Page 1 of 1

Is this community still active..?

Posted: Mon Jun 04, 2018 8:06 pm
by Daiyousei
I am just asking! I've been here for years and I could never get a grasp on things around here to be involved, so I thought I would make a post and see if there's been any activity and maybe try to get involved!

Re: Is this community still active..?

Posted: Sun Jun 10, 2018 5:24 am
by Dryhavich
Technically speaking, yes - we're not dead. There's RP to be done (and currently being done) in general, though we've long since overhauled our setting. You should see here for more info:


Also, if you're at all interested in RPing in Gensoukyou, the border is now down, so there's a whole world out there to learn about.

Re: Is this community still active..?

Posted: Mon Jun 18, 2018 5:25 pm
by Bai Ze
Activity. Ah yes.
What activity?
As the brainiacs have been known to say from time to time on occasion.
There hasn't been activity since the great knife riots of '78, an event known to have killed over five hundred and fifty three thousand, million, and one point four, largely due to a combination of immolation-by-proxy and flagrant fumbling, and this being just one of the reasons - JUST ONE of numerous, practically uncountable reasons, the rest having gone out to lunch, turned purple, or started shedding hair all over the place, that we're no longer allowed to purchase safety-scissors, unsafety-stabbing-knives, or suspiciously large freights of kerosene and matches anymore without at least one of: proof of identity, fabrication of identity, identity documents, or identity fraud, please dial 1-800-OH-SHIT, that's 1-800-OH-SHIT. Call today. Satisfaction strongly hinted at.
Terms and conditions sold seperately.

Re: Is this community still active..?

Posted: Mon Jun 18, 2018 6:03 pm
by cxl
Lemme at this.
Fsckin' lemme at this.

In MY forum?
It's more likely than you'd like.

I remember the knife riots of '78, though it may have also been '79, or some other combination of at least two and no more than four digits, but I remember, because I was there, knife-rioting, as one does - I mean, it was basically that or hang out at the lumber store, because fun hadn't been invented yet in those days, and it wouldn't be until the following year that John Hobbies would invent the first hobby, which was high-altitude synchronised basket weaving, though it never did catch on, and personally, I blame the repeated maimings and the one time that guy got mangled up so bad that they had to ship him out of there in a wheelbarrow, which they'd put on a wagon, which was then put on a ship, which then sank in the harbour, due to a combination of rioting and aggressively fumbled hand grenades and cake.

But forget about all of that for now.

We're talking about posting, because posting is a cool hobby. You may ask how cool (or you may not, depending on the prevailing winds, barometric pressure, and what colour of jumper you're wearing. Terms and conditions most certainly do apply, with all the force of someone stapling a printout of terms and conditions to the face of someone who didn't realise that these terms and conditions... these weren't your granddad's terms and conditions) and fortunately, science can tell us the answer to this question. Well, mostly science, and a bit of english literature, and also science - the science of the study of the postmodernist deconstruction of the reconstruction of the ethics of the science of english literature, but before we go any further I will have to ask that all assault nouns be checked at the door, this being the new policy, same as the old policy, which was put in place after the accidental discharge incident - took that man's ankles clean off at 50 paces, that'll teach Two-Bag Jimmy to go wielding adjectives around like that, but let's get either off topic, or on topic, or at the very least into a position proximal to the nearest topic-like-shape, before we stray into oncoming traffic and/or a herd of stray cows.

Posting: The Hobby, is as cold as, not ice, but something that's been left in a cooler bag along with numerous fistfuls of ice for a period of some time, but not so much time that the ice undergoes chemical changes or grows as a person and starts talking about his/her/its/their/xir/xor/nand/FILENOTFOUND feelings. We know this because they got a smiling man in a white labcoat to appear on the tapes, alternating between looking at the cooler bag and giving a "thumbs up" gesture - this being the universal signal for "I have raised my thumb" and may, in places, be some sort of gesture indicative of gang affiliation - and numerous gangs did plague the town at the time, such as, to name only a few examples, the hoodrats, the cowlrats, bad rats, the rats™ original flavour©, and rats 2000 GTX.

In fact, this played a significant part in starting the events which led up to the events which caused us to be rioting in the first place, such as hanging out at the lumber store for eighteen hours a day and eating nothing but deep fried rat and stale bread. It was, as the philosophers have been known to say, when you get a few drinks into them, the best of times, the worst of times, lunch times, and moments that will be lost in time like a man from out of town getting lost in the old subway tunnels.

And there's no time like the present.

Re: Is this community still active..?

