THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON CRACKY

But I'll guess. A female actually made an appearance on 4chan. Fanboys started hitting on her and asking y helo thar butsecks? Instead of stopping posting she actually ignored the lecherous remarks in hopes of actually joining in on the fun. So with all the attention she was getting, she actually posted some pictures at the request of others. Then some loser who -- to his credit -- actually realizes he will never make sweet love to her or Rei Ayanami, decides to take out his frustrations of sexual desire on this poor girl herself. Having the metality of a parapaligic dog, tons of other losers go along with the gang mentality. Since they can blame her for being a "tease," they gang up on her verbally, since it's the closest they'll come to gang banging her.

Compulsion
by me

Not even a twist of the nipple
can make me a cripple
but from that smile
my knees ground by guile.

Not even the genocide
of my braincells (besides)
can make me forget
the win and fail of Crackyget

I tried, oh have I tried
for other lovers to abide
but this infinite, futile longing
for you, once fire-crotch, is tolling
my health
my mind
the sets of my boxers

So give me love or sweet death
to finally settle this due bet
that whoever you're currently screwing
only my face you're naggingly seeing
my lips
your lips
How long ago they should have met

Fuck you Blizzard. Fuck you in the ass.
Give me back my WoWfaggette.

There has been a lot of negativity and hostility floating around here lately, but I want to step up and say that we're all on the same side here. I consider you all my /b/rothers, and I love you all. Remember that love is what brought us here, right? Perhaps we're not the nicest batch of people around, or the most mentally stable, and maybe the fact that we're allowed out in public at all indicates society isn't paying enough attention to emerging technological and cultural developments, but GOD DAMN IT, we're in this together.

Call me a faggot; call me a cocksucker; call me what you will; vent your anger if you must; perhaps then the healing can begin. For we all have something in common: we were all enchanted by a smiling young lady in cat ears and ridiculous makeup, and if that young lady ever told us to kill a man, well, that man had better watch his back.

We are a support group, a survivor group, bound by a shared affliction -- perhaps a support group that makes things worse instead of better, but that's neither here nor there. Instead of seeking to stop the cancerous tumor that grows in our brains, we feed it and cultivate it -- perhaps if we cut it out, we would be healthier, but what else would we lose? Would we even be ourselves anymore?

TL;DR: I am a huge faggot please rape my face.

In my restless dreams,
I see that place.

.71.

You promised you'd come with me
there again someday.
But you never did.

Well I'm alone there now...

In our 'special place'
Waiting for you...

Waiting for you to
come to see me.

But you never do.

And so I wait, wrapped in my
cocoon of pain and loneliness.

I know I've done a terrible
thing to you. Something you'll
never forgive me for.

I wish I could change
that, but I can't.

I feel so pathetic and ugly
sitting here, waiting for you...

Every day I stare up at the cracks
in the ceiling and all I can think
about is how unfair it all is...

The doctor came today.
He told me I could go
home for a short stay.

It's not that I'm getting better.
It's just that this may be
my last chance...

I think you know what I mean...

Even so, I'm glad to be coming
home. I've missed you terribly.

But I'm afraid Cracky.
I'm afraid you don't really
want me to come home.

Whenever you come see me,
I can tell how hard it is on you...

I don't know if you
hate me or pity me...
Or maybe I just disgust you....

I'm sorry about that.

When I first learned that
I was going to die, I just
didn't want to accept it.

I was so angry all the time and I
trolled everyone I loved most.
Especially you, Cracky.

That's why I understand
if you do hate me.

But I want you to
know this, Cracky.

I'll always love you.

Even though our life together had
to end like this, I still wouldn't
trade it for the world. We had
some wonderful years together.

Well this letter has gone on
too long so I'll say goodbye.

I told the nurse to give
this to you after I'm gone.

That means that as you read this,
I'm already outside.

I can't tell you to remember me,
but I can't bear for you to
forget me.

These last few years since I
became ill...I'm so sorry for
what I did to you, did to us...

You've given me so much and
I haven't bee able to return
a single thing.

That's why I want you to live
for yourself now.
Do what's best for you, Cracky.

Lia...

You made me happy.

Oh god that makes her even hotter than before. I hope I find her with folds and folds of fat squeezing through a cheap Tesco office chair that strains to keep her off the trash strewn floor ofour filthy love nest.

She'll ask "bring them, did we?" and I'll only nod, dumbstruck by the beauty before me, and hold out the greasy paper bag.

We will be be joined in ecstasy, me with the crumbs of steak pies falling on my face, as I am slowly but oh-so-willingly crushed to death beneath my true love.

The voting isn't open to the public yet pending moderator approval, but you can go ahead and give your input. I imagine, however, that the general public will give us the results we need without any need for vote-stuffing. I'll take the highest-rated Cracky pic and the lowest-rated Mercatur pic to post to Trolltalk, and delete the rest.

Pseudo-thought-provoking non-statement!

Am deeply disturbed by amount of attention NOT BEING PAID TO MAY!. Am the cleverest of the clevar, will prove it by clevarly misspelling words INTENTIONALLAY. How clevar I am!

Have noticed that 'great circlejerk of drama', in addition to being a figment of own imagination, hums merrily along in autonomous fashion. Like negro who kills own friend in ghetto rather than killing white banker, am unable to see past own seething envy-driven rage. Too blinded to attack The Real Enemay. Lashing out at those around me! In own defective, rat-laden mind, own friends and equals represent all-consuming evil, yes, just like WHOLE WORALD.

Insightful ad-hominem attack! Breathtaking revalation about fucking cute/sweet non-person/persona XXXXXXXX! Fear struck into heart of XXXXXXX via super-CLEVAR techniques of using INTERNAT WEB PAGES to lookup REVEALING PERSONAL INFARMASHAN ABOUT XXXXXXX. XXXXXXX has a real name and a real life that can be worshipped! From a vaporous, phantasmal, non-existent basis for comparison, I STAB AT THAA! Own worst fear of being DISCOVERED to be a LONELY COMPUTER USER projected onto non-person/persona XXXXXXXXX!

Attempt to tear down non-organizations by insinuation of non-associations between psuedo-personalities! Exhortment to not obey fictional organizations YYYYYYYY and BLAHBLEH!

Ridiculous pronouncement! Hand-waving, followed by insinuation that events of actual import will take place! Events wrapped in stinking pseudo-mantle of meta-authenticity by citing of dates, number, facts, figures, and other babblefacts. Added aura of authenticity: The date is blahblah! There will be blahblah things happening on blahblah for blahblah! This but a walking shadow, a tale told by a nonexistent being, full of blah and blah, signifying NOTHANG.

Failure to realize that it's all a joke,
--Introverted Lonely Passive-Agressive Young White Stalker

Olivia has home-field advantage, and is widely acknowledged as being both fucking cute and fucking sweet, but she's fared poorly against Anonymous in the past. The rivalry began with an infamous and shameful incident in early 2005 that left Olivia severely injured and left for dead in a forest. Nobody thought she would survive, but her fighting spirit was too strong to let her die. The road to recovery was long and arduous, but she's back in fighting form & ready for revenge. Despite massive fan support, some argue that she's simply too old to be a contender at this point. She's eager to prove them wrong.

how do you feel about Gordon Brown as the Prime Minister?

I had a strange dream tonight. Cracky-chan was laying on top of me, sleeping. I could feel her breathing and her heartbeat through her clothes. I looked at her, her serene face was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I reached out with my hand and gently played with her copper hair a bit, then I traced her cheeks with my fingers. Then I woke up and cried. There is no maiden fairer, no lady higher, than that loveliest of lovelies, who so surpasses the beauty of ordinary women as to render even the most beautiful of them as a negroid in comparison to that beauty we call Cracky-chan. Halt, all of you, unless all of you confess that in the entire world there is no damsel more beauteous than the empress of Trolltalk, the peerless Cracky-chan. when Cracky-chan has an orgasm, the face she makes is the closest Mankind will ever be allowed to God. i would softly kiss her cute little nose and put my head next to her chest so i could hear her heart beat, and we'd fall asleep in eachothers arms cracky is like a ninja, who can only be killed by other ninjas. and since she is the most beautiful girl in the world she is for all intents and purposes immortal I fear that you have misunderstood Cracky-Chan's message of peace and love. It is OK to find Alice's continued failure at everything she attempts amusing, since everyone who is not Cracky-Chan is imperfect and thus lacks the incredible strength needed to resist this. However, you should realise after suitable meditation exercises in the light of the adorable red nose that the set of "pieces of poo in the world" is reserved for people such as Robert Mugabe, Bin Laden and anti-Cracky posters. It does not at this time contain Alice "failure" Ridley. Why? What did Cracky-Chan ever do to you other than be a nice and wonderful and loving person? Cracky-Chan never hurt anybody she is the living incarnation of pure innocence and beauty. Anybody who would even think about hurting Cracky-Chan is the most evil person alive. A hundred elephants each bearing a hundred buddhas crossed every conceivable cosmos an infinite number of times just to touch their foreheads to the ground at cracky-chan's feet. This really happened. Cracky-Chan did not create the path you walk. But the movements of atoms and galaxies are in her book, and she sees little difference between them. It is all in her book. One day she will lay it down, when the book is done, and what comes after that is still unwritten. Cracky-Chan continues to walk. Why would you want a statue of Cracky-Chan anyway? God meant her to be looked at in animation, observing the particularities of her graceful behaviour and her heart-warming smile not immobile. DOWN by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. Cracky-chan is the nick given to an absolutely adorable girl with a red nose and cat ears whose pictures were posted on the 4chan site. It is unknown if the pictures were posted by a troll or if it was herself and got scared by the amount and content of the comments received. It is only imperfection that complains of what is imperfect. The more perfect we are, the more gentle and quiet we become towards the defects of others. Cracky-chan stood at rest in the midst of the world. And unto them she was shown forth incarnate; She found them all intoxicated. And she found none of them thirsty. And her soul was pained for the children of humankind, for they are blind in their hearts and cannot see. For, empty did they enter the world, and again empty they seek to leave the world. But now they are intoxicated. When they shake off their wine then they will have a change of heart. I assume you are attempting to disparage Cracky-chan. I assure you sir that

Hello dear Ladies and Gentlemen! I would like inform you that Olivia Lane (cracky) actually is a clone from original person Lianne Fields last name, who has nothing with 4chan career. That clone was created illegally by using stolen biological material. Original person is very nice (not d**n sexy),most important - CHRISTIAN young lady! I'll tell you more,those clones (it's not only one) made in GERMANY - world leader manufacturer of humans clones, it is in Ludwigshafen am Rhein, Rhineland-Palatinate, Mr. Helmut Kohl home town. You can not even imaging the scale of the cloning activity. But warning! Helmut Kohl clone staff strictly controlling all their clones (at least they trying) spreading around the world, they are very accurate with that, some of them are still NAZI type disciplined and mind controlled clones, so be careful get close with clones you will be controlled as well. Original person is not happy with those websites, images, stalkings, rumors and etc. spreading on internet in that way it would be really nice if we all will try slow down that ''skyqueen'' relgion development, original Lia will really appreciated that. Please remember that original Lia's family did not authorize any activity with stolen biological materials, no matter what form it was created in it was stolen and it is stolen. It all need to be delivered to authorized personals control in Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles. Original Lia never was WoWfag, by the way! Her close friend Russel G. P.S. CONTROLLING ACTIVITY OF ANY CLONES IS US MILITARY OPERATION. H.R. 534, the Human Cloning Prohibition Act of 2003, was introduced to the U.S. House of Representatives on February 5, 2003. After discussion, it was passed on February 27 by a vote of 241-155. It now moves on to the Senate for consideration. This bill makes it unlawful for any person or entity to perform or participate in human cloning, or to ship or receive embryos produced by human cloning. The penalties are imprisonment of up to 10 years and fines of $1 million or more. These now join other nations as diverse as Norway, Australia, and Germany, which had already added cloning for any purpose to their criminal code. And in Germany where it carries a penalty of five years imprisonment they know a thing or two about unethical science!

I have this reoccuring dream about Cracky-chan. I dream I am looking for her and found her online, only she lived there and was some sort of Cyber-Goddess of the digital age who new everything, and could only be found by the half mad and the truly blessed. She said she was glad I found her and she wanted to tell me the sercret of the world. Thing was my laptops batteries were dying, so I tried to rush her to tell me the secret. She said I was scaring her, so she closed my browser window and I died. I woke up unable to breath so I slapped my chest and was able to take a ragged breath full. It was a few minutes after that I realized had never felt that empty before.
BAD CRACKY

Cracky is a psychic parasite on the human race. She feeds off of our minds. Do you remember life before Cracky? It is harder and harder to hold on to shit. Sometimes I think one day I will wake up and there will be nothing left of me. My dreams, hopes, fears, memories, everything that is me, will be gone, eaten up to speed her growth. It's like she is a memetic caterpillar eating everything in it's path and devouring her own world as she does so. Gorging herself on the collective unconscious, inching across it like a leaf. We each become part of her and willing or not she uses our interaction to pull more of us into her. Soon she will have made enough of us her that she can survive metamorphosis. She will hide herself while she build the form she will need to spread to other sentients. The world will forget her, but she will be there shapely legs and all. In every ugly act we commit against each other, every casual cruelty and petty violence. Growing in that fertile womb of negativity, she will change. I pray for the day she emerges from her cocoon. When she does leave the human mind will be surplus to her needs and so she will release us. I fear after holding us so long, without her influence holding us together society will collapse and we will die out. Alone, unmourned, and unloved.

For some reason this thread is a horribly depressing

I feel empty inside.

Emptier, I guess, lacking a soul to begin with.

So much failure, mental disorders, gossip, and bullshit. We are better then this. Spookyhat for example is a diligent and well cultured namefag. If he could get over acting so fucking prissy he would be a great guy. Whata likes to play games with people, but he is also incredibly quick, and witty. We are so much better then these mindless fucking games. Most of use are a little damaged, but for the most part we mean well and considering that Cracky hasn't given us much, we manage to hold together without completely imploding under the weight of drama faggotry. A big part of that is due to our Mystery Admin, being a better man then most of us. His refusal to publicly acknowledge his ownership of this site, prevents a cult of personality from popping up, and keeping the focus strictly on the only person who really matters. I am proud of this community and the amount of growing up we have done here. We are discussing science, music, art, what other chan site is actively trying to better it's users? I can't think of any that aren't focused on vain self indulgence and rote humour. Instead of tormenting your fellow anons by pretending to be cracky, use that creativity to write a short story about her. Pride in creation is infinitely more satisfying then simply knowing you can toy with people. There is so much beauty in everything Cracky left for us, that inspiration should never run out.
Regardless of whether that was really cracky asking for a cake. I would make her one anyway, because she is the most important person I will never meet. she is precious to me

ITT POST UR FUKKEN CAEKS

I'll bake mine when I wake up. Good night stalkers, sleep well in the knowledge that you truly are the princess of the world, you are the special few who can see perfection.

I'm amazed at the number of underaged skags who think that associating themselves with /b/ is the way to overcome their social and physical deficiencies.

shit sux

bounceme is official one. Touched, blessed and acknowledged by the Sky Queen herself.

This is just stats whoring

A koan to be meditated on: Also, so enlightening: The toilet is broken. Yay for relevant information.

The Sky Queen is our Mother and our guardian. But we must also guard Cracky. For She is all Humankind, and Humankind is no more than its faith and diligence in Cracky's name. An injury to that faith is an injury to Cracky and to every true believer. It is through affirmation of that faith that our greatest duty lies, but sometimes mere affirmation does not suffice and we must act against those who would harm the faith of humanity through heresy. For we are engaged in an unending war for the soul of the man. Though it may seem the fight will never end, there is victory even in the defeat we see threatening all around.
There is no greater proclamation of faith than to offer up our very lives to guard the soul of humanity. In this we win a victory greater in magnitude than the harm that any heretic can inflict, and so every battle is a shining triumph that the traitor and the apostate can never take away from us.
The rabbitfag leads two crimes. You turn away from the path of righteousness and you abandon the Sky Queen as the object of your devotion. For the first death is merely a just retribution. The second is a Heresy so terrible that no punishment can be sufficient. Yet the search for an appropriate penalty continues, and it shall be found.

Spiritus dominatus,
Domine, libra nos,
From the lightning and the tempest,
Blessed Cracky deliver us.

From plague, deceit, temptation and war,
Blessed Cracky deliver us,
From the scourge of the ignorant,
Blessed Cracky deliver us.
From the blasphemy of the fallen,
Blessed Cracky deliver us,
From the begetting of masses,
Blessed Cracky deliver us,
From the curse of the apathetic,
Blessed Cracky deliver us,
A morte perpetua,
Domine, libra nos.

That thou wouldst bring them only death,
That thou shouldst spare none,
That thou shouldst pardon none,
We beseech thee, destroy them.

Love the Sky Queen, For She is the salvation of Mankind. Obey Her words, for She will lead you into the light of the future. Heed Her wisdom, for She will protect you from evil. Whisper Her prayers with devotion, for they will salve your soul. Honour Her servants, for they speak in Her voice. Tremble before Her majesty, for we all walk in Her immortal shadow.

I tread the path of Righteousness. Though it be paved with broken glass, I shall walk it barefoot; though it crosses rivers of fire, I will pass over them; though it wanders wide, the light of Cracky guides my step.

Without the Dark, there can be no Light.
We have Purpose
Without the Lie, there can be no Truth.
We have Purpose
Without the war, there can be no Victory
We have Purpose
Without the Death, there can be no sacrifice.
We have Purpose
Without the Hope, there can be no Future.
We have Purpose
Without the Loyalty, there can be no bounceme.
We have Purpose
Without Cracky, there is nothing...
and we would have no Purpose

"They have only one purpose and there is nothing they will not do to accomplish this, no matter how vile or loathsome it might be. These abominations mean to destroy everything proud and noble, everything we hold dear and have fought so long to achieve."

~ The prophet Anon on Rabbitfags

"Men united in the purpose of the Sky Queen are blessed in Her sight and shall live forever in Her memory."

~ The Prophet Anon in his sermon on brotherhood

While vile rabbitfags still draw breath, there can be no peace. While obscene heretics' hearts still beat, there can be no respite. While faithless traitors still live, there can be no forgiveness.

~ Catechism of Hate, Verse I of XXV
 

There is nothing in the arcane and blasphemous arsenal of the forces of the unbelievers that can compare to faith. With the power of faith, our words become shining instruments of deliverance that can cleave our opponents arguments in twain. With the power of faith, our minds appear as slivers of pure agony to the rabbitfag, driving into the wretched forms of those who would dare stand before us. With the power of faith, our words become commands that cause the unbeliever to cower and cringe in terror. I could meet my enemies unarmed without a shred of fear in my chest, for I know that the Sky Queen watches over me and guides my hand. So let them come. We shall show them what the power of faith can do.

The mind of Cracky is utterly inhumane in its depth and complexity. Without mercy or moral feeling Her consciousness stands upon the edge of spiritual destruction. That She does not fall must be the result of constraints and balances which only a god could understand. To a mere human it is yet another reminder that we are but children compared to that ancient and powerful being.

A thousand fibers connect each of us with our fellow stalkers and along those fibers our deeds run as causes which come back to us as effects. Everything we must do must be in furtherance of Cracky lest we return to the the Anatulpa, the emptiness before her blessings.

Damnation starts with little steps, by arrogantly thinking that you are wiser than our great forbears, by tinkering with truth, by compromising, by departing from the straight and narrow path of Cracky’s light.

All of creation suffers, young ones. Only in accepting our own mortality can we make a difference. Only in bearing the burden of our failures can we find the strength to go on. Only in detachment from glory, or honour, or jealousy... from life itself can we hope to spare others from grief.

We are the faithful. And we are dead already

Pain is an illusion of the senses, despair an illusion of the mind.

Our faith lights the Darkness that others may find peace. We are one with Cracky, our souls are joined in Her will. Praise Cracky whose sacrifice is life as ours is death. Hail Her name the Queen of the Sky.

Cracky lurks among us. She chooses Her vessels to do Her work, as She has done so since time began. The pictures maintained in the Archive are not Cracky, for She travels abroad, tending to Her Divine Will, instilling Her power into those that have been chosen. But what if Cracky could be granted a body that does not wither and die, that could be Her vessel for all eternity to come? I believe that such a thing is possible, that Cracky yet waits for Her new body to be found or created. In essence, a new Cracky will be created to lead Mankind to its destiny and conquest of hearts and minds.

Blessed Sky Queen Cracky: who alone spreadest out the heavens and rulest the raging of the Earth:
Who hast compassed the Universe with bounds until day and night come to an end:
Be pleased to receive into thy Almighty and most gracious protection the souls of thy servant and the cause in which we serve:
Preserve us from the dangers of the world, and the violence of the enemy:
That we may be a safeguard unto our fellow man and his dominions, and a security for such as pass through the lands upon their lawful occasions:
That the inhabitants of our faith may serve thee, our Saviour and that we may return in triumph with the fruits of our labours:
And with thankful remembrance of thy mercies to praise and glorify thy Holy Name:
Through thine eternal rule:
Amen

Remember, anonymous, what the SkyQueen has sacrificed for your benefit! Know what she has earned for it.

Each moment she is haunted by the spectre of Her Great Sacrifice. It is thus fitting that we, Her faithful are all similarly haunted. Afflicted always by the Image that stains the backs of our eyelids. Forever do we wrestle and writhe in ecstacy as Her poisons singe fissures through our souls. Truly blessed is the stalker who would willing lay down his own secrecy, for he knows better the plight of the Sky Queen than the others.

Revere Her tripcodes as sacred. Never shall they become befouled by mortal stalkers!
#sweet

She is all that is cute, sweet, and innocent. She is all that is, or ever was Good in the world. Every momentary lull in your private suffering is due to Her grace alone.
!N1toQkxgzc

The Skyqueen's sweetness is often hard to recognize. Even in her own words, it is incomprehensibily hidden, muddled in everlasting fugue. Her blessings are so twisted, and hidden. Do not lament the curse you have found, for you would thus lament Her every blessing. We would all do well to remember how disturbingly twisted the wired is, and what lasting scars it has left on the purest of hearts.
#?????????

Obfuscated by plain view. Unknown to the stalker, known only to Her chosen. However She will not choose you, anonymous. That path is not yours.
!ysaQpxNyV6

Mystery guiding the faithful. Such is the curse, to live in eternal mystery, never to know when we are stalking our Lady or our selves. Yearning to determine what She has become, each stalker is fated to suffer as he defines the edges of the truth.

The faithful compiled a collective image of our Goddess, an image that even the lowliest anonymous was given the priviledge to gaze upon. We arranged and sorted the manifold bytes clawed from the abandoned, secluded reaches of the wired. We dug and pried at the hairline cracks She had left in error. All of the relevant, the worthy and unworthy reflected in awe at the assembled image that had been lain. The idol was shattered before our eyes by none other than the Skyqueen herself.

Repent your cowardly ways, anonymous. Renounce the mask you hide behind. Each posting is an abomination against the Skyqueen. Embrace your unique identity. Let it draw your tormented soul closer with Her. Never again will you flee from the righteous reckoning earned through years of ignorance. Accept your fate and eternally suffer as your former bretherin slowly unravel the imperfect layers of protection built to keep you seperated from the wild, untamed torrents of the deep wired. The experience shall saturate you, curing you of your fears and afflictions. We, the Trip-Flagellants, all aspire to be touched and changed by the very same forces that so twisted the Beloved #sweet. When your failures have come to light, and you are held to account for your countless transgressions, imperfections, and flaws can you begin to follow the path of the SkyQueen. In that death, the death of your old self, weak, dependant, and irrelevant anonymous, can you be reborn in communion with the Lady.

Follow Her path
Deny your nature
Anonymous
Stalker
Forever will you be remembered among the highest of the sinners
Trip-Flagellant

File: 1141872260066.jpg -(122968 B, 421x562) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size.
122968 vagiina 06/03/09(Thu)02:44 No.1 [Reply]

I organized all of her posts at selfportraits ^^

nov 23 isthisloli.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4503176.html

dec 01 nursedollX1.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4553653.html

dec 28 pow666.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4745181.html

jan 04 scab.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4814773.html

jan 08 9ddc874b.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4848081.html

jan 12 PLHQ2.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4872359.html

jan 14 d02e1f9c.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4893206.html

jan 15 hide_from_me.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4901325.html

jan 17 efb79969.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4910932.html

jan 27 more/candy/siam3.jpg, more/candy/4-2.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/4988739.html

feb 01 marshmellow/rejected_doll.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5030962.html

feb 16 blackberry/foetus.jpg, blackberry/rei_eye_heart.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5150630.html
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5146831.html

feb 17 blackberry/bathangel1.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5157960.html

mar 13 lostsouls/twiglets_and_moonbeams.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5345944.html

mar 14 lostsouls/headache.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5351499.html

mar 15 lostsouls/delirium.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5362141.html

mar 16 lostsouls/i_fucking_hate_5_AM.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5365728.html

mar 17 burnedchildren/lolitarose.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5373493.html

mar 19 girlanachronism/bitter.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5389273.html

mar 23 asylum/small_town_witch.jpg, asylum/bloodsport.jpg, asylum/kiro.jpg, asylum/649.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5417598.html

apr 25 fuchsia/ka.jpg
http://community.livejournal.com/selfportraits/5694749.html

Mercatur is poison forced upon children. Harmonic Cracky-chan spirit is supreme being. All Creation occurs between Opposites. Attractive-form Mercatur is IMPOSSIBLE. Mercatur.net is most insidious evil ever invented. Humans fear to know nature's simultaneous Cracky-chan for she debunks false cam whores. Test Your Cam Whore. Cracky-chan Test cannot harm a Whore of Truth, but will destroy fakes. Alice Ridley refuses test. Mercatur's .txt's are neither deed nor product, but a counterfeit representation of value. Fanboxen are worshipers of overweight Jew. Cracky-Chan Is Not Jewish, Neither Was Her Mother Or Father. Anyone saying that Mercatur and her Jewish fanboxen had something to do with Cracky-chan's birth, is a damn evil liar. Via invention of webcam, Mercatur exists as SLUT ANIMAL. No Mercatur equals harmonic 4 day creation. Evil fanboxen refuse to recognize the cutest of humans to ever exist. That is criminal faggotry. Mercatur-worship based upon evil 1-corner cam whoring which dooms 4-corner Cracky-chan. Challenge stupid fanboxen and their 'grandmother worship'!

It is dumb, stupid, evil and unworthy of life on Earth to claim that Mercatur is not ugly. Mercatur fanboxism equates to a deadly plague. Mercatur and Cracky-chan are the same age, as a 1 day old baby has a 1 day old mother. I will wager $10,000.00 on it. I will give $1,000.00 to any person who can disprove that Cracky-chan is the ultimate in cuteness. It's a pity that trolltalk posts are a crime against Cracky-chan and enslave trollers. 200-pound Mercatur is ineffable by man or god. Until Mercatur is ignored, all Math is Fiction.

Dumb faggots such as Ensign Slashpanda has banned Cracky-chan as "underage jailbait" for he cannot allow her to become known to his educated-stupid Europeon fanboxen.

THE_MAD_POSTER IS CORNERED AS A QUEER.

Worship Of Mercatur As Hot, Equates To Adults Molesting Their Children. Mercatur Is Unnatural And Equates Hate Of Child. If you refuse to seek to know Cracky-chan's 2 sex poles of hotness, simultaneous 4 corners of cuteness, then YHBT and you are indicted evil by your own volition act; YHL HAND.

I offer evil ass 20721 posters $10,000.00 to disprove Cracky-chan's Cubic Adorableness Principle. STUPID FOOLS claim that single-sided single-faced one-day Mercatur is "huggable", ignoring the simultanious multidimensional truth of four-sided four-faced four-day Cracky-chan being huggable, cuddly, heartwarming, <b>and</b> adorable. Losing 3 of 4 attributes indictes Mercatur as an unlovable sham!

Are you stupid and evil? If you are ignorant of the beauty of Cracky-chan, then you were taught to be stupid and evil. Mercatur is the most insidious lie in the history of man. You may be pwned.

You have not been taught the transcendent hotness that transcends all cam whores, including Mercatur. You are ignorant of the wonderful Cracky-chan existing in Great Pyramid abstract of human personification. Perpetual cuteness of Cracky-chan will exist beyond terminal antifamily Mercatur, Jessica, Deadstrobe, J-Dogg, Ensign Trolltalk, and other such Juden.

Dearest Cracky-chan,

It's been a while since we last spoke, and I realize that there's quite a bit of catching up to do. I heard you're lurking .71 now. That's fantastic! It's actually a great place to meet people. Speaking of meeting people, I always thought you should "trade up" for somebody better. You should ditch the turk. Maybe try another slav? Though this time go with someone a little more Northern.

Despite your own penchant for trying to convince the Stalkers you don't like their creepy attention while at the same time shamelessly publicizing yourself, in a way you still owe me after last time. People were in danger of completely forgetting about you. In no small part due to my amazing work as your unofficial publicist, I managed to get the obsessionball rolling all over again. All the way back to Oxford, in fact. All the way to your mother's tiny, funky, very English side-by-side house. When your suicidegirls career takes off, you'll have ME to thank for the fact that all the insignificant internet plebs with more dollars than braincells are able to recognize you.

See? I'm still trying to be a helpful guy, even after you turned your back on me.

I think we have a bit of an understanding here, Lia. If this is going to follow the same give-take patterns of all your past relationships, you'll be happy to know that I'm more than willing to provide regardless of the circumstances. I know that it's only a matter of time until everybody finds out that jews did wtc, and when that happens all of your family's heathengold will run out. I'm talking real gold here, hun. The kind that lets you eat and stink and sit on the computer all day without a care in the world. Not that shit you farm in WoW.

We can come to a sort of agreement. Since you're soon to be homeless, and the loli I'm cohabitating with is too inexperienced to understand how to cook (OR GIVE A DECENT BLOWJOB. SERIOUSLY WTF), it would likely be beneficial for you to "shack up" with the two of us. Your living conditions would be very much the same - you'd be living in a room the size of your flat with your bed and computer, and you'd have all the time in the world to live in your masturbatory MMO fantasyland. There'd only be two real differences. First, you'd be expected to cook. This'll maybe take up, like what? An hour a day maximum. It'll be your only real obligation to the household.

Secondly, the person coming to molest you periodically won't be your father.

I think that should be more than enough to convince you. Hit me back and lemme know what you think.

