• The Addicts' Lounge V. Peanut butter and marijuana sandwiches
    16,784 replies, posted
Finally got Payday 2. I've played way too much of it..... [sp]its fucking awesome[/sp]
i took drugs and made a thing, it sucks but it was fun to write. please feel free to ignore the wall of text. thank you. Buddy cop movie starring the young bee called A. B. and Osama Bin Laden as unlikely companions. Chronicling an attempt to put an end to the reign of the wasps, who were created as genetically perfect super-bees by the scientists of a sentient race of bees. They attempted to gain an upper hand in the war against the two legged monkeys by creating bees that did not die when attacking a target with their stinger, but the creations got loose and abducted the princess bee, next in line to create a new hive. They stole an experimental drug that transformed bees into wasps and used it on the princess to ensure their survival as they attempted to forge a new, more efficient hive, one where pollen was past and the only way of life was to eat the meat of lesser insects. A dark and grim future, far from the flower-filled, sunny lives of the modern Bee, it must be avoided at all costs. Anointed by the queen and made stronger by genetic enhancement, the young warrior A.B. must travel the lands of the bees and their allies to gather support against the ever-growing horde of killer wasps. Along the way, he gains the companionship of an unlikely friend. Osama Bin Laden, a warrior like A.B., accompanies the bee along a perilous and exciting journey. During these adventures, the bee learns a great many things about partisan warfare and the psychology of the aggressor, and becomes a full-fledged hero. When the two friends arrive at the throne room in the inner sanctum of the dark and twisted hive, they discover that the princess, once the very image of beauty and tranquillity, has been transformed by the vile surroundings and taken its form, becoming a monster with only slight resemblance to the woman once was. The now-grizzled warrior A.B. raises his bee-size AK-47 as he sees her true form and recognizes that she has become evil beyond salvation. The monster previously known as the Princess sends out her minions however, blocking the shot and leaving her unharmed. She gives birth to thousands of full-grown assassin wasps, noticeable by their black carapace and long sharp stingers, made for cutting as well as stabbing. A.B. and Osama B. stand their ground, but the assault is too much – while A.B. could deftly dodge the wasps, Osama was nevertheless a million times bigger than the average bee, and he was unable to dodge the lethal stingers of the assassin wasps. He fell as he lived, a warrior, a poet, and a hell of a guy. His final act of defiance was to fall on top of a large group of dagger-wasps, crushing them and saving his friend. A.B. leans in to hear his friend’s last words, slowly, shakily being whispered out: “Tell… Tell Bush… I loved him.” As Bin Laden exhales for the last time (a second time if you ask the Americans.) A.B. gathers his weapons and cleans out the rest of the wasps with boundless fury for his fallen comrade. He steps up the stairs to the throne, one torn apart wasp after another. His limbs are tired, all six of them, but he knows that it’s too late to back out now. He must complete his task, no matter what happens to him. It’s for the Queen, he tells himself, it’s for the Queen. But it’s also for the people, he realizes, it’s for the people of his hive and the hives of their allies, the great underground mega-cities of the sentient ants, the great writers and artists of the grasshopper’s nomadic tent-cities. And yes, even for the greatest enemy of all, the two legged naked monkeys, the last of the sentient races to join the United Sentience Government, but the very first to leave. Ever. They had declared war, sure, but not all of them were bad. Osama… He was a friend, an ally. But perhaps he was an outlier. Perhaps most of the monkeys are in fact evil, but if there is even the slightest possibility of another great soul like Bin Laden, he could not let their race be destroyed. It has potential, but they need the peace of heart that the rest of the sentients have attained. Still, they could never create something as gruesome and twisted as the wasps had done, taking something pure and precious and moulding it to fit their nefarious plans. He had reached the end of the stairs, and as he looked at the thorny, uncomfortable throne made for no one to enjoy and for no one to see, he saw the former princess quivering in fear. Or at least that was what it looked like to A.B. He lowered his gun for a second, and that’s when her trap sprung. A previously unseen and sickly stretched leg had crept behind him and now held his gun. It disassembled the rifle in swift motions, too unnatural to look beautiful, although the same gesture performed by a bee Queen would have been a radiant and awe-inspiring performance. He had been bested, tricked, fooled! The “Queens” former display of