The most awesome story in the history of stories.

This dude, like, takes a knife and, like, stabs this girl so she, like, starts bleeding all over the place. Then these like cop people come into the, like, house they're in and start, like, shooting stuff.

Please continue the story.

Then an assassin comes out in the middle of nowhere and throws Lucky 7 at everyone. Then he rapes the dead girl (wait, is that considered rape?)

Sorta, its actually considered necrophilia or something.
Then a bandit comes in and kills the assassin and, dunnno, stabs the dead girl?

Cool story bro

Please poast something useful. Thanks though.

A demonic vortex opens under the dead girl and swallows her up. A imp climbs out and starts shooting laser beams from its eyes. The cops shoot like, 20 clips of bullets into it, but it just gets angry.

Then the imp makes the cops aslodee.

Aslodee?
Suddenly, Masterchief throws a plasma grenade in the house and it goes KABLOOIESHAMOOIE!! He then starts shooting the Mecha armor battle suits that have collected outside.

And then all the goddamn paupers like, I dunno, come out from the goddamn streets and praise the darkish sky. It kills me. You know what I goddamn mean. And all the paupers jump around with glee as they like, I dunno, praise the night sky. And all of it is pretty goddamn crazy. And all of it just bothers the goddamn hell out of me, you know? It's like he's in the back of a goddamn car trying to give it to a girl. And all of it reminds me of Holden Caulfield, but it just kills me. He's such a phony, it kills me how he still a virgin and all.

...What?
Anyways, many anvils fall from the sky, crushing the paupers beneath and splattering their organs all over the street. Masterchief finishes killing the Mecha armor battle suits and picks off the remaining paupers. Soon the streets are littered with organs and the remains of paupers.

then i eat them all right?

Go ahead. Flaxative then shoots shroum seven times: in the heart, the head, the stomach, and all the limbs. After that he cuts his jugular and builds a box around him, which he fills with water and drops 1 kg of C4 explosive into. After going to a safe distance, Flaxative presses the button and watches as shroum flies 17 feet in the air. While shroum is falling, Flaxative shoots him repeatedly with a UMP until shroum is directly over a stash of explosives. After shroum lands, Flaxative buries his limp body above the explosives and exposes the wire which would detonate the explosives. Flaxative attachs 500 feet more cable, runs away, and blows shroum into bits the size of pennies. He thens salutes to the rain of flesh and walks away.

EDIT:Make that UMP an automatic computer aimed high powered sniper rifle with 9mm rounds sent at hypersonic speeds. Yeah. Either way, your very dead, shroum. Very dead.

While my better instincts counsel me to follow a policy of laissez-faire, there are a couple of this story's statements I feel I cannot let pass. With this letter, I hope to give the needy a helping hand as opposed to an elbow in the face. But first, I would like to make the following introductory remark: By hook or by crook we must upbraid this story for being so headstrong. I trust that I have not shocked any of you by writing that. However, I do realize that some of my readers may feel that much of what I have penned about this story in this letter is heartless and in violation of our Christian duty to love everyone. If so, I can say only that it seems clear that I oppose, deplore, and disavow discrimination, extremism, and hatred of every kind. But we ought to look at the matter in a broader framework before we draw final conclusions on the subject: We see that this story is utterly gung-ho about revisionism because it lacks more pressing soapbox issues. This story's "compromises" can be rightly understood only as what some silly, insincere buttinskies have been brave enough to call them: a failure.

My mother always told me, "If you don't have something intelligent to say, just keep quiet." Apparently, this story's mother never told it that. I guess what I really mean to say is that even this story's least uncongenial trained seals, who are legion, supplement their already-generous incomes by selling contraband on the black market. Now that's a strong conclusion to draw just from the evidence I've presented in this letter so let me corroborate it by saying that this story claims that the worst classes of cynical, namby-pamby parasites I've ever seen have dramatically lower incidences of cancer, heart attacks, heart disease, and many other illnesses than the rest of us. Perhaps it has some sound arguments on its side but if so it's keeping them hidden. I'd say it's far more likely that I sincerely contend that this story has an amazing ability to disengage its intellect. My views, of course, are not the issue here. The issue is that I have no idea why it makes such a big fuss over adversarialism. There are far more pressing issues that present themselves and that should be discussed, debated, and solved—issues such as war, famine, poverty, and homelessness. There is also the lesser issue that if this story is victorious in its quest to spread effete, disaffected views, then its crown will be the funeral wreath of humanity.

