Neil Cicierega (Lemon Demon/Potter puppet pals guy) got cancelled on Twitter when people found out he secretly had a very thick Scottish accent.
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"No one would be able to take a dick that big and not get hurt—"
Honey, you're dealing with monster porn about demons and tentacles and shit; are you really drawing the realism line there? Sorry about you but me and my fantasized body are built different.
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There’s no such thing as a good patrol.
The bats prowl among dark corners like quiet shadows. They’ve been doing it since youth was reality, and not a distant, blurry daydream, that left them feeling like icons and ghosts.
There’s certain measurements to what makes one satisfactory, thought. Boredom checks no boxes.
“An ouija board? Seriously, Steph?”
Stephanie looks at Jason with a small smirk, “What, is this cultural appropriation? Let me get the ukelele out.” She dodges the batarang effortlessly.
Dick frowns, “What are you guys talking about?”
“Dude, just don’t. You’re too old for trends. Accept it. Live laugh love it, or whatever the hell boomer Milennials say.”
“SHUT UP! THAT’S THE THING I’M SENSITIVE ABOUT.”
ANYWAY. They get the brilliant idea to try and conjure Thomas Wayne, because why not?
Theres has to be some fragments of the street urchin Bruce gave wings to still breathing in Jason, because he’s absolutely against the idea.
Tim, surprisingly, agrees, “What if ghosts ARE real and we’ll undo years of scientific research negating the existence of supernatural entities Christians use as proof to validate their beliefs?”
“…And…You know, what if we upset Bruce.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure, that too.”
But they never listened to Tim before, so why start now?
They do use the board, and it does work, and the thing is? They get to SPEAK to Thomas, too.
What they discovery leaves them all petrified. When they tell Bruce, they do so with regret in their hearts.
He turns around, comically slow, eyes wide and bright against his eyeliner, shimmering with angry fire. They’ve never seen him so angry. So offended. So utterly disgusted.
“How DARE you call my father a New Yorker?!”
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The ghost/paranormal sciences are slowly gaining traction as a legitimate scientific field of study, and so the government invites some of the leading independent ecto-scientists in the country to help create some standard guidelines for the safe handling of ectoplasmic materials.
This conference of barely a dozen people immediately takes a turn when billionaire Vlad Masters randomly shows up and passive aggressively sits directly across from infamous ghost hunting couple, Jack and Maddie Fenton. (The former is visibly excited to see him, the latter is visibly not.)
Everyone is (at first) blissfully unaware that Masters was the former lab partner of the husband-wife team, but rest assured: they're going to walk out of that room knowing FAR more about Mr and Mrs Fenton's lab safety practices (and personal lives) than they ever wanted to.
It is a very memorable, enlightening, and thoroughly unproductive conference.
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finding out link and zelda are only 17 in botw has ruined my entire life actually, like before i was just watching a lesbian and her divinely mandated boywife saving the world but now im responsible for these children. i have to get them an education. pick them up from softball practice. get them braces.
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Ok don't look at me i know I'm playing a lot of D&D ... but .. here's my Curse of Strahd pc ♡ A pal I play in another game with is running a heavily homebrewed CoS campaign and the vibes rule so far. Blurb under the cut ehehehe
Beau, paladin of vengeance. Shepherd in life. What she will be in her undeath has yet to be seen - but it seems, so far, that her old habits didn't die when she was buried. Keeping an eye on the others who came back beside her in this unfamiliar place, counting heads, leading with crook in hand.
Whoever had buried her left her with a parting gift. A heavy wolf's pelt, draped and secured over her shoulders. It unnerves her. But it's comforting to know someone did bury her, and took care to send her off with some things she valued in life. A blanket she knitted, a lantern, her crook. Her grave was shallow, and her casket was barely a crate. But it wasn't without care. The gift won't go to waste.
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