Spam Less Than 3 (<3)

Subject: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Mon Feb 07, 2011 12:37 am

I think we should spam this topic until it explodes. It is possible Ben Has seen it.

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Mon Feb 07, 2011 2:16 am

Alright... Since I think this is a stupid idea, I'm gonna sticky it and let you guys go at it. But if the forum breaks, I blame you Ben. (Tom... This is where I would have inserted a REALLY creepy face emote... You, I send you to get one! Try to get a slenderman one. :3)

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Mon Feb 07, 2011 4:18 am

Ten-4 Beau!!

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Mon Feb 07, 2011 11:58 am

Baiten wrote:: Alright... Since I think this is a stupid idea, I'm gonna sticky it and let you guys go at it. But if the forum breaks, I blame you Ben. (Tom... This is where I would have inserted a REALLY creepy face emote... You, I send you to get one! Try to get a slenderman one. :3)

Just because I'm black doesn't mean you need to blame me because I do not take responsibility for my own actions.

I keed I'm not black.

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Tue Feb 08, 2011 4:32 am

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Tue Feb 08, 2011 9:45 am

hawk200101 wrote:

See he's doing it right. Party poopers

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Wed Feb 09, 2011 4:24 am

Trolololololollololo Trollface

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Wed Feb 09, 2011 1:06 pm

COME ON WE NEED SPAMEDDY SPAM SPAM MGEEE!!!!

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Wed Feb 09, 2011 1:37 pm

MMMM I like spam sliced thin and fried or raw and slimey!

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Wed Feb 09, 2011 1:51 pm

nightogre1 wrote:: MMMM I like spam sliced thin and fried or raw and slimey!

Spam spam spam spam spam Spam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spamSpam spam spam spam spam

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Wed Feb 09, 2011 6:43 pm

TROLLLOLOLOLOOL YOU FAIL Trollface

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Wed Feb 09, 2011 11:05 pm

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Wed Feb 09, 2011 11:17 pm

gdhnvcgfxhgn hbfbh

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Thu Feb 10, 2011 12:52 am

Green eggs and SPAM Twisted Evil

Member Posts : 604 Join date : 2010-11-29 Age : 29

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Thu Feb 10, 2011 5:05 am

WTF IS GOING ON D< WHY ARE THE POSTS ON THIS FORUM NOW BACKWARDS D< THE FIRST POST IS ON PAGE 2 I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION NAO. ITS CONFUSING D<

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Thu Feb 10, 2011 10:31 am

IzkaM wrote:: WTF IS GOING ON D< WHY ARE THE POSTS ON THIS FORUM NOW BACKWARDS D< THE FIRST POST IS ON PAGE 2 I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION NAO. ITS CONFUSING D<

Yea that kind of confused me but A.D.D. kicked in and I thought that was how it always was. Well for the past couple days since I figured out I had to click a link in an email to talk here.

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Sat Feb 19, 2011 5:14 am

Member Posts : 105 Join date : 2010-12-06

Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. Kappa

Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. :Kappa:Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. Kappa

Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. Kappa

Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. :Kappa:Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. Kappa

Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. Kappa

Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. :Kappa:Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. Kappa

Well this was sort of underwhelming a far as the amount of spam goes, especially considering what I've seen people capable of in Tom's channel. Kappa

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Sun Feb 20, 2011 4:09 am

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Posts : 194 Join date : 2011-02-01

It has been 113 years, 3 months, and 16 days since the Announcer trapped us down here. The only reason I know this is because she likes to remind us gleefully of how long we have been her prisoners whenever the occasion arises, which is far too often for my tastes.

Scout is curled up next to me, clinging to me like a baby monkey as he twitches in his sleep. It has been about 75 years since he was rendered completely dumb when his tongue got ripped out and stayed ripped out. We used to joke about how it made him more pleasant. Then, for a while, it seemed extremely tragic. Now, he seems to have gotten used to it. Being mute isn�t so bad, especially when there isn�t really much to talk about anymore. But he listens to me now. And having a good listener is a godsend in this hellhole.

