The Plastic Age
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Do you mind if I drop some writefaggotry, /k/? Seems pretty related to me. I hope you're okay with it.
So, let’s sit down. The plastic chairs are comfy once you sat on one for twenty years. Just sit and think about what I’m saying.
Imagine a clockwork mechanism. Imagine it being large and clunky. Huge and clunky, even. all those small gears the size of a teeth, large cogs the size of a wheel, miniscule these and those that all, for some reason, work.
But not really. Some parts don’t. Instead of transferring the momentum, like all good-goodie clockworks do, they just make noise, which is more than nothing, but in the end is quite similar to nothing. The engineers know about that, but they don’t give a fuck, because repairing the cogs is tricky, while telling the branch clockwork manager the mechanism works is easy and pays just as much.
Not the whole mechanism works that way: some parts work just fine, but could use some oiling (which doesn’t pay any extra), some work perfectly, but many, many more never worked to begin with and are just... there, too old for the engineers to remove (because that may cause unnecessary “why did you remove the boss’s favourite useless cog” inquiries).
Have a picture in mind?
That’s how the Army of the Republic works nowadays.
Mostly, it doesn’t.
Now imagine a huge can of sardines that falls out of the sky.
While flying down, the can separates into smaller, personal cans, each can packing a single sardine, all juicy, smelly and ready to die again. That’s the average spaceborne infantry drop pod, one per squad, disposable, orbit launched.
My drop pod has no sardines. It only has me and nine disembodied sardine heads, all calling me “sarge”. I don’t even get the full fishies.
I get huge watery eyes, brains the size of a peanut and and a white piece of a broken spine.
- PREPARE FOR SEPARATION, YOU FUCKING SPACE MONKEYS! WE’RE BREACHING IN TEN SECONDS FLAT!
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What's the craziest gun related or self defense story /k/ has?
I've got one.
>be 17 at the time
>18 year old friend picks me up to go around to gun stores
>go to a couple local ones
>decide to go to a farther one
>get on the interstate
>talking and shit so my friend misses a turn
>get on a ramp to go to another interstate
>friend's an awful driver
>doesn't know he has to merge
>he's just behind a car that's merging, but still close enough that he'd sideswipe the car if he doesn't do anything
>speeds up and essentially cuts the guy off
>drive down the road a few hunded feet
>guy behind us is right behind us
>he's in a blinged out, new BMW
>guy pulls up and drives right next to us
>heavy black guy with chains is driving it
>just staring at us
>with hate in his eyes
>"Holy shit, Cee Lo Green is staring at us, man."
>friend speeds up to 80
>CLG falls behind us and speeds up to match us
>friend changes lanes and goes 90
>he stays right fucking behind us
>friend pushes it some more
>CEE LO BE CHASIN US
>keep trying to lose him
>5 minutes later, he's still right behind us
>friend gets onto an exit ramp in the left lane
>Greenie follows suit
>friend changes lanes literally at the last possible second before stopping at the light
>suspected gang member does the same exact thing
>decide, "Fuck it, we're safe if we go into the gun store."
>decide we should turn right to get there
>friend does the most daring right turn on red I've ever seen
>if the black guy followed us he would have hit a car
>escape from the niggerator
>pass by a brony convention on the way to the gun store and laugh at all the faggots
I still wish that I could have seen his face when the people he was chasing walked into a gun store.
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>friend joins the Marines after highschool
>needed to use th GI bill if he wanted to go to college
>it was either that or he'd get a dead end job at a garage for the rest of his life
>nicest family in the world,but they never had much money
>does two tours in Iraq, one in Fallujah
>I.E.:he's seen some serious shit
>gets out,joins us in college
>we all help get him situated (most of our highscool went to the same one)
>was always a shy person, but you can tell the war messed him up
>one day we get invited to a party,but he doesnt want to go
>bug him about for days
>tell him he needs to get out,get drunk,meet some girls,ect.
>he finally agrees
>day of the party comes and he's acutally looking forward to it
>drive to some house off campus
>half way through the party we split up and later on I see him talking to some girls
>later on,some fucking douche bag,drunk frat boys hear he was an "army man'
>they decide to mess with him for shits and giggles
>friend goes over to get a drink and one of them comes out with a fucking towel around his head,screams 'alalalalala" and tosses firecrackers near him
>friend has HUGE ptsd attack (didnt even know he had it)
>punches 3 people while running out of the house screaming
>no one knows what the fuck to do,some of us go out and look for him
>some were the girls he was talking to,who didnt even know him,which was cool of them
>half hour later find him sitting in my car shaking uncontrolably
>we all drive home, they even came to make sure he's ok
>trying to tell him its fine, those guys are dicks
>he has that 1000 yard stare and is dead silent
the whole ride back
>we get back to his place first, he turns to me and says
>' I thought you said it was gonna be fun anon"
>wasnt able to get him to go out for 4 weeks
WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK IS WRONG WITH SOME PEOPLE? Ive never seen a grown man so shaken. Seriously, has anything like this happened to anyone else?