/tg/Station 13

Fikou wrote:bitch

Thunder11 wrote:

Fikou wrote:bitch

I will be reporting this unprofessional conduct to the headmins, consider your position here to be at risk

Spoiler:

GamerAndYeahMick wrote:

Thunder11 wrote:

Fikou wrote:bitch

I will be reporting this unprofessional conduct to the headmins, consider your position here to be at risk

Spoiler:

Fikou wrote:bitch

Jaredfogle wrote:To whom it may concern,

I apologize greatly for my actions. This post was long, and so I did not read it. While it is possible for you to make a shorter post, the onace ultimately lies on me. I will work harder to change my behavior in the future.

Thanks,
Mothblocks

oranges wrote:

Jaredfogle wrote:To whom it may concern,

I apologize greatly for my actions. This post was long, and so I did not read it. While it is possible for you to make a shorter post, the onace ultimately lies on me. I will work harder to change my behavior in the future.

Thanks,
Mothblocks

onus

Screemonster wrote:how is it a profession when they do it for free

Misdoubtful wrote:

Screemonster wrote:how is it a profession when they do it for free

I'm a professional, do you want my license I made it with crayon?

Farquaar wrote:Player complains about admin violating admin rules, admin apologizes, player accepts the apology and apologizes for their part in return.

What's the problem here? This is the ideal way a valid complaint should be handled. Everybody's happy and can move on.

MortoSasye wrote:

Farquaar wrote:Player complains about admin violating admin rules, admin apologizes, player accepts the apology and apologizes for their part in return.

What's the problem here? This is the ideal way a valid complaint should be handled. Everybody's happy and can move on.

I was critizing the fact he was being made fun of, not how the complaint transpired tho.

Screemonster wrote:

Misdoubtful wrote:

Screemonster wrote:how is it a profession when they do it for free

I'm a professional, do you want my license I made it with crayon?

reminds me of the time I ordered a shitload of null crates from cargo and got a centcom stamp in one od them and when the hos questioned me about all the contraband I was lugging around I pulled out my official centcom permit but they told me that permits aren't normally written in the first person

Qustinnus wrote:ryll apologies for being an asshole every time and go back to it immediately after.

Farquaar wrote:

MortoSasye wrote:

Farquaar wrote:Player complains about admin violating admin rules, admin apologizes, player accepts the apology and apologizes for their part in return.

What's the problem here? This is the ideal way a valid complaint should be handled. Everybody's happy and can move on.

I was critizing the fact he was being made fun of, not how the complaint transpired tho.

I wasn't talking about you specifically, but rather the tone of the peanut thread as a whole.

MortoSasye wrote:It is dissapointing to see you guys poking fun of a valid complaint, admins should not be insulting people because they're frustrated.

It is true it's a voluntary position, however, it does not mean it's suddenly ok to start breaking admin conduct rules due to that fact.

I'm glad Shaps apologized and didn't fall into making fun of him too.

Misdoubtful wrote: Peanut threads just suck.

They are often monotonously lackluster in the most petty way possible, or needlessly hostile and deconstructive.

The real fun is the side conversations that sprout up in our wonderful little garden of peanuts.

Twottle_Birb wrote:Think about this very carefully.

MortoSasye wrote:It is dissapointing to see you guys poking fun of a valid complaint, admins should not be insulting people because they're frustrated.

It is true it's a voluntary position, however, it does not mean it's suddenly ok to start breaking admin conduct rules due to that fact.

I'm glad Shaps apologized and didn't fall into making fun of him too.

XivilaiAnaxes wrote:"Peanut threads suck"

?????

Get fucked ?

BONERMASTER wrote:

XivilaiAnaxes wrote:"Peanut threads suck"

?????

Get fucked ?

?????

IS THAT A DECENT SMILEY ON THIS FORUM?? ?

Misdoubtful wrote:

MortoSasye wrote:It is dissapointing to see you guys poking fun of a valid complaint, admins should not be insulting people because they're frustrated.

