Well BBS, I'm afraid you're much more boring now.

You have none of the jolly good fun you used to offer; even if I signed up in 07 I know that you're declining in entertainment value. When I was a noob who didn't know how to type properly or anything; I had the best fun I had on the internet in forever. The thrill of the influx of interesting topics and people never ceased to amaze me; it's dwindling now due to the fact that the people I've grown to enjoy their presence on the BBS are leaving. Not all of them; but some are, and it's increasing. I mean there's Willi and Mendou; two of the most fascinating people I've met, and both of them have just packed their bags and left the BBS. I can see why; the BBS is getting shittier. The people that are rising up to be the prominent members of the upper crest that everyone notices are complete douches, trolls, try hard bad-asses and people who are so fake it's disgusting.

There's also the kiss-up thrown in, and the innocent little newbie who everyone likes to push around ( I included, sadly. ) These stereotypes that lack any niche in the world other than look bad-ass on the internet are what's driving the BBS down, not for me, but for everyone else as well. I mean come on, how many times has someone told you to kill yourself because you said something stupid? A lot. And who says that? Internet hardasses who enjoy seeing people get hurt over the internet; or enjoy tormenting people. Sick people these are; they're like into S&M or something.

Another thing about the BBS is that there is never anything interesting ever going on any more. Everything is just too forced, all humor is artificial and is never pure coincidence or sheer talent in telling jokes. Remember dickneck? That's people making fun of a guy with a long neck for 21 pages, photoshopping the poor man to oblivion. Remember 2hot2rock? That was a misguided teen, sure we all hate him but if you find him existing such a humorous matter just go to your school and then make fun of a little kid's haircut. What else has happened? Sirtom? Eh? Eh?

Seriously guys, every single figment of humor you have is always taking the piss out of someone. That's terrible. Even /b/ is better than that; since it manages to both make humor that is raw humor and humor that takes people to a whole new low. But you, BBS you're a big cyber bully, and I'm glad to have realized that now.

Also I have little complaints about how the mods maltreat me; since that's a lie but the way they lock and ban threads that are worthwhile and entertaining; yet they deem spam irritate me in a way.

Well, I'm getting tired of seeing all these fake, no good people crush decent, real people because of an opinion or a stupid statement.

And I'm tired of the constant search of new and entertaining people to keep in touch with; so here's my MSN: exjay126@live.com mmhmm kthx

My leave may or may not be imminent, it was good though.

I'd wish the good times will still exist and live on; but that's something that only I can decide, so yeah.

Next time you see me on the BBS, that's just me in an endless routine I can't get out of; basically I'm leaving the BBS in spirit.

A salute to all things Newgrounds

Haha, this is bullshit I'm not leaving, but yeah BBS is boring etc. etc.

We all know and love the formula of the long-running Street Fighter series. Spam special moves until opponent is defeated. Repeat. Occasionally pull a super move. Occasionally taunt. Repeat. Although you may not use this formula, it's what I use. Both in SFA3 and SF4. And haha, look what I just did, I misworded a whole sentence entirely. Seriously though, the formula itself can be interpreted in different ways. And that's a good game, a game with some actual depth in there, not some sort of painted on illusion hole that looks like depth but isn't.

Mmhmm, just as I stated, SF4 is a game with some depth. Although this depth does not exactly extend outside of fighting, it's depth indeed. As I said, the depth barely reaches the part outside the game itself. Sure, there are some nifty character customization unlocks and buys, not to mention the ability to set the voice acting during matches to Japanese or English. Yes, that's all great, but outside beating someone silly, what else can I do? Well, you can look at the shallow character movies, or the concept art, or the credits. Sure, you may tell yourself "MAN THIS GAME SOUNDS SHITTEH. YOU BEAT PEPLE UP? DAS IT? LOOOOL." Well, bad news for you casual gamer fag who wanks off to anything with guns and swear words, this game is actually decent.

Yes, it's decent. In fact, it's great. But only on a decent TV that is. Mmmhmm, you read that right. Well, mainly because it was BUILT for widescreen format, and anything bigger than say 20 inches. Damn, it looks so crap on my TV, it's like trying to cram so much into a tiny screen. Well, at least the character animations are fluid as ever on any screen, so it'd still look as good as say a PS2.5 game on a regular crappy TV.

The music and the sound of bone crunching and colliding are also deeply satisfying. I mean, when you're being fucking curb stomped by a fat ass, the first thing you want to hear when you get back up and beat him are his bones crackling and breaking. Sure, they're generic sounding, but they're satisfying. And the music when you clear one of those seriously hard Trial thingies make you feel like you're part of some giant JRPG war and you won. Yeah.

Also, going back to the gameplay; man, you have so much to do. You have the achievements, you have the challenges, you have the medals, you have so much stuff to unlock. Fuck, I've been playing this game for a month and I'm not even close to "finishing it". But once you do, man I could picture how serene and beautiful that moment will be.

And now, for the final verdict.

This game is total sex, you should seriously get it instead of a generic FPS that you've played a gazillion times before, with a slightly different experience involved.