Posted: Mon Jun 18, 2018 7:43 pm
by Bai Ze
Lioncow Pictures Presents
In association with Angryface Productions
Two-Bag Films

A picture, recorded in words.

The Reconquest of the PC: An Adventure in Several Parts (one of which is screwed on backwards)

It's like we always said to Tim: Your left hand, awkwardly clutching that quill as you scrawl frantically into that chequebook, is writing cheques that your right hand, grasping an awfully thin looking stack of Southern African Grand Imperial Simoleons (in denominations of many and lots, but to the value of somewhere between bupkis and zilch) won't be able to cash, and you can just try buying something with them if you'd like, but they'll probably call security and have you tazed repeatedly and ejected from the building.

Possibly with a catapult.
Act I, Scene I: A Beginning, or Where Things Began: The Dawn of the Start

cxl wrote:... a combination of rioting and aggressively fumbled hand grenades and cake...

I remember reading about that one in the trades. It's as they say, when they're out saying sayings and generally being boisterous - Oh, those lads! Oh, those sayings! - you hurl enough cake at something, with enough vigour and force and also vigour, that it'll go up, and when it does, that's when things really start popping off.

And speaking of popping, that segues us nicely into our next topic, which is an exciting special offer, valid while it lasts, and fuctionally about as useful to anyone as a six-week dead weasel when it's not. Oh, those offers! Oh, those weasels!



Yours, for only LARGE SUMS OF MONEY. That's right, LARGE SUMS OF MONEY - but calculators aren't allowed, so when you're told to find x, then you'd better hope that you remembered to pack a spyglass or some kind of local global ecumenical positioning system terminal apparatus. And no, Jim, you can't use the DRADIS. Because, Jim, it's made out of waffles.

There's going to be a test later, so take notes while you can.

Do you have your LARGE SUMS OF MONEY? If not, we also accept SLIGHTLY LESS LARGE SUMS OF MONEY.

If you don't have money, then dead weasels can be substituted, at the exchange rate of 155.2:3.575 (measured in pound-feet per cubic dactary). But be sure to bag them, because a fistful of dead weasels probaby isn't going to fit in your several-dozen-dollar designer-knockoff wallet, bub!
Oh, those wallets! Oh, those currencies!

Act II, Scene XIV: The Adventure Continues, or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Start Worrying (after the government mandated break time) that Someone gave Chekhov access to the guns again, and now he intends to rush B.

Many many minutes ago, when I was a younger and somehow, in open defiance - with a torch and a pitchfork and a political manifesto and everything - of all logic, a less handsomely rugged but also more ruggedly handome version of my more handsome and rugged alter-ego, Michael M. "Muscles" McLioncow, I was witness to the experiencing of an experience, that I witnessed by seeing with my own nine eyes - it began with a beginning, and had a middle and an end and everything, and tested well with focus groups and is grossing millions on the overseas markets, and it can now be yours to own on BluRay, HDDVD, DVD, Betamax tape, and gaffer tape: The Complete Adventures of Muscles McLioncow.

Original Character - Do Not Steal. If you do, they come for you in the middle of the night, and abduct you to their secret facility, where they beat you with rubber hoses and also cut off all of your hands with a blunt butterknife. I did, and look at me now, decades later and the bodies just keep piling up.

On an unrelated but directly connected point: I am selling slightly-stabbed assassin corpses! Competitive prices! Comprehensive warranty! Hit me up:

Intermission: In which we put the sponsored shit, so that we can line our pockets while you get to line your living room with more tat.

Now for sale!
Numerous options!
A frankly uncomfortable avalanche of choice!
Crap you don't need!
Crap you don't want!
Crap you can't, frankly, understand!
This thing... I mean, what even is this?
Put it on your shelf! Put it on your table!
Take a whole fucking box. We're practically giving it away!
We've got so much shit!
I mean... SO MUCH SHIT!
We are, actually, giving this away. You can just come take it.
Tat: Get yours today
Tat sold seperately.

Act The Next One, Scene The Recap


Bai Ze wrote:There hasn't been activity since the great knife riots of '78...

The Admins...

cxl wrote:...let's get either off topic, or on topic, or at the very least into a position proximal to the nearest topic-like-shape...

... were shitposting on the forum!

The Knife-Rioting Knife-Rioters wrote:<frankly excessive amounts of stabbing is being done>

The world...

The Rats™: Original Flavour© wrote:<gets trod on in the rioting and explodes like a can of tomato sauce that's been left out in the sun all day>

... is off it's fucking meds again.


