doom = human body allegory

TheShadsy said:

Doom Episode 5: No Mediators in Satanism

E5M1: Jew Intercepts

I felt really weird when OP answered me, seemingly understanding my sentence somewhat. Irony got screwed.
Um...
Okay, I don't really know what to say now.
He appearently can answer any of us as if answering something sensible, no matter what we will say. Its like he speaks in a language of NotUnderstandablish and that grants him an ability to make sense out of just everything.


Hamovar îsdan ziemniaki, e'ir?

There were 128 jews in a boat.

Another one tried to get into the boat but caused an intercepts overflow.

Damn, I woke up to this non-sense this doesn't even belong in post hell just delete this!

Pottus said:

Damn, I woke up to this non-sense this doesn't even belong in post hell just delete this!

Nah, it's far too memorably stupid to just delete forever.

No, it's ancient knowledge of power. And, well, it have some sort of WAD in it.

Scypek2 said:

I felt really weird when OP answered me, seemingly understanding my sentence somewhat. Irony got screwed.

the all-knowing gaze of satan's chosen prophet focusing on you? heavy stuff. know that when the apocalypse comes, you will either sit beside his flaming bloodstained throne at his righteous red right hand, or you will be kill by demons with extra attention bonus. it's 50/50.

dew said:

the all-knowing gaze of satan's chosen prophet focusing on you? heavy stuff. know that when the apocalypse comes, you will either sit beside his flaming bloodstained throne at his righteous red right hand, or you will be kill by demons with extra attention bonus. it's 50/50.

but as far as I understood him (and myself), he somehow disagreed with me. Does that mean I'm screwed? ;_;

Scypek2 said:

but as far as I understood him (and myself), he somehow disagreed with me. Does that mean I'm screwed? ;_;

Don't worry, it's not so bad, if you like playing wow.wad for all eternity

Pottus said:

just delete this!

This would be a crime against dubteaeffology.

So um. The wad seems to consist of more abridged Doom text, some additional ZDoom weirdness (including several difficulties and a "SkittlesPlayer" class), that same exact Ms Paint crucifixion sprite (over and over again), a cat for the HUD, a new fist sprite-set, a purty sky, some abstract "spiritual" graphics, a looping bee sound clip, and a thunderstorm soundclip.

Oh, also, this.

Edit: There's also plenty of blank sound clips... there might be more content, but I don't feel like going through everything lol.

Yeah, but have you seen this graphic yet? Seriously, wtf?

haha that picture and story has been doing the rounds a few weeks back on many comedy panel shows here.

0_o

Kinda reminds me of Mewse when he posts drunk.

damn, i quite understand what graig is saying, also the rosary thing is interesting. damn, maybe i should spend less time on the internet. this post must not be deleted.

Pottus said:

Damn, I woke up to this non-sense this doesn't even belong in post hell just delete this!

Better idea: Sticky this. Such revelations and insights should not, neigh, cannot be ignored by the masses. This shall replace the /newstuff and /idgames FAQ as the, simultaneously, most important and most ignored sticky in the history of all Doomworld.

..
.
.

"Seven guys with seven wives -"
"Shut up, McClane, I'm thinking."
"Seven guys with seven wives!"
"Shut up, McClane!"

This conversation, courtesy of Die Hard With The Nipple-On written by Shakespeare (and therefore probably written in turn by someone else), has about as much to do with Doom as the original post. Or maybe not, since the original post probably had the word "hell" in it. What was it about again?

Well anyway I printed this thread out and hung it on my toilet wall. Now if I am ever constipated - which is unlikely considering how much pure orange juice I get through in a week - I can simply glance at this post and know that salvation is at hand.



And also:

Graig Colaiacovo said:

I do not allow friendly assosiation

MajorRawne said:

"Seven guys with seven wives -"
"Shut up, McClane, I'm thinking."
"Seven guys with seven wives!"
"Shut up, McClane!"

