402th Happy day

Is that somebody's grave or an arranged piece of art?
Either of the options, looks pretty rad.
>you could do something really melancholic with a picture like this, especially in pixel art with a very basic wind sway animation maybe too
You think way too high of me.. /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
ᴵ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦᶰᵍ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵃ 50 ˣ 50 ᶠᵘᶰᵏʸ ᶜᵃᶰᵛᵃˢ~
>you're from [/s4s/]
Who would've thought (゜▽ ゜)
Lole, sup Quaker o/
Uhh, ʷhat? ʕ•ᴥ• ʔ
Right, a birthday hat..!
Here you go~..
..all of the best arrangements, fresh from the catalogue Onions
ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ ᵒʰ ᵇᵒʸ, ʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵍᵒ⋅⋅

Attached: good doggo.jpg (952x960, 69K)

Oh shit I'm sorry. Sorry for what? Our daddy tought us not to be ashamed of our dicks, ‘specially when they are such good size ‘n all. Yeah I can see that, your daddy gave you good advice. It gets bigger when I pull on it. Mmhm. Sometimes, I pull on it so hard, I rip the skin. Well, my daddy taught me a few things too, like how to not rip the skin by using someone else’s mouth, instead of your own hand. Will you show me? I’ll be right happy to.

Well, there is onions in rice so it makes sense

im not janky >:(

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Found out about this site around 2006 and started lurking around 2012

Hey Yuuka, happy Jow Forums birthday
I probably started showing up around June of last year but mostly stuck to /tv/ and /ck/. I ended up on Jow Forums since it was always in the updates at the top of the site ('new trial board added' - it's even still there)
Never looked back, this board is always great for a laugh or alleviate some boredom. And of course for the happy day threads

how you doing today poland?

Fapping to trap porn is the least gay thing there is. If you fap to gay porn, that's 2 guys, and that's 100% gay. If you fap to 'straight' porn, then that has a woman, sure, but you're also fapping to a guy, which makes it 50% gay. But a trap is like half male, half female, and thus a trap with a girl would add up to 75% girl, and thus only 25% gay. 2 women would be ideal, but that would be a lesbian relationship, which brings it around to gay again. If you fap to furry porn, then it's in a weird gray area, where if it's people in fursuits, the same rules apply, but if it's with animals, I would think it depends on said animal's sexuality. Then there's consent. If a person doesn't consent to something, but the other person does it anyway, that makes the other person stronger, and thus less gay. Let's say that means they're about 50% less gay. If it was gay rape, that means that it's now 75% gay. If it's straight rape by a man, then it's 25% gay. And, if it's trap gay porn, than that's 12.5% gay. So technically, yes, rape trap porn is the least gay porn there is, but that's still looped in with trap porn, hence why fapping to trap porn is the least gay thing there is.

Well I started off rude posting on this board after hating how clinical and autistic everyone on s4s was, but I made friends here so decided to switch gears after quite frankly a tiring amount of shitposting
still have my stints of shitposting and ᵒᶜᶜᵃˢᶦᵒᶰᵃᶫᶫʸ ᵇᵘᶫᶫʸᶦᶰᵍ ʳᵉᵗᵃʳᵈˢ but I try keep my posts relatively friendly nowadays
I think it was after the comfy threads that I realised you guys weren't so bad and retarded after all, ᵒʳ ᵃᵗ ᶫᵉᵃˢᵗ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘ
>50 x 50
Is there much you can draw on that? I don't really know much about pixel art, be sure to post it next thread if you see me around or whenever you finish it

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how do i unsubscribe from this blog?

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I heard about Jow Forums 3 years ago from YouTube “most creepiest Jow Forums posts” and shit like that. I was always scared of someone coming from here and coming to my house and sacrificing me or something. Then one day I finally got the balls to go on /b/ and it was fun. My first post on there was a Dropbox link of all the hentai I had but no one cared lol. After months of only going on /b/ I decided to finally see what Jow Forums was all about. Of course I got addicted to it. I started going on only Jow Forums and /b/. Eventually I stopped going on /b/ and just Jow Forums. I became very political and formed strong opinions on many things. I also wanted to know more about the world so I decided to check out Jow Forums and Jow Forums. I now mostly use Jow Forums, Jow Forums, Jow Forums and sometimes Jow Forums because I’m into computer Engineering. I also occasionally go on /a/, /co/, and SOMETIMES /v/ when something big in those things come up that I’m interested in. I’m gonna start visiting /x/ because I like paranormal shit. But in the end, Jow Forums, Jow Forums, and Jow Forums are my favorite boards.

Good Evening Twitter, this is your boy EatDatPussy445, and about like 30-45 minutes ago, I beat the fuck out of my dick so god damn hard that I can't even feel my left leg, my left leg has went totally numb. And, my dick has also went totally numb, to the point that it feels fucking weird when I go and take a piss.

filter all of my images
ᵒʳ ᵐʸ ᶠᶫᵃᵍ

Attached: 5147870-homer_simpson_2006.png (480x480, 100K)

can you use a norwegiean proxy or a name for blogposting and make it easier?

Attached: 1473691865794.png (249x250, 111K)

I'm a complete newfag, got here in 2014.
Hard to believe that was 4 years ago now.
Been here on Jow Forums since day 1, though I have taken extended leaves as /v/ is my main board.

Attached: Cirno.jpg (813x1185, 244K)

stfu shitaly

I am most attracted to the anime race

Real women cannot compare to 2D pussy

Real women reject me because of my obesity and my poor social skills, but anime girls accept me for who I am

Society rejects us beause they do not understand. In fact they do not have the mental capacity to comprehend the sexual pleasures of a anime woman

I do not need affirmation from the corpreal, for the physical world is a tangled web of lies.

What you call "imagination" I call intelligence. The ignorance of the Catholic Church, too laughed at Copernicus' 'imagination' when he unveiled the heliocentric model.

As Jane Austen wrote, "what is essential is invisible to the eye"

If you are truly enlightened like me you will see that it is what exists in eternity, in the ethereal world that will give you true fulfillment. It is the plane inhabited by the gods and spirits, and it is the world in which my waifu resides.

