Storytime

Copypasta of a person’s past experience or events that is so absurd it became a meme of its own. Usually untrue stories that tries to circle jerk opinions.

I larp as sunday friend irl and don’t know how to stop

I larp as sunday friend irl and don't know how to stop

sometimes i talk to random taxi drivers and cashiers like i’m literal sunday friend himself. I say that Im a high-ranking bureaucrat from price stabilité, Sur-La-Clef and the information i’m giving them is already more than i’m authorized to disclose. then i start speaking in disco elysium vocabulary like its normal speech and I regularly mimic the accents and speech patterns of Western European politicians (World Economic Forum officials are a really good source). I give detailed info about their country's equivalent in disco elysium (let's say that the guy is from Turkey and Turkey's equivalent in DE is Kedra so I talk about Kedra instead) etc. etc. this is really fun lmao I'm studying irl political science to get better at this

I encrusted my bed as a kid to the point that it was brown.

I encrusted my bed as a kid to the point that it was brown.

When I was around 12 or 13, my hormones were in full effect and I was a nonstop masturbator. Every night I would fire up my DSi and surf internet for hours like clock work until I was finished, in which I would turn it off and go to sleep. Now, I obviously did not want to sleep with me all over my hands, so I would go to the corner of my bed, lift the bed cover, and kinda just wipe it off there and fall asleep. I would like to say that I would get up some times and rinse my hands off in the bathroom like a normal person, but right hand on the bible I cannot remember a single time where I did that.

This nightly ritual went on for a few months and at one point I did notice that the bed started to feel “rougher” when I would wipe my hand on it, but me being lazy didn’t really pick up on what was happening because I would be understandably tired and it would be at night and I really couldn’t see. So I was blissfully unaware until one day I was changing my sheets and noticed that it looked… brown in that area. I’m not talking like a light hue, I’m talking Scooby Doo brown. I felt it and it was a hard rock candy feel, like touching the surface of a jolly rancher and its was weirdly sweet smelling. There was so much that some it hardened in tear drop formation like a water droplet on glass, ontop of the base layer of spunk. I immediately knew this was me and tried to scrape it off, and it did somewhat come off in like small flakes but the mattress itself was stained, there was no denying that. After I finished my brilliant mind thought the problem was solved, so I kept doing what I was doing for about another year and a halfish.

I did not clean it again and pretty much forgot/ignored it until the day came where we moved. My Dad wanted to throw the bed out, so we went up and I undressed my bed and my heart sank when I saw that the brown patch was back with a vengeance. Unfortunately for my Dad, that’s the side that he decided to carry and when he saw it he said “what the fuck is this? Did you spill Coke?”. I said yes immediately because wow, what an out! But looking back would not have made any sense unless I spilled multiple cokes in the same exact spot for years. We lift it and he grabs it directly on the spunk spot and I am internally screaming as we bring it all the way down the stairs and out to his car to throw out. It’s been over a decade since then and I still think about this and have never told a soul.

EDIT: Guys I’m sorry, I did not mean to ruin everyone’s association with Scooby Doo.

M2 Browning in space

AKA the Ma Deuce Mars copypasta, it came from 4chan and circlejerks the greatness of the M2 Browning machine gun. The pasta fantasizes it as the superior weapon by showing that its still used in space warfare.

>2066

>Stationed on Mars to quell a rebellion

>Become side door gunner for atmospheric dropship.

>No miniguns or gatling cannons, just some metal brick with a pipe on one end.

>Get sent in to extract some wounded.

>Reach the evac zone and come under attack.

>Hoard of rebels charging in with their new plasma guns and compact rocket launchers.

>Let loose a stream of bullets.

>The sounds of the rebel's screams are nearly drowned out by the heavy "Kachunk chunk chunk chunk" of the machinegun.

>The wounded are loaded up and returned to base.

>Inspect MG afterwards.

>Thing was made in 1942.

>Tunisia, Italy, and Germany are scratched onto the gun.

>Scratch "Mars" on with a knife.

>2066

>Stationed on Mars to quell a rebellion

>Become side door gunner for atmospheric dropship

.>No miniguns or gatling cannons, just some metal brick with a pipe on one end.

>Get sent in to extract some wounded.