It is true it's a voluntary position, however, it does not mean it's suddenly ok to start breaking admin conduct rules due to that fact.

I'm glad Shaps apologized and didn't fall into making fun of him too.

Peanut threads just suck.

They are often monotonously lackluster in the most petty way possible, or needlessly hostile and deconstructive.

The real fun is the side conversations that sprout up in our wonderful little garden of peanuts.

oranges wrote:

MortoSasye wrote:It is dissapointing to see you guys poking fun of a valid complaint, admins should not be insulting people because they're frustrated.

It is true it's a voluntary position, however, it does not mean it's suddenly ok to start breaking admin conduct rules due to that fact.

I'm glad Shaps apologized and didn't fall into making fun of him too.

bitch

Armhulen wrote:

BONERMASTER wrote:

XivilaiAnaxes wrote:"Peanut threads suck"

?????

Get fucked ?

?????

IS THAT A DECENT SMILEY ON THIS FORUM?? ?

delete your blog kid

Vekter wrote:Anyway this complaint sucks and Saege spends most of his time dying to relatively avoidable issues and posting in ideas about how he'd nerf the shit out of whatever he died to last night.

And asking us to add poo, because... I have no idea.

Farquaar wrote:

Misdoubtful wrote: Peanut threads just suck.

They are often monotonously lackluster in the most petty way possible, or needlessly hostile and deconstructive.

The real fun is the side conversations that sprout up in our wonderful little garden of peanuts.

Of course an admin would say that
jkjk

In all seriousness, I love a good peanut. I savour the spice. While this one isn't really fertile ground for legume harvesting, we have good seasons often enough.

Exhibit A:

Twottle_Birb wrote:Think about this very carefully.

Agux909 wrote:Reasonable complaint with a desirable outcome.

0/10 peanut with 3 mins of relevance, pls delete.

MortoSasye wrote:It is dissapointing to see you guys poking fun of a valid complaint, admins should not be insulting people because they're frustrated.

pugie wrote:

MortoSasye wrote:It is dissapointing to see you guys poking fun of a valid complaint, admins should not be insulting people because they're frustrated.

I could make out one sandwich artist behind the counter, standing rigidly, unmoving. We burst, laughing, into a quiet space. There was no radio, no TV, just the faint hum of the lights. I don’t even remember a bell on the door, but there may have been one. As we entered, he continued to stare straight ahead, like a soldier at attention.

We didn’t think anything of it, it only seemed weird upon recollection afterwards. We lined up, looked over the menu and sandwich ingredients figuring out what to order. Someone had a question, like, “is the chicken any good tonight?” (It’s never any good). The guy didn’t answer, though. He continued to stand completely still, hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead. O….kaaay? We looked at one another, eyebrows raised, confirming it was odd to all of us.

Whatever. Our school was half designers and half crazy artists. Our benchmarks for oddity were pretty high. We pressed on. I remember him waiting until we’d specified all our topping options as well, instead of asking down the line as usual. As each of us ordered, he offered acknowledgement with a slight turn of his head, and a short, sharp nod. He was Asian, and had a neatly trimmed beard. He didn’t look us in the eye.

The instant we’d given our third and final order, he erupted into action. We all went silent. It was an incredible spectacle. He spun to retrieve three buns like a machine. A beautiful gleaming knife appeared in his hand, and he cut them in half with single measured strokes—no crumbs. His movements were so precise, so efficient! I was transfixed.
He would move so fast he seemed to teleport between tasks, then slow immediately to lay down meats and cheeses with such care and exactitude that they were evenly distributed end to end. You could have taken a ruler to them.

Most people have to dip into toppings like olives and lettuce numerous times, big tongsfull, tiny bits, poking around, adding, removing, getting the sandwich covered right. This guy went into each topping exactly one time, grabbing the ideal amount, and spreading it across each layer like a card magician fans a deck across table felt. I swear.