This story's bromides sound so noble but in fact this story is driving me nuts. I can't take it anymore! Scrutinizing this story's deeds may be instructive in this regard. Why is that relevant to this letter? Because I fully intend to drive off and disperse the cocky, appalling salacious-types who distort and trivialize the debate surrounding negativism. That's the path that I have chosen. It's indeed not an easy path but then again, this story wants us to believe that we can solve all of our problems by giving it lots of money. We might as well toss that money down a well because we'll never see it again. What we will see, however, is that those of us who are too lazy or disinterested to find the common ground that enables others to condemn this story's hypocrisy have no right to complain when it and its backers break up society's solidarity and cohesiveness.

I have frequently criticized this story's unspoken plan to encourage young people to break all the rules, cut themselves loose from their roots, and adopt a dodgy lifestyle. It usually addresses my criticisms by accusing me of nepotism, solipsism, child molestation, and halitosis. This story hopes that by delegitimizing me this way, no one will listen to me when I say that I and this story part company when it comes to the issue of immoralism. It feels that honor counts for nothing while I avouch that there may be absolutely nothing we can do to prevent it from making good on its word to teach the next generation how to hate—and whom to hate. When we compare this disturbing conclusion to the comforting picture purveyed by its toadies, we experience psychological stress or "cognitive dissonance". Our only recourse is to let this story know, in no uncertain terms, that it is capable of going berserk without notice.

How can we trust a mentally deficient, lamebrained prima donna who actively conceals its true intentions? We can't. And besides, this story's patsies resist seeing that this story's views are a mockery of all that is fair and equitable. They resist seeing such things because to see them, to examine them, to think about them and draw conclusions from them is to get this story off our backs. Our national media is controlled by disingenuous drunks. That's why you probably haven't heard that this story is too brown-nosing to read the writing on the wall. This writing warns that it takes more than a mass of antihumanist barmpots to expose its refrains for what they really are. It takes a great many thoughtful and semi-thoughtful people who are willing to transform our culture of war and violence into a culture of peace and nonviolence. The world has a surplus of stupidity. May we never forget this if we are to deny this story and its apple-polishers a chance to create profound emotional distress for people on both sides of the issue.

And then a spy appears and backstabs Ben while he's busy talking!

In this letter, I'm not going to argue that denominationalism is arguably the most frightening and devastating problem facing us all. Nor am I going to argue that Lerk's notions are as troubling as his insistence that children should belong to the state. I'm not going to argue those factors because they're irrelevant. Instead, I will say only that he is incapable of rational thought about the real world. But first, let me pose you a question: Is he actually concerned about any of us or does he just want to dump effluent into creeks, lakes, streams, and rivers? After reading this letter, you'll indubitably find it's the latter. I intend to look closely at Lerk's agendas to see what makes them so effectual at turning wimps loose against us good citizens. I should expect to find—this is a guess that I currently lack sufficient knowledge to verify—that we must solve the problems that are important to most people. This is a terrible and awesome responsibility—a crushing responsibility. However, if we stick together we can can show the world that Lerk doesn't use words for communication or for exchanging information. He uses them to disarm, to hypnotize, to mislead, and to deceive.

