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  1. 10 likes
    WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR GOD NOW HUH???
  2. 8 likes
    In the same interview, Slash mentioned they have plenty of footage from the UYI tour. A quick look at retarded forums and I could see a bunch of lunatics drooling at the possibility of watching 30 years old footage of stupid millionaires who hate each other. Seriously, why would anyone be interested in seeing how Axl, Slash and Duff spent their days 30 years ago? GNR fans scare me.
  3. 8 likes
    arnold really did PM me and JB. He forgot that JB wasn't mafia with us.
  4. 7 likes
    Thanks to my buddy @magisme I'm having a few cocktails, listening to Blind Melon, thinking of my younger days and shedding some tears, much needed btw... I only wanted to be 16 and free......
  5. 7 likes
    lol does this toothless dumbass not realize no one wants to listen to constipationers? fuck me
  6. 7 likes
  7. 6 likes
    You're just excited that you're not the biggest sucker on the forum anymore since he paid full price.
  8. 6 likes
    With a little luck, Axl will soon suggest a Greta Van Fleet cover.
  9. 6 likes
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  11. 6 likes
    Too late. They found it in religion and politics long ago.
  12. 6 likes
    Scissoring is the new crossfit.
  13. 6 likes
    Right now the Dems are trying to push that Beta loser as the next nominee but there is no way a guy who lost an election to Ted Cruz is going to sit behind the big desk in the oral office.
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  15. 6 likes
    That's all bullshit. He was despondent because Kurt embarrassed him and completely owned him. Kurt told the story of Axl threatening him at the VMAs. Nirvana openly called GnR corporate rock and stereotyped cliches of rock n roll excess. Axl got owned so hard by Kurt, you know it ate him up. Hell, we're talking about the guy who obsessed over a mod at GnR and rageposted at her over a t-shirt story. Yeah, he was despondent alright. Despondent Kurt's death cemented his legacy as douchey 80s remnant rockstar.
  16. 5 likes
    I’ll post the stories from American Bankruptcy here. One a day. My mac is at doctors right now but I found this version of the first story in my email. The typos and grammar mistakes are intentional. SKYSCRAPER Charles Sheen stepped through the automatic sliding doors of the office building into the warm humidity of the afternoon holding a briefcase containing the 2 million dollars he earned for designing the tallest skyscraper in the city. The building was finished and it was pay day. He looked up and saw his driver signal that he was aware of him from the Lexus limo parked on the other side of the small corporate embossed fountain feature roundabout. As they sped along the highway, on their way back to his rented luxury serviced apartment on the East Side, past the malls and cineplexes that keep the masses empty, Charles caught a glimpse of a neon sign glowing in the dusky vermillion light – The Observatory Club. Although the money was reward enough, he had a whole night to kill before his flight the next morning. He’d never been to a club like that before but he thought he’d take a look. Inside at the bar he ordered a Perrier and watched the dancers loop around the poles and gyrate close enough for him to realize he had to slip dollars into their garters. At first it was pretty uncomfortable but he got the hang of it. Erotic dancing never interested him he as he looked around for a way to earn his living when he was a young man, he respected anyone who worked for a living, no matter how limited their minds. At midnight, the lights dimmed and the music changed from raucous rock to darker trance music. To an exotic electronica track a girl belly-danced on the stage with images of snakes flickering on the widescreen TVs around the club. As she worked her way down the runway towards Charles, he saw that her eyes were set on an imaginary object somewhere behind him in the cavernous club. The closer she came, the more it became apparent that she was light years away, but as the music slowed and she reached the edge of the stage her elliptical hips slowed and she lowered herself down to his level, her eyes shifting from the distance into his eyes. Charles fumbled in his jacket for some cash but failed to locate the roll of hundreds he had on his person. In a second the moment was gone, and with a half smile she turned and resumed to dance with her eyes closed as if to music not being played. Charles ordered another Perrier and went to the restroom to splash some water on his face and collect his thoughts. He returned to the bar and his drink was waiting for him. No sooner had he sat down and taken his first sip, a languid voice whisper in his ear, “Care for a private dance, sir?” Without waiting for an answer the figure stepped from the shadows behind him and continued to dance while facing away from him. Charles could not tell if it was the same girl who had transfixed him