/brit/

can get all the therapy in the world and love myself to bits but women still aren't interested so there isnt much point is there. why do people never understand this.

>can't roll my r's
what? vocaroo something for us

fUCK
oFF
nEURO
tYPICAL

imagine being able to speak 5 languages lmao i can bearly speak 1

he's probably the faggot OP

Uglier men are more likely to mistake friendliness for sexual interest

can bearly speak one

janny made this thread mate

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the bin bag struggles to contain the bulging form of the fat slag

Too many bitches getting into MC Ride’s life, asking him about his feelings, despite the fact they won’t be able to understand a madman like him.

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women only understand blunt force trauma

Was just joking m8.
Lucky you.

bad post

that's my middle name

i just can't do it, don't think i've got enough muscles in my tongue

added my best mate from primary on snap
doesn't even want to talk lol

I hate that style of makeup
I hate that style of dress
that hair is really shit too
hate her
fat bitch

is that ringo

here you go la

Hey everybody. I recently did an IQ test and scored 83. I'm really bummed out about this because Jordan Peterson has mentioned multiple times that IQ is the biggest predictor of success. Also I spend my spare time doing things like reading, watching these and other types of educational videos. Now that I realise I'm so far under average —it really hurts. I don't really know the point of this post, I guess I'd just like some thoughts on this because I'm too ashamed to tell anyone else.

Perhaps, but i'm not a virgin and I have charmed girls before, so it's not impossible that another girl could find me attractive

let it be known that if you see a horrid post with a german flag, it's the other german making it not me

love this style of dress that shows off the fact that they're not wearing knickers

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anyone want to meet up and fight?
I'll buy you a pint afterwards

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might sound a bit gay but my favourite thing about arabic is their poetry, its really good but translates like shit

What things are you good at, user?

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hi aisha

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bit of guinea boxing? im keen

hello literal gay rasheed nonce

how many Yous I get is the only measure of success, don't need an IQ for that

meet me outside nazbol gang party headquarters in 35 mins

What dialect of Arabic?

That ones irish

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drinking pints and posting on the 'chon

nah mate not only are you stealing my posts you're modifying them and thats a misrepresentation of my creativity you better believe i want this fucking scrap now where you based?

got the 'cephalitis

haha

nothing wrong with learning languages lad, the day we start turning our noses up at intellectuals is the day we turn into yanks

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Maybe it happens like this. You are sitting at a cluttered desk, in a stuffy, dimly lit room, somewhere in Seattle. It's night. It's very late. Everyone else must be asleep by now. If you leaned out the window to take in a breath of fresh air, you might see Jupiter and Mars gleaming in the constellation Scorpio. But the window is closed, and the shades are drawn. You are sitting in an uncomfortable office chair, hunched over a small terminal. Despite the awkward posture and the stifling atmosphere, you remain just as you are; you don't even consider getting up. Modem lights blink, the hard drive whirs, lines of text scroll across the screen. Occasionally, there is a loud beep. Your eyes squint at the small print; your fingers move frantically across the keyboard. You notice you've made a typo, and groan in disgust. Meanwhile, new incoming messages keep on arriving. You feel a sense of hysterical overload, as your brain strives to process five separate trains of thought at once. You're wondering how much longer you can keep it up, addressing your replies correctly, typing all those puns and sly allusions and heartfelt pleas and properly formatted commands, while at the same time reading the incoming lines as quickly as possible, before they scroll off the top of the screen. Until, all of a sudden, you hit a lag. None of your commands are executed, and nobody else's input appears on your terminal. Twenty-five seconds that seem like an eternity, as you wait impatiently for something--anything--to happen. Frustrated, irritated, you wonder if this isn't the time to call it a night. But you know that if you quit now, a vague sense of dissatisfaction would linger, and you'd never be able to fall asleep.

feeling a bit dissolute now i've completed my dissertation

might drop acid tomorrow and just lie in bed in my pants

...

