I am not fat. Stfu. :c
I was thinking, no matter what I change my name to, people will always call me Trig, Triggy or Trigger... Or Squishy, but that's mainly only Kay <3 What I'm getting at is, should I just keep the name Trigger? I've been wanting to ask for it to be changed back, since I realized, 'Trigger' is who I am. Plus it matches with Sky's nickname for me [Pistol Schoolboy <3]. I've refrained from asking because I didn't want to piss the admins off since changing names is a big thing of this forum. tl;dr: Should I change my name back to Trigger (if permission is granted)? y/n?
First tag I've made in a month or two.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrNvWcvAlhQ&feature=rec-fresh Always.
Five .
I'M NOT SICK, BUT I'M NOT WELL~a
The drugs are done, that I feel like dying.
Happy Birthday, T-rav! 8D I hope your birthday is filled with many homework assignments, horny zebras and pink balloon animals. Amen.
**** YEAH SEXY64! COMIN' TO YO HOUSE!caps
Alone in a crowd of rugged men, nursing his drink in the far corner of the old post town's only tavern: Kaim. A single man strides in through the tavern door. Massivelly built, he wears the garb of a warrior. His soiled uniform bespeaks a long journey. Fatigue marks his face, but his eyes wear a penetrating gleam—the look of a fighting man on active duty. The tavern's din hushes instantly. Every drunken eye in the place fastens on the soldier with awe and gratitude. The long war with the neighboring country has ended at last, and the men who fought on the front lines are returning to their homes. So it is with this military man. The soldier takes a seat at the table next to Kaim's, and downs a slug of liquor with the forcefulness of a hard drinker—a man who drinks to kill his pain. Two cups, three, four... Another customer approaches him, bottle in hand, wearing an ingratiating grin—a typical crafty town punk. "Let me offer you a drink," wheedles the man, "as a token of gratitude for your heroic efforts on behalf of the fatherland." The soldier unsmilingly allows the man to fill his cup. "How was it at the front? I'm sure you performed many valiant deeds on the battlefield." The soldier empties his cup in silence. The punk refills the cup and adopts an ever more fawning smile. "Now that we're friends, how about telling me some war tales? You've got such big, strong arms, how many enemy soldiers did you ki—" Without a word, the soldier hurls the contents of his cup into the man's face. The punk flies into a rage and draws his knife. No sooner does it leave its sheath than Kaim's fist sends it flying through the air. Faced with the powerful united front of Kaim and the soldier, the punk runs out muttering curses. The two big men watch him go, then share a faint smile. Kaim doesn't have to speak with the soldier to know that he lives in deep sadness. For his part, the soldier (having cheated death any number of times) is aware of the shadow that lurks in Kaim's expression. The tavern's din returns. Kaim and the soldier pour each other drinks. "I've got a wife and daughter I haven't seen since I shipped out," says the soldier. "It's been three long years." He lets himself smile shyly now for the first time as he takes a photograph of his wife and daughter from his pocket and shows it to Kaim: the wife a woman of dewy freshness, the daughter still very young. "They're the reason I survived. The thought of going home to them alive was all that sustained me in battle." "Is your home far from here?" "No, my village is just over the next pass. I'm sure they've heard the news that the war is over and can hardly wait to have me home." He could get there tonight if he wanted to badly enough. It was that close. "But..." the soldier downs a mouthful of liquor and groans. "I'm afraid." "Afraid? Of what?" "I want to see my wife and daughter, but I'm afraid to have them see me. I don't know how many men I've killed these past three years. I had no choice. I had to do it to stay alive. If I was going to get back to my family, I had no choice but to kill one enemy soldier after another, and each and every one of those men had families they had left at home." It was the code of war, the soldier's destiny. To stay alive in battle, you had to go on killing men before they could kill you. "I had no time to think about such things at the front. I was too busy trying to survive. I see it now, though—now that the war is over. Three years of sin are carved into my face. This is the face of a killer. I don't want to show this face to my wife and daughter." The soldier pulls out a leather pouch from which he withdraws a small stone. He tells Kaim it is an unpolished gemstone, something he found shortly after he left for the battlefield. "A gemstone?" Kaim asks, unconvinced. The stone on the table is a dull black without a hint of the gleam a gem should have. "It sparkled when I first found it. I was sure my daughter would love it when I brought it home to her." "Gradually, though, the