from the stage as there were now many more belly-dancing girls on the stage. She continued to dance in front of him until the track concluded in mysterious strains. Her back muscles moved sensuously almost out of time with her mesmerizing hips, her elegant arms rising and falling like that of a magnificent bird of prey. As she turned to face him, he could see the same fixed gaze but now it was looking into him and reached for the safety of his Perrier; something to break the spell, a physical object to protect himself with. As he drained the fizzy water and felt the ice roll across his lips, he could see through the bottom of the glass that she was moving away. “Wait,” he said offering his business card from his top pocket, “Call me?” She took the card with a slight smile that seemed only down to forced politeness. He watched her wind her way through the dancers, waitresses and customers and then vanished behind a curtain at the back of the club. After that he ordered a JD and coke. The music changed again, this time to 80s pop hits, and some cheap Debbie Gibson-inspired wannabe strippers came jiggling out to sell their wares. In the early hours, Charles accepted a lap dance in a private room from a girl young enough to be his daughter; and was so far gone from the coke he ran into in the men’s room and the copious number of JDs he’d slurped down that he gained no pleasure from it; it was mildly amusing but there was nothing enjoyable about the experience. As the sun rose over the horizon, Charles swiped the electronic key across his apartment door on the 47th floor. In the bathroom he stared into the mirror and wonder if he could sleep on his flight out of the city at 10am. His cell phone vibrated from his pants that hung over the quilted desk chair by his laptop. u ask me 2 cll lnch 1pm? It took Charles very little time to deduce this was the belly dancer from last night – no one else made such an impression on him. He texted her back: Ok what about 1pm Hilton hotel bar on Paris Street? He knew he did not have a hip texting style but learning the symbols for the words had passed him by. c u @ 1, was the instant reply. Charles collapsed on the bed only to be woken by cleaners rapping on his door, “Cleaning, sir” When he opened the door he was greeted by a wagon of cleaning products and bed sheets, down the hall he saw the plump behind of the catering nature. Looking at his watch he realized he had missed his 10am flight home. He called his driver who sounded drunk at the wheel of his limo and told him to pull round front. The Hilton bar and grill was bustling with immoral businessmen who had long lost any sense of self of respect, they wanted it all and they wanted it now - big, ballsy and brash - the bar menu was a homage to this flawed character trait – huge double patty bacon garnished blue cheeseburgers with mayo and fries, gargantuan mixed grills and fried chicken steaks stared back at him. He located the salads on the back of the menu but only order a Perrier while he waited for his mysterious date. After his third Perrier he began to think of ways to make a dignified exit. As he motioned to his waitress for the check, he saw a figure glide up to reception and turn towards the bar, she was a long middle-eastern woman dressed in a black pant suit and high heels which put her in the top one of tallest people in the foyer. Charles rose a little bit off his chair and half waved at her, she nodded and was sitting in front of him by the time he was sitting back down. The waitress came over just as she was about to say something, so Charlie asked what she’d like. “How about a gin and tonic, Bombay Sapphire, ice? You?” she said coyly to Charles. “I think I’ll have a beer – Bud?” “Thank you,” bowed the waitress and hustled off to procure her guests their refreshments. “I have never been to here before,” she offered, Charles thought as an apology, but no apology was needed, it was her prerogative. “No problem. I am happy to wait for you,” why blow it early thought Charles. “Have you eaten? I haven’t eaten breakfast, I’m hungry as a bear.” Her turn of phrase was disarming to Charles, she was not so mysterious when she wasn’t dancing. “So you’re a dancer at The Observatory,” “Yes, an exotic dancer, I have always loved dancing.” “To be honest, I never go to places like that, I have just finished work and couldn’t face watching ESPN with a sixer of Dr. Pepper again,” Charles said. “Dr. Pepper? It is a candy flavored drink?” “Yes… but you are a fantastic dancer.” Too much information, focus on the lady he thought remembering some dating tips he read on Yahoo. “Oh, no. I’m not good, I’m so bad recently, I never practice, my teacher always scold me,” she said, her eyes still and serious as she lowered her head apologetically. “I think you are great dancer, you must make a lot of money,” Charles said respectfully. “Oh, I make some money but it is not everything to me, I would dance for free,” she said looking away. “Oh really, you must really love it but money makes the world go round, right? I’m Charles by