Sniper is lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. I can hear his stomach growling, but I know he doesn�t care. He stopped caring decades ago. He has become so lethargic, that on a bad day, if the Announcer wants to play a game with us, we have to pick him up off the floor and drag him. Heavy will sometimes lift him up and sling him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He can talk, unlike Scout, but it�s only in clipped, one-or-two word answers. Sometimes it�s just non-committal grunts. Sometimes, on a good day, you can strike up a conversation with him. And just when you think he�s slipping back into his old self, he remembers where we are, and shuts down.

Heavy and Medic are in the corner, going at it like rabbits. They don�t care that everybody can see them. The Announcer is watching, of course, but she�s always watching. We can hear her snicker sometimes. Heavy is extremely protective of the doctor. Well, he always was, really, but now he won�t let anyone touch Medic. At all. He likes to carry Medic around like a doll, and is always hanging onto him, touching him. Perhaps it�s because the Announcer tortures the doctor worse than the rest of us� or, at least, most of the rest of us. From what I hear, she likes to lock him in a furnace and burn him to death, over and over and over. And when he�s not in a furnace he�s being vivisected while fully, screamingly conscious. When he�s with Heavy, it haunts him less, and Heavy knows this. They are never seen apart from each other, always at arm�s length from the other unless forcibly, cruelly separated. The Announcer actually joined the two of their bodies together at one point, experimenting with different methods of fusion, but it hardly seemed to make much of a difference. The mental image of the two of them kissing while Medic�s head was next to Heavy�s on the giant Russian�s shoulders will be permanently burned into my memory forever. Her fun ruined, she separated them again. She likes to separate them whenever she can.

Demoman is sitting next to me, still trying to figure out where whatever cameras are that the Announcer may be using to spy upon us. I have told him many times that I don�t think there are any, but he is still convinced that there are. I can still hold conversations with him. The only thing keeping him focused is his intense and all-consuming hatred for the Announcer. Even after all these years, it has not died, or dwindled, or faded in any way. I cannot count how many times he has been killed, tortured, blinded, given his sight back, blinded again, and ripped up in so many different ways because he either tried to escape or just destroy her. Some day, he tells me, we�ll be free. I ask him what he plans to do if he manages to kill her or we escape, and he admits he has no idea at all. The surface world is ravaged by a nuclear winter, the landscape barren and desolate. There is no one else out there. And more importantly, I remind him, there are no women. Once we leave here and die, there will only be extinction.

Soldier used to hate her too. Now, he�s in his own corner, as far away from Heavy and Medic as he can possibly get, conversing with Shovel. What he�s saying is anyone�s guess; it all sounds like incomprehensible babble, and you�d be lucky to hear the odd English word bubble up from his throat. The years of being trapped here took an enormous toll on his already compromised sanity. He talked with Shovel before the End, yes, but things took a turn for the worse when he complained about the auras; great swaths of color, surrounding and emanating from us, apparently changing and undulating according to our moods. Nobody is sure if this was the Announcer�s doing or not. He has made several attempts on the lives of Heavy and Medic, and I sincerely doubt he even remembers why he hates them as much as he does. But they always respawn, and he has never totally given up. He only talks to Shovel, now. About 50 years ago, he stopped talking to us, turning his back on us as he held his conferences with his entrenching tool. He�s the only one of us that still has any of their weapons, and the only reason the Announcer let him keep Shovel is because she finds his conversations with it funny. He was so paranoid that she and we were listening in on him that he created his own language, so intricate in its design that none of us could ever hope to learn it. After a while, he seemingly forgot how to speak English. When we talk to him, he stares at us, stares through us, as though we are completely alien beings. He does not recognize us. I can only guess as to what he is seeing when he stares at us, his eyes wide with terror, and his Shovel held high above his head, threatening us with decapitation should we venture too close.