Act 27+1, Scene: Proper Set Like, Chapter: The Last One - "Dunroamin" (The Conclusion of an Oddyssey and the Accomplishment of a Quest)

Thus, we have come to the end of our tale - feet battered to shit from having hiked all the way up into the bloody mountains wearing nothing but a pair of ratty old CROCS (which, frankly, were crocks of shit to begin with), shockingly loud green underwear, and hats made from meat.

As the saying is said: One always looks neat, in a hat made from meat.

Many beasts have we slain (by chucking rocks at 'em), many foes have we bested (with the tried and true tactic of a swift kick in the nards followed by promptly legging it), and many frankly sickeningly large hauls of treasure have we trawled out of the river (and tried to forget, after Ham-Hands Herb here fat-fingered them back into the river).

Though the real treasure, in the end, was the heaps of gold coins, which being currency, we'll inevitably spend on tat and DVD box sets of bad old TV shows, to be duly lost and ignored on the many shelves of the fancy home entertainment unit we got for cheap on the home shopping channel.

I'd say that the real gold coins were the friends we made along the way, but I ain't gonna be friends with no damn coin, so instead I'll leave you with some wisdoms, the original owner having been lost sight of, and freshly bottled earlier this week.

  • Preroll your dice
  • Never pass up the opportunity to buy tat
  • When the knives come out, then you don't call that a knife, because THIS...
  • Never point a gun at a gun
  • Don't do anything we wouldn't do, but most importantly, do that voodoo that you do so well
  • Buy tat

Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Eight Legends Drunkenly Recited in a Dingy Bar (Number 6 will stab you in the kidneys!)

Posted: Mon Jun 18, 2018 8:58 pm
by cxl
There is a legend, that is told, and has been told since many moons ago, when the world was still covered by its warranty, but was otherwise much as we know it now, only with less tat, before the audience was set ablaze, and shocking truths were revealed. It is a legend oft sung from the tops of mountains, hollered from beachfront properties, and boringly recited and analysed to death by the people in legend club.

I could tell you about legend club, but then I'd have to abduct you to the secret facility and beat you with a rubber hose until some part of you falls off, or I get tired of doing that and leave, probably to do something more productive with my time.

Because time is space, space is relative, and anything, be it time, space, or relatives, can be converted into money with enough grit, determination, and toughness. Tough like an old leather boot - the kind one often fishes out of the soup of the day if they were foolish enough to go to the dingy diner behind the gas station, instead of going to the far nicer place next to that strip mall. You know, the one that opened across from the laundromat and the adult-entertainment and dildo store.

Yeah, that one.

And much like chewing on an old boot, our story may involve the loss of teeth, the spilling of hot soup all over one's crotch, or making a fool of yourself as you choke to death on an old, soupy boot. It turns out, they don't taste like chicken. Don't digest like chicken either.
For ours is a tale of derring-do, of the buckling of swashes and the brandishing of butterknives; it is the tale of a salesman, with a box of tat and the forum moderator with nothing better to do at that particular sequence of moments. It is the tale containing a bad mixtape, a fistful of Mark VI Man-throwable War Cake, a riot, another riot, rebellion, rats, more dead weasels than you can shake a wad of bills at, hope, love, tragedy, drama, excitement, the crimes which are bad, and also the crimes which are good. It is the tale of a heist, and a quest, and possibly some kind of adventure as well.*

It is a tale, sponsored by GrandLink Solutions - your source for brand-name network switches that "fell off the back of a truck" and varying lengths of questionably banjaxed CAT5e cabling. GrandLink Solutions: It's cheap, yo!

Our legend begins with a story, and like any good story, it begins with a protagonist - a vaguely humanoid lump of an entity, topped with a mop of hair-like matting, who at this very moment in time was engaged in the time-honoured tradition of knife-rioting, having stabbed at least three mopeds and two-fifths of a person this morning already, and it was not yet ten o'clock. The year was 1986, and frankly, all of the shit about to go down.

So check it...

When the going gets tough, the tough go home - to regroup, rearm, resupply, and reheat some of last night's leftovers because it turns out you work up a mighty appetite hurling yourself down streets and up alleyways all throughout the boroughs, stomping on rats and frantically flailing sharp lengths of steel at passers-by in a six day drug-fuelled bender, and all you'd set out to do was pop down to the store for some crackers and cheese before things had to go and get all pear shaped and complicated and FSCKING ANNOYING >:C

As the saying is spoken, by the saying speakers over in saying club, who frankly are a bunch of chumps and we'd have them any day of the week, the early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets into a convoluted honour duel over the cheese, and ends up having to kill a man with a can of baked beans, and then can that man the same as those beans, and sell him at a slight markup, because not many people are selling canned man these days and it's a lucrative market.