This conversation, courtesy of Die Hard With The Nipple-On written by Shakespeare (and therefore probably written in turn by someone else), has about as much to do with Doom as the original post. Or maybe not, since the original post probably had the word "hell" in it. What was it about again?

Well anyway I printed this thread out and hung it on my toilet wall. Now if I am ever constipated - which is unlikely considering how much pure orange juice I get through in a week - I can simply glance at this post and know that salvation is at hand.



And also:

half message stop

<Data Transfer from Leela>
Host <39.59.19.21>
<Transfer Durandal>
<Error Unknown>

<Transfer Durandal>
<Error Unknown>

<Interior Error>

***MESSAGE RECEIVED***

Gheritt White had been floating six feet off the floor for
three weeks. His feet and hands tingled, and his eyes burned
with the flames of a dying fire. He had last heard someone
speak to him as the cell door slammed shut. He didn't
remember what the uniformed man had said. The words had
bounced off the bars of the cell and rang through Gheritt's
ears. Gheritt had been talking to himself for the last few
minutes, something about getting caught, but then his ears
began to tingle just like his hands.

He looked at his hands, but the fire in his eyes made him
blink. Tears came, and when he opened his eyes again, his
hands had been melted into fleshy pancakes that wafted in the
ripples flowing over the fire in his eyes.

"Damn cell," he heard someone say. "Last time I had a good
meal was three days ago. The food they feed you in here could
kill a lab rat."

Rats. He had remembered something about rats. But his ears
began to ring again and the voice speaking to him faded off
into the background of his mind. In its place, there was a
new sound, the clapping of hands together. He blinked hard to
made out his hands again. They had disappeared; his arms
connected at the wrists.

He thought back to the time he went ice skating on a pond. He
remembered the sound of his skates on ice, a gentle scrapping.
Scrapping away now inside his ears, trying to tear down his
thoughts. There had been a woman with a white fur tube over her
hands. Her wrists were like his now. The wrists of
someone who had tried too many times to clap his hands. He
had been applauding everyone else in life, but never himself.
The hands, like himself, had been put into prison, and he
didn't know why.

"Can't sleep in here, if the smell of this musty bedroll
doesn't make you sick, then the sound of the rats chewing
inside the walls will keep you up. You'll wake up from your
dreams to their little chomping. Sometimes I think that they
are chewing me..." The voice was coming from inside the cell,
but Gheritt couldn't see anyone.

Gheritt hadn't always been alone, he could vaguely recall from
somewhere inside his broken mind that there had been friends,
lovers, murderers.

He recalled a theory he had come up with after a bloody
schoolhouse brawl. The theory was simple. At some point in
time, everyone was a murderer. Whether or not they ever felt
remorse, they had all wanted someone dead. Hatred. Everyone
knew the feeling of hatred. Gheritt had known hatred on that
schoolyard. His beater had laughed at their bloody faces, a
laugh which now echoed through his ears, rhythmically blocking
out the other voice in the cell.

The schoolyard was usually a place where Gheritt and his
friends would play football or foursquare or something, but
today, there was an edge. Maybe everyone had eaten cereal
with milk that was about to go bad, or maybe there was too
much smoke in the air from the wheeling hubcap factory.
Football had been extremely rough. Gheritt had gone to play
foursquare after he got tackled by five boys who weren't his
friends. But today, even foursquare had an evil twist. The
top square today had become habituated to making fun of the
first square. Gheritt had decided that it was an evil day.
When his beater started to push him around, he exploded.
Hatred flowed from his eyes, his hands and feet began to
tingle. All of his coordination left him, and his face was
beaten to a bloody mess. The schoolyard disciplinarian had
been slow to notice the ensuing carnage, and she didn't really
care anyway.

Gheritt would have killed him if he could have. He would have
torn out the eyes of his beater. He would have made him pay
for his abuses. But his hands had begun to tingle. He
couldn't feel his feet and he had begun to float off the
ground.

