Re: The Legends of the Greymen and the Abyss
Posted: Sat Aug 14, 2010 11:11 pm
What kind of semen have you got? Semen is supposed to be green and poisonous to dogs.
Proudly ignored since 1867
Whack ass friend wrote:I'm not full time rappin nor a part time rapper, I gotta girl 9 millimeter and I always strap her, to my hip like diaper, and no im not a sniper, but my aim is perfect and my flow is hyper, so jus call me striper, I got the adidas on and the fitted visor, covers the sun and haters, catch you laters, I'm not a thug or gangsta but I'll show you what fate is.
-Yours Truly (Whack ass friend)
Me wrote:This is really some weak shit. You don't have anything of substance. You are thinking of words that sound the same, and constructing sentences that vaguely connect them. There is no meaning behind them. No one will be moved by hearing it en...ough to ever think about it in any way significant.
A square mile of barren desert is not the same as a square mile of field. Your words are as barren and meaningless as the desert, and just as undesirable to come upon.
Some dumbass wrote: He can show what fate is, but i will show you whos the greatest. That's me, M to the E. You know its all about me. I'm living large wit my caddii, dude, i got your girl calling me daddy. Now you know Im on the top and i refuse to be stopped.... So, get out my way with your hating, go somewhere else with cha playing. I got work to do, and my job is to go in on all of you. Ha ha ha...I can't be beat. Good luck knocking me off my feet. You dealing with the man with the plan. I done took over with one hand. It is to easy, yall be breezy. Now Rah-Rah out, go ahead and shout. Ahhhhhh! See More
Another dipshit wrote:Weezy f arlind the f is for famous. Shitt my kicks = latest. Nigga yuda fakest , my ass spit rhymes better den yurs my shit legit. Shitt scram, GET!!
Me, unleashing the MOTHER FUCKING FURY! wrote:Apparently none of you read the part about substance.
No way dah bitches pick you over their husbands.
I understand you boys think it's gold you spittin'.
Your brains are upside down, you use your ass for thinkin'
...You think your dicks your heart, and you use your mouthole for shittin'.
Your rappin's so batshit retarded you'd be better off taking up knittin'.
Grow up, man up, and please shut the fuck up.
Cause you guys is all fuck ups and you need to learn when to let up.
People listen to your words, they don't care about your brand.
Nigga, what part of this don't you understand?
You say the same shit as everyone else in the land.
Give your words some fucking thought, cause I'm saying it's pretty bland.
Personally, I find any raps that include the terms "Geneva Convention", "moccasin master", and/or "differential diagnostication (is my prognostication)" to be culturally significantPrancing about like they're the next big thing,
'Cos their cousin's got an 8-track and their mate Daryll can sing
These kids getting above their station and saying
They're a vessel through which a higher power's conveying
Their lyrical prognosis is like spiritual osmosis
In that everything they say evaporates into boasts - it's a joke
I've listened and I can't even find one quote
Worth using as a reference or even as a footnote
Most of these kids could get their guns out and kill me,
But how many got the skill to inspire and thrill me?
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Murders! Mysteries! Memories! Mammaries! Manliness! More alliteration! The pen is mightier than the sword, yet the sharpest of intellects are the most dangerous weapons of all! A web spun by the differently abled entangles an entire city. It will take a special kind of detective to unravel the shroud of deceit that veils the supple, sultry body of the truth, and the thread count is a ridiculously high number. Real expensive. So are your wages. The express train screeches to a halt at the station as you finish writing up your thoughts in your diary. An automated voice echoes through the train. “You are now arriving at Katawa Station, final stop. Please check your luggage and depart in an orderly fashion.” You check your pocket watch; it is exactly midnight. Being the last scheduled train, the car is empty, save you, your slumbering companion, and an attendant in charge of cleaning and maintenance. You roll up a newspaper at your side and lightly smack your friend on the head, rousing him. “It is time, Kenji,” you motion to him as you stand and begin to stretch. “Really now, was it truly necessary to take leave at such an hour? Surely it would have been more productive to get a good night’s rest and to come tomorrow morning.” “It is most definitely imperative to our agenda that we took great haste in our travels abroad,” you respond in a very dignified, uppity manner. “It is to our benefit that we quickly become familiar with the scene of the crime. Not having to worry about the hours required for such a commute across the county shall definitely expedite our investigation.” You adjust the trench coat and cap you quickly threw on, searching your pockets for your old tobacco pipe. As you place it in your