>Reach the evac zone and come under attack.

>Hoard of rebels charging in with their new plasma guns and compact rocket launchers.

>Let loose a stream of bullets.

>The sounds of the rebel's screams are nearly drowned out by the heavy "Kachunk chunk chunk chunk" of the machinegun.

>The wounded are loaded up and returned to base.

>Inspect MG afterwards.

>Thing was made in 1942.

>Tunisia, Italy, and Germany are scratched onto the gun.

>Scratch "Olympus Mons" on with a knife.

B-52

2243

flying bombing runs over Martian rebels in ancient B-52

plasma turbines screaming

notice something just below window

whoscratchedmyplane.gif

lean in for better look

”nam 1968, iraq 1991, russia 2023, moon 2097, ur(moms)anus 2162”

take out survival knife

“mars 2243”

When I was in early school and beyblades were all the rage, some kid at school broke mine one day. I was super sad and was bawling when I got back home.

When I was in early school and beyblades were all the rage, some kid at school broke mine one day. I was super sad and was bawling when I got back home.

My dad was an engineer and often got up to go to work super early, like before I’d leave for school. The next morning he was still home, and sleeping. Which I found weird. My mum drives me to school, I reach into my backpack, and find my beyblade. Completely repaired, but also upgraded and modded like fkn crazy. He put a machined aluminum disc in it in place of the stock one, some centrifugal force thingamajig, and hand tooled the point that the bey blade spins on at the bottom. He had apparently stayed up till like 4am just suping my beyblade up.

At recess when we Let It Rip™️ my beyblade FUCKED UP every single other beyblade. The thing was literally indestructible, had insane balance, and kept spinning for fkn forever.

Basically, my dad is a GOAT

Fábio Coentrão “There’s a method to his madness.”

This story was originally written by Javier Aznar for GQ referencing Fabio Coentrao substituting for Real Madrid vs Atleti match and is originally in Spanish. It best known simply as the Fabio Coentrao copypasta.

SUNDAY, three days for the match

Fabio Coentrao is in a tank top in his living room, laying on the couch, watching a repeat of 'The Simpsons' while rolling a cigarette. His phone rings. He places the cigarrette on his ear and pick up the phone with some reluctance.

Coentrao: [dry cough] Yes?
Ancelotti: Fabio? How are you. I am the manager. I think we need you for the next week. Marcelo is suspended.
Coentrao: [Covers the handset with one hand and whispers a pair of swear words in Portuguese. Breathes deeply. Checks his agenda. Gets back on the phone more calmed] When will it be? Thursday I can't. Poker game with the lads.
Ancelotti: No. There's no Champions on Thursday. On Wednesday. Against Atleti.
Coentrao: In Bilbao?
Ancelotti: No, Fabio. Against last year's team. The ones from Lisbon.
Coentrao: [Writes down the date in an empty box of pizza] OK, mister. On Wednesday, I'll be there. Call me a cab, I'm still without my driving license. Do I need to go to Valdebebas these days?
Ancelotti: Mmmm. It wont be necessary. As long as you're ready for Wednesday it'll be fine. I count on you, eh. By the way, Benzema is injured. Chicharito will play.
Coentrao: Who?
Ancelotti: Chicharito. The Mexican who came this summer. The one who has been training with us since October? Well, nevermind. I'll introduce you on Wednesday. Don't forget to bring a white shirt.
Coentrao: Ok, boss.

Coentrao hangs up and sighs. There is smoke in the room. He starts looking for his boots through piles of clothes, dolls made with cans of beer and Chinese food leftovers. He doesn't remember where he put them the last time. He doesn't even remember his last game. Smells the white shirt. Ugh.

MONDAY, two days before the match

The phone rings again. 12:36 in the morning. Fabio's hand emerge from the sheets trying to reach the nightstand. Who will call such an ungodly hour? There must be an emergency.

Ronaldo: Fabio, I'm Cris. How you doing monster. Did I wake you up?
Coentrao: [With sleepy voice but pretending to be awake] Hey, Cris. Nothing nothing. Nah, don't worry. I was doing some pushups.
Ronaldo: Hey, as the mister said, we need you strong for Wednesday. Like the old times.
Coentrao: Yes, yes. Claro. Count on it. He also told me that we play with a Colombian. Chapulín or something like that.
[Awkward silence]
Ronaldo: This ... yes. That's him. Get fit, man. We are all counting on you.
Coentrao: Tranqui, tron.