Just as in the Platonic cave, what you see as a crude drawing is merely a facade. You are the caveman, merely glimpsing at the facade and taking it as a reality. I see beyond the representation. Where you see lines and cels, I see a goddess, I see Asuna-chan's true essence that lies in the eternal and immaterial. Keep pumping that mortal flesh, boy, while I commune in a higher plane of being

Yesterday, I had sex with my waifu, Asuna-chan from Sword Art Online. You may ask how this is possible. It was possible due to my sheer mental intelligence and brain capacity. I closed my eyes and directed my mental energies toward channeling Asuna-chan into the realm of the corpreal. It was my mind that bridged the gaps between dimensions and multiverses to allow Asuna-chan to cross over in to my reality

"I'm so glad I can see you, Sonico80085..." she whispered into my ear as she materialised before me in my mental and ethereal plane. "You expended so much mental energy just to see me..." I felt her gentle anime breath against my ear, she smelled like Sakura flowers

"Konnichiwa, Asuna-chan", I said, "I daisuki you very much. I want you now"

Asuna-chan nodded meekly and pulled down her frilly pink panties to reveal her glistening womanhood, dripping with desire. I plunged straight in. We had the longest sex ever of 5 hours straight. I felt her soft anime skin against my belly, her nails digging against my back as I thrust ceaselessly, like Thomas Newcomen's 1712 Steam Engine if it was powered by the flames of passion. Soon, I came, and thick glopping semen burst out of my throbbing member into Asuna-chan

"Sonico80085... you're so kawaii" said Asuna chan "I hope we can do this again." I wished I could have stayed with her longer, but I had exhausted most of my mental energy and I had to say ggoodbye. The wormhole closed as my powerful mind decided to take a well-earned break, having used up 64.589% of its abilities.

well usually i only blog when im in happy day threads
and i dont really want a name
>filtered norwegians
ᵇᵃˢᵉᵈ

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The real reason you can't invade Australia is because it doesn't exist. Australia is not real. It’s a hoax, made for us to believe that Britain moved over their criminals to someplace. In reality, all these criminals were loaded off the ships into the waters, drowning before they could see land ever again. It’s a coverup for one of the greatest mass murders in history, made by one of the most prominent empires.

Australia does not exist. All things you call “proof” are actually well fabricated lies and documents made by the leading governments of the world. Your Australian friends? They’re all actors and computer generated personas, part of the plot to trick the world.

If you think you’ve ever been to Australia, you’re terribly wrong. The plane pilots are all in on this, and have in all actuality only flown you to islands close nearby – or in some cases, parts of South America, where they have cleared space and hired actors to act out as real Australians.

Australia is one of the biggest hoaxes ever created, and you have all been tricked. Join the movement today, and make it known that they have been deceived. Make it known, that this has all just been a cover-up. The things these “Australian” says to be doing, all these swear words and actions based on alcoholism, MDMA and bad decisions, are all ways to distract you from the ugly truth that is one of the greatest genocides in history. 162,000 people was said to have been transported to this imaginary land during a mere 80 years, and they are all long dead by now. They never reached that promised land.

if I can't unsubscribe i'm gonna leave nasty comments instead

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mmmmmmm
ʸᵘᵐᵐʸ

Attached: mine now 10.jpg (540x304, 18K)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SHITALY JUST DIE OKAY

Hello

I want you to read this message very carefully, and keep the Secret with you till further Notice, you have no need of knowing who i am, where am from, till i make out a space for us to see, i have being paid $50,000.00 in advance to terminate you with some reasons listed to me by my employers, its one i believe you call a Friend, and also you , i have followed you closely with CCTV camera for one week and three days now and have seen that you are innocent of the Accusation, do not contact the Police or try to send a copy of this to them, or Anyone because if you do i will know, ans Might be Forced/Pushed to do what i have being paid to do, beside, this is the first time i turned out to be a Betrayer in my job.

Now, listen, i will arrange for us to see face to face but before that i need the amount of $80,000.00 and you will have nothing to be afraid of. I will be coming to see you in your office or home determine where you wish we meet, do not set any camera to cover us or set up any tape to record our conversation, my employer is in my control now, you will need to pay $20,000.00 to the account i will provide for you, before we will set out first meeting, after you have make the first advance payment to the account, i will give you the tape that contains his request for me to terminate you, which will be enough evidence for you to take to court (if you wish to), then the balance will be paid later.

You don't need my phone contact for now till am assured you are ready to comply good.

LUCKY YOU.

Maggy wouldn't say "n" word
Lurking, lurking.. but which boards~?
ᴬᶫˢᵒ
>Bus id
It's all the same shitpost, just about food =w=
sounds based though - I've heard many tales of that place~
But yeah, after discovering Jow Forums, it became all I need from Jow Forums.
Sore day with many changes - gotta accustom to new situations, ayy..
I'm not complaining though, it's probably for the better~
Oh, and ᵘʰᵐᵐ⋅⋅
I might have some problems making happy days from now on ʕ•ᴥ•`ʔ
I should be able to return home before 8 PM most of the times, but can't promise anything.
How are ya doing, buddy?
>wanting me to make a pixel art of anything that would take more than 20 - 40 min to make
ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ You know, I really appreciate how well you think about me, but naah~..
/ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ heh.
Aaaaaa with such a speed, you will filter whole Jow Forums in a week!
Did you un-filtred Norway already?
Cool, very coole.. ( ´ ▽ ` )b
Nice seeing people of different likings and mindset towards their favorite boards.
Seeing that Jow Forums isn't just for some highly dedicated posters makes it way coozier~
Nices "+" in id o/

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“Dear Mr. Sir,

REQUEST FOR ASSISTANCE-STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

I am Dr. Bakare Tunde, the cousin of Nigerian Astronaut, Air Force Major Abacha Tunde. He was the first African in space when he made a secret flight to the Salyut 6 space station in 1979. He was on a later Soviet spaceflight, Soyuz T-16Z to the secret Soviet military space station Salyut 8T in 1989. He was stranded there in 1990 when the Soviet Union was dissolved. His other Soviet crew members returned to earth on the Soyuz T-16Z, but his place was taken up by return cargo. There have been occasional Progrez supply flights to keep him going since that time. He is in good humor, but wants to come home.

In the 14-years since he has been on the station, he has accumulated flight pay and interest amounting to almost $ 15,000,000 American Dollars. This is held in a trust at the Lagos National Savings and Trust Association. If we can obtain access to this money, we can place a down payment with the Russian Space Authorities for a Soyuz return flight to bring him back to Earth. I am told this will cost $ 3,000,000 American Dollars. In order to access the his trust fund we need your assistance."

Honestly I'm glad because I don't wanna have to wait then
quick! make the pixel "ᵃʳᵗ" and post!

Attached: mine now 6.jpg (595x558, 28K)

This is very much retarded and sick act.I don't know whats your background and wont care to but I seriously doubt your upbringing and surrounding and don't think its anything better than any roadside slum dweller or may be worst. This is very serious personal comments and for me you are the worst idiotic ratarded soul I have ever come across. I don't know your social stature but cant think of anything more than a stray dog and its time for you to be caged like the municipal corporation catch hold of stray dogs. I dare you share your contact details if you have guts to, I would anyways will get that legally and by all means but its an open challenge.Well, I know Street dogs can't be tamed by intellectual talks and will go on barking unless treated the way they should be treated.I could use more abusive language here which I very much feel I should have been because cases like you need to be dealt that way rather than these comments but again, one last time, I would ask you to remove this comment with immediate effect and I seriously mean it or deal with me in person if you have guts to..I will show you ,your family and whoever around you what is meant by real bashing and banging.