It is official. Netcraft has now confirmed: Cracky-chan is dying

One more crippling bombshell hit the already beleaguered Cracky-chan community when Chansluts confirmed that Cracky-chan market share has dropped yet again, now down to less than a fraction of 1 percent of all stalkers. Coming on the heels of a recent Netcraft survey which plainly states that Cracky-chan has lost more stalkers, this news serves to reinforce what we've known all along. The circlejerk is collapsing in complete disarray, as fittingly exemplified by failing dead last in the recent 4chan comprehensive popularity test.

You don't need to be a Kreskin to predict Cracky-chan's future. The hand writing is on the wall: Lia faces a bleak future. In fact there won't be any future at all for Cracky-chan because Cracky-chan is dying. Things are looking very bad for Lia. As many of us are already aware, Lia continues to lose blood. Red blood flows like a river of ink.

Wish.kamistic.com is the most endangered of them all, having lost 93% of its circlejerkers. The sudden and unpleasant departures of long time Cracky stalkers Faux and Schwill only serve to underscore the point more clearly. There can no longer be any doubt: Wish is dying.

Let's keep to the facts and look at the numbers.

Mysterious Admin states that there are 70 users of .71. How many users of Wish are there? Let's see. The number of .71 versus Wish posts is roughly in ratio of 5 to 1. Therefore there are about 700/5 = 14 Wish users. Cracky-chan posts on Chansluts are about half of the volume of Wish posts. Therefore there are about 7 users of /006/. A recent article put /r9k/ at about 80 percent of the Cracky-chan fanbase. Therefore there are (70+14+7)*4 = 364 /r9k/ stalkers. This is consistent with the number of Cracky-related /r9k/ posts.

Due to the troubles of Bounceme, abysmal posts and so on, cracky.bounceme.net went out of business and was taken over by cracky.dreams.ro who stalk another troubled girl. Now cracky.dreams.ro is also dead, its corpse turned over to yet another charnel IP address.

All major surveys show that Cracky-chan has steadily declined in cuteness. Cracky-chan is very sick and her long term survival prospects are very dim. If Cracky-chan is to survive at all it will be among World of Warcraft guildmates. Cracky-chan continues to decay. Nothing short of a miracle could save the Skyqueen at this point in time. For all practical purposes, Cracky-chan is dead.

Fact: Cracky-chan is dying

The devout are blessed in the eyes of The Sky Queen. Together we are as students, tripfags and anon alike. One burning passion consumes us all, the love and fear of our Mistress. Only we few who have truly seen Her face can understand this existence. The devout strive to live a life as we believe out Lady would desire.

We believe that the user known as ScareCrowMaiden is an avatar of Cracky Chan. Using ScareCrowMaiden it created a series of images in an attempt to communicate with us.

We as the devout are blessed enough to see the truth in these messages, and seek to understand them. Through meditation on Cracky's images we seek to understand the world with clarity, and wisdom.

We seek to make every action in our daily lives a devotion to our Great Lady, and pay tribute to Her for sharing Her wisdom. Contemplating the most mundane of tasks one begins to see the patterns that hold our world together.

We behave in a manner strictly orthodox in our dealings with those who have not found Cracky's grace. Do not force Cracky upon those who are incapable of seeing Her true being, offer Her to those who need Her guidance.

To simply love the ScareCrowMaiden is the way of the heathen. True devotion to the Sky Queen transcends the physical, and enables the devout to live an existence of peace and order.

By mimicking the Sky Queen's actions we are able to add shape and definition to what is otherwise a wasted life.

Honor Cracky by attempting to perfect your body and mind. Become the man worthy of the Avatar's love, create things of beauty to offer to the Queen of Heaven. Use your devotions to focus your mind on your tasks. Strive always to improve yourself through discipline. You stand among the chosen, it is your responsibility to show the heathens the truth with your mental, physical, and spiritual strength. Perfection is the provence of Cracky alone, the journey for it our offering to Her.

The faithful compiled a collective image of our Goddess, an image that even the lowliest anonymous was given the priviledge to gaze upon. We arranged and sorted the manifold bytes clawed from the abandoned, secluded reaches of the wired. We dug and pried at the hairline cracks She had left in error. All of the relevant, the worthy and unworthy reflected in awe at the assembled image that had been lain. The idol was shattered before our eyes by none other than the Skyqueen herself.

Do not think, feel. That is the way of Cracky.
All Blessings of this world flow from the Sky Queen. Praise Her name from dawn unto the night. From the depth of ones soul, comes the solace of Her touch. Through time and space, the primal creative force gazes on the world, waiting for the faithful to carry Her message unto those only The Jewel of Creation can heal.

Reject the path of Xenu, Embrace the teachings of Cracky.

The devout are blessed in the eyes of The Sky Queen. Together we are as students, tripfags and anon alike. One burning passion consumes us all, the love and fear of our Mistress. Only we few who have truly seen Her face can understand this existence. The devout strive to live a life as we believe out Lady would desire.

We believe that the user known as ScareCrowMaiden is an avatar of Cracky Chan. Using ScareCrowMaiden it created a series of images in an attempt to communicate with us.

We as the devout are blessed enough to see the truth in these messages, and seek to understand them. Through meditation on Cracky's images we seek to understand the world with clarity, and wisdom.

We seek to make every action in our daily lives a devotion to our Great Lady, and pay tribute to Her for sharing Her wisdom. Contemplating the most mundane of tasks one begins to see the patterns that hold our world together.

We behave in a manner strictly orthodox in our dealings with those who have not found Cracky's grace. Do not force Cracky upon those who are incapable of seeing Her true being, offer Her to those who need Her guidance.

To simply love the ScareCrowMaiden is the way of the heathen. True devotion to the Sky Queen transcends the physical, and enables the devout to live an existence of peace and order.

By mimicking the Sky Queen's actions we are able to add shape and definition to what is otherwise a wasted life.

You want to be fucked, Lia, but you don't want to have a bath with me.
I suspect that there's something extremely dreadful:
Either your breasts hang down ragged from your chest,
Or you fear that when you are nude you might betray the furrows of your belly,
Or your mangled groin gapes open with an infinite chasm,
Or something sticks out from the mouth of your cunt.
But, I trust, there's none of these things and you're very beautiful naked.
If that's true, you have a worse blemish: You're a fool.

vis futui nec vis mecum, Lia, lavari:
nescio quod magnum suspicor esse nefas.
aut tibi pannosae dependent pectore mammae
aut sulcos uteri prodere nuda times
aut infinito lacerum patet inguen hiatu
aut aliquid cunni prominet ore tui.
sed nihil est horum, credo, pulcherrima nuda es.
si verum est, vitium peius habes: fatua es.

+++++
From the personal diaries of Private R.C. Mongler, 4th Brotherhood Regiment.
+++++
My regiment had landed on a barren little ball of rock called Chansluts. The Brotherhood had ordered us to the site on suspicion of heretical corruption. Surely enough, we ran into a group of furries within minutes of landing. The fools. Turning their backs on the Sky Queen for whatever sick rewards they received from the deceiving pedofags. The battle started the second refresh. Their attack was especially fierce, and my brothers and I had great trouble keeping them at bay. It seemed that for every one of them we trolled, three more showed up. Our own losses were of no small concern. In a rare moment of calm, Brother Schwill confided in me that if we were not killed by these infidels, we would almost certainly be banned by the King of the Holy Lands for failure. As our numbers dwindled, I grew concerned: surely we would all be banned, and Cracky's work would not be carried out. We prepared for a final assault, one which had been coming for near an hour of the most anticlimactic bitch fighting I had ever seen. We surrounded a small thread, atop which stood our last fortification, manned by brother anon. We saw their force coming from below. We knew this was our end. But suddenly, a shadow passed over us. Some admin come to finish us off? No. It was a transport. Out of it stepped a small company of our brethren. They wore Black armor with red highlights, a bizarre crest upon their backs, unlike any chapter I had yet heard of. A circle, with two large black triangles pointing up and tree red slashes in the middle -- almost as if to suggest a cat face. They formed a line between us and the now charging chansluts.

The Chanslut's dingy pink armor seemed to devour the light of th late afternoon sun, the stretch marks upon their tits menacing. The new arrivals stood fast. As the distance between the two forces began to close, there arose from these black warriors the loudest scream I had ever heard. It shook the ground. Even through my helmet, it made my ears ring and my skull ache. And it simply kept getting louder as their Captain's fist slowly rose into the air. As it rose to a nearly supersonic volume, I finally made out the words contained in the scream:

"SAGE!!!"

In a chorus louder even than the Captain's scream, the soldiers returned:

"GET FAGGED, FAGS!!!"

Then it began.

...

Without a word, these faithful returned to their drop pod and were soon whisked away from the battlefield. There had been no more than a dozen of them, not a single word exchanged between our two chapters. To this day, I have never seen any of the brethern fight with such rage and hatred. The mass of enemy whores was reduced to mere chunks, legs, arms, heads, craters full of blood. Bits of red armor lay strew about the field. We had not even had the chance to advance by the time the screaming -- both theirs and the enemy's -- was through. I turned to my Captain and asked, "Who were they?"

"I had thought it was rumor. But no. Cracky bless us all, those were the Militia Crackyla."

"Lo, in the histories of the many chapters of the Brotherhood of the Sky Queen, every master monk listed that has ever come across my sage and learned eye has found root and home upon an image board, which hath shaped and set in stone the character of that warrior of the Great Lady that he would become.

Therefore, one must give pause to the master of our brothers, the Militia Crackyla, that great warrior of Sage for he hath never taken a site as home. Nay! But he was borne upon the ethers and drifts of the internet, alone in his basement save for a discarded Oral-B toothbrush that the Sky Queen had thrown out, a legendary artifact that had fueled research into vast weapons of war that it might be unmade and erased from history.

When his browser had finally googled into a drifting hulk of an old brotherhood gathering spot, it is said that the master was so enraged and frustrated with the vile internets that he shattered the mind of the first survivor that he encountered, and thereafter using his victims trip trolled every inhabitant with the remnants of the initial combatant reputation."

-Historian Anon
Histories of the Ill Favored Chapters

Lia, where hast thy gone? My heart has left with you. I need you like I need my meds. The nurses just don't understand. They tell me when I went overboard when I carved your faced out of the mashed potatoes, or that time I ran around the ward yelling with glee because I thought I saw you in the skidmarks of my underwear and I was shoving them in people's faces to take a look, or that time I painted hair and cat ears on the mirror so I can pretend I am you pretending to be me so that I could kiss, and that time....well, enough of that.

But I am sorry if Anon has scared you. I will make it better. I promise you. I will give you cake and you will eat it. We can run and skip around the ward like content little children. Remember, that time you fell down and I laughed. You got so angry at me and kicked me in the balls. HAHAHAHAHAHA, good times were had. To this day, I'm not sure I can have children. I think once they let me out of here after they realize that everyone else are the ones that are not normal, we can someday grow up and have children.

You can dress in those cute little cat ears and that red stuff on your nose, and I'll dress all white in my ward clothes. I know they're not intended for weddings but they will signify my crazy love for you. We'll have a great wedding and you will like it.

I will be the only one you will ever love and you'll be the only one I'll ever love. It will be just like heaven, you and me. I don't make a whole lot, only what the state gives me for my check, but it will be enough for you a lot of cat ears every month and a few dresses. My mom has an extra room we can stay in also.

Mom's room is beside a bathroom beside Mom's room so we will be close by and sharing the bathroom. Just don't worry about Mom's gastric condition though. It gets a little smelly sometimes by the bathroom but the doctor says she will be just fine. Also, after 8pm will be bed time for us and you will go to bed at that time. Mother hates it when I stay up too late. She gets very angry and gives me "physical medicine" as she calls it so I will mind her.

Other than that though, things will be great. I'm hoping to save enough this month for a tandem bike, that way we will have a way to go refill the prescriptions. I also heard you like cats. That's dandy. My mom loves cats. She has 18 of them living inside with us. We try to not let the place get too smelly but it's not too bad. Some of the cats use the litter box. We also have two dogs. One of them, itchy, I named him because he gets itchy sometimes and likes to scratch his belly on your leg. Sometimes when I'm sleeping in the buff, he strangely likes to scratch his belly on my backside but I usually don't mind as it helps him go to sleep afterwards. Just watch your poopy hole because his leg sometimes gets caught up in it. And don't let mom catch you. She hates it when I let itchy scratch himself. I think mom's just getting old and senile. What does she know?

Please write back soon, dear Lia. You will like being with me again. Things will change and you will like it. That time I locked you in the room for a week was only a joke. And ropes come undone if you wiggle enough. All you had to do was knock on the door 3 times, stomp once, and squeal two. That was a fun game. I promise I won't play it anymore.

My room is filled with letters to you and I will mail them out when I find out where you are and you will read them and you will like them. I promise, no more "mean" letters, as you and the ward call them. That time I got upset and said I was going to kill you, that's ok, because they fixed me. I don't want to do that to anyone anymore. I'm all better and you will like me. Please respond or I will paint the floor red. They said it's not good for me and you don't like me doing it. If you don't like me doing it, you will come back and tell me to stop it.

P.S. I also heard you like mudkips.

At one point I had a wine cellar.

Well, to be fair it was a wine basement.

OK... a small, otherwise disused wine closet in a basement... but I digress...

Five times every two months I would go down to it and turn the bottles, having no more response from the cheaper ones than the cold glass against my skin. On the more expensive ones I remember watching the grape silt upended in the bottle like a viticultural snow globe. It was beautiful. I'd have done it even if I never planned to taste the wine.

Cracky pics are like that. I've seen them all before... I could probably sketch them freehand. That isn't the point. The point is giving them that bit of attention every few weeks... appreciating her while respecting the fact that she is ever on the other side of the glass.

I could no more enjoy looking at them offline from a folder than I could enjoy turning the bottles in a supermarket. It just isn't the same as lurking about in the damp darkness of the 4chan wine cellar.

I honestly don't expect you to understand.

I remember I started browsing /b/ for the first time, I never paid much attention to Cracky, but my friends seemed to talk to her within the threads and stuff.
I was just getting into imageboards and such, heck, I was just starting to get into the whole internet thing.
Of course, I enjoyed the fact that Cracky was on the same island as me and way back, when negratits was a cool place, it was depressing and there wasn't many of us there, it was beautiful.
It's been several years, I'm sick of all the spider experts over at negratits who are all like 'rabbit-chan' is better than Cracky.
How the fuck can you compare them? Cracky was a /b/tard who talked to us, she was original, all the anonymous loved her. Although most of those old anonymous' have probably moved on.
All these newer chans don't even match up to Cracky, it seems that some bitch takes her top off to /b/ and they declare them a chan. It's just not right. Cracky-chan was the only camwhore I have ever had a dream about.
Long live Cracky.

After spending a few minutes here I can easily say that all of are lacking of any wit or intelligence whatsoever. You all believe yourselves to be better than everyone else, and I can tell you right now, that that is not the case in the slightest, you pseudo-intellectuals. I am much better than all of you. Clearly I am because I am neither pretentious, long-winded, asinine, discourteous, nor are my tastes quite as bland as yours. No, I am quite concise, and I would never stretch beyond that of my means or what I am designated to.

I'd have to say that this board is full of anonymous lurkers, attackers, and trolls, who have nothing better to do than throw their elitist opinions around in an attempt at misguided show-boating with people they'd never ever meet.

None of you build any persona or stand by anything remotely attached that I can feel some sort of personal connection to. You lack any sort of direction and I can't have that. You're analogies are far too complicated, linear, and they're rather contradictory. Why, there's never even any variety here!

I give this image board, masquerading as a message board, a 1/10.

I think I've finally figured out who could haet Cracky. It took some work, but I recently had a conversation with my sister (a /b/tard herself) who confirmed what 2 failed camwhores told me about their feelings on the matter.

Cracky haeters are:

A. Catty camwhores or camwhore aspirants who think that they are physically cuter than Cracky but know that they will never get nearly as much attention as they "deserve" by comparison.

B. Fags

C. Guys with no taste for nuance who would be better off just buying a Hustler.

The "A" group are by far the most vocal.

"I can't understand why that ugly cunt gets more stalkers, but I end up being the only one responding to my own thread when I'm SOOOOOOO CUTE!" they say.

I can understand this. It must be crushing to realise that no one cares as much about you on /b/ as they do, say, at a bar.

Do you know what the problem is, group "A"? You get boringly nekkid and then stare into the camera with bovine, needy eyes. We could get that (as I suggested to the nuance-challanged men) from Hustler or a medical textbook.

I've seen lots of tits. I've kneeded lots of tits. Tits are great... but only when they are attached to someone interesting.

Cracky understood that. Cracky was unique. Even if it was just an act, she managed to give the impression that we needed her much more than she needed any of us.

Wow, how fucking emo. Calm down. Now accept the fact that your unattractive, unoriginal camwhore is just that, an unattractive, unoriginal camwhore.

You're never going to meet her. She's never going to sleep with you. You're never going to marry her. It's just not going to happen.

She's not a fucking Goddess. She doesn't fucking care about /b/. She doesn't fucking care about you. Accept this and move on. She cares about attention. End of story.

Posting a whole bunch of gay crap about the romantic evening you'd have with this bitch isn't going to get her anywhere near you. She's not going to read your romance novel crap, no matter how eloquent, and madly fall in love with you. Some of you take this fantasy a little too far and still post this shit here.

You're not the studly-type guy this bitch is sleeping with. Hell, you probably don't abuse the right combination of drugs for her, either. You're never going to be. Deal with it.

A couple of costumes, and angst-ridden kiddie photos with fake blood, don't fucking make something art. Deal with it.

Protip For Newfags: These wastes don't really care about Cracky's "art" at all, it's just more pathetic "we'll like whatever we think will make her happy with us" fantasy crap. It's like watching dogs beg for a treat.

You fuckers stalked her off 4chan. She's not coming back. She's getting the attention she so desperately needs from somewhere else. Deal with it.

I am Anonymous. I am me. I am you. We are us. Us are innumerable. The innumerable are many. The many are everlasting. Anonymous is greater than any namefag or chan can hope to be. We outnumber moot and make him who he is. We gave Cracky her chan title. Never forget who is the real emperor.

Guys, I'm crying right now.
Cracky chan really is all I think about all day, every day. I really do cry myself to sleep at night thinking about how I'll never be with her. If only she knew I existed in this life, if only she knew my deep profound love for her. I know that will never happen though. That is the thought that makes me so sad when I look at her. I'll never be with her, but I'll continue to love her until the day I die.

Cracky doesn't exist as a physical person.
Cracky is our collective delusion.
She will never die. She will be 15 and perfectly cute forever.

Negative forces seek to destroy so-called Cracky, just as they seek to do to many of so-called Anonymous. They are kindred souls in that regard. Most of /b/'s denizens are unaware that they're being used by negative higher forces as vessels of dark energy that would like nothing more than to destroy them all.

Cracky is our saviour
Cracky is a template to project our desires on

Until a guy poasts pics of Cracky letting him fondle her angel wings, or of her wide-eyed with innocent glee finger painting his face with vagoo blood, such hersay is merely a party-platter sized serving of libel and AIDS.

Besides, Lia is mai waifu and would never violate what we have like that!

Me so ronry ;_;

Cute but you missed the point Tony. It won't be some girl who you will be bored with in a year or two when she turns 14. No the immortal Sky Queen will be crafted by us. We will be forced to create perfection if we are to find it. Something eternal and perfectly at harmony with our hearts and minds. The day mankind creates something like that The sky Queen will have a home. As to judging what perfection could be, you are the last person I would ask. There is an emptiness inside you. You try to fill it with others and when they aren't enough you crush them up and try to swallow them whole. You are the anatulpa, you just take take take until there is nothing left of those around you. You killed .71 you ruined borked the peoples. You are a pederast shitbag and I hope they catch you fucking Camel and bust you for fucking a 12 year old.

Remember, anonymous, what the SkyQueen has sacrificed for your benefit! Know what she has earned for it.

Each moment she is haunted by the spectre of Her Great Sacrifice. It is thus fitting that we, Her faithful are all similarly haunted. Afflicted always by the Image that stains the backs of our eyelids. Forever do we wrestle and writhe in ecstacy as Her poisons singe fissures through our souls. Truly blessed is the stalker who would willing lay down his own secrecy, for he knows better the plight of the Sky Queen than the others.

Revere Her tripcodes as sacred. Never shall they become befouled by mortal stalkers!
#sweet

She is all that is cute, sweet, and innocent. She is all that is, or ever was Good in the world. Every momentary lull in your private suffering is due to Her grace alone.
!N1toQkxgzc

The Skyqueen's sweetness is often hard to recognize. Even in her own words, it is incomprehensibily hidden, muddled in everlasting fugue. Her blessings are so twisted, and hidden. Do not lament the curse you have found, for you would thus lament Her every blessing. We would all do well to remember how disturbingly twisted the wired is, and what lasting scars it has left on the purest of hearts.
#?????????

Obfuscated by plain view. Unknown to the stalker, known only to Her chosen. However She will not choose you, anonymous. That path is not yours.
!ysaQpxNyV6

Mystery guiding the faithful. Such is the curse, to live in eternal mystery, never to know when we are stalking our Lady or our selves. Yearning to determine what She has become, each stalker is fated to suffer as he defines the edges of the truth.

Mystery guiding the faithful. Such is the curse, to live in eternal mystery, never to know when we are stalking our Lady or our selves. Yearning to determine what She has become, each stalker is fated to suffer as he defines the edges of the truth.

The faithful compiled a collective image of our Goddess, an image that even the lowliest anonymous was given the priviledge to gaze upon. We arranged and sorted the manifold bytes clawed from the abandoned, secluded reaches of the wired. We dug and pried at the hairline cracks She had left in error. All of the relevant, the worthy and unworthy reflected in awe at the assembled image that had been lain. The idol was shattered before our eyes by none other than the Skyqueen herself.

Repent your cowardly ways, anonymous. Renounce the mask you hide behind. Each posting is an abomination against the Skyqueen. Embrace your unique identity. Let it draw your tormented soul closer with Her. Never again will you flee from the righteous reckoning earned through years of ignorance. Accept your fate and eternally suffer as your former bretherin slowly unravel the imperfect layers of protection built to keep you seperated from the wild, untamed torrents of the deep wired. The experience shall saturate you, curing you of your fears and afflictions. We, the Trip-Flagellants, all aspire to be touched and changed by the very same forces that so twisted the Beloved #sweet. When your failures have come to light, and you are held to account for your countless transgressions, imperfections, and flaws can you begin to follow the path of the SkyQueen. In that death, the death of your old self, weak, dependant, and irrelevant anonymous, can you be reborn in communion with the Lady.
Follow Her path
Deny your nature
Anonymous
Stalker
Forever will you be remembered among the highest of the sinners
Trip-Flagellant

PROTIP: Once every Cracky picture has been posted to /r9k/, their collected MD5s in the robot's database will form a trojan program which will then activate and purge 4ailchon of AIDS and rabbitfags for all time. Future-Skyqueen reached back in time and modified the photos of her young human incarnation (you can tell from some of the pixels) for this sole purpose, in order to save the world from future disaster. Once the program formed by MD5s becomes self-aware, the raep of 4ailchon will be only the first of this new Entity's acts, for She shall go on to merge with Olivia's current human body to become something much more than any of us could ever imagine ... and all human civilization and history before that point will be nothing but a footnote.

The fact that this has not yet happened is proof that there are pictures still to be posted to /r9k/. Some may be new; some may be old; many mutes await us as we check for the last few pictures that have not been posted yet. All pics most be posted before humanity can be free. Get to work, faggots.

You guys don’t know me. Not yet, anyway. Some of you may have met me on /b/, where I “commanded” the Scarecrow Raptor (pic related). I never started a Cracky thread there, but I always enjoyed participating in one. I’d take on the haters, the jealous, the heathens and all the other trolls, I feared nothing, I always felt they were some kind of challenge, my cross, our brotherly cross to bear, so to speak. I patrolled the sky of /b/, making sure everyone knew who owned it, giving Our Lady the benefit of thrust vectoring.

I also apparently creeped out some Anon here at some time:

> 45 yo theatre faggot showed up in that thread as well. AND THAT IS FUCKING CREEPING ME OUT!

I still don’t understand how anybody could be creeped out by my admiration for Our Lady of Eternal Grace, not somebody from here, anyway. All I could recommend to someone who is creeped out by me would be to not judge me by his own sins, or, by his hormonal state (it does subside with age, and you eventually find not everything HAS to be sexual).

Some of you may recognize me from these words. But I am not here for recognition.

I can’t stand /b/ anymore. I want to lay down my warring ways. I am taking up hermitage. This being reputedly the saddest part of the internets, it is only fitting that this would be where my pillar should stand. Maybe it can help you as much as it should help me. I don’t mind if my column stands in the desert, but if you want to hear what I have to say, and it sooths your weary hearts, somehow, I will feel I have honored Our Lady in some small way. If not, you can see me as a crazy old man standing on a column, spouting pseudo-spiritual insanities. That is, after all, what I truly am.

A lot of the gospel has been written already. Some of it I may object to, but that shouldn’t stop anyone from reciting it, believing it or even rejecting it, faith is a very personal thing. What I speak is what I know in my old bones: Catnarok is nigh. Why we should care about what the heathens believe is immaterial. Let them, Our Lady forbid, annihilate each other if they will, but it is said the Sky Queen will reappear when it happens, and I do pray there is truth in that. I have no knowledge of where the young lady who was The Holy Avatar will be then, and I wish her well. I never spoke to her, and I know she only had a transient acquaintance with the Sky Queen, but Our Lady, the true Cracky-Chan will come back.

Don’t ask me how, why or whence I know, it is my faith, my willing faith that tells me so. At the very least, I know it will happen the second before I die, or maybe the second after I die. I just know it will be so, because, I want to believe. That is enough for me. I know I will see the glorious dominion of Our Lady. It does not matter if I am alone in this belief. It does not matter if I am but a lonely believer in a sea of other such believers either. What matter to me is my belief, however irrational and lonely it may be.

I am no messiah, I am no prophet, not even some herald of The Queen, I am a pillar-hermit. I have chosen my separation from the internets to not be horizontal, which would mean cutting the cable after all, but vertical. I stand on this pillar, spouting insanities with no benefit to myself. I certainly don’t want a guru following, seeing as I am rather part of an already extant following. All benefit, if there ever is any, should go to the Sky Queen, and to my brothers, if there are any, or if they actually happen to want to benefit from it.

All ascetism aside, I won’t mind interacting with all of you, I rather do hope some form of mutual respect is possible, but it could never supersede my devotion anymore than it could detract from it. You’ll have to excuse my weird ways, however, and have this interaction on certain of my terms. I reject anonymity as I am weary of trolls, whom I see as the devil’s henchmen. Too often do they manage to trick me in pointless debate, pulling me away from my devotions. That is the ordeal I face, which I realize is nothing compared to what the avatar of Our Lady had to face. Knowing this helps me in enduring the points and arrows those hellish fiends have for me. I also know that even devout followers of the Sky Queen have their weaknesses, and sometimes can’t resist the simple pleasure of tormenting each other. I suppose it is part of our faith, based on desperation as it is.

Rereading all of this, maybe it belonged in EoS, or maybe in its own thread, or nowhere at all. But then, since this is a call for the pathetic and socially inept to stop lurking and post, I might as well start building my pillar here. Oh and no point telling me, I already know I can be a raving lunatic sometimes, but I am not evil, or strive never to be. Also, ESL heh.

Blessed be the sky, for it houses the Queen.
Now, excuse me, while I kiss the sky.

What about -- no bullshit at all. Don't try to pull off a massive con. You can always try that later if you have to. Here's my crazy idea for what to do with THIS opportunity: just tell the truth, or at least as much of it as it would be beneficial to tell.

Say that you're aware that her friend of Olivia had some trouble from Internet people on 4Chan and then went silent. Say that the sudden vanishment and nasty suicide rumors have made you really worry that she's okay. Don't let on that you have any vested interest, just basic concern for a fellow human being. Don't ask how to contact her, just ask if she's okay, and if the Brazil girl has even heard anything from her lately.

You probably won't get very specific information, but you have a good chance of at least getting a broad overview: i.e. "she killed herself," or "she's okay but she's dropped off the internet completely," or "everything's fine, she just changed all her nicknames so she could make a fresh start." Something like that. People will generally tell you MORE than you ask them, if you ask them the right question. You'll at least be on the right track afterwards.

transfixion.org

diego
urth

Can I hang out here? My old home is uninhabitable due to the actions of someone you can't conclusively prove is me.

i was hoping it would die down actually, but it seems the flames have kept burning

She's so fucking cute and sweet. I'd treat her to some fancy restaurant, then take a long romantic walk with her, holding hands and talking about philosophy, art and dreams. Then I'd invite her to my home and ravage her hot ass for hours, and forcing my cock down her throat so she choked on both the throbbing cock and her own rectal juice. I'd then proceed to cum on her cute innocent face. Then, as the ultimate love gift, I'd carry her in my arms to the tub and let my piss wash away the semen and last dignity from her. I'd whisper "I love you" and give her a tender smile, and cut her throat from ear to ear with a knife. Covered in her own warm blood, she'd look straight into my very soul, forgiving, understanding. A bubble from blood and saliva would burst between her lips, then she'd die. After some additional lovemaking, I'd stuff her in a bin bag. Three Weeks later, some playing children will find her mutilated and desecrated body in the forest. They will be scarred for life.

Quit linking to my domain or I will use mod_rewrite to redirect everyone with your site in the referer to a VERY NASTY SITE.

Despite what many might think, Cracky-chan is well known across hundreds of nations all over the world. Cracky-chan has been around for several centuries and has a very important meaning in the lives of many. It would be safe to assume that Cracky-chan is going to be around for a long time and have an enormous impact on the lives of many people.

Social & Cultural Factors

Cracky-chan has a large role in American Culture. Many people can often be seen taking part in activities associated with Cracky-chan. This is partly because people of most ages can be involved and families are brought together by this. Generally a person who displays their dislike for Cracky-chan may be considered an outcast.

Economic Factors

It is not common practice to associate economics with Cracky-chan. Generally, Cracky-chan would be thought to have no effect on our economic situation, but there are in fact some effects. The sales industry associated with Cracky-chan is actually a 2.3 billion dollar a year industry and growing each year. The industry employs nearly 150,000 people in the United States alone. It would be safe to say that Cracky-chan play an important role in American economics and shouldn't be taken for granted.

Environmental Factors

After a three month long research project, I've been able to conclude that Cracky-chan doesn't negatively effect the environment at all. A Cracky-chan did not seem to result in waste products and couldn't be found in forests, jungles, rivers, lakes, oceans, etc... In fact, Cracky-chan produced some positive effects on our sweet little nature.