the way. I don’t think you mentioned your name?” “Abda, my friends call me Aby.” “That’s a beautiful name. Where are you from?” “My family lives in Dubai but I have an uncle who works in construction in this city.” “Shall we order some food? Do you like this kind of food, I’m on a diet of sorts, so I’m looking at a salad,” said Charles not even really believing himself about the diet as he smelt last nights liquor on his breath. “I’m a hungry horse after dancing all night, so I think I will have a “Double Cheese Burger with Fries and a side order of Bar-B-Que ribs?” “Sounds good, you said you’d dance for free? Would you really, you know, dance literally for free,” Charles said almost incredulously. “Yes, I dance at home when I feel tired or I need to do some thinking. It gives me power when I have none,” Abda said slowly after taking a sip of her G&T. “But literally in the club, you would dance for free?” His tone was more a challenge than he meant. “I can’t dance for free in the club, the owners would not accept it and it would cause problems with the clients,” she said matter of factly and then became silent. “So you wouldn’t really dance for free then?” Charles said casually as if it was moot. “Yes, I would dance for free. Watch,” Abda rose from her chair with a deep silent look in her eyes and stepped to the side of the table, closing her eyes, she began to sway at first then her hips became the snakes he had seen at the club, her pant suit could not stand the activity and bagged up around her thighs. Charles was frozen, and as she undid her jacket she loosened her hair and began to chant under her breath. As she continued to dance the whole of the Hilton foyer and bar became aware of her, they stood and watched in fascination, a few claps were muted by the silence that took over. As Abda began to moan to a conclusion a few cheers went up. Then as she came to halt, she opened her eyes, and as if nothing had happened sat back down again, brushing her long black hair out of her eyes. The audience that was transfixed slowly started moving again and within a few minutes everyone was bustling around as before. “Yes, I would dance for free, I would dance for nothing,” she said flatly. Charles just sat there, he was not even embarrassed, he was not even in the same hotel as this woman, she was unashamed, the audience had enjoyed it and he didn’t feel any of the discomfort he felt when she started. “That was…fan-tas-tic,” Charles stuttered. Their food came and she was delighted by the burger and ribs and tucked in with out thought to the consequences and before long it was like the astonishing scene had never taken place. When the bill came the waitress said, “The lady eats for free,” and left Charles holding a bill for 12 dollars for his salad and Perriers. “See, I dance for free, and I eat for free,” Abda giggled as they passed the doormen on the way to the waiting limo. After dropping Abda off outside her apartment near the park, Charles went back to his service apartment to try and negotiate a few nights accommodation and think about his day. Abda had turned out to be not only intelligent but a bit of a firecracker. He was glad he decided to stay and meet with her. She had offered to cook him dinner (something else she claimed to love and do for free they joked) the next night and maybe introduce him to her belly dancing teacher. He had accepted and was looking forward to it. The next day he awoke around noon with a bottle of JD by the nightstand, ESPN hadn’t held his interest even though he respected the achievements of almost any sports star dedicated to winning. After showering and ordering room service he went down to the pool which had jacuzzis and a steam room adjacent to it. He spent a good hour and a half swimming in the cool water and soaking in the warm mineral water of the Jacuzzis. He could only last 5 minutes in the steam room before his head began to swim. By late afternoon Charles was snoozing on his bed and looking forward to his date with Abda at 7pm. He called his limo driver early so they could go to Cheese & Fizz to pick up a bottle of wine, he wasn’t sure what she would like so he got a red, a white and a rose. He also picked out some goat cheese and a box of crackers just in case. Abda greeted him at the door of her third floor studio apartment in a light orange and red cotton dress and a head scarf, she had big hoped earrings and red lipstick now; Charles noticed she had a nose ring. She was pleased to see him but her dark eyes showed no emotion when she said the words but her smile made his heart jump a beat. “I have been cooking all day, I hope you like lamb stewed, potatoes, I know you are on a diet but I think we are all meant to enjoy life, not worry about such vanities,” she shouted from the steaming kitchen. “Great, I kinda haven’t really been keeping to the diet of late anyway. Since I finished work, I’ve been on vacay!” Charles was fascinated by all the rugs on the walls, the patterns depicting ancient scenes and the smell of incense was something he knew but only