Foster said 'milkshakes' and 'cheeseburgers'
Now I'm wondering what their ingredients were.
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Now I'm wondering what their ingredients were.
I think we played Planetside 2 together once. Was hella fun.
Recently gotten into Neon Genesis Evangelion, and I'm hoping I can find some time to watch Redline all the way through soon.
Smiral said
I'd still eat it
[2]
Trying to think a bit more before I make my next post. Kinda stuck, because family drama has been draining me of energy.
Missed the fucker's knees! thought Torben. Oh, he's going to help us make soup, and then a raid's gonna happen. And before that, he's barging into our house.
"Waste of my fuckin'... mum, are you really going to believe this basket case?" Torben scowled at the thought that his airhead mother would probably buy into this spastic dipshit's words.
"Torben... he wants to help, and he says there's a raid coming, so we should-"
"So we should stay here. How in the blazing fuck are we going to drag all our shit around?"
"They'll carry it for us?" replied Torben's mom.
"And then they'll steal our shit. Smarten up, mum. This fucker just crashed into our house, not even so much as knocking. He's probably plotting something!"
Torben groaned and then turned to the weirdo that entered their home unexpectedly.
"We're fine. We don't need help. Now get out of my bloody home."
"Waste of my fuckin'... mum, are you really going to believe this basket case?" Torben scowled at the thought that his airhead mother would probably buy into this spastic dipshit's words.
"Torben... he wants to help, and he says there's a raid coming, so we should-"
"So we should stay here. How in the blazing fuck are we going to drag all our shit around?"
"They'll carry it for us?" replied Torben's mom.
"And then they'll steal our shit. Smarten up, mum. This fucker just crashed into our house, not even so much as knocking. He's probably plotting something!"
Torben groaned and then turned to the weirdo that entered their home unexpectedly.
"We're fine. We don't need help. Now get out of my bloody home."
"G'day, stranger- Oh, not in the kitchen!" said Torben's mother.
Torben became furious as the strange man walked into their kitchen. Did this man have any manners?
"YOU FUCKING DILL!!!" screamed Torben as he marched over to the kitchen to get within personal range of the man, where he then took a swing at one of the man's knees with his cudgel.
Torben became furious as the strange man walked into their kitchen. Did this man have any manners?
"YOU FUCKING DILL!!!" screamed Torben as he marched over to the kitchen to get within personal range of the man, where he then took a swing at one of the man's knees with his cudgel.
"...thank you for this meal, and may you continue to look over us and-"
Then came a paper bag-donning robot-armed man wearing nothing more than a pair of pants and a backpack, ever so rudely barging into Torben's home without even so much as knocking.
"FUCK ME DEAD!" exclaimed a startled Torben. "You bastard! Don't go barging into my fuckin' home! Get out!"
The angry little Australian man then marched over to the intruder with a cudgel in hand, ready to whack this fucker in the nuts if he didn't get out.
"The rootin' fuck's with you coming into my fuckin' house like that? You fuckwit. I'll pound yer fuckin' balls off with my beating stick here unless you give me a fair fuckin' dinkum explanation for why you barged in like this."
"Torben, sweetheart! Calm down!" called Torben's mother from the dining room table.
Then came a paper bag-donning robot-armed man wearing nothing more than a pair of pants and a backpack, ever so rudely barging into Torben's home without even so much as knocking.
"FUCK ME DEAD!" exclaimed a startled Torben. "You bastard! Don't go barging into my fuckin' home! Get out!"
The angry little Australian man then marched over to the intruder with a cudgel in hand, ready to whack this fucker in the nuts if he didn't get out.
"The rootin' fuck's with you coming into my fuckin' house like that? You fuckwit. I'll pound yer fuckin' balls off with my beating stick here unless you give me a fair fuckin' dinkum explanation for why you barged in like this."
"Torben, sweetheart! Calm down!" called Torben's mother from the dining room table.
Union Station shops before the apocalypse
"CHRIST IN HEAVEN! How many fuckin' times do I have to tell you, ya slit-eyed yellow fuck-muppet, that I'm not selling any of my inventory for some meager fuckin' shrapnel!" ranted Torben at an Asian man who was trying to buy some warm clothing off of him with no more than a few pre-apocalypse coins.
"But sir! I have a family and we don't have any firewood left! I really need to-"
"Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah nee-nee nah!" interrupted Torben. "No fuckin' discounts. Fuck off and gander around a bit, you rootin' bludger. I don't care about your wife or little shits, or if the weather'll freeze the donger off a brass monkey. I'm a merchant. I have my own needs, my own concerns. If you can't get that through your thick little Oriental skull, I'm selling you fuck all. Now rack off until you've got something of value to barter with. Cunt."
The Asian man then walked away from Torben in fear and embarassment. One less customer trying to rip him off with trying to get discounts on his store's inventory of jackets. With the man gone, Torben then folded up the jacket he had out for the would-have-been customer, took it off the merchant stand, and took it back in his home behind the stand. Just a small home set up in one of the old stores, with two beds, a makeshift kitchen area, a workshop for making and repairing clothing and other things, a living room, and various dressers and cupboards all around for storing various weapons, tools, supplies, and whatever else Torben and his mom had laying around. Rather spacious and luxurious by post-apocalyptic standards.
"G'day, mum." greeted Torben to his mother, who was lounging in their living room area. "Bludgering Chinese fucker's trying to root us out, and... stew's ready, I suspect?"
"CHRIST IN HEAVEN! How many fuckin' times do I have to tell you, ya slit-eyed yellow fuck-muppet, that I'm not selling any of my inventory for some meager fuckin' shrapnel!" ranted Torben at an Asian man who was trying to buy some warm clothing off of him with no more than a few pre-apocalypse coins.
"But sir! I have a family and we don't have any firewood left! I really need to-"
"Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah nee-nee nah!" interrupted Torben. "No fuckin' discounts. Fuck off and gander around a bit, you rootin' bludger. I don't care about your wife or little shits, or if the weather'll freeze the donger off a brass monkey. I'm a merchant. I have my own needs, my own concerns. If you can't get that through your thick little Oriental skull, I'm selling you fuck all. Now rack off until you've got something of value to barter with. Cunt."
The Asian man then walked away from Torben in fear and embarassment. One less customer trying to rip him off with trying to get discounts on his store's inventory of jackets. With the man gone, Torben then folded up the jacket he had out for the would-have-been customer, took it off the merchant stand, and took it back in his home behind the stand. Just a small home set up in one of the old stores, with two beds, a makeshift kitchen area, a workshop for making and repairing clothing and other things, a living room, and various dressers and cupboards all around for storing various weapons, tools, supplies, and whatever else Torben and his mom had laying around. Rather spacious and luxurious by post-apocalyptic standards.
"G'day, mum." greeted Torben to his mother, who was lounging in their living room area. "Bludgering Chinese fucker's trying to root us out, and... stew's ready, I suspect?"
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