mouth, you abruptly turn to him and stare into the very depths of his soul for a good five minutes. “Don’t call me Shirley. The name is Sherlock.” “No shit,” Kenji mutters loudly under his breath as the two of you collect your baggage. The train attendant coughs to get your attention. He gestures to one of the many “no smoking anywhere” signs that are clearly on display in your line of sight. “Have no fear my good man, this is not a tobacco pipe.” You blow into the mouthpiece, and heart shaped bubbles emerge from the end of the pipe. The train attendant merely gives you a strange look. You muse to yourself as you depart from the train. They’ve all heard the fake pipe joke before, but heart shaped bubbles? Genius! They never expect it. “Holy crap Hisao, what the hell is the point of talking all fancy in front of strangers if you pull out retarded stuff like the bubble pipe? Seriously, I’m not doing it anymore.” “Sadly Kenji, poor eyesight is not the only disability you have. I’m afraid you were born without a funny bone in your body. To see the reaction they have when an intellect like mine contrasts with such frivolous habits-“ “Fuck, I’m practically blind and I can see they look at us like we’re morons. “ “But can they see why kids love cinnamon toast crunch,” interjects an unfamiliar voice. You turn to look at the source of the voice while Kenji just keeps walking. A woman with no arms is holding a sign that says “Sherlock Hisao” above her head. Your keen senses of observation kick into overdrive, even though you walked right past her and the sign just a moment ago. She appears to be 161cm tall, with short red hair and dark green eyes, and no arms. She wears an old suit, with patches near the knees, and the sleeves sown up. There is a strange scent to this woman, smelling a strange combination of sweat, smoke, perfume, and some sort of chemicals. Also, she has no arms. You are particularly focused on this particular detail, not because you find this alarming or disturbing or unusual at all, but because you expected the guide you hired to help carry your luggage to your hotel. “Cinnamon Toast Crunch? I read about that. Feminists have been imprinting secret codes onto the cereal for years! They’ve been attempting to reprogram our taste buds and brainwash us. Luckily the codes get erased if you eat some oatmeal in chocolate milk.” “Elementary, it’s the cinnamon sugar swirls on every bite,” you respond, cutting Kenji off before he starts another tirade of his. You had requested that the guide ask a riddle of you to confirm it was not an imposter, or some sort of trap, just in case. It would seem that everything is in order, so you- “Nope.” “No?” “No, nope.” “Nope?” “Yes.” You begin to puff on your pipe and stroke your chin, considering carefully how to proceed. “Let me ask you a riddle,” she interrupts you as you wonder how to make a “Who’s on third” joke. “What is the one place I can sit that you cannot?” “Simple, my shoulders!” “Wrong again, the seats of my pickup truck. Dump your bags in the back and let’s get going. It’s getting late.” You ask Rin who she is, and she responds that her name is Rin. Pretty self explanatory. Kenji attempts to shake Rin’s hand once, attempts to get a high five twice, and bumps into five separate support poles during the two minute walk it takes to reach the station’s parking lot. Rin walks towards the only nearby car in the lot. It is some strange hybrid of a smart car and a pickup truck. What niche could this possibly fill in the automobile industry you wonder as you throw your bags in the back. “I guess we’re off to the Shoujo Inn now, right? Hop in.” Then the car explodes and you die, but there’s another parallel universe where everything is the same except instead of dying, another post continues the story.
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Looking at the two of them, no one would ever guess this duo was known as possessing the greatest intellect the civilized world has ever seen. Sherlock Hisao was a man oozing of moderation. He was moderately rugged and hansom, his hair was moderately long, his voice was moderately deep, he dressed moderately fashionable, his mannerisms were moderately refined, and he spent a moderate amount of time dodging the topic of the girth of his genitals whenever such a conversation would arise. Little would one suspect something beyond this moderate template of his, one that would seem fairly generic and easy to relate and/or self insert oneself as, was a whole cosmos of intelligence stored within him brain, and just as much character within his heart. Kenji himself was no slouch either, although as blind as a bat and seemingly useless, he was a jack of all trades who knew how to get things done. No matter how strange his train of thought, the tracks would always arrive near the same destinations Sherlock Hisao himself would chart. A doctor, a former soldier, and a ladies’ man to boot. Or he would be if women understood logic as well as Hisao did. Hold a sword up to a woman once questioning if they laced your tea with sedatives and suddenly they lose interest. You