At some point, the most outgoing guy in our group broke the trance and started talking to the sandwich maker—stuff like, “you remembered all that?!” and “this guy’s like a ninja!” Then we all joined in, cheering first, calling out his actions like sports announcers, then trying to make him laugh, or even smile. Even our best attempts couldn’t crack that face of stone.

To this day, I remember how he grabbed a condiment bottle in each hand, executed terse synchronized flips—no flair—then piped parallel mustard and mayo lines up and down the sandwich like a robot printer. No spurts, no spaces, perfection.

There was a hint of showmanship near the end, when he spun like a dance master, tossed the sandwiches toward the microwave, then caught and inserted them in one fluid movement. Again, he stood like a statue while they heated. Our laughs, amazement, joy, and callouts elicited no response.

He took our payment with all the confident meticulousness he prepared the sandwiches, ever quiet, never meeting our eyes. I thanked him with an earnestness I’m rarely inspired to.
We walked out, hands in the air, shouting “Subway samurai!” Across the parking lot, I turned for one final look, and he had returned to standing motionless where we found him.

The guys and I gushed, sharing and reviewing all the details we’d noticed, the amazement, conjecture about his dark and varied history, until we returned and got back to work. Our sandwiches were, of course, excellent.

We went back to Subway the next day, hoping to relive the experience, but someone else was making sandwiches. We told him the story I just told you, but he said nobody like that worked there. He didn’t work every night, but he knew everyone, and the samurai didn’t come close to matching the description of any of them. I’m not kidding. He thought we were drunk or something. We continued to visit, but the sandwich master never appeared again, and remained a mystery to everyone there.

Rohen_Tahir wrote:

pugie wrote:

MortoSasye wrote:It is dissapointing to see you guys poking fun of a valid complaint, admins should not be insulting people because they're frustrated.

I could make out one sandwich artist behind the counter, standing rigidly, unmoving. We burst, laughing, into a quiet space. There was no radio, no TV, just the faint hum of the lights. I don’t even remember a bell on the door, but there may have been one. As we entered, he continued to stare straight ahead, like a soldier at attention.

We didn’t think anything of it, it only seemed weird upon recollection afterwards. We lined up, looked over the menu and sandwich ingredients figuring out what to order. Someone had a question, like, “is the chicken any good tonight?” (It’s never any good). The guy didn’t answer, though. He continued to stand completely still, hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead. O….kaaay? We looked at one another, eyebrows raised, confirming it was odd to all of us.

Whatever. Our school was half designers and half crazy artists. Our benchmarks for oddity were pretty high. We pressed on. I remember him waiting until we’d specified all our topping options as well, instead of asking down the line as usual. As each of us ordered, he offered acknowledgement with a slight turn of his head, and a short, sharp nod. He was Asian, and had a neatly trimmed beard. He didn’t look us in the eye.

The instant we’d given our third and final order, he erupted into action. We all went silent. It was an incredible spectacle. He spun to retrieve three buns like a machine. A beautiful gleaming knife appeared in his hand, and he cut them in half with single measured strokes—no crumbs. His movements were so precise, so efficient! I was transfixed.
He would move so fast he seemed to teleport between tasks, then slow immediately to lay down meats and cheeses with such care and exactitude that they were evenly distributed end to end. You could have taken a ruler to them.

Most people have to dip into toppings like olives and lettuce numerous times, big tongsfull, tiny bits, poking around, adding, removing, getting the sandwich covered right. This guy went into each topping exactly one time, grabbing the ideal amount, and spreading it across each layer like a card magician fans a deck across table felt. I swear.

At some point, the most outgoing guy in our group broke the trance and started talking to the sandwich maker—stuff like, “you remembered all that?!” and “this guy’s like a ninja!” Then we all joined in, cheering first, calling out his actions like sports announcers, then trying to make him laugh, or even smile. Even our best attempts couldn’t crack that face of stone.

To this day, I remember how he grabbed a condiment bottle in each hand, executed terse synchronized flips—no flair—then piped parallel mustard and mayo lines up and down the sandwich like a robot printer. No spurts, no spaces, perfection.

