God damnit, I read the caving pages at 2 AM and now I have most lights on, and I don't want to sleep.
:ohdear:
Is the ending of that zombie thing story that just more of them are there and he's doomed :ohdear:
Or is there more meaning?
[QUOTE=Novangel;24408075]Is the ending of that zombie thing story that just more of them are there and he's doomed :ohdear:
Or is there more meaning?[/QUOTE]
We need more.
[QUOTE=>VLN<;24408854]We need more.[/QUOTE]
It's the end, it's implied that many more people were infected recently.
Yeah that's what I thought.
Poor guy.
[QUOTE=Ezhik;23081200][url]http://lparchive.org/LetsPlay/Animal%20Crossing/index.html[/url]
Also DOD BERT[/QUOTE]
This was the best story I have ever read in the history of ever. I fucking love you for introducing me to this wonderful masterpiece of literature.
The story's development, plot, spin on a classic game I will never look the same way at, it's so PERFECT. I highly suggest you spread the word of this beautiful work of awesomeness.
TL;DR Story make me :psyboom:
Oh and here's some content for you box-giving whores [media] [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAU7QSX6g2Y&feature=related[/url] [/media]
[QUOTE=The Red Scotti;24221689][img]http://www.ghost-pictures.org/images/ghost-in-bed.jpg[/img]
[img]http://www.ghosts.ws/Ghost-Pictures/images/Famous-ghost-pictures-The-ghost-in-bed.jpg[/img]
[highlight](User was permabanned for this post ("making a pyramid scheme alt" - GunFox))[/highlight][/QUOTE]
wait, what?
He has alts such as The Blue Scotti etc...
[QUOTE]Johnny was up to his usual activities that fateful night-- downloading 8 movies from thepiratebay.org, listening to his pirated music collection, and looking at gay porn.
After twelve hours of furious masturbation, he got up to go get a sofa... only to be greeted by flashing blue lights outside his house.
The Cyber Police were here.
They had backtraced it.
He dun goof'd.[/QUOTE]
I was watching some Courage the Cowardly Dog for some nostalgia a half hour ago, and I remembered the only thing that scared me this bad ever. It was an episode with a zombie ghost thing outside the house and it said stuff like "Bring back the slab." or something. Could I get a link to it if some one knows what I'm talking about? I really want to know why it scared me. I had nightmares for months and refused to watch the show for 3 years.
[QUOTE=cardfan212;24498701]I was watching some Courage the Cowardly Dog for some nostalgia a half hour ago, and I remembered the only thing that scared me this bad ever. It was an episode with a zombie ghost thing outside the house and it said stuff like "Bring back the slab." or something. Could I get a link to it if some one knows what I'm talking about? I really want to know why it scared me. I had nightmares for months and refused to watch the show for 3 years.[/QUOTE]
The episode was called King Ramse's curse if my memory serves me well.
Hey guys, I really need to use the bathroigm[7/l;
WITNESS
This thread is constantly bumped but never has new content.
Oh god that King Ramse episode really always creeped me the fuck out, I'd always turn away/hide under my blanket whenever the dude appeared infront of the house
This is a spooky documentary with 'real' footage of ghosts. if you beleive in ghosts you will probably find it creepy.
[url]http://www.documentingreality.com/forum/f181/ghosts-tape-documentary-11940/[/url]
[QUOTE=Jiggmin;24503785][media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PuOXaav7qZU&feature=related[/media]
Lolwat.[/QUOTE]
There is no way that video isn't real.
[QUOTE=xxsetshotxx;24504092]There is no way that video isn't real.[/QUOTE]
Yeah, I mean you've just gotta think logically about it. First, if it was real the cops would have siezed the footage and no way would that get show on tv, no casing comes out of the gun, they damn sure wouldn't have put the jokey music over it and who in their right mind reacts that badly to a prank? If you're pissed off, sure punch the kid but I doubt very much somebody would risk incarceration for some shit like that.
Myth busted.
[QUOTE=PulpedFiction;24504277]Yeah, I mean you've just gotta think logically about it. First, if it was real the cops would have siezed the footage and no way would that get show on tv, no casing comes out of the gun, they damn sure wouldn't have put the jokey music over it and who in their right mind reacts that badly to a prank? If you're pissed off, sure punch the kid but I doubt very much somebody would risk incarceration for some shit like that.
Myth busted.[/QUOTE]
I'm sorry, but it has to be done. To complete the loop.
