WittyProfileName2

POV: you just smashed your first demon altar (the world has been blessed with cobalt).

Not my spookiest, but here you go.

Ok, so there's a lot of abandoned buildings in and around the town I grew up (most've them've been knocked down by now). Consequently urb-exing was a popular hobby for the local youth. A typical rite of passage was to break into the old bomb shelter, y'know try'n scare yourself and your mates, get yourself to believe there was something spooky in there with you.

My story isn't about that though.

My story is about the time I broke the prime directive of urb-exing.

I went alone.

There was this old inn a couple of towns over, can't tell the name because it'd give away too much about where this went down. It'd been abandoned long as I could remember, and none of the other kids had broken in yet. Last exploration I did, I was with some mates and we'd accidentally run into a couple who were enjoying themselves and the awkwardness of that'd put me in the mood for exploring somewhere I wasn't likely to run into someone else.

I did the usual safety checks, y'know made sure it wasn't in use by the local canabis dealers (some of the local gangs made use of vacant buildings because the property companies that were holding the lots hadn't thought to cut off power so it was relatively cheap to set up UVs and some hydroponics and just have a guy squat there to look out for anyone snooping around) shit like that, building wasn't in use by any humans far as I could tell. Then when I was sure I wasn't gonna run into anyone else, I borrowed my dad's crowbar and once the family was all asleep, I'd snuck out.

Getting in'd been easy, one of the back windows'd been broken years ago and in its place was a sheet of plywood. I didn't even need the crowbar to dislodge it.

In the dark, alone, with only the torch-light to see where you are, your mind makes up tricks. Turning the tall blotches of mould into humanoid figures as they passed the periphery of my light, the creak of the of boards on the dancefloor echoing into footsteps behind me. Sitting on a decaying barstool, I was already a bundle of nerves and was considering legging it. But I still hadn't had a look around at the bedrooms upstairs.

Now your average abandoned inn is a haunted place at the best of times, not with ghosts, but with a sense of emptiness. This is a place designed to be full of people and the isolation of my endeavour was all the more glaring as I walked down a nicotine stained hall and arrived at the stairs.

Now this was a long time ago so my memory's a bit hazy on the finer details, but I recall what happened next as going a little like this:

I'd tried every door in the hall but the last couple, they'd all been locked (this was before I'd learnt to pick locks so I didn't really have a plan B for opening them). The wind was picking up outside, and through was making a banshee scream as it blew through the window. Ahead of me and to my left a door slowly slipped open a tad. "Mustn't've been closed properly." I muttered to myself, "probably moves like that all the time." By now my torch is growing dim, so I decide I'll take a quick peek then go home, bring some mates 'round tomorrow night, maybe work up the courage to go behind the bar and into the cellar whose door I saw as I'd passed.

I tried to push the door the rest of the way open, but it was stuck on something. I shone my torch in there to try and get a look, but couldn't make out much more than dim shapes. One final shove and I heard a crack, found myself lurching into the room as the torch slipped from my fingers and the glasses fell off my face. I didn't get much of a look of the room, between the my torch rolling back out and my eyesight being shit. Peeks of dim light from the streets outside as I groped around for my glasses gave me a sense of something slowly moving towards me. Furniture dislodged by my shoving the door, a squatter whose sleep I'd disturbed, the tortured ghosts of my own imagination, I don't know I just grabbed my glasses, stooped for my torch and ran.

I put my foot through a rotten floorboard while fleeing and almost tripped. The muted snapping may as well've been deafening to my nervous ears.

I never did go back with my mates.

quickly googles patter song

The patter song is characterised by a moderately fast to very fast tempo with a rapid succession of rhythmic patterns in which each syllable of text corresponds to one note. It is a staple of comic opera, especially Gilbert and Sullivan, but it has also been used in musical theatre and elsewhere.

Sounds like a dorky enough thing for Ben Shapiro to do, but I don't think that's the case with his verse. He doesn't seem to be singing that fast in comparison to his speaking voice and his bars don't even seem to be on beat.

I'm not gonna pretend that I'm an expert on rap or anything but, like, this is shit.

Like, Ben Shapiro's verse has the stilted cadence of one of those YouTube videos where people splice together PragerU clips.

Lyrically the whole thing is dogshit, but it's especially glaring with Ben who has taken the same approach to rap that a child takes to poetry, creating rhyming couplets with no sense of flow or direction seemingly because that's how he thinks it's supposed to be.

I've heard better bars spat improvised at a wassailing, even after the cider has made a few cycles of the wassailers.

So my USB mouse is on the blink and my attempts to fix it haven't worked and I decided it's time to get a new one.

I just wanted some cheap wired mouse I can plug into my computer. I had to scroll through page after page of weird angular things that looked like they were designed to kill Gordon Freeman, all named shit like "STEALTH" or "Power Gaming Recon" before I got a sniff of what I was looking for. The wired mouse section of a bunch of websites I looked on just listed off wireless mouse (and in one website's case, mobile phone SIM cards).

Is it just me or has the internet become a real bugger to find what you want nowadays?

Why is it that Americans always act like this? Do other countries with two main parties do this? From my own personal experience, I've never been shamed by a labour canvasser like that, but it might be a case that they're like this elsewhere in the UK.

Also some quick maths:

not voting is a vote for Trump

not voting is a vote for Biden

Therefore, by voting twice you've committed voter fraud.

Estimated 66.6% of eligible voters voted in 2020

Therefore ~a third of Americans commited voter fraud.

And the Biden administration claims that election wasn't rigged?

Easy answer is E.Y.E: Divine Cybermancy.

It's a janky mess built on the source engine. The plot is downright incomprehensible. Gameplay mechanics aren't properly taught to the player, leaving you to work out how everything works (my legs are ok). The maps vary massively in terms of quality (the tutorial area for example has an optional side path that is just an incredibly long empty corridor that takes, like, twice as long to cross than the path you're railroaded towards to reach the same destination). It's basically an unlicensed WH40K game so it's got my dislike of Warhammer to work against to win me over.

Despite this, I have a huge soft spot for the game. It's one of the comfort games I boot up and play when I'm sick and sad.

The funniest thing is, the kindsa swords he wants to ban are already banned under the offensive weapons act.

Like, they've been illegal since 1988, in 2019 the act was amended to include the sorts of impractical wall hangers I've heard people online describe as "mall ninja shit".

Starmer's a lawyer, he should know this.

Creating a DMZ between England and Wales isn't enough, Offa's Dyke needs to be re-dug and extended.

Was it following the rule of law when he ordered the military to fire on striking miners in Tonypandy?

Don't say fish net communist. Don't say fishnet communist.

I'm the door communist, lotta bolts on that door, someone's gotta make sure they're properly maintained. You don't wanna go through all the rigmarole of peeking through an eye slot to ask the password and then opening the door when the correct one is given only for the latch to catch, leaving your comrade milling around on the doorstep like an awkward bugger, and the damn thing won't budge, and you ask for help but all these lazy sods have decided they have better things to do, and now you've embarrassed the whole cell in front of the new guy.

Fuck that, that's why I keep the screws tight and the bolts lubed.

Yeah, it was during his 2019 run for UKIP MEP.

Desperate to escape this controversy, a press conference was held with Carl, PJW, and Nazi pug guy all present to answer questions.

Except Carl didn't want to answer any questions, especially not the one you can obviously see coming by now.

He fumed at the journalists present for coming here and questioning him, at first for asking about what he viewed as irrelevant subjects, but soon all questions were off the table. All the while PJW looked on in confusion and Nazi pug guy looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

Carl called off the press conference early, red in the face.