BY A MAD AZN

Fourth entry, also complete.

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Text everywhere. White as snow. Assorted images scattered about. Intermittent pulses of energy course through my veins to move my fingers in a rhythmic fashion. Ideas formed from the text. More ideas formed from the assorted images. Ideas course through my brain and to the computer screen. People find them entertaining. Some don't.

I am sitting down on my beloved office chair, with my faithful desktop computer at my front. I feel terribly pampered, my parents still provide and shelter me, even at the age of 18. Their basement is my sanctuary. I have my whole life in here, yet something feels missing. Could it be a woman? No, I decided on just giving up on futile attempts at getting a woman long ago. Could it be a material thing? No, I've bought all I want. Could it be a life outside my basement fortress? Possibly.

I haven't ventured outside my home for the heck of it in a long time. Could it be too much of a long time? Could my deliberate barricade of the outside world actually be detrimental to me? Let's find out.

And so, I open the chest in the corner. A slight amount of dust and dirt has settled on it. I extract its contents; jeans, socks, shoes, a band shirt, a leather jacked and a pocketbook pertaining to the various points of interest in the small town of Riverside. I get dressed and place the pocketbook in my breast pocket for easy access. I exit my basement dwelling, tell my parents about what I'm going to do, and leave.

The shock on their faces is burned into my memory. They've known me for being a basement dweller all my life, so naturally being the caring parents they were, wished me good luck and farewell.

I take a leisurely stroll from my house to the local mall. Suggestive stares from various women phase through me. Friendly greetings from the townsfolk beam through me. My stoic expression is fooling them all. Like a product advertised in an infomercial that guarantees it'll help you lose weight, it fools them.

I keep walking, only one crossing before I'm at the mall, there is a sort of giant floor fan I missed, so when I walked over it my pocketbook falls out of my breast pocket, so I pick it up.

Then it happens.

Wham.

A semi collides my hip head on. I fly 10 feet up and hit the ground hard. I slowly fade out of consciousness and feel blood trickle from my head. Pain shoots through my entire body; I don't deserve this.

I fade in and out of consciousness. Visions of doctors, masks, knives, my loved ones and even the forum I've frequented flow through my river of thought.

I then find myself in a mystifying dream, faced with an ultimatum I've been thinking on for too long.

"Will I keep living my life like this? Will I keep wasting away every moment of my existence on superfluous things such as social acceptance on the internet? Will I keep living life like a spineless maggot worth nothing more than a dime to society?"

Absolutely not.

I then emerge from my coma. I feel like a million dollars.

I finish up everything I've ever wanted to do with my life. I make an animation, I start working out, I start socializing, I take up playing the guitar and I start building character.

Before I know it, in a few months time my life has been rebuilt to something that has only existed in my dreams.

I have more friends than I've ever had. I am in a relationship. I am finally popular on the internet for something other than forum posts, and I'm a better person overall.

NOT TO MENTION I OWN A MANSION, HAVE TEN FERRARIS AND GET LAID 24/7

But that doesn't actually happen.

No, it gets much worse from this standpoint. It seems to me that I never was in a coma, I never got in a major vehicular accident, and all that talk about me fixing my life was just me trying to cope a failed event. I just blacked out, and here I am now, doing nothing about my failure of an existence. I'm just sitting on my computer yet again, typing away another blog about my existence.

Text everywhere. White as snow. Assorted images scattered about. Intermittent pulses of energy course through my veins to move my fingers in a rhythmic fashion. Ideas formed from the text. More ideas formed from the assorted images. Ideas course through my brain and to the computer screen. People sympathize. Some don't. In fact, some write death threats for me. Some egg me on to commit suicide.

So, what about it? What about my pointless existence? What happens next? What is it that I can actually do for myself? You know what? Fuck it, I'm joining the army. If I'm too much of a wuss to kill myself or fix myself, I'm going to let a crazed Iraqi run up to me and let off his suicide bomb, and I'll go out in flames, with the world remembering me as the man who failed to stop a suicide bomber in the president's presence.

Yes, what a pleasant way to die.

And what a coincidence, I've received my monthly subscription to Playboy in the mail, oh and there's something under it.

Interesting...

I've just been drafted into the army. Apparently, all those hours of playing that army themed FPS and my high rank has caught the attention of the army. I look forward to this experience, I'll count the other nerds the come with me in the bus. I'll pose their corpses in a humorous manner once they're terminated. Take pictures. The internet will love me even more.

I wait a few days, and after exactly one week after I received the letter, a green bus parks outside my home. Excellent, I'm heading on over to Iraq apparently, to fight the Stupid War. I bid my parents farewell and grab my bag, heading on over to the bus.

Fast forward six months. I've been promoted to Private First Class. Today is the day I live.

I get on the convoy, and am being deployed to a terrorist hotspot. This scene is a carbon copy of all those war movies you see. I'm in a enclosed area, with muscular men who can't seem to stop cursing surrounding me, and a nerd thrown in for good measure. I expected more than one nerd.

