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22 days ago
Current Just ran a stale yellow. Nobody on this website is doing it like me, sticking it to the man like me, blazing a trail against tyranny like me. the only thing revolutionary about you is your rhetoric
3 likes
2 mos ago
Takeru Segawa is the type of man they made myths out of. Intensely privileged to be able to say I watched him burn so bright as he did before going out with a win. I’ll miss you, hero.
3 mos ago
a frayed thread on the colorful tapestry of our existence, begging to be yanked until the whole thing unravels, a suggestive, inviting golden glow around the idea of leaking my buddy's DMs to his wife
6 likes
4 mos ago
I'm like the "conspicuously modded with multiple trojan backdoors skyrim save on your friend's screenshare stream" of white boys
4 likes
5 mos ago
Completely fucking up my field sobriety test as i clamber out of the honda fit i've wrapped around a lightpost, staggering everywhere, before finally scoring a big fat goose egg on the breathalyzer
9 likes

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Most Recent Posts

Kirk Poirier - New Orleans

@KoL@TheWindel@Vesuvius00@PKMNB0Y


"Ah, don't worry about that." He reassured the small woman who first pulled up to his table, his Lafayette accent offering colorful contrast to her more standardized American English, with the pointed, almost francophonic long o's and "that" so much closer to "dat". "Just a good turn."

He wasn't a small guy by any means, and he was well aware of that, but this girl— Kay, was so diminutive he had to inwardly marvel at the degree to which he dwarfed her. However, such size comparisons were doomed to be short-lived things, as the others in her party began to file in one after the other. A young girl with long black hair and a bit of energy about her and a calm looking... uh...

'Daichi'... Sounds Japanese to me. Better not go sayin' that, though.

Be real rude of me if I'm wrong.


"Hm? Oh, naw. I'm just your seating partner here, they're at capacity right now and asked me to share— Ah, hell. Forgot my manners. Name's Kirk! Kirk Poirier, blessed to meetcha all."


He thrust a large hand forward to Daichi, intending on greeting each of the other three assembled in turn with a firm, yet not overbearing handshake. As a wrestler, grip strength was one of his most valuable weapons, so he consequently went well out of his way to not squeeze the life out of somebody else so much as gently encase them in stone for a spell. He was pretty good at it by now, and so had room to roll the conversation right on in the meantime.

"And if I might make a suggestion, if you're looking for something light?" he thrust his left hand down onto the center of the entrees section, "You're gonna wanna do the Baked Chicken. They're really good at keepin all their meats moist here, but—" he held up one of his remaining Fried Thighs for an example now, "The breadin' they do here's really nice, but it'll be super heavy too. They really crisp it up and let it go long in the oil. That an' the seasonin's why you get that real brown color. Definitely get white meat, at least. Ya might be able to get away with fried like that."

Placing it back on his plate, he returned that free hand to Daichi's menu again, this time venturing further down.

"And your side ain't gonna be as light as a salad, because you've gotta have these cornbread muffins. They're fluffy, soft, super sweet... I swear they're just like my Granny's."

His tone had, somewhere along the way, shifted from friendly to almost reverent. As he finally released the poor foreigner's menu back into his control, though, Kirk regained his vocal posture.

"An' like I was saying, I'm just a friend by coincidence, nothin' ta do with no..."

Way he was speaking about makes me think more than social gathering. 'Clients, Manpower, et cetera.'

"...Mission?"
he ventured.
Kirk Poirier - New Orleans

@KoL@TheWindel@Vesuvius00@PKMNB0Y


With an almost preternaturally satisfying crunch, the strong jaws of one auburn haired and musclebound twenty-year old tore into the crisp, perfectly-seasoned breading of a golden-brown drumstick.

Always worth the drive.

God, he missed Fried Chicken. And Gumbo. And everything else involving flour, really. All Winter, from the beginning scrimmages in November up until the NCAA Championships at the end of March, he had kept himself balanced upon the razor's edge with his weight control. Every meal, every workout, every cut planned to the smallest minutiae to get him down to 174 pounds and do so fluently enough to wrestle against the best in the nation that very same afternoon. Fried Foods were a thing of the past. Hydration? Heavily restricted. Booze?