The main boards I lurked were probably /v/ Jow Forums and /wsg/

I'm doing okay, tired right now, but okay.

change your flags you've made yukka sad

GNU GENERAL PUBLIC LICENSE
Version 1, February 1989

Copyright (C) 1989 Free Software Foundation, Inc.
51 Franklin St, Fifth Floor, Boston, MA 02110-1301 USA
Everyone is permitted to copy and distribute verbatim copies
of this license document, but changing it is not allowed.

Preamble

The license agreements of most software companies try to keep users
at the mercy of those companies. By contrast, our General Public
License is intended to guarantee your freedom to share and change free
software--to make sure the software is free for all its users. The
General Public License applies to the Free Software Foundation's
software and to any other program whose authors commit to using it.
You can use it for your programs, too.

When we speak of free software, we are referring to freedom, not
price. Specifically, the General Public License is designed to make
sure that you have the freedom to give away or sell copies of free
software, that you receive source code or can get it if you want it,
that you can change the software or use pieces of it in new free
programs; and that you know you can do these things.

To protect your rights, we need to make restrictions that forbid
anyone to deny you these rights or to ask you to surrender the rights.
These restrictions translate to certain responsibilities for you if you
distribute copies of the software, or if you modify it.

For example, if you distribute copies of a such a program, whether
gratis or for a fee, you must give the recipients all the rights that
you have. You must make sure that they, too, receive or can get the
source code. And you must tell them their rights.

We protect your rights with two steps: (1) copyright the software, and
(2) offer you this license which gives you legal permission to copy,
distribute and/or modify the software.

Also, for each author's protection and ours, we want to make certain
that everyone understands that there is no warranty for this free
software. If the software is modified by someone else and passed on, we
want its recipients to know that what they have is not the original, so
that any problems introduced by others will not reflect on the original
authors' reputations.

The precise terms and conditions for copying, distribution and
modification follow.

GNU GENERAL PUBLIC LICENSE
TERMS AND CONDITIONS FOR COPYING, DISTRIBUTION AND MODIFICATION

0. This License Agreement applies to any program or other work which
contains a notice placed by the copyright holder saying it may be
distributed under the terms of this General Public License. The
"Program", below, refers to any such program or work, and a "work based
on the Program" means either the Program or any work containing the
Program or a portion of it, either verbatim or with modifications. Each
licensee is addressed as "you".

1. You may copy and distribute verbatim copies of the Program's source
code as you receive it, in any medium, provided that you conspicuously and
appropriately publish on each copy an appropriate copyright notice and
disclaimer of warranty; keep intact all the notices that refer to this
General Public License and to the absence of any warranty; and give any
other recipients of the Program a copy of this General Public License
along with the Program. You may charge a fee for the physical act of
transferring a copy.

2. You may modify your copy or copies of the Program or any portion of
it, and copy and distribute such modifications under the terms of Paragraph
1 above, provided that you also do the following:

a) cause the modified files to carry prominent notices stating that
you changed the files and the date of any change; and

b) cause the whole of any work that you distribute or publish, that
in whole or in part contains the Program or any part thereof, either
with or without modifications, to be licensed at no charge to all
third parties under the terms of this General Public License (except
that you may choose to grant warranty protection to some or all
third parties, at your option).

c) If the modified program normally reads commands interactively when
run, you must cause it, when started running for such interactive use
in the simplest and most usual way, to print or display an
announcement including an appropriate copyright notice and a notice
that there is no warranty (or else, saying that you provide a
warranty) and that users may redistribute the program under these
conditions, and telling the user how to view a copy of this General
Public License.

d) You may charge a fee for the physical act of transferring a
copy, and you may at your option offer warranty protection in
exchange for a fee.

Mere aggregation of another independent work with the Program (or its
derivative) on a volume of a storage or distribution medium does not bring
the other work under the scope of these terms.

3. You may copy and distribute the Program (or a portion or derivative of
it, under Paragraph 2) in object code or executable form under the terms of
Paragraphs 1 and 2 above provided that you also do one of the following:

a) accompany it with the complete corresponding machine-readable
source code, which must be distributed under the terms of
Paragraphs 1 and 2 above; or,

b) accompany it with a written offer, valid for at least three
years, to give any third party free (except for a nominal charge
for the cost of distribution) a complete machine-readable copy of the
corresponding source code, to be distributed under the terms of
Paragraphs 1 and 2 above; or,

c) accompany it with the information you received as to where the
corresponding source code may be obtained. (This alternative is
allowed only for noncommercial distribution and only if you
received the program in object code or executable form alone.)

Source code for a work means the preferred form of the work for making
modifications to it. For an executable file, complete source code means
all the source code for all modules it contains; but, as a special
exception, it need not include source code for modules which are standard
libraries that accompany the operating system on which the executable
file runs, or for standard header files or definitions files that
accompany that operating system.

4. You may not copy, modify, sublicense, distribute or transfer the
Program except as expressly provided under this General Public License.
Any attempt otherwise to copy, modify, sublicense, distribute or transfer
the Program is void, and will automatically terminate your rights to use
the Program under this License. However, parties who have received
copies, or rights to use copies, from you under this General Public
License will not have their licenses terminated so long as such parties
remain in full compliance.

ᴀLwᴀʏs RemʙeR Hᴀppʏ dᴀʏ, ᴀɴoɴe..!

If you don't wanna smile - let others be cheery for you o/
Having a sad day isn't the end of the world, but spreading it across other souls may indeed just make it for a way worse~

youtube.com/watch?v=x6LovY_DdEE
youtube.com/watch?v=MehLyaZIs-U
youtube.com/watch?v=_JIR_5-qwoQ&feature=youtu.be
vocaroo.com/i/s1SEy7hcacDW
vocaroo.com/i/s08Yhjw6MLyg
ᵒᶰᶦʰˢ+ᵐʸ'ˢ ʳᵉᵃᵈᶦᶰᵍˢ⋅⋅!
currently out of order /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
ᴱᵇᶦᶰ ʸᵒᵘᵀᵘᵇᵉ ˢᵉᶜᵗᶦᵒᶰ
pastebin.com/GHaF5QKY
ᴿᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵏᶦᵗ ᵃᶰᵈ ˢᶜʳᵉᵉᶰᶜᵃᵖˢ⋅⋅!
drive.google.com/open?id=1o4vRQWKGsSo6VBl86XqOUxkMcCUtUmn2
drive.google.com/drive/folders/1kJfjlYhk6Zp9ClSUNoOFoG83Rq9w56VX
imgur.com/gallery/WT6qGnX
imgur.com/gallery/w2qnI
imgur.com/a/YxgzY
imgur.com/a/t0XLp
imgur.com/a/CHhfa
ᶜᵒᵒᶫᵉ ᵐᵘˢᶦᶜ
pastebin.com/gXRFNJ6v
ᶜᵃᵗʰᵃʳˢᶦˢ, ᵐᵒᵒᵈ & ˢᵒᵘᶫ ᶜᶫᵉᵃᶰˢᶦᶰᵍ
youtube.com/watch?v=L5v9cJpg6s8
youtube.com/watch?v=5sTpMjD6zt8&index=3&list=PLP0jCPw9IPWi-Tjr88g5HUvQuqY1asTP4
youtube.com/watch?v=jAdiiLLCqhM&index=1&list=PLF0D6DE563A2AD217
youtube.com/watch?v=lmy6rcn_v3A
youtube.com/watch?v=ICpRT855-DI
ˢᶦᵐᵖᶫʸ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵛᵃᶫᵘᵃᵇᶫᵉ ˢᵗᵘᶠᶠ⋅
pastebin.com/KyJx201P

funposting.online
coolcirnoclub.club
dankmaymays.com/
ᴼᵘʳ ʷᶦᵏᶦ ᵃʳᵗᶦᶜᶫᵉ
coolcirnoclub.club/index.php?title=Namefags_and_Avatarfags#Happy_day

