Who do you think? @thhrang
"Props to Jersh though, because despite how many times it's gotten knocked down, he's always found a way to bring it back up, he's like a crotchety old man having to restart his basement generator all the time"Kirschey
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Banter/Off-topic Thread & Community Stoning Platform
- Thread starter The Proctor
- Start date
everyone on the groomcord should be sent to Gaza
Not until Nolan joins...
The real question is "who is Queequeg?".
Don't worry bros, the TVAcord won't be nearly as degenerate as the old Kiwicoomcord!
I'm still waiting for the google doc.
Kek, I still remember how furious and then amused jersh was about that. Some of you bastards have no shame.Don't worry bros, the TVAcord won't be nearly as degenerate as the old Kiwicoomcord!
Yes. Categorized by Fat, furry, femboy, cuck, and futa. Funnily enough, Kirsche is the main subject of every channel.
I mean we have one. Well two counting Dena's hijacking of the nexus channel
Just give us a few months, Koinu will probably need a couple to herself judging by some of her posts
You guys have multiple girlfailures just spamming the discord with some obscene fujoshit? God, I'm so happy I left that discord.
Appreciate your post man. In all honesty, my original post was more of a late night intrusive thought than anything, and I agree with pretty much everything you've said (though I still wonder about the 20th century selection pressure stuff because I find the idea just plausible enough to be disturbing). Cheers for being a voice of reason among us chimps.
That night, in the mid-watch, when the old man—as his wont at intervals—stepped forth from the scuttle in which he leaned, and went to his pivot-hole, he suddenly thrust out his face fiercely, snuffing up the sea air as a sagacious ship’s dog will, in drawing nigh to some barbarous isle. He declared that a whale must be near. Soon that peculiar odor, sometimes to a great distance given forth by the living fox girl, was palpable to all the watch; nor was any inmate surprised when, after inspecting the compass, and then the dog-vane, and then ascertaining the precise bearing of the odor as nearly as possible, the Proctor rapidly ordered the forum’s course to be slightly altered, and the sail to be shortened.
The acute policy dictating these movements was sufficiently vindicated at daybreak, by the sight of a long sleek on the sea directly and lengthwise ahead, smooth as oil, and resembling in the pleated watery wrinkles bordering it, the polished metallic-like marks of some swift tide-rip, at the mouth of a deep, rapid stream.
“Man the mast-heads! Call all hands!”
Thundering with the butts of three clubbed handspikes on the forecastle deck, Nigel Nigerman roused the sleepers with such judgment claps that they seemed to exhale from the scuttle, so instantaneously did they appear with their clothes in their hands.
“What d’ye see?” cried the Proctor, flattening his face to the sky.
“Nothing, nothing sir!” was the sound hailing down in reply.
“T’gallant sails!—stunsails! alow and aloft, and on both sides!”
All sail being set, he now cast loose the life-line, reserved for swaying him to the main royal-mast head; and in a few moments they were hoisting him thither, when, while but two thirds of the way aloft, and while peering ahead through the horizontal vacancy between the main-top-sail and top-gallant-sail, he raised a gull-like cry in the air. “There she blows!—there she blows! A tail like a snow-hill! It is Kirsche!”
Fired by the cry which seemed simultaneously taken up by the three look-outs, the men on deck rushed to the rigging to behold the famous whale they had so long been pursuing. The Proctor had now gained his final perch, some feet above the other look-outs, Topo Chico standing just beneath him on the cap of the top-gallant-mast, so that the Hispanic’s head was almost on a level with Proctor’s heel. From this height the whale was now seen some mile or so ahead, at every roll of the sea revealing her high sparkling hump, and regularly jetting her silent spout into the air. To the credulous inmates it seemed the same silent spout they had so long ago beheld in the moonlit Discord server.
“And did none of ye see it before?” cried Proctor, hailing the perched men all around him.
“I saw her almost that same instant, sir, that the Proctor did, and I cried out,” said Topo Chico.