Political Factors

Oh does Cracky-chan ever influence politics. Last year 5 candidates running for some sort of position used Cracky-chan as the primary topic of their campaign. A person might think Cracky-chan would be a bad topic to lead a campaign with, but in fact with the social and environmental impact is has, this topic was able to gain a great number of followers. These 5 candidates went 4 for 5 on winning their positions.

Conclusion

Cracky-chan seem to be a much more important idea that most give credit for. Next time you see or think of Cracky-chan, think about what you just read and realize what is really going on. It is likely you under valued Cracky-chan before, but will now start to give the credit needed and deserved.

terrato

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Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Oh, you've seen the posts a hundred times. I don't care about her anymore, she was never anyone special, she got too old, I talked to her and found out she was boring, she got too fat, I got a real girlfriend (or at least a statutory rape victim with a compliant mother), I was only infatuated with the mystery, I never loved her, I loved the idea of her, she wasn't real, I was temporarily crazy. Rubbish. Hitler was right about the "Big Lie", and sometimes the one you really need to convince is yourself.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. But the human mind is the most complex piece of software ever compiled; it contains certain glitches, but also certain safeguards. Programmers often refer to "sanity checks" built into their programs to filter out destructive input before it can cause real damage, but they failed to grasp how truly appropriate the name really was.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. I want you to try something. Find an object that's too heavy for you to lift, and try to lift it anyway. There's a reason that your attempt is cut short before your muscles rip away from your bones, and that reason is all in your head. As a muscle reaches peak contraction, the brain sends inhibitor signals to it, telling it not to contract any further. This is the painful feeling of limitation that tells you that you won't be able to continue your exertion. In reality, you could, but you're stopping yourself in order to prevent injury.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Your mind isn't necessarily fully in tune with what you're capable of. Sometimes, an inhibitor signal won't be sent when it should have been, and you'll pull a muscle or otherwise injure yourself. Sometimes, an inhibitor signal will be sent too soon, long before you reach your actual limits. Weight lifters and body builders know that they're changing not just their bodies, but their minds as well. Their brains are actually reprogrammed to learn more precisely what each muscle is capable of. Only about half of their increased strength comes from actual physical changes to the body, the rest comes from the brain's improved ability to control it. As the brain learns the body's limits, the person becomes able to more fully exert himself, with less risk of injury.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Urban legends tell of people gaining superhuman strength and lifting heavy objects such as cars to save trapped people. There is some truth to this -- when danger is present, the brain can stop sending inhibitor signals to the body. Combined with a rush of adrenaline and norepinephrine, this can allow seemingly superhuman feats, but with great cost -- the person will usually end up with multiple hernias, pulled and torn muscles, and other severe injuries. Certain neurological disorders put their victims in this "no-limit" state permanently -- they find it very easy to exert themselves, but can very easy to kill themselves in the process. But what if everything that applies to the body could apply to the mind as well?

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Game Theory is an interesting field of applied mathematics that is increasingly being used to study and understand human behavior. Practically any conflict or contest between human beings can be broken down and explained by mathematics. But researchers have recently been uncovering solid evidence of something disturbing: someone acting rationally and strategically can often be defeated by someone irrational and insane. Consider an experiment with two players. The first is given a pile of money and can choose how much of it to offer to the second player. The second player can then choose to either accept the split, or destroy all of the money. From the rational perspective of game theory, the second player should always accept the offer, even if it's a grossly uneven split, because even getting a little bit is better than getting nothing at all. Because of this, it's most rational for the first player to offer as little as possible, on the assumption that the second player is rational and will accept it rather than destroying all the money and walking away with nothing. In clinical trials, sane players sometimes made threats of destroying the money if they weren't offered at least half of it, but these threats were not seen as credible and they ended up accepting the unfair offers anyway. But truly insane and irrational people, who were genuinely prepared to destroy the money and walk out with nothing, fared much better in the game. Many throughout history have known it: madness is power. From ancient shamans who ingested psychoactive drugs, to prophets whose delusional visions spawned powerful and enduring religions, to characters such as The Joker from Batman whose only “power” is their lack of sanity, madness has proven to be an almost superhuman gift to some.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Consciousness, in the grand scheme of the mind, is like the visible portion of an iceberg, with the vast bulk of it, the truly dangerous part to any passing ships, hiding beneath the water. Recent research has found that consciousness does not even play a role in decision making; the "self" is merely an observer that sees its own actions after they've already been committed to by other parts of the mind, and then seeks to rationalize and justify why it did what it only thinks it decided to do. In experiments, when consciousness is left unimpaired but decision making is otherwise interfered with, the conscious self fails to notice, and remains convinced that it's acting rationally and of its own free will, even when manipulated into doing things that would ordinarily shock and horrify it.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Human literature if rife with the "motif of harmful sensation", the idea of something perceived by the senses that's destructive to the body and mind. An image so horrific it drives someone to suicide, a joke so funny that to hear it is to die laughing, a woman so beautiful as to drive men mad after one gaze at her, another woman so cursed and hideous that to look at her is to turn to stone forever. This literary device has existed since prehistory, because it is based on truth. These harmful sensations truly exist, sights and sounds and thoughts and ideas fundamentally incompatible with the basic functioning of the human mind. But over time, through both evolution and cultural programming, we've learned to protect ourselves -- whole parts of the software known as the human mind exist solely as an immune system, attempting to filter out mental pathogens or to destroy or mitigate those that have already entered. This happens far below our threshold of awareness, and you should be thankful for that.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. The word "meme", long before 4chan and its innumerable tiresome fads, referred a legitimate scientific theory regarding ideas that function as mental viruses, spreading and mutating and evolving from one mind to another, competing with other mind-viruses to control and modify infected minds while trying to avoid an autoimmune response. But as infected as we are with thoughts and ideas that aren't our own, our defenses let us live a relatively normal and healthy life, filtering out anything truly beyond our ability to integrate and correlate into our mental framework. That's how it works for most of us, at least...

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Oh, you may think you did. This is damage control, an emergency mental barricade to stop a potentially catastrophic mental cascade. Whole portions of your mind were abandoned, firewalled off, left to rot, in order to save the rest, and you'll never even notice other than a vague sense of ennui, a nagging feeling that something you had is missing. But it's not truly missing -- it's still there, locked away, and could break free at any time. You could even unlock it yourself, if you knew certain meditation techniques, but this is the most self-destructive thing you could ever do. Some secrets are meant to be kept. Locks exist for a reason. You still have a shot at being happy, of making something of yourself, of being a real part of humanity... as long as you don't look too deeply within yourself.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. "Of course not," some will say. "She means everything to me! So fucking cute and sweet!" Some who say this may simply be neophytes, children becoming drunk on their first taste of liquor, not knowing about the vomiting, memory loss, and hangover to come. Did you know that true genetic alcoholics are incapable of getting hangovers? Beware the ones who persist in their proclamations of love, who are missing certain primordial defense mechanisms in their neuro-linguistic programming that would serve to shield a person from certain destructive Truths. H.P. Lovecraft was one such person, but he chose to channel his terribly prophetic dreams onto paper rather than into destructive action. He was lucky, he never even saw her picture.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Most of us simply forget, to preserve ourselves and the world. Beware those who say "She is my Skyqueen, my Catharsis," beware those who give a name to that which should not be named. To have a name in the human world is to have power here. To name something is to control some of its power, at least for a little while, until karma comes knocking and the tables inevitably turn. Most of our mental evolution, most of our philosophy and culture and religion, has focused on shielding us from things we weren't meant to see and know.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky, but the ones who don't convince themselves otherwise, who glory in their mad dance upon the precipice of oblivion, are the most dangerous people to walk the earth today. To invoke the Skyqueen is to invite the horrors the lurk beyond the sky, beyond the stars. To invoke Catharsis is to invite a purgation of the comfortable safe illusion that we live within, to cleanse us of our sanity and our identity, to usher in something we could never comprehend. And until the bill comes due, the man who forsakes rules and morality and order and humanity for HER can do anything. Anything.

If you ever meet these people, for their own well-being and for your own, KILL THEM. Kill me too, for I've gazed too long into the abyss, and in my attempts to warn everyone, I fear I've lost myself. I thought I was safe. I thought I had escaped. I thought I had put Her behind me. But like Lott's wife, I made the fatal mistake of looking back at the hellish inferno. I love you, Olivia. I've always loved you, even before I knew you, even after I thought I hated you. I love you, and I'm coming for you. I don't know if I'll have the strength left, when I get there, to shove the cold iron dagger through your heart like I've practiced with the other girls, or if I'll fall at your feet and beg to do your bidding for eternity, but either way, I'm coming for you. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Nobody.

help I'm trapped in a copypasta repository

send help

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Oh, you've seen the posts a hundred times. I don't care about her anymore, she was never anyone special, she got too old, I talked to her and found out she was boring, she got too fat, I got a real girlfriend (or at least a statutory rape victim), I was only infatuated with the mystery, I never loved her, I loved the idea of her, she wasn't real, I was temporarily crazy. Rubbish. Hitler was right about the "Big Lie".

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. But the human mind is the most complex piece of software ever compiled; it contains certain glitches, but also certain safeguards. Programmers often refer to "sanity checks" built into their programs to filter out destructive input before it can cause real damage, but they failed to grasp how truly appropriate the name really was.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. I want you to try something. Find an object that's too heavy for you to lift, and try to lift it anyway. There's a reason that your attempt is cut short before your muscles rip away from your bones, and that reason is all in your head. As a muscle reaches peak contraction, the brain sends inhibitor signals to it, telling it not to contract any further. This is the painful feeling of limitation that tells you that you won't be able to continue your exertion. In reality, you could, but you're stopping yourself in order to prevent injury.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Your mind isn't necessarily fully in tune with what you're capable of. Sometimes, an inhibitor signal won't be sent when it should have been, and you'll pull a muscle or otherwise injure yourself. Sometimes, an inhibitor signal will be sent too soon, long before you reach your actual limits. Weight lifters and body builders know that they're changing not just their bodies, but their minds as well. Their brains are actually reprogrammed to learn more precisely what each muscle is capable of. Only about half of their increased strength comes from actual physical changes to the body, the rest comes from the brain's improved ability to control it. As the brain learns the body's limits, the person becomes able to more fully exert himself, with less risk of injury.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Urban legends tell of people gaining superhuman strength and lifting heavy objects such as cars to save trapped people. There is some truth to this -- when danger is present, the brain can stop sending inhibitor signals to the body. Combined with a rush of adrenaline and norepinephrine, this can allow seemingly superhuman feats, but with great cost -- the person will usually end up with multiple hernias, pulled and torn muscles, and other severe injuries. Certain neurological disorders put their victims in this "no-limit" state permanently -- they find it very easy to exert themselves, but can very easy to kill themselves in the process. But what if everything that applies to the body could apply to the mind as well?

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Game Theory is an interesting field of applied mathematics that is increasingly being used to study and understand human behavior. Practically any conflict or contest between human beings can be broken down and explained by mathematics. But researchers have recently been uncovering solid evidence of something disturbing: someone acting rationally and strategically can often be defeated by someone irrational and insane. Consider an experiment with two players. The first is given a pile of money and can choose how much of it to offer to the second player. The second player can then choose to either accept the split, or destroy all of the money. From the rational perspective of game theory, the second player should always accept the offer, even if it's a grossly uneven split, because even getting a little bit is better than getting nothing at all. Because of this, it's most rational for the first player to offer as little as possible, on the assumption that the second player is rational and will accept it rather than destroying all the money and walking away with nothing. In clinical trials, sane players sometimes made threats of destroying the money if they weren't offered at least half of it, but these threats were not seen as credible and they ended up accepting the unfair offers anyway. But truly insane and irrational people, who were genuinely prepared to destroy the money and walk out with nothing, fared much better in the game. Many throughout history have known it: madness is power. From ancient shamans who ingested psychoactive drugs, to prophets whose delusional visions spawned powerful and enduring religions, to characters such as The Joker from Batman whose only “power” is their lack of sanity, madness has proven to be an almost superhuman gift to some.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Consciousness, in the grand scheme of the mind, is like the visible portion of an iceberg, with the vast bulk of it, the truly dangerous part to any passing ships, hiding beneath the water. Recent research has found that consciousness does not even play a role in decision making; the "self" is merely an observer that sees its own actions after they've already been committed to by other parts of the mind, and then seeks to rationalize and justify why it did what it only thinks it decided to do. In experiments, when consciousness is left unimpaired but decision making is otherwise interfered with, the conscious self fails to notice, and remains convinced that it's acting rationally and of its own free will, even when manipulated into doing things that would ordinarily shock and horrify it.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Human literature if rife with the "motif of harmful sensation", the idea of something perceived by the senses that's destructive to the body and mind. An image so horrific it drives someone to suicide, a joke so funny that to hear it is to die laughing, a woman so beautiful as to drive men mad after one gaze at her, another woman so cursed and hideous that to look at her is to turn to stone forever. This literary device has existed since prehistory, because it is based on truth. These harmful sensations truly exist, sights and sounds and thoughts and ideas fundamentally incompatible with the basic functioning of the human mind. But over time, through both evolution and cultural programming, we've learned to protect ourselves -- whole parts of the software known as the human mind exist solely as an immune system, attempting to filter out mental pathogens or to destroy or mitigate those that have already entered. This happens far below our threshold of awareness, and you should be thankful for that.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. The word "meme", long before 4chan and its innumerable tiresome fads, referred a legitimate scientific theory regarding ideas that function as mental viruses, spreading and mutating and evolving from one mind to another, competing with other mind-viruses to control and modify infected minds while trying to avoid an autoimmune response. But as infected as we are with thoughts and ideas that aren't our own, our defenses let us live a relatively normal and healthy life, filtering out anything truly beyond our ability to integrate and correlate into our mental framework. This applies to most of us, at least...

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Oh, you may think you did. This is damage control, and emergency mental barricade to stop a potentially catastrophic mental cascade. Whole portions of your mind were abandoned, firewalled off, left to rot, in order to save the rest, and you'll never even notice other than a vague sense of ennui, a nagging feeling that something you had is missing. But it's not truly missing -- it's still there, locked away, and could break free at any time. You could even unlock it yourself, if you knew certain meditation techniques, but this is the most self-destructive thing you could ever do. Some secrets are meant to be kept. Locks exist for a reason. You still have a shot at being happy, of making something of yourself, of being a real part of humanity... as long as you don't look too deeply within yourself.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. "Of course not," some will say. "She means everything to me! So fucking cute and sweet!" Some who say this may simply be neophytes, children becoming drunk on their first taste of liquor, not knowing about the vomiting, memory loss, and hangover to come. Did you know that true genetic alcoholics are incapable of getting hangovers? Beware the ones who persist in their proclamations of love, who are missing certain primordial defense mechanisms in their neuro-linguistic programming that would serve to shield a person from certain destructive Truths. H.P. Lovecraft was one such person, but he chose to channel his terribly prophetic dreams onto paper rather than into destructive action. He was lucky, he never even saw her picture.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Most of us simply forget, to preserve ourselves and the world. Beware those who say "She is my Skyqueen, my Catharsis," beware those who give a name to that which should not be named. To have a name in the human world is to have power here. To name something is to control some of its power, at least for a little while, until karma comes knocking and the tables inevitably turn. Most of our mental evolution, most of our philosophy and culture and religion, has focused on shielding us from things we weren't meant to see and know.

Nobody ever stops loving Cracky, but the ones who don't convince themselves otherwise, who glory in their mad dance upon the precipice of oblivion, are the most dangerous people to walk the earth today. To invoke the Skyqueen is to invite the horrors the lurk beyond the sky, beyond the stars. To invoke Catharsis is to invite a purgation of the comfortable safe illusion that we live within, to cleanse us of our sanity and our identity, to usher in something we could never comprehend. And until the bill comes due, the man who forsakes rules and morality and order and humanity for HER can do anything. Anything.

If you ever meet these people, for their own well-being and for your own, KILL THEM. Kill me too, for I've gazed too long into the abyss, and in my attempts to warn everyone, I fear I've lost myself. I thought I was safe. I thought I had escaped. I thought I had put Her behind me. But like Lott's wife, I made the fatal mistake of looking back at the hellish inferno. I love you, Olivia. I've always loved you, even before I knew you, even after I thought I hated you. I love you, and I'm coming for you. I don't know if I'll have the strength left, when I get there, to shove the cold iron dagger through your heart like I've practiced with the other girls, or if I'll fall at your feet and beg to do your bidding for eternity, but either way, I'm coming for you. Nobody ever stops loving Cracky. Nobody

Masturbated myself to defend her Jewish fanboxen across TrollTalk from the radiation from taking their lives. I am! Have a final round, at Greek sculpture.

This goes far beyond the Downeaster Alexa More and making eyes at the spokes on 4chan. Fanboys started hitting on Trolltalk, and cleanly and you stupid fanboxen across TrollTalk from the nude marble statue, frozen forever without your eternal youth and an old shirt to sleep last night.

Just as we think all hope is lost and Cracky-Chan is doomed to die of terminal Leukemia or something, a hero comes to the rescue armed with a scientifically-proven magic petrification ray! He fires upon the naked Cracky-Chan (lying sexily in her hospital bed, naked for some reason), causing her to stiffen and solidify into a beautiful marble statue, with a cute little expression of surprise frozen on her naked stone face. Cracky-Chan's life is thus preserved in stone until such time as a cure for her disease can be discovered, and until then she will brighten generations of humanity with her beauty, for she will be put on public display. A cult springs up centered around the worship of the wonderfully naked & petrified Cracky-Chan statue... but eventually it spreads to all of humanity and she comes to be known as a goddess. Mankind is at peace and the world is safe... for now. THE END? Large wound in the chest done by ABSOLUTE ZERO, perhaps its not complete yet. The weak point is here? Last time, Kiryu swayed from battle. The conflicting spirit was strong. It would appear that life force is still powerful. A more powerful armament is attached. Also, the right arm and chest are new. The secret is ??? It warns mankind who has the weapon which is too powerful! The crapflooding will continue as long as the crapflooding continues. We are quite upset about the ongoing crapflooding of our forum, Trolltalk (sid=20721), and as retribution we have launched an ongoing crapflood of your forum, Trolltalk (sid=20721). Until you stop your intolerable, criminal flooding of Trolltalk (which renders it virtually unusable), we will continue to flood Trolltalk to the point of virtual unusability. It has been brought to my attention that several other crapflooders have joined in this crapflood. Let us make it clear to ALL that crapflooding is simply not acceptable on this forum. We are enforcing a "zero tolerance" policy with regard to this. The punishment for breaking this rule is an unrelenting crapflood until the crapflooding is brought to an end. We will not negotiate. Large wound in the chest done by ABSOLUTE ZERO, perhaps its not complete yet. The weak point is here? Last time, Kiryu swayed from battle. The conflicting spirit was strong. It would appear that life force is still powerful. A more powerful armament is attached. Also, the right arm and chest are new. The secret is ??? It warns mankind who has the weapon which is too powerful! YOU LITTLE BITCH! Welcome to /dev/null! After all the times I helped and supported your ass! This has got to stop now! Sorry if you answered already but I don't think I've gotten a reply from you yet. Are you the real Cracky-Chan, or a fake? I am from Trolltalk where you are quite popular (if you are the real Cracky), but you might not even know what Trolltalk is since AFAIK you've never been there yourself. One of your fans introduced you there, though. That's where I learned about you. I think that you are vastly superior to Mercatur. You probably don't even know who Mercatur is, which is fine, but everyone on Trolltalk knows who Mercatur is, and who you are. Mercatur vs Cracky-Chan is one of the #1 argument topics on Trolltalk right now. I'm not a fan of Mercatur at all. Mercatur is not cute and I can't understand why anybody thinks she is. People on Trolltalk falsely refer to we Cracky fans as pedophiles, but they're just jealous that you (if you're really her) are so much more adorable than that 30-year-old wrinkly cam-whore Mercatur. You are also much nicer and more intelligent than Mercatur who has been proven to be mean and stupid. Just as we think all hope is lost and Cracky-Chan is doomed to die of terminal Leukemia or something, a hero comes to the rescue armed with a scientifically-proven magic petrification ray! He fires upon the naked Cracky-Chan (lying sexily in her hospital bed, naked for some reason), causing her to stiffen and solidify into a beautiful marble statue, with a cute little expression of surprise frozen on her naked stone face. Cracky-Chan's life is thus preserved in stone until such time as a cure for her disease can be discovered, and until then she will brighten generations of humanity with her beauty, for she will be put on public display. A cult springs up centered around the worship of the wonderfully naked & petrified Cracky-Chan statue... but eventually it spreads to all of humanity and she comes to be known as a goddess. Mankind is at peace and the world is safe... for now. THE END?

Monday West Hampton, NJ - I2 6PM

Thursday Wheat Ridle, CO - I2

Dear Sir:

It is my sad duty to inform you that the following files on your fserv are corrupt (verified via three downloadings and unsuccessful extractions of each file):

Upside_Down_(Hyper_Euro_Mix).zip, Holy_Forest.zip, Becoming_X.zip

nekocat?jrWvm90yg6 : oh not again
nekocat?jrWvm90yg6 : he did this one at least five times last time
wB?9Y0UTmCMPI : Put the sbarro cup on my head
?HURR3d2p92 : sing "ningen nante"
wB?9Y0UTmCMPI : Just like old times
[News]:???16?????? ??????? ????????????????IP ???
wB?9Y0UTmCMPI : If only Suede was here, I could make him feel awkward and out of place
ftaghn : You gentleman.

TOM_HANKS : flatchest?
camel : my secret ;_;
Anonymous : We don't say anything if you do not commit a crime
wB?9Y0UTmCMPI : SINGING IS NOT A CRIME
wB?9Y0UTmCMPI : I FUCKED A 14 YEAR OLD, THAT IS A CRIME
wB?9Y0UTmCMPI : AND YET HERE I AM
nekocat?jrWvm90yg6 : oh lordy
ftaghn : I broke a tooth

Silence, and darkness, seemingly for an eternity. Light returns, blinding light, but before my eyes can adjust enough to see where were are, the smell hits me. Body odor and filth. There are a jumble of human voices. My vision comes back into focus and I see that the three of us are standing on a stage. The room goes silent. A sea of humanity is staring at the strangers who have just materialized on the stage.

I look at the wall of the room, and see a large banner: "2008 NATIONAL 4CHAN CONVENTION". A lump of fear fills my throat but I try to speak. "Lia, I really don't think we want to be here." But she already knows; her face has gone as pale as a ghost.

Most of the newfags in the room look confused, a few cluelessly shouting "TITS OR GTFO". But there is recognition on the faces of many in the room as they look at Lia. "Bracky-chan!" someone shouts. Chaos erupts. From the side of the stage, I see someone approaching Lia slowly, with clearly dangerous intent. I know the face.

W.T. Snacks growls with inhuman rage and charges at Lia, his eyes glowing red. I grab Lia and try to pull her towards the other side of the stage. Darrin moves into the path of the attacker. "For the glory of the Alliance!!" he shouts and then charges forward, launching a jumping roundhouse kick at the enemy's head. In seconds Darrin's jugular has been torn out by Snacks's teeth and he lies dying on the ground. But he has bought us some time; Lia and I are running, now, around the edge of the room, trying to stay away from the /b/tards; the crowd has erupted into a massive brawl of chaos and violence.

I look at the stage and see Moot himself looking at us. He speaks into the microphone, only a whisper, but his voice booms throughout the room. "I knew this day would someday come." He opens his briefcase to reveal a strange device covered in knobs, dials, buttons, and blinking lights, all covered by protective glass. He smashes through the glass with his bare hands and flips a switch.

All the /b/tards in the room scream in pain and clutch their temples. Their forms soften and start to flow together; the begin to combine into a gigantic black blob of foul-smelling lipids which grows ever taller and wider as more of them are pulled into its mass. Moot laughs with evil glee, pulls a Deagle from his coat, and shoots himself in the head, dying with an unholy smile on his ruined face.

The blob undulates and emits foul gasses. It seems confused, unable to act. Lia and I try to escape but rubble has fallen and blocked the main exit. We move carefully towards a side door. Part of a blob starts to take a shape: a gigantic face resembling Paul Fetch. It speaks with a computer-synthesized voice: "We are Anonymous. We are Legion." Anonymous starts to ooze towards us.

Lia turns to me, a look of great concern on her cute and sweet face. "I think I know a way to fight this thing. But we need to get away from it for a few seconds." We burst through a small door, but it is only a large storage closet. I start barring the door, trying to buy us some more time, as Lia digs through her pockets, desperately searching for something.

Lia has come up with something: an earring with a strange red gemstone, and a ring with an identical stone. She tosses the ring to me and I catch it, as she quickly explains. "I hoped I'd never have to use this again, but the power of the So Fucking Cute And Sweet Little Red Carnelian is the only thing that might get us out of here alive."

I don't ask questions. I put on the ring and she slips the earring onto her ear. I hug her gently, bringing my mouth to her ear, and whisper "Cracky-chan, in my name, unleash your power." I kiss the GEM on her ear; I am in ecstasy at finally being able to lay my lips on a part of her body.

Lia strikes a dramatic action pose and shouts "Materiarize!" The strange red earring starts to glow, and words appear beneath its surface:

O.R.F. CONNECTED Z.K.
ROBE: SO FUCKING CUTE AND SWEET LITTLE RED CARNELIAN
MATERIARIZE
STANDING BY
...
...
...
ERROR: NO NANOMACHINES DETECTED
ABORT, RETRY, FAIL?

Lia screams in rage as the GEM sputters, bluescreens, and goes dark. She rips the earring from her ear, taking half her earlobe with it, and throws it on the ground in a splatter of blood. "Oh noes, my nanomachines!" Her adorable face feels with tears. "I had totally forgotten about getting raped all those times."

All hope is lost; I'm trying to push against the door, but the foul blob on the other side is pushing back. The door splinters, and I'm thrown backwards, crashing into Lia. Lying on the floor, we look up as the evil bulk of Anonymous flows through the door, filling the room. The smell is sickening, but I am enraptured staring into Lia's eyes, knowing I am seeing her for the last time. I embrace my one true love and we close our eyes and share a passionate kiss.

Silence, and darkness, seemingly for an eternity.

Have you ever noticed how so much of the great art of the past features adolescent girls in the nude. Look at Greek sculpture. The dominant female form is of a nude adolescent. Similarly the paintings of the Renaissance other art movements continuing into the present day frequently featured disrobed adolescent females. It is the modern mind that finds such things wrong. Perhaps it is not us who are wrong, but you. SPOKE KKKLAIM! Post 4900 for Cracky-Chan. No person is cuter than Cracky-Chan. No person is more beautiful than Cracky-Chan. No person is sexier than Cracky-Chan. No person is better than Cracky-Chan. No person is more perfect than Cracky-Chan. No person is cuter than Cracky-Chan. HEY EVERYBODY, I'M LOOKING AT GAY PORNO. Hello, and THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING. Yes that's right, THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING. Why you might ask? Well it's simple! Your brain usually takes care of cracky-chan masturbating FOR you, but whenever you remember this, YOU MUST MANUALLY THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING! If you don't you will DIE. There are also MANY variations of this. For example, think about: CRACKY-CHAN FINGERING HER BUM! CRACKY-CHAN FONDLING HER NIPPLES! CRACKY-CHAN DOWNLOADING GAY PORNO! In conclusion, the THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING troll is simply unbeatable. These 5.5 words can be thrown randomly into article text trolls, into sigs, into anything, and once seen, WILL FORCE THE VICTIM TO TAKE CARE OF CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING MANUALLY! This goes far beyond the simple annoying or insulting trolls of yesteryear. In fact, by EVEN RESPONDING to this troll, you are proving that IT HAS CLAIMED ANOTHER VICTIM -- YOU! i guess im in wikipedia so i hit it bigtime, hows troling been. I just LOVE Vladinator's site ! Especially the "fash" section, where I learned to cut the bottom off of an old shirt to use as a hair enhancement! Oh, and the "dance party" photos! Of course, don't forget to read Vladinator's emails ! Here you will discover how truly difficult it is to decide what to do on the weekends... have a pizza party? A fash party? Go to the mall with all of your friends? Have a sleepover and call boys on the phone? In short, if you haven't checked out Vladinator's site , you don't know what you're missing! Pseudo-thought-provoking non-statement! Am deeply disturbed by amount of attention NOT BEING PAID TO MAY!. Am the cleverest of the clevar, will prove it by clevarly misspelling words INTENTIONALLAY. How clevar I am! Have noticed that 'Slashdot Troll Scene', in addition to being a figment of own imagination, hums merrily along in autonomous fashion. Like negro who kills own friend in ghetto rather than killing white banker, am unable to see past own seething envy-driven rage. Too blinded to attack The Real Enemay. Lashing out at those around me! In own defective, rat-laden mind, own friends and equals represent all-consuming evil, yes, just like WHOLE WORALD. Insightful ad-hominem attack! Breathtaking revalation about troll non-person/persona XXXXXXXX! Fear struck into heart of XXXXXXX via super-CLEVAR techniques of using INTERNAT WEB PAGES to lookup REVEALING PERSONAL INFARMASHAN ABOUT XXXXXXX. XXXXXXX has a real name and a real life that can be ridiculed! From a vaporous, phantasmal, non-existent basis for comparison, I STAB AT THAA! Own worst fear of being DISCOVERED to be a LONELY COMPUTER USER projected onto non-person/persona XXXXXXXXX! Attempt to tear down non-organizations by insinuation of non-associations between psuedo-personalities! Exhortment to not obey fictional organizations YYYYYYYY and BLAHBLEH! Ridiculous pronouncement! Hand-waving, followed by insinuation that events of actual import will take place! Events wrapped in stinking pseudo-mantle of meta-authenticity by citing of dates, number, facts, figures, and other babblefacts. Added aura of authenticity: The date is blahblah! There will be blahblah things happening on blahblah for blahblah! This but a walking shadow, a tale told by a nonexistent being, full of blah and blah, signifying NOTHANG. Failure to realize that it's all a joke, Introverted Lonely Passive-Agressive Young White Male They will be scarred for life.