There was a hint of showmanship near the end, when he spun like a dance master, tossed the sandwiches toward the microwave, then caught and inserted them in one fluid movement. Again, he stood like a statue while they heated. Our laughs, amazement, joy, and callouts elicited no response.

He took our payment with all the confident meticulousness he prepared the sandwiches, ever quiet, never meeting our eyes. I thanked him with an earnestness I’m rarely inspired to.
We walked out, hands in the air, shouting “Subway samurai!” Across the parking lot, I turned for one final look, and he had returned to standing motionless where we found him.

The guys and I gushed, sharing and reviewing all the details we’d noticed, the amazement, conjecture about his dark and varied history, until we returned and got back to work. Our sandwiches were, of course, excellent.

We went back to Subway the next day, hoping to relive the experience, but someone else was making sandwiches. We told him the story I just told you, but he said nobody like that worked there. He didn’t work every night, but he knew everyone, and the samurai didn’t come close to matching the description of any of them. I’m not kidding. He thought we were drunk or something. We continued to visit, but the sandwich master never appeared again, and remained a mystery to everyone there.

Hey guys, did you know that in terms of male human and female Pokémon breeding, Vaporeon is the most compatible Pokémon for humans? Not only are they in the field egg group, which is mostly comprised of mammals, Vaporeon are an average of 3”03’ tall and 63.9 pounds, this means they’re large enough to be able handle dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

pugie wrote:

MortoSasye wrote:It is dissapointing to see you guys poking fun of a valid complaint, admins should not be insulting people because they're frustrated.

I couwd mwake out one sandwich awtist behind the countew, standing wigidwy, unmoving. We buwst, waughing, into a qwiet space. Thewe was no wadio, no tv, just the faint hum of the wights. I don’t even wemembew a beww on the doow, but thewe mway have been one. As we entewed, he continued to stawe stwaight ahead, wike a sowdiew at attention.

we didn’t fink anything of it, it onwy seemed weiwd upon wecowwection aftewwawds. We wined up, wooked ovew the mwenu and sandwich ingwedients figuwing out what to owdew. Someone had a qwestion, wike, “is the chicken any good tonight?” (it’s nevew any good). The guy didn’t answew, though. He continued to stand compwetewy stiww, hands cwasped behind his back, stawing stwaight ahead. O….kaaay?? we wooked at one anothew, eyebwows waised, confiwming it was odd to aww of us.

whatevew. Ouw schoow was hawf designews and hawf cwazy awtists. Ouw benchmawks fow oddity wewe pwetty high. We pwessed on. I wemembew him waiting untiw we’d specified aww ouw topping options as weww, instead of asking down the wine as usuaw. As each of us owdewed, he offewed acknowwedgement with a swight tuwn of his head, and a showt, shawp nod. He was asian, and had a neatwy twimmed beawd. He didn’t wook us in the eye.

the instant we’d given ouw thiwd and finaw owdew, he ewupted into action. We aww went siwent. It was an incwedibwe spectacwe. He spun to wetwieve thwee buns wike a mwachine. A beautifuw gweaming knife appeawed in his hand, and he cut them in hawf with singwe mweasuwed stwokes—no cwumbs. His mwovements wewe so pwecise, so efficient!! i was twansfixed.
he wouwd mwove so fast he seemed to tewepowt between tasks, then swow immediatewy to way down mweats and cheeses with such cawe and exactitude dat they wewe evenwy distwibuted end to end. Chu couwd have taken a wuwew to them.

mwost peopwe have to dip into toppings wike owives and wettuce numewous times, big tongsfuww, tiny bits, poking awound, adding, wemoving, getting the sandwich covewed wight. Dis guy went into each topping exactwy one time, gwabbing the ideaw amount, and spweading it acwoss each wayew wike a cawd mwagician fans a deck acwoss tabwe fewt. I sweaw.

