that the LAPD is slaughtering peaceful protestors on the street. I had two friends go to the protest in Beverly Hills a couple days ago and the protest was peaceful until the police showed up with their excessive violent force, shooting rubber bullets and throwing tear gas. [Frisch is now yelling] Is this what you think is protecting and serving? Because I think it’s bullshit! Fuck you Michael Moore! I refuse to call you an officer or a chief because you don’t deserve those titles. You are a disgrace! Suck my dick and choke on it! I yield my time. FUCK YOU! Holy mother of FUCK they went off Thank you, thank you thank you for transcribing this because I was in a position with my “neutral” family where I couldn’t listen. Thank you
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omgcheckplease: ★ Notes on Year 4, Comic 26 - Check, Please ★In the summer of 2013, I was fully mourning my completed time as an undergraduate at Yale. One of the college’s traditional songs—which they strategically have students sing during their first weeks as Yalies and then again at the moment we’re conferred our degrees—goes like this:Bright College years, with pleasure rife,The shortest, gladdest years of life;How swiftly are ye gliding by!Oh, why doth time so quickly fly?Et cetera. The first time you sing it, you mumble the words and don’t know a single person around you. The last time you sing it, wearing the mortarboard and gown, you’ve got the lyrics memorized and you’re surrounded by some of the most important people in your life.That summer, with “How bright will seem, through mem’ry’s haze/ Those happy, golden, bygone days!” still ringing in my ears, I started CHECK, PLEASE. The comic’s first panels emerged on an ancient laptop, through a borrowed bamboo tablet, and on a free drawing program called gnu-IMPShop. I had no plan. I wanted to explore my newfound fascination with hockey and share silly cartoons on Tumblr. But unconsciously, I also wanted to pour the nostalgia of those bright college years into the Haus, Faber, Samwell, and Bitty’s story. I wanted to bottle up those moments where we grow and change and fall down and pick ourselves back up. Drawing CHECK, PLEASE was how I revisited those experiences and how I sifted through the bittersweet feeling of concluding something I loved. Perhaps this is why finishing CHECK, PLEASE calls back those same emotions. Just as Bitty would bake affection into a pie, I might have encoded into CHECK, PLEASE the heartfelt fondness I had for my time in college, the love of the friends I made there, and the gratitude I have for my own growth.I have always found it easier to express gratitude face to face. And even though I would not have gotten to meet all of you, the greatest downside of being unable to participate in a book tour is that I can’t say thanks in person. I could write a thousand words, yet they couldn’t replace a high five at a bookstore signing or a handshake at a convention. I could write the blog post to end all blog posts, but it’s not the same as yelling with you about an episode or chatting about a fandom we both happen be in. For me, it’s those moments that somehow equate to my abundant appreciation for you, the reader.I look forward to the day when I can let my actions speak louder than my words!In the meantime: thank you. I am incredibly blessed to get to create a story and then share it. This is all I want to do in life. These characters get to have a readership overflowing with love and enthusiasm for them. This comic, somehow, has found ambassadors. This story gets to be told. Thank you! I’m excited to share with you the unusual, fun, and hopeful narratives I’m working hard to develop.So with that, I’ll sign off on the last blog post! Thank you for reading this comic. Thank you for sharing it with friends. Thank you for caring about Bitty’s story and CHECK, PLEASE.Thank you!John J. Johnson.Just kidding, it’s Ngozi. :^) Tee hee. Bye now!: omgcheckplease: ★ Notes on Year 4, Comic 26 - Check, Please ★In the summer of 2013, I was fully mourning my completed time as an undergraduate at Yale. One of the college’s traditional songs—which they strategically have students sing during their first weeks as Yalies and then again at the moment we’re conferred our degrees—goes like this:Bright College years, with pleasure rife,The shortest, gladdest years of life;How swiftly are ye gliding by!Oh, why doth time so quickly fly?Et cetera. The first time you sing it, you mumble the words and don’t know a single person around you. The last time you sing it, wearing the mortarboard and gown, you’ve got the lyrics memorized and you’re surrounded by some of the most important people in your life.That summer, with “How bright will seem, through mem’ry’s haze/ Those happy, golden, bygone days!” still ringing in my ears, I started CHECK, PLEASE. The comic’s first panels emerged on an ancient laptop, through a borrowed bamboo tablet, and on a free drawing program called gnu-IMPShop. I had no plan. I wanted to explore my newfound fascination with hockey and share silly cartoons on Tumblr. But unconsciously, I also wanted to pour the nostalgia of those bright college years into the Haus, Faber, Samwell, and Bitty’s story. I wanted to bottle up those moments where we grow and change and fall down and pick ourselves back up. Drawing CHECK, PLEASE was how I revisited those experiences and how I sifted through the bittersweet feeling of concluding something I loved. Perhaps this is why finishing CHECK, PLEASE calls back those same emotions. Just as Bitty would bake affection into a pie, I might have encoded into CHECK, PLEASE the heartfelt fondness I had for my time in college, the love of the friends I made there, and the gratitude I have for my own growth.I have always found it easier to express gratitude face to face. And even though I would not have gotten to meet all of you, the greatest downside of being unable to participate in a book tour is that I can’t say thanks in person. I could write a thousand words, yet they couldn’t replace a high five at a bookstore signing or a handshake at a convention. I could write the blog post to end all blog posts, but it’s not the same as yelling with you about an episode or chatting about a fandom we both happen be in. For me, it’s those moments that somehow equate to my abundant appreciation for you, the reader.I look forward to the day when I can let my actions speak louder than my words!In the meantime: thank you. I am incredibly blessed to get to create a story and then share it. This is all I want to do in life. These characters get to have a readership overflowing with love and enthusiasm for them. This comic, somehow, has found ambassadors. This story gets to be told. Thank you! I’m excited to share with you the unusual, fun, and hopeful narratives I’m working hard to develop.So with that, I’ll sign off on the last blog post! Thank you for reading this comic. Thank you for sharing it with friends. Thank you for caring about Bitty’s story and CHECK, PLEASE.Thank you!John J. Johnson.Just kidding, it’s Ngozi. :^) Tee hee. Bye now!