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might go to benidorm go deanobashing lads

got a code for dead rising but it's a yank one

any yanks ITT want to grovel for it

an unappreciated gem

mashriqi

Shan't be reading any posts longer than 100 characters

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sincerest form of flattery m8
wigan train station

Or maybe it happens like this. You've been wandering for hours through the Lambda mansion and its luxurious grounds. You took a swim in the pool, grabbed a snack in the kitchen, read some books in the library, and fell through a mirror into a dingy old tavern. You entered an alien spacecraft, and fiddled around with the controls. You wandered through the cubes of a tesseract, trying to work out the geometry of its intrusion into three-space. You tried your luck in a gambling arcade, and lost all your money at the video slot machines. You climbed a rose trellis and found yourself on the roof of the mansion; you took in a breath of fresh night air, and saw Jupiter and Mars gleaming in the constellation Scorpio. Now you're sitting in a hot tub, sipping a beer, trying to relax and think about it all. But things have only gotten faster and more frantic. Close to twenty people are packed into this one space. You feel a sense of hysterical overload, as you try to follow five separate conversations at once. It's hard even to keep track of your companions, as their names keep changing, while their bodies metamorphose from one gender to another. Some dude is playing power chords on his guitar; another is inhaling outrageous tokes from a seven-foot-tall bong. A helicopter buzzes overhead; the pilot leans out and waves. This one jerk keeps whispering dumb pick-up lines and sexual insinuations into your ear. Someone else dunks you under the water, just for fun. Meanwhile, you're trying halfheartedly to flirt, in hurried whispers, with this cute guy you've just met. Until, all of a sudden, you hit a lag. Everyone seems to have gone into a catatonic stupor. Twenty-five seconds that seem like an eternity, as you wait impatiently for something--anything--to happen. Frustrated, irritated, you wonder if this isn't the time to call it a night. But you know that if you went home now, a vague sense of dissatisfaction would linger, and you'd never be able to fall asleep.

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i wish i was dead

i'm extremely scared i'm low iq desu

>Last Seen:
>Online
>Blue ticks

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just change your location to yankville, then activate it

What are your interests? Despite your IQ is low, you may try to achieve your limit in some field.

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iraqi (literally the best sounding spoken arabic from men, lebanese from women)
farsi has good poetry too

not an arab actually, but in arabic countries poetry is a huge deal.. if you are poetic you can melt any arabette

GOOD post

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But when you're caught up in the vertigo of MUDs and MOOs, such distinctions no longer make sense. Try it yourself if you don't believe me. Spend some time in a virtual world, and you'll be amazed how real it can be. We fight, we fuck, we sing and dance, we take drugs: "though initially loosing consciousness from matter, MUDs end up producing a curious twin body, a doppelgänger that explores, wrestles, hugs, and laughs" (Erik Davis). Total strangers become intimate friends or lovers, almost overnight. Jealousies develop, and quarrels break out, followed by mutual avoidance, or by tearful reconciliations. The sense of tactile, corporeal presence, throughout it all, is overwhelming. Yes, that was indeed my body, sweating, grunting, straining its eyes, furiously typing. But that was also my body, relaxing in the hot tub, drinking a beer, splashing, casually flirting, sorting out sexual responses, and reeling off lame one-liners. All these events occurred together, in real time, in the same stream of consciousness, along the same continuum of bodily sensations. I got tipsy on that virtual beer; the warmth of the water in the hot tub merged with the stifling heat of the air in my study. For reality is a matter, not of essences, but of effects; my actions have continuing reverberations and consequences in LambdaMOO, just as they do in RL. Deleuze writes of a hallucinatory "excess of presence, that acts directly on the nervous system, and that makes representation--with its putting-in-place or putting-at-a-distance--impossible." In this sense, LambdaMOO is a fully present, actual world--and not just a vicarious representation of one. For all that it's made out of binary code in a mainframe and words scrolling on a screen, LambdaMOO is as vividly concrete and detailed as the room from which I access it, and as engaging and crowded, as friendly or as menacing, as the bar down the street.

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one of the few lyrics in a tune i can relate to

youtube.com/watch?v=cTLTG4FTNBQ

texas has got to be the worst place to have a chainsaw massacre, isn't everyone there armed to the teeth?

bezs madchester anthems
sorted tunes from back in the day

bit too far that want to hop on the train n meet me in stafford? n the pints on me

i'm not even against degeneracy i just don't like benders, feminists and trannies
and really i'm not even against gay sex or sex with trannies, i'm against the pride parades and ideological shit behind it

so yeah, i'm for degeneracy, i'm against the ideology that tries to justify degeneracy as normal, moral, or equal to other relationships. it should be enjoyed as a disgusting thing. embrace your pervert, don't pretend you're ordinary

chuff bare ciggies
drink pyar pints
wank mad numbers

Why are you interested in Arabic stuff?