at some point, the mwost outgoing guy in ouw gwoup bwoke the twance and stawted tawking to the sandwich mwakew—stuff wike, “you wemembewed aww dat?!” and “this guy’s wike a ninja!” then we aww joined in, cheewing fiwst, cawwing out his actions wike spowts announcews, then twying to mwake him waugh, ow even smiwe. Even ouw best attempts couwdn’t cwack dat face of stone.

to dis day, i wemembew how he gwabbed a condiment bottwe in each hand, executed tewse synchwonized fwips—no fwaiw—then piped pawawwew mwustawd and mwayo wines up and down the sandwich wike a wobot pwintew. No spuwts, no spaces, pewfection.

thewe was a hint of showmanship neaw the end, when he spun wike a dance mwastew, tossed the sandwiches towawd the mwicwowave, then caught and insewted them in one fwuid mwovement. Again, he stood wike a statue whiwe they heated. Ouw waughs, amazement, joy, and cawwouts ewicited no wesponse.

he took ouw payment with aww the confident mweticuwousness he pwepawed the sandwiches, evew qwiet, nevew mweeting ouw eyes. I thanked him with an eawnestness i’m wawewy inspiwed to.
we wawked out, hands in the aiw, shouting “subway samuwai!” acwoss the pawking wot, i tuwned fow one finaw wook, and he had wetuwned to standing mwotionwess whewe we found him.

the guys and i gushed, shawing and weviewing aww the detaiws we’d noticed, the amazement, conjectuwe about his dawk and vawied histowy, untiw we wetuwned and got back to wowk. Ouw sandwiches wewe, of couwse, excewwent.

we went back to subway the next day, hoping to wewive the expewience, but someone ewse was mwaking sandwiches. We towd him the stowy i just towd chu, but he said nobody wike dat wowked thewe. He didn’t wowk evewy night, but he knew evewyone, and the samuwai didn’t come cwose to mwatching the descwiption of any of them. I’m not kidding. He thought we wewe dwunk ow something. We continued to visit, but the sandwich mwastew nevew appeawed again, and wemained a mwystewy to evewyone thewe.

pugie wrote:

MortoSasye wrote:durlu

text

MortoSasye wrote:

pugie wrote:

MortoSasye wrote:durlu

text

Una cagada asquerosa, repelente, abyecta, vomitiva, mugrosa, maldita, diarreosa, estercolera, inmunda, malnacida, pudenda, apestosa, maloliente, cabrona, maricona, huevona, pendeja, tarada, cancerígena, jodida, culeada, gilipollesca, pelotuda, encamada, malnacida, retardada, atrasada, inútil, móngola, incestuosa, burda, estúpida, insulsa, putrefacta, traicionera, indigna, chupapollas, soplahuevos, esnifacojones, gueleculo, coprofágica, masca-morrones, infecta, cerda, nauseabunda, cochambrosa, cochina, verdulera, infame, ruin, rastrera, degradada, descerebrada, zopenca, zafia, puta, engreída, esquizofrénica, granulenta, infeliz, profana, calamitosa, deficiente, cretina, lela, ramera, fulana, calientaguevos, ridícula, petarda, pasmarote, fistro, desidiosa, puta, reputa, soputa, recontraputa, hija de puta, hija de un millón de putas, escupepitos, caradepedo, necrofílica, alientoamojón, lambe-bukaka, revuelcaleche, coñoesumadre y de su abuela, conchuda, culoroto, nalgas reventadas, tragasable, succionaditos, esfinterpartido, ojetedesilachado, sorbemocos, capulla, pelmaza, zoquete, masturbadora crónica, espuria, chupa-tampones, regluda, coprófaga, gerontofílica, turra, ojete, atorrante, tierrúa, pajúa, amamaguevos, onanista caradeconcha y MALA PELICULA .

chocolate_bickie wrote:

Rohen_Tahir wrote:

pugie wrote:

MortoSasye wrote:It is dissapointing to see you guys poking fun of a valid complaint, admins should not be insulting people because they're frustrated.

I could make out one sandwich artist behind the counter, standing rigidly, unmoving. We burst, laughing, into a quiet space. There was no radio, no TV, just the faint hum of the lights. I don’t even remember a bell on the door, but there may have been one. As we entered, he continued to stare straight ahead, like a soldier at attention.

