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TOMBS vol. 6

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That was indeed an excellent one, Mothie, and for the exact reasons Eldar stated.

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Comment on Blank's review, bastards.

 

I'd give you an honorary blow job but I'm too afraid of you spilling your Christian Man-goo all over my face. Some other time.

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Blank's review is worthy of the title:

 

Bitchin' Narrative


baby, take off your beret

everyone's a critic and most people are DJs

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Guest Cantousent

I would never shoot Blank between the eyes. However, Blank accomodated me by doing the only TOMBS report dedicated to me. For that reason, I am am quite pleased with him. If he is ever prosecuted, then he may rest assured I will gladly defend him. May I be forever in his debt.

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Pretty self-centered. I like it. Any opinions?

 

 

 

Jumping\Running

 

 

 

 

Friday Morning 10 AM. I wake up. Scout for clothes. Find some in the laundry basket. Smell of perspiration. Wash my face. Wash my teeth. Wash the dirt away. I'm sweating. It's hot. Unusually so for this time of year. Doesn't matter. I need to get to school. I'm late. 20 minutes late. Sweating like a pig. I imagine her face. She doesn't matter. I imagine her face, again and again as I cook a passable breakfast. Eggs. Boiled. Don't really like eggs. Don't really like breakfast. I dress myself. I comb my hair and then purposely whirl it in a vaguely energetic fashion. It's all gone to waste. I smile. I start running around the small middle-class flat. I get my knapsack. Throw it on my back. I rush out of the apartment. Out the hallway. Down the stairs. Down the stairs. Four floors. 40 minutes late. There's this great passion about running, concentrating on the running itself. When I was a young boy I ran like a horse, in all directions. I ran and ran. No one could stop me. Cars trembled. Roads sobbed. I was there. Running. I get tired now. The heat gets to me. I can smell its effects. Everywhere. "It's killing us all." I thought. "It's all useless."

 

I imagine her face. Her happy face. She's why I'm running. Why I'm not giving up. Why I'm still clinging to hope. Hope, so pointlessly cute and inarticulate. I can feel the heat closing in. I need to move. Faster. Faster. Through the empty streets. Through the poverty-stricken alleyways. Passing dogs, children, grandparents, hollering for money, begging for food, tears in their eyes and bibles in their hands. Faster. Faster. Down old roads. Alongside other travellers. I'm a sick man. I can feel the sickness. I can feel the hate building up inside. I imagine her face. She's beautiful. Faster. Faster. I punch and kick my way through.

 

There's this old man. He's blind. I salute him. My father worked for him before it all went sour. He's a proud man. Vain. Can't accept his fate. He tells me about business deals and investments. "The Market's doing well." He says. 'That's good." I say. He nods. I nod. He smiles. He pats me on the back. He whispers something. I push him away. Far far away. He smiles at me. His smile is just as vain. He's not really blind. That's what he whispered. He's faking it. "For the cash." He says. "That's disgusting." I say. "You're a sick old ****." I turn my back. He grabs me. Punches me in the gut, he's got a good right arm. "Please." He says. "Don't you have some change?" He's incapacitated me. Can't move. I give him money. Everything he wants. I just want out. I'm sick. I'm a sick sick man. I need help.

 

She got the most beautiful smile in the whole world. I'm lying in a pool of heat. It's all around me. I'm trapped. But she's with me. I hear her voice inside my head. "Everything's fine." She says. "I'm here. I love you." I don't believe her. I need proof. Rational realizations and conceptualizations. I don't trust voices in my head. I feel like jumping up and down. I need some reassuring. The voice keeps spreading its lies. "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you." It's twisting me. I feel like running. Away from the voice. Away from the beggars. Away from the heat.

 

I see a tall circular building. Built out of glass, modern, brand-new. I fake a smile. It's not for me. Just another building. Just another prison. Glass.

 

I see a woman. She's got gorgeous juicy breasts. I feel nothing. I analyse her. Closer. Closer. I move. I touch her cheeks, gently, I look into her eyes. Nothing. "Excuse me." I say. Turn my back and run away.