weakness disappeared like raindrops falling on an overheated machine gun. She grabbed his arms and legs; he could feel one limb coming dangerously close to snapping. He had to think of a plan fast. It was his only chance. Suddenly it struck him. He was almost surprised in its simplicity. The very instrument that started this damn war could end it just as quickly. He had no other choice. He had to use his stinger. In a way, he felt as though he had known this fact all his life, that one day he would be a bee that would perform this most sacred sacrifice, the giving of ones life for the safety of the hive. His teachers used to tell him stories of the bees of old, where the stingers were used liberally and without regard, and the notion had struck him as odd. He asked his teacher, an old, wrinkled bee with light brown stripes instead of the hives almost black markings. He was from another hive, he told him, and there they lived according to the example set by the ancients, the pre-sapient. They believed that dying for a cause was the highest honour one could attain, and strived to do battle with worthy opponents. They had been one of the proponents of the spawning of wasps. They were prideful, arrogant and stupid, the teacher explained, but they were good people deep down. They had a certain quality, a warrior’s spirit of sorts, a cultural thing, really. The teacher’s words had always stuck with A.B. The concept was a far cry from the ordered, modern lifestyle of his hive, with its technological wonders and some of the greatest scientists of the insect kingdom. Yet he longed for more than just security and relative progress. He yearned for heroic acts and cunning villains and service to the Queen. He just never expected to be stuck in an actual heroic act, as he was now. The idea occurred to him a few times, sure, but that was peacetime and he quickly forgot about the actual danger of being part of the hive’s military force. It came as a shock to himself even, when he volunteered for the mission to rescue or eliminate the creature formerly known as the Princess. He didn’t set out alone, but the others were not as dedicated as him, and they fell one by one in the many ambushes on the journey. Before long, A.B. was alone, and would be for years, until of course that fateful meeting with the only monkey to ever show A.B. compassion. He thought to himself that this was it. The moment he had been waiting for his entire life. He had to do it. He drew from an immense well of strength deep inside his exoskeleton, somewhere above the abdomen and between his wings. He could feel the support from the countless billions of living things holding their breaths if they were capable, doing whatever their species did that represented holding their breath in anticipation if they weren’t. With a mighty roar, he tore free from the vice-like grip of the monster holding him, severing his top right arm and his middle left leg and fell what felt like many centimetres, landing on the corpus of the enemy. He looked up at the creature, its grotesque features frozen in what looked like genuine fear this time. This is for you, my friend. This is for Osama. He plunged his stinger deep in the rotting flesh of the abomination, twisting once to dislodge the deadly weapon from his tail-segment. As he slipped from the now-dying monster and fell to the bottom of the freshly made mass grave full of dying and dead wasps, only allowed to live for a few brief minutes until they met a violent end, having only known pain and anger, they return to the beyond before having lived, he considered this fact. Strangely, he didn’t feel the usual mixed pang of compassion and contempt for his fallen pseudo-brethren. He didn’t really feel anything at all. Hey this isn’t so bad after all- [editline]2nd August 2013[/editline] also feel free to change the name of Osama if you're a 9/11 survivor (aren't we all in a way) or if you are afraid of men with beards
[QUOTE=Parja;41689049]i took drugs and made a thing, it sucks but it was fun to write. please feel free to ignore the wall of text. thank you. Buddy cop movie starring the young bee called A. B. and Osama Bin Laden as unlikely companions. Chronicling an attempt to put an end to the reign of the wasps, who were created as genetically perfect super-bees by the scientists of a sentient race of bees. They attempted to gain an upper hand in the war against the two legged monkeys by creating bees that did not die when attacking a target with their stinger, but the creations got loose and abducted the princess bee, next in line to create a new hive. They stole an experimental drug that transformed bees into wasps and used it on the princess to ensure their survival as they attempted to forge a new, more efficient hive, one where pollen was past and the only way of life was to eat the meat of lesser insects. A dark and grim future, far from the flower-filled, sunny lives of the modern Bee, it must be avoided at all costs. Anointed by the queen and made stronger by genetic