from designer furniture shops in London he sometimes went to. “What’s that smell?” Charles said as she came out with two glasses and a bottle of red wine. “Oh, I’ve got red wine too.” “Not my cooking? Oh. You mean the incense. I always burn them at home, keeps the mind calm, helps me to meditate,” she said setting the wine down on the small dinette table that looked like it was from an old episode of Happy Days. “Meditate?” “Centre-myself, get in touch with my aura?” “Oh, like pray?” “Yeah, like that but only more fun, I’ll show you later” she laughed and pushed him down on the chair. He could smell her perfume and she lingered just long enough for him to see the mystery in her eyes before she was gone and back in the kitchen shouting at him about how she cooked the meat and her teacher would probably drop in later. Over a drunken dinner they discussed how Abda wanted to move outside the city and build a house she had, in fact, already purchased the land and had some money left over to build the house. Her uncle said he would help with the design of the building but had yet to do anything. Charles said that maybe he could help, if she wanted but his price was high – he let it slip that he was one of the highest paid architects in the country – he was proud of this fact, this is how he saw himself, as a successful architect, it wasn’t much but it had made him happy. He was not ashamed of his success. As Charles rolled the last of the red wine around his glass, Abda moved the small table into the corner of the room and brought out a yoga mat from behind the door. “Here, come and sit with me, finish you’re wine,” she patted the mat with a hand a little and beckoned him playfully with her eyes. He downed the glass and flopped down in front of her, she was now sitting cross legged with her eyes closed. “Is this ok?” She said nothing. Charles cross his legs and waited for a reply. She seemed to have drifted off into dream of some sort swaying with the ebb of the red wine in her veins. “Ok, I’ll just sit her, it’s like that whole dancing type real, right?” said Charles. Still she said nothing. Confused Charlie closed his eyes also and decided to wait it out, it was like a test. After 5 minutes he was bored. After 10 he was slightly angry. After 15 he was almost offended. Then she said, “Take off all your clothes.” “What now, no?” She remained silent. Charles looked around for hidden cameras. Had he not wanted to get with this woman, was she not fascinatingly beautiful? Still he waited for her to break out laughing. Eventually, he pulled the shirt over his head. And he waited and still nothing. It dawned on him that she had said all your clothes, so he unglamorously kicked off his shoes and pants and after hesitating for a second decided to hell with his jockeys! There, he’d done it. Was she happy? After a few seconds her eyes opened and she gazed at him, she gazed through him, and began to chant again like in the Hilton foyer. Again he fell transfixed, he was lost in her eyes, he couldn’t tell what they were telling him but they were like the oceans and the sky. And as soon as it had started, it was over. She stopped chanting, she shut her eyes and opened them again and she was back, gone was the eternity in her eyes, she was Abda again. She got to her feet and walked past Charles and touched his cheek and murmured “Call me.” on the way to her bed room. The door closed. That night Charles had no expectations of sleeping his driver stopped at the liquor store near his apartment block to get some serious booze – he could have ordered room service but he needed bulk, he needed Keith Moon proportions of booze. He could not drink it off his mind - what he had experienced. He felt fulfilled yet denied – a certain sense of untamable power but good part confused. He tried not to think about her, he tried to just watch Good News Bears on HBO. It was no use all he could think about was her, who she was, what shewanted. He moved his bottles of booze over to his laptop and opened his design package and started to design a house for Abda based on the measurements she had told him. Not a big plot but enough for a small house or a bungalow. As the sun rose Charles crawled into bed with his bottle and fell asleep with the sounds of birds in his ears and the laptop with the finished design glowing from the screen. He came to with the sun heating the room up good with no one to turn on the air-con. He heard the maid call “Cleaning!” and knew it was 1 or 2pm. He rolled over and grabbed the bottle of JD and made his way over to the laptop. Slumping down he had a look at his design, one of his best small buildings he had designed since college; a little gem. He checked his messages. Nothing. After a few minutes of deliberation he thought what the hell. He texted: I have to see you today. I have got something for you. Something we talked about last night. He went down to the second floor pool and after an hour he checked his phone as he was toweling off. mt after wrk 3am Charles waited outside the club in the limo drinking straight