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    Its a Discord prank related to the new age verification that are being implemented. The copypasta is a prank/troll that you can send to your friends to scare them.

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      This is an anti-scammer copypasta sent to scammers with an intention to scare them.

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      I hate Constructs

        By u/Terkmc, its the ‘I hate Saurus‘ copypasta from Total War but changed to Constructs from Menace.

        I hate Constructs Soldiers. I hate them. I hate their biomechanical faces. I hate their cybernetics. I hate their fleshy bits. I hate when the cybernetic are next to the fleshy bits and I hate when the fleshy bits are next to the cybernetic. I hate that the AI pulls 20 squads of them out of his robotic asshole and then all sit on the last capture point like a swarm of ants on my unattended can of soda.

I hate the Construct difficulty meter. I hate it because it lies to me. It says thisi is a 2 skull medium difficulty mission. This is patently false, because I have 24 guys in cardboard with a battlerifle. I do not have twenty units of eight foot tall Construct Soldiers constructed out of pectoral muscles and galvanised coffin nails.

I hate their regeneration. I hate that flanking them simply prompts one of them to pull out a nightcap so he can take a nap mid fire fight. I hate that their reaction to a devastating flanking attack is to become sleepy. I have looked a Construct in his horrifying cyborg face as an encirclement that would shatter any other "infantry" closed in.

He went from :I to :I, shrugged off another two turns of shooting, and then regenerated.

I have resolved to shoot every Construct dead. Every Construct. All of the Shambler and the Skirmisher too. I hate them. I no longer see battlefields because they're covered by a thick blanket of Anti Tank rockets and Twin Autocannon shells. I hate that it barely stops them.

I hate that Construct Soldier is friends with the Guncrawler next title, who also instantly wipe out my squad once I've shot the Construct Soldier unconscious for the tenth time. He also has a fuck ton of armor only these ones are on treads. Somehow this is worse.

I hate that they are an end-game invasion faction. I hate that they will be in every system and every mission by the time I reach them. I hate that while I was writing this the Construct Soldier looked at Rewa with a mean look, deals 1 (one) damage to the armor and instantly mindbreak her like this is a japanese cartoon.

I hate Construct.

        A classmate smelled my seat HELP

          Part of a series of university/college shitpost that gets posted in Reddit.

          A classmate smelled my seat HELP

I’m a bcit student made a new friend in my 2nd year. We became partners. In one of our classrooms we have a massive reflective window in front of us. One time I had to go to the washroom and went out of my desk, in the reflection I saw my classmate rub the palm of his hand on the seat in a motion like he was polishing something and turned his spinning chair around and what it looks like smelled his handy?? I don’t think he knows that I’m aware. My half awake friend saw him as well and can confirm that she remembers seeing him smelling something. When I came back to my desk and saw he wasn’t there, I asked where he went out of curiosity because he’s my work partner. He said he went to the washroom. Umm what do I do in this situation

          Naruto is a gateway anime of the worst kind.

            This is a classic Naruto hate copypasta that came from 4chan all the way back in 2011. The original comment is gone but there are still multiple repost of it across different time. There are also a few variations with minor differences but presumably the first variation here is the original.

            Naruto is a gateway anime of the worst kind. It’s a bad series, a clusterfuck of story and characterization that isn’t very well done by any aspect, but which attempts to compensate for its weaknesses by adding in excessive shipping faggotry and DARKNESS. The normal anon can see this as the shit it is, and may enjoy it, hate it or be indifferent to it, but all the while recognizing that the series itself, regardless of their opinion, is plain bad.

However, these very aspects that try to smear over the shit of its core make it a breeding ground for aspie, unsociable underageb& faggots who engage in every kind of faggotry both online and in the real world. The superpowered characters all trying their hardest to look cool, the jutsus, peculiar, colorful clothes, the whole ninja faggotry and everything about the Naruto world fuels their escapist fantasies, while the pity-party character backgrounds, emphasis on revenge, and overall preachiness of the series make it fit just right with the mary-sueish drives of your average preteen and his sense of unwarranted self-importance towards the world.
Exactly the kind of shit that makes little kiddies and underageb& retards eat this shit right the fuck up.

Naruto is basically THE series to attract the most hated anime fanbase known to /a/, which is why, regardless of individual opinions, it is the responsibility of every anon to troll the fuck out of this show and everyone who likes it, and ensure that no Naruto threads ever encourage the newfriends to show their faces here.
            Naruto is a gateway anime of the worst kind. It's a bad series, a clusterfuck of story and characterization that isn't very well done by any aspect, but which attempts to compensate for its weaknesses by adding in excessive shipping faggotry and DARKNESS. The normal anon can see this as the shit it is, and may enjoy it, hate it or be indifferent to it, but all the while recognizing that the series itself, regardless of their opinion, is plain bad. However, these very aspects that try to smear over the shit of its core make it a breeding ground for aspie, unsociable underageb& faggots who engage in every kind of faggotry both online and in the real world. The superpowered characters all trying their hardest to look cool, the jutsus, peculiar, colorful clothes, the whole ninja faggotry and everything about the Naruto world fuels their escapist fantasies, while the pity-party character backgrounds, emphasis on revenge, and overall preachiness of the series make it fit just right with the mary-sueish drives of your average preteen and his sense of unwarranted self-importance towards the world. Exactly the kind of shit that makes little kiddies and underageb& retards eat this shit right the fuck up. Naruto is basically THE series to attract the most hated anime fanbase known to /a/, which is why, regardless of individual opinions, it is the responsibility of every anon to troll the fuck out of this show and everyone who likes it, and ensure that no Naruto threads ever encourage the newfriends to show their faces here.
            Naruto is a gateway anime of the worst kind. It's a bad series, a clusterfuck of story and characterization that isn't very well done by any aspect, but which attempts to compensate for its weaknesses by adding in excessive shipping faggotry and DARKNESS. The normal anon can see this as the shit it is, and may enjoy it, hate it or be indifferent to it, but all the while recognizing that the series itself, regardless of their opinion, is plain bad.

However, these very aspects that try to smear over the shit of its core make it a breeding ground for aspie, unsociable underageb& faggots who engage in every kind of faggotry both online and in the real world. The superpowered characters all trying their hardest to look cool, the jutsus, peculiar, colorful clothes, the whole ninja faggotry and everything about the Naruto world fuels their escapist fantasies, while the pity-party character backgrounds, emphasis on revenge, and overall preachiness of the series make it fit just right with the mary-sueish drives of your average preteen and his sense of unwarranted self-importance towards the world. Exactly the kind of shit that makes little kiddies and underageb& retards eat this shit right the fuck up.

Naruto is basically THE series to attract the most hated anime fanbase known to /a/, which is why, regardless of individual opinions, it is the responsibility of every anon to troll the fuck out of this show and everyone who likes it, and ensure that no Naruto threads ever encourage the newfriends to show their faces here.

So in short, it's the writing, the (admittedly at times spergy and childish) fanbase and its 'mainstreamness'. But the people in /a/ are arrogant contrarians who hate everything that's popular anyways.

            Fábio CoentrĂŁo “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. ChapulĂ­n 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 RaĂşl GarcĂ­a 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] ÂżSĂ­?
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: ÂżEn 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: OĂ­do, 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. CĂłmo andas, monstruo. ÂżTe 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 incĂłmodo]
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 pĂşblico 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".