fear with a skill set such as his, in another world he would be regarded as some sort of chosen one. You fear without you around perhaps he would be considered the most charming, a thought that surely hexes you. Perhaps more of a bewitching world, rather than some galaxy far, far away a long time ago. Kenji is harry potter. The piece of crap truck hits a slight bump in the road and you fly half a foot upward in the air. You also fly forward 50 miles per hour, a great intellect such as you would not forget such an important detail, but seeing as how the vehicle was also accelerating at the same speed from your vantage point it appears you just went upward. Such a compact vehicle would shake so greatly from so little an obstruction as a speed bump? Fifteen minutes have passed, and it was a most comfortable fifteen minutes for sure. So comfortable, you realize, that during the ride you relaxed so much as to shift from third to second person while writing up the introduction of your memoirs. With the white out tucked safely in one of his bags and the road becoming much more bumpy, you decide to simply tuck your diary back into your coat pocket. Crap, I did it again, Hisao thinks to himself. The ridiculously shitty truck comes to a stop. Hisao peers over the edge, noticing an officer shining his flashlight into the vehicle. It would seem the road bump was not a defect on an otherwise smooth countryside road, but rather an intentional means of slowing traffic. Surely such an observation would be considered groundbreaking, if the proceeding dialogue did not illustrate the same point with far more insight. Rin faced the man shining a flashlight into her eyes in the most unfazed manner the back of a woman’s head could appear to you. “Problem, officer?” “No problems here, we’re just going to have to search your vehicle again. You know the drill. We gotta search everyone on all major exit roads to make sure the thief doesn’t get away.” “I’m aware,” Rin replied calmly. “You searched me on my way out though. How likely is it that I’m bringing it into the city when you are trying to stop it from getting out?” The officer threw his arms up and shrugged over emphatically, illustrating just how little he gave a damn about her protests. “Well if it was just you I’d let you through, but I don’t know who those queer folk in the back are or what they might be planning.” Kenji, who uncharacteristically had chosen NOT to rant during a period of silence, roared to life. “Hey, let me be completely clear on this subject. Our characters are not gay. We are epitomes of manliness. We have smarts, good looks, rugged physiques, and we fight for justice. The friendship between Holmes and Watson is an ideal for all men to strive towards, for themselves and for one another. The feminists seek to take advantage of men’s insecurities by applying their own social constructs to a work of fiction of another time. They seek to weaken the foundation of brotherhood by projecting their insecurities, and divide us so we are unable to work together to outsmart their agendas. There is far too little evidence to support the idea that they were homosexual.” “He has a point, you know,” Rin chimed in. “They’re just eccentric and suffer from various neuroses. I myself don’t really care, but I am quite different myself. Is it so wrong to be different? Who are you to judge?” “Woah now,” the officier begins to backpedal. “There’s nothing wrong with being different! Why, my niece is differently inclined and I have been very supportive of her. I’m mean, we’re all concerned about her wellbeing but if she still manages to be happy, we’d overlook whatever frivolous matters she pursues.” “Would you say you are merely using such patronizing language in an attempt to intimidate us into giving up our protected freedoms for your convenience?” “Yes, Rin, that’s exactly what I’m doing! It used to be that people were nice to officers, you know? You didn’t need to worry if someone would pull out a gun just because they didn’t want a ticket. Can you believe they suspended me without pay for roughing up some politician a few months back? WITHOUT PAY!” “I suppose we all learned a valuable lesson here. We shouldn’t judge someone by preconceived notions. It doesn’t matter if it’s their sexuality, or their occupation, or whether or not they don’t have any arms. Harassment is really not that big of a deal. We should all just act more mature and not tattle on one another.” “Hold on Rin,” Hisao said unsurely. “That’s a terrible moral, and completely off topic. Officer, I am Sherlock Hisao and this is my cohort, Kenji. Your department should be expecting me. It is terribly late and I will be exhausted having to write all this dialogue down in my journal before I sleep. Could we please just go?” “Yes, yes. Fine. It’s nearly the end of my shift anyways.” The rest of the ride goes fairly quickly, and you arrive at your destination without incident. Except the building blows up in this timeline. Luckily you saved right before the explosion. It’ll take a while to download a mod that skips that part of the story though.