from his JD bottle. He didn’t want to go in, he wasn’t interested in any of the other girls or watching Abda dance again. At 4am she came out the back door into the cold night air wearing an expensive looking grey fur jacket over her belly dancing outfit – a diamond stud shone from her navel as she made her way through the car park lights. Charles pushed the door open with his foot and slid on his back across the leather limo seats. He watched as one long leg entered and then another. Then she looked at him as she slipped off the fur and said with concern, “You look tired.” “I’ve just been hanging out here waiting for you, want some?” Chalres thrust the bottle at her, which she took with the thankful weariness of someone who’d been dancing all night for dollars. She took a hit and caressed his brow. “Anywhere?” Charles said to the driver with a wave of his hand. “You said you have something for me? What is it? A dress? You didn’t need to…” she whispered in his ear. “It’s not a dress, it’s a house. Well, not a house, it’s drawing of a house,” said Charles. “A drawing of a house?” “I mean a design for your house you want to build, you know you said last night,” Charles looked deep into her eyes, “I did it for you.” “Oh, thank you, you didn’t need to do that but thank you, you are so kind, such a nice man,” Abda said lighting up a cigarette and offering him the pack. “I don’t usually but…You don’t need to thank me – it’s what I do, I am an architect. Here, it’s, open that little door there,” he said motioning to the safe box on the floor of the limo. “Here?” she said as she opened the door and pulled out the folders of design. “We can talk about how much it will cost later. I will give you a discount as you have shown me about your dancing and meditating,” he said nodding off a bit. “Take me home now, I’m so tired,” she said as she gazed at the flashing lights of the cityscape outside. “Where to miss?” the driver said seeing that Charles was dead to the world. Next morning after room service breakfast and a dip in the pool, Charles called Abda on her mobile. It was late morning so she would be at her apartment getting ready to go to work. There was no answer on her mobile so he called her landline; still no answer. Later in the afternoon, he called her mobile again but it was turned off and unavailable. At around 4pm, Charles gave up calling and decided to deposit some of the money he made he had in a suitcase under the bed in the bank. He decided to keep one million dollars and put the rest away for a rain day. The bank transaction was quick and efficient and after he was done he stopped off at a bar he read about in a city listings magazine. It was a dive bar but the barkeep was a good talker and he spent the afternoon drinking Long Island Ice Teas and talking sports. He had a steak at around 8pm at this Italian restaurant over the road from The Observatory and then took his usual position in the limo in the car park watching pay per view porn via satellite on his laptop and drinking JD. It was midnight when he started to wonder if he had seen Abda come into the club that night. He had a clear view of the backdoor but he had been distracted for some periods by the porn and going to get more JD from the liquor store. She was probably inside dancing right now. He called her mobile just in case she turned it on during her breaks - still unavailable. Just as he was about to go in and take a seat at the bar to see if Abda was dancing tonight, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Guess wher I am now? It was Abda. He dialed her mobile. “Hi, honey, guess where I am now?” she purred. “I don’t know. Are you ok? Where are you?” Charles said turning down the volume on the porn. “I’m in your room,” said Abda with a giggle. “My room? What room?” Charles said. “Your apartment, dummy,” she laughed. “What? My apartment, how did you do that?” Charles was sitting up now. “Oh, you know me, I can be very persuasive,” she said in a casual whisper. “So do you want me to come to see you?” “What do you think, silly,” she sounded like she had been drinking heavily. “OK. I wanted to talk to you about my design,” Charles tried to take control of the situation but he knew where it was going. “Guess what I’m wearing,” Abda hissed down the phone. “I don’t know,” Charles was a little scared now but he wasn’t going to show it. “Go on, guessss,” her tongue flicking at the s. “I don’t know, nothing, your belly dancing outfit?” “Better.” “I’m coming. Just wait there,” he said quickly almost under his breath. Then to the driver he said, “Apartment. Go, go, go, go, go!” pointing down the highway Charles pushed the door open and the room smelt of incense and the only light in the room was coming from a big candle which illuminated everything with a soft glow, casting shadows across the walls. Then he saw Abda directly in front of him wearing only the small grey fur coat she had on the night before and some strappy black high hells. Her eyes bore across at him, her arms back on his white silk sheets, her legs crossed and