enhancement, the young warrior A.B. must travel the lands of the bees and their allies to gather support against the ever-growing horde of killer wasps. Along the way, he gains the companionship of an unlikely friend. Osama Bin Laden, a warrior like A.B., accompanies the bee along a perilous and exciting journey. During these adventures, the bee learns a great many things about partisan warfare and the psychology of the aggressor, and becomes a full-fledged hero. When the two friends arrive at the throne room in the inner sanctum of the dark and twisted hive, they discover that the princess, once the very image of beauty and tranquillity, has been transformed by the vile surroundings and taken its form, becoming a monster with only slight resemblance to the woman once was. The now-grizzled warrior A.B. raises his bee-size AK-47 as he sees her true form and recognizes that she has become evil beyond salvation. The monster previously known as the Princess sends out her minions however, blocking the shot and leaving her unharmed. She gives birth to thousands of full-grown assassin wasps, noticeable by their black carapace and long sharp stingers, made for cutting as well as stabbing. A.B. and Osama B. stand their ground, but the assault is too much – while A.B. could deftly dodge the wasps, Osama was nevertheless a million times bigger than the average bee, and he was unable to dodge the lethal stingers of the assassin wasps. He fell as he lived, a warrior, a poet, and a hell of a guy. His final act of defiance was to fall on top of a large group of dagger-wasps, crushing them and saving his friend. A.B. leans in to hear his friend’s last words, slowly, shakily being whispered out: “Tell… Tell Bush… I loved him.” As Bin Laden exhales for the last time (a second time if you ask the Americans.) A.B. gathers his weapons and cleans out the rest of the wasps with boundless fury for his fallen comrade. He steps up the stairs to the throne, one torn apart wasp after another. His limbs are tired, all six of them, but he knows that it’s too late to back out now. He must complete his task, no matter what happens to him. It’s for the Queen, he tells himself, it’s for the Queen. But it’s also for the people, he realizes, it’s for the people of his hive and the hives of their allies, the great underground mega-cities of the sentient ants, the great writers and artists of the grasshopper’s nomadic tent-cities. And yes, even for the greatest enemy of all, the two legged naked monkeys, the last of the sentient races to join the United Sentience Government, but the very first to leave. Ever. They had declared war, sure, but not all of them were bad. Osama… He was a friend, an ally. But perhaps he was an outlier. Perhaps most of the monkeys are in fact evil, but if there is even the slightest possibility of another great soul like Bin Laden, he could not let their race be destroyed. It has potential, but they need the peace of heart that the rest of the sentients have attained. Still, they could never create something as gruesome and twisted as the wasps had done, taking something pure and precious and moulding it to fit their nefarious plans. He had reached the end of the stairs, and as he looked at the thorny, uncomfortable throne made for no one to enjoy and for no one to see, he saw the former princess quivering in fear. Or at least that was what it looked like to A.B. He lowered his gun for a second, and that’s when her trap sprung. A previously unseen and sickly stretched leg had crept behind him and now held his gun. It disassembled the rifle in swift motions, too unnatural to look beautiful, although the same gesture performed by a bee Queen would have been a radiant and awe-inspiring performance. He had been bested, tricked, fooled! The “Queens” former display of weakness disappeared like raindrops falling on an overheated machine gun. She grabbed his arms and legs; he could feel one limb coming dangerously close to snapping. He had to think of a plan fast. It was his only chance. Suddenly it struck him. He was almost surprised in its simplicity. The very instrument that started this damn war could end it just as quickly. He had no other choice. He had to use his stinger. In a way, he felt as though he had known this fact all his life, that one day he would be a bee that would perform this most sacred sacrifice, the giving of ones life for the safety of the hive. His teachers used to tell him stories of the bees of old, where the stingers were used liberally and without regard, and the notion had struck him as odd. He asked his teacher, an old, wrinkled bee with light brown stripes instead of the hives almost black markings. He was from another hive, he told him, and there they lived according to the example set by the ancients, the pre-sapient. They believed that dying for a cause was the highest honour one could attain, and strived to do battle with worthy opponents. They had been one of the proponents of the spawning of wasps. They were prideful, arrogant and stupid, the teacher