We didn’t think anything of it, it only seemed weird upon recollection afterwards. We lined up, looked over the menu and sandwich ingredients figuring out what to order. Someone had a question, like, “is the chicken any good tonight?” (It’s never any good). The guy didn’t answer, though. He continued to stand completely still, hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead. O….kaaay? We looked at one another, eyebrows raised, confirming it was odd to all of us.

Whatever. Our school was half designers and half crazy artists. Our benchmarks for oddity were pretty high. We pressed on. I remember him waiting until we’d specified all our topping options as well, instead of asking down the line as usual. As each of us ordered, he offered acknowledgement with a slight turn of his head, and a short, sharp nod. He was Asian, and had a neatly trimmed beard. He didn’t look us in the eye.

The instant we’d given our third and final order, he erupted into action. We all went silent. It was an incredible spectacle. He spun to retrieve three buns like a machine. A beautiful gleaming knife appeared in his hand, and he cut them in half with single measured strokes—no crumbs. His movements were so precise, so efficient! I was transfixed.
He would move so fast he seemed to teleport between tasks, then slow immediately to lay down meats and cheeses with such care and exactitude that they were evenly distributed end to end. You could have taken a ruler to them.

Most people have to dip into toppings like olives and lettuce numerous times, big tongsfull, tiny bits, poking around, adding, removing, getting the sandwich covered right. This guy went into each topping exactly one time, grabbing the ideal amount, and spreading it across each layer like a card magician fans a deck across table felt. I swear.

At some point, the most outgoing guy in our group broke the trance and started talking to the sandwich maker—stuff like, “you remembered all that?!” and “this guy’s like a ninja!” Then we all joined in, cheering first, calling out his actions like sports announcers, then trying to make him laugh, or even smile. Even our best attempts couldn’t crack that face of stone.

To this day, I remember how he grabbed a condiment bottle in each hand, executed terse synchronized flips—no flair—then piped parallel mustard and mayo lines up and down the sandwich like a robot printer. No spurts, no spaces, perfection.

There was a hint of showmanship near the end, when he spun like a dance master, tossed the sandwiches toward the microwave, then caught and inserted them in one fluid movement. Again, he stood like a statue while they heated. Our laughs, amazement, joy, and callouts elicited no response.

He took our payment with all the confident meticulousness he prepared the sandwiches, ever quiet, never meeting our eyes. I thanked him with an earnestness I’m rarely inspired to.
We walked out, hands in the air, shouting “Subway samurai!” Across the parking lot, I turned for one final look, and he had returned to standing motionless where we found him.

The guys and I gushed, sharing and reviewing all the details we’d noticed, the amazement, conjecture about his dark and varied history, until we returned and got back to work. Our sandwiches were, of course, excellent.

We went back to Subway the next day, hoping to relive the experience, but someone else was making sandwiches. We told him the story I just told you, but he said nobody like that worked there. He didn’t work every night, but he knew everyone, and the samurai didn’t come close to matching the description of any of them. I’m not kidding. He thought we were drunk or something. We continued to visit, but the sandwich master never appeared again, and remained a mystery to everyone there.

Hey guys, did you know that in terms of male human and female Pokémon breeding, Vaporeon is the most compatible Pokémon for humans? Not only are they in the field egg group, which is mostly comprised of mammals, Vaporeon are an average of 3”03’ tall and 63.9 pounds, this means they’re large enough to be able handle dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

Google translates best effort;

ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed tempor and vitality, so that the labor and sorrow, some important things to do eiusmod. Over the years, I will come, who will nostrud aliquip out of her the advantage of exercise, so that stimulus efforts if the school district and longevity. Want to be a pain in the cupidatat cillum has been criticized in the Duis et dolore magna flee produces no resultant pleasure. Excepteur cupidatat blacks are not excepteur, is soothing to the soul, that is, they deserted the general duties of those who are to blame for your troubles.