Author Topic: Chatmine's Clever Quips and Quotes  (Read 14248 times)

Sassy Gay Y-Wing Pilot

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Re: Chatmine's Clever Quips and Quotes
« Reply #450 on: August 17, 2018, 07:37:52 AM »
+3
About The One, I dare not speak his name, They call Robbie, owner of the Warhammer 40k store :

pavlovian hard-on [17|Aug 07:33 AM]: robbies ogre fists of berserker fury new username

Jim Acostas Impotent Rage

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Re: Chatmine's Clever Quips and Quotes
« Reply #451 on: January 10, 2019, 08:34:42 PM »
+7
asip [10|Jan 08:32 PM]:   I put paper clamps on my nipples in HS on a dare and it pinched some fucking nerve that paralyzed my arm it sucked they all laughed as I shrieked with a really high pitch


Cool Wine Aunt

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Re: Chatmine's Clever Quips and Quotes
« Reply #452 on: May 07, 2019, 01:00:37 PM »
+12
Ze Hate Me [07|May 12:24 PM]:   "I'd be a good SS owner" is the forum equivalent of "real communism has never been tried"
SomethingSensitive.com - your source for "diva cup for my butt" and related products/services

not that post regret

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Re: Chatmine's Clever Quips and Quotes
« Reply #453 on: May 21, 2019, 08:28:54 PM »
+1

Suave Debonair

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Re: Chatmine's Clever Quips and Quotes
« Reply #454 on: June 26, 2019, 09:33:43 PM »
+3
Dan Rathernot [26|Jun 09:17 PM]:   I tell you HD does not do these people any favors

Re: Democrat candidates

Suave Debonair

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Re: Chatmine's Clever Quips and Quotes
« Reply #455 on: June 27, 2019, 07:07:59 PM »
+3
Rocket [27|Jun 06:53 PM]:   Biden is like, "Technically I'm not a gynecologist, but I'll take a look."

Ghostse

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Re: Chatmine's Clever Quips and Quotes
« Reply #456 on: November 27, 2019, 12:18:24 PM »
+1
Fuck Glitterbomber [27|Nov 06:52 AM]:   Doobie did a good thing, helping provide that funeral home with more parking

Ghostse

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Re: Chatmine's Clever Quips and Quotes
« Reply #457 on: April 23, 2020, 04:33:04 AM »
+1
Dying Alone With Cats [21|Apr 11:12 PM]:   [link]

Quote from: The link: 'What year will there be mass boomer retirement'
The year is 2520. At a tiki bar on the beach, a fat, red-faced boomer pulls up on Harley tricycle. His name is Gary, and he's clad from head to toe in Tommy Bahama, except for his Ray-Bans, which are Callaway-branded.
Gary bellies up to the bar. It isn't crowded. A 19-year-old dime from the hostess pool joins him and gazes admiringly up at him. Some Creedence comes on as his frosty Coors is served up. Her eyes are tugged toward it but she gamely resists and continues listening with every sign of attentiveness.

He taps a button on the side of his glasses. His stock and real estate holdings are doing even better than the last time he checked. (Bonds are for old people). This day is exactly like thousands before it and life is great.

--

Hermione swallowed unobtrusively to keep from thinking about his beer. It was against policy to consume food or drink while on duty, except at a guest's request, and she was 18 days into a 21-day shift. She cued one of her peripheral mods to initiate a gradual arousal routine in her autonomic nervous system, with crest tentatively timed for 2.5 hours in the future.

He'd want to eat, drink, chat, maybe show her some clips of his holdings or tell her about Dodge Challengers, which had been a popular car once. She knew all about cars. Some guests collected replicas, and the truly wealthy might own an original that, like the ship of Theseus, may have been entirely replaced over the centuries without losing its irreplaceable patina of authenticity, a quality highly valued by guests.

Not that there were any guests without godlike wealth. The remaining boomers were Pharaonically wealthy. From the sounds of it, Gary owned about two and a half cities and had a personal staff of around 10,000. With his rejuve paid off and his share of the Global Pension, he would have been wealthy even without the real estate portfolio, the controlling interests in several multinationals, and the multiple financial services firms serving as his family offices. "I was a cop for 25 years and, let me tell you, it got rough out there!", he chuckled.

--

Gary wondered for a moment why Jason hadn't called for a while, but then his monitor signaled his amygdala implant to jog his cortex. Right, Jason had been dead for over 400 years.

Gary had thought once that it was sad when a father outlived his son. But he now knew that it was far sadder if the father ever died. True, Jason had lost his cool a bit toward the end, when he'd run out of money to keep his implants going. But he'd never been good at planning; student loans and avocado toast weren't nearly as good an investment as buying a house or two. In fact, once you owned a few dozen, you could just buy more every year. Anyway, no point living in the past. This little cutie was into him.

--

Outside the 70-foot plasticrete wall of the resort, Hermione's brother Harry had found a promising puddle. He'd managed to scavenge a LifeStraw from the resort trash incinerator before it ignited. The cartridge was nearly new. That was important, because a lot of the puddles were infested with engineered nano-parasites. Harry was a smart kid -- his sister was sometimes able to get him vids or a few seconds of processor time, so he'd learned to read and gotten to know how more and more essential items worked. So far, he was keeping himself and his mom alive. Hermione sent money all the time, but most of it went to making rent.

--

That night, as Gary showed the girl what Viagra 5.0 could do to his surgically enhanced meaty fuckbat, he forgot about Jason, about his bitch wife Donna (didn't miss HER), even about his disappointment when the Chevies lost the Superbowl to the Rolexes. For a single, perfect moment, he was fully satiated. He caught his breath and rolled off her. Some guys went for round two right away, but he thought that was distasteful -- it made it too obvious that his sodium channels were being manipulated by blood-borne nanites. A really classy guy could get it up just from the chick's sheer grooviness. And he was all class, and always would be, forever.