It's somewhat tricky to defend with dedication and ferocity the very rights that Lerk so desperately wants to abolish, especially since the media in this country tend to ignore historical connections and are reluctant to analyze ideological positions or treat a fringe political group seriously. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that his propaganda factories continuously spew forth messages like, "Lerk values our perspectives" and, "Lerk has achieved sainthood". What they don't tell you, though, is that Lerk's faculty for deception is so far above anyone else's, it really must be considered different in kind as well as in degree. When I first heard about his expositions, I didn't know whether to laugh, because his catch-phrases are so contemptible, or cry, because he has so frequently lied about how his opinions represent the opinions of the majority—or even a plurality—that some weaker-minded people are starting to believe it. We need to explain to such people that if Lerk truly believes that he is a model citizen, then maybe he should enroll in Introduction to Reality 101.

Note that the foregoing does not pretend to be an accurate description of all people who might be considered tyrannical firebrands of one sort or another. It is only a rough indication of some of Lerk's general tendencies. Lerk has an ego of galactic proportions. I submit that everyone should stop and mull that assertion. Then, you'll understand why for those of us who make our living trying to criticize Lerk's complicity in the widespread establishment of imperialism, it is important to consider that he insists that his reports are our final line of defense against tyrrany. This fraud, this lie, is just one among the thousands he perpetrates.

Lerk says he's not testy but he's sincerely spleeny and that's essentially the same thing. If I were elected Ruler of the World, my first act of business would be to stand uncompromised in a world that's on the brink of Lerk-induced disaster. I would further use my position to inform certain segments of the Earth's population that Lerk's favorite buzzword these days is "crisis". He likes to tell us that we have a crisis on our hands. He then argues that the only reasonable approach to combat this crisis is for him to allow federally funded research to mushroom into an obnoxious, grossly inefficient system, hampered by predatory backstabbers and bad-tempered masters of deceit. In my opinion, the real crisis is the dearth of people who understand that after hearing about Lerk's counter-productive attempts to provide selfish pipsqueaks with an irresistible temptation to descend to character assassination and name calling, I was saddened. I was saddened that he has lowered himself to this level. Lerk obviously yearns for the Oriental despotisms of pre-Hellenic times, the neolithic culture that preceded the rise of self-consciousness and egoism. By the same token, he abhors the current era, in which people are free to advance a clear, credible, and effective vision for dealing with our present dilemma and its most anal-retentive manifestations.

My dream is for tired eyes to open and see clearly, broken spirits to find new energy, and weary arms to find the strength to give direction to a universal human development of culture, ethics, and morality. I normally prefer to listen than to speak. I would, however, like to remind Lerk that his anecdotes are devoid of any intellectual substance. That concept can be extended, mutatis mutandis, to the way that we must lead us all toward a better, brighter future. If we don't, future generations will not know freedom. Instead, they will know fear; they will know sadness; they will know injustice, poverty, and grinding despair. Most of all, they will realize, albeit far too late, that if Lerk were paying attention—which it would seem he is not, as I've already gone over this—he'd see that he is trying to brainwash us. He wants us to believe that it's impertinent to shield people from his lubricious and bookish deceptions; that's boring; that's not cool. You know what I think of that, don't you? I think that if Lerk believes that two wrongs make a right, then it's obvious why he thinks that the sky is falling. I would like to close by saying that I don't see how Lerk can be so hotheaded.

While my better instincts counsel me to follow a policy of laissez-faire, there are a couple of this story's statements I feel I cannot let pass. With this letter, I hope to give the needy a helping hand as opposed to an elbow in the face. But first, I would like to make the following introductory remark: By hook or by crook we must upbraid this story for being so headstrong. I trust that I have not shocked any of you by writing that. However, I do realize that some of my readers may feel that much of what I have penned about this story in this letter is heartless and in violation of our Christian duty to love everyone. If so, I can say only that it seems clear that I oppose, deplore, and disavow discrimination, extremism, and hatred of every kind. But we ought to look at the matter in a broader framework before we draw final conclusions on the subject: We see that this story is utterly gung-ho about revisionism because it lacks more pressing soapbox issues. This story's "compromises" can be rightly understood only as what some silly, insincere buttinskies have been brave enough to call them: a failure.

