CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
.
the last jitterings of a dying mind
but you can't really know when you're dying, can you
I mean, if it was really obvious you could
like if your head has just been chopped off and your currently just a head lying on the floor waiting to die
you can probably pretty reasonably expect that the thoughts you are currently having will be your last
but otherwise, you can't really know
lkadfsAHa
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
the problem with a thing of the day now is there is nothing more to me
I have become what I always pretended to be
maybe I wans't pretending
I just didn't know it
I am this now
this
this is all
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
fg
farrrrrrrrrrr
g
gg
a realsitic representation of my brain would just be these random terrible sentence fracturs and key stabs until I give up due to boredom
just want to sleep all the time
WAIT
there's a solution
why didn't I think of it before
by jove, I'll simply post a Charles Horse segment!
that will turn back time!
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Charles Horse looked back on his life and realised he'd always been wrong. Everything. Every thought. Every human interaction. Every action. Every choice made. Every moment. The way he ate, the way he slept, the way he sat. All wrong. So he killed himself.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
woah!
that's...not how a Charles Horse story is supposed to go!
what's going on here
am I now so fundamentally broken that I can't even write Charels Horse?
surely not
that would mean...these really are the last jitterings of a dying brain
and that's why they're not producing anything profound
dying minds are probably really bad at producing prfound posts on message boards, if you think about it
I mean, how many great message board posts were written by someone right as they died
probably not many!!!!
I really don't want to hit "post thread" because I don't think there's enough in here for a full Thing of the Day
but...maybe that's the point
maybe that's the statement
maybe you all hae to let me go
someo fyou have
someo of you will never post here again
I know it
it's because of me
it's fine
I understand
maybe I need to reuplse everyone else enough that they'll leave too, drive them all away, until it's just me, JUST ME LAUGHING HAHAHA and bumping threads from 2007 or whatever
OR I TRY ONE LAST CHARLES HORSE SEGMENT
__________________________________________________________
Charles Horse coulnd't remember how long he'd lived in the bedroom wall. He'd been in the bed, once. He'd even been out of the bed, at some point in the distant past. Maybe he'd even been outisde, but he certainly couldn't rememer that. He was in the wall now. Watching. Listening. Mostly listening. He couldn't see anything but the inside of the wall. But he could hear. A man had moved into the house after Charles had disappeared into the wall. He could hear the man masturbating. He liked listening to that. He was pretty sure that he, Charles that is, had masturbated in that bed. Well, his bed. He assumed the new man had a new bed. It was stragne, though. WHy hand't anyone looked for Charles. Someone must have wondered what had happened to the person who had lived here before the new mastrubator. Someone...must have...
Unless...
It was still Charles in the bed. Masturbating forever. But he was in the wall, unable to feel it. He could only listen. Listen but never feel. He could only observe. Never experience.
He was in the wall.
_______________________________________________________________________
HA, BRILLIANT
the last jitterings of a dying mind
but you can't really know when you're dying, can you
I mean, if it was really obvious you could
like if your head has just been chopped off and your currently just a head lying on the floor waiting to die
you can probably pretty reasonably expect that the thoughts you are currently having will be your last
but otherwise, you can't really know
lkadfsAHa
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
the problem with a thing of the day now is there is nothing more to me
I have become what I always pretended to be
maybe I wans't pretending
I just didn't know it
I am this now
this
this is all
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
fg
farrrrrrrrrrr
g
gg
a realsitic representation of my brain would just be these random terrible sentence fracturs and key stabs until I give up due to boredom
just want to sleep all the time
WAIT
there's a solution
why didn't I think of it before
by jove, I'll simply post a Charles Horse segment!
that will turn back time!
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Charles Horse looked back on his life and realised he'd always been wrong. Everything. Every thought. Every human interaction. Every action. Every choice made. Every moment. The way he ate, the way he slept, the way he sat. All wrong. So he killed himself.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
woah!
that's...not how a Charles Horse story is supposed to go!
what's going on here
am I now so fundamentally broken that I can't even write Charels Horse?
surely not
that would mean...these really are the last jitterings of a dying brain
and that's why they're not producing anything profound
dying minds are probably really bad at producing prfound posts on message boards, if you think about it
I mean, how many great message board posts were written by someone right as they died
probably not many!!!!
I really don't want to hit "post thread" because I don't think there's enough in here for a full Thing of the Day
but...maybe that's the point
maybe that's the statement
maybe you all hae to let me go
someo fyou have
someo of you will never post here again
I know it
it's because of me
it's fine
I understand
maybe I need to reuplse everyone else enough that they'll leave too, drive them all away, until it's just me, JUST ME LAUGHING HAHAHA and bumping threads from 2007 or whatever
OR I TRY ONE LAST CHARLES HORSE SEGMENT
__________________________________________________________
Charles Horse coulnd't remember how long he'd lived in the bedroom wall. He'd been in the bed, once. He'd even been out of the bed, at some point in the distant past. Maybe he'd even been outisde, but he certainly couldn't rememer that. He was in the wall now. Watching. Listening. Mostly listening. He couldn't see anything but the inside of the wall. But he could hear. A man had moved into the house after Charles had disappeared into the wall. He could hear the man masturbating. He liked listening to that. He was pretty sure that he, Charles that is, had masturbated in that bed. Well, his bed. He assumed the new man had a new bed. It was stragne, though. WHy hand't anyone looked for Charles. Someone must have wondered what had happened to the person who had lived here before the new mastrubator. Someone...must have...
Unless...
It was still Charles in the bed. Masturbating forever. But he was in the wall, unable to feel it. He could only listen. Listen but never feel. He could only observe. Never experience.
He was in the wall.
_______________________________________________________________________
HA, BRILLIANT