Attached: always rember Anone <3.png (900x780, 25K)

5. By copying, distributing or modifying the Program (or any work based
on the Program) you indicate your acceptance of this license to do so,
and all its terms and conditions.

6. Each time you redistribute the Program (or any work based on the
Program), the recipient automatically receives a license from the original
licensor to copy, distribute or modify the Program subject to these
terms and conditions. You may not impose any further restrictions on the
recipients' exercise of the rights granted herein.

7. The Free Software Foundation may publish revised and/or new versions
of the General Public License from time to time. Such new versions will
be similar in spirit to the present version, but may differ in detail to
address new problems or concerns.

Each version is given a distinguishing version number. If the Program
specifies a version number of the license which applies to it and "any
later version", you have the option of following the terms and conditions
either of that version or of any later version published by the Free
Software Foundation. If the Program does not specify a version number of
the license, you may choose any version ever published by the Free Software
Foundation.

8. If you wish to incorporate parts of the Program into other free
programs whose distribution conditions are different, write to the author
to ask for permission. For software which is copyrighted by the Free
Software Foundation, write to the Free Software Foundation; we sometimes
make exceptions for this. Our decision will be guided by the two goals
of preserving the free status of all derivatives of our free software and
of promoting the sharing and reuse of software generally.

NO WARRANTY

9. BECAUSE THE PROGRAM IS LICENSED FREE OF CHARGE, THERE IS NO WARRANTY
FOR THE PROGRAM, TO THE EXTENT PERMITTED BY APPLICABLE LAW. EXCEPT WHEN
OTHERWISE STATED IN WRITING THE COPYRIGHT HOLDERS AND/OR OTHER PARTIES
PROVIDE THE PROGRAM "AS IS" WITHOUT WARRANTY OF ANY KIND, EITHER EXPRESSED
OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, THE IMPLIED WARRANTIES OF
MERCHANTABILITY AND FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR PURPOSE. THE ENTIRE RISK AS
TO THE QUALITY AND PERFORMANCE OF THE PROGRAM IS WITH YOU. SHOULD THE
PROGRAM PROVE DEFECTIVE, YOU ASSUME THE COST OF ALL NECESSARY SERVICING,
REPAIR OR CORRECTION.

10. IN NO EVENT UNLESS REQUIRED BY APPLICABLE LAW OR AGREED TO IN WRITING
WILL ANY COPYRIGHT HOLDER, OR ANY OTHER PARTY WHO MAY MODIFY AND/OR
REDISTRIBUTE THE PROGRAM AS PERMITTED ABOVE, BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR DAMAGES,
INCLUDING ANY GENERAL, SPECIAL, INCIDENTAL OR CONSEQUENTIAL DAMAGES ARISING
OUT OF THE USE OR INABILITY TO USE THE PROGRAM (INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED
TO LOSS OF DATA OR DATA BEING RENDERED INACCURATE OR LOSSES SUSTAINED BY
YOU OR THIRD PARTIES OR A FAILURE OF THE PROGRAM TO OPERATE WITH ANY OTHER
PROGRAMS), EVEN IF SUCH HOLDER OR OTHER PARTY HAS BEEN ADVISED OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

END OF TERMS AND CONDITIONS

Appendix: How to Apply These Terms to Your New Programs

If you develop a new program, and you want it to be of the greatest
possible use to humanity, the best way to achieve this is to make it
free software which everyone can redistribute and change under these
terms.

To do so, attach the following notices to the program. It is safest to
attach them to the start of each source file to most effectively convey
the exclusion of warranty; and each file should have at least the
"copyright" line and a pointer to where the full notice is found.

stupid manchild
/xzmLZC+G/;stub:no;

The hypothetical commands `show w' and `show c' should show the
appropriate parts of the General Public License. Of course, the
commands you use may be called something other than `show w' and `show
c'; they could even be mouse-clicks or menu items--whatever suits your
program.

You should also get your employer (if you work as a programmer) or your
school, if any, to sign a "copyright disclaimer" for the program, if
necessary. Here a sample; alter the names:

Yoyodyne, Inc., hereby disclaims all copyright interest in the
program `Gnomovision' (a program to direct compilers to make passes
at assemblers) written by James Hacker.

, 1 April 1989
Ty Coon, President of Vice

That's all there is to it!

I started lurking around 2014/15. Really stuck around when Bant came around

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don't change your flags. I like them.

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REMPORD !! ;3

Im a long time /f/ and /po/ lurker that happened to stray to /b/ and Jow Forums when it was founded
Ive been here since i was probably underage, which is almost a decade
A decade of decadence one could say
Im happy to say i gave a final push to my text and already send more then 23k words for my mentor to analysis, it was a hard work but possible in the end

Have this pixel art also

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Rembemberd

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rembered and munched

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spaghetti

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s-o-y

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A fucking gun

stupid spanish poster

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so-yo-bo-yo

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>nearly whole capitalized id
Sweet, sweet Flanchan~!
Good, that adds some flexibility in general taste /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
In the end, we all live to be tired =w=
But Maggy and Janky both post from Russia ʕ•ᴥ• ʔ
>ᵇᵃᶰᵗ-ᶠᶫᵃᵍˢ
They both change them regulary, aren't they~?
N i c e
Based id by the way~
ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒ/
Ancient boards must prove to be great places to seek divination in becoming Oracle, muhm /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
>23k words of le knowledge
You did good, you very nice =w=
Have yourself a cookie or something~
ᶜᵃᶰ'ᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵛᶦᵈᵉ ʸᵃ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵃᶰʸ ʷʰᶦᶫᵉ ʰᵃᵛᶦᶰᵍ ᵃ ᶠᵉʷ ᶜᵒᵘᶰᵗʳᶦᵉˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵃ ˢᵉᵃ ᶦᶰ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉᶰ ᵒ/
SSP, more like a hero Jow Forums needs but didn't deserve ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ
>axe 2d
For chomping in anime battles /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

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yeah whatever go do more cardio before you have to go watch the latest marvel movie again

Once upon a time, in the province of Westphalia, at the castle of his lordship the Baron von Thunder-ten-Tronckh, there lived a boy of very sweet disposition. His mind could be read in his face. He was fairly intelligent, yet his general outlook was one of utter simplicity. Probably this was why he acquired the name of Candide.