stone lost its gleam and turned cloudy." "Every time I killed an enemy soldier, something like the stain of his blood would rise to the surface of the stone. As you can see, it's almost solid black now after three years. The stone is stained by the sins I've committed. I call it my 'sin stone.'" "You don't have to blame yourself so harshly," says Kaim, "You had to do it to stay alive." "I know that." says the soldier. "I know that. But still... just like me, the men I killed had villages to go home to, and families waiting for them there..." The soldier then says to Kaim, "You, too, I suppose. You must have a family." Kaim gives his head a little shake. "Not me." he says. "No family." "A home village at least?" "I don't have any place to go home to." "Eternal traveler, eh?" "Uh-huh. That's me." The soldier chuckles softly and gives Kaim a sour smile. It is hard to tell how fully he belives what Kaim has told him. He slips the "sin stone" into the leather pouch and says, "You know what I think? If the stone turned darker every time I took a life, it ought to get some of its gleam back every time I save a life." Instead of answering, Kaim drains the last drops of liquor from his cup and rises from the table. The soldier remains in his chair and Kaim, staring down at him, offers him these words of advice: "If you have a place you can go home to, you should go to it. Just go, no matter how much guilt you may have weighing you down. I'm sure your wife and daughter will understand. You're no criminal. You're a hero: you fought your heart out to stay alive." "I'm glad I met you." says the soldier. "I needed to hear that." He holds out his right hand to Kaim, who grasps it in return. "I hope your travels go well." says the soldier. "And your travels will soon be over," says Kaim with a smile, starting for the door. Just then the punk charges at Kaim from behind, wielding a pistol. "Watch out!" bellows the soldier and rushes after Kaim. As Kaim whirls around, the punk takes aim and shouts, "You can't treat me like that, you son of a *****!" The soldier flies between the two men and takes a bullet in the gut. And so, as he so desperately wished to do, the soldier has saved someone's life. Ironically, it is for the life of Kaim, a man who can neither age nor die, that the soldier has traded his one and only life. Sprawled on the floor, nearly unconscious, the soldier thrusts the leather pouch into Kaim's hand. "Look at my 'sin stone,' will you? "Maybe...maybe." he says, chuckling weakly, "some of its shine has come back." Blood spurts from his mouth, strangling the laugh. Kaim looks inside the bag and says, "It's sparkling now. It's clean." "It is?" gasps the soldier. "Good. My daughter will be so glad..." He smiles with satisfaction and holds his hand out for the pouch. Gently, Kaim lays the pouch on the palm of his hand and folds the man's fingers over it. The soldier draws his last breath, and the pouch falls to the floor. The dead man's face wears a peaceful expresion. The stone, however—the man's 'sin stone,' which has rolled from the open pouch—is as black as ever. End.
I need about 30-40 dollars, so I'm whoring myself out. Any takes? I only charge a dollar for oral and five for sex.
Today we celebrate the birth of this legendary member. Happy birthday, buddy.
It'd be cool if Zune cards could work on the forums, wouldn't it, fellow Zune owners? Too bad everytime I try to put one into my sig it says the Zune card whatever is unavailable. :l
Time to tell you all about my dream. :D It was normal at first, me and a couple friends at one of their houses, playing Twilight Princess. Then after a while, we went outside and there was a bunch of people, most of them I knew. And I started hanging out with all them on the side of the street. This one girl looked sad so I went to her and asked her what was up, sitting beside her. She slowly turned her head towards me, her eyes were like, pure purple. And I tried not to act weirded out, and then she like jumped on me and started biting my neck really hard and I'm like "UM. WHAT THE ****." trying to struggle, and no one even pays attention. So I finally push her off and run away from everyone. Then I get inside this one car, and there's a revolver and a blank piece of paper. And I guess I started writing a suicide note. Picked up the gun, pointed it at my head and just as I pulled the trigger... I woke up. :l tl;dr: Dream was normal at first. Went outside, weird vampire-like girl bit me. Supposedly killed myself in a car. I have no idea what caused me to have a dream like that, but wow. All I wanted was to go take a nap, and I get some weird, fucked up dream?! Crazy.
WILL BE THE DRILL TO PIERCE THE HEAVENS!k:'D
:3 .
Well, I thought since nice people get their own thread, us *******s should get our own as well. Pizza and drinks all around!
It's like we having matching avatars. :D
asdp'fsd DAXMA YOU RUINED THE COMBO GOD DAMN COMBO BREAKING ODDISH MOWERS MOW MOW FIGHT THE MOWAH