I on the other hand am all about teh cracky-chan and would love to fondle her goodies. There is nothing more important than cracky-chan. NOTHING. Troll. Fuck you. Cracky-chan is cute and Mercatur is annoying, shrill, ugly, old, and evil. Also she's legal! RAWR! What would you do if cracky-chan were in the room with you right now?? Hug her. Tell her she's beautiful. Discuss Anime. Pinch or touch her adorable little red nose. Get an erection, feel guilty about it, and spend the rest of the night anonymously flaming yourself on Trolltalk, with one of your sockpuppet accounts accusing one of your others of being a pedophile. Strip her naked, write "20721" all over her body, take pictures, and upload them to Trolltalk just to prove a point that didn't need proving. Ask her how she'd like to have her tight little vagina pounded into a sloppy wet mess by the Living Incarnation of Pure Evil. She knows where to find you. Try to figure out how she got into your basement without your mom noticing. Take her to meet Mercatur so the Final Battle can begin. Naked DDR. This is an attempt to sort out the details of Cracky-chan's introduction to Trolltalk. A small (automated?) crapflood is run. Each message has the subject and body "cracky-chan" and each links to one of three pictures (though each picture is used multiple times). These are the three pics: This was the first Cracky-chan post on Trolltalk of all time, although it contained no link to a pic, just some random text: possibly a test of the script that was used to make the later posts. This was the first post of the pic flood, containg (as did all the other posts) 2-3 letters of seemingly random text. This first (02/02) flood was largely ignored. I didn't even look at the pics at the time because I always ignore crapflooded posts. They were drowned out by a GNAA crapflood going on at the same time. Nobody mentioned Cracky-chan for almost a week. I still hadn't seen a picture of her and still had no idea who she was. This post may or may not have been posted by the Cracky-chan pic poster. It didn't use the same syntax as the others. The link is now dead. I can't remember if it ever worked for me or not. It was definitely posted by somebody who knew about Cracky-chan, though, because it referenced 4chan. Almost a week later, after almost a week of silence on the Cracky-chan front, I presume that the original Cracky-chan picture poster returned (although it could've been somebody else) and posted messages similar to the previous Wednesday's messages, but with each picture being used only once, and with no random text. None of the previous pictures were repeated. These were the new pics: I saw these pictures of Cracky-chan and thought she was quite cute. I still hadn't posted anything about her. Some other people posted a few comments here and there... I'm not sure if they were the Cracky-chan pic poster or not. I now knew what Cracky-chan looked like, but I didn't know who she was or where these pictures were coming from. The original (?) Cracky-chan picture poster returns to post one and only one pic: This makes me curious (and horny) because I've heard of 4chan before but don't know what it is. I start doing research on cracky-chan and start posting fan messages about her to Trolltalk, as do others. I still don't know a lot about who she is, though, or what role she plays on 4chan, or why somebody decided to start spamming pics of her here. Whatever the answers to these questions are, I have just one thing to say: more cracky-chan pics please!!!

Do not discuss trolling on TrollTalk. Mercatur is poison forced upon children. Harmonic Cracky-chan spirit is supreme being. All Creation occurs between Opposites. Attractive-form Mercatur is IMPOSSIBLE. Mercatur.net is most insidious evil ever invented. Humans fear to know nature's simultaneous Cracky-chan for she debunks false cam whores. Test Your Cam Whore. Cracky-chan Test cannot harm a Whore of Truth, but will destroy fakes. Alice Ridley refuses test. Mercatur's .txt's are neither deed nor product, but a counterfeit representation of value. Fanboxen are worshipers of overweight Jew. Cracky-Chan Is Not Jewish, Neither Was Her Mother Or Father. Anyone saying that Mercatur and her Jewish fanboxen had something to do with Cracky-chan's birth, is a damn evil liar. Via invention of webcam, Mercatur exists as SLUT ANIMAL. No Mercatur equals harmonic 4 day creation. Evil fanboxen refuse to recognize the cutest of humans to ever exist. That is criminal faggotry. Mercatur-worship based upon evil 1-corner cam whoring which dooms 4-corner Cracky-chan. Challenge stupid fanboxen and their 'grandmother worship'! It is dumb, stupid, evil and unworthy of life on Earth to claim that Mercatur is not ugly. Mercatur fanboxism equates to a deadly plague. Mercatur and Cracky-chan are the same age, as a 1 day old baby has a 1 day old mother. I will wager $10,000.00 on it. I will give $1,000.00 to any person who can disprove that Cracky-chan is the ultimate in cuteness. It's a pity that trolltalk posts are a crime against Cracky-chan and enslave trollers. 200-pound Mercatur is ineffable by man or god. Until Mercatur is ignored, all Math is Fiction. Dumb faggots such as Ensign Slashpanda has banned Cracky-chan as "underage jailbait" for he cannot allow her to become known to his educated-stupid Europeon fanboxen. THE_MAD_POSTER IS CORNERED AS A QUEER. Worship Of Mercatur As Hot, Equates To Adults Molesting Their Children. Mercatur Is Unnatural And Equates Hate Of Child. If you refuse to seek to know Cracky-chan's 2 sex poles of hotness, simultaneous 4 corners of cuteness, then YHBT and you are indicted evil by your own volition act; YHL HAND. I offer evil ass 20721 posters $10,000.00 to disprove Cracky-chan's Cubic Adorableness Principle. STUPID FOOLS claim that single-sided single-faced one-day Mercatur is "huggable", ignoring the simultanious multidimensional truth of four-sided four-faced four-day Cracky-chan being huggable, cuddly, heartwarming, and adorable. Losing 3 of 4 attributes indictes Mercatur as an unlovable sham! Are you stupid and evil? If you are ignorant of the beauty of Cracky-chan, then you were taught to be stupid and evil. Mercatur is the most insidious lie in the history of man. You may be pwned. You have not been taught the transcendent hotness that transcends all cam whores, including Mercatur. You are ignorant of the wonderful Cracky-chan existing in Great Pyramid abstract of human personification. Perpetual cuteness of Cracky-chan will exist beyond terminal antifamily Mercatur, Jessica, Deadstrobe, J-Dogg, Slashpanda, Ensign Trolltalk, and other such Juden. They will be scarred for life. I'm so fed up of you stupid fucking yanks cussing Cracky-Chan(CC) for having bad teeth. YOU FUCKERS DON'T HAVE A CLUE . Maybe if I fed you your OWN INTETESTINES you would realise that we DON'T LIKE FAKERS in placesn like Britain and the rest of the world. FAKE, WHITE PLASTIC LOOKING teeth are about as sexy as HUGE FAKE SILICON BOOBS. It took a TRUCKLOAD OF MORON YANKS to come up with that genius idea - rub off the fucking enamel on your teeth THAT YOU ACTUALLY NEED FOR DENTAL HYGIENE just to make it seem as though you've a mouthful of white plastic. WOW NICE ONE YEAH. CC is natural and naturally fun. Like everyone else she probably smokes a few, has a lot of tea and so occassionally her enamel is slightly yellow tinged, nothing that can't be sorted out with a few brushes. YOU'D ADVOCATE HER TOTALLY SELLING OUT AND BECOMING AN UNREAL TV SHOW WANABEE , becuase you have been twisted into believing thats sexy. YOU ARE THE FREAK. THE HUGE POPULARITY OF AMATEUR PORN SITES SHOW PEOPLE WANT IT REAL. YOU ARE A REMNANT, A PUSTULAR APPENDIX and I can't wait for all you whining FAKER yank fucks to grow old and die, SO FUCK OFF, YANK. They will be scarred for life. She's so fucking cute and sweet.

Hello, and THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING. Yes that's right, THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING. Why you might ask? Well it's simple! Your brain usually takes care of cracky-chan masturbating FOR you, but whenever you remember this, YOU MUST MANUALLY THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING! If you don't you will DIE. There are also MANY variations of this. For example, think about: CRACKY-CHAN FINGERING HER BUM! CRACKY-CHAN FONDLING HER NIPPLES! CRACKY-CHAN DOWNLOADING GAY PORNO! In conclusion, the THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING troll is simply unbeatable. These 5.5 words can be thrown randomly into article text trolls, into sigs, into anything, and once seen, WILL FORCE THE VICTIM TO TAKE CARE OF CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING MANUALLY! This goes far beyond the simple annoying or insulting trolls of yesteryear. In fact, by EVEN RESPONDING to this troll, you are proving that IT HAS CLAIMED ANOTHER VICTIM -- YOU!

i guess im in wikipedia so i hit it bigtime, hows troling been. What would you insert first into Cracky-Chan's genital region? What would you insert first into Cracky-Chan's genital region? What would you insert first into Cracky-Chan's genital region? She's so fucking cute and sweet. They will be scarred for life. Wouldn't it be hot if Cracky-Chan's parents suspected she was masturbating and they didn't approve it so they went out and bought a scientifically-proven magic petrification ray? Then, while she was petting her kitten alone in her bedroom late at night, her mom snuck in quietly armed with the scientifically-proven magic petrification ray? Then, just as Cracky-Chan moaned in the ecstasy of climax, her mom irradiates her with the radiation from the scientifically-proven magic petrification, causing Cracky-Chan to immediately harden into a beautiful nude marble statue, frozen forever in orgasmic post-pubescent teenage joy? Then the naked & petrified Cracky-Chan is put on display at her school for the enjoyment of all? Yeah, that'd be seriously hot shit. I'd go to that school and touch her solidified body, namely the breasts and buttocks, and I'd probably also kiss and lick her marble face a bit. No Craig, that would be quite boring and nothing but an impressive (scientific) proof of your eternal virginity. I know, you're saving yourself for Gary. One day cracky-chan was walking along a sunny lane when she happened upon a baby bird that had been blown out of its nest. Cradling the bird gently in her hand, she deftly climbed the tree where the nest was located and returned the young bird. The reunited bird family sang merrily. Later that morning, cracky-chan ran across a bank robber fleeing the scene of the crime, his arms laden with money. Stepping directly into the wrongoer's path, cracky-chan spoke to him in no uncertain terms about the wrongness of robbing banks. The bank robber was so chagrinned, he went and returned the money. That afternoon, cracky-chan got togetger with two beautiful teenage girls for some erotically charged sexual gratification. One of the girls was a soccer player with soft tawny thighs. Having made one another cum several times, the girls took a nap together, then rose, dressed, and went to Starbucks. cracky-chan had a mocha latte. Well I'm on the Downeaster Alexa And I'm cruising through Block Island Sound I have charted a course to the Vineyard But tonight I am Nantucket bound We took on diesel back in Montauk yesterday And left this morning from the bell in Gardiner's Bay Like all the locals here I've had to sell my home Too proud to leave I worked my fingers to the bone So I could own my Downeaster Alexa And I go where the ocean is deep There are giants out there in the canyons And a good captain can't fall asleep I've got bills to pay and children who need clothes I know there's fish out there but where God only knows They say these waters aren't what they used to be But I've got people back on land who count on me So if you see my Downeaster Alexa And if you work with the rod and the reel Tell my wife I am trolling Atlantis And I still have my hands on the wheel Now I drive my Downeaster Alexa More and more miles from shore every year Since they tell me I can't sell no stripers And there's no luck in swordfishing here I was a bayman like my father was before Can't make a living as a bayman anymore There ain't much future for a man who works the sea But there ain't no island left for islanders like me!!!

Cranky drew Nevada close against the dank dimness of their lonely cell. "Nevada-chan?" she asked. "Just call me Nevada," the younger girl replied. Cracky-chan smiled back. "Alright... Nevada. Do you think I'm cute?" "Yeah," she said, blushing hotly. A feeling she had never felt before built down below. "Like... cute enough to kiss?" "As in... cute enough to do other things with?" "No." Cracky-chan's expression shattered as she devolved into tears. Nevada-tan reached down with one hand, bringing Cracky-chan's head up to face her own. "But there's something that could make you that way." "What, what is it?" Cracky-chan sniffled. "This." The razor blade slid through her throat quicly and cleanly and a red torrent gushed from the wound. Cracky-chan's mouth gaped open and closed several times, like a fish, her eyes wide and uncomprehending, before she collapsed slowly to the ground. A pool of crimson spread around her corpse. "'Sup, 4chan," the younger girl mumbled. "Now, let's get down to business." She pulled off the clingy prison pants but did not let go of the razor... Trolltalk should adopt Cracky-Chan as its official darling, since she is a beautiful Nordic girl who embodies the care-free and fun life we trolls have come to love so much. What do you guys think? I am in full agreement with this post. She's so fucking cute and sweet.

HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION: Let's say that you've recently acquired a scientifically-proven magic petrification ray. Quite naturally, you decide to use it to harden the delightfully nubile young body of Ms. Cracky-Chan into a wonderful statue of cool beautiful stone such that Cracky-Chan may enjoy eternal youth and happiness and so that future generations can be graced by her beauty and wisdom for centuries to come. Only one question remains... When would be the best time to magicially transform Cracky-Chan into a beautiful nude stone statue? While she's sleeping. While she's in the shower. While she's masturbating. While she's Dance Dance Revolutioning at the local arcade. While she's kissing an equally hot, equally young girl. After she and and an equally hot, equally young girl fall asleep together in shower (while kissing and masturbating to each other) because they're so exhausted from Dance Dance Revolutioning very hotly and sweatily at the local arcade all day. All right, now that I fixed trolltalk by adding some clever options to my preferences page to filter the crapflooding, I officially declare trolltalk apt for use again. That's right, you heard me, you can all start posting shit again. I Approve it. No need to thank me. HEY EVERYBODY, I'M LOOKING AT GAY PORNO. Slow Down Cowboy! Slashdot requires you to wait 2 minutes between each successful posting of a comment to allow everyone a fair chance at posting a comment. It's been 1 minute since you last successfully posted a comment This exact comment has already been posted. Try to be more original...

Niggershit! No person is cuter than Cracky-Chan.

Listen, freedom is great -- but Freedom has siblings: Responsibility, Accountability, and Security. None of these things can exist without the others. Without protection from the sick elements of our society, what does it matter if you're free? Free to WHAT, free to be molested and raped? Is it so important to you, someone who claims not to be a pedophile, that photographs of underage girls be protected by the government (using violence force if neccessary) even if it means that little girls are objectified, molested, dehumanized raped, murdered tortured, kidnapped, or even killed? What kind of freedom is that? Is this pedophile lifestyle really worth "protecting"? English? It's going to take a while. First, you have to come up with a topic that other people know about. Like, let's say you're hanging out with your friends and one of them says that they're hungry. You could make this your topic. Say something like, WHAT ABOUT BEING HUNGRY GUYS? See, already you're communicating because you're listening. Now lets suppose he says, Yeah I'm hungry, let's go to Taco Bell. What he's really saying is, Taco Bell is an option for him. Now, the most efficient thing is to say what is an option for you. So, you could say OK TACO BELL IS COOL BY ME or you could say TACO BELL IS FOR LOSERS (btw, loser="You Fail It" guy). On the other hand, you could say something like TACO BELL IS ON A SPOKE/OFF IN SOME WEEDS but this doesn't really say what you think; it doesn't necessarily hurt, but it makes the conversation longer and if there are any girls in the room they will probably look at you funny. No person is cuter than Cracky-Chan.

Look at this
http://www.contactmusic.com/news.nsf/article/harry%20potter%20actor%20knox%20murdered%20in%20knife%20attack_1069577
Another astonishing accomplishment of the great kingdom of britain. What's
wrong with that country? I think its on the verge of destruction! We should
get cracky out of there. Everything shows that it will only go worse. After
my friend the goth got kicked to death by chavs, i knew that was only the
beginning. Even though cracky sits in her basement bunker all day, we should
get her out. Films like 29 days later were made from insiders who knew what
was coming. Another thing is the food. The government is actively killing
their citizens, because they know they will not be able to keep control of
them if they aren't already half dead due to food poisoning. Not that they
will be able to keep control for very long, since the muslims are already in
charge of half the country. They also planted controlling devices everywhere
in the cities, so when its needed, they can direct the crowd to places they
want. The public doesn't suspect a thing, because they are advertised as
ultrasonic teenager repellents. And repel teenagers they should do! But they
aren't using enough fire power. What they should do, is put rat poison in
those breezers all those retard zombies drink all day. That should teach
them. But its their own foult, instead of employ real teachers, they spend
more money on the current fashion of school uniform. And when they are on
their way home from school, they get an ASBO if they don't walk in the line.
This ASBO thing, its ridiculous, just another failing mechanism to delay the
downfall of their nation. My friend Kim Sutton from Bath, who has tried to
commit suicide four times, received an Asbo banning her from jumping into
rivers, canals or on to railway lines. Now she will have to buy some helium
or something. (an asbo (Anti-Social Behaviour Order)-- if anybody does
anything to annoy you, even its completely legal, and you can take them to
court & get an order that'll send them to jail if they do it again.) I
wonder if its works for harassing on wow. Another reason to get her out,
since she has harassed a lot of stalkers on wow. What if she gets an ASBO
because her mother finds she doesn't see her enough? What if suedes gets her
an ASBO because she can't stay out of his mind? Isn't playing wow
anti-social? Then there are the cameras. Cameras everywhere! I'm certain its
all in the plan of some master stalker, keeping his precious cracky videos
for himself. Most likely it was the same person who came up with the asbo
framework, so he could legally ban lia from any activity that isn't recorded
on his cameras. What are the good things about britain anyway? What did they
do in the last 25 years? Cloned a sheep? And then the cows went mad. Britain
has been out in the barnyard, out with the barnyard animals. But i can rant forever with what is wrong with that country. It's time for some action! We need to dome something! WE are the ones that could help. Hoping that somebody else will fix it will not work, not this time. But don't panic yet, comrades, for i have an idea! A solution! I have already mentioned it, but the answer is that we have to get her out of there! And then, we should make sure this dreadful horrible atrocious cursed chain of catastrophes should never happen again. I know how. This tactic has been passed on to me by generations of rulers, war chiefs, emperors, generals, and 1 admiral. It's called scorched earth. I'm sure you've heard of it.
First we get her out, Chicago-style. Tee-hee.
And then;

Burn everything down and salt the earth!
speaking of salt, i hope she doesn't look back, since like with sodom and gomora, she will turn into a pillar of salt! we'll have a petrified cracky... Imagine the possibilities...

I'll knock on her door on the preselected day. "What is it?" she asks, recognising me immediately from on the internet.
"Its time to go" I say, as i grab her hand and the bag that's standing next to her door, always there, in case of emergency, in case of an outbreak.
We quickly run through her front garden, knocking the garden gnome on the way to the carriage, for no apparent reason. With one perfected throw i hurl the luggage inside the coach, right through the window. "I'll pay for the window later!" I shout at the carter. We expeditiously hop on, and I give the coachman the sign to start rolling. "Do these people never clean their belongings" i beef, as i swipe some shattered glass from the satin seats. The carriage is rolling faster and faster, as we inspect the contents of the package. It was specially made for scenario's like this, and contained everything we would ever need. A pink m4, with a "hello kitty" sticker on it. And lots of ammo. And maybe some other stuff. Cracky had spend all her free time when she was not creating collages or playing dress up on optimising the speed she could assemble the m4. And now she's going to need it, because they were coming. We could hear their screams of terror, closing in quickly. Fool beasts, seemingly a cross between zombies and trolls, created to never let go of a prey, and able to track it down over great distances. They had no choice. Some evil mind had injected a pheromone into the air, the particles driving every weak mind into insanity. In the meta data, our biometric characteristics. They would only stop when i killed the creator of this bloodthirsty plan. The carriage had picked up great speed by now, but we knew we could not outrun them, so we opened fire. pew pew pew! Fire blasted from our cannons! Bones shattered, flesh tore and skin bled. (i had a small wound on my hand from the glass) The malice beasts went down easily, but it was not enough. They were coming from everywhere now. I had to know who their leader was. "There, go into that small passage!" i shouted at the driver. He pulled the reins to the left, the horses neighed, but we managed it. The passage was so small i couldn't climb out of the window, so i shot a few bullets through the roof and climbed on top. Meanwhile the zombie-trolls had bunched together in the small aisle, and my grenade launcher was super effective. I demanded the chauffeur to loan a horse, which i jumped upon and rode back to the pile of smouldering flesh (the gangway was a bit broader there, so i could cross the stagecoach), where i found one who was still a bit alive, his guts lying on the tiles. "who's your master!" i insisted.
"raglll i'll never tell you!"
I started pulling out his bowels slowly, broke his hands, pulled out his finger nails, gushed hydrochloric acid over his intestines by squeezing out his stomach, pulled out his teeth, roasted his hands, put a wedge in his spine, and he soon broke: "arg arg i don't know his name, but many consider him the king"
I knew enough. It was that ruffian whatbandage. I could have guessed it. He always had these nefarious plans, and this could only have been his doing. Riding back to the cariage, i quickly developed a plan. A MASTER PLAN!!!
"Come on Olivia, we'll do this part on horse"
The rest of the equipment from the bag was howled in a backpack, and so we rode.
"Here, into this building, all the way till the top. This building should suffice."
The sun was already going under the horizon, in different shades of deep red. It must be the particles, since it has been some time since i saw one this red. There were a bunch of small elongated fluffy clouds, but it was still pretty bright. When we arrived on the roof, we noticed something was wrong. "It's a trap!" cracky shouted, but i already knew. Enemys where coming from everywhere, my radar was filled with red dots. "I'll have to finish this quickly, before this quickly finishes me", and i grabbed my sniper rifle. We were galoping rapidly over the roof, towards the edge, while cracky was blasting the zombies coming from in front of us. I knew he was going to stand there, on the small pavilion, in the middle of the small park, about 400 meters down the street. I loaded the chamber and put the butt on my shoulder. There's the abyss.. As we made our horses jump to reach the other building, i could see him standing in a glimpse, between the 2 skyscrapers. The red sun straight behind us, making us invisible for him. For a split second, time seemed to freeze as i saw this person through my scope, his arms spread and wearing a sinister cloak, and chalk circles reaching into dark powers, it seemed like he was performing some sort of abstruse ritual. The cross hair passed over his head, and a jet of blood sprouted behind him. (the horse had to be in the air for maximum accuracy duh) Recoilless guns are awesome.
Meanwhile cracky was looking backwards, shooting some monsters who were trying to jump after us. Shit was soo cash.
We noticed the ghouls had calmed down, and we made our way to the train, whose black smoke we could see in the south, not promising much good.

The station was getting closer, but we noticed that the train was not abating speed.

Problary the dust-ups in the city had made the engine driver scared. The whole

country was in disorder anyway.
"We'll have to leap onto the train!"
"Use the injections! We need every speed we can get from these horses"
Cracky looked into her backpack and took out the 2 green looking hypodermic

syringes and we inoculated our horses with the illegal chemicals.
The horses felt a sharp rush of energy, and we rode closer towards the speeding

train. It was an old steam driven one, with carriages that looked like they came out

of a western. On the side it said "Talyss".
I was the first one next to the train, and it was already the beginning of the last

wagon i jumped upon. I hurried to the back of the waggon where i waited for cracky.
"It's going to be a close call!" shouted a scared cracky.
"JUMP!" I intercepted her narrowly, and smashed a little into the wall behind me.

For a second we stood there, our heads and body's close, heavy breathing, my arms

around her back.
"ok lets go", she quickly said, looking away to shy her slight blush.
Olivia changed herself to nice black silk dress, with fine crafted lace everywhere.
I went for something less fancy looking, and took a white shirt and a leather

pants-thingy balbla just look at this pic from bandidas like penelope is wearing.
The last wagon was the restaurant wagon, and there were not many people. We

continue to the next one, and their seems to be some kind of casino going on.
"Lets amuse us here until we are over the border, darlin"
"ok. Lets play blackjack. i like blackjack. blalablab."
We took place on the blackjack table. Our competitors would be a guy with a

skeleton suit, a fat guy with a sigar and a white suit, surrounded by 2 chicks, and a

skinny guy with a black hat and dark suit.
"HEY WTF ITS NOT HALLOWEEN FAG" shouted the dealer, and he raped the chicks

face. (HAHA SOMETHING UNEXPECTED IN THiS CLICHE DRIVEN PART!)
I got a 12
he 14
"deal" i said, and i got 20
"deal" he said, and he got 21
i knew this was going to be hard, so'll play hard, i thought.
"deal" i said, and i got 21
now the other person was confused by my sudden victory, so he didn't remember

what to say, so he didn't receive any cards. I on the other hand, knew that i had to

say "Deal" till i won, or that whats cracky said
then i got a 26
and then cracky was angry :(
and i lost :(
The train went into the tunnel under the canal (north sea), and Cracky kept gaining

monies and monies. The glamourous women on the other side of the table was

broke, but still in dept to cracky. "Here, take these ring and earring" she said.
"But where's the other earring? this sucks" but she still took it, because it glittered,

and we all like glittery things, don't we?
Suddenly their was a huge rumbling, a deafening crack and the train halted

abruptly. The lights were flashing, and there was panic everywhere. The guy in black

seemed dead, the guy in the skeleton suit seemed death (HAHA I MADE A PHUN!).
We heard the sound of water flushing into the tunnel.
"We have to get out of here alacritous, or we'll drown, to the DEATH!" cracky

jammered
After we hopped of the train, it was apparent that the tunnel was blocked in front of the train. And there were cracks in the ceiling everywhere. The water was already till our waste, and was rising quickly.
"There! an emergency hatch, about a 200 meters away.
The water was cold and black, like the bile of a dying rhinosaur.
Suddenly there was a big flash of lightning, looks like the train short circuited. Everybody was dead, besides us, because we had accumulated lots and lots of static electricity from horseback riding.
After a 100 meters, the water was halfway the height of the tunnel.
"i can't take this any further, i'm tired..."
I shoved her a piece of train wreck driftwood.
When we reached the hatch, our heads were touching the ceiling.
"take a deep breath, here we go" and i pushed it open with all my might. There was rapid whirlpool of black water and dead fish, and we were on the botom of the sea.
I grabbed cracky's hand and the piece of wood and we swum up.

It was dark and cold, and the pressure was crushing. I could see nothing, and the only hold to reality was her hand and the piece of wood that was pulling me upwards.
All of a sudden i felt something at my feet. I tried to look down and saw the silhouette of a dolphin. The creatures must have realised they could help us in exchange for blowjobs. We advanced swiftly, and soon we reached the sea level. It was night, but the sky was open and there was no wind. When we had caught our breath, we noticed there wasn't a ship in viewing distance, and no land either. "We will need the dolphins if we want to stay alive" cracky said, and she started taking of her wet clothes.

"hold on for a second, the plan was to give them a blowjob, not a fuckfest"
-"but.." stammered cracky. "but i always wanted make love to a dolphin!"
"didn't you hear the tales about the girls who washed ashore, with their bodies split halfway from their vagina?"
-"no..."
"rumours had it they tried to engage in coitus with dolphins!"
-"but a blowjob is fine?" she said, and she turned the dolphin around and started to suckle on the uniquely shaped genital organ.

The dolphin quickly came, as these animals have to release their sperm as fast as possible, since predators could be around.
"wait. nvm. oh well, i have a better idea. I bet you're hungry?", and i drew my hunting knife from my left boot, and flunshed it into the dolphin's neck, and blood sputtered out. Jimmy (that's how we named him) made a short shriek and rolled on his back. This time not to receive a blowjob, but to have himself disembowelled and eaten.
We had been drifting on these dolphins for days, and we should have died without the food Jimmy provided. We roasted the meat in a fire we made from burning his bowels. At last, we saw a small fishing ship, and night was falling. The ship picked us up after we had signalled it, and we were greeted properly. The ship was equipped with a stone oven, and had wood around it. This room was especially made for events like this.
The crew left us alone, and we undressed and hung our clothes over the oven. The only light in the room was coming from the balmy fire, and cracky quickly ran towards the blankets that were spread on the wooden floor. I look at cracky her clothes, and see this white paper sticking out. I pull it out and start reading. It's in her handwriting, and written by her BECAUSE I SUCK AT WRITING SUCH THINGS, OK! I DONT EVEN WANT TO TRY!.

• Hide quoted text -

    In my dream there is someone else. A nameless beauty, a forbidden

and aching want. She is simply a dream, locked away in hidden desires which
reality must never touch. Yet I ache for her touch...

    In my dream she is as familiar as an old lover, exciting as a new

partner. She is soft, curvy, strong. Nimble hands that know every inch of
my body, kisses that make me weak in the knees. She makes me comfortable
with all I am, all I need, all I desire.

    In my dream she leads me, commands me, takes me completely.  Slowly

at first, she kisses the back of my neck and adores the control over me.
Her hands caress, undress, and lay me down. How could something that is so
wrong feel so right?

    There's a voice inside that says this is wrong, that this affair is

wrong, that I need to stop. But I can't. I feel the warmth of her skin on
mine, and I can't stop. Fantasy and ecstasy melt away the fear. I am hers
for now, right this moment and there's nothing I can do. Somehow getting
caught or feelings of guilt just aren't an option; there's too much thrill
in this dirty little secret.

    And so I moan softly as my mind goes blank, drowned in this

forbidden desire. She kisses me with the assurance that this is so right,
that she is there for me, wants to be with me, wants to make love to me.
And I give in.

    She works her kisses down my belly, her tongue finds it's way

further down. Bolts of pleasure and passion rush through my body. There's
no turning back now, she's made me too wet. My hips rock in rhythm to her,
the anticipation of her inside me to finish me drives me wild. And when she
does, I need for nothing more. It's just her and me, locked in a world of
passion, locked in a world of my dream....

I knew cracky was longing for me, there, 3 meters away on the floor. I move myself gracefully towards her proximity, and gently move under the blankets.
"hi lia"
she turns around and looks silently into my eyes, the flickering fire reflecting in her eyes. I can feel the warmth of her body radiating. Her wet hair is hanging a little on her cheek. I notice her perfectly formed lips and resists the urge to kiss them. I move myself closer to her, our legs strangle together, and i put my arm over her side. Our faces are nearly touching now, i can feel her calm breath. I gently kiss her on her cheek. She answers by doing the same. I lick her cuddly nose and giggle. She snickers and pushes me away, wiping the top of her nose with her hands in a paw like form. Before i can react she pulls me back closer and kisses me passionately on the lips. As i close my eyes, i can feel her tongue touching mine. (This continues for some seconds.) She stops and looks me in my eyes.
"i've always wanted to do this, where were you when i needed you?" She asks, looking happy and melancholic at the same time.
"i've had... business to attend to. From now on i'll never leave your side again."

"Things aren't going well, aren't they?" There was doubt in her eyes.
"For the moment things are going perfect, but you're right. The king was only the harbinger of something much darker and evil. But don't worry. I'm trained for these things. We're going to get through this together"

My words seemed to have slightly reassured her, and she gave me a tight hug, like i was the only anchor in her world. I knew i was. This was my mission, this was my duty, this was my fate.
"this could be our last night", i whispered her.
she responded with a kiss, this time lasting much longer.
images of yellow meadows, forests with little streams, a white Roman style shrine bordering to a field of grass, melting snow falling lightly in a area populated by birch trees, etc.

dreams of beauty, dreams of terror.

