(11-28-2018, 07:46 AM)Justice Watch Wrote: »

(11-28-2018, 07:41 AM)a52 Wrote: »THE THEME THIST YEAR IS:

THERE IS NO THEME. THERE ARE NO RULES. DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT. WERE ALL ADULTS HERE. EXCEPT FOR MYETH.

(11-28-2018, 01:53 PM)Reyweld Wrote: »I started making this thread and then saw it was made 6 hours ago.

I'm in, of course.

And, a52, if you need a co-mod for name distributing purposes or otherwise...

(12-17-2018, 09:14 PM)Numbers Wrote: »my lpatop has undeaded for a while now but i only rememebemr this shiptoast stana now. can i still sumbit shitpopst

The Ghost of Shitposting Past Wrote:An eldritch entity rises from the foaming waves and meets the captain.


I enjoy pineapple on my pizza, confirming my presence as the ?Tropical Antichrist?. My fruit-lust cannot be sated. There is a special place in hell for me, or so I've been told, for my transgressions against pizzakind.
"How durst ye defile thee ambrosia of Italy!" A Roman Catholic Pizza Priest scolded me, throwing flour at my face in the way that they usually throw holy water. Ah, but there is yet more to my evil deeds. I also dabble in the dark arts of meat manipulation, tossing in the hides of pigs, foulest of creatures! "YOU WRETCHED FOOL," onlookers point their trembling fingers in my direction, "THIS IS A TRAVESTY. LEAVE THIS PIZZANCTUARY."
It cannot be done. I haunt the realms of purity and pizzaeity, leaving behind destruction (and pizza crust) in my wake. Look upon my toppings and despair, earthlings!

What dark bargain shall ye strike with me, the Lucifer of all pizza?! I may reciprocate in the form of my dark teachings in the blood sciences, every cursed word lifting a horrid shriek from thy tongue! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

The Ghost of Shitposting Past Wrote:DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Ahem--

a52 was dead: to begin with. Their passing left old Ebeneezer Reyweld as the sole proprieter of Hawkspace Industries.
And now it was Christmas Eve, and all the people were planning their Christmas shitposts. And old Reyweld would have none of it. He glanced over at his employee, Bob "the Pen" Cratchit, and cursed himself briefly for wasting memory on remembering the man's name.
"What are you doing, Cratchit?" he asked angrily. "It doesn't look like creating video content for us to monetize!"
"Oh, uh, I'm thinking of making a post where everything is alternating red and green words. I'm trying to figure out which shades are the most obnoxious."
"Bah! Hungburgler! We do not have time for shitposts here, Cratchit. Unless they are the sort of shitpost that goes viral and enhances our brand. Which this most certainly is not!"
"It could be," Bob "the Pen" Cratchit muttered weakly. "Anyhow, can't a guy have a little fun, Mr. Reyweld? It's Christmas!"
"Not on my watch!" Ebeneezer Reyweld boomed. "There is no room for 'fun' when there are clicks to be baited, likes to be harvested, and stale memes to be hamhandedly appropriated in a desperate attempt to connect with the youth. Now go and make more tweets from the corporate account, before we lose relevance in this fast-paced world!"
"Yes, sir," Bob sighed. "Can I edit a santa hat on our logo?"
"Will it bring us more views?"
"Uh, I don't know."
"Then don't bother finding out."
And so Ebeneezer Reyweld left for the day, frustrated that the Hawkspace Industries twitter only had 1543 weird dogs as followers.
It is now worth reminding everyone that a52 was dead to begin with, or else none of the events that follow will seem wondrous.
Later that night, Ebeneezer Reyweld was restless. He was tossing and turning and trying to sleep, but it was no use.
He was just about to get up and post in the 2 AM thread when suddenly, he heard the cry of a Bulbasaur.
"That's odd," Reyweld said. "There isn't any tall grass around here."
Curious, Reyweld went into the hall and listened closely. The cry seemed to be coming from another door.
Behind it was a52, bound by their own vines.
"Hey NERD," said a52, who was still dead. "Get it together already. I was just like you and only cared about shitposting for profit and now I can't use Vine Whip any more."
"But I can't use Vine Whip anyways," Ebeneezer Reyweld protested. "Why should I care about that?"
"That's not the point! The point is that three spirits are going to visit you tonight and they're going to teach you the true meaning of shitposts. So you better pay attention!"
"How merchandisable are these three spirits?" Reyweld asked.
a52 just rolled their eyes and vanished without another word.
Anyhow, we were going to do these cool bits where the three spirits turned up and took Ebeneezer Reyweld on a journey through his past, present, and future, but our budget ran out. So, uh, just imagine that part for yourself.