 

There's this building I've always liked. It's fairly old, a wreck from another time. I look at my legs. I'm trembling. The voice is silent. 60 minutes late. The day's ruined. The voice is silent. "Why is she so quiet?" I ask myself. I close my eyes. I touch the building. Hippie joint. Hasn't been used in decades. No one lives there anymore. A home without a soul. I enter the building.

 

The voice is silent.

 

"I'm prepared." I say out loud. "I'm ready!" I yell. I'm not a man of many words. Ever since I can remember, years, decades I've had this feeling, with me. It's always been part of me. I want to free myself of the body, of the material world, of its fluids and moods. All I have to do is jump. Simple.

 

"I love you." She says. Another voice. Different, more humane. It's her voice, I know it. Her beautiful face. The girl with the beautiful face. I'm panicking. I don't want her to see me this way. On top of this building. 60 metres up. "Leave!" I shout. "Leave!"

 

She's gone.

 

I'm all alone. The voice, the heat, the beggars. They're all dead. It's just me and the building. I kiss the ground. Move closer to the edge. Embrace the inevitable. Shake my hands in the air as a last act of rebellion. Close my eyes. Shout some monosyllabic garbage. Doesn't matter. I imagine her face. Her beautiful happy face. I jump. Elation. I fall. I smile. Not the end. Never the end. Call it a feeling.

Edited by metadigital

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OH SNAP OH SNAP! You've once again topped your best work with this one, Baley. I was captivated the whole way through, and the old guy is horrible, like an Eldar 30 years from now who never had Jesus, a wife, or DnD.

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Thank you, Blank. Some of my better work is in Romanian though. I had to make a few modifications. And since I can't edit that post. I'll paste it here and wait for a mod to edit it.

 

Edit #2

 

So let it be written, so let it be done.*

 

 

 

 

* Cookie for correct identification of actor and film.

Edited by metadigital

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You know, that was truly a most awesome review, Mothman.  A lot of folks, including me, have gone to less conventional reviews, but I think yours combines the best aspects of a conventional review and is the finest example of a real TOMBS report.

 

That was indeed an excellent one, Mothie, and for the exact reasons Eldar stated.

Thanks, guys. :"> Many thanks. o:)

 

And kudos to Blank for the awesome narrative.

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This is a TOMBS report for metadigital:

 

He is definition.

 

:p


I was raised by polar bears. I had to fight against blood thirsty wolves and rabid penguins to get my food. Those who were too weak to survive were sent to Sweden.

 

It has made me the man I am today. A man who craves furry hentai.

So let us go and embrace the rustling smells of unseen worlds

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The more I read Blank's report, the more I like it. It's probably my favorite TOMBS story. Of course, I'm biased. After all, it's about Cant. I love the line: "Cant, though a little more laid back this evening than how I normally saw him, can usually be described as an Eldar without the chutzpah."

 

bwahahaha


Fionavar's Holliday Wishes to all members of our online community:  Happy Holidays

 

Join the revelry at the Obsidian Plays channel:
Obsidian Plays


 
Remembering tarna, Phosphor, Metadigital, and Visceris.  Drink mead heartily in the halls of Valhalla, my friends!

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This is a T.O.M.B.S. report of J. E. Sawyer.

 

I happen to actually happen to agree with Miss Winters and Miss Copland with their views and i must say its interesting to know that a convicted peodofile has hosted this site. My, My, My, I know the true story behind this being Mr Tofang's employer, whic i had to meet with him regarding this and the truth is the laptop was in full working order except needing a power supply. Mr Sawyer decides to contact Mr Tofang after one year after selling the item on ebay, which means he would have broken himself, and i must leave a final few words for thought Mr Sawyer death threats is not humerous as i have seen in the email you sent Mr Tofang, how desperate can you be, oops i forgot your a peodofile. All you people who side with this unreliable host i think you are no worse than Mr Sawyer. Mr Sawyer actually possessing bank details of the family can be formed charges against yourself for intent to commit fraud and blackmail, which Microsoft has filed this to their local authorities for prosecution for hacking into an email account which is a criminal offence, expect to hear from them in the very near future, oh and i did read the corrospondence with microsoft and Mr Tofang with the emails you sent him, if you would like thats is if you do not believe me i can forward them to you from my email account.