her back arched viciously, her long hair flowing down her back. In panic Charles said, “About the money for my design” “Get here,” Abda said uncrossing her legs and rising from the bed. This was a command, not a request. As she strode with vengeance across the room Charles felt drawn to her by some kind of intolerable sexual force. As he met her in the middle of the room she straddled him and he carried her to the bed as they ate at each others mouths like rabid dogs fighting in the street, her legs wrapped around his torso, his hands tearing at her hair. As she moaned under him, she spoke in languages he had never heard, her nails ripped into his back and she licked at her bloody fingers like his blood was the antidote to a fever that gripped her thighs. Both their bodies were slick with sweat and bleeding from scratches and burns after hours of positions Charles had never even seen before. As he came in her for the sixth or seventh or eighth time she looked deep into his eyes like she was about to declare her unconditional love and muttered bitterly under her breath, “Hit me.” She stared into his eyes with an immoral leer as if he was less than a man, unworthy of any human decency, an animal she found eating from her trash can. “Hit me, you coward.” He felt himself raise his fist above his head. “Hit me, your mother fucked me better than you do.” His fists did not stop until she was nothing but a bleeding rag. Coming to, light revealing the harsh evidence of the night before, Charles shielded his eyes and felt his stomach turn. He looked for Abda, but she was not there. He sat up on the bed, he saw the red candle had melted and dripped all over the deep white shag carpet, he reached for the bottle of JD. A piece of paper was folded on top of his laptop. Before he even read the note his veins had turned to ice. He turned and dropped the bottle of JD and on his knees looked under the bed for the suitcase containing one million dollars. It was gone. The note read: See you in court. wasted
  17. 5 likes
    Like the hypocrites they are the Dems and their celebrity chums are now against this. Beautiful move by Trump
  18. 5 likes
    If voting really mattered, they wouldn't let you do it
  19. 5 likes
    There is a shit tonne of important stuff leaked by wikileaks but said importance largely depends on what part of the world you are in. The Arab spring for example, pretty much kicked off thanks to the leak of U.S. diplomat cables which showed the widespread corruption between governments and the U.S. across North Africa and the Middle East. The Collateral Murder/Bradley Manning leak could be argued helped turn public opinion even more so against the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan The Podesta/ Democrat emails definitely damaged Hilary but again it is hard to truly put a measure on such things. I guess it also depends on how cynical you are as to how shocking the wikileaks stuff is but he definitely exposed a lot of high level corruption. Unfortunately instead of people grabbing their pitchforks and hanging the bastards from the lampposts a lot of the stuff faded from the news cycle or was ignored eventually thanks to most people having the attention span of goldfish. Even the Edward Snowden NSA leak didn't really achieve much in the end. People want to live in the Matrix and pretend everything is ok.
  20. 5 likes
    Marvel is shit. Captain America movies are pretty good, Iron Man is shit, Hulk is shit, first Thor is pretty good, second and third are shit, Avengers movies are meh, Guardians are shit, Ant Man is a one-watch wonder, lol Negro Panther, Spiderman is shit, Doctor Strange is shit, lol Captain Bitch Face.
  21. 5 likes
    God damn it. I'm just finishing a stoned, proto-thoughtful response. Just when I think it's time to say real things. I'll post it anyway... .... No. Of course not. Think of it like my forum posting history. I came to the forums because I'm a fan of GNR. That's the given. However, I came in at a time when GNR wasn't at its best. I remember one of my first posts on the gina was in response to some concert video where Axl sounded bad and the band was shit. I wrote something along the lines of wishing Axl would put in more effort and feeling sad that this was what GNR had become. Immediately, a handful of posters climbed out of mygina's vaginal wall to call me a hater and not a real fan and all the basic Axl nutter shit. So I decided I'd just make jokes about NuGNR. Might as well have fun. That made them even madder. So I thought, OK, I'll keep the jokes but I'll explain my issues with the band as well, without the jokes. I will build a bridge of posts. Save a few reasonable nutters, this made them the maddest, probably because NuGNR critics' complaints, when explained, are fairly reasonable and it shorts their circuits. At that point, I said fuck it, let's be ridiculous, 1488!!! WE MUST SECURE THE EXISTENCE OF REAL GNR!!! KILL ALL BRAZILIANS!!! NUKE THE NUTTERS!!! It's a dialectic. The final form cannot be understood without the preceding movements.