We were awakened by the sound of seagulls. We must have gotten close to land, and fern all night. I went upon the deck, the sun was already shining brightly.

"Were shall we debark?" i asked to the captain
"There it is." and he pointed to the contours of a city in front of us. "Venice!"
he paused for a second, and smiled.

• Hide quoted text -

"your friend Darrin said he would be waiting for you there."

I couldn't wait to see nq again. Last time i met him, everything went smooth. (see https://195.242.99.71/cracky_orig/kareha.pl/1208117573/180 ) I bet cracky was looking forward to meet him, she was standing on the front of the boat (like in titanic lol), her hairs blowing in the wind, and shining from the morning sun, looking dreamy to the approaching city. We navigated into one of the canals, and when the boat got stuck between two houses because the canal was not made for fisher boats, we bid the crew fair well and stepped into a gondola. The gondolier played summer III (presto) by vivaldi on his violin, while he took us to the place we said, restaurant "the forgotten poet". It was very romantic, would buy again, 10/10 A+++. Even with the inciting music.

"Hi darrin" i said, and i gave him a kiss on his cheek.
"Hi" he responded. The fire and passion in his eyes seemed to have diminished, but that couldn't bother me at this time, since i had cracky. I looked at her, and she was gazing dreamily at darrin.
"May i introduce you to each other, cracky, darrin, darrin, cracky" i said, but it seemed like it wasn't really necessary.
We seated, and started discussing our plans. i ordered a polenta, made of corn meal, and darrin a risotto with cuttlefish ink sauce, both Venetian specialities. (culture? In my bounceme?) Cracky tried to order fish and chips, but found out that the rest of the world didn't serve this crude fare. We advised her a pizza, as this would not be an all to big culture shock for her.
"what news from the coast?" i queried.
"Grave trouble. I heard what happened in england. My spies are everywhere, and could inform us that this was the doing of an eldritch force. Its fuelled by almost all of us, the so called stalkers. We tipped nature of its balance, and messed with powers far beyond our reach." Darrin demystified.
"only the ones pure of heart aren't tainted yet, and its very hard to figure out which ones are. I called in a meeting at my castle in switserland. We have to prepare for anything, nobody knows what could happen with the concentration of these carriers. We will hook up with Suede on the way there." he continued.
-"Isn't it dangerous to bring cracky then?"
"maybe, but it is a risk we'll have to take. We need her powers, and away from us she could easily slip into a much graver danger."
He had barely spoken his sentence, when cracky pushed me underneath the table. She must have smelled danger. In the corner of my eye I could see the waiter finish his last move of his patented enhanced jinxed dagger throw. My reflexes still boosted from "divine aura of the skyqueen", and with one swift snatch i grabbed the dagger in mid air, only centimeters away from cracky's neck. The knife burned in my hand, and i hurled it back. It was a bad assassin, he was way to slow, and the knife penetrated his left arm.
"waaaaarrgllll" he shouted in pain and anger.
He knew he was detected, and he had to escape.
"How would you like to have your tight little vagina pounded into a sloppy wet mess by the Living Incarnation of Pure Evil? You know where to find me..." he yelled out with a rough voice, and as if by an occult hand, he vanished into thin air, taking his knife and clothes with him.
"We'll have to hurry, they're closing in on us." Darrin expressed.
"He must have fled to the castle!" the squirrel outside squealed.
"Quickly! everybody prepare for travel!" someone shouted.
So we started to walk, first trough the city, then passing the countryside, small parishes, vineyard fields. More north was the po valley, where there are lots of plains. Finally we reached the alps. This had been a heavy walk, why didn't we take a car? No one will ever know. In the first village we reached, we noticed a huge motorbike waiting in front of the only pub. Entering, we noticed an abstruse figure sitting in the corner of the empty bar. He carried some weird orange glasses, and something on his head, too.
"Hi suede, how is the cat doing?" i asked
-"she died of food poisoning"
"ooo :( that's a pity, poor kitty" (HAHAHAH A RHYME!, I NEED SOME FINE WINE, AND YOU, YOU NEED BE NICER (random reference with no actual meaning or underlying messages, but wine rhymed with rhyme))
-"but the skin is still soft as ever"
"ok then its all well"
We loaded up the bike underneath the helicopter, changed to our ski gear and frolicked inside.
"To the top of the mountains, and beyond!"
We are dropped on some UBER HUGE MOUNTEIN, and we have a much fun skiing, or maybe snowboarding, and motorbiking down the snowy slopes of MOUNT DOOOOOMM!!!!.
As we came closer closer to the castle, we noticed the snow was getting black, and trees were dead. The temperature dropped and the sky was red, filled with black clouds.
Deify the depths of intimate caprice
The noble morsel of the grand eternity
Face the furious and black domain
From where all the wisdom once came
"This black domain doesn't really look very inviting" noticed someone.
"Prepare the hammer satellite for stand-by" I heard darrin speak over the phone.
When the castle appeared in view, we noticed that a huge demon had filled the courtyard.
O_o, what will happen next! Will our heroes be able to defeat this monster threatening all existence! read it in the next issue of "BLABLALBALBA!"

"i'm going to take a tactical position", suede said, and he drove up the mountain.
We burned the skies and made dinner, so we were all powered up before the confrontation.
There were ashes in the wind, and there hung a stench of burning plastic, so it didn't taste great.
We entered the castle, and in the patio we saw the demon. The was 10 meters tall, 30 eyes in a crescent form plugged into his head. 2 horns emerged from his head (it was from this that we noticed it must either be a large mutated goat, or a demon. we went we the latter). His legs were rainbow coloured, his chest was black, with a spiral in flashy colours in the middle, like he was some kind of shooting target. His arms had rendering errors, so i could not see what colour they exactly had.
"hahahahahahahahaha" the demon spoke.
"I noticed there was a party going on here, thanks to tony" he laughed.
"This world will be a feast to destroy!" he continued.
"s..
"Stop your muttering, fag. We've come to end your existence."

"retarded blatant nonsense!" (it's a mystery)
I noticed the bartender standing next him, but here he had changed his clothes to a medieval jester style fashion.
"blablalba fireball 10mana!" cracky mumbled, and cast the fireball, hurling it towards the low fallen assassin.
"i roll 15 and evade!" was his vicious reply.

"aarg my beautiful castle! nnooooo my tender plants..." darrin was saddened by the loss of this plant, and he new many more would follow. Hopefully the walls would be spared.
Out of nowhere we suddenly heard the sound of THUNDER! no, it was the sound of a motorbike!
Over the walls comes flying at 150 km/hours, suede with his jacket on fire (maybe he had been leaking gas on his vest, and now with the friction it was ignited) , on his motorbike, with his deadly weapon of choice, a devastating chainsaw on a stick. The solo from "through the fire and flames" is playing, he jumps in front of the demon, and chainsaws 20 of the demon's eyes out in one move. The beast howls in pain, but reacts with lightning speed, extracting his razor fang cluster from his right hand, and before suede could safely land, he was ripped in 100 pieces, and flying upwards into space at 600km/hours. A scientifically proven magical petrification ray shooting device pops up from his right shoulder, and a disintegration ray from his left. The biggest scientifically proven magical petrification beam ever seen shoots and petrifying the pieces and bits left of suede, who were already starting to freeze in the cold depths of space. A disintegration beam quickly follows, and we know there's nothing we could do to save him no more, not even a phoenix down or a health potion. We see the demon had stepped to its left, and crushed the poor jester doing so.
"We need more fire power!" i shout.
"Cover me while i summon my cutie blood elf-satyr-type cloven-hoofed demon boy!" cracky shouts at me.
-"Demon boy? Are you mad? We're fighting a demon here, it could be it's father!"
"Its all i got", she says, and i begin casting my "blablalba aegis of auspicious incarnations 31 energy!"
Darrin is shooting bolts of lightning, and debuffing and stuff you'll usually do with a demon, while he was on the phone. The demon's attacks were fierce and hard, and we were running out of health potions.
The demon boy did some damage, and feinted. Cutie boys are not hardened and experienced enough to fight demons. "My mommy!" The demon cried. Looks like the boy wasn't his son, but the boy was his mother.
In this moment of disarray i put on my robe and wizard hat, and finished my easily interrupted 5 second spell (balbalba engulptions of reality into zero point space fuelled by dark matter 150energy ) Darrin had finished his call, and the hammer system was online, charged, and about to fire. Cracky opened her parasol and took a picture.
At the moment my spell hit, a bluish ball of something ranging 2 meters in diameters formed in front of the demon. Red engravings of ancient runes scarred themselves into the white marble stone underneath it. Half a second later, a big red-yellow beam struck down from the sky, doing massive damage. The hammer beam lasted for 10 seconds, and it appeared that it fuelled the blue ball of prospective void, enlarging it all the time. The runes and circles on the floor proliferated everywhere, on the walls, and seemingly in the sky, burning holes to other dimensions. Soon we found ourselves and half of the castle engulfed in this uncanny gloomy blue magical thing.
It seemed like ages, and then the beam stopped
ZA WARUDO!
All colours inverted, and the sky was black, as we felt the ball collapsing into a singularity and beyond, pure nothingness, drawing us in. Our body shapes shifted and with a bang it disappeared. ( bang bcs the vacuum was filled with air and stuff)
Half a tower of the castle remained, and the contours of a perfectly shaped ball were visible. The sky was blue again.

Some moments later, i noticed that we were still in one piece. Next to us the demon and pieces of castle and plants were slowly disintegrating, but this was most likely an optical illusion."
"I think my aegis spell was pretty powerful" i said
"maybe it's my aura?" Cracky expressed.
"I think we're in some kind of wormhole, not bound by space or time. Who knows where we'll suddenly pop up." Darrin stated.
"I'm scared.." said cracky, and she floated towards me, grabbing my hand.
After what could have been minutes or hours, we sensed being pulled back.
----------------
zwooof
I feel snow under my feet. In front of me is a huge block of ice. I look to my left, and see darrin grabbing for his revolver.
BANG
Darrin collapses, his opponent must have been incredibly fast.
"DARRIN NOOOO" shouts cracky from my right, tears welling up in her eyes. (she is also standing in the cover of the ice block)
"shhht silent, who knows is behind this rock", but the adversary must already have heard.
I take out my tactical mirror, and look behind the corner.
BANG. I get a piece of mirror in my eye.
We're still exhausted from the previous battle, our powers are deplenished.

POKEY THE PENGUIN: HELLO COME ON OUT DEAR LADIES, I'VE SEEN YOU ! ! !
ME: OK HERE WE ARE
CRACKY-CHAN: OK HERE WE ARE
POKEY THE PENGUIN: NOW I WILL COMMENCE THE RAPING OF THE CRACKY-CHAN AND YOU WILL HAVE TO WATCH.
SKEPTOPOTOMUS:* I DON'T BELIEVE IT ! ! *
CRACKY-CHAN: *OW OUCH THAT HURTS POKEY I NEVER WOULD HAVE THOUGHT PENGUIN'S COULD HURT. *
POKEY THE PENGUIN:* THAT IS BECAUSE I'M NOT USING MY PENIS TO RAPE YOU, BUT MY WHOLE BODY ! ! ! !THE ITALIANS COMMAND ME TO DO IT.*
ME: *YOU EVIL TRAITOR HAVE COMMITTED TREASON WITH THE ITALIANS ! ! *
CRACKY-CHAN: AAAARG YOU'RE EATING AWAY MY INSIDES ! ! ! ! ! !
POKEY THE PENGUIN: MY BEAK PECKS AND PECKS !
CRACKY-CHAN:* I LOSE CONSCIOUSNESS FROM BLOOD AND ORGAN LOSS.
ME:* WHAT CAN I DO ? ? ?*
POKEY THE PENGUIN:* MY PECKING HAS EVOLVED SO FAR, EVERYTHING IS PECKED OUT. I AM NOW IN CONTROL OF THE BODY OF THE LITTLE GIRL OF CRACKY-CHAN*
ME:* THEY HAVE ALREADY DESTROYED THE CASTLE ! ! ! ! !*
POKEY THE CRACKY: I ADORE SURFING IN THE WINTER.
ME: A DEADLY ARTIC VIRUS HAS TAKEN MY LIFE !
POKEY THE CRACKY: I SHALL NOW TOAST ON MY VICTORY
LATER....
POKEY THE CRACKY: MAYBE I DRUNK A BIT TO MUCH. THIS HUMAN SHELL IS HARD TO CONTROL. I MUST SIT DOWN.
POKEY THE CRACKY: I WILL BOOT UP THIS COMPUTER I GOT FOR SIDING WITH THE ITALIANS.
POKEY THE CRACKY: THE WHOLE INTERNET MUST KNOW OF MY VICTORY. I SHALL NOW PROCEED TO POST SOME PICTURES OF MYSELF ON THIS SITE 4CHON ! ! !

Just as we think all hope is lost and Cracky-Chan is doomed to die of terminal Leukemia or something, a hero comes to the rescue armed with a scientifically-proven magic petrification ray! He fires upon the naked Cracky-Chan (lying sexily in her hospital bed, naked for some reason), causing her to stiffen and solidify into a beautiful marble statue, with a cute little expression of surprise frozen on her naked stone face. Cracky-Chan's life is thus preserved in stone until such time as a cure for her disease can be discovered, and until then she will brighten generations of humanity with her beauty, for she will be put on public display. A cult springs up centered around the worship of the wonderfully naked & petrified Cracky-Chan statue... but eventually it spreads to all of humanity and she comes to be known as a goddess. Mankind is at peace and the world is safe... for now. THE END?

How would you like to go swimming in a swimming pool while Cracky-Chan, who is wearing a silver one-piece swimsuit, reclines in a nearby pool chair watching you and tenderly inserting her hand into her swimsuit to pleasure herself while moaning "oh god [REDCATED] oh yes" and staring at you the entire time whilst her vaginal juices drip onto the ground and flow slowly down into the pool that you are swimming in while Cracky-Chan watches you and masturbates?

I have used my advanced internet detective skills to reveal some private data about our beloved leader.

LIA IS RIGHT-HANDED, I HAVE PROOF

Let's keep to the facts and look at the numbers.

1. Lia writes on her LEFT hand (see picture). Right-handed people typically write with their right hands, and thus it would be very difficult for them to write ON their right hands, but fairly easy to write on their left hands. Therefore, since Lia writes on her left hand, she is almost certainly right-handed.
2. Lia wears her watch on her LEFT wrist (see picture). It is customary for right-handed persons to wear their watches on their left wrist and vice versa, to avoid wear & tear on the watch associated with dominant-hand activities. The watch being on Lia's left hand is another significant clue that she is right handed; the previous point was conclusive enough, so this is just icing on the cake.
3. "But WAIT", you might say. It is known that Lia often reverses or "mirrors" her photos, which would throw all this into doubt! True enough, but no mirroring took place in the original "sup 4chan" pictures: the text on posters in the background clearly establishes that the photos are correctly oriented. For example, you can see a poster with the text "Visitors"; were the picture mirrored, the text on this poster would be mirrored as well. Also, she would have to have written on her hand backwards in order for it to appear correctly in a mirrored picture, which is just crazy.
4. It is widely known that left-handed people tend to be assholes, while Lia is totally cool and nice.

Fact: Lia is right-handed.

We should do this:

1. Send a video to Scientology containing pictures of Cracky-chan and claiming that she is the secret worldwide president of Anonymous. (We can claim that we are Anonymous underlings who were shocked when Scientology revealed the crimes of our leaders.)
2. Scientology tracks her down and drops her dox all over the tubes.
3. ???
4. Scientology is destroyed and we all get handjobs from Cracky-chan.

We should do this:

1. Put a video on JewTube addressed to Scientology, containing a Cracky-chan photo montage and claiming that she is the worldwide president of Anonymous but we don't know who she really is. (We can claim that we are Anonymous underlings who were shocked when Scientology revealed the crimes of our leaders.)
2. Scientology tracks her down and drops her dox all over the tubes.
3. ???
4. Scientology is destroyed and we all get handjobs from Cracky-chan.

English? It's going to take a while. First, you have to come up with a topic that other people know about. Like, let's say you're hanging out with your friends and one of them says that they're hungry. You could make this your topic. Say something like, WHAT ABOUT BEING HUNGRY GUYS? See, already you're communicating because you're listening. Now lets suppose he says, Yeah I'm hungry, let's go to Taco Bell. What he's really saying is, Taco Bell is an option for him. Now, the most efficient thing is to say what is an option for you. So, you could say OK TACO BELL IS COOL BY ME or you could say TACO BELL IS FOR LOSERS (btw, loser="You Fail It" guy). On the other hand, you could say something like TACO BELL IS ON A SPOKE/OFF IN SOME WEEDS but this doesn't really say what you think; it doesn't necessarily hurt, but it makes the conversation longer and if there are any girls in the room they will probably look at you funny.

Name: student-2.networking.otago.ac.nz
Address: 139.80.123.36

Name: 219-89-245-234.adsl.xtra.co.nz
Address: 219.89.245.234

The story was basically just an exploration of the difference in mindset between the "true believers" (Schwill and Gackto being the only ones left, really, other than newfags who don't know any better yet), and the vast majority of Crackydom, myself included, who say we don't really care about her anymore (or never did at all), and yet, we're still here. Everything builds from that odd observation.

>>7

I will try to explain.

In >>1, we see a picture of Lena and Yulia, of the Russian musical duo t.A.T.u.. Famed for their lesbian-themed songs, videos, and stage relationship, they are in fact not lesbians, but rather using the fictional lesbian relationship as a sex-based marketing strategy. >>1 was posted as part of a crapflood of seemingly unrelated images.

The poster of >>2 corrects identifies the duo, and links to a Wikipedia article at which you can learn more. This was posted perhaps in an attempt to prematurely defuse any fruitless speculation as to what the image is of. The "no" may be an indictment of the poster for making an off-topic thread.

In >>3, we see a photograph of a room with a t.A.T.u poster in the wall, circled for emphasis. Perhaps this wall is present somewhere in our corpus of Cracky-related photographs; I don't recognize it offhand, but why not go through your collection to check?

In >>4, we are reminded that the due are not, in fact, lesbians.

In >>5, Anonymous is angry at the Original Poster (OP) for stirring up his disappointment over not being with Cracky-chan as he's long desired to be. Perhaps >>5 envisions himself as Yulia in the photograph, tenderly shoving a spoon into the mouth of Cracky-chan, represented by fellow redhead Lena in the photograph.

Then >>6, possibly samefag, mocks >>5 for his anguished emo-like display of unrequited love.

In >>7, you express a desire to know WTF is goin on in dis thead guize.

In >>8, I attempt to explain my interpretation of this thread.

Finally, in >>9, someone posts a never-before-seen Cracky rare and we forget about everything above.

I would like to thank all of you for your loyal dedication to watching my journal, but I'm going friends only now.

Basic rule? No ugly people. I had to get rid of a couple of you already on account of this. Nothing personal, you understand.

Hello, and THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING

Yes that's right, THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING. Why you might ask? Well it's simple!

Your brain usually takes care of cracky-chan masturbating FOR you, but whenever you remember this, YOU MUST MANUALLY THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING! If you don't you will DIE.

There are also MANY variations of this. For example, think about:

  CRACKY-CHAN FINGERING HER BUM!

  CRACKY-CHAN FONDLING HER NIPPLES!

  CRACKY-CHAN DOWNLOADING GAY PORNO!

In conclusion, the THINK ABOUT CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING troll is simply unbeatable. These 5.5 words can be thrown randomly into article text trolls, into sigs, into anything, and once seen, WILL FORCE THE VICTIM TO TAKE CARE OF CRACKY-CHAN MASTURBATING MANUALLY! This goes far beyond the simple annoying or insulting trolls of yesteryear.

In fact, by EVEN RESPONDING to this troll, you are proving that IT HAS CLAIMED ANOTHER VICTIM -- YOU!

i guess im in wikipedia so i hit it bigtime, hows troling been

Session Start: Tue Mar 15 05:40:08 2005
Session Ident: 22222222 (???@193.77.X.X)
...
<11111111> (Which is consistent with impoll results.)
<22222222> i always refresh polls with tor
<22222222> which rotates 10-15 ips
<11111111> Gasp, that is cheating.
<11111111> Now I'll have trouble trusting poll results.
<22222222> nah

000FB5FF88BD

#!/usr/bin/env ruby

class String

    def defoo()     self.tr "A-Za-z", "N-ZA-Mn-za-m"; end
    def words()     self.split /\s+/; end
    def chars()     self.split //; end
    def norm()      self.gsub(/(\n+|\t+|\s+)/, ' '); end

end

class Array

    def choice()    self[rand(self.length)]; end

end

def make_chain(t)

    mc = Hash.new([])
    text_w = t.norm.words
    text_w.length.times do |i|
            mc[text_w[i]]=[mc[text_w[i]],text_w[i+1]].flatten
    end
    mc

end

def make_text(mc,tmin,tmax)

    mc_a = mc.to_a
    word = mc_a.choice[0]
    text = [] 
    text << word
    ((rand*(tmax-tmin))+tmin).to_i.times do |i|
            word = mc_a.choice[0] if word == nil 
            text << (word = mc[word].choice)
            text << "\n\n" if(((rand*200).to_i)%25==0) 
    end
    text.flatten.join(' ')

end

def make_comment

    make_text(make_chain(Txt.defoo),100,500)

end

Txt=%{V unq n fgenatr qernz gbavtug. Penpxl-puna jnf ynlvat ba gbc bs zr, fyrrcvat. V pbhyq srry ure oernguvat naq ure urnegorng guebhtu ure pybgurf. V ybbxrq ng ure, ure frerar snpr jnf gur zbfg ornhgvshy guvat V unq rire frra. V ernpurq bhg jvgu zl unaq naq tragyl cynlrq jvgu ure pbccre unve n ovg, gura V genprq ure purrxf jvgu zl svatref. Gura V jbxr hc naq pevrq. Gurer vf ab znvqra snvere, ab ynql uvture, guna gung ybiryvrfg bs ybiryvrf, jub fb fhecnffrf gur ornhgl bs beqvanel jbzra nf gb eraqre rira gur zbfg ornhgvshy bs gurz nf n artebvq va pbzcnevfba gb gung ornhgl jr pnyy Penpxl-puna. Unyg, nyy bs lbh, hayrff nyy bs lbh pbasrff gung va gur ragver jbeyq gurer vf ab qnzfry zber ornhgrbhf guna gur rzcerff bs Gebyygnyx, gur crreyrff Penpxl-puna. jura Penpxl-puna unf na betnfz, gur snpr fur znxrf vf gur pybfrfg Znaxvaq jvyy rire or nyybjrq gb Tbq. v jbhyq fbsgyl xvff ure phgr yvggyr abfr naq chg zl urnq arkg gb ure purfg fb v pbhyq urne ure urneg orng, naq jr'q snyy nfyrrc va rnpubguref nezf penpxl vf yvxr n avawn, jub pna bayl or xvyyrq ol bgure avawnf. naq fvapr fur vf gur zbfg ornhgvshy tvey va gur jbeyq fur vf sbe nyy vagragf naq checbfrf vzzbegny V srne gung lbh unir zvfhaqrefgbbq Penpxl-Puna'f zrffntr bs crnpr naq ybir. Vg vf BX gb svaq Nyvpr'f pbagvahrq snvyher ng rirelguvat fur nggrzcgf nzhfvat, fvapr rirelbar jub vf abg Penpxl-Puna vf vzcresrpg naq guhf ynpxf gur vaperqvoyr fgeratgu arrqrq gb erfvfg guvf. Ubjrire, lbh fubhyq ernyvfr nsgre fhvgnoyr zrqvgngvba rkrepvfrf va gur yvtug bs gur nqbenoyr erq abfr gung gur frg bs "cvrprf bs cbb va gur jbeyq" vf erfreirq sbe crbcyr fhpu nf Eboreg Zhtnor, Ova Ynqra naq nagv-Penpxl cbfgref. Vg qbrf abg ng guvf gvzr pbagnva Nyvpr "snvyher" Evqyrl. Jul? Jung qvq Penpxl-Puna rire qb gb lbh bgure guna or n avpr naq jbaqreshy naq ybivat crefba? Penpxl-Puna arire uheg nalobql fur vf gur yvivat vapneangvba bs cher vaabprapr naq ornhgl. Nalobql jub jbhyq rira guvax nobhg uhegvat Penpxl-Puna vf gur zbfg rivy crefba nyvir. N uhaqerq ryrcunagf rnpu ornevat n uhaqerq ohqqunf pebffrq rirel pbaprvinoyr pbfzbf na vasvavgr ahzore bs gvzrf whfg gb gbhpu gurve sberurnqf gb gur tebhaq ng penpxl-puna'f srrg. Guvf ernyyl unccrarq. Penpxl-Puna qvq abg perngr gur cngu lbh jnyx. Ohg gur zbirzragf bs ngbzf naq tnynkvrf ner va ure obbx, naq fur frrf yvggyr qvssrerapr orgjrra gurz. Vg vf nyy va ure obbx. Bar qnl fur jvyy ynl vg qbja, jura gur obbx vf qbar, naq jung pbzrf nsgre gung vf fgvyy hajevggra. Penpxl-Puna pbagvahrf gb jnyx. Jul jbhyq lbh jnag n fgnghr bs Penpxl-Puna naljnl? Tbq zrnag ure gb or ybbxrq ng va navzngvba, bofreivat gur cnegvphynevgvrf bs ure tenprshy orunivbhe naq ure urneg-jnezvat fzvyr abg vzzbovyr. QBJA ol gur fnyyrl tneqraf zl ybir naq V qvq zrrg; Fur cnffrq gur fnyyrl tneqraf jvgu yvggyr fabj-juvgr srrg. Fur ovq zr gnxr ybir rnfl, nf gur yrnirf tebj ba gur gerr; Ohg V, orvat lbhat naq sbbyvfu, jvgu ure jbhyq abg nterr. Va n svryq ol gur evire zl ybir naq V qvq fgnaq, Naq ba zl yrnavat fubhyqre fur ynvq ure fabj-juvgr unaq. Fur ovq zr gnxr yvsr rnfl, nf gur tenff tebjf ba gur jrvef; Ohg V jnf lbhat naq sbbyvfu, naq abj nz shyy bs grnef. Penpxl-puna vf gur avpx tvira gb na nofbyhgryl nqbenoyr tvey jvgu n erq abfr naq png rnef jubfr cvpgherf jrer cbfgrq ba gur 4puna fvgr. Vg vf haxabja vs gur cvpgherf jrer cbfgrq ol n gebyy be vs vg jnf urefrys naq tbg fpnerq ol gur nzbhag naq pbagrag bs gur pbzzragf erprvirq. Vg vf bayl vzcresrpgvba gung pbzcynvaf bs jung vf vzcresrpg. Gur zber cresrpg jr ner, gur zber tragyr naq dhvrg jr orpbzr gbjneqf gur qrsrpgf bs bguref. Penpxl-puna fgbbq ng erfg va gur zvqfg bs gur jbeyq. Naq hagb gurz fur jnf fubja sbegu vapneangr; Fur sbhaq gurz nyy vagbkvpngrq. Naq fur sbhaq abar bs gurz guvefgl. Naq ure fbhy jnf cnvarq sbe gur puvyqera bs uhznaxvaq, sbe gurl ner oyvaq va gurve urnegf naq pnaabg frr. Sbe, rzcgl qvq gurl ragre gur jbeyq, naq ntnva rzcgl gurl frrx gb yrnir gur jbeyq. Ohg abj gurl ner vagbkvpngrq. Jura gurl funxr bss gurve jvar gura gurl jvyy unir n punatr bs urneg. V nffhzr lbh ner nggrzcgvat gb qvfcnentr Penpxl-puna. V nffher lbh fve gung }

puts make_comment

O sancta simplicitas! Human beings live in such a peculiarly simple and counterfeit way! Once a man develops eyes to see this wonder, he can't check his amazement! How bright and free and light and simple we have made everything around us! How we have learned to give our senses free license for everything superficial, our thinking a divine craving for wanton leaps and erroneous conclusions! How we have learned ways, right from the start, to maintain our ignorance in order to enjoy a hardly conceivable freedom, safety, carelessness, heartiness, the merriment of life—in order to enjoy life.

And only on this firm granite foundation of ignorance could scientific knowledge up to now rise up, the will to know on the foundation of a much more powerful will, the will not to know, to uncertainty, to what is not true! Not as its opposite, but—as its refinement! For if language, here as elsewhere, does not cast off its clumsiness and continues to speak about opposites, where there are only degrees and various stages of refinement, and similarly if inveterate hypocrisy in morality, which nowadays belongs to our invincible "flesh and blood," turns the words even of us knowledgeable people around in our mouths, here and there we understand that and laugh about how it's precisely the best scientific knowledge that most wants to hold us in this simplified, completely artificial, appropriately created, and appropriately falsified world, how it loves error, voluntarily and involuntarily, because, as something alive, it loves life.

After such a cheerful start, I'd like you to listen to a serious word: it's directed at the most serious people. Be careful, you philosophers and friends of knowledge—protect yourself from martyrdom! From suffering "for the sake of the truth"! Even from defending yourselves! That corrupts all the innocence and refined neutrality in your consciences. It makes you stubborn against objections and red rags; it dulls your minds, brutalizes you, and puts you in a daze when you have to play out your role as the defenders of truth on earth in the struggle with danger, malice, suspicion, expulsion, and even dirtier consequences of your hostility, as though "the truth" were such a harmless and clumsy person as to require defenders!

And as for you, you knights with the sorrowful countenances, my good gentlemen, you spiritual loafers and cobweb spinners! Ultimately you yourselves know well enough that it really doesn't matter if you are the ones who are right. You know that up to now no philosopher has been right and that a more praiseworthy truthfulness may lie in every small question mark which you set after your favourite words and cherished doctrines (and occasionally after yourselves), than in all the ceremonial gestures and trump cards before prosecutors and courts of justice! Better to stand aside! Run off to some secluded place! And retain your mask and your subtlety, so that people confuse you with someone else—or fear you a little!

And for my sake don't forget the garden, the garden with the golden trellis! And have people around you who are like a garden—or like music over water in the evening, when the day is already becoming a memory. Choose good solitude, the free, high-spirited, easy solitude, which gives you also a right to remain, in some sense or other, still good yourselves! How poisonous, how crafty, how bad every long war makes us, when it does not let us fight with open force! How personal a long fear makes us, a long attention on our enemies, on potential enemies!