Spy is probably the worst off. The Announcer apparently really had it in for him, as his body is constantly changing size and shape, mutating and cracking and stretching painfully. He�s not in the same room we are. He can�t stand to be seen. When he is, he tries to tumble away, violently throwing his constantly changing body away from us. He hates us. Whenever Medic is crying over whatever torment he has had to endure, you can hear Spy laughing. And when he�s not laughing, he�s screaming. After almost a hundred years of his cries, sometimes I forget to hear them. And sometimes I remember, and I feel bad for him, and I go to keep him company. All he can think to ask me is if I have a cigarette.

I have not seen Pyro in 100 years. Scout thinks he escaped. I�m not so sure.

Posts : 194 Join date : 2011-02-01

want more? post below!

Subject: Re: Spam Less Than 3 (<3) Sun Feb 20, 2011 4:04 pm

once upon a time i posted on this thread.

Member Posts : 604 Join date : 2010-11-29 Age : 29

We’re no strangers to love,
You know the rules and so do I.
A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of,
You wouldnt get this from any other guy.

I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling,
Gotta make you understand…

Never gonna give you up,
Never gonna let you down,
Never gonna run around and desert you.
Never gonna make you cry,
Never gonna say goodbye,
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

We’ve known each other for so long
Your heart’s been aching
But you’re too shy to say it.
Inside we both know what’s been going on,
We know the game and we’re gonna play it.

Annnnnd if you ask me how I’m feeling,
Don’t tell me you’re too blind to see…

Never gonna give you up,
Never gonna let you down,
Never gonna run around and desert you.
Never gonna make you cry,
Never gonna say goodbye,
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

Never gonna give you up,
Never gonna let you down,
Never gonna run around and desert you.
Never gonna make you cry,
Never gonna say goodbye,
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

Give you up. give you up.
Give you up, give you up.
Never gonna give
Never gonna give, give you up.
Never gonna give
Never gonna give, give you up.

We’ve known each other for so long
Your heart’s been aching
But you’re too shy to say it.
Inside we both know what’s been going on,
We know the game and we’re gonna play it.

I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling,
Gotta make you understand…

Never gonna give you up,
Never gonna let you down,
Never gonna run around and desert you.
Never gonna make you cry,
Never gonna say goodbye,
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

Never gonna give you up,
Never gonna let you down,
Never gonna run around and desert you.
Never gonna make you cry,
Never gonna say goodbye,
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

Never gonna give you up,
Never gonna let you down,
Never gonna run around and desert you.
Never gonna make you cry,
Never gonna say goodbye,
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

Member Posts : 105 Join date : 2010-12-06

MrKoreanGuy wrote:: It has been 113 years, 3 months, and 16 days since the Announcer trapped us down here. The only reason I know this is because she likes to remind us gleefully of how long we have been her prisoners whenever the occasion arises, which is far too often for my tastes.

Scout is curled up next to me, clinging to me like a baby monkey as he twitches in his sleep. It has been about 75 years since he was rendered completely dumb when his tongue got ripped out and stayed ripped out. We used to joke about how it made him more pleasant. Then, for a while, it seemed extremely tragic. Now, he seems to have gotten used to it. Being mute isn�t so bad, especially when there isn�t really much to talk about anymore. But he listens to me now. And having a good listener is a godsend in this hellhole.

Sniper is lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. I can hear his stomach growling, but I know he doesn�t care. He stopped caring decades ago. He has become so lethargic, that on a bad day, if the Announcer wants to play a game with us, we have to pick him up off the floor and drag him. Heavy will sometimes lift him up and sling him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He can talk, unlike Scout, but it�s only in clipped, one-or-two word answers. Sometimes it�s just non-committal grunts. Sometimes, on a good day, you can strike up a conversation with him. And just when you think he�s slipping back into his old self, he remembers where we are, and shuts down.