[IMG]http://collateraldamage.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/mythbusters-busted-spray.png[/IMG]
I'm terribly TERRIBLY sorry if this is old, but if not. Enjoy.
[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jOU3m_tHtQ[/media]
[QUOTE=kattolil;24505302]I'm terribly TERRIBLY sorry if this is old, but if not. Enjoy.
[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jOU3m_tHtQ[/media][/QUOTE]
That scared the fuck out of me.
Good job the title spoiled the video
[QUOTE=cardfan212;24498701]I was watching some Courage the Cowardly Dog for some nostalgia a half hour ago, and I remembered the only thing that scared me this bad ever. It was an episode with a zombie ghost thing outside the house and it said stuff like "Bring back the slab." or something. Could I get a link to it if some one knows what I'm talking about? I really want to know why it scared me. I had nightmares for months and refused to watch the show for 3 years.[/QUOTE]
[IMG]http://filesmelt.com/dl/Courage.PNG[/IMG]
[editline]06:53PM[/editline]
I do not condone 4chan or associate with 4chan by any means. Thank you.
[QUOTE=>VLN<;24505430][IMG]http://filesmelt.com/dl/Courage.PNG[/IMG]
[editline]06:53PM[/editline]
I do not condone 4chan or associate with 4chan by any means. Thank you.[/QUOTE]
4chan can be good if you go to the right boards. I got that video off of /x/ aka paranormal.
But verynicelady (ya right) banned me for posting that in the courage thread in film and tv shows section...
[QUOTE=>VLN<;24505805]But verynicelady (ya right) banned me for posting that in the courage thread in film and tv shows section...[/QUOTE]
Ok?
[QUOTE=Stormcharger;24503876]This is a spooky documentary with 'real' footage of ghosts. if you beleive in ghosts you will probably find it creepy.
[url]http://www.documentingreality.com/forum/f181/ghosts-tape-documentary-11940/[/url][/QUOTE]
The video didn't seem to work for me so I searched around and found it here: [url]http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5406487197364769612#[/url]
Also, the monster in the "He dies in the end" video looks like a frosted cake.
[QUOTE=Fallen Thespian;24506983]The video didn't seem to work for me so I searched around and found it here: [url]http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5406487197364769612#[/url]
Also, the monster in the "He dies in the end" video looks like a frosted cake.[/QUOTE]
Yep :v:
[quote]One day I was watching science channel, browsing /r9k/ and playing some old NES ROMs. I have a TV next to my computer monitor so I can do all of this shit at the same time. It was about 3am and I was really tired, having already brushed my teeth and washed my face, I was about ready to go to bed. I hadn't even noticed what I was watching at this point, it usually ends up as background noise anyway while I do something more entertaining. I glanced over and it seemed like some shitty infomercial just started, since it just turned 3:30. I got up to go to bed when I heard the guy on the TV say "hey you don't go to sleep yet, I've got a great deal for you". I turned and looked back at the TV and I laughed to myself, how does he know I'm going to bed?
He looked rather stressed out, as if he was forcing a smile. I noticed I couldn't see his hands, and he wasn't using them to talk like most people do. He actually seemed to keep them behind his chair. His teeth were a dark yellow brown color, as if they had been soaking in soda in that Mythbusters experiment. His eyes were drooped and his cheeks looked like they were pasted on, he must have been in his late 70's. He was a well dressed man I must admit, a pinstripe suit was garnished by a red rose attached to his suit jacket, a white shirt and a black tie finished off the whole deal. The more he spoke, the less I seemed to listen, focusing mostly on his affect than his words.
It was then that I realized that the volume decreased to a near mute at this time. I went to turn it up, but my remote control wasn't having any effect on my television. It was then that he blurted out, "Ahh, now that I have your attention, I have to get around to what I was going to tell you." at this point I let loose a little dribble of pee this startled me so much. I just stared intently at the mans sunken eyes, whose pupils seemed to dominate almost all of the eye including the whites. He began his speech once again, leaving a long pause where he slowly revealed his rotten teeth once again. "Now then, as you may or may not have realized this isn't exactly cable television anymore. No, far from it, this is meant especially for you." At this point my stomach was in my toes, I was having trouble breathing. Some people refer to it as shock, there should be another word to describe the intensity of fear that I felt. "I've been watching you for a while now, as you may or may not have noticed," he spoke. "there were times where I thought you weren't ready, however those feelings were quickly eradicated when I saw how easy it was to, how should I say, 'direct' you." As he said this, pictures of me completing daily chores came across the screen. They started out believable enough, me outside hanging laundry, me outside cleaning the pool, me through the window cooking dinner, me letting my girlfriend in through the front door. As they progressed they became less realistic and more as if this man was using noclip to get through my walls.