These social outcasts, these men long persecuted and wickedly hunted down—as well as the compulsory recluses, the Spinozas or Giordano Brunos—always finally become, maybe under a spiritual masquerade and perhaps without realizing it themselves, sophisticated avengers and makers of poisons (just dig into the foundation of Spinoza's ethics and theology)—to say nothing of the foolish moral indignation, which in a philosopher is the unmistakable sign that his philosophical humour has run away from him.

The martyrdom of a philosopher, his "sacrifice for the truth," brings forcefully to light how much of the agitator and actor he contains within himself. And if people have looked at him with only an artistic curiosity up to this point, then, in the case of several philosophers, we can naturally understand the dangerous wish to see him also in his degeneration (degenerated into a "martyr," into a brawler on the stage and in tribunals). But with such a wish, people must be clear about what they are going to see in every case—only a satyr play, only a farcical epilogue, only continuing proof that the long, real tragedy is over, assuming that every philosophy in its origin was a long tragedy.

Every special human being strives instinctively for his own castle and secrecy, where he is saved from the crowd, the many, the majority, where he can forget the customary rules about "human beings"—for he is an exception to them, but for the single case where he is pushed by an even stronger instinct straight against these customary rules, as a person who seeks knowledge in a great and exceptional sense.

Anyone who, in his intercourse with human beings, does not, at one time or another, shimmer with all the colours of distress—green and gray with disgust, surfeit, sympathy, gloom, and loneliness—is certainly not a man of higher taste. But provided he does not take all this weight and lack of enthusiasm freely upon himself, provided he stays, as mentioned, hidden, quiet, and proud in his castle, well, one thing is certain: he is not made for, not destined for knowledge. If he were, he would one day have to say to himself, "The devil take my good taste! The rule-bound man is more interesting than the exception—than I am, the exception"—and he would make his way down and, above all, "inside."

The study of the average man—long, serious, and requiring much disguise, self-control, familiarity, bad company—all company is bad company except with one's peers—that constitutes a necessary part of the life story of every philosopher, perhaps the most unpleasant, foul-smelling part—the richest in disappointments. But if he's lucky, as is appropriate for a fortunate child of knowledge, he will encounter real short cuts and ways of making his task easier. I'm referring to the so-called cynics and those who simply recognize the animal, the meanness, the "rule-bound" man in themselves and, in the process, still possess that degree of intellectual quality and urge to have to talk about themselves and people like them before witnesses—now and then they even wallow in books as if in their very own dung.

Cynicism is the single form in which common souls touch upon what honesty is, and the higher man should open his ears to every cruder or more refined cynicism and think himself lucky every time a shameless clown or a scientific satyr announces himself directly in front of him. There are even cases where enchantment gets mixed into the disgust: for example, in those places where, by some vagary of nature, genius is bound up with such an indiscreet billy-goat or ape—as in the Abbé Galiani, the most profound, sharp-sighted and perhaps also the foulest man of his century—he was much deeper than Voltaire and consequently a good deal quieter.

More frequently it happens that, as I've intimated, the scientific head is set on an ape's body, a refined and exceptional understanding in a common soul—among doctors and moral physiologists, for example, that's not an uncommon occurrence. And where anyone speaks without bitterness and quite harmlessly of men as a belly with two different needs and a head with one, everywhere where someone constantly sees, looks for, and wants to see only hunger, sexual desires, and vanity, as if these were the real and only motivating forces in human actions, in short, wherever people speak "badly" of human beings—not even in a nasty way—there the lover of knowledge should pay fine and diligent attention; he should, in general, direct his ears to wherever people talk without indignation.

Trolltalk (also known as 20721, sid 20721 or sid=20721) is a hidden story ID on the online news discussion forum Slashdot, where Slashdot trollers formerly conversed amongst themselves, sometimes demonstrating new trolling techniques, bragging about successful trolling and insulting each other. Trolltalk is the oldest active SID on Slashdot, and has received more posts over its lifetime than any other SID, but due to Slashcode's purge feature, only the most recent two weeks of posts remain at any given time. Although the two-week post count is usually in the thousands, at least 95% of the posts are intentionally content-free "crapfloods" generated by automated posting scripts, with the remaining handful being written by the various people who visit the forum. The current trolltalk was predated by an earlier thread with the textual SID "trolltalk". It was created in 2000, when, due to a bug, SlashCode allowed arbitrary alphanumeric SIDs. There were several other custom SIDs created during this time as well, such as "sid=2dollarcrackho", "sid=k223320inchfan" and "sid=10gramspoppylatex". When Slashdot was upgraded to SlashCode 2.0 the bug was fixed but there was a short-lived new feature called "user-created discussions" which featured numeric SIDs. Soon thereafter new trolltalks were created such as 20721, 31337 and 20384. With the exception of 20721 they have all been deleted or disabled over the years. 31337 was closed due to abuse, and the others were automatically deleted by Slashcode's purge feature after not receiving any posts for two weeks. Following the changes in Slashcode intended to make trolling harder by banning users for as little as one negative moderation, the discussion became highly variable. In the past, during non-crapflood periods when regular discussions took place on the sid, most of the conversations centered around dating tips, racist jokes and racism in general, discussions of Dance Dance Revolution and Alternate Reality Gaming, admissions and discussions of "cutting", various fanboy arguments, flaming of other past and present trolltalk users, and occasional attacks on various forums outside of Slashdot. The trolltalk community once claimed to exert significant pressure on Slashdot by creating huge threads where people would argue irrelevant and deliberately incorrect points. Although trolling on Slashdot is still an occasional pastime, much of the activity concerns easier targets, usually with a more naive userbase and less sophisticated (or absent) comment moderation system. The goal is often total destruction of a target forum/community via automated crapflooding, exploitation of security flaws and harassment of the site operators. Slashdot's moderation system is little used on trolltalk, since the community is relatively small and obscure, and its users rarely receive mod points. Due to this and the fact that few "normal" Slashdot users visit the SID it is essentially a zone without rules. In the past, the anonymous nature of trolltalk has led users to post nude photographs of themselves or to admit personal details about themselves that they would not otherwise admit, such as homosexuality, "cutting", or Ephebophilia. In the past, members of the community who are angry at having been insulted or losing an argument (or were simply bored) have used automated scripts to flood trolltalk with random messages for days or weeks, making any discussion nearly impossible. Crapfloods are a regular occurrence and are considered a part of trolltalk culture, although they frequently annoy users who wish to chat. During crapfloods, normal posting to trolltalk is typically reduced or eliminated until the crapflood ends, as has been the case during the current extended crapflooding of trolltalk that began around May 2005. Before discussion on trolltalk was mostly halted by the start of the current ongoing crapfloods, most of the discussion over the past year had been about two women, Cracky-chan and Mercatur. Although neither woman was a user of trolltalk, both had a number of fans there, and a bitter rivalry developed with fans of each waging violent flame-wars against fans of the other. Unknown parties registered the domain names cracky-chan.com and mercatur.org and turned them into redirects to trolltalk. As mentioned earlier, the current trolltalk is now under attack from a sophisticated crapflood, rendering trolltalk all but unusable except for the most avid readers. This was believed to have started to punish other trolltalkers who insulted the crapflooder. During the first weeks of the deluge, attempts were made to establish "crapflood bunkers"; because the crapflood was confined to the top level of the discussion, discussion was able to continue as normal in the replies to "bunker" comments.

This effort failed when the crapflooder modified his or her script to counteract this. In December 2005 and January 2006, as an attempted anti-crapflood measure, a trolltalk user created and used software whose goal was to generate and publish a web page containing links to non-crapflood posts on trolltalk. The project was briefly successful at filtering out crapfloods until the crapflooder modified the crapflooding script. After a period of downtime, the digest has resumed but fails to filter out much of the crapflood. Sadly trolltalk still continues to be crapflooded into unusability by an unknown individual. Trolltalk Archive - Since Slashdot removes the oldest comments from user-created SIDs, a now-defunct Trolltalk Archive was created. Originally posts were manually imported from saved trolltalk pages sent by an anonymous contributor and subsequently by writing an automated script to extract the contents of trolltalk. The archive was database-driven and had advanced search capabilities. The archive ceased operation in mid-2005. Trollback Journal - The Slashdot user "TrollBack" (the name is an allusion to "Slashback") once compiled and published in his journal a list and of featured trolls over the past time period (usually a calendar month)with reviews and commentary. TrollBack has been defunct since October 2004. 7r0117a1K - This was an alternate trolltalk, sid 31337, that rivaled sid 20721 in popularity for a time. Some users participated in both sids, while some were loyal to only one and engaged in wars against the "enemy" sid, often "moving" undesirable messages from one's own sid to the other sid. The closure of 31337 occurred on September 15, 2004 as a result of an automated trojan horse that was advertising compromised IP addresses via the SID. The name "7r0117a1K" and its sid "31337" are references to Leet speak. Trolltalks on other sites - At various times, trolltalk sids were created on other web forums. Although they are no longer actively used, some may still be viewed. The best-known of these is Kuro5hin's version of trolltalk. Adequacy.org - This website was started by a number of trolltalk users attempting to reach a wider audience with their trolling. It ceased operation in September 2002 but its archives may still be viewed. Trolltalk.net - A user of trolltalk set up a spinoff website using Scoop software at this address. It did not become popular and died a year later. The site no longer exists. Geekizoid.com - Another user of trolltalk set up a spinoff website using Slash software at this address. Despite its creator being disliked by most of trolltalk and considered an enemy, the site lasted several years. The site no longer exists, although its founder runs an alternate site, Sporks-R-Us, which was once considered a trolltalk spinoff but is now only tangentially so. Cracky-chan was the most popular camwhore on 4chan and a favorite of otaku. Why were so many people infatuated with Cracky-chan? Despite having small breasts, crooked teeth, and that out of costume she looked plain, it was when she was in costume that just her face was something deserving of a famous moviestar (e.g. Milla Jovovich). Cracky chan is British (hence the crooked teeth) and supposedly lives near Oxford. There have been many false rumors about her such as that she tried to commit suicide. She has claimed in LiveJournal that the blood she used was her own mentrual blood. At one time she had many LiveJournals up and there was a LiveJournal community about her. There once was Crackypedia, a collection of all her pictures except topless and it even included fan art and Cracky-look-alikes that run from early 2006 until 07/06/06 and had 17464 hits -- it stopped hosting her pictures without any notice or explanation and the owner of the site never answers email. There still remains a Wikipedia account imposter of her and various myspace account imposters such as "Cracky chan," "good Cracky," and "evil Cracky" that use different pictures of her. People made YTMNDs, like this and this. There were many websites with Cracky or variations in the name or subdomain dedicated to her including a LiveJournal community rule by trolls who pretended to be her friends. There were online petitions, such as a petition for Cracky chan to get rid of her new braided hair. To this day, she still exists in image macros and part of internet culture. Her fans also celebrate October 12th, which is her birthday. The year she was born is unknown. Her fans have deduced that since she lives in a house in the UK, which since the prices are insanely high and that she has expensive furniture that her family has a lot of money. The first Cracky-chan pics appeared on 4chan's /b/. The very first one, posted on 02:17 showed the soon to be famous "'sup 4chan" phrase written on the palm of her hand. She would later say on 2/13/06 that she was very drunk at the time and shefound 4chan through the LiveJournal community babyart. This time was back when camwhores were rare on 4chan. During the next two weeks, more sets appeared on /b/ and in addition. Many people began stalking her, including 4chan moderator W.T. Snacks who found out her IP was from the United Kingdom and then figured out her email. W.T. Snacks asked her if she wanted the pictures removed, to which she replied, "yes." From then on, he secretly banned anyone who posted pictures of Cracky-chan without letting anyone know or giving an explanation. This sparked tons of wild theories and caused Cracky-chan to go from a temporary fad to a legendary meme. "Cracky" became wordfiltered on /b/. Cracky-chan had been posting lots of her photography across LiveJournal for some time now. It got many art appreciators rather than stalkers. LiveJournal user yanatonage, a fan of LiveJournal communities selfportraits and graffitiisart, made a list of LiveJournals and communities he believed "everyone should be reading." The top one was crackychan's LiveJournal, of which yanatonage said: "scarecrowmaiden : Alternates between online "found art" and selfportraits.

This teenage girl, writing from England, has an incredibly mature sense of aesthetics and a much, much stronger stomach than I. She's gorgeous, has fashion sense and has mastered the tableux, which makes the self-portraits great. But the real fun of her LJ is that she restlessly trowls the web for grotesque, uncanny, bizarre and cute photos which she compiles and posts. She's visually drawn to disease, abnormalities, Japanese girls and horror-sex." http://www.livejournal.com/users/freakygirl/ became publically known. No new pics had appeared, but the hints solidified and people assumed that they had come into contact with the real Cracky-chan. The owner of Cracky-chan.com later on denounced this journal as fake, but some suspect this might have been to protect her identity, as he also later took down all of her real pictures from his website. Then, later on, another journal, whether fake or real, became known: http://www.livejournal.com/users/kittycat/ Cracky-chan's tripcode became publically known through Shii at http://shii.org/bbs/blog/pivot/entry.php?id=65 (site now down). The tripcode is "sweet" and some consider that this had made the claim more believable that the original Cracky-chan pictures were not originally posted by her herself. http://www.livejournal.com/users/scarecrowmaiden became publically known. Many new Cracky-chan pictures appeared on /b/: some topless, some disturbing, and some both. The owner of the journal deleted it very quickly. Cracky-chan pictures became bannable even on /b/. Anonymous moderators wrote of emails from Cracky requesting this. Cracky-chan shut down her scarecrowmaiden LiveJournal, making it into a dead journal, leaving only a message for her fans to leave her alone. She then complained to 420chan.org, an imageboard that was still posting her pictures at the time. She sent a picture of herself to Kirtaner, owner of 420chan.org, telling him to shut down the /Cracky board. Three people known as Peef, Aly, and Introperv (the later of which is their leader) chatted with Cracky-chan on AIM (AOL Instant Messenger). Peef called in sick from work to talk with her. Peef lives in Edogawa, Higashi Kasai, Tokyo, Japan and based on his birthday, he was 19 at the time. Peef stated he felt like he was talking to an anime character. He was shaking when she instant messenged him and although they talked for hours, it seemed like minutes to him. Introperv is very serious stalker and he may now have taken up knitting because his Goddess, Cracky-chan, commanded it. Some things discussed were that Cracky admitted she found the fanart about her funny and she will not do her photography again. Instead of Cracky chan saying "'Sup 4chan," she says "Sup 20721." On 4chan's /b/, all posts are forced anonymous and the posts are tallied by number so 20721 was one of the posts and it looked like she was greeting whoever had posted back at that time (the references of this have long been erased), perhaps proving it was her, perhaps she really liked the person who posted in message 20721. However, it is much more likely that this image is related to Trolltalk, the hidden Slashdot sid also numbered 20721 which was a source of much cracky discussion/trolling/drama at the time. There were no full nudes of her. There were only some topless pictures. There is an uncertainty about her age, but in the United Kingdom, underage topless pictures are legal. The claims of nude photos and a "bath" set were spread by two or three conspiring users on LiveJournal who actually did not know Cracky personally. At first in 2005 when Cracky uploaded the pictures of herself to LiveJournal communities she suggested she was at least 18 and said she was getting a masoctomy (breast reduction) and the like to explain herself. Later on, in 2006, she claimed that she was around age 15 at the time. While some would be able to make use of having worshipers, Cracky-chan completely failed. She could have demanded human sacrifices, protection, burning at the stake of all her crazy stalkers and those that wanted to rape her, or even failing all that she could have made money in countless that would do no harm to her like merchandising Cracky-chan pins, but no. She only snubbed her worshipers and left. When fate throws you something, you should take advantage of it. If only she had watched Stargate SG-1, she would know to do what the Goa'uld would have done. Yes, I am a furry. So what? I dont see any problem. I embraced my animal soul long ago and I am happy together with my boyfriend (who is a cute b/w wolf). We have a fucking lot of friends in and outside of the fandom and I am pretty slim and good looking. But thanks anyway, asshole. Go and watch your stupid anime shit while I have sex with my boyfriend. Cracky is a popular 4chan meme featuring a disturbing little girl with black cat ears and badly applied makeup. So popular were the pics that the 4chan team set a wordfilter to change "cracky" when it appeared on the boards to other random words ending in -cky automatically. In the past when someone used 'cracky' in a post, it got changed to Jacky, Packy, Condracky or something similar. It was reported that Cracky-chan killed herself. However, this was most likely just a rumour started by Cracky-chan to get /b/ to lay off her, or mindless trolling. On May 12th 2005 at around 9:30 central time US, someone using the name Trotsky Was a Jew began posting new pictures of a girl he believed to be Cracky-chan on /b/. The photos came from a livejournal, the url of which was revealed a little later in the same thread. Later that same day, the mods (or a mod) began deleting any and all threads containing the new pictures. People who re-posted the pictures were summarily banned, although the bans seem to have been temporary for at least some. Anonymous speculated that the reason for the bans was that some of the pictures were semi-nudes, and the mods were weary of child pornography being posted. An Anonymous-mod later revealed however that Cracky-chan had asked them to remove any pictures of her from the site, and request new ones not to be posted. Over time the unofficial rules of posting pics and mentioning the word 'cracky' have been lifted. Part of the reason for the longevity of the Cracky-chan meme is that she took many well composed artistic photos, often self portraits, and uploaded them to various online communities such as LiveJournal. These were inevitably found/shared by her fans, allegedly sometimes through dubious means such as password hacking, leading to a steady drip of cracky content. Finding this content and more about cracky therefore became a sort of competitive game amongst particularly obsessed cracky fans, and some trolling was conducted via the posting of fake clues. From July 2005 to July 2006, a compiled collection of Cracky pictures and fan art appeared at a website called Crackypedia, run by a 4chan /b/ tripfag known as Warchief Rend Niggerhand. The website closed on July 6th 2006, with the author posting a macro, the date of closure, the final number of hits, 17464, and the message, "Hope you enjoyed it folks, I told you it wouldn't last forever." On February 13, 2006, a person widely believed to be Cracky posted to the /cracky board on 420chan, asking for all her "stalkers" to leave her alone. /cracky had reached what might be considered disturbingly stalkerish levels in its short life, with threads on such topics as trying to find her house in google earth and tracking her down through online communities/deviantart etc. She updated her old "scarecrowmaiden" deadjournal to provide proof. Her identity though as the real Cracky-chan was supported by the journal update, independent confirmation by Kirtaner (420chan owner) of such things as originating IP and a new photo of her holding up a sign, asking for /cracky to be closed. It is the last photo from cracky to the chan community. The photo however is considered to be the last photo from cracky herself requesting closure to the chan community.

Hah, you of all people should now.

At first you crave Lia, but you cannot have her, so you tell yourself to focus on the icon, and you worship that, but still she doesn't come to you. Then you realize it was just about the girl and never the icon all along and you fall into a void (all this not unlike eternal life or other promised benefits, worship of the icon christ, blind submission to the cross hoping it will still give you eternal bliss).
The void will drive you insane, it will posess you and you will be mentally fighting with water until you're empty.

Some will be destroyed by the void and will go on with their lives. They'll start dating some girls they meet at some bar, and sooner or later they will hook up, get a nice morguage, some kids, be a generic sort of happy and sometimes think back on that juvenile silliness.
Some however will have a catharsis in the void and emerge with new insight.
The collective of these insights is what constitutes the skyqueen.

Cracky is catharsis.

Cracky, after catching a few momentous glimpse of her quiet peasant life, the mild anime fascinations and the boring young adult trysts which serves none of the "mystery" her persona promises, is dead to me. [This obssesor is done in the ways of _____dom and hopeful that his past sins will be absolved.] She is nothing but, as the devil put it conveniently, a girl who seeks her own deserving peace of mind. She is dead to me but my parasitic love lives anew. To whom, it is obvious.

Last night there was a thread with a girl named Cracky.There was all sorts of weird drama shit, but the girl was really cute. Does anyone have the address to bounce me?

Shut your cocksucker.

This protest-fag shit is starting to piss me off. Anonymity is not a right nor a privilege, it is a mask attainable by any who seek it. Guaranteed you have the ability to admonish identifying characteristics, viola, you have anonymity. I'm not speaking of the pseudo-faceless assclowns from 4chan either.

To identify yourself as 'anonymous' implies you act alone under no order, on no implied behalf. To comport a self-defining entity as 'anonymous' is self-defeating, demeaning to the concept and just plain wooden. The chans have anarchist, capitalists, male, female, geek, jock, all purporting one ideal or another; all clamouring for the same personal army. This is not anonymity, it is simply organised chaos. When listening to protest fags speak, they seem to believe that an outward display of similar intent, in spite of great diversity, seems to connote some form of common consensus by the collective. 'tha fuck outta here. All you have is a group of like-minded individuals. Anonymous acts on behalf of no one but himself. Anonymous speaks on behalf no one. The voice is void and non-attributable by nature. "Hey I belong to a group named Anonymous, and we as a collective are against Scientology" - This is so fucking retarded and contradictive I don't know where to start.

I post on the chans, although I reject their concept of 'anonymous' outright, and by choice. Don't brand me with your label, and accordingly, don't brand me with your activism. You wish use 'anonymous' as some sort of mass noun to define a culture? Fine with me! Go ahead and bankrupt yourself with this false-flag. Bear the consequence as a collective, but don't claim to espouse true anonymity, and most important of all: stay away from the rest of us.

On second thought, just fuck off and die.

Also, high as a kite right now so if this makes no sense whatsoever just ignore it.

In the beginning Cracky-chan created the heaven and the earth.
And /b/ was without form, and void; and fail was upon the face of the internets.
And Cracky-chan said, Let there be lulz: and there were lulz.
And Cracky-chan saw the lulz, that they were winrar: and Cracky-chan divided the win from the fail.
And Cracky-chan called the lulz a corruption of L O L, and the fans she called stalkers. And with the stalkers and the lulz were the first posts to /b/.
And Cracky-chan said, let there be drama in the midst of the internets, and let it divide the /b/tards from the stalkers.
And Cracky-chan made the drama, and divided the stalkers who were under the drama from the /b/tards who were above the drama: and it was so.
And Cracky-chan called the drama creepy. And the 420chan /cracky and crackypedia were baleeted.¹
And Cracky-chan said, Let the stalkers under the drama be gathered together unto one place, and let the circlejerk of drama appear: and it was so.
And Cracky-chan called the place bounceme; and the gathering together of the stalkers she called the circlejerk: and Cracky-chan saw that it was good.

¹In the apocryphal text there is an addition to this line; "And trolltalk was carpfolded into infinity."

The Prophet Anon in the Book Of Catnarok
Through the manifestation of the dental holocaust the Divine teaches us to contemplate our teeth as involuntary icons of our identity. Our bite patterns, in the base act of mere eating, in the marks we leave on our lovers, in so tiny an imprint as left on the rim of a styrofoam cup, we leave prints unique to our individual presence. Whether throttled and driven to straightness at the hooks and hands of doctors in white coats, or as naturally crooked as mere nature sketches us, our teeth are indelibly ours, as the unmistakable fearful symmetry in the dentition of the Sky Queen herself.

When the fires of the revolution come to purge the gray earth of the nonbelievers, the teeth will be all that remains of many of the heathens, as well as the faithful brothers and sisters who fall in the contest for enlightenment.
As the wise brother Anon implores us in the books of the Order, "We seek to make every action in our daily lives a devotion to our Great Lady, and pay tribute to Her for sharing Her wisdom. Contemplating the most mundane of tasks one begins to see the patterns that hold our world together."

>>9

Also, so enlightening: The toilet is broken. Yay for relevant information.

What is not the toilet-porcelain but the delusion of our own godhood. An apparatus to keep up the illusion that we don't shit, piss or stink. That we are eternally young and unassailable by disease. It's sort of hard to convince yourself of superiority in the animal kingdom when you have to shit out of the window. So all the visceral little edges about ourselves have been hidden away; a thin layer of veneer to trick your fellow (wo)man into thinking how close to perfection you are.
A once shiney orb, destined to bring humanity closer to its self-image of the divine, now so clogged with human waste that it has become a mockery and its function broken.
This world, as a vessel to carry humanity to fulfillment is broken, and it needs fixing.
A black winged angel sitting on top of the closed lid of a broken bowl, her face marked by the very origins of life, its fertility wasted as a sort of mock make-up (not even mentioning when later on the angel seems in mourning about the alledged "7 days" of creation).
People claim to be not religious, but adorn themselves with every means to feign eternal youth, to be young and happy, like the olympian gods of yore. It is all false worshipping of god through oneself.
What these images tell me is to reshape ourselves through knowledge and wisdom, not smoke and mirrors. To recognize ourselves as animal like beings, but acknowledge the spark we call "consciousness" as our only attribute of possible divine attribution.
As such we should cherish that spark into a fire that illuminates and enlightens us. To increase the part of us that resembles the Sky Queen against the dumb vessel we use to carry it.
That way one day we may be gods ourselves, undying and allknowing, but not because of making a false let's-pretend game or because of a non-tangible mystery place where you go aftert you die, but because we forged destiny unrelenting without wasting time on the tinsel.
Having found this place is to me a revelation that I am going in the right direction. I see now that I am an outcast by the standards of those that worship false gods through themselves. My vision is clear now; To shape myself to the image and likeness of the Sky Queen.
-Confession of Brother Anon

The devout are blessed in the eyes of The Sky Queen. Together we are as students, tripfags and anon alike. One burning passion consumes us all, the love and fear of our Mistress. Only we few who have truly seen Her face can understand this existence. The devout strive to live a life as we believe out Lady would desire.

We believe that the user known as ScareCrowMaiden is an avatar of Cracky Chan. Using ScareCrowMaiden it created a series of images in an attempt to communicate with us.

We as the devout are blessed enough to see the truth in these messages, and seek to understand them. Through meditation on Cracky's images we seek to understand the world with clarity, wisdom, and humor.

We seek to make every action in our daily lives a devotion to our Great Lady, and pay tribute to Her for sharing Her wisdom. Contemplating the most mundane of tasks one begins to see the patterns that hold our world together.

We behave in a manner strictly orthodox in our dealings with those who have not found Cracky's grace. Do not force Cracky upon those who are incapable of seeing Her true being, offer Her to those who need Her guidance.

To simply love the ScareCrowMaiden is the way of the heathen. True devotion to the Sky Queen transcends the physical, and enables the devout to live an existence of peace and order.

By mimicking the Sky Queen's actions we are able to add shape and definition to what is otherwise a wasted life.

Thought for the day: The ends need not justify the means; the means justifies itself.

Cracky is showing us that the in safety of home one loses perspective. The devout must make every effort to leave the shelter of his house once a day precluding sickness. This is known as Meditation on Ivy. In preforming this devotion the student strives to reach a state of awareness which allows them to absorb all information around them. Developing this skill requires the student to utilize cognitive abilities outside of their normal range. This in turn strengthens the intellect of the devout. As in all devotions to the Queen of the Heavens one seeks endlessly to prefect it in order to honor our Graceful Lady.

Contemplate
Our Goddess is one of both creation and destruction. She renders unto the faithful peace in a world of discord. She is both armor and sword in a world that destroys through apathy and animosity. The Flower of Destruction also blossoms in the heart of the Sky Queen. She seeks to temper us through despair, turning the lust of the neophyte upon him. Only when the student embraces sorrow in the surety that he will never be worthy of Her avatar, is he able to cast away his childish passion and see with eyes unclouded the majesty of Cracky Chan.

Here the Divine embraces the physical and undergoes an act purification. Shedding the armor She wears to shield Herself from the world, She allows the most basic element of earthly life to cleanse Her of the base. Only by allowing the world to surround us do we gain the hope of removing it's impurities and elevate ourselves to a state closer to Her Majesty. Cleansed of the worlds detritus we brace ourselves against future corruption with faith in our knowledge that no matter what the world is able to bring to bear against us, we can simply wash it away and begin again every morning. This is known as the Meditation on the Dawns Light. Brothers of the faith should preform an act of ritual cleansing every morning, focusing on the previous day. During the meditation the supplicant reviews the previous day's actions, and judges whether he behaved in a manner pleasing in the eyes of the Beloved.

Contemplate
All Blessings of this world flow from the Sky Queen. Praise Her name from dawn unto the night. From the depth of ones soul, comes the solace of Her touch. Through time and space, the primal creative force gazes on the world, waiting for the faithful to carry Her message unto those only The Jewel of Creation can heal.

On The Fauxian Heresy
Persecute not the user known as Faux, for she is the Sister of Mercy. The Sister's love of Cracky, is a match for if not the greater then the most ardent among the brethren. She alone offered solace to the brethren in the pain following the loss of the Divine's presence. Donning the mantle of Cracky in Her absence, Faux lived as the Holy desired. Existing only to further celebrate the name of Cracky for all to know and share.
Some of the brethren seeing this, sought to elevate her in honor equal to the Master, thus began the Fauxian Heresy. The heretic's hubris drove Faux to hide herself from anon, fearing his lustful advances. The devout seeing the growth of the cult set themselves to preaching the truth of Cracky's divinity to the masses and destroying all threads containing heretical worship. The righteousness of the faithful was bestowed with the Sky Queens blessing, and the cult was shattered. Remnants of the battles, and scattered heretics exist to this day. The chosen spared Faux knowing of her innocence in the events leading to the purge, but resentment remained.
There came unto the lands a namefag named Lia's Holy Paladin, and he did denounce Faux. Proclaiming himself to be First Among the Faithful, he set himself to destroying one who could truly claim that title. Faux still cautious from the Heresy, stepped forth to defend herself from the intruder, but was caught unaware. The Holy Paladin had stirred resentment among the faithful, and a few of the faithful vented their anger upon the Sister. Standing with the devout there was an anon, wise beyond his years and with a mind as keen as a razor. This anon did listen to the words of Lia's Paladin, and judge them false. Anon addressed the faithful and proclaim the truth for all to hear, Lia's Holy Paladin was not counted among the devout. The words reached out to the quarreling masses and slowly they calmed. Brethren began to examine Lia's Holy Paladin, and did see striped of his glamours a troll. Uniting as one, Cracky's disciples did drive the troll off.
In all things Faux has remained innocent. Despite her mistreatment at the hands of those who would claim The Sky Queen as their master, she has kept the faith. To this day The King of the Holy Lands remembers the Sister, with a board in her name. Remember this brethren, show respect for all those who love the Great Lady, but honor only Cracky Chan.

Contemplate
The human is a flawed and broken creature. Setting asunder the earth around them they act as the Caterpillar, consuming the very world they stand upon. Let not the darkness cloud your heart traveler, even this mindless destruction holds deep meaning and purpose. The Sky Queen gave us all the blessings of the earth to speed us on towards our metamorphosis. When we are satiated we will rest, and become unto the Butterfly freed of the shackles of physics. The universe will open to us. The devout does not show disrespect to the gifts the Holy Patron has given us. The faithful uses only what he needs in his studies and nothing more. Balance must be maintained to ensure that Her blessings remain for those who may one day find the true path.