Lou Gutman, P.I.- It's like I'm not even trying anymore!
http://theatomicdanger.iforumer.com/index....theatomicdanger

One billion b-balls dribbling simultaneously throughout the galaxy. One trillion b-balls being slam dunked through a hoop throughout the galaxy. I can feel every single b-ball that has ever existed at my fingertips. I can feel their collective knowledge channeling through my viens. Every jumpshot, every rebound and three-pointer, every layup, dunk, and free throw. I am there.

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That only makes sense if you bothered to read every comment on that blog. Which I did.


master of my domain

 

Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.

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I don't know what you're talking about.


Lou Gutman, P.I.- It's like I'm not even trying anymore!
http://theatomicdanger.iforumer.com/index....theatomicdanger

One billion b-balls dribbling simultaneously throughout the galaxy. One trillion b-balls being slam dunked through a hoop throughout the galaxy. I can feel every single b-ball that has ever existed at my fingertips. I can feel their collective knowledge channeling through my viens. Every jumpshot, every rebound and three-pointer, every layup, dunk, and free throw. I am there.

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So let it be written, so let it be done.*

* Cookie for correct identification of actor and film.

 

 

This post has been edited by metadigital: Today, 10:26 PM

 

 

The Ten Commandments - Yul Brynner

 

 

Horrible movie.

Edited by Baley

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Yul Brynner has NEVER made a bad movie, sir!

 

Sheesh, what's next? Defaming The Magnificent Seven?

 

 

(I know, I know, Seven Samurai, Kurosawa, whatever. Yul Brynner rules.)


baby, take off your beret

everyone's a critic and most people are DJs

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The more I read Blank's report, the more I like it.  It's probably my favorite TOMBS story.  Of course, I'm biased.  After all, it's about Cant.  I love the line:  "Cant, though a little more laid back this evening than how I normally saw him, can usually be described as an Eldar without the chutzpah."

 

bwahahaha

Thanks Eldar. I think you are biased though.

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I think we should take Ender up on that offer and make a T.O.M.B.S. forum.

 

 

Who, is with me?


Lou Gutman, P.I.- It's like I'm not even trying anymore!
http://theatomicdanger.iforumer.com/index....theatomicdanger

One billion b-balls dribbling simultaneously throughout the galaxy. One trillion b-balls being slam dunked through a hoop throughout the galaxy. I can feel every single b-ball that has ever existed at my fingertips. I can feel their collective knowledge channeling through my viens. Every jumpshot, every rebound and three-pointer, every layup, dunk, and free throw. I am there.

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No, he didn't. I think you should do a review for him, Moth.


Fionavar's Holliday Wishes to all members of our online community:  Happy Holidays

 

Join the revelry at the Obsidian Plays channel:
Obsidian Plays


 
Remembering tarna, Phosphor, Metadigital, and Visceris.  Drink mead heartily in the halls of Valhalla, my friends!

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I think we should take Ender up on that offer and make a T.O.M.B.S. forum. 

 

 

Who, is with me?


Lou Gutman, P.I.- It's like I'm not even trying anymore!
http://theatomicdanger.iforumer.com/index....theatomicdanger

One billion b-balls dribbling simultaneously throughout the galaxy. One trillion b-balls being slam dunked through a hoop throughout the galaxy. I can feel every single b-ball that has ever existed at my fingertips. I can feel their collective knowledge channeling through my viens. Every jumpshot, every rebound and three-pointer, every layup, dunk, and free throw. I am there.

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No, he didn't.  I think you should do a review for him, Moth.

Moth is considering the idea. He'll do it on one condition: that either Blank or Eldar does a report/narrative of me! Especially in light of that whore Cantousent getting one.

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Who is with me?


Lou Gutman, P.I.- It's like I'm not even trying anymore!
http://theatomicdanger.iforumer.com/index....theatomicdanger

One billion b-balls dribbling simultaneously throughout the galaxy. One trillion b-balls being slam dunked through a hoop throughout the galaxy. I can feel every single b-ball that has ever existed at my fingertips. I can feel their collective knowledge channeling through my viens. Every jumpshot, every rebound and three-pointer, every layup, dunk, and free throw. I am there.

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