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The car pulled up in front of the Shoujo Inn. It was a fairly large building, although quite small compared to the hotel complexes out in the big city. It was twelve stories tall, and all the rooms were large enough that they all had a terrace overlooking Katawa City’s countryside. Beyond a fenced off area one could see the surface of the swimming pool perfectly mimic the starry night sky. The Shoujo Inn was only an half hour drive from the station, and the main city road ran right along it. This Inn’s location was the most convenient for visitors and tourists, and was known to have housed a fair share of well known clientele with business in the city. By all accounts this was the place to best launch the investigation in the city. Hisao tried to explain all this to Kenji, but he remained incredulous. “Seriously? You want me to sleep at a place that caters solely to FEMINISTS? “ “I told you, it couldn’t be helped. The world famous exhibit being brought to the town, and the subsequent theft, has left us with no place else to stay! Every other hotel is jam packed, and I had to call in some favors for the management to even consider this!” “No way man, I’m sorry. There’s no way in hell we’re staying at a women’s spa. This is a cesspool of feminist ideology and elitism and privilege. I’d rather sleep out on the street than in one of those swan-feather mattresses. The moment we leave our backs open they’ll do us in!” Hisao placed his right arm on Kenji’s shoulder. “Kenji, my man, would you trust me for this one? The city people have a vested interest in us solving this case. The fact they agreed to this on such short notice shows this.” Kenji adjusted his glasses, pushing his glasses up with his middle and pointer fingers on the bridge of his frames. The moonlight caused his spectacles to shine, now obscuring his face and giving him a general sense of diabolicalness. With a wide grin on his face, he placed his own right arm on Hisao’s shoulder and firmly grasped it. “Ah, Hisao, you old devil, you! You got us into a feminist headquarters! While we pretend to solve some case, we’ll investigate the feminist conspiracy and take it down FROM THE INSIDE!” “We can certainly solve any other problems you find after we solve this mystery. Just don’t act rashly, we don’t want anyone pressing charges against you again this time.” Rin pokes her head out from the building, motioning for you to come in. Just in time Sherlock thought to himself, as Kenji gleefully began to collect the bags from the truck. Hisao had Rin take care of check in while he tried to convince Kenji, perhaps resorting to using a non refundable deposit as leverage. Rin foots Hisao and Kenji their room key and a card with writing scrawled on the back. The two detectives carry their bags to the second floor and locate Room 221. There is a click sound as the key unlocks the door. There is a slight creaking sound as Hisao swings the door inward to enter the room. There is another clicking sound, this time the cocking of a gun. There is a thud as things drop to the floor, as the two men raise their arms to please the assailant behind the barrel of a gun pointed their way. “I warned you about those inns bro,” Kenji whispered into Hisao’s ear. “I told you dog!” “It keeps happening,” Hisao admitted reluctantly.
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The room was nice and large but fairly plain. The walls were colored a dull shade of white, the doors and window frames a wooden brown. There were two large pull out beds with pale blue sheets and pillows, and two dressers with various perfumes and make up products neatly littered across its surface. Black curtains rippled gently as wind wafts in from the terrace sliding door. To the left of the terrace door, rested in a small armchair with red and green flower prints randomly scattered across its beige surface, a dark figure was seated. A familiar scent filled the room, emitted from the disguised person completely clothed in black fabric. The assailant gestured with the gun, motioning for the two men to enter. “For what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Iwanako,” Hisao asked as he quickly shut the door. The woman pulled the mask down to her neck, revealing a mischievous smirk. “What makes you so sure it’s me?” “You always did prefer this perfume,” Hisao replied as he walked over to the dresser, the gun trailing him. Hisao picked up the only open bottle of perfume, pretending to examine it. “Even when the situation required stealth, you always wanted to leave your mark on the scene. Old habits die hard I suppose.” “So this is your new protégé, eh? You always said you worked best alone. I guess you must have been lonely without me around.” Kenji dramatically pointed at Iwanako. “Holy shit, THIS is the crazy bitch you used to work with?” Iwanako’s face turned white, and the gun snapped towards Kenji’s direction. The smile quickly straightened and her eyes opened wide. Kenji jumped back against the door, pressing his back against it as closely as possible. “Settle down now, Iwanako. He’s just a hardcore men’s rights activist,” Hisao said in a careful tone as he walked back toward Kenji’s side. “I know you well enough that if you planned on shooting us you would have done it without the small talk.” Iwanako’s smirk returned to her face as her gun pointed back towards Hisao. “Aren’t you glad to see me? Don’t pretend you didn’t hope this case would get you a clue as to what I was doing?” Hisao ignored her taunts. “I took this case as a favor to an old friend of mine. The old art professor whose name we cleared? He asked me to help the museum case.” “Ah, you are treating me so cold! Here I am giving you the chance to say whatever it is you have wanted to say to me these past few years, and you focus solely on your work? This is the problem with you. A man with observational skills such as yours shouldn’t focus his eyes on one thing completely.” Iwanako cocked her head sideways a bit. “Of course, I’m not referring just to your habit of overworking. You were