The older servants of the household suspected that he was the son of his lordship's sister, the reputed father being a neighboring landowner. The sister had refused to marry him, although he was an agreeable and worthy man, because his coat-of-arms had only seventy-one quarterings—the others having disappeared in the storms of time.

The Baron was one of the most powerful noblemen in Westphalia; as was evidenced by the fact that his castle had a great gate and windows, and its hall was hung with tapestry. The dogs that ran about his farms could at a pinch be mustered into a pack for hunting, at which his stablemen served as whippers-in. His grand chaplain was the village parson. Everyone called him "My Lord", and laughed at his anecdotes.

Her ladyship the Baroness weighed about twenty-five stone. This contributed greatly to her prestige, which was enhanced by the dignity with which she did the honors of the house. The daughter, whose name was Cunégonde, was seventeen years old, fresh complexioned, plump, and attractive. The son of the house had the reputation of being "a chip off the old block".

The family had a household oracle, a tutor named Pangloss. Young Candide absorbed his teachings with the open-hearted simplicity of his age and nature. These teachings were metaphysico-theologo-cosmolonigological. Pangloss could prove to everybody's satisfaction that there is no effect without a cause: furthermore, that in this best of all possible worlds the Baron's castle was the finest of castles, and the Baroness the finest of all possible baronesses.

"It is demonstrable," Pangloss would say, "that things cannot be other than they are. For, since everything is made for a purpose, everything must be for the best possible purpose. Noses, you observe, were made to support spectacles: consequently, we have spectacles. Legs, it is plain, were created to wear breeches, and are supplied with them. Stone was made to be quarried, and built into castles: that is why his lordship has such a fine castle—for the greatest baron in the province must of necessity also be the best housed. Pigs were made to be eaten: so we eat pork all the year round. It follows that those who say that everything is good are talking foolishly: what they should say is that everything is for the best."1

Candide listened attentively to all this, and believed it. For his part, he thought Mistress Cunégonde extremely beautiful, though he never had the courage to tell her so. He concluded that, next to the happiness of being born a Baron von Thunder-ten-Tronckh, the second degree of happiness was to be Mistress Cunégonde; the third, to see her every day; and the fourth, to be taught by Dr. Pangloss, the greatest philosopher in the province, and, therefore, in the whole world.

One day Cunégonde was walking near the castle, in the little copse which was known as "the park", when through the bushes she saw Dr. Pangloss giving a lesson in applied physics to her mother's maid, a pretty and obliging little brunette. Having an inborn passion for natural science, Cunégonde, without betraying her presence, watched the doctor's repeated demonstrations. She had no difficulty in understanding his "sufficing reason"—a phrase that he often used—or the sequence of causes and effects. She returned home in a state of pensive agitation, filled with a desire for knowledge and reflecting that she herself might well become young Candide's "sufficing reason"—and vice versa.

On her way back to the castle, she met Candide. She blushed, and greeted him in a faltering voice. Candide blushed too, and spoke without knowing what he said.

Next day, as they were leaving the table after dinner, Cunégonde and Candide found themselves behind a screen. Cunégonde dropped her handkerchief, and Candide picked it up. She artlessly seized his hand, and the youth artlessly kissed hers—with remarkable warmth, intensity and grace. Their lips met, their eyes sparkled, their knees trembled, their hands strayed . . .

Baron von Thunder-ten-Tronckh, who happened to pass by the screen, observed this interplay of cause and effect. He drove Candide out of the castle, with vigorous kicks from behind. Cunégonde fainted, and on coming to was smacked by the Baroness. There was consternation in the finest and best of all possible castles.

some police stop di car, and a mi tell di man. man dem search up di car, and find di ganja
and just becah we neva wan' go a'jail

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Nice

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do-nut bully

>rembered!1

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If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is
where I was born, an what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents
were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of
crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first
place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about
two hemorrhages apiece if I told anything pretty personal about them. They’re
quite touchy about anything like that, especially my father. They’re nice and all--
I’m not saying that--but they’re also touchy as hell. Besides, I’m not going to tell
you my whole goddam autobiography or anything. I’ll just tell you about this
madman stuff that happened to me around last Christmas just before I got pretty
run-down and had to come out here and take it easy. I mean that’s all I told D.B.
about, and he’s my brother and all. He’s in Hollywood. That isn’t too far from this
crumby place, and he comes over and visits me practically every week end. He’s
going to drive me home when I go home next month maybe. He just got a Jaguar.
One of those little English jobs that can do around two hundred miles an hour. It
cost him damn near four thousand bucks. He’s got a lot of dough, now. He didn’t
use to. He used to be just a regular writer, when he was home. He wrote this
terrific book of short stories, The Secret Goldfish, in case you never heard of him.
The best one in it was “The Secret Goldfish.” It was about this little kid that
wouldn’t let anybody look at his goldfish because he’d bought it with his own
money. It killed me. Now he’s out in Hollywood, D.B., being a prostitute. If there’s
one thing I hate, it’s the movies. Don’t even mention them to me.
Where I want to start telling is the day I left Pencey Prep. Pencey Prep is this
school that’s in Agerstown, Pennsylvania.

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You probably heard of it. You’ve
probably seen the ads, anyway. They advertise in about a thousand magazines,
always showing some hotshot guy on a horse jumping over a fence. Like as if all
you ever did at Pencey was play polo all the time. I never even once saw a horse
anywhere near the place. And underneath the guy on the horse’s picture, it
always says: “Since 1888 we have been molding boys into splendid, clear-thinking
young men.” Strictly for the birds. They don’t do any damn more molding at
3
Pencey than they do at any other school. And I didn’t know anybody there that
was splendid and clear-thinking and all. Maybe two guys. If that many. And they
probably came to Pencey that way.
Anyway, it was the Saturday of the football game with Saxon Hall. The game with
Saxon Hall was supposed to be a very big deal around Pencey. It was the last
game of the year, and you were supposed to commit suicide or something if old
Pencey didn’t win. I remember around three o’clock that afternoon I was standing
way the hell up on top of Thomsen Hill, right next to this crazy cannon that was
in the Revolutionary War and all. You could see the whole field from there, and
you could see the two teams bashing each other all over the place. You couldn’t
see the grandstand too hot, but you could hear them all yelling, deep and terrific
on the Pencey side, because practically the whole school except me was there,
and scrawny and faggy on the Saxon Hall side, because the visiting team hardly
ever brought many people with them.