TUESDAY, one day before the match

Fabio goes to the park in front of his house to jog a little. He wears some New Balance sneakers he used to play tennis in 98 and a shirt with "What happens in Cascais stays in Cascais." written on it. After doing some stretching, runs 10 minutes and starts coughing. Well, enough for today, he thinks while he checks his heart rate. Subjecting the body to great efforts before the game could be damaging. So unprofessional.

Turns on the TV and Barça is playing against PSG. Didn't they play this year already? Thinks a confused Fabio. He laughs every time the camera focuses on David Luiz's hair.

WEDNESDAY, gameday

Fabio gets to the stadium by taxi. He doesn't remember very well where's the entrance to the locker room. A nice gentleman named Chendo accompanies him to his locker. He dresses. He senses the tense atmosphere in the locker room. They will play with Sergio Ramos in the midfield, which sounds strange. But Fabio never asks questions. He just follows orders. There's a guy by his side with the #14 praying on his knees. Xabi Alonso looks different. Maybe he shaved.

He steps onto the pitch and right as the Champions League anthem starts, Fabio turns. He fights every ball. He leaves it all on the pitch. Spectacular. After 87 minutes, the praying guy scores. He seems excited. Public chants a strange name. Spanish is a weird language, Fabio thinks while he crashes with Raúl García after a split ball.

Minute 90. Subbed off. The public recognizes his effort.

He showers and Ancelotti congratulates him.

Ancelotti: Huge game, Fabio. Coentrao: Thank you, mister. It's not important. Here I am for what you need. Call me for the second leg.

Ancelotti is puzzled but prefers to say nothing. Coentrao leaves the Bernabeu without saying goodbye to anyone or talking to the press, lights a Lucky Strike and tries to stop a taxi.

Ancelotti shakes his head and smiles. Opens a pack of gum, arching an eyebrow, and starts chewing while he mumbles: "There's a method to his madness."

Original (Spanish)

Coentrao: [Tos ronca] ¿Sí?
Ancelotti: ¿Fabio? Qué tal. Soy el míster. Creo que te necesitamos para la semana que viene. Marcelo está sancionado.
Coentrao: [Tapa el auricular con una mano y susurra un par de tacos ahogados en portugués. Respira hondo. Mira la agenda del móvil. Vuelve a ponerse al teléfono algo más sereno] ¿Para cuándo sería? El jueves no puedo. Tengo partida de póker con los muchachos.
Ancelotti: No. El jueves no hay Champions. El miércoles. Contra el Atleti.
Coentrao: ¿En Bilbao?
Ancelotti: No, Fabio. Contra los del año pasado. Los de Lisboa.
Coentrao: [Apunta la fecha y la hora del partido en la caja vacía de una pizza] OK, míster. El miércoles estaré por ahí. Llamadme un taxi que sigo sin carnet. ¿Hace falta que me pase estos días por Valdebebas.
Ancelotti: Mmmm. Creo que no. Con que estés el miércoles un rato antes, me vale. Cuento contigo, eh. Por cierto, también va a ser baja Benzema. Juega Chicharito.
Coentrao: ¿Quién?
Ancelotti: Chicharito. El mexicano que vino este verano. ¿Uno que lleva entrenando con gorro desde octubre? Bueno, nada, déjalo. Te lo presento el miércoles. Tú no te olvides de llevar una camiseta blanca.
Coentrao: Oído, jefe.

Coentrao cuelga y suspira. Hay una humareda en el salón que trata de apartar con aspavientos. Empieza a buscar sus botas entre montones de ropa, muñecos hechos con latas de cervezas y comida china a domicilio. No se acuerda de dónde las puso por última vez. Ni siquiera se acuerda de su último partido. Huele la camiseta blanca. Uf.

LUNES, a dos días del partido Vuelve a sonar el teléfono de casa. Son las 12:36 del mediodía. Una mano de Fabio emerge del edredón tratando de alcanzar el teléfono de la mesita de noche. ¿Quién llamará a esas horas intempestivas? Debe de tratarse de una urgencia.