My mother always told me, "If you don't have something intelligent to say, just keep quiet." Apparently, this story's mother never told it that. I guess what I really mean to say is that even this story's least uncongenial trained seals, who are legion, supplement their already-generous incomes by selling contraband on the black market. Now that's a strong conclusion to draw just from the evidence I've presented in this letter so let me corroborate it by saying that this story claims that the worst classes of cynical, namby-pamby parasites I've ever seen have dramatically lower incidences of cancer, heart attacks, heart disease, and many other illnesses than the rest of us. Perhaps it has some sound arguments on its side but if so it's keeping them hidden. I'd say it's far more likely that I sincerely contend that this story has an amazing ability to disengage its intellect. My views, of course, are not the issue here. The issue is that I have no idea why it makes such a big fuss over adversarialism. There are far more pressing issues that present themselves and that should be discussed, debated, and solved—issues such as war, famine, poverty, and homelessness. There is also the lesser issue that if this story is victorious in its quest to spread effete, disaffected views, then its crown will be the funeral wreath of humanity.

This story's bromides sound so noble but in fact this story is driving me nuts. I can't take it anymore! Scrutinizing this story's deeds may be instructive in this regard. Why is that relevant to this letter? Because I fully intend to drive off and disperse the cocky, appalling salacious-types who distort and trivialize the debate surrounding negativism. That's the path that I have chosen. It's indeed not an easy path but then again, this story wants us to believe that we can solve all of our problems by giving it lots of money. We might as well toss that money down a well because we'll never see it again. What we will see, however, is that those of us who are too lazy or disinterested to find the common ground that enables others to condemn this story's hypocrisy have no right to complain when it and its backers break up society's solidarity and cohesiveness.

I have frequently criticized this story's unspoken plan to encourage young people to break all the rules, cut themselves loose from their roots, and adopt a dodgy lifestyle. It usually addresses my criticisms by accusing me of nepotism, solipsism, child molestation, and halitosis. This story hopes that by delegitimizing me this way, no one will listen to me when I say that I and this story part company when it comes to the issue of immoralism. It feels that honor counts for nothing while I avouch that there may be absolutely nothing we can do to prevent it from making good on its word to teach the next generation how to hate—and whom to hate. When we compare this disturbing conclusion to the comforting picture purveyed by its toadies, we experience psychological stress or "cognitive dissonance". Our only recourse is to let this story know, in no uncertain terms, that it is capable of going berserk without notice.

How can we trust a mentally deficient, lamebrained prima donna who actively conceals its true intentions? We can't. And besides, this story's patsies resist seeing that this story's views are a mockery of all that is fair and equitable. They resist seeing such things because to see them, to examine them, to think about them and draw conclusions from them is to get this story off our backs. Our national media is controlled by disingenuous drunks. That's why you probably haven't heard that this story is too brown-nosing to read the writing on the wall. This writing warns that it takes more than a mass of antihumanist barmpots to expose its refrains for what they really are. It takes a great many thoughtful and semi-thoughtful people who are willing to transform our culture of war and violence into a culture of peace and nonviolence. The world has a surplus of stupidity. May we never forget this if we are to deny this story and its apple-polishers a chance to create profound emotional distress for people on both sides of the issue.

If you didn't use the complaint generator for that, I'm amazed by how much spare time you have. But you obviously used the complaint generator. Unless you didn't. Then you didn't.

I then stab the dead body of Ben a total of 12 times before rigging the area with 200,000 pounds of explosives set in the pattern of a pentagram. When the explosion triggers, it causes a spectacular display of dirt and debris in a pattern shaped like a five-pointed star(which is what a pentagram is).

And then the Healing Touch activates, giving the debris from that explosion more time to react.

...Carry on.

...What?
Masterchief turns around, shoots Lerk, Ben, and all the debris. He then enters a Warthog and BLASTS THE MOTHER PINEAPPLING POMEGRANATE OUT OF PINEAPPLING EVERTHING, BEOTCH!

cool tale amigo

Once again, poast something useful. But thank you.