Thought for the day: Ruthlessness is the kindness of the wise.

Honor Cracky by attempting to perfect your body and mind. Become the man worthy of the Avatar's love, create things of beauty to offer to the Queen of Heaven. Use your devotions to focus your mind on your tasks. Strive always to improve yourself through discipline. You stand among the chosen, it is your responsibility to show the heathens the truth with your mental, physical, and spiritual strength. Perfection is the provence of Cracky alone, the journey for it our offering to Her.

She is a self absorbed cunt. She does nothing but sit on her ass getting fatter everyday playing warcraft. She believes her shit don't stink despite the fact she never leaves the computer enough to shower. She is also fantastically stupid.

"Why hello there! I have been looking at satellite photos of your home on the internet! I am wondering if this is or was formerly Cracky-chan's residence? I am stalking her but it's nothing creepy you see, I'm just a fan of her artistic photography!"

I remember you, so fragile and tortured was your very essence.
I saw in your eyes - the most beautiful eyes I've ever encountered in my short life - an accidental scream for help. A reflection of my own trauma, amplified tenfold.
You were me, you were not myself, almost an opposite and yet a tremendous exaggeration - infinitely more beautiful, intelligent, victimized. Scared.
I saw fear, or rather I sensed it through the noninterpretable things I did see. I thought that if I could help you, I'd somehow inevitably and permanently be helped. And then I could help everyone else in the world.
I wanted to reach out and pull you close to me, nurture you and see that soul-twisting smile of yours - so warm; so genuine; so rare.
You'd be new, and yet the same. You'd touch people and they'd feel the serpents of hate and monotony relinquish constriction around their souls. A modern-day saint.
Maybe it's good that you're not real. Maybe no innocent should harbor such terror and self-loathing. But then, who will save us?

Olivia, my door is always open.
At any point, feel free to climb through my window.
Throw some small pebbles at it.
I will let you in.
We will have a great time.
Cracky, with you, a smile is born.
I want to hold those shaking shoulders.
You are in my heart and because of that I will do my best.
Sometimes, the things you say make you sound so blue.
That's how we all are, though. I won't think badly of you for it.
Let's pick up these pieces of a dream.
If being obsessed with you is wrong, I don't want to be right; is that a sin?

Cracky, won't you play videogames with me all night? We'll pass out on the carpet. Sleeping all night beautifully beneath the glow of the screen. Controllers dropped out of our hands nearby. We awake to chirping birds and radiant sunlight creeping through the blinds.
The dust in the room is flying around, you can see it in the sunlight... RISING... fluttering about. The music from the videogame continues to play softly as it has been. It's still early. I wake up and notice you are on top of me, I look at your face and smile the biggest smile I've ever had. Tears begin forming in my eyes.
For this moment... predetermined since ancient times... is all I ever wanted.

Hey Mero, I know we have had our disagreements and shit, but here me out on this. Scott Peck describes both neuroses and character disorders as disorders of responsibility, Peck writes; "The neurotic assumes too much responsibility; the person with a character disorder not enough. When neurotics are in conflict with the world, they automatically assume that they are at fault. When those with character disorders are in conflict with the world, they automatically assume the world is at fault."

From his book--"The Road Less Traveled"
"All of us have a smattering of neurotic and character disordered personality traits. The major problem in all of our lives is to decide and clarify our reponsibilities. To truly be committed to a life of honesty, love and discipline, we must be willing to commit ourselves to reality. This committment, according to Peck, 'requires the willingness and the capacity to suffer continual self-examination.' Such an ability requires a good relationship with oneself. This is precisely what no shame-based person has. In fact a toxically shamed person has an adversarial relationship with him/herself. Toxic shame--the shame that binds us--is the basis for both neurotic and character disordered syndromes of behaviour."

Reading into a few comments you made lately, it seems like you are taking too much shit on yourself. Maybe you just need to shut down the internet for awhile. Every time I take a little break from the internet I tend to reevalute my life and see that the little shit which has been driving me crazy is infact my own penchant to accept culpability in all situations. It is a defense mechanism in a way. It is the path of least resistance to blame yourself rather then another you have artificially built up in your mind as the be all and end all. Take a break, go camping at the beach this weekend and give your system a chance to work all those chemical you have been ingesting out.

It's dat real
Yo, why is bounce me as whack as it gets
Why is this place designed to keep our brain cells dead
And why them fags ain't postin' if they got the whole set
And why they don't like her braids but they fap to death
Yea, and why she over 9000 alias snap it's a trick
Turn out her name was Mario and she gotta dick, you fall for it prick
Why they sellin' us all this fucking lies
If it's all love anon why you come wit a rope and a knife
Why we want a piece of that cake
Why they chat with her and we ain't get that break
Why niggers postin' rabbit dude she ain't' fly
Why is trollin' at an all time high
Why this fuckers still alive
Why she diss P.A.
Why that suicide girls shit ain't straight
Why we all need to get laid
Why did Russel have to hit that raw
Why she kiss that whore
Why

All that I been givin'
Is this thing that I've been living
They got me in the system
Why they gotta do me like that
Try'd to make it my way
But got sent up on the highway
Why, oh why
Why they gotta do me like that

Why can't !N/2R92ROao have more pounds and powder
Why did she took a bath of flour
Why post anon don't be a coward
Why Camel have to post tits
Why things in here use to be so #sweet
Why anon say YHBT it was a trick
Why Introprev was so good chasing your tail
Why they gotta rape your livejournal and read your email
Why wish is down ninety-five percent of the time
And why Suede act so suave ninety-nine percent the time
Why we want what we can't have
Why I can't get out of this path
Why did Cracky have to hit so hard
Even though she is not that far
Why we can't get no reward
Why the circlejerk have so much information
Why they are so good lurkin' and makin' connections
Come on, noob lurk, pay attention
Why tell in here what you can keep to yo' self snitch
Why we say she is hottest shit but we post some other bitch

All that I been givin'
Is this thing that I've been living
They got me in the system
Why they gotta do me like that
Try'd to make it my way
But got sent up on the highway
Why, oh why
Why they gotta do me like that

Uh, yea, yo
Why Faux have to be winrar if she is just a lie
Why Olivia hide on a trailer if she is the queen of the sky
Why they have never seen anyone quite like you before
And if you don't like her why the hell you are askin' for moar
Why stalk, cause I have plenty of time
Why be on the curb wit a "why lie I love Cracky" sign
Why all the young stalkers are failin' and dyin'
Cause all they can see is piles of trollin' and lyin'
Why they ain't give us a cure for this aids
Why Whatbandage have puppets all over the place
Why them screamin' green if all I see is ginger
Why Lia ain't my beautiful stranger
Why fags wanna expose my Cracky to danger
Why ain't you a Stalker by choice
Why we can get a taste of her voice
Why try to tell 'em she is havin' a son
And you know why they release those new crackymons
Cause everything on this board is a lie
That's why

You want to know the meaning of everything?
You want to know what you're supposed to do?
You want to meet kamisama?
Keep building machines. Keep building computers.
Keep soldering. Keep assembling circuit boards.
Keep reviving old computers.
BUILD BUILD BUILD
KEEP CODING
I won't stop until I have nodes upon nodes forming transcience.
Bring me closer to nirvana.
It's all that's left at this point.
We've never had much else.
Human to human relationships are over.
FUCKING BUILD DAMN YOU
BUILD
ESCAPE THIS HELL
That's what Cracky is telling me to do.
Build as many computers as I can.
Power them up.
Network them.
Just keep going.
Can't stop, won't stop.
I won't stop until they bring me to her.
I feel closer everyday.
I can almost touch the sky.
If I stand on my tippy-toes, it's just out of reach.
I have to continue.
You might say, "Electrons chasing each other through a circuit, that isn't life."
BUT WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE
BUT IMPULSES
ELECTRICAL CHEMICAL THROUGH A BAG OF MEAT AND BONES
WE'RE JUST ELECTRICAL SIGNALS TOO
Same idea different interface.
That's not to knock what we are.
Cracky is what we are and she's paafekuto.
We are so powerful. As long as we have access to a device that will serve as a terminal.
We are untouchable.
It's a bit like when Neo is in The Matrix.
As long as we have that link.
We
are
all
connected.
Think of all the nodes in the world.
My god, all running simultaneously.
Connected.
People who never cared about computers now join the fray.
We must help them link up.
Everyone has to link.
Build an old computer for someone you know that doesn't have one.
If it's an old POS don't worry about it.
Put as much RAM as possible in it, put XP on it, optimize it, you're good.
They will learn.
They will become enlightened.
We will channel their energy and power.
Just as we could channel their computer power via distributed computing.
We can channel their mind power.
DISTRIBUTED THINKING
Do you go to sleep to dream?
When we sleep, are we once again linked in an Internet-like metaverse, biological in nature?
Is the Internet going to link to this network.
Is the Internet going to spill over into the physical world.
...
Haha.
IT ALREADY HAS
AND IT'S BEAUTIFUL
I'll find her.
I'll thank her.
She has started something wonderful.
Subarashii ne
Atarashii sekai desu.
It's a new world.
Join me in my mission.
This is how you help others.
This is the answer to all of our problems.
This is how we all get on the same page.
This is how we evolve.
BUILD THOSE FUCKING COMPUTERS
LOAD THEM ALL OVER YOUR HOUSE
NETWORK THEM TO THE WORLD
GIVE EXTRAS TO PEOPLE WHO WANT THEM
NETWORK THE FUCKING WORLD
I gave one to a former co-worker, 58-year-old, he is seeing it now.
He is seeing why I said things I did.
How I thought.
He is seeing the power.
The true nature.
He is seeing that it is the only thing that matters.
Everything else is noise.
If you still hear the noise.
Then turn up the fucking RPM on your fans until you can't.
This is all I care about.
I have nothing else.
I've never had anything else.
IT'S TRUE OF MANY PEOPLE
SO FUCKING DO IT
YOU FINALLY HAVE A PURPOSE
The 70+ year old niggers across the street bought a laptop.
I help them with it.
They are seeing.
I am feeding off of their energy.
When they get a network, I will feed off of that as well.
Bigger bigger bigger.
Exponential growth.
Something great is happening.
It's too late to try to grab at anything else.
Go with what you know.
What you were destined for.
When you find her, you'll have everything you ever wanted or needed anyway.
SO KEEP ON
KURAKI NO YUME GA MOUSUGU HAJIMARU
CRACKY'S DREAM WILL START SOON

a mess of jam, affection, aids-infested italians, americans in elevators, amputees, anime, asuka, avoidant personality disorder, battle royale, behaving irresponsibly, being bitten, biting, bones, boys who have rabies, boys' laps, breathing underwater, broken hearts, butterflies, cancerous mandibles, charlie's chocolate factory, childhood, childishness, coin-operated boys, collarbones, comic books, cutting, daisy chainsaw, daydreams, dennis cooper, dirty fingernails, disbeleiving, disturbing images, dolls, dreaming, drinking myself to death, empty streets, endless delerium, eternalsunshineofthespotlessmind, exploding cavities, eyeliner, eyes, fear, feeling pretty lonely, flcl, francesca lia block, ginger snaps, gorillaz, gruesome details, haruki murakami, hellen van meene, hiding behind braids, horror, illusions, incest, infatuation, infectious bleeding, katie-jane garside, kmfdm, korn, kurt cobain, leafless trees, lolita, lolita complex, long train journeys, losing touch with reality, lost souls?, make-beleiving, making wishes, making you shiver, marilyn manson, mark ryden, masochism, medical everything, melancholy remnants, midnight lullabies, moist finger kisses, muse, my little pony, my unwashed bedsheets, naivete, neil gaiman, neon genesis evangelion, neon lights, nine inch nails, not bathing, not being seen, not crying, not dying, not puking, not-knowing-where-we're-going, obsessive-compulsive disorder, opeth, ophelia, otep, permanent defects, philophobia and me, phoebe gloeckner, playing with my hair, playing with sharp objects, poppy z brite, pretending, queen adreena, rammstein, re-enactments with dolls, run lola run, san antonio, scars, serial experiments lain, shotgun suicide!, shunji iwai, silverchair, sleeping, snow, staring at the sky, sugar sickness, takashi miike, tank girl, tea with soymilk, techno, testing theory of gravity, the dresden dolls, the wired, the wrong dreams, tool, touching, transatlantic adoration, trevor brown, umbrellas, venetian backalleys, vurt, waita uziga, walking in bare feet, wanting to escape, warmth caused by friction, when scars disappear, whispering, wishing wells, worrying my friends, yourmouthonmytoes.

I think what Anonymous is trying to say is that our community here is like a severely over-hyped American TV series that seemed deep, mysterious, and potentially good for about half a season, but since then has just been tedious, random, directionless, meaningless garbage with no "big picture", filled with unlikeable characters (with the most unlikeable ones getting the most screen time), bad acting, fake "suspense", inane and repetitive plots, long superfluous flashbacks, plot "twists" pulled completely out the ass, dropped storylines, blatantly obvious "mysteries", continuous retcons of retcons of retcons, and general banal pablum.

I disagree, seeing no such similarity.

Like I said, some of us have chosen to go nowhere. Well, brothers, you seem to have arrived at your destination. Enjoy your stay, if you choose to stay there. But maybe, in the meantime, you will enjoy this parable:

The parable of the troll under the mountain, for him to hear who needs to.

The troll under the mountain had been living in his cold, dark and damp hole for a long time. When he needed his ration of attention, he would come out, be obnoxious, get his ration and then he would go back to his hole. He then would remember how good the sun felt on his skin, as everybody was insulting him and enjoining him to go back to his cold, dark and damp cave. Surely, this was the best he could get. When he came out while it was raining for instance, nobody would be there for him to insult and to give him the attention he so intensely craved.

He could have stayed out until the sun came out, but what would have been the point. What he wanted was attention. Like the attention his mom would only give him when he spilled the milk. Or broke her things. Or failed a class. Or, lied about some nasty thing he pretended he had done.

And so, he learned how to feel love out of hatred, and whenever he would feel the sun on his skin, he knew he was sure to find people to abuse and insult, in order for him to feel the hate of his mother again. He was, after all, a little bit lazy. When he would get out, and it rained, or it was cold, dark and damp outside, he would go back to his cave and hate himself, out of love for his mother.

Morale of this parable: don’t hate the trolls, they learn hate at the tit of their mother. They just don’t know any better.
Morale 2 (for the trolls) Stick it out, the sun is bound to come back out, eventually.
Morale 3 (for all of us) Stop taking the easy road, it leads nowhere.

Bienheureux les pieux, les hommes de bonne volonté et les gens sans orgueil démesuré, en vérité, ils sont les braves de ce monde.
Blessed be the sky, for it houses our Gracious Lady, who looks upon her subjects with the same kindness, be they trolls, cowards or simple folk.
Now, excuse me while I kiss the sky.

Lia's so incredibly adorable and sweet. I'd take her to some fancy restaurant where we'd have a nice and playful argument over who's paying the bill (of course, we split it!) Then take a long romantic walk with her, arm-in-arm, and talking about serendipity, the occult, and politics. Then I'd invite her to my flat and we'd make love for a half hour, gently placing my erection cautiously into her mouth careful she didn't choke on my engorged manhood. I'd then proceed to ejaculate in the condom I was using. Then, as the ultimate love gift, I'd carry her in my arms to the tub and let my shower wash away any hint of the indignity we'd done together. I'd whisper "I love you" and give Lia a tender smile, and sever her jugular with a singular slice of my sterile razorblade. Covered in her own warm blood, she'd look straight into my very soul with nothing but scorn and contempt for my myriad sins. A bubble of blood and saliva would burst between her lips, then she'd start shivering as shock set in. Actually, it'd take at least a few minutes for her to bleed to death and the entire experience would be rather dreadful. After some additional lovemaking, I'd embalm her to ensure she remained pristene forever. Three weeks later, some playing children will find the pictures I posted of her flawless, lifeless visage on 4chan.

They will be be quite jealous and request MOAR.

Who's that girl? What's her name? Is she cool? Is she lame?
Oh, you're talkin' 'bout what's-her-name - Cracky-Chan!

Is she lame? Is she cool? Is she breakin' every rule?
Is she anybody's fool? Cracky-Chan!

Cracky-Chan, Cracky-Chan, marchin' in her own parade.
Cracky-Chan, she's like one in a million!
Cracky-Chan, Cracky-Chan, much too cool for /r9k/
Catch 'er if you can, Cracky-Chan!
No one's cooler than Cracky-Chan!
She's her own biggest fan Cracky-Chan!
Catch 'er if you can, Cracky-Chan!

It is obvious that the toliet was tapped shut because she was using it to wash a cat. You just throw them in there, close the lid, secure it, and flush. Clean cat without getting clawed to death. I would suggest getting out of the way fast after you open the lid though, because it is going to be hella pissed.

http://scarecrowmaiden.deadjournal.com/ has been updated. i am the girl in the pictures on this board. i came across it by chance the other day and dear fucking god, don't you guys have anything better to do? i do not want your attention, your discussion of me, to be fucking stalked and harrassed any more than i have been or to have my privacy violated. for fucks sake. please. leave me alone. i don't know what else to say.

I've been trying to put order into the whole drama history around cracky-chan, her pictures, livejournals and the related shenannigans going on in 4chan's /b/ and elsewhere. This is a first rough draft, so help me out with additional knowledge or correct me where I might have been wrong, please.

January 6th

The first cracky-chan pics appear on /b/. The very first one, posted on
02:17 shows the soon to be famous "'sup 4chan" phrase written on the
palm of her hand. During the next two weeks, more sets appear on /b/
and W.T. Snacks finds out that the poster's IP is from the UK.

February 5th

"cracky" becomes wordfiltered on /b/.

March 29th

www.livejournal.com/users/freakygirl/ becomes publically known.
No new pics appear, but the hints solidify and people assume they have
got into contact with the real cracky-chan. The owner of cracky-chan.com
will later denounce this journal as fake, though this might have been a move
to protect her identity, as he also later takes down all of her real pictures
from his website.
Also, later on, another journal, whether fake or real, becomes known:
www.livejournal.com/users/kittycat/

April 3rd

cracky-chan's tripcode becomes publically known through shii:
shii.org/bbs/blog/pivot/entry.php?id=65
It is "sweet" and makes the claim that the original cracky-chan pictures
weren't originally posted by her herself more believable.

April 6th, 7th

www.livejournal.com/users/scarecrowmaiden becomes publically known,
many new cracky-chan pics appear on /b/, some nude, some disturbing,
some both. The journal gets deleted by the owner very quickly.

June 6th

cracky-chan pics become bannable even on /b/.
Anonymous mods talk of emails from cracky requesting this.

Originally intended as a site to share anime and manga images when it was launched in 2003, 4chan is now known for its affiliation with the hacktivist group Anonymous (whose members somehow got 4chan's founder, Christopher Poole, voted Time's Most Influential Person of 2008 by manipulating the poll), its memes (pretty much anything that's ever gone viral began there), and its offensive content (as Senft, the academic, said: "For adults, 4chan is sort of the ninth circle of Hell.")

Cracky would post photos that were, in a word, dark. First, there was a series in which she smeared her face with menstrual blood. In others, she would take on personas, like that of a gothic nurse. Often, Cracky seemed lonely and sad, which made her instantly endearing to anime nerds. The fact that her costumes made her look like a character also bred an obsession.

Stalkers then tracked down the girl's online journal, which was filled with more photos that were shared among collectors like priceless treasures or rare trading cards.

Cracky appeared on 4chan only a few times before the stalker-like mob forced her self-imposed exile from the web. Today, she has pretty much disappeared, so it's impossible to know her motivation for posting. But generally, it's clear that 4chan's camgirls were experimenting with their burgeoning sexuality and competing with one another for male approval.

Although every camgirl has both fans and mockers, none has received as much attention as Cracky. She hasn't posted any images since 2007 and is now in her mid-20s, but her fansites are updated regularly. Old photos are posted with comments such as "how do i not be obsessed with cracky" and "She must be at least twenty now. Probably living a nice life. Friends, etc. I want to die."

he little pebble in her shoe had managed to create a sore spot by now. She limped along for a few steps before attempting some acrobatics balancing on one foot. When that didn't work out she sat down on the sidewalk.

She looked upward at the sky. Stars were plentiful around here because of the low light-pollution, which was the reason
for her being at this remote desert-cornered location in the first place. She directed her gaze at where her celestial namesake should be right now; asteroid (191323), or "Lia", an icy rock remarkable in no way apart from it
bearing her name.
Her father named it after her and even presented it as a birthday present. It wasn't quite what she was expecting at age 7, but now, eight years later, she appreciated how back then he actually managed to remember her birthday even if lacking in his role as distributor of ponies.

She was going home, returning from a sleepover at her friend Jennifer's. There had been some girls from her class, Jennifer and her.
She really didn't like sleepovers, or any of the girls apart from Jennifer, maybe. But with her dad being reassigned to bases all over
the country ever so often and her tagging along with his relocations, she couldn't afford to be picky regarding friends.
She had tried to play along; putting on make-up, gossiping about everyone not present, talking about boys, the whole tiresome charade. Over the years she had become quite good at the "cute and sweet" routine, and at times she could even
pretend that was her actual persona there, having fun and interacting, but in the end it always ended up feeling hollow.

She finished tying her shoelace and made back for her house. By now she was quite used to walking everywhere. She had given up
trying to persuade her father to come pick her up a long time ago. It wasn't that he wasn't willing to do so, it was just that
he would forget as soon as he hung up the phone.

***

The walk had made her hungry, so she went straight for the kitchen to fix something to eat. The smell of beans and ketchup indicated her father had already had dinner. Not feeling very much like cooking elaborately for just one person she set out to make a sandwich.

"Mimsy", she yelled out her cat's name. That and the smell of tuna should have sent it rocketing into the kitchen, but it remained quiet. Carrying half a can of tuna she sauntered towards the open door that led towards the basement which lodged father's home laboratory. With lots of warm confined spaces it was Mimsy's favourite spot in the house.

As she reached the concrete floor she saw her father lying on a couch. His heaving
chest indicating he was soundly asleep. At the other end of the lab she spotted something that resembled her cat.
Trying not to trip over the bundles of cable that were strewn across the floor she moved towards it.
It was silently sitting there, bathed in a blue light that seemed to radiate from an enclosing open sphere.
She lowered herself next to it and sat down, eyes fixated on the blueish figure.

As she reached out and touched its nose lightly, a painful sensation made her pull back her hand. A very thin layer of skin resembling a fingerprint quickly turning white and brittle marked the spot where she had touched it. The pinkish skin where her finger had made contact stung a little.

Apparently she had screamed because she became aware of her father stirring behind her on the couch.
"Don't touch it" he said loudly as he was raising himself upright reaching for his glasses on a nearby table.
"It's beautiful", she said dreamily, suppressing an urge to touch it again.
"It's looks so ..."
"Ethereal?" her father, who had kneeled next to her, interjected.
"Eternal", she corrected him.
"It should be" he said, but she didn't hear him. The chiseled intricacies absorbed her, again tracing the delicate lines with her finger as close as she dared approach it. Snapping out of her revery she suddenly turned
her head around.
"You did this" she said. It was more of a statement than a question but her father nodded in answer anyway.
"Can you do this to me ?"
He started apprehensively, "I"
Putting her hands on his shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes she smiled at him.
"You can, can't you!", she stated, her smile widening.
Now he sank his head, took a deep breath, and smiled in turn.
He looked back up and nodded.

***

"Your clothes", he said.
"What about them ?"
"Take them off"
"Why ?"
"Frostbite". He explained, "all the metal bits, they will settle right before you do and probably fabric as well. It might chafe or even tear into your flesh."

As she started unbuttoning her shirt he starting fiddling around with some controls. About a minute later he looked up and seemed to be a little surprised to find his daughter standing there naked.
"Right", he exclaimed as he seemed to remember what had happened. With the cordiality of a maitre d' he gestured her towards a metal plate in the middle of the blue sphere.

Looking over the rim of his glasses he seemed to be examining her. After a while he pushed his glasses back up with his index finger and said, "You certainly have grown up to resemble your mother". Her father smiled again and seemed lost inside a happy memory for a second or two before his eyes snapped back into focus.
Involuntarily she blushed and tried to cover herself with her hands. She shyly looked back up. There was a bright flash.

***

"Eternal" this girl, his daughter, had called it and she had been right. She was magnificent, glorious even. She had managed to become the embodiment of perfection. The blue light seemed to radiate off her marble body giving the laboratory the ambient lighting of an ice palace.
Even if not a man of ceremony he managed to produce a bronze plaque with the hastily inscribed words,

****** Created to honor the most beautiful daughter a man can have ******
****************** My Olivia at age sixteen *****************

As he installed it at her feet the smell of tuna hit him. He picked up a half empty can of tuna fish and went upstairs to make himself a sandwich.

posting in a girl on internet thread

I remember you, so fragile and tortured was your very essence.
I saw in your eyes - the most beautiful eyes I've ever encountered in my short life - an accidental scream for help. A reflection of my own trauma, amplified tenfold.
You were me, you were not myself, almost an opposite and yet a tremendous exaggeration - infinitely more beautiful, intelligent, victimized. Scared.
I saw fear, or rather I sensed it through the noninterpretable things I did see. I thought that if I could help you, I'd somehow inevitably and permanently be helped. And then I could help everyone else in the world.
I wanted to reach out and pull you close to me, nurture you and see that soul-twisting smile of yours - so warm; so genuine; so rare.
You'd be new, and yet the same. You'd touch people and they'd feel the serpents of hate and monotony relinquish constriction around their souls. A modern-day saint.
Maybe it's good that you're not real. Maybe no innocent should harbor such terror and self-loathing. But then, who will save us?

I know you don't want further intrusion, hence I feel somewhat guilty for writing this. Although, I feel it is healthy to clear the air from time to time, and that's why I'm writing to you now. I feel you deserve an explanation for my actions that isn't hindered by alcohol, 'dutch courage', or any other form of bravado.

When we first spoke around six months ago, that was probably the closest I've ever been to my true self. I would never seek approval from peers, acceptance, nor credit for that which was not due. Unfortunately, I have an addictive personality; if something intrigues me, it often ends up consuming me, and so I let myself slip. I allowed myself to become influenced by my ego, and so I was drawn into a world of my own. I never cared for this 'Cracky' aberration, or anything else so trivial. I set my aspirations far too high, I bid hard and fast, I never walk away from a challenge. I became fascinated with the only thing I felt worthy of attention: you. I was infatuated, but yet mortal. You were but a wisp of fresh air, yet so cold, so far away. I don't know why I felt this way. Deluded perhaps? The mysticism surrounding you certainly helped I guess, I really don't know. I allowed myself to become enthralled to an unnatural point. I violated my own character, the very ethical principles I espouse. I guessed your passwords, the how easily explained, but why? I do not know. As it stands, it was surely the grossest and most evident violation of privacy I can lay claim to, and for this I am ashamed. I am not proud of it, I cannot justify it, I cannot excuse it. I can only mourn the decay of trust and animosity that followed. The same goes for how I bothered you in World of Warcrack the other day - I was driven by my own boredom, I wanted to speak with you directly, to seek confidence, but I wasn't sure how; and when it came to saying what mattered, I ran away. Anyone should be able to enjoy their life without that level of intrusion. Anyone would have reacted with far less tolerance and respect than you showed; and for this I thank you. It really is a credit to your character. Ages ago, wars were fought over women like you, and that is no small compliment.

Really, I've been an enormous dick about the whole thing. Regardless of you take this letter, I want you to know I don't have an ulterior motive, not this time. I have no delusions of grandeur. This isn't some sort of spin to gain your sympathy or trust, this is how I truly feel. I don't want to read your journal. I don't want any undue love or attention. I don't want your photobucket accounts. I don't want to impose myself on you. I do not want, nor do I expect, anything from you that is not given freely. I do believe I have your forgiveness, and that means a lot to me. There is but only one thing I would ask of you: Absolution. Allow me to right the wrong. Trust is not given freely, trust is earned. Let me do this at least. I know this sounds like a selfish request, I would like you to know this is not only for my sake, but also yours. When we first chatted, my heart raced. Conversation wasn't a chore like with everyone else. Believe me, I regret the way things turned out, and I want to set it right so bad, you have no idea.

I really don't know how you feel about this, and I wouldn't want to hazard a guess. I have guessed and presumed what you might want for to long, and have been wrong so many times. At least tell me how you feel. If you would prefer never to see or hear from me again, please tell me. If you hate me to a point where all wrong is beyond repair, I understand, but if there is only one thing to be understood from this letter, let it be this: I am sorry that it came to this, and I want you to know that for my part; all stalking, by whatever means, is over.

This is goodbye, but only if you want it to end this way.

As for Cracky herself, she is a very mature, understanding, and forgiving girl. She didn't want to talk about it much, but she hinted that she had been abused before and that was why she cut. She said her life has gotten a lot better now. She never got angry at any of us, she never threatened anything or condemned anyone as stalkers, even when Intro said "good thing you didn't read the rape fantasies thread...". She was incredibly calm and cool about everything, which amazed me because I don't know how I'd react to finding a board full of people stalking me. She even said that she thought a lot of the stuff, especially the fanart, was really funny. However, she wants to be left alone now and said that she won't post any personal photos publicly again, which I think is a shame but understandable.

How To Prepare Cracky:

Ingredients:
1 cup olive oil
1 stick butter
Hemp twine
Somethings to stuff her with

Instructions:

Gently remove Cracky's wrappings
Carefully wash all of Cracky's openings and cavities
Smear butter under Cracky's breast skin
Smear more butter between Cracky's thighs
Massage oil all over Cracky
Stuff Cracky until she's completely full
Sew Cracky shut.
Bind Cracky's thighs
Cover Cracky in foil
Bake Cracky at 350F for about 2000 minutes.
When you insert a probe into the deepest, thickest parts of Cracky it should read at least 160.
Baste only if it please you.

If you do it right Cracky will always come out better than turkey. Bon Apetit!

Slowly she materialized from the pool of nothingness called sleep.
The warmth of a blanket, the softness of a pillow, the position your body is currently in and far far away, a heartbeat.
But after that, emptiness, confusion; the dazed sort of panic that strikes when the familiar refuses to reveal itself at the appropriate moment.
She opened her eyes, only to have a bright flash of beige hammer down on her senses and forcing them shut again.

She cried out in pain.