I step outside, and immediately I hear an explosion. Time slows and I see dust and debris flying everywhere. My teammates run to the designated terrorist building and start loading their guns. I find myself doing the same as well.

I just got dropped into a really generic FPS.

I enter the building and use a table for cover. I expect to do one of those bad-ass war deeds that grampas tell their grandkids over by a fireplace and a rocking chair.

But that doesn't happen.

Instead, once I run out of cover and start shooting clunks of pure, unadulterated metal into the chests of those Arabs, I happen to shoot a suicide bomber, and the bomb goes off.

I feel the heat radiating from the explosion, I feel shrapnel flying towards me and stabbing me like a dozen knives. It's worse than being circumcised without anesthesia. It's worse than a root canal without anesthesia. It's worse than being socked in the balls.

But unlike all of those, the pain goes away in an instant.

When you die.

Text everywhere. White as snow. Assorted images scattered about. Intermittent pulses of energy course through my veins to move my fingers in a rhythmic fashion. Ideas formed from the text. More ideas formed from the assorted images. Ideas course through my brain and to the computer screen. People find them entertaining. Some don't.

I've just blacked out again. But this time, I'm certain what I've experienced was real.

The sheer thought of me surviving such an incident is astonishing. I start to see the meaning in life now that I've experienced being in a near-death situation. I feel like I should live life like how those lead characters in sitcoms do. It's only the right thing to do.

And in ten years time, I've met a woman, my closest friends, and I've lived.

Lived for the first time in my life.

There is a man who dwells on the corner of Main Street.

His eyes have a certain dullness to them, as if he is a corpse with its eyes open. His facial expression is permanently stoic, he appears to be uncaring, cold-hearted and tainted with evil at a first glance.

Most people that pass by his quaint establishment refuse to make eye contact with him when purchasing goods. Even when he asks in a kind tone "Would you like paper or plastic? Personally, I suggest paper, you know how the environment is these days." to every customer. They all feel equally scared of making eye contact with him, they fear his gaze might stab a hole through their soul.

One woman thought differently of him though.

She felt an odd attraction to the man. She felt draw to him, she sensed a loneliness in him that only a woman could quell.

She went to the man's shop at closing time. She found him locking up, so she took him by the hand and led him to her apartment.

He knew where it was going, so he played along until the final step.

The woman stripped the man of clothing, they were getting ready to fornicate.

The woman then saw the most shocking sight..

She stared at the blank space covering the man's groin area. She looked in awe at the hole in the middle, possibly serving as a urethra.

Then, a voice booming like a collapsing building said;

I CANNOT LOVE.

And now my fantasy NGer

I wake up.

I get up from my bed and walk over to the bathroom.

I look at the reflection in the mirror, pure ugliness. I wish to purge it all from my face.

I pack my things, consume my breakfast and walk out the door to the bus.

I take my seat.

All the children make fun of my face, their insults burn like the sun. My ego is brutally mutilated.

I take the punishment on the bus ride, and what awaits me in school is a whole other ball game.

The children mock me as I walk to class. Some even go as far as to torture me physically as well as mentally. I hear them laugh in content as they beat me with their fists. Oh how I wish for all of this to end.

In class it worsens.

The teachers sort of twitch when their glances meet my face, they only acknowledge my presence when I remind them. They never look at my papers or projects and give a B as a default, even if I fail or ace a test it's always a B. I have grown a disdain for that letter.

This all repeats itself until I get home.

When I'm home there's no prejudgement, there's no bullies, there's no creeped out teachers.

There's only the lotion and the endless pornography...

Oh how I long for something more to quell the feeling of emptiness and sorrow within.

And that is why I am going to be a teacher!

I am going to teach future generations just how hopeless life really is, and how worthless you all are ~!

Seriously, since it's oh so fun.

30 people at max, once it's exceeded 30 ratings, you can say goodbye to rating, unless you're special ;)

-:Done:-
Maximus
WritersBlock
Bahamut
The-Great-One

-:To Be Done:-
KitsuneNoir

As you all know, I, name momentarily blocked for safety reasons am a kung fu master. I can break glass with my stare, cut steel with my nails, bite through diamond, sort sand grains by color, and to top it all off, I can watch 60 minutes in 39 minutes,

I am a demi-god of sorts, and so I must present to you all, in top quality my skills.

Note: for best experience play with sound

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LIMITED OFFER, FIGHT WITH SAWDUST ON STREET FIGHTER 4 ON XBOX LIVE, UP UNTIL MAY. GT = doodledlite KTHXBAI

Addicted to Pokemans once again as of late, I can't quite get my dream team in perfect fighting form yet, there are... some drawbacks. Like how much my Budew keeps fainting, I dislike that fact, but I would really like to have a Roselia ( e.g. A strong Grass type ) one my team.

Also my Luxray is growing at an exponentially fast rate, I'm excited on how bad-ass of a team him and my Empoleon will be.

UPDATE: I have a Roselia and several other new/evolved Pokemans. Woo, but I shall finish the game once I get in that ERRPRAIN

Yeah.

Also, We Are Scientists.

Tom Green is awesome.

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