Pictures of me in the shower, pictures of me sleeping, pictures, pictures, pictures. They didn't seem to stop, his raspy voice repeating "'direct' you" over and over again. The pictures became more grim, pictures of me inviting the neighbors into my house, pictures of them tied up, pictures of them mutilated, decapitated, limbs rendered into separate pieces. At this point I was numb, I couldn't move. "remember now? don't you remember your directions? you were supposed to bury them, you were supposed to get rid of them. But what did you do? you simply left them there. They haven't moved since you've seen them last." I refused to believe this. It was too absurd. I had no recollection of anything like this happening, I didn't even talk to my neighbors let alone invite them over. "you did it, you did it John but you couldn't accept it. And that's why i'm here, that's what I had to tell you so bad. You tried to fight off the demons, but you simply couldn't. They took over." I had no idea what to think. I started to shout, as if the man in the TV could hear me.
"No! I must kill the demons!" I shouted
The TV said "No, John. You are the demons."
And then I was a zombie. [/quote]
Time for some content.
[quote]Modern playing cards are filled with layers of meaning and symbology that can be traced back centuries. The four kings, for example, are based off of real rulers: the king of diamonds represents the wealthy Julius Caesar, the king of clubs is the brutal Alexander the Great, Spades represents the strong but kind David of Israel and Hearts represents the… emotionally disturbed, shall we say, Charles VII of France. It is this king that we will be dealing with today. It should also be noted that Charles was the only one of the four who was actually there to see the day that his face was printed on a playing card, which may rationalize why he acted apart from the others.
Charles’ visage was put on the king of hearts at the very beginning of his rule, but he never really got a chance to come into contact with playing cards until many years later when he became very ill with a fever and was informed that he would be bedridden for the rest of his life. It was during this period that Charles began learning card games to pass the time, such as an early version of black jack, “vingt-et-un” (twenty one).
Charles lay in his bed for two years, constantly fiddling with the cards and always getting weaker. As time continued to pass, there were reports that Charles had begun obsessing over the idea that the king being the thirteenth card in a suit was causing him bad luck. He talked about how he was starting to see the number pop up everywhere and that he was close to figuring out its secret. Of course, his ramblings were blamed on the fever, and by the end of the second year, he had been declared insane, and his son Louis XII took over the thrown.
One day, several months after the end of his reign, one of Charles’ physicians went to his chamber to find the frail old man standing in the middle of the room wielding a large sword. Before the doctor could react, the king said, “Ils m’ont montré la vérité de treize, et il n’est pas signifié pour les yeux mortels.” which roughly translates to, “They have shown me the truth of thirteen, and it is not meant for mortal eyes.” Without hesitation the king proceeded to ram the blade in through the left side of his head (between the ear and temple) until it came out the other side. He wavered a moment, before collapsing to the floor dead.
After the incident was announced and it was made public that the king had gone mad, the image of Charles on the king of hearts was altered to show himself offing himself. Although the picture is now shown significant-ly less graphically, the image of Charles thrusting the sword into his skull can still be found on modern day playing cards. Perhaps the strangest part of the whole story, however, is the day that Charles chose to kill himself: 7/6/1462. Whether or not it was intentional of the king, the facts that 6+7=13 and 1+4+6+2=13 can only be explained as coincidences.[/quote]
[quote]Water.
Water is the cornerstone of life. It nourishes us, irrigates our crops and waters our livestock. Water is vital for all known forms of life. We rely on it to wash our cars, clean our food and produce our power. It has an effect on almost every activity in everyday life. Without it, civilisation would cease to function. Governments would collapse, crippled by an undefeatable enemy – drought. It would be a matter of days – no longer than a week – before every living being on Earth perished. In short, we cannot live without water.
Two days ago, we were forced to begin doing just that.
I don’t know how it began. Nobody left alive does. During the initial hours of it, theories ranged from the barely plausible, like a new form of greenhouse gas, to the ridiculous, such as a new type of light, one that only evaporated water. I remember those hours fondly – the true enormity of what had happened had not yet sunk in and hysteria had not yet clutched the human race.
What happened?
I’ll put it simply.
The first was that every single drop of freshwater on the entire planet evaporated instantly.
I don’t think I can do this event justice, but I’ll try.