“Not the same instant; not the same—no, the akasupa is mine, Fate reserved the superchat for me only; none of ye could have raised the White Whale first. There she blows!—there she blows!—there she blows! There again!—there again!” he cried, in long-drawn, lingering, methodic tones, attuned to the gradual prolongings of the whale’s visible jets. “She’s going to sound! In stunsails! Down top-gallant-sails! Stand by three boats. Mr. Reinigen, remember, stay on board, and keep the ship. Helm there! Luff, luff a point! So; steady, man, steady! There go flukes! No, no; only black water! All ready the boats there? Stand by, stand by! Lower me, Mr. Reinigen; lower, lower,—quick, quicker!” and he slid through the air to the deck.
The acute policy dictating these movements was sufficiently vindicated at daybreak, by the sight of a long sleek on the sea directly and lengthwise ahead, smooth as oil, and resembling in the pleated watery wrinkles bordering it, the polished metallic-like marks of some swift tide-rip, at the mouth of a deep, rapid stream.
“Man the mast-heads! Call all hands!”
Thundering with the butts of three clubbed handspikes on the forecastle deck, Nigel Nigerman roused the sleepers with such judgment claps that they seemed to exhale from the scuttle, so instantaneously did they appear with their clothes in their hands.
“What d’ye see?” cried the Proctor, flattening his face to the sky.
“Nothing, nothing sir!” was the sound hailing down in reply.
“T’gallant sails!—stunsails! alow and aloft, and on both sides!”
All sail being set, he now cast loose the life-line, reserved for swaying him to the main royal-mast head; and in a few moments they were hoisting him thither, when, while but two thirds of the way aloft, and while peering ahead through the horizontal vacancy between the main-top-sail and top-gallant-sail, he raised a gull-like cry in the air. “There she blows!—there she blows! A tail like a snow-hill! It is Kirsche!”
Fired by the cry which seemed simultaneously taken up by the three look-outs, the men on deck rushed to the rigging to behold the famous whale they had so long been pursuing. The Proctor had now gained his final perch, some feet above the other look-outs, Topo Chico standing just beneath him on the cap of the top-gallant-mast, so that the Hispanic’s head was almost on a level with Proctor’s heel. From this height the whale was now seen some mile or so ahead, at every roll of the sea revealing her high sparkling hump, and regularly jetting her silent spout into the air. To the credulous inmates it seemed the same silent spout they had so long ago beheld in the moonlit Discord server.
“And did none of ye see it before?” cried Proctor, hailing the perched men all around him.
“I saw her almost that same instant, sir, that the Proctor did, and I cried out,” said Topo Chico.
“Not the same instant; not the same—no, the akasupa is mine, Fate reserved the superchat for me only; none of ye could have raised the White Whale first. There she blows!—there she blows!—there she blows! There again!—there again!” he cried, in long-drawn, lingering, methodic tones, attuned to the gradual prolongings of the whale’s visible jets. “She’s going to sound! In stunsails! Down top-gallant-sails! Stand by three boats. Mr. Reinigen, remember, stay on board, and keep the ship. Helm there! Luff, luff a point! So; steady, man, steady! There go flukes! No, no; only black water! All ready the boats there? Stand by, stand by! Lower me, Mr. Reinigen; lower, lower,—quick, quicker!” and he slid through the air to the deck.
I swear when I first grabbed this chapter of Moby Dick I did not realize it mentioned sounding, I have been cackling uncontrollably for the past 3 minutes
Just one for the bug fucker atm.
Dena's thread is more bullying her than anything else.
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Well I'll definitely not be dying alone
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Well I'll definitely not be dying alone
View attachment 70277
We are men though, we tend to be easy
Are you as delusional as Uruka?
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Well I'll definitely not be dying alone
View attachment 70277
Is there a female version tho
When you start making exclusive threads for people to spam their unfunny shit you know you're going down the wrong path. Glorifying weirdos and fags never ends well, they should be forced to speak in a single channel with everyone else and get bullied for being socially retarded and strange, that's the only way to keep discords clean.
In general the more threads a discord has the worse it becomes, specially porn/memes/politics threads just devolve into pure cancer.
The one Uruka took, the original female delusional calculator
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