There were never many girls at all at the football games. Only seniors were
allowed to bring girls with them. It was a terrible school, no matter how you
looked at it. I like to be somewhere at least where you can see a few girls around
once in a while, even if they’re only scratching their arms or blowing their noses
or even just giggling or something. Old Selma Thurmer--she was the
headmaster’s daughter--showed up at the games quite often, but she wasn’t
exactly the type that drove you mad with desire. She was a pretty nice girl,
though. I sat next to her once in the bus from Agerstown and we sort of struck up
a conversation. I liked her. She had a big nose and her nails were all bitten down
and bleedy-looking and she had on those damn falsies that point all over the
place, but you felt sort of sorry for her. What I liked about her, she didn’t give you
a lot of horse manure about what a great guy her father was. She probably knew
what a phony slob he was.
The reason I was standing way up on Thomsen Hill, instead of down at the game,
was because I’d just got back from New York with the fencing team. I was the
goddam manager of the fencing team. Very big deal. We’d gone in to New York
that morning for this fencing meet with McBurney School. Only, we didn’t have
the meet. I left all the foils and equipment and stuff on the goddam subway. It
wasn’t all my fault. I had to keep getting up to look at this map, so we’d know
where to get off.

mmm bury girlie y don t u loosen dat collar n sit on me lappe mhaha

So we got back to Pencey around two-thirty instead of around
4
dinnertime. The whole team ostracized me the whole way back on the train. It
was pretty funny, in a way.
The other reason I wasn’t down at the game was because I was on my way to say
good-by to old Spencer, my history teacher. He had the grippe, and I figured I
probably wouldn’t see him again till Christmas vacation started. He wrote me this
note saying he wanted to see me before I went home. He knew I wasn’t coming
back to Pencey.
I forgot to tell you about that. They kicked me out. I wasn’t supposed to come
back after Christmas vacation on account of I was flunking four subjects and not
applying myself and all. They gave me frequent warning to start applying myself--
especially around midterms, when my parents came up for a conference with old
Thurmer--but I didn’t do it. So I got the ax. They give guys the ax quite frequently
at Pencey. It has a very good academic rating, Pencey. It really does.
Anyway, it was December and all, and it was cold as a witch’s teat, especially on
top of that stupid hill. I only had on my reversible and no gloves or anything. The
week before that, somebody’d stolen my camel’s-hair coat right out of my room,
with my fur- lined gloves right in the pocket and all. Pencey was full of crooks.
Quite a few guys came from these very wealthy families, but it was full of crooks
anyway. The more expensive a school is, the more crooks it has--I’m not kidding.
Anyway, I kept standing next to that crazy cannon, looking down at the game and
freezing my ass off. Only, I wasn’t watching the game too much.

Also i handmade all the pixel art i posted until now using dotpic application and that big pixel artsy things reddit created last year
And i had something like a cookie, i bough a fancy bag of chips and had an oath to only open it when the job was done
/po/ and /f/ are magical places, they say a lot without words and direct communication

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rembered!

What I was really
hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. I mean I’ve left
schools and places I didn’t even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don’t care
if it’s a sad good-by or a bad goodby, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m
leaving it. If you don’t, you feel even worse.
I was lucky. All of a sudden I thought of something that helped make me know I
was getting the hell out. I suddenly remembered this time, in around October,
that I and Robert Tichener and Paul Campbell were chucking a football around,
in front of the academic building. They were nice guys, especially Tichener. It was
just before dinner and it was getting pretty dark out, but we kept chucking the
ball around anyway. It kept getting darker and darker, and we could hardly see
the ball any more, but we didn’t want to stop doing what we were doing. Finally
we had to. This teacher that taught biology, Mr. Zambesi, stuck his head out of
this window in the academic building and told us to go back to the dorm and get
5
ready for dinner. If I get a chance to remember that kind of stuff, I can get a goodby
when I need one--at least, most of the time I can. As soon as I got it, I turned
around and started running down the other side of the hill, toward old Spencer’s
house. He didn’t live on the campus.

ELO POLEN! ^O^
how do you like them potatoes?

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Rambered!

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He lived on Anthony Wayne Avenue.
I ran all the way to the main gate, and then I waited a second till I got my breath.
I have no wind, if you want to know the truth. I’m quite a heavy smoker, for one
thing--that is, I used to be. They made me cut it out. Another thing, I grew six
and a half inches last year. That’s also how I practically got t.b. and came out
here for all these goddam checkups and stuff. I’m pretty healthy, though.
Anyway, as soon as I got my breath back I ran across Route 204. It was icy as
hell and I damn near fell down. I don’t even know what I was running for-- I
guess I just felt like it. After I got across the road, I felt like I was sort of
disappearing. It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun
out or anything, and you felt like you were disappearing every time you crossed a
road.
Boy, I rang that doorbell fast when I got to old Spencer’s house. I was really
frozen. My ears were hurting and I could hardly move my fingers at all. “C’mon,
c’mon,” I said right out loud, almost, “somebody open the door.” Finally old Mrs.
Spencer opened. it. They didn’t have a maid or anything, and they always opened
the door themselves. They didn’t have too much dough.
“Holden!” Mrs. Spencer said. “How lovely to see you! Come in, dear! Are you
frozen to death?” I think she was glad to see me. She liked me. At least, I think
she did.

These fucking people don't understand that they will be banned, all their posts erased making more space when the thread got clean, this makes the thread lasting even longer.

Boy, did I get in that house fast. “How are you, Mrs. Spencer?” I said. “How’s Mr.
Spencer?”
“Let me take your coat, dear,” she said. She didn’t hear me ask her how Mr.
Spencer was. She was sort of deaf.
She hung up my coat in the hall closet, and I sort of brushed my hair back with
my hand. I wear a crew cut quite frequently and I never have to comb it much.
“How’ve you been, Mrs. Spencer?” I said again, only louder, so she’d hear me.
“I’ve been just fine, Holden.” She closed the closet door. “How have you been?”
The way she asked me, I knew right away old Spencer’d told her I’d been kicked
out.
“Fine,” I said. “How’s Mr. Spencer? He over his grippe yet?”
6
“Over it! Holden, he’s behaving like a perfect-- I don’t know what. . . He’s in his
room, dear. Go right in.”
They each had their own room and all. They were both around seventy years old,
or even more than that. They got a bang out of things, though--in a haif-assed
way, of course. I know that sounds mean to say, but I don’t mean it mean. I just
mean that I used to think about old Spencer quite a lot, and if you thought about
him too much, you wondered what the heck he was still living for. I