You'd be insane.

His effort, his long months of grueling, grinding effort, of wanting to die every time he stepped into the gym and wanting to kill every time he stepped onto the mat, standing amongst savage men from every other titan of the Midwest, had not been for nothing. He'd grappled his heart out, upsetting his longtime bracket nemesis Joshua Bettendorf (nice guy off the mat, actually) from OSU for a third place finish overall. A 6-5 nailbiter, won off of a last-minute granby roll and subsequent reversal. He wasn't champion. Not yet. But this year had been one of tremendous growth and broken limits. He'd get it next time. He was certain.

And now that the season was over, one newly minted All-American could enjoy himself for real. Willie Mae's was infamous for their fried chicken for damn good reason— everything was authentic, and everything was done to produce a quality experience. Even the service was a warm and friendly Louisiana hospitality.

"'Scuse me, honey."

The Lafayette boy looked up readily to his assigned server, a middle-aged woman with dark skin and a kindly, if a little chatty, demeanor. Her New Orleans accent was different from his slightly "Frencher" Lafayette twang, but many of the customers were coming in from out-of-state on some spring break trip or what-have-you. Only he and Lorena here would catch the subtle differences.

"I hate to do this to ya, but we gotta large party comin' in and..."

She leaned forward conspiratorially, a small snicker on her lips.

"You've got the only open table left in the house."

The wrestler caught on quick, straightening out his dark tank top, and waved her concerns away.

"Yeah, I don't mind sharing none."

"You sure? They're not all here yet."

"Naw, it's no trouble."

This time, it was he that pretended to share a big secret.

"Tellin' the truth, I was getting a li'l lonely all by myself anyway."

Lorena's lips peeled back into a grand smile, and she started off back towards the front.

"Bless your heart! You go ahead and enjoy the food! Holler if you need anything!"

He watched her go, before taking a sip of his water and shrugging brawny shoulders.

May as well, then. He was sure the newcomers wouldn't bother him badly. Not enough to not be a Good Samaritan.
@Guess Who@NaraK@HereComesTheSnow

HTTS - Shipment Protection

"Hey, walrus fat burns really well, right?"


"I mean, yeah, it oughta." came the reply after careful consideration. "Fat's fat, and fats burn. That's why I toasted those burger buns the other day in clarified butter. Regular butter's smoke point's too low."

He reached quite calmly into his pouch of ball bearings, tossing the handful retrieved into the air. Much like Taidan earlier, the orbs hung, gleaming in the air for a moment as though suspended in glass.

Then they began to spin, following a lazy figure-eight drawn by the steel-scalped senior and gradually picking up speed. Faster and faster, tighter and tighter, their shining dance refined itself further with each turn, eventually to the point where even the experienced Hunter's hand could scarcely track their path—

Until abruptly, one shot towards a Hrossvalr's head with a thought, at this point closer to a silvered bullet than anything else. The rest soon followed, directed towards key points like eyes and mouth, where the protective blubber was either at its thinnest or not present. Optic Nerves lead back into the brain, the throat is the clearest gateway to spinal chord...

A few even crashed against its tusks in an attempt to snap the thick enamel. Why let them scuff up the floor?

"Just make sure the deck doesn't accidentally catch too."

These were definitely just the practice round, anyway. At their level, it could be expected that a mission would always have something bigger in store than a few fat bodies.
@TheFake You think? I personally thought it’s troubled development cycle bled through too clearly in the story. Still enjoyed it and found the game a return to form, but it felt way too raw off the cutting board for me, as well as five missions or so too short.
@ERode I worry for my humble athlete, he knows not what he’s in for.

@Norschtalen you know it dude
I guess i get to play the fucking rando of the game
@Raineh Daze No worries, just good to see you guys again
@Raineh Daze
ow

was ignite heart so long ago?
@Raineh Daze oh shit, it's been a while
Don't worry, you can always do the easy thing and copy/paste somebody else's pretty formatting and change out the text within

lifesaver skill really
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