At LambdaMOO, we like to talk about the differences--but that also means the solidarities--between VR and RL. One doesn't exist without the other. Indeed, it gets tricky at times. Each player on the MOO has eir own pseudonym or 'handle': so that unless you choose to tell me, there's no way I can find out who you 'really' are. Anyone you meet online is playing a role, adopting a persona; but isn't that the case when we meet in RL as well? It's not that I know you less well in VR, but that I come to know you in a radically different way. I may become quite intimate with someone, spend hours with em every night, and yet not have the slightest idea what eir voice sounds like, or what eir RL body looks, feels, and smells like. Thanks to pseudonymity, the space for deception may well be larger in VR than in RL. But the space for experimentation, invention, and discovery is also larger, by the same logic. Inhibitions are lowered; the most unlikely and unexpected patterns emerge. "Erotic interaction in cyberspace," as Shannon McRae puts it, "requires a constant phasing between the virtual and the actual, the simultaneous awareness of the corporeal body at the keyboard, the emoting, speaking self on the screen, and the existence of another individual, real and projected, who is similarly engaged. Far from producing a mind-body split that allows for the projection of an intact ego, self-awareness must be doubled, multiplied, magnified, to an extent that the 'self' is rendered incoherent, scattered, shattered." Are all these exciting and excruciating transformations 'real'? You'd better believe it.

gone off slags since I started nofap, only the rare elite slag can make me bothered

Alri ayn rand

*screams*

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went to my granddad's funeral lads. felt very sad for my granny.

*walks towards you*

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maybe amongst intellectual circles mate but i heavily doubt the average sheed even has the iq to appreciate poetry

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my condolences lad

*bowtie starts spinning*
AWOOOOOOOOGA
HONK HONK
HAMANA HAMANA HAMANA
AW AW AWOOOOOOO
*splashes water on my face*

actually cried at my granddad's funeral. We weren't close or anything, but I proper wept like a bitch. It was weird

Michael Heim traces the term virtual back to Duns Scotus, who used it "to bridge the gap between formally unified reality (as defined by our conceptual expectations) and our messily diverse experiences." Virtual Reality, you might say, is the actual mode of being of the inessential, the epiphenomenal, and the nonconceptual: of all that is unpredictable, unexpected, transitory, contingent, or exceptional. VR is then not metaphysical, but 'pataphysical. We imagine and represent unreal possibilities, but the real itself, in its messy diversity, is unrepresentable and unimaginable. To paraphrase Sherlock Holmes: once you've eliminated the possible (that is to say, everything that can be imagined, but that doesn't really exist) then the virtual, however improbable or outrageous, is what remains. VR thus includes those anomalous quasi-existences painstakingly catalogued by Charles Fort: rains of blood, strange hybrids, stigmata, spontaneously combusting bodies, perpetual motion machines, poltergeist girls, falls of fishes from the sky. But VR also includes everything that is banal, everyday, and boringly unremarkable: the "nine tenths" of our life that goes on without will or conscious thought (Robert Bresson), the "dirt under the fingernails" for which a Platonic Idea is lacking (Deleuze). Such a combination of the remarkable and the insignificant, the singular and the trivial, is familiar to anyone who hangs out in MUDs and MOOs. We might do well to adopt the logic of Fort's research program for our own postmodern explorations of virtual worlds: "there is, in quasi-existence, nothing but the preposterous--or something intermediate to absolute preposterousness and final reasonableness... Infinite frustrations of attempts to positivize manifest themselves in infinite heterogeneity: so that though things try to localize homogeneousness they end up in heterogeneity so great that it amounts to infinite dispersion or indistinguishability."

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>4plebs down

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

janny sent me a warning for posting the image

How do you know? Have you tried it? The first step towards being attractive to others is having confidence in yourself, which comes from being the sort of person that you want to be

youre twisting my melon, man