I mean he was
all stooped over, and he had very terrible posture, and in class, whenever he
dropped a piece of chalk at the blackboard, some guy in the first row always had
to get up and pick it up and hand it to him. That’s awful, in my opinion. But if
you thought about him just enough and not too much, you could figure it out
that he wasn’t doing too bad for himself. For instance, one Sunday when some
other guys and I were over there for hot chocolate, he showed us this old beat-up
Navajo blanket that he and Mrs. Spencer’d bought off some Indian in Yellowstone
Park. You could tell old Spencer’d got a big bang out of buying it. That’s what I
mean. You take somebody old as hell, like old Spencer, and they can get a big
bang out of buying a blanket.
His door was open, but I sort of knocked on it anyway, just to be polite and all. I
could see where he was sitting. He was sitting in a big leather chair, all wrapped
up in that blanket I just told you about. He looked over at me when I knocked.
“Who’s that?” he yelled. “Caulfield? Come in, boy.” He was always yelling, outside
class. It got on your nerves sometimes.
The minute I went in, I was sort of sorry I’d come. He was reading the Atlantic
Monthly, and there were pills and medicine all over the place, and everything
smelled like Vicks Nose Drops. It was pretty depressing. I’m not too crazy about
sick people, anyway. What made it even more depressing, old Spencer had on this
very sad, ratty old bathrobe that he was probably born in or something. I don’t
much like to see old guys in their pajamas and bathrobes anyway. Their bumpy
old chests are always showing. And their legs. Old guys’ legs, at beaches and
places, always look so white and unhairy. “Hello, sir,” I said. “I got your note.
Thanks a lot.” He’d written me this note asking me to stop by and say good-by
before vacation started, on account of I wasn’t coming back. “You didn’t have to
do all that. I’d have come over to say good-by anyway.”

“Have a seat there, boy,” old Spencer said. He meant the bed.
7
I sat down on it. “How’s your grippe, sir?”
“M’boy, if I felt any better I’d have to send for the doctor,” old Spencer said. That
knocked him out. He started chuckling like a madman. Then he finally
straightened himself out and said, “Why aren’t you down at the game? I thought
this was the day of the big game.”
“It is. I was. Only, I just got back from New York with the fencing team,” I said.
Boy, his bed was like a rock.
He started getting serious as hell. I knew he would. “So you’re leaving us, eh?” he
said.
“Yes, sir. I guess I am.”
He started going into this nodding routine. You never saw anybody nod as much
in your life as old Spencer did. You never knew if he was nodding a lot because he
was thinking and all, or just because he was a nice old guy that didn’t know his
ass from his elbow.
“What did Dr. Thurmer say to you, boy? I understand you had quite a little chat.”
“Yes, we did. We really did. I was in his office for around two hours, I guess.”
“What’d he say to you?”

“Oh. . . well, about Life being a game and all. And how you should play it
according to the rules. He was pretty nice about it. I mean he didn’t hit the ceiling
or anything. He just kept talking about Life being a game and all. You know.”
“Life is a game, boy. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules.”
“Yes, sir. I know it is. I know it.”
Game, my ass. Some game. If you get on the side where all the hot-shots are,
then it’s a game, all right--I’ll admit that. But if you get on the other side, where
there aren’t any hot-shots, then what’s a game about it? Nothing. No game. “Has
Dr. Thurmer written to your parents yet?” old Spencer asked me.
“He said he was going to write them Monday.”
“Have you yourself communicated with them?”
“No, sir, I haven’t communicated with them, because I’ll probably see them
Wednesday night when I get home.”
“And how do you think they’ll take the news?”
“Well. . . they’ll be pretty irritated about it,” I said. “They really will. This is about
the fourth school I’ve gone to.” I shook my head. I shake my head quite a lot.
8
“Boy!” I said. I also say “Boy!” quite a lot. Partly because I have a lousy
vocabulary and partly because I act quite young for my age sometimes. I was
sixteen then, and I’m seventeen now, and sometimes I act like I’m about thirteen.
It’s really ironical, because I’m six foot two and a half and I have gray hair. I really
do. The one side of my head--the right side-- is full of millions of gray hairs. I’ve
had them ever since I was a kid. And yet I still act sometimes like I was only
about twelve. Everybody says that, especially my father. It’s partly true, too, but it
isn’t all true. People always think something’s all true. I don’t give a damn, except
that I get bored sometimes when people tell me to act my age. Sometimes I act a
lot older than I am-- I really do--but people never notice it. People never notice
anything

Old Spencer started nodding again. He also started picking his nose. He made out
like he was only pinching it, but he was really getting the old thumb right in
there. I guess he thought it was all right to do because it was only me that was in
the room. I didn’t care, except that it’s pretty disgusting to watch somebody pick
their nose.
Then he said, “I had the privilege of meeting your mother and dad when they had
their little chat with Dr. Thurmer some weeks ago. They’re grand people.”
“Yes, they are. They’re very nice.”
Grand. There’s a word I really hate. It’s a phony. I could puke every time I hear it.
Then all of a sudden old Spencer looked like he had something very good,
something sharp as a tack, to say to me. He sat up more in his chair and sort of
moved around. It was a false alarm, though. All he did was lift the Atlantic
Monthly off his lap and try to chuck it on the bed, next to me. He missed. It was
only about two inches away, but he missed anyway. I got up and picked it up and
put it down on the bed. All of a sudden then, I wanted to get the hell out of the
room. I could feel a terrific lecture coming on. I didn’t mind the idea so much, but
I didn’t feel like being lectured to and smell Vicks Nose Drops and look at old
Spencer in his pajamas and bathrobe all at the same time. I really didn’t.
It started, all right. “What’s the matter with you, boy?” old Spencer said. He said
it pretty tough, too, for him. “How many subjects did you carry this term?”
“Five, sir.”
“Five. And how many are you failing in?”

“Four.” I moved my ass a little bit on the bed. It was the hardest bed I ever sat on.
“I passed English all right,” I said, “because I had all that Beowulf and Lord
Randal My Son stuff when I was at the Whooton School. I mean I didn’t have to
do any work in English at all hardly, except write compositions once in a while.”
He wasn’t even listening. He hardly ever listened to you when you said something.
“I flunked you in history because you knew absolutely nothing.”
“I know that, sir. Boy, I know it. You couldn’t help it.”
“Absolutely nothing,” he said over again. That’s something that drives me crazy.
When people say something twice that way, after you admit it the first time. Then
he said it three times. “But absolutely nothing. I doubt very much if you opened
your textbook even once the whole term. Did you? Tell the truth, boy.”
“Well, I sort of glanced through it a couple of times,” I told him. I didn’t want to
hurt his feelings. He was mad about history.
“You glanced through it, eh?” he said--very sarcastic. “Your, ah, exam paper is
over there on top of my chiffonier. On top of the pile. Bring it here, please.”
It was a very dirty trick, but I went over and brought it over to him-- I didn’t have
any alternative or anything. Then I sat down on his cement bed again. Boy, you
can’t imagine how sorry I was getting that I’d stopped by to say good-by to him.
He started handling my exam paper like it was a turd or something. “We studied
the Egyptians from November 4th to December 2nd,” he said. “You chose to write
about them for the optional essay question. Would you care to hear what you had
to say?”
“No, sir, not very much,” I said.
He read it anyway, though. You can’t stop a teacher when they want to do
something. They just do it.