too focused on finding clues on me as well. People have noticed your wish to catch me. There are those who have realized that I am the only person you have been unable to catch.” Iwanako raises her free hand to her face and stares blankly at her nails. “While I have nothing to do with this ordeal, my current employer wishes me to bury you on this matter.” “Watch what you say you crazy bitch,” Kenji barked. “A woman's threats aren’t enough to intimidate this soldier!” Iwanako aimed the gun at Kenji’s genitals, instantly silencing him. “Relax, the gun isn’t even loaded,” cackled Iwanako. “Though I wouldn’t take my word on it if I were you.” Iwanako let loose her grip on the gun’s handle, allowing the gun to simple dangle from her pointer finger. “My employer doesn’t necessarily want to kill you.” “Then what does he want?” “My employer resents that you are known as the greatest intellect around. No one knows who he is, but he has gathered a reputation as the greatest criminal mastermind of all time. Why, he even managed to track me down, and convinced me to participate in this little game as well!” “What are you getting on about now? A game?” “Yes. It involves you and your young ward against me and my employer. The game has already begun.” Hisao walked over to the chair opposite Iwanako and took a seat. “It seems we have already given our consent to play. The game is just to solve the case of the museum heist?” “It is a bit more complicated than that. My employer has for the most part made most of his moves, one of them being the case. He and I are acting independently; I simply will work toward my ends while not obstructing his. The two of you should have several things you are after, so winning will not be so easy. This is a game of wits after all. For example, if you solve the case but fail to catch me when I am right in front of you, my employer will have proven your weaknesses, and you lose. If you catch me but his plans go off without a hitch, you lose. If you die…” Iwanako’s voice trails off. “I see,” Hisao murmured aloud while stroking his chin. “The nature of this game is to reach your objectives while denying your opponent the very same. My opponents are an arrogant man and a scheming woman. That all sounds fairly simple.” Kenji put on a serious contemplative expression. “I don’t understand. I can see why the schmuck who hired you would want to do all this. What I don’t see, besides anything six inches from my face, is how putting your neck on the line would further your schemes for world domination.” Iwanako shot Kenji a strange glance, unaware of how to interpret what he just said. “You’re right, I wouldn’t risk my ass for this. Like I said, he found me. I wasn’t looking to be found. I’m just smart enough to play along. If he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t know how to stop him.” Iwanako looked directly at Hisao. “He… He’s making this worth my while. If I play my cards right I could clean this city of everything valuable it has. If we win I’ll be set for life and there would be no reason to worry about you or anyone else ever catching me.” Her voice started slowly faltering.”Still, I- I don’t like all of this. I never killed anyone, but he wants -wants casualties, to prove that he defeated you.” Hisao stood up, placing his hands on her shoulders. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tears began to well up in her eyes. “He doesn’t want to get rid of me or anything; he says I have promise. He just wants me to motivate you. He wants you to know that you are playing his game, and he wants to know that you’ll be involved. He said that even if you get me, as long as he is around it’ll be meaningless. But if I win I can finally be free…” Her expression turned back to the straight serious face she always wore when things got down to business. “Do you agree to play the game? Or do you forfeit the challenge?” “I don’t know what’s going on, because Sherlock hasn’t bothered to tell me what the case is yet,” Kenji said with his arms crossed, “but all we have to do is solve the cases and catch the criminals? Compared to the army or the feminist conspiracy, this is nothing.” “Listen Iwanako, if there’s anything you could tell me to help find him we’ll-“ Iwanako pushed Hisao back into his seat. She wiped away the moisture from her eyes, and tightened her grip on the pistol. “All I can tell you is that the field is this entire city. Anything that gets through the city surveillance goes towards us, and anyone you catch or anything you recover will stay in your possession, unless some third parties get involved.” She pulled the mask back over her face and stood up, walking towards the open terrace door. “Also, I’m supposed to shoot you.” Iwanako pointed the gun right at Sherlock Hisao’s heart, and fired. His body fell over backwards from the impact as the chair fell to the ground. Iwanako dropped the pistol on the balcony as she jumped off the edge. She latched onto a zip line and slid down to the ground, now effectively invisible while fleeing under cover of the countryside darkness. “Holy shit she had a gun! Why didn’t you fucking tell me,” Kenji screamed, rushing toward the fallen detective’s side. Hisao groaned as he turned himself over and pushed himself onto his feet. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his pipe. Lodged within the opening of the pipe she purchased for him before leaving was the bullet. Hisao walked out the sliding door and looked out at the surroundings. Picking up the gun, he opens it to find the gun empty of bullets. Iwanako clearly didn’t shoot to kill. She risked both their lives on how much she understood him. In a way, she was asking him for help. Hisao didn’t mind giving her a hand, as long as both ended up in a prison cell when this was all over. “Come now Kenji, it has been quite a tiring day. Let us rest up for tomorrow. We will need to be in top form.” “I’ll get the bags I guess,” Kenji said to himself as he opened their room door. As he stepped out, Hisao could hear a young woman’s voice shout “WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?”