Whelp, I lost my job. My boss kept asking me to explain myself, and well, I'm sure you know my stance on that subject.
Also I am now balls deep in the VCR, went over a speed bump a little too vigorously on the way home.
My therapist says I need to set boundaries so I'm going to be firm with you: I asked you here to help me dislodge my member from this VCR, not to ask me why it's in there in the first place. My self-care is not your concern.
Olive Garden tonight!
Assuming it won't come out, you're gonna have to start wearing a skirt. If the idea hurts your masculinity too much you can call it a kilt. If you really can't stand to do that, you could try parachute pants but I really can't endorse that
I know this isn't exactly what you want to hear, but if you get an adapter for your PC then you can just digitize your wiener and not have to mess with physical media at all.
I have come to this snowbound mountain monastery with my dick in this VCR for one reason only: to make sure nobody asks me why it's in there, while they're helping me get it out.
*me with my dick stuck in the vcr* they say you gotta be a rocket scientist to program one of these things, and well, im no rocket scientist...
*morrisey voice* dick's in a VCR, I know, I know, mysterious
My wife left me yesterday.
Last morning she screamed at me:
"It's me or the f***ing VCR! I don't care if ######## is stuck in there too, I just want my husband back!"
Easiest decision I've ever made, I almost wish I wanted to tell you why.
So yeah, life's going pretty great. The old lady used to always used to shit on my hobbies, but now with her gone, and my job no longer sucking up all my time, I'm going to get so much accomplished.
Looking forward to my new life as a liberated man, and to think, I owe it all to a VCR and a very special second thing that is none of your God damned business.
It's been a week since my wife left.
I've given up on sleeping, cleaning, and even bathing. I haven't talked to another person in days, leaving cash on my front step in exchange for takeout ordered online. The VCR is my only companion. I hate it, though I don't know if I could live without it, but please don't ask me why.
Last night was particularly difficult. While I was staring down at the nightmare puzzle box that is my genitals, the light of the clock began blinking out of time, like it had skipped a beat in an act of ultimate betrayal. It flashed in my face mockingly:
Without breaking eye contact, I reached for the ball peen hammer. I had told myself that I wouldn't resort to using the implement, lest I damaged the VCR's sacred cargo, yet I had anyways kept it within arms reach.
In a furor, I slammed the unit down onto the kitchen table, sending a pile of filth encrusted takeout boxes and wet wipes careening to the ground. My trembling hands held the hammer aloft, it was now or never.
With that flash, something chemical changed in my brain. Maybe it was the acceptance that the contents of the VCR are more valuable to me than my manhood, or maybe that, just perhaps, there never even was a reason behind it all to begin with. My lips began to curl, and my body lurched. Coughing out an exasperated chuckle, I mumbled to myself:
My eyes blurred as tears ran down my cheeks. The hammer hit the ground with a thud, and I followed suit, crumpling onto the dirty kitchen floor.
I think I'm finally starting to understand.
Hand stuck in toaster. My ascension continues.
Can I ask you why?
We are well past why my friend, but no.
Something Awful is in the process of changing hands to a new owner. In the meantime we're pausing all updates and halting production on our propaganda comic partnership with Northrop Grumman.
Dear god this was an embarrassment to not only this site, but to all mankind
Yes, there are finally enough games for a new round of One Sentence Reviews
Play your entire PS1 library from a single SD card. But not your Brady Strategy Guides.
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