Can you imagine every single river, every single lake, every single natural source of water drying up instantly, without rational explanation? I doubt you can, but that’s exactly what happened. It wasn’t restricted to natural sources, either. As far as I can tell, all the bottled water in the world also evaporated, as did that in water tanks and other similar sources. It also disappeared from other substances, including soft drinks, creating foul sugar compounds that would make those that consumed it quite ill. There was not a single drop of freshwater left anywhere on Earth for anybody to drink.
But by far the worst result of the lack of water was the nuclear reactors.
Without pressurised water, most of the nuclear reactors in the entire world – those that utilise purified water as coolant – had no available sources of coolant, and just under half of these had poor or untested failsafe plans. The resulting effect of this led to catastrophic nuclear meltdown in roughly 46% of water-cooled reactors. The world, already reeling from the unprecedented situation, fell into total anarchy.
International communication ceased after almost exactly twenty-four hours after it began.
But there was a second effect.
The saltwater poisoning.
Many people flocked to desalination plants in the first few hours, hoping for salvation.
They found none.
At approximately the same time as the worldwide evaporation, saline increased by fivefold in every sea or ocean on Earth. Desalination plants were able to cope with this load for approximately twenty hours. Then, fuel began to run low – and with the imminent collapse of civilisation thanks to the multiple nuclear catastrophes, no more was delivered. Thus, the last ever drop of freshwater on Earth was pumped out no later than midnight yesterday.
After the drought came the collapse.
With no water available, civilisation soon descended into anarchy. Governments, typical of authority to the very end, tried maintaining order. It didn’t work. Soldiers rebelled, shooting rioters and runners alike. Those who didn’t die were brutally executed moments after. They turned on each other soon enough, with only a few militaries intact from the carnage. The deserters fled, unwilling to stay and watch the extinction of Earth.
But then came the worst, far worse than anything before it.
There was, in fact, one source of water that hadn’t been touched.
I’m so lucky I realised before anyone else in my town.
It was blood.
Blood, which is over 90% water, was the only remaining liquid fit to drink.
And so some did.
At first, I didn’t believe it. It was too horrific.
Animals went first. The desperate drank the blood of cats, dogs, pets and feral animals of all kinds. Many offered too little blood to be of any value. The situation was made worse by the fact that I live in a rather large metropolitan city and beyond domesticated pets and the odd feral animal, there was no animals to catch and drink from. Perhaps those in the country fared better – I have no way of finding out, and frankly I don’t really care.
I knew then that humans were the only other option.
I first saw it twelve hours ago.
An elderly man, dressed in nothing but a torn dressing gown, slowly made his way down the street that ran in front of my house. He called for help desperately, croaking out that his entire nursing home was dead or dying, that the nurses had fled and that he was looking for help. He was so pitiful that I almost opened my door, if only to offer him some respite from the midday sun, and some of my sparse rations.
If I had been a second faster, I would not be writing this.
Before I could open the door, three people – two men and a woman – pounced from the shadow of a nearby tree. The poor old bastard had no chance. They leapt upon him, frenzied in their dehydration, and set on him with makeshift tools. It was the most terrifying spectacle of my entire life. One of the men had a hammer – he set about bashing the man’s joints in, one by one. Crack. Crack. Crack. I retched bile each time the hammer slammed into bone, so sickening was the crunch. The other had a gardening hoe. He hovered above the elderly man, bringing the makeshift weapon down once, twice. The tool cut through the man’s ankles like a knife through a steak.
The metaphor made me vomit. After I did, I looked back, if only to satisfy my own growing horror.
Oh, how I wish I hadn’t.
The woman, who was weaponless save for her own two hands, had straddled the man’s chest. Her hands were spread on the screaming man’s face as her own companions butchered him. Then, even as I watched, she dug her thumbs into his eyes. He howled like nothing I had ever heard before. She dug harder, pushing inwards and outwards simultaneously. When they were pulled free, blood and some even less discernible liquid splattered all over her. She grabbed them and ate them like fruit. I could hear the chewing sounds from my door. They bent to consume the precious blood and I turned away.
I call them the Drinkers.
There’s one thing I want to make very clear about them. They aren’t zombies. Nor are they affected by some external force that forces them to drink the blood of humans, such as a virus or disease. They are entirely human. I suspect that dehydration affects them worse than it does others and this forces them to drink from humans in a form of pseudo-cannibalism or perish. They represent the dark side of humanity. The Drinkers also seem to recognise each other through some subtle signal. Not being a Drinker, I wouldn’t know it.