Heavy and Medic are in the corner, going at it like rabbits. They don�t care that everybody can see them. The Announcer is watching, of course, but she�s always watching. We can hear her snicker sometimes. Heavy is extremely protective of the doctor. Well, he always was, really, but now he won�t let anyone touch Medic. At all. He likes to carry Medic around like a doll, and is always hanging onto him, touching him. Perhaps it�s because the Announcer tortures the doctor worse than the rest of us� or, at least, most of the rest of us. From what I hear, she likes to lock him in a furnace and burn him to death, over and over and over. And when he�s not in a furnace he�s being vivisected while fully, screamingly conscious. When he�s with Heavy, it haunts him less, and Heavy knows this. They are never seen apart from each other, always at arm�s length from the other unless forcibly, cruelly separated. The Announcer actually joined the two of their bodies together at one point, experimenting with different methods of fusion, but it hardly seemed to make much of a difference. The mental image of the two of them kissing while Medic�s head was next to Heavy�s on the giant Russian�s shoulders will be permanently burned into my memory forever. Her fun ruined, she separated them again. She likes to separate them whenever she can.

Demoman is sitting next to me, still trying to figure out where whatever cameras are that the Announcer may be using to spy upon us. I have told him many times that I don�t think there are any, but he is still convinced that there are. I can still hold conversations with him. The only thing keeping him focused is his intense and all-consuming hatred for the Announcer. Even after all these years, it has not died, or dwindled, or faded in any way. I cannot count how many times he has been killed, tortured, blinded, given his sight back, blinded again, and ripped up in so many different ways because he either tried to escape or just destroy her. Some day, he tells me, we�ll be free. I ask him what he plans to do if he manages to kill her or we escape, and he admits he has no idea at all. The surface world is ravaged by a nuclear winter, the landscape barren and desolate. There is no one else out there. And more importantly, I remind him, there are no women. Once we leave here and die, there will only be extinction.

Soldier used to hate her too. Now, he�s in his own corner, as far away from Heavy and Medic as he can possibly get, conversing with Shovel. What he�s saying is anyone�s guess; it all sounds like incomprehensible babble, and you�d be lucky to hear the odd English word bubble up from his throat. The years of being trapped here took an enormous toll on his already compromised sanity. He talked with Shovel before the End, yes, but things took a turn for the worse when he complained about the auras; great swaths of color, surrounding and emanating from us, apparently changing and undulating according to our moods. Nobody is sure if this was the Announcer�s doing or not. He has made several attempts on the lives of Heavy and Medic, and I sincerely doubt he even remembers why he hates them as much as he does. But they always respawn, and he has never totally given up. He only talks to Shovel, now. About 50 years ago, he stopped talking to us, turning his back on us as he held his conferences with his entrenching tool. He�s the only one of us that still has any of their weapons, and the only reason the Announcer let him keep Shovel is because she finds his conversations with it funny. He was so paranoid that she and we were listening in on him that he created his own language, so intricate in its design that none of us could ever hope to learn it. After a while, he seemingly forgot how to speak English. When we talk to him, he stares at us, stares through us, as though we are completely alien beings. He does not recognize us. I can only guess as to what he is seeing when he stares at us, his eyes wide with terror, and his Shovel held high above his head, threatening us with decapitation should we venture too close.

Spy is probably the worst off. The Announcer apparently really had it in for him, as his body is constantly changing size and shape, mutating and cracking and stretching painfully. He�s not in the same room we are. He can�t stand to be seen. When he is, he tries to tumble away, violently throwing his constantly changing body away from us. He hates us. Whenever Medic is crying over whatever torment he has had to endure, you can hear Spy laughing. And when he�s not laughing, he�s screaming. After almost a hundred years of his cries, sometimes I forget to hear them. And sometimes I remember, and I feel bad for him, and I go to keep him company. All he can think to ask me is if I have a cigarette.

I have not seen Pyro in 100 years. Scout thinks he escaped. I�m not so sure.

It'a mah birfday.