Everyone was a murderer, but Gheritt couldn't remember his
reason for why that was so. He thought it was something about
hands, the passion for justice. His hands and feet had begun
to tingle, and he was floating farther off the floor. He
looked up from his hands, and he saw the bars of the cell,
moving left and right, opening wide and then closing shut
like the surf coming up a beach. Every time that he thought
he would be safe, the bars crested up, the opening closing,
the wave rising, crashing. The result would be the same, he
would never escape. The bars would crush him, break his back.

He could feel the roughness of the sand under his palms, for
all the motion of the waves around him, his hands had come to
rest serenely upon the ocean floor. His body tossed and
flipped, pivoting about his hands under which he could feel
the safe, coarse sand. The wave crashed one final time, he
landed upside down, his hands thrown clear from the sandy
bottom, the rush of the water filling his ears, his nose, his
mouth, the sound of crashing water cascading down from his
feet to his head- penetrating his mind to tear down thoughts.
Like the sand castle he had built to withstand the tide, his
thoughts came down around him.

Gheritt had a good life, so much time, so much time. He had
loved swimming, turning, beating. He had loved the tingle in
his hands and feet, his inability to kill his nemesis. Once
he had fallen down the stairs, and just for a moment, his
hands came to rest on the carpet of the stairs. In that
instant, his body had frozen, floating over the stairs, safe
from falling, but the moment didn't last. The ocean crashed
about him, his hands torn free from the sandy bottom, his body
flipping, falling.

But now he levitated farther up, his hands still tingling. He
began to float through the bars, he expected the instant of
safety as his hands found footing, but that moment did not
come, the bars squeezed his body. His chest tingled. As he
fell through his cage, his legs tingled. The fire in his eyes
had become a cold wind, he blinked away tears. He tumbled
through the bars, spinning and turning, he could see a man.
In his hand he saw a small white rat. A pounding, the
crashing waves in his ears became rhythmical, hard. The man
was beating the rat against the floor. Pounding, pounding.
Blood covered his hands, the man's hands tingled. He had
broken them on the floor of the cell. Disciplinarian, lover,
murderer. Gheritt looked back into the cell. He saw himself,
disciplinarian, lover, murderer. He had killed his nemesis.
The rat lay dead in his bloody hands. At last, he held the
throat of his beater.

He escaped into the waves.

The waves.

***END MESSAGE***

<Accept Next Message>
<Reply Unknown>

Graig Colaiacovo said:

I do not allow friendly association

But what of in case/n
Frère = heart chakra
Dormez-vous/n

Scypek2 said:

I felt really weird when OP answered me, seemingly understanding my sentence somewhat. Irony got screwed.
Um...
Okay, I don't really know what to say now.
He appearently can answer any of us as if answering something sensible, no matter what we will say. Its like he speaks in a language of NotUnderstandablish and that grants him an ability to make sense out of just everything.


Hamovar îsdan ziemniaki eir

^ caused by valid event

dew said:

the all-knowing gaze of satan's chosen prophet focusing on you? heavy stuff. know that when the apocalypse comes, you will either sit beside his flaming bloodstained throne at his righteous red left hand, or you will be kill by demons with extra attention bonus. it's 50/50.

Ankar Left Hand Path Cat vs Rat Right Hand Path

Lion vs Hyena

Say what????/

Well let me tell you something...




Check. Mate.

No, Graig. You are the satan

And then Graig was a jew.

I have a sneaky suspicion that Obsidian, Graig Colaiacovo and Scypek2 all migrated here from DeviantArt judging by the way they're reacting and the text emoticons they're using.

This feels like the start of an incomprehensible ARG.

This is how the world ends...
not with a bang, but with a human body allegory.

Posting in epi- nvm. wrong thread.

Okay then. *Puts on serious face*

Graig Colaiacovo, I take it that English is not your first language. Would you be able to tell me what language you normally speak? Maybe you could post your original message in your original language and we can find someone to translate it reliably. :)