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    I'm about a decade older than you. I'm progressively learning not to worry about what "the world" will look like in 20-40 years. There's absolutely nothing I can do about it, and 99.9% of the world doesn't have much effect on my day-to-day. So I don't pay much attention to the news, I mind my own business at work, and I spend time with family and people who would never tell me to check my privilege. Fuck literally everything else. Things could get bad when we're a minority though. You won't have to search much to find out what happens to minority races when they're perceived as too powerful and historically guilty.
  23. 5 likes
    imagine being a guitarist of the actual band, not a fucking roadie, the caterer or another hangers on, but the ACTUAL fucking guitarist of the band can't even be trusted with a song HE'S putting guitar parts down on so much so that he needs a fucking 'minder' in the room with him. Fucking hilarious and pathetic
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    Enough with spelling out the word shit seriously the gayest thing this forum has ever done.
  27. 5 likes
    I'd love to play with her big floppy cans. Just unhook her bra and free them droopers....plop em all over my face. She's thin and has big tits. She doesn't even have a very pretty face anymore. She was pretty in that college video, but not now. It's just sad that a thin chick with big tits is all it takes to get so much fucking attention. Ridiculous.
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    What's not to like about posts about mashed animal body parts tubed into a stretched meat log?
  30. 5 likes
    Um... no. It's bad enough that we have to deal with them in the workplace. We actually have a nice club here, and we are going to ruin it?
  31. 5 likes
    Rumor: I'm eating salami right now Fact: I'm eating salami right now!
  32. 5 likes
    Y'know, the thing I find funniest about all this is the fact that they started this "investigation" to try and make Trump look bad, but now that its cleared him, they've pretty much vindicated him. Now he has another talking point against whoever he runs against in 2020, and he's in the right honestly. It was a waste of time and money, and frankly not that good of a scheme in the first place. Especially stupid was how soon they started the investigation, while likely knowing nothing would be found. If you wanna make a candidate look bad you don't start it three years before the election cycle, you start it when it's close to the election itself. It's called the October Surprise, and it works because voters have a very short attention span. They won't remember something from a year ago or even a month ago, but they will remember last week. Mostly. I'm not saying I approve of that sort of trickery. I don't, but it is standard politics, and it's funny they can't even properly screw someone over at this point. The one time they did was with Bernie Sanders, and they couldn't even keep that a secret. They're just lucky that a lot of their followers were so dumb they listened when they were instructed to be mad that the information got out, as opposed to what the information was. They're in their own way at this point, and it's hilarious. You couldn't write a satire this entertaining. Meanwhile, the Democratic field is still dumb, but continues to amaze me with its growing stupidity. Apparently some folks are trying to draft Mike Gravel of all people, and he's genuinely considering it. It's a movement being pushed by a group of teenagers mostly, who acknowledge that he's not going to win, but want him on the debate stage so he can get his ideas out. The idea is a nice one, but it's unfortunately naive. These days debates aren't so much about the exchange and discussion of ideas, but for convincing undecided voters that your opponent is Satan and ridiculing their stances better than they can yours. It's really all about saying "You're ideas are wrong and you're bad for having them" the loudest, while also saying "My ideas are right, and I'm the only one who means them. Don't listen to these other people, they all suck. Vote for me!" - it's not even really about saying what your ideas are, just that they're better than everyone else's. And of course, all of them will be shouting "I'm not Trump! That means I'm fit to be president!" I'm so looking forward to the primaries. I get the feeling it'll be very damaging and you'll have a lot of folks who refuse to drop out even thought their chances of winning are pretty well zero (there's always one in these crowded races), and they'll only serve to deny everyone else the necessary votes. In turn, that'll make the convention a more chaotic affair. Whoever comes out on top will more likely be crippled by their own party infighting and lose in the general, unless something big happens. Like I said before, they're pretty much in their own way at this point.
  33. 5 likes
    No new album. Blame Trump.
  34. 4 likes
    @Miser who is this chick? Another one of your invites?