Ronaldo: Fabio, soy Cris. Cómo andas, monstruo. ¿Te he despertado?
Coentrao: [Con voz somnolienta pero aparentando estar despierto] Hey, Cris. Nada, nada. Qué va, tranquilo. Me has pillado aquí, haciendo unas flexiones.
Ronaldo: Oye, como ya te habrá comentado el míster, te necesitamos fuerte para el miércoles. Como en los viejos tiempos.
Coentrao: Sí, sí. Claro. Cuenta con ello. También me ha dicho que juega un colombiano. Un tal Chapulín.
[Silencio incómodo]
Ronaldo: Esto…sí. El mismo. Ponte en forma, tío. Contamos todos contigo.
Coentrao: Tranqui, tron.

MARTES, víspera de partido Fabio sale a correr por el parque que tiene enfrente de casa. Lleva unas New Balance viejas que usaba para jugar al tenis en el 98 y una camiseta de “Lo que pasa en Cascais se queda en Cascais”. Tras hacer unos estiramientos, corre 10 minutos y comienza a toser. Bueno, por hoy será suficiente_, piensa mientras se mide las pulsaciones. Podría ser contraproducente someter al cuerpo a grandes esfuerzos en vísperas del partido. Hasta poco profesional._

Enciende la televisión y está jugando el Barça contra el PSG. ¿Pero estos no jugaron este año ya? piensa un Fabio confundido. Se ríe cada vez que la cámara enfoca el pelo de David Luiz.

MIÉRCOLES, día del partido Llega al estadio en taxi. No se acuerda muy bien de por dónde se accede al vestuario. Un señor simpático llamado Chendo le acompaña hasta su taquilla. Se viste. Nota el ambiente tenso en el vestuario. Van a jugar con Sergio Ramos de mediocentro, lo que le suena algo extraño. Pero Fabio nunca hace preguntas. Solo cumple órdenes. Hay un chico a su lado que lleva el 14 que se pone a rezar de rodillas. Qué raro está Xabi Alonso. Se ha debido de afeitar.

Salta al campo y, cuando empieza a sonar el himno de la Champions, Fabio se transforma. Pelea todos los balones. Salta a por todas. Va al choque. Se deja la piel. Llega, centra y hace coberturas. Está espectacular. En el minuto 87, marca gol el chico que rezaba de rodillas. Parece emocionado. El público corea un nombre extraño. Qué difícil es el castellano piensa Fabio mientras salta por los aires tras un balón dividido con Raúl García.

Es sustituido en el minuto 90 y el público reconoce su esfuerzo.

Se ducha y recibe la enhorabuena de Ancelotti.

Ancelotti: Enorme partido, Fabio.
Coentrao: Gracias, míster. No tiene importancia. Aquí estoy para lo que necesite. Llámeme para el partido de vuelta.

Ancelotti se queda desconcertado pero prefiere por no decir nada. Coentrao abandona el Bernabéu, sin despedirse de nadie ni hablar con la prensa, mientras se enciende un Lucky Strike y trata de parar un taxi en la Castellana.

Ancelotti sacude la cabeza y esboza una sonrisa mientras le ve marchar. Abre un paquete de chicles, arquea una ceja, y se echa a la boca ocho chicles mientras musita entre dientes: "Hay método en su locura".

back in university for engineering, elon was revered by my classmates as a genius who revolutionized electric vehicle travel

back in university for engineering, elon was revered by my classmates as a genius who revolutionized electric vehicle travel. i don’t know enough about cars or the key differences between internal combustion and electric motors, so i took them at their word for it.

then i started getting invites to watch spacex launches, being told that he’s revolutionized space travel and we would be travelling to the moon commercially in my lifetime. i don’t know enough about space travel to say whether or not that’s true, so i took them at their word for it and cheered on some rocket explosions with my friends

then elon bought twitter, and started talking about how he would revolutionize social media. i happen to know a great deal about software, and let me tell you, this dumb prick says some of the stupidest shit i’ve ever heard about application development . it was at that moment that i reevaluated my opinion on tesla and spacex, and rightly labelled elon as the con artist he is