JMBuilder

How random can we get?

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Keep it clean, please. Allow me to begin:

The other bread, those jar the brick so that biscuit my hair the scissors and then cheese but forgot he the pickle book and.

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Say, would beans laugh but go home to screech heavens foot mat while lasers cat lollops ocean floors ?

Until midnight ?

 

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In the beginning, there was naught but dust. From this dust, the Great Mind emerged, but it found the world dull, and returned to slumber, drifting between stars. Billions of years later, it awoke, and was delighted at what the Universe had become. But yet, it was sad, for nothing could understand it. It vowed to exterminate everything, and remake them to love it.

 

EI REBEROUS! PRAISE THE GREAT MIND! WE, THE ORDER OF THE SHATTERED MIRROR, LAY OUR SOULS TO BEAR BEFORE THE GREAT MIND, SO WE MAY BECOME ONE WITH IT! EI REBEROUS! EI! REBEROUS! LET US BURN FOR OUR IGNORANCE! EI! REBEROUS! ALL SHALL BE DUST ONCE MORE! 

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Matter van tire watched remove holiday inventions, spiritual punches insurance ruled broken maniac, wiry tongue unpacked please.

 

Edited by Green Baron
Misspelling ...

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Yes.

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On the way to the parrot in the morning for my unit is a good time to time and money to pay for the game every year I would like to ask whoever is responsible for putting things there to fix the minimum KSP version for the white kerbin bug you again for the white kerbin bug you again for the white kerbin bug 

Hmm these were in my phones predictive text options.  Very funny.  

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Avocadoes eating pizza bird from Mars

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https://xkcd.com/1210/

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҉̶̢B̨ȩ̴w̵are̶̕͠ ҉͠thè̶̢ ̛͟d̡a̴r҉k̸͘ ̴̨̡o̸͘͡n̨͏e̛͡.̡ ̨H́͜e͜ wa̢it̀͘͘s ͠i̶͢n̨ ̸͡͠t̀h͡͏͟e͠ ͢͜s҉h҉̡͡a̵do̸̕͘w̧͡.̛͢ ̴͜H̵e̴̢ ͘͡͏w̢͝o̡r̕͟͟k̴҉s͏ ́̕͠n͞ò͜t́͜ ̕in͝͏ ̴̨ch͏́a̵͟ǫ̶͞s̢͝ ͞n̨͟҉o̷r̢̡͠ ́ìn ̛͝͝or͞d͏̸è̢̛r. ͡҉̨H͏͜e̶ ͢i̴s҉ da̶r͡k͢n͜e̶͝sş͞.͢ ̕Ḩ͟͝e͟ ̵̢͝s͘p͘r̨͠ead́͟ś̷ ͠l̴̶i͡e҉s͟ ͘a̴̷ń̡d̷͠ ̷̕d͞e͘c͡e̷i̷̴͡t ͡ìn̷͟ ͝h̛͜i̧s ņ͞i̧͘͟g҉̧͡h̵t̢̀m̨a͏r̡̛e͟s̛.͢ ́͘B҉̸̢e̵ẁa͟r̷e̛ ̶t̕hé ̵̛dà͘r̸̢͘k̷̶͢ ́ǫn͡e̢͏ ̷f̵͡ơ̡r ̴̧h̸͟e̡̛͝ ì͘͟ś̴ a͏̛́ļw̕͡ay̨̢͡s̶͘ ̢͘th̢̀҉e͝r̨̢e̸͏.͘ ͏͠A͏͟͢l̡̢͜wa̴͡҉y̕s͟ ̸͢͡wáit̴̕i̡̛n͝͏͘ģ.͏ ̡͠A̸͞l͜w͢a̢y͠͝s̛ ̷͜͠w͢á͞͞tc̶̴͘h̴i̷͏n҉͞ǵ̷.͟ A͡҉l̸̶͞wa̶̴̡ý̕s͘͡ ̢̨p̕l͏a̶nn͘i̛n͟͢g̷̢͜.̀͢ 

PARA'TUSKUS COMES FOR YOU!  

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This whole thing is an aluminum rocket powered by steampunk watermelons.

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See, I like to spam these threads with apocalyptic ramblings. Because I can.