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  36. 4 likes
    One is a mythical creature who has hoardes of brainless disciples following around, pandering to him. The other is Jesus.
  37. 4 likes
    I don't know which one I should hit with my square mouth shovel first
  38. 4 likes
    Magisme was Wasted Was LOL TOWN WINS Fucking Masterpiece completed
  39. 4 likes
    I'ma call you Miser, cuz you're about to be blocked from creating threads.
  40. 4 likes
    It's possible that bacardimayne's meltdown last month was some kind of viral marketing campaign for this guy
  41. 4 likes
    Gunner is a fascinating character. I am still not sure if he is the dumbest troll poster of all time.....or if he is a brilliant, hilarious, genius who is one of the greatest posters in GnR history. Cons. He will beat a dead horse to a second death. The 9,937 post about Slash's teeth went from being funny to just annoying. Once he gets onto a specific thing, he'll make a million posts about it. Pros. He could troll better than anybody. You could tell Gunner that chocolate chip was your favorite cookie and he would somehow turn that into you being a Nazi that loved to have sex with horses. When I mentioned my wife was a nurse, he turned the entire nursing career into "nurses are people who have failed at life. They wanted to be doctors but weren't smart enough. Now they just clean up shit all day." And you couldn't have a meaningful back-and-forth with him because he had no set base or core values. I've told this story before. He once insulted the USA medical profession by saying "it sucks. Because you will let a man die on the hospital door steps if he doesn't have insurance." Somebody pointed out that ER's have to treat a dying patient even if they don't have insurance. His response was "that's why it sucks. Because you will treat anybody even if they can't pay." How can you debate or insult somebody who will literally just switch sides of what they are saying? His other pretty clever way of arguing was to take control of whatever clever insult you might have had against him. If you came up with a funny insult against him, he would just start using the same insult against you. Effectively negating your initial insult. What could you say "Hey buddy, don't call me that. I called you that first." That just makes you sound like an idiot. I believe Gunner is a good kid at heart. He sent me a PM once letting me know some forum members were trying to get my personal information so they could Doxx me (or whatever it's called). That was a cool move on his part. A popular longtime forum member once told me. "He is a retard. But he's our retard." I like the guy. Off the forums he is probably a pretty nice guy and would be pleasant to share a steak lunch with and then go for a horseback ride together.
  42. 4 likes
  43. 4 likes
  44. 4 likes
    This is old. Mickey Rourke himself said in early 2018 that Axl was with his trainer and his voice was kicking ass. Axl came back even shittier after that.
  45. 4 likes
  46. 4 likes
    If people like CNN don’t really present all the evidence it’s hard for people to dig through everything. Even now the headline is partly Trump not exonerated of obstruction, which isn’t really true. In the summary of the report it says he is innocent until proven guilty of any obstruction charges. So he is exonerated of obstruction, I’m sure he will say that. The stupid thing is if you look into it at all, you realize the dossier that Clinton paid that british spy to compile was actually closer to collusion than anything Trump did. She colluded with british spy to affect the election. The spy said it wasn’t for public use, but they used it to get a Fisa report on Carter page, to spy on Trump. Which is allowed if they didn’t know the dossier was full of made up stuff. Hillary knew it was tabloid stories. All this helped to get the Mueller investigation going which is all known to the media but they won’t go near it.
  47. 4 likes
    It's proof they were never actually concerned about collusion...they were only invested in taking down Trump. Fucking clowns the lot of them. It was obvious from day 1 that this whole narrative was a crock of shit. Yet Democrats en masse bought into it hook, line and sinker. It was a beautiful psyop propaganda campaign and every dipshit that disliked Trump jumped on it whilst totally ignoring the glaring holes in the story. It is a textbook case of a propaganda campaign fooling millions. Yet how many of them will ask themselves today as to what other propaganda they have so easily fallen for? Fucking zero. Which is why it works so well. Critical thinking is alien to vast swathes of Americans.* *and millions of idiots across Europe too
  48. 4 likes
    Crying that your president didn't commit treason....what a world to live in.
  49. 4 likes
    So no collusion and in the report it even said the Russians came to Trump with offers but didn't take them up on it 😂.
  50. 4 likes
    Good to know old Geraldine is taking care of herself.
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