Quake3World

Turbanator wrote:lol, some interesting names in this file...

VirusEater
Doc34
Duhard (oh jesus)
Icy (what was this fullname?)
CTRLDEL
HHHRated
anticonscience
LegionXS
CC.Torment & Mrs. T.

You guys remember the Arya "situation".... still undecided on how real / fake that whole situation was.

Transient wrote:Ohh yeahh... I remember being a bit out of the loop for that one. The Aimee Love situation, unfortunately, I was all too aware of. I learned at a young age that unsolicited nudie pics are not always a good thing.

I still think raw actively dissuaded people from warning me about her. Didn't someone get a blowjob from her or something? Cyric? No, that doesn't sound right...

xer0s wrote:lol, this thread...

xer0s wrote:lol, this thread...

PhoeniX wrote:Heh I didn't remember that.

I keep meaning to message Denzii again, his website's still up so he's still around .....


Isn't charliealpha some successful music person now?

seremtan wrote:also: arya

Dark Metal wrote:Don't mention Viruseater to Joe Rogan.

Whiskey 7 wrote:Id that meant to be charlie bravo PhoeniX?
I only ask because charliealpha forms part of one of my other email addresses

4days wrote:we're pretty damn cool as countries go, but i wish we weren't so fucking stupid. went to turkey last month and stopped for a weekend on some greek island on the way back, which put us on a plane full of british holiday makers for the home leg.

this hideous snotball on the row across from us wouldn't stop crying, no matter how much his flappy-breasted orc of a mother shouted at him. the cabin crew were all busy helping other molepeople perform complex tasks like unfastening their safety belts or operating their 3-button TVs - so I carefully and politely asked the young lady if I could help. It occurred to me that his ears might be hurting with the air pressure, so I gave him a couple of jelly beans to chew on. The effect was instant with the first movement of his jaw and he shot me a suddenly wide-eyed look that said "these sweaty, week old, pain-relieving jelly beans are the best fucking thing i have ever tasted, ever".

Gave his mum the rest of the bag, who said that she'd given him a little can of coke (poor fucker only looked about 3) and a colouring book already, so I had to try and explain the pressure thing and that all he needed to do was click his jaw. Kept it brief, but I thought I made it pretty straightforward. I got her to click her own jaw (which 'ooh, makes everything louder') and even used a packet of peanuts that had inflated as an example of the principle, but I could see in her eyes that grasping the concept was like trying to catch a wet cake. it seemed to be only now that she was really seriously thinking about the fact that flying meant you weren't on the ground.

the kid was quiet so i gave up and went back to my seat, crying inside a little because i don't have an unreasonable arrogance fuelled near-field weapon that instantly and silently vaporises people who fall below an acceptable comprehension threshold.

Ryoki wrote:I notice how noone mentioned 4days yet, he was like the best poster ever.

His posts were like poetry of an especially hilarious sort. For example:

4days wrote:we're pretty damn cool as countries go, but i wish we weren't so fucking stupid. went to turkey last month and stopped for a weekend on some greek island on the way back, which put us on a plane full of british holiday makers for the home leg.

this hideous snotball on the row across from us wouldn't stop crying, no matter how much his flappy-breasted orc of a mother shouted at him. the cabin crew were all busy helping other molepeople perform complex tasks like unfastening their safety belts or operating their 3-button TVs - so I carefully and politely asked the young lady if I could help. It occurred to me that his ears might be hurting with the air pressure, so I gave him a couple of jelly beans to chew on. The effect was instant with the first movement of his jaw and he shot me a suddenly wide-eyed look that said "these sweaty, week old, pain-relieving jelly beans are the best fucking thing i have ever tasted, ever".

Gave his mum the rest of the bag, who said that she'd given him a little can of coke (poor fucker only looked about 3) and a colouring book already, so I had to try and explain the pressure thing and that all he needed to do was click his jaw. Kept it brief, but I thought I made it pretty straightforward. I got her to click her own jaw (which 'ooh, makes everything louder') and even used a packet of peanuts that had inflated as an example of the principle, but I could see in her eyes that grasping the concept was like trying to catch a wet cake. it seemed to be only now that she was really seriously thinking about the fact that flying meant you weren't on the ground.

the kid was quiet so i gave up and went back to my seat, crying inside a little because i don't have an unreasonable arrogance fuelled near-field weapon that instantly and silently vaporises people who fall below an acceptable comprehension threshold.

seremtan wrote:there was also his post about going to a nightclub where the women were flashing their gash at newcomers, and that it was "like looking into a portal to hell" or something like that

4days wrote:remember ending up in a club with birds like that in birkenhead once after a works do. a couple of years later i found myself in the arsehole of merseyside again on a kracus type mission and the same fucking place was the only familiar landmark i could think of (except for mcdonalds. but it was late, i wasn't buying crack and i didn't have a shooter).

security was a couple of fat blokes that couldn't find a bong in a leotard. went inside and the first thing that hit me was that they'd changed the place, refined it. there was still a fast food cafeteria opposite a bar on a raised dias. the dancefloor was still between them; 10 square metres of writhing mole people swathed in colours that nature could never combine. but they'd made the entrance into a mini-stage/podium, taken down the waist-high barriers around each section and covered most of the floors, the walls and the ceiling with mirrors.

i stopped for a moment on the entrance podium, held up by a couple of blokes in front of me. it was a few more seconds before i realised the ritual i was inadvertently taking part in by waiting on the podium. everyone in there knew that new people had arrived and among all the usual details of a skittish crowd were dozens of horrible slappers in miniskirts. they'd look at you in the mirrors, then move their feet apart and lean back, exposing their sweaty, knickerless gashes into infinite regression. it was like a glimpse into hell.

dubz wrote:i sometimes go and lookup 4days typewriter post

4days wrote:a portable typewriter. it was a christmas present from my parents when i was 8 or 9 years old. a friend of my mothers, a woman called daphne, taught me to type.

we were sat at her kitchen table one night when she told me never to use my typewriter to write a ransom note, because the police would be able to track down the make and model. for a moment i panicked, cursing myself for having filled out the warranty card with my own details, but then i remembered that i had the same initials as my father and could pin the whole thing on him, i was in the clear.

all this flashed through my head in an instant. i managed to hide it from daphne by scratching my chest and looking at her like she was crazy. i'd deal with her when the time came.

Ryoki wrote:

seremtan wrote:there was also his post about going to a nightclub where the women were flashing their gash at newcomers, and that it was "like looking into a portal to hell" or something like that

4days wrote:remember ending up in a club with birds like that in birkenhead once after a works do. a couple of years later i found myself in the arsehole of merseyside again on a kracus type mission and the same fucking place was the only familiar landmark i could think of (except for mcdonalds. but it was late, i wasn't buying crack and i didn't have a shooter).

security was a couple of fat blokes that couldn't find a bong in a leotard. went inside and the first thing that hit me was that they'd changed the place, refined it. there was still a fast food cafeteria opposite a bar on a raised dias. the dancefloor was still between them; 10 square metres of writhing mole people swathed in colours that nature could never combine. but they'd made the entrance into a mini-stage/podium, taken down the waist-high barriers around each section and covered most of the floors, the walls and the ceiling with mirrors.

i stopped for a moment on the entrance podium, held up by a couple of blokes in front of me. it was a few more seconds before i realised the ritual i was inadvertently taking part in by waiting on the podium. everyone in there knew that new people had arrived and among all the usual details of a skittish crowd were dozens of horrible slappers in miniskirts. they'd look at you in the mirrors, then move their feet apart and lean back, exposing their sweaty, knickerless gashes into infinite regression. it was like a glimpse into hell.