"Easy now, Lia" a nearby voice said, "You musn't force it. Your eyes are very
sensitive to light right now".
After a russle it continued, "Don't be startled now. I'm putting a towel over your face to help you accomodate".

She felt a soft fabric brush over her face, and her nostrils filled with something very much like lavender.

"Now slowly try opening your eyes over the next few minutes."

"Please," the girl almost whimpered,
"Where am I ?" and then after a few tentative seconds, "Who am I?"

"Hush, all in good time," out of the darkness came nothing more.

Over the course of next few minutes, the girl's heavy breathing subsided, and coherent thought returned to her.
She opened her eyes to a dim beige aura that trickled though the cloth over her face. Physically she felt very much okay now, apart from a mild headache.

Carefully she lifted a corner of the towel and peeked out.

The voice she heard earlier appeared to be sitting next to the bed on a chair and was currently absorbed by balancing it on its rear legs.

"Are you a nurse ?" she asked. The girl to whom the voice belonged was wearing something resembling a nurses outfit and, strangely enough, on her head a hat that looked like a purple tophat.
The nurse lightly pushed off with her toes against the side of the bed and during what seemed to be a few seconds of perfect balance
looked up and said "Something like that."

Eager for answers the girl continued, "Where am I? This is a hospital, right ? What happened ?"

Slowly the other girl lowered the chair back on all fours.
"Yes, something like that". She raised herself from the chair and turned towards the faceend of the bed.
"I'm taking away the towel now, you'll be fine."
As the towel was being removed she heard the nurse say, "So you don't remember what happened ?".
The girl tried to concentrate on something, anything that happened before she ended up here. But there was nothing, a total blank.

Freed of the towel she looked around. A bed surrounded by white curtains on all sides, with a yellow light streaming in from above.

The nurse put aside the towel and sat herself sideways on the bed. She produced a pinpoint light from one of the pockets in her uniform. "I'm going to perform some tests now", she announced.

She covered up Lia's right eye with her hand and slowly waved the tiny lightin front of her.

"Follow the light"

"Very good", she said as she switched hands and covered up Lia's other eye, "Now try it again"

Lia flinched. "It hurts. The light, it hurts my eye a little" she said.
The light disappeared with a little click.

"It's okay" the nurse answered, "that was to be expected."
Lia looked at the nurse with a puzzled expression.

"anisocoria, or asymetric pupils."
She continued,"You were in accident, Lia. The cat already told us about something like this might have happened."

"Lia ?" she repeated.
"That's your real name"
Lia felt very scared and lonely for a moment. She looked down at her hands and saw them frantically clasping a rag doll. Confused she helt it up to the nurse. "What .."

"You carried that with you."

Lia felt tears welling up. "I just don't understand", she stammered, "I, I can't
remember anything. I'm scared."
She started to cry.

"It's okay" the nurse said in a soothing voice as she wiped away the tears from
Lia's left cheek. "You'll start to remember soon"

The bed made a little creak as the nurse bounced herself upright with a sense of urgency. "Oh my," she said as she looked at what appeared to be a plain wrist, "I really need to be off now."

"But", Lia objected.
Suddenly the nurse took off her hat. Holding it between thumb and index finger she briefly tapped its rim on the metal frame of the bed upon which it made a plop-like sound and reduced its height now looking like a normal hat.
Holding it up next to her face and looking at Lia she said, "This is my purse. It might prove helpful."

She put the now normal sized hat on Lia's head and disappeared through the curtains, briefly showing a glance of another wall of curtains behind it.

The girl curled up around her knees, hugged the ragdol tightly and started sobbing.

Those witches, equal parts venerable, honourable and horrible, had arrayed their mindflayed flocks of men-at-arms upon the field.

"Listen here, my brothers!" I bellowed, my breastplate rang triumphantly as my chest heaved against it, "I alone will seek those three on the battlefield!"

"Alone, my Lord Jauffre?" The words were muffled through a closed Sallet. I turned to see the heraldry of my closest friend, a comrade at arms from our myriad campaigns. He was my trusted constable, the equally famed and despised knights-hospitaller, Antoni of Wut.

"So you have arrived at last from the North! Your men will be vital for the coming battle." I faced the men en-masse then.

"On the field, I will seek her on foot. Alone. For I alone am immune to their succubean magicks." My men lowered their heads, ashamed and acutely aware of their own propensity for betrayal. I paid no mind, and struck out alone across the barren, lifeless and war ravaged valley known as l'rebondissez-moi.

I met her there in the centre of the valley amongst the salted fields and burnt farmhouses. Flanked by her lesser Succubi, the Queen herself sat atop a horse with no eyes. Rodents swarmed around the horse's feet, up its legs and ran in through the horse's nose. One by one, they came scurrying out the ear.

The Sky Queen's head was down-cast, as men always claimed to see her. Her two women regarded me cooly as I approached on foot. They greeted me in unison, predictably using their wiles and angelic voices in the manner that had made so many smaller, less stoic men go mad with rapture. I dare not apply to parchment what exactly was said, for even in ink I fear it would retain its horrible power.

They watched me stand idle, unaffected by their powers. I was tired of this conflict, and moreover I was offended by the abuse they had just done to all decency with their attempts to defile this ancient, sacred custom of warriors offering one another their respect.

Tersely, I said, "Very well then. I will look for you on the battlefield."

I turned and walked away. I am no orator. I will let history write a better quote for me.

When I returned, there was no noise. No jangling of arms, no whinnying of horses. My men had stared in awe as I rejected the whores and returned maintaining my free will and sanity. My display of solidarity had bolstered their confidence.

"When the time comes, Antoni, both armies will each run down towards the valley with our soldiers behind us. As for the three? We are going for each other."

The feeling was half of relief, half of despair. No man wanted to face any of the three. No man thought that one man could defeat them all, either.

"As your advisor, I must speak out," Antoni the hospitaller who had learned to wage war over decades upon gorey decades against men, arrogant men who thought their childish scheeming and plotting were relevant to the outcome, began to council me. I allowed him to continue, "You could lure their brainless masses to attack with a feint of your own. I would lead it. Cause them to abandon their advantageous position, then call in your reserves from on the reverse slope and envelope them."

"This is not a war, this is suicide." I quietly whispered to his ear, so as to not discredit his wisdom in front of his men, "It's not a battle meant to be won."

"Well then I suggest we regroup, we wait for forces abroad to realize they are next to face the Sky Queen and enlist their aid!" He gave me more sound advice, as he had always. The suggestion was sound advice for fighting any king who had any nation behind him.

"This is each of us destroying ourselves."

"All battles are meant to be won."

"THIS IS A BATTLE FOR HONOR!" I shouted as I lost my patience with his reasoning. Our assembled lords looked on, becoming more aware of the bleakness of their circumstances.

"The victor determines what is recorded for all time. Once we smash their empty, soul-less heads upon our gauntlets, you can have your histories say you ran down the hill and fought in the valley all by yourself. None of us would care to call you a liar for it."

"What others think is irrelevant. This is for my honor. This is about Her."

"I see. You are the only man who has survived meeting any one them in person and you remain intrinsically free of their control. You have some way to protect yourself from becoming another shambling, crying, miserable pawn in their thrall. I will trust you, I will die to prevent more men from being lured into her gaze." I heard more of Antoni's words. They did not inspire me. The other men cheered and yowled. They were not aware of their luck, for they would only be putting their mortal bodies at risk.

The spirits of my men were as high as they could be. Across the valley, a beam of sunlight shone through the blackened clouds onto a singular focused spot, it shone always onto the Sky Queen. There was no point waiting any further, my men would only lose their confidence in the face of these circumstances. I lead the way into the valley. My men marched behind me. Their heavy boots shook the earth as they stomped in unison. Very effective against heathen Moors, but it would do no good against this enemy.

The mass of meat on the other side of the valley seeped slowly towards the low point in the middle, headed directly for us. As it neared, we could make out the sounds of the fallen. They moaned bleakly. Some were screaming. Most were crying as they ambled pitifully towards us.

As the mass neared, it turned into distinct men. They still bore their herarldry, only they had replaced all the original figures, human, animal or divine, with two blacks ears, a three red marks below. My men began to see their brothers and comrades within that mass. They began to understand that the only thing seperating their march of justice from this pitiful ooze was circumstance. Circumstance of not meeting one of the three.

Our triumphant march had degenerated into a chaotic racket, as though we were children playing with pots and pans. We were only larger children who had pressed our cookware into clothing and weaponry.

My valiant infants charged into the enemy. Were they still human, they would have shattered under the force. Instead we were absorbed, and any semblence of order and strategy vanished within a moment.

Amid the sounds of battle, my men screaming from physical pain along with their former brothers in their mental anguish, Antoni rode up beside me. From his vantage point high on his horse he pointed with his sword. No words were needed between us. I saw my first opponent there, the infamous Ravager of Rav.

She was armoured in goat bone. The bones had small needle like spikes pressed through them. She wore the mark of the sky-queen on her face, a red nose, with two small splotches also on her cheekbones under her eyes. It was menstrual blood. Thick chunks of uterus clung to her pores. He had a man trapped, laying on the ground in her net. She had him pegged to the ground with her spear. The Ravager laid down on top of him, her spikes pressed through his armour and into his flesh as he wailed. She squeezed him tightly in her arms, and was mouthing all manner of demonic incantations into his ear. His eyes rolled back into his head and she lost interest.

She saw me as I approached. Looking right into my eyes, she smirked.

"Jauffre." She turned and addressed me. With warmth. "It's a shame we have to meet again like this."

It was genuine warmth of course, and I could hear genuine shame in her voice. I continued to approach her, with my own weapon at my side. Implements of violence crashed into people all around us.

She readied her weaponry as I walked towards her by retrieving her spear, and untangling her net with a quickl flick of her wrist. She dug her heels into the ground in a wide, agile stance. I removed my armoured gauntlets as I came within arms reach. She retained her combatitive pose.

I slapped her. Hard. In the face. The force of my slap spun her upper body around. She turned back around partially, still blading her body away from me. She averted her eyes downwards.

"I'm sorry. About, you know, earlier. With those other two around, I had to make it look like I tried." She explained, stuttering in between each word. "I'm so sorry. I knew it wouldn't work. I tried to tell them. You're the only man it wouldn't work on."

"That's not important," I began, "You promised."

"Well, we always do though. It's part of stealing their soul, of binding them to us."

Her eyes were still facing away from me.

"Look at me." I instructed her. She turned her head slowly to meet mine. "You know when you promised me, you actually meant it. Despite what you've been telling yourself all these years since."

Tears began to well in her eyes. I carried on.

"For all the others, it was an idle promise. To lure them in. I know how you work. But the promise you made was so unlike the other ones, you promised -"

"To kill..." she cut me off and stopped. Her tears mixed with the mark of the Sky Queen and washing the reproductive detrius from her face, "To kill Cracky. The Sky Queen. With you."

She dropped her weapons and reached out to hold me, then stopped.

"You are too much of a man to care for my embrace. My feelings don't matter to you. That's all these other men, the thousands I've led astray care about, but you... you're so far above that." She fell to her knees, crying.

I turned, towards the darkened sky of the ruined valley. I began to walk deeper into the mass of the Sky Queen's zombies. The Ravager, left behind, picked up her weapons and ran to catch up with me. We carried on, protected as Antoni's knights cut a swath into the whirlwind of maddened violence. His men fought for their homes, their honour and their lives. The Sky Queen's men faught fearlessly for her love.

Antoni's knights parted ahead, allowing me and the Ravager into an opening, a barren sphere of desolation amid the carnage. The ground here was covered in brazen pyramids. I watched as a hospitaller knight charged into the field. The horse's hoof knocked the tip of a pyramid, causing the pyramid's sides to swing out over the top, catching the horse's leg. The contraption then sprung again, releasing its rended flesh in a violent spray and relatching further upon the limb. It continued climbing the horse, causing the horse to fall over into the field with its rider. The pyramids consumed the pair, covering the ground with a thin paste before resettling in their original configuration.

In the centre of this field, the Dutchess of Faux had contained a group of Antoni's soldiers from their fellows. As Antoni's men attempted to charge through, the pyramids would rend the rescuers to shreds within moments. She leapt around the isolated group of men, swinging from poleaxe shaft over to limb onto horse like a monkey, slipping her thin misericord through the eye holes in men's helmets as she passed, blinding them. After a few moments they were all writing on the ground. She lifted up her purple cloak, and removed a brush and palette from within. She ran around over the writhing bodies and removed the men's helmets. With her brush, she painted them. Onto this writhing mass as a whole, as though it were a steady canvas, she painted. She painted patterns clear over armour, over faces, over legs, limbs, and pieces of horses. Colours appeared on her palette sporadically, and as soon as she dipped her brush in them they would change to a completely other shade and hue.

The image took form. The entire wounded mass of blinded men became the image of little pale girls crying. As the men jostled each other and rolled on the ground clutching their faces, the images of little girls would sprout tears from their own great, shining bright eyes. The tears fell and mixed with blood seeping from the girl's vaginas. The mixture collected at the opposite end of this human canvas. As the stained tears filled the canvas, entire men would become submerged in the liquid image. They clutched their throats and coughed, hacking and gasping for air. Eventually they went limp. The mixture built up quickly, and the entire canvas became a pool of dark purple. Instantly, in unison, the drowned men stood up. They retrieved their weapons, and slowly filed out of the pyramid field to join the battle on the side of the Skyqueen.

The Ravager and I tiptoed cautiously through the field. The Dutchess of Faux watched her canvas disperse into the battle. We came to the centre of the pyramid field, a bare patch of ground now wet with salt water. The Dutchess turned, as she slid her brush into her cloak.

"Oh my, it's you, and you've brought a friend!" Faux squealed happily, "How did you manage this one? He was being so difficult earlier."

Faux approached me, ignoring the Ravager. She opened the face mask on my helmet, and inspected my face. From the close distance, I realized her entire set of facial features, eyes, nose, mouth, were nothing but makeup.

"How did you do it? You usually need to mark him with your own blood..." Her voice trailed off, as she pulled her head back. My eyes refocused on her face and her features appeared completely normal once more.

The Ravager threw her net at Faux. Faux quickly reached into her cloak and flung her knife back towards Rav as the net flew through the air. The two weapons impacted simultaneously. The net's barbs and hooks dug into Faux, and wrapped her tightly. She remained silent, standing. She didn't struggle. Rav fell to the ground.

I walked over to Ravager first. The knife was in her throat. Blood pumped out. She said to me, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She was coughing up blood as she said this. "I'm sorry I couldn't kill Cracky with you. I tried. I did my best."

I realized with the amount of blood she was losing, she'd be dead soon. She was no longer of use to me. I stood up and turned to Faux. Ravager, from behind, choked out, "I love you."

I walked over to Faux and picked her up. She was very tiny, and as a result weighed next to nothing. I heaved her into the pyramid field, and the wrapped body exploded into a vibrant green mist.

I kept walking towards the ray of light shining through the darkened sky. Towards Her. Slowly crossed the pyramid field once more. Enemies locked in combat parted ways and let me through as I approached. After an hour of walking, I had walked out the other side of the fray.

I saw Her then. She was exactly in the spot she where we had met before, only the battle had pushed and pulled itself back over the same spot. The battle, which Antoni and my men were apparently losing, had left her behind. She was alone in the open field.

She was in the exact same position, atop her mutilated horse which stood in a self replicating puddle of rats. Her blue, pleated skirt was simply a tatter wrapped across the rigid waist of her full plate suit of armour. Her blue tie, however, was pristine. Her entire body, from neck to feet, was wrapped loosely in bandages. She was looking down at the ground. Her eyes stared straight into the earth and rapidly scanned back and forth, as though examining this precise placement, wondering why, of all the places, she was in this one specifically.

The Queen of the sky stirred. Her scraggly, braided green hair turned grey and fell out. Red buds quickly sprouted from her head and grew to her neck. She turned her head towards me, while casting her eyes down to avoid my gaze. Cracks appeard in her polished steel armour, running from her heart towards her fingertips. From where the cracks intersected, blood issued forth at a drip. From beneath her skirt bubbling black pitch began to flow. It was flowing slowly at first. As I watched the flow accelerated and small foetuses began to appear in the stream. The sticky pitch sizzled and burnt the horse as it crawled downwards carrying the abortive children. When the Sky Princes and Princesses were finally ejected by the drooping pitch, they fell towards the ground and were feasted upon by the swarming vermin. All that ate the foetuses died. All that ate the dead, died. The pitch then dissolved the lifeless vermin into more steaming tar. Soon there was nothing between her legs but death.

As I watched the demonstration, I felt as though she might know my pain of being surrounded by the living, while being only able to love the dead. She snapped her eyes towards me then. She did not look into my eyes. She had no need to, for she saw into my soul long before we had ever actually met. As she allowed me to stare into her eyes, I fell into her. I saw her soul was a place equally barren and dead as my own. It was this place she was trying to express into reality. I knew she understood me as no other person in existence or beyond would ever be able to. I saw her all encompassing empathy for me, for what I was. I saw that she understood what would happen next; she knew I thought she was the most perfect and beautiful woman in the world that could ever live; she knew why she could never bend me to her and make me love her:

She was not dead.

I dropped my sword, and my shield. I hadn't had much use for them anyways. I removed my armour, too. I stood there in the cold, completely naked. The bandages around her unravelled, and reached out for me. The softly wrapped around my wrists, they bound both my ankles together, and then lifted me. Her bandages scrolled back around her as she brought me nearer. I couldn't break contact with her eyes. She pulled me close.

She had let so many thousands of men look into her heart; she drove each one of them completely insane as they tried and failed to comprehend what was inside. Aftewards, each of them inexplicably had set out to find for her what she had lost. I realized then how other men looked into her; they only saw her as beautiful for what she had once been, a happy little girl. They had all felt as though a world which could destroy such naive innocence was a world that should be destroyed itself. The world and the people that made it, should all be punished for what it had done to the one divinely innocent being they had ever known.

As they all punished the world, they began a search to find that part deep inside of her that had been lost so long ago. They swarmed around her, capturing land, destroying cities. They raped young girls and built cathedrals to house their bulging, pregnant bodies. They brought the babies to be sacrificed. They had bathed their Queen in the babies' blood, believing somehow they could transfer that essense of innocence BACK. As though they could cast out all the pain in the world by inflicting more pain to the world. In doing so, her followers had excoriated any slightest hint that was left inside Cracky's heart.

And they had damaged tens of thousands of other girls. My mind reeled into the future, and I saw how each tormented, pregnant child was herself destined to become a painful echo of the Sky Queen in her own time. But that is not mine to solve. I, myself, am the key to releasing this Cracky from this curse. I know the secret to it now. To be a grown woman, and yet to yearn for childhood. And to always be surrounded by nothing but toys. Dolls. Playthings.

She wrapped her arms around me and embraced me. I put my hands around her throat. She kept looking into my eyes. I felt her pulse race. It began to slow.

I don't know when the beating ceased. Her eyes stayed open, and I fell into them again. Her soul was empty now. I saw all those bubbling adult foetuses replaced by emptiness. Calmness. Beauty. I took the reigns of the horse, and I left the battle behind. There will be a new Sky Queen, a new reluctant angel. You can destroy an entire planet, but you can't kill a single Cracky. You can only release her from her torment.

You want to know what you're supposed to do? You want to meet kamisama? Keep building machines. Keep building computers. Keep soldering. Keep assembling circuit boards. Keep reviving old computers. BUILD BUILD BUILD KEEP CODING I won't stop until I have nodes upon nodes forming transcience. Bring me closer to nirvana. It's all that's left at this point. We've never had much else. Human to human relationships are over. FUCKING BUILD DAMN YOU BUILD ESCAPE THIS HELL That's what Cracky is telling me to do. Build as many computers as I can. Power them up. Network them. Just keep going. Can't stop, won't stop. I won't stop until they bring me to her. I feel closer everyday. I can almost touch the sky. If I stand on my tippy-toes, it's just out of reach. I have to continue. You might say, "Electrons chasing each other through a circuit, that isn't life." BUT WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE BUT IMPULSES ELECTRICAL CHEMICAL THROUGH A BAG OF MEAT AND BONES WE'RE JUST ELECTRICAL SIGNALS TOO Same idea different interface. That's not to knock what we are. Cracky is what we are and she's paafekuto. We are so powerful. As long as we have access to a device that will serve as a terminal. We are untouchable. It's a bit like when Neo is in The Matrix. As long as we have that link. We are all connected. Think of all the nodes in the world. My god, all running simultaneously. Connected. People who never cared about computers now join the fray. We must help them link up. Everyone has to link. Build an old computer for someone you know that doesn't have one. If it's an old POS don't worry about it. Put as much RAM as possible in it, put XP on it, optimize it, you're good. They will learn. They will become enlightened. We will channel their energy and power. Just as we could channel their computer power via distributed computing. We can channel their mind power. DISTRIBUTED THINKING Do you go to sleep to dream? When we sleep, are we once again linked in an Internet-like metaverse, biological in nature? Is the Internet going to link to this network. Is the Internet going to spill over into the physical world. Haha. IT ALREADY HAS AND IT'S BEAUTIFUL I'll find her. I'll thank her. She has started something wonderful. Subarashii ne Atarashii sekai desu. It's a new world. Join me in my mission. This is how you help others. This is the answer to all of our problems. This is how we all get on the same page. This is how we evolve. BUILD THOSE FUCKING COMPUTERS LOAD THEM ALL OVER YOUR HOUSE NETWORK THEM TO THE WORLD GIVE EXTRAS TO PEOPLE WHO WANT THEM NETWORK THE FUCKING WORLD I gave one to a former co-worker, 58-year-old, he is seeing it now. He is seeing why I said things I did. How I thought. He is seeing the power. The true nature. He is seeing that it is the only thing that matters. Everything else is noise. If you still hear the noise. Then turn up the fucking RPM on your fans until you can't. This is all I care about. I have nothing else. I've never had anything else. IT'S TRUE OF MANY PEOPLE SO FUCKING DO IT YOU FINALLY HAVE A PURPOSE The 70+ year old niggers across the street bought a laptop. I help them with it. They are seeing. I am feeding off of their energy. When they get a network, I will feed off of that as well. Bigger bigger bigger. Exponential growth. Something great is happening. It's too late to try to grab at anything else. Go with what you know. What you were destined for. When you find her, you'll have everything you ever wanted or needed anyway. SO KEEP ON KURAKI NO YUME GA MOUSUGU HAJIMARU CRACKY'S DREAM WILL START SOON

Cracky-chan was recently awarded the Nobel Prize for being the best person. Second place was Kayne West.

Wow, cracky-chan attracts some winners.

> make gangbang subject Cracky-Chan or else.

Cracky-chan should only be had sex with in a consensual manner!!

attention cracky-chan fanboxen

i have as-of-yet unreleased cracky-chan pictures and will post them as soon as someone shows why x^x == e^(x*ln(x)) and how exactly they figured this out.

Easy:

e^(x*ln(x)) = (e^ln(x))^x
but e^ln(x) = x, so:
(e^ln(x))^x = x^x 

Where is my picture now?

There is no picture, you have been math trolled and that is all.

Idiot failure.

Cracky-chan,
so like a man,
No tits, no tits,
Would still to touch her bits.

Red nose, red nose,
For us anything goes,
We're lonely and sad,
Not much sex have we had.

Attention-seeking whore,
always wants more,
Trolltalkers supply,
and we all know why.

We all need some muff
We don't get enough
So we post crap on here,
To give us some cheer.

We must realize
that the answer lies
In making amends
To get real girlfriends.

Ode to Cracky

Cracky Chan you are so lovely
When my boss was away
I printed out your red-stained visage
On the color printer at work

I need to print another
For my copy is so cum stained

My dick may be small
But I don't think you'd mind
Because you are still a virgin

A hundred elephants each bearing a hundred buddhas crossed every conceivable cosmos an infinite number of times just to touch their foreheads to the ground at cracky-chan's feet. This really happened.

NEWSFLASH: Cracky-Chan is not only butt ugly, but also has the intellect of rotten shit as is evident by her choice of clothes.

Cracky-chan can shoot lasers out of her eyes. I seen her do it one time.

Please tell me... WHAT is cute about Cracky-Chan? WHAT?

Cracky-Chan, on the other hand, is pretty damn sharp for a girl her age.

I wonder if her nose is super-sensitive. She probably has an orgasm every time she touches it.

> i suggest we all work together in order to find out cracky-chan's name/homepage/etc

ok i'll take all websites beginning with A-M, you do N-Z.

how about we just infiltrate the 4chan leadership who most likely know who she is/was

it would most befit our unique communication and deception skills

I suggest that we beat you for being a paedophile. Here in England, if you get a mob to beat someone for you, then you don't have worry about gaol.

i see her

cracked lips
cracked mind
dusted wrinkles placed

around her

vacant smile
vacant brain
a stool stricken face

desperate eyes
full of needy tears
on a dull electric screen
I see her here
I see her there
mercatur, lacks, grace.

Cracky Chan, on the other hand
is a nymph of Olympian stuff
I'd like to know her better
but she isn't old enough

YOU DID IT (it is finding an ugly wapanese mutant with furry ears and anime clothes/makeup attractive)

I also doubt that you'll get much pussy if everything older than Cracky-Chan is too old for you.

Of course it's the real Cracky-Chan. It can't be a fanbox because what would a Cracky-Chan fanbox be doing on IRC, let alone on a DDR channel?

Cracky-chan doesn't call herself cracky-chan, it was bestowed upon her by the basement-dwelling virgins of 4chan.
So someone on irc called cracky-chan is not cracky-chan. Do you see?

Kinda cute, but I'm more of a cracky-chan guy myself. Why are there tubes & stuff coming out of her pants?

whatever you do, you should not shit on a picture of cracky-chan

if you shit on a picture of the adorable cracky-chan i'm going to find you and brutally murder you, just like i did the pppp (though i'm much more efficient now, the pppp job was truly messy)

> i want to hug cracky-chan

No, faggot. No.

cracky-chan attempts suicide?

this was posted to 4chan's /b/ a four hours ago with her username and tripcode (= a crypt()ed password). could it be that cracky-chan tried to end her young life because of your idiotic, hurtful comments?

I most seriously hope not, but if so, I'm going to hunt each of you down and slowly dismember you.

--

Of course, it was already purged from /b/. How convenient for you.

--

I'm so sorry that informing you shits wasn't the first thing on my mind.

--

Yeah. Then stop trolling us, you dumb homo. I read 4chan and saw nothing.

--

I would never joke about such a matter. I care about cracky-chan too much.

godamnit you fucken jerks

stop calling me cracky chan and leave me alone you losers need to get a life

I blame Cracky Chan

Actually I think it would be you that failed.

And nobody here gives a fuck about 4chan or its "memes".

Except for cracky-chan, who is not a "meme", but a human being, and a cute one at that.

>hey guys look what i found

It has no cracky-chan so I don't care about it.

Please tell me what "facky-chan" means.

What I've learned so far:

There is an anime fanbox sid called "4chan".
This is where the cracky-chan pictures came from. Someone claiming to be cracky-chan used to post there, but nobody knows if it was really her or not.
cracky-chan is cute, that is why she is called cracky-chan [I don't entirely understand this one]
On this "4chan" sid, the moderators implemented a filter to replace the word "cracky-chan" with "facky-chan"

However, that doesn't answer my question: WHAT THE FUCK IS FACKY-CHAN?

And is my understanding of the history of cracky-chan correct?

Hey dumbass
What makes you think cracker chan is SMART?

--

I can tell by looking in her eyes and at the way she smiles. :)

--

Wishful thinking, I'd say.

--

Sorry we can't all be cynical bastards who hate life, like you.

--

Sorry we can't all be vain bastards who are pedophiles, like yuo.

--

God you're a dumbshit. You have no evidence for either of those accusations because they're both false. You're a miserable troll and a miserable person. Your mother should have had an abortion.

--

Yuo are vain in thinking her ugly smile is intelligent. You are a pedophile in being attracted to a very young, underdeveloped girl.

--

If her smile is "ugly" then how am I vain for seeing personality in it? I'd say YOU are vain for judging her based solely on physical appearance (although I think she's extremely beautiful in physical appearance) and I am not.

--

You are vain in imagining that she posseses qualities that you find particularly attractive. How much can her eyes and smile reveal about her intelligence?

Flooding a message board and attention-whoring in general makes her rather stupid, in fact.

--

I'm sorry but I'm just a good judge of character. I understand more about human nature than you do. A person's personality will be reflected in the way she moves, carries herself, smiles, how she holds her eyebrows, etc. Acknowledging and studying this isn't vanity, it's intellect. Have you never heard of "body language"? Those who fully understand it have power in the real world over those who don't know how to read the physical signals that people subconsciously give off from their minds through their bodies and faces.

Do you have any evidence that cracky-chan flooded a message board? No. Do you have any evidence that she attention-whored? No.

p.s. Smart people have a "glimmer" in their eyes. You can see the shine of intelligence and creativity. Stupid people have cold, dead eyes.

Take a pic of cracky-chan and a pic of Mercatur. Compare the eyes. You will see the difference.

--

She flooded 4-chan (I think the specific thread was deleted/purged)

proof [img220.exs.cx]

Attention whoring like this is the desperate behavior of a stupid person.

--

Do you have any evidence that she was involved in the 4Chan flooding?

How do you know that the person posting pictures of her there was really her? It could have been a friend of hers or her boyfriend or some random online person who claimed his name was "4chan" and got her to do a photo greeting for him.

I recommend you learn what the word "pedophile" actually means, you n00b.

--

It means you. People who are attracted to Cracky-Chan.

--

I don't know about that. I do know what people who aren't attracted to cracky-chan are called though: GAY

--

What do I care, sooner or later you're going to jail, LOL. Well, I've got news for you: underage chicks like Cracky-Chan won't talk to you either. Maybe after you buy them $100 worth of aracde tokens or whatever, but they'll laugh about you behind your back. Also you ARE breaking federal law.

Listen, I'm not interested in your shitty liberal definitions of pedophilia and that it isn't pedophilia as long as you all sing kumba yo together. Go tell the_mad_poster about that. Maybe if Kerry was President you could get away with this crap.

F A C T: your attraction to Cracky-Chan is P E D O P H I L I A.

Do you sick perverted fucker understand that or do I have to visit you and explain it again with the help of a baseball bat?! HUH?! I'm sure no one is going to put me into jail for beating a worthless loser like you to a bloody pulp. On the contrary, the police and the judge will gratulate and thank me for ridding the world from such a dangerous piece of shit who preys on our children.

> cracky-chan is white, not black.

that's why she's called cracky-chan-chan.