The Egyptians were an ancient race of Caucasians residing in one of the northern
sections of Africa. The latter as we all know is the largest continent in the Eastern
Hemisphere. I had to sit there and listen to that crap. It certainly was a dirty
trick. The Egyptians are extremely interesting to us today for various reasons.
Modern science would still like to know what the secret ingredients were that the
Egyptians used when they wrapped up dead people so that their faces would not
rot for innumerable centuries. This interesting riddle is still quite a challenge to
modern science in the twentieth century.
10
He stopped reading and put my paper down. I was beginning to sort of hate him.
“Your essay, shall we say, ends there,” he said in this very sarcastic voice. You
wouldn’t think such an old guy would be so sarcastic and all. “However, you
dropped me a little note, at the bottom of the page,” he said.
“I know I did,” I said. I said it very fast because I wanted to stop him before he
started reading that out loud. But you couldn’t stop him. He was hot as a
firecracker.
DEAR MR. SPENCER [he read out loud]. That is all I know about the Egyptians. I
can’t seem to get very interested in them although your lectures are very
interesting. It is all right with me if you flunk me though as I am flunking
everything else except English anyway.
Respectfully yours, HOLDEN CAULFIELD.

He put my goddam paper down then and looked at me like he’d just beaten hell
out of me in ping-pong or something. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him for reading
me that crap out loud. I wouldn’t’ve read it out loud to him if he’d written it-- I
really wouldn’t. In the first place, I’d only written that damn note so that he
wouldn’t feel too bad about flunking me.
“Do you blame me for flunking you, boy?” he said.
“No, sir! I certainly don’t,” I said. I wished to hell he’d stop calling me “boy” all the
time. He tried chucking my exam paper on the bed when he was through with it.
Only, he missed again, naturally. I had to get up again and pick it up and put it
on top of the Atlantic Monthly. It’s boring to do that every two minutes.
“What would you have done in my place?” he said. “Tell the truth, boy.” Well, you
could see he really felt pretty lousy about flunking me. So I shot the bull for a
while. I told him I was a real moron, and all that stuff. I told him how I would’ve
done exactly the same thing if I’d been in his place, and how most people didn’t
appreciate how tough it is being a teacher. That kind of stuff. The old bull. The
funny thing is, though, I was sort of thinking of something else while I shot the
bull. I live in New York, and I was thinking about the lagoon in Central Park,
down near Central Park South. I was wondering if it would be frozen over when I
got home, and if it was, where did the ducks go. I was wondering where the ducks
11
went when the lagoon got all icy and frozen over. I wondered if some guy came in
a truck and took them away to a zoo or something. Or if they just flew away.

I’m
lucky, though. I mean I could shoot the old bull to old Spencer and think about
those ducks at the same time. It’s funny. You don’t have to think too hard when
you talk to a teacher. All of a sudden, though, he interrupted me while I was
shooting the bull. He was always interrupting you.
“How do you feel about all this, boy? I’d be very interested to know. Very
interested.”
“You mean about my flunking out of Pencey and all?” I said. I sort of wished he’d
cover up his bumpy chest. It wasn’t such a beautiful view.
“If I’m not mistaken, I believe you also had some difficulty at the Whooton School
and at Elkton Hills.” He didn’t say it just sarcastic, but sort of nasty, too.
“I didn’t have too much difficulty at Elkton Hills,” I told him. “I didn’t exactly
flunk out or anything. I just quit, sort of.”
“Why, may I ask?”
“Why? Oh, well it’s a long story, sir. I mean it’s pretty complicated.” I didn’t feel
like going into the whole thing with him. He wouldn’t have understood it anyway.
It wasn’t up his alley at all. One of the biggest reasons I left Elkton Hills was
because I was surrounded by phonies. That’s all. They were coming in the
goddam window. For instance, they had this headmaster, Mr. Haas, that was the
phoniest bastard I ever met in my life. Ten times worse than old Thurmer. On
Sundays, for instance, old Haas went around shaking hands with everybody’s
parents when they drove up to school. He’d be charming as hell and all. Except if
some boy had little old funny-looking parents. You should’ve seen the way he did
with my roommate’s parents. I mean if a boy’s mother was sort of fat or cornylooking
or something, and if somebody’s father was one of those guys that wear
those suits with very big shoulders and corny black-and-white shoes, then old
Hans would just shake hands with them and give them a phony smile and then
he’d go talk, for maybe a half an hour, with somebody else’s parents. I can’t stand
that stuff. It drives me crazy.

manchildren desu

y. It makes me so depressed I go crazy. I hated that
goddam Elkton Hills.
Old Spencer asked me something then, but I didn’t hear him. I was thinking
about old Haas. “What, sir?” I said.
“Do you have any particular qualms about leaving Pencey?”
12
“Oh, I have a few qualms, all right. Sure. . . but not too many. Not yet, anyway. I
guess it hasn’t really hit me yet. It takes things a while to hit me. All I’m doing
right now is thinking about going home Wednesday. I’m a moron.”
“Do you feel absolutely no concern for your future, boy?”
“Oh, I feel some concern for my future, all right. Sure. Sure, I do.” I thought
about it for a minute. “But not too much, I guess. Not too much, I guess.”
“You will,” old Spencer said. “You will, boy. You will when it’s too late.”
I didn’t like hearing him say that. It made me sound dead or something. It was
very depressing. “I guess I will,” I said.
“I’d like to put some sense in that head of yours, boy. I’m trying to help you. I’m
trying to help you, if I can.”
He really was, too. You could see that. But it was just that we were too much on
opposite sides ot the pole, that’s all. “I know you are, sir,” I said. “Thanks a lot.
No kidding. I appreciate it. I really do.” I got up from the bed then. Boy, I
couldn’t’ve sat there another ten minutes to save my life. “The thing is, though, I
have to get going now. I have quite a bit of equipment at the gym I have to get to
take home with me. I really do.” He looked up at me and started nodding again,
with this very serious look on his face. I felt sorry as hell for him, all of a sudden.

I hate it when somebody answers that way. “Sure. Sure, they do,” I said. “I mean
it, sir. Please don’t worry about me.” I sort of put my hand on his shoulder.
“Okay?” I said.
“Wouldn’t you like a cup of hot chocolate before you go? Mrs. Spencer would be-
“I would, I really would, but the thing is, I have to get going. I have to go right to
the gym. Thanks, though. Thanks a lot, sir.”
Then we shook hands. And all that crap. It made me feel sad as hell, though.
“I’ll drop you a line, sir. Take care of your grippe, now.”
“Good-by, boy.”
13
After I shut the door and started back to the living room, he yelled something at
me, but I couldn’t exactly hear him. I’m pretty sure he yelled “Good luck!” at me,
I hope to hell not. I’d never yell “Good luck!” at anybody. It sounds terrible, when
you think about it.

Remembered

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>proxyfag spammer don' goofed
thanks Abibo

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Oven fries are my thing, other than that, I like uhh.. everything else that's considered a good potato dish o/
Cute face design, aesthetics and expression /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
>And i had something like a cookie, i bough a fancy bag of chips and had an oath to only open it when the job was done
That's a bad way of handling things - at least for me o/
Good luck on your adventure though

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