As fast as I possibly could, I took my meagre supplies, some small comforts, this journal and my .357 Desert Eagle up into my bedroom. I pushed the bed against the door with my rapidly fading strength and piled furniture on it. The Desert Eagle has a full clip of seven, and I have one spare. Enough for thirteen Drinkers and - well, I’m sure you can imagine.
—
Another six hours have passed. I can really feel the dehydration now. My tongue feels numb and my skin feels like sandpaper. I tried to eat some bread before and I almost choked, with no saliva to moisten my throat. Now I’m hungry as well as thirsty. I don’t even know why I’ve kept writing this. Maybe it’s something to occupy me during the final hours of mankind. Maybe I hold some hope that a solution will be found and somebody in the future will read this and remember what it was like. Maybe I’m just delusional.
—
It’s getting worse. I’m breathing heavily and becoming more and more lethargic. This room feels like a sauna. I can almost see the heatwaves bouncing across the room, becoming more and more intense until I am literally cooked alive. It’s not a pleasant vision. My pen keeps slipping from the page as I suffer random bursts of weakness. I’m scared I won’t even be able to pull the trigger if the time comes.
—
I’m so terribly thirsty. The last time I urinated it burned. I haven’t defecated for a long time now. My vision’s fading in and out and my head feels like it’s going to split open from the intense pressure inside. My skin is so dry and leathery. I know I’m dying, but I’ve still got the Desert Eagle. Maybe I should kill myself before I lose the strength to do so. God knows it’s better than dehydrating to death or letting the Drinkers get me.
—
so thirsty
its dark and i’ve lost the gun
vision almost gone
so THIRSTY
i’m going mad
i’m dying
wait
what’s that
so thirsty
somebody’s knocking at the door
they want to be let in
they say the drinkers are coming
should i
i don’t know
maybe i’ll go get a drink.
i’m so thirsty.[/quote]
[quote]When thinking back to my earliest memories, nothing is concrete. A string of hazy images come to mind like random snapshots out of time, each one associated with certain feelings and emotions. They are imbued with a mystical dreamlike quality, a gift born of childhood naivety. The magic of every Christmas when Santa was still real, for example, is an experience of pure joy that is lost with maturity.
Many of these snapshots are impossible to place in any sort of context. They’re just…there, sunken in the crevices of the brain without rhyme or reason: playing with my dad’s beard in a wood-paneled room, him smiling down at me – comforting. Or discovering a long row of marching ants in someone’s wooded backyard, all by myself – exciting. Some of them don’t even seem real in hindsight. Did I actually fall from that tree by the lake, only to land on my feet without a scratch? Was it really a dream?
I don’t think so. Sure, I have memories of distant dreams, but there is a clear distinction between the dreams and reality of my past. I don’t know how I can tell, I just can. And for this reason one memory has always troubled me. The experience was so surreal, and yet certain details stand out with marked clarity.
I’m not exactly sure when it happened. I couldn’t have been older than five or six. My brother and I were sleeping in our bunk bed. Because he was older, he got the top bunk. I had just woken up, but it was still nighttime. Something felt different. I remember seeing and smelling the rain, but not hearing any. The window was open and it was very cold in the room. Why was the window open? The curtains were gently flapping but there was no breeze. The quiet was so intense it buzzed through my ears. I’d been lying on my side, with one arm dangling off the edge of the bed. Gradually I became aware that it was warmer near the floor. I felt some kind of heated breeze gently strike my hand, coming and going in short bursts. Finally I recognized it as someone’s breathing.
Then the woman slid out from under my bed. The nightlight showed that she had long blondish hair and wore a white nightgown, and in the dimness I thought it was my mother. I wasn’t at all scared. It’s funny how a child’s mind works. [i]What’s mommy doing under the bed? Must be getting something, or checking for monsters.[/i] I was too tired to say anything and remained motionless, watching. The woman was on her back, but her face stayed in the shadows. She rolled over and crawled on all fours to the far end of the bed, then glided up the ladder to the top bunk. Her every movement was silky smooth and completely silent. She reminded me of a white ribbon dancing in the wind. I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.
I also remember my brother telling me about a weird dream the next morning. He’d dreamt of a woman who lived “under the floor” and came out at night to play in the rain. When her clothes got soaked, she went back inside and would whisper things to anyone who was sleeping. It became a recurring dream for him until our family moved out of that house.
Strange, what the brain chooses to remember.[/quote]
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