explained, but they were good people deep down. They had a certain quality, a warrior’s spirit of sorts, a cultural thing, really. The teacher’s words had always stuck with A.B. The concept was a far cry from the ordered, modern lifestyle of his hive, with its technological wonders and some of the greatest scientists of the insect kingdom. Yet he longed for more than just security and relative progress. He yearned for heroic acts and cunning villains and service to the Queen. He just never expected to be stuck in an actual heroic act, as he was now. The idea occurred to him a few times, sure, but that was peacetime and he quickly forgot about the actual danger of being part of the hive’s military force. It came as a shock to himself even, when he volunteered for the mission to rescue or eliminate the creature formerly known as the Princess. He didn’t set out alone, but the others were not as dedicated as him, and they fell one by one in the many ambushes on the journey. Before long, A.B. was alone, and would be for years, until of course that fateful meeting with the only monkey to ever show A.B. compassion. He thought to himself that this was it. The moment he had been waiting for his entire life. He had to do it. He drew from an immense well of strength deep inside his exoskeleton, somewhere above the abdomen and between his wings. He could feel the support from the countless billions of living things holding their breaths if they were capable, doing whatever their species did that represented holding their breath in anticipation if they weren’t. With a mighty roar, he tore free from the vice-like grip of the monster holding him, severing his top right arm and his middle left leg and fell what felt like many centimetres, landing on the corpus of the enemy. He looked up at the creature, its grotesque features frozen in what looked like genuine fear this time. This is for you, my friend. This is for Osama. He plunged his stinger deep in the rotting flesh of the abomination, twisting once to dislodge the deadly weapon from his tail-segment. As he slipped from the now-dying monster and fell to the bottom of the freshly made mass grave full of dying and dead wasps, only allowed to live for a few brief minutes until they met a violent end, having only known pain and anger, they return to the beyond before having lived, he considered this fact. Strangely, he didn’t feel the usual mixed pang of compassion and contempt for his fallen pseudo-brethren. He didn’t really feel anything at all. Hey this isn’t so bad after all- [editline]2nd August 2013[/editline] also feel free to change the name of Osama if you're a 9/11 survivor (aren't we all in a way) or if you are afraid of men with beards[/QUOTE] it would be much easier to read if you condensed the margins in some way [list] tags might be nice
I got hit with 2 haymakers to the jaw yesterday, no ganj to help. Can't even use prescription meds because they are no longer prescribed and I have a blood test soon.
-snip-
[QUOTE=CritNick;41689391]I got hit with 2 haymakers to the jaw yesterday, no ganj to help. Can't even use prescription meds because they are no longer prescribed and I have a blood test soon.[/QUOTE] Take it like a man. [editline]Edit:[/editline] Embrace the pain, don't be a sissy.
[QUOTE=Maximoon;41689553]Take it like a man.[/QUOTE] or he could admit getting punched in the jaw fuckin' hurts and it's ok to take painkillers for pain because the only purpose pain serves is to let you know something is injured, and when you know something is injured still then why endure the pain? we live in an era of accessible opioids, bountiful buds, and boring ibuprofin; why even bother with dealing with it?
[QUOTE=Lebowski;41689612]or he could admit getting punched in the jaw fuckin' hurts and it's ok to take painkillers for pain because the only purpose pain serves is to let you know something is injured, and when you know something is injured still then why endure the pain? we live in an era of accessible opioids, bountiful buds, and boring ibuprofin; why even bother with dealing with it?[/QUOTE] To build a tolerance to the pain so it's not as bad when he gets in a fight again. Did your father teach you nothing?
-snip-
[QUOTE=CritNick;41689391]I got hit with 2 haymakers to the jaw yesterday, no ganj to help. Can't even use prescription meds because they are no longer prescribed and I have a blood test soon.[/QUOTE] Well then stop doing shit to get you punched in the face :v:
[QUOTE=Maximoon;41689636]To build a tolerance to the pain so it's not as bad when he gets in a fight again. Did your father teach you nothing?[/QUOTE] he taught me not to get in fights in the first place also he died of cancer when i was eight so he didn't get very much time [I]jokes on you[/I]
[QUOTE=AppleJackson;41689786]Well then stop doing shit to get you punched in the face :v:[/QUOTE] It was boxing, except MMA gloves, I had fun and got him pretty fucking good too, but I knew what I got into. It still sucks though, my jaw feels pretty messed up.