And that, of course, was where the ninjas got involved. In them, our dashing hero recognised the elite skills only only obtains from the secretive dojo of the great master "Big Cock" Johnson, which had recently opened a new franchise in the strip mall across from the dildo store, and had been advertising in the paper its affordable lessons in the "da real krotty" which was used on "da streetz".

Thus, our protagonist knew he would require backup, and so he escaped from the store, leaping onto his trusty bike, which wasn't really all that trustworthy and hadn't been his until a few seconds ago, when he'd been forced to use one of his "secret techniques" - poking the previous owner in the Qi and blowing his arms off at fifteen paces, before removing him from the seat with a spinning back-kick, and pedalling away with the force of a weasel being electrocuted via a rectally inserted hamster delivering four hundred and fifty seven volts. In other words, fast bike getaway top speed avoid death.


Thus spoke the ancient scroll of wisdom, which was actually from last week, and also newspaper, and everyone knew the title was ironic, since these things were all fake news. Their politicans had told them so. But this wisdom was in the classifieds section, and took the form of a short rant, sponsored by the fine folks at $PRODUCT_PLACEMENT_COMPANY_NAME. It seemed promising, and thus he made the call, frantically forcing these damn near valueless coins into a payphone so as to get ripped off by the telco even more quickly.

"Yes hello, and hi also," spoke the voice, and they did sound like it, "SPEAK WORDS INTO THE MAGIC BOX AND I SHALL HEAR THEM!"

"Greetings and hello," were the words that our protagonist spoke, "and also hi."

He did two lines off the back of the payphone handset and smoked a blunt to ensure that he wasn't playing cheeky japes on the phoneline again, having gotten in trouble doing that in the past, but we're not here to recount the legend of the situation involving the chickens, the light aircraft, and the flammable materials. P R O P A N E. Our hero put on a pair of sunglasses, so as to be prepared for the moment when he dramatically removed his sunglasses, which was the very next thing he did.

And then he spoke those words - oh, those words! The words that, in some way, set all of this in motion.

"I've got a bit of a ninja problem."

"Don't worry," said the voice on the other end of the magic box, "I'll be right there."

Then, he was right there, having moved with the speed of ten thousand geese, to arrive just as our hero stepped out of the phonebooth - because these things still existed in the days of yore, apparently, and dramatically put on his sunglasses. His backup - a man so large that he was frankly just three T-72s wearing a trenchcoat - handed him a hockey club, and then, they went to work.

9:15 A.M.

That was when it happened, and when it happened, it happened suddenly, in the form of two people suddenly walking into a strip mall and setting about beating a bunch of brightly dressed ninjas out of recognizable shape using repurposed sporting equipment and elbow grease. Mightily did our heroes strike down upon the ninjas, smiting them about the heads dozens of times apiece, and leaving many of them in states of disrepair, knocked full of dents, bits of them falling off, dropping around the place.

Reaching the big coolers, in which was contained the cheese, well known to be the core area of the supermarket, did our brave adventurers encounter what must've been the mightiest of the ninjas - weedier looking than the rest of them, more pimply and with a worse body odour, and O, what a belt on him: caked with a armour-like sheet of old grease and cheeto dust, bedecked with its own smaller belts, in such an array of colours that the whole thing resembled a very scummy and unpleasant rainbow.

The ninja attacked, hollering obnoxiously while starting to frenetically grab and throw varying blocks of cheese. Our heroes advanced, parrying the occasional brick of cheddar before setting upon the ninja with hockey bat and cricket bar and pummeling him righteously, beating and bludgeoning the unfortunate fool until he had been reduced to an occasionally-twitching pile upon the linoleum.

Their task complete, or so they thought, they decided to leg it before the fuzz showed up, but as it turns out there was little chance of that - the knife-riots were by now in full swing, with significant mobilisation across all districts. The streets were packed, and it was a jungle out there. The government jackboots had been counterattacking with a combination of tazers and rude language, and in response, the rioters had deployed a likely stolen cache of cake. The first volley levelled half a city block, and it would only get worse from there.

Our heroes shared a glance. The plan was a simple one: Get the guns, get the money, and get out while the getting was good.

*May or may not contain any of these things. Product may differ from what it shown on packaging. Use only as directed.

Re: Is this community still active..?

Posted: Tue Jun 19, 2018 8:39 pm
by Dryhavich
Y'all are feckin' marvelous people, what with your impromptu novel-crafting in the most trivial of threads.