omgcheckplease: ★ Notes on Year 4, Comic 26 - Check, Please ★In the summer of 2013, I was fully mourning my completed time as an undergr...

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sushinfood: justamerplwithabox: vivelafat: prokopetz: officialdeadparrot: grellholmes: elsajeni: gunslingerannie: justtkeepcalmm: dean-and-his-pie: fororchestra: musicalmelody: Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it”  Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect.  To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha. On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious. I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair… Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair. The lengths we go for music. Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek. One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.” And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is: [stifled giggling] [reeeeeeally deep breath] [COLOSSAL FOGHORN NOISE] The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture. In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.” FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part. This is the best band post  Everyone else go home Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until, that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that Who does that? This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose. Julius IdontgivaFucik More like Julius Fuckit Pyrozod’s tags for this were too hilarious not to share : sushinfood: justamerplwithabox: vivelafat: prokopetz: officialdeadparrot: grellholmes: elsajeni: gunslingerannie: justtkeepcalmm: dean-and-his-pie: fororchestra: musicalmelody: Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it”  Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect.  To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha. On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious. I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair… Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair. The lengths we go for music. Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek. One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.” And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is: [stifled giggling] [reeeeeeally deep breath] [COLOSSAL FOGHORN NOISE] The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture. In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.” FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part. This is the best band post  Everyone else go home Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until, that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that Who does that? This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose. Julius IdontgivaFucik More like Julius Fuckit Pyrozod’s tags for this were too hilarious not to share
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writer-adventurer: sheepishdove: heyintrovert: INTROVERT MEETS EXTROVERT I actually really loved this- i definitely bonded with the introvert side of it more but I loved hearing the extrovert point of view and understanding how they recharge and their thoughts on things I guess. Interesting watch I found their body language very interesting. Like, when the introvert was talking the extrovert was almost leaning in to what she was saying, and was looking directly at her for most of her speech. By contrast, the introvert remained facing forward and didn’t make eye contact, even though she was actively listening and engaging in what the extrovert was saying. The extrovert also used her body much more when she talked, using her hands and other movements to aid her talking. The way she talked also had a lot more dynamic, more lifts and falls, than the reserved tone of the introvert. The introvert also started off very quiet, but it was clear that she was receptive to the extrovert’s energy, because she got louder and more willing to talk as the video went on. I don’t know, I just thought it was really cool how their body language aligned with their personality types 😅 : INTROVERT MEETS EXTROVERT writer-adventurer: sheepishdove: heyintrovert: INTROVERT MEETS EXTROVERT I actually really loved this- i definitely bonded with the introvert side of it more but I loved hearing the extrovert point of view and understanding how they recharge and their thoughts on things I guess. Interesting watch I found their body language very interesting. Like, when the introvert was talking the extrovert was almost leaning in to what she was saying, and was looking directly at her for most of her speech. By contrast, the introvert remained facing forward and didn’t make eye contact, even though she was actively listening and engaging in what the extrovert was saying. The extrovert also used her body much more when she talked, using her hands and other movements to aid her talking. The way she talked also had a lot more dynamic, more lifts and falls, than the reserved tone of the introvert. The introvert also started off very quiet, but it was clear that she was receptive to the extrovert’s energy, because she got louder and more willing to talk as the video went on. I don’t know, I just thought it was really cool how their body language aligned with their personality types 😅

writer-adventurer: sheepishdove: heyintrovert: INTROVERT MEETS EXTROVERT I actually really loved this- i definitely bonded with the int...

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thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie: gucciballs: thejorie: peble: thejorie: My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed. do they smoke weed? Yes, actually. you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,) They don’t look like they smoke weed. Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad. Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle. I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING  Well that escalated quickly…… What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body* haha oh my god who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes. love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”. and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”. “the goo pile that is now your body” i’m dying over here, jesus please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun. *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.* this dude playin omg  Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.* : thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie: gucciballs: thejorie: peble: thejorie: My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed. do they smoke weed? Yes, actually. you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,) They don’t look like they smoke weed. Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad. Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle. I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING  Well that escalated quickly…… What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body* haha oh my god who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes. love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”. and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”. “the goo pile that is now your body” i’m dying over here, jesus please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun. *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.* this dude playin omg  Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
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