So apparently I'm leaving for Miami in a week for my moms birthday. Obligatory Rick Ross [video=youtube;JU9TouRnO84]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JU9TouRnO84[/video] WHIP IT WHIP IT
oh shit, why everything gets so unchill everywhere out of nowhere
[QUOTE=Maximoon;41689636]To build a tolerance to the pain so it's not as bad when he gets in a fight again. Did your father teach you nothing?[/QUOTE] You're dumb, you don't build tolerance to pain like you do tolerance to drugs, getting hit anywhere will hurt, just because you've been in a ton of fights, or exposed to a lot of pain does not make you an incredible hulk that can get hit by a car and brush it off, let alone the meanest right hay maker I've seen someone throw. also max, my dad is dead and has been since before i was born :) Apple, get on steam btw nerde
[QUOTE=scorpinat;41690178]oh shit, why everything gets so unchill everywhere out of nowhere[/QUOTE] Chill comes in waves
[QUOTE=CritNick;41690182]You're dumb, you don't build tolerance to pain like you do tolerance to drugs, getting hit anywhere will hurt, just because you've been in a ton of fights, or exposed to a lot of pain does not make you an incredible hulk that can get hit by a car and brush it off, let alone the meanest right hay maker I've seen someone throw. also max, my dad is dead and has been since before i was born :) Apple, get on steam btw nerde[/QUOTE] You will build a tolerance to pain, but it's not going to allow you to survive life-threatening injury.
[QUOTE=Dan The Man;41690264]You will build a tolerance to pain, but it's not going to allow you to survive life-threatening injury.[/QUOTE] But pain isn't something that is involuntarily built up over time of being hit repeatedly, if anything being hurt causes nerve damage, internal bleeding, swelling of the brain. People are born with tolerance to more pain then others because of what their nerves feel, that's why hyper sensitivity is a thing and why people who have nerve damage can't feel when you hit their knee.
did you know muay tai fighters have this practice where they kick against a wooden pole a whole day,so t they kill off nerves. and thus wont feel any pain
[QUOTE=scorpinat;41690387]did you know muay tai fighters have this practice where they kick against a wooden pole a whole day,so t they kill off nerves. and thus wont feel any pain[/QUOTE] I feel like I read something similar about this with people who deliberately smash their testicles to become impervious to pain.
[QUOTE=scorpinat;41690387]did you know muay tai fighters have this practice where they kick against a wooden pole a whole day,so t they kill off nerves. and thus wont feel any pain[/QUOTE] My cousin practises Muay Thai and he uses this large wooden roller to kill off nerves in the lower part of the leg and thicken the bone.
Yep! [URL]http://www.jukokai.com/combat-ki-trade.html[/URL] Awww, ninja'd my automerge.
You're not exactly deadening nerves, there's a chemical reaction that happens after a pain trigger from a nerve that tells your brain how to interpret it, over time you [I]can[/I] build up an immunity to that chemical so that it requires more and more of it each time to trigger a pain sensation. This can take years of getting kicked in the fucking balls for there to be any real noticeable effect though.
[QUOTE=Lebowski;41690677]You're not exactly deadening nerves, there's a chemical reaction that happens after a pain trigger from a nerve that tells your brain how to interpret it, over time you [I]can[/I] build up an immunity to that chemical so that it requires more and more of it each time to trigger a pain sensation. This can take years of getting kicked in the fucking balls for there to be any real noticeable effect though.[/QUOTE] I just re-watched the youtube vid on it, where the guy gets kicked with 1100 pounds of force to his nuts. I understand why he doesn't feel pain, but why don't his testicles rupture? Why doesn't his pelvic bone at least crack?
you don't build a tolerance to pain
[QUOTE=polarbear.;41690940]you don't build a tolerance to pain[/QUOTE] From an evolutionary standpoint that'd be a really dumb thing to have.
Anything that results in an interpretation in the brain will cause a tolerance to develop. Simple as that. Physically damaged neurons are a factor, but not the primary cause.
[QUOTE=Lebowski;41689836]he taught me not to get in fights in the first place also he died of cancer when i was eight so he didn't get very much time [I]jokes on you[/I][/QUOTE] well im sorry you lost your father but I was trying to make a point [QUOTE=polarbear.;41690940]you don't build a tolerance to pain[/QUOTE] nope, you learn to ignore it
fuck this weather
[QUOTE=Hammerz;41690967]From an evolutionary standpoint that'd be a really dumb thing to have.[/QUOTE] Remember that the brain learns from EVERYTHING. It adapts without an end goal in mind. Depression seems completely illogical, but is a by-product of our advanced minds, for example.
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