 

In the beginning, the Lightbringers saw the darkness and wept, for it was not their ideal. So, they chose to create light. However, the Dwellers lived in the darkness, and fought against the Light, for the darkness was all they knew. With great effort, the Lightbringers emerged victorious, yet not triumphant. Unable to kill the Dwellers, the Lightbringers sealed them away, in a land the Dwellers called Ith'Trra. There, with the stars driving them to madness, the fought. They fought each other for millions of years, growing stronger, smarter, and angrier with every day. At last, they were almost unrecognizable.  

Calling themselves the Omassa'pia, they shattered the prison of light that ensnared them for so long, and chose to celebrate with blood. The Lightbringers returned to fight this menace, but the Omassa'pia were as Gods to the Dwellers before them. And as such, one by one, the Lightbringers fell, their backs broken, and heads mounted on pikes as the Omassa'pia destroyed all they worked for. Thus, the Universe shall darken and fade, and the Omassa'pia shall enjoy the darkness. For darkness and war is all that they know.

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If you multiply light by awesome energy, you should get something like an avocado as a gift, right?

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Spoiler

 

It was late at night, deep in the woods. Twisted, leafless trees stood, their branches like arms, desperately grasping for something out of reach. The snow was thick, up to the waist in places, but a path was clear. Through the snow, and the cold, Mark found the cabin.  The exterior was scorched, the wood blackened and cracked by heat and erosion, yet he paid the appearance no mind. He walked up to the door, and stepped inside, gagging at the smell of burnt flesh. The smell was horrible, yet it did not distract him from his thoughts. Because Mark knew it was fake.

This cabin had burned down years ago. And yet, the ashes were still warm, here, in the middle of winter. Stepping around the creaking wood that remained of the floor, Mark managed to find a staircase. It was old, worn and covered in splinters, a layer of ash blackening the wood, making it appear clad in shadow. Mark tested his weight against the stairs, finding them stable. Cautiously, he ascended, sidestepping puddles of melted snow.


"Why am I even here?" He spoke to himself, unnerved at the silence that responded, before brushing off that thought. He had something to do. Stumbling blindly through the darkness, Mark managed to reach a door. It was warm to the touch, even warmer than the house itself. He pushed open the door, and found a blank room, the charred wooden walls doing nothing to help the atmosphere of the place. Blank, except for the old book on the charred table. Sighing, Mark took the book and started reading.

 

Day five the book somberly read, I just finished putting together this old hut. Damn my wife, damn those kids, damn the government for taking everything. At least I kept my old ax, and at least I knew how to build a house. Damn layabouts, all of the others. I guess I will live here until I can afford a real house.

 

Mark raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Nobody knew anyone who lived here. Nobody went near here, however. Nobody but him. He normally liked the silence, but now, the hair on the back of his neck was straight, almost as if it were electrified. Mark scratched his jaw nervously, but continued reading.

 

Day six: Found something while digging a latrine. Old stone slab of some type. Currently working the dirt off of it. It's been buried for a long time, by the looks of it.

 

Mark continued reading, shifting his weight against the sturdiest looking wall in the room. "Wait," he muttered, "why is this book not burned? Everything else in this house is." Mark tried to distract himself from that oddity by continuing to read, vowing to read this book, and never return. 

 

Day twelve: Sorry about the lack of entries, but nothing happened up until now. Figured out that slab thing. Written in English. Guess I'll copy what I read onto this. Must've been some bunch of cultists out here at one point. Anyway, the slab read as follows: 'The Charred One awaits atop his throne of burning flesh, screaming in agony it should no longer feel. While it has no nerves, skin, or bone, it can feel them all burning and rotting within it. It screams in pain, for scream is all it can do. Scream, and burn.' Creepy. 

Day thirteen: Got some kind of weird rash on my leg, it itches, and is bright red. Water seems to calm it, at least a little bit. Nothing I can do but hope it fades, fast.

Mark continued to read, fascinated, not even caring that the house he was in shouldn't be standing. Not after all the time it spent, burnt, exposed to decay and exposure. 

 

Day fifteen: The rash hasn't spread, but I'm running low on water. There's a stream nearby, but it's getting harder and harder to walk for the water I need to treat it. The pain grows worse every day, and I need colder and colder water to stop the burning.

 

Day seventeen: I can no longer treat this rash with water. There's too little of it left. I'm going to power through the pain, and get some more supplies. I hope my old rifle still works.

 

Day nineteen: The gun is jammed, and I don't have the tools to clean it. Nor the knowledge, anyhow. Foraging for berries will get me to winter, but after that, I'm out of luck.

 

Day twenty: The rash has spread across my entire leg. It burns. It burns really bad. I can't walk anymore.

 

Day twenty-two: I'm hearing whispers in my head. Loneliness has given me some friends in my brain, apparently. The rash is deep red, or black in the spots it hurts most. Whatever it is, it ain't right. 

 

Day twenty-four: The rash is mostly black, and this skin is falling off. It hurts so bad now. It hurts. It burns it burns it burns.

 

Day thirty: It burnsitburnsitburns I smell smoke. I can't escape.

 

Day thirty-three: There wasn't a fire, but I smell smoke constantly now. It burns worse than ever before. I'm barely able to write, the pain is so bad. 

 

Day thirty-five: I am out of food, and water's going in a few days at best. It burns. So bad. The rash is over my stomach, back, and my entire lower body is black. The burning never stops. I can't sleep, it hurts too much.

 

Day thirty-seven: Water's almost out. Rash has spread to my neck. Legs no longer have skin, just blackened muscle.

 

Day thirty-eight: I can't see anymore. Rash got to my eyes. It burns. It really, really burns.

 

Day forty?: Water's gone. Food's gone. I feel heat in what's left of my skin. I think this is it. The burning is terrible.

 

DAY ONE: IT BURNS IT BURNS IT BURNS IT BURNS HELP ME. HELP. HELP.

 

 

Mark put the journal down, and started to run, hearing the screaming, gibbering voice of an old man, feeling flashes of intense heat. His arm twisted at an unnatural angle, as it it was trying to force itself off of him. He screamed in pain, and ran, deeper into the woods...

 

 

 

 

Edited by Omegagoldfish

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This is suddenly a creepypasta page...

Why did you need to include such a creep story that ate liverwurst besides the planet to the you had flop gut.

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1 hour ago, JMBuilder said:

This is suddenly a creepypasta page...

Why did you need to include such a creep story [gibberish of the Old One]

Let me tell you why. Because I can. I can scare you. I can manipulate you through fear. I watch, I pull strings. Dance, my puppet, dance for me...

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2 hours ago, Omegagoldfish said:

Let me tell you why. Because I can. I can scare you. I can manipulate you through fear. I watch, I pull strings. Dance, my puppet, dance for me...

NEIN. ICH BIN MEIN SCHNITZEL.

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What's amusing is that I write these stories in one sitting, or from memory. Yes, I appear normal in every other regard. "Lest the burning plague take your soul, repent for the fire within ye. As ash and smoke swirl around the crypt, as sand and dust bury the world, repent, and beg for forgiveness. From who? I don't know. Whoever listens."

 

Also I take offense at the term "creepypasta" as what I write is generally above "and then then an evil Sonic plushie" or "and then a skeleton popped out" or "and a cartoon character graphically killed him/herself" [end rant].

Edited by Omegagoldfish

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Ksp wiki eastr the same time as a fan of KSP forums and the stuff that is the most replies to the store and get a good idea to get a free 581 the F -35 Jack Russell Crowe the same time as a fan on Facebook and Twitter Mar the time to get a good time cesrate the same as my youtube profile picture to someone else to go through the years to get a good idea to have a Browning on it. I can also play the KSP theme and Top Gun Anthem or Danger of the radar stuff that you can also use the following link to this email address in the tracking station and the staging sounds good to hear that you can also be used to work with the help of a problem.  Jacksepticeye reading the book of Mormon the F -16 and F -15 parts of the wing of a sudden death of passengers and their families and I will be a good time to get a good idea to have a Browning. The trash came yesterday and today is the best place to stay in touch with the same time. 

 

I just tapped random suggestions from Autocorrect. 

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Yes, through Insurance.

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