Nostalrius Begins - Quality wow vanilla realm (1.12)

By level 12 my old toon had piled up about 2 gold farming mats, so I transferred them to a reroll in order to make sure the reroll started life properly geared. So the reroll gets invited to a guild right at level 1 and donates half the cost of a guild tabard and sends guildies bags and crafted gear and whatnot. Then the toon has been levelling his LW and has some extra green vests he crafted, so he tries to give them away on General Chat. Three other toons respond right away but then the chat glitches and my toon can't respond to THEM. I try to relog and it doesn't fix the problem but I've lost the names of the toons that wanted the vests. So i go on guild chat and beg my guidies to go on General and tell people my chat glitched, and...nothing. Total silence. So I helped everybody but the first time _I_ needed help I got screwed,. Story of my life. And now three people on Nost think I'm some kind of asshole who pretended he was giving them free gear out of malicious pleasure. Because of the buttholes in my former guild.

World doesn't revolve around you

So I’m a twenty something male who was touring Israel with my wealthy, older relatives. We were right on the border of Syria to do a canyon hike down to what we have been told was a spectacular waterfall. For the past week I had eaten nothing but Shawarma and Hummus, which are delicious, but my were wreaking havoc with my poor intestines. Usually the first and last thing I did when we arrived at our next tourist stop was go to the bathroom to deal with the consequences of eating delicious new food. On this occasion, however, there was a line of Israeli soldiers waiting for the bathroom as we arrived, and my group was already heading down the canyon (we were advised not to wander around alone near the Syrian border), so I figured I could wait until the end to cleanse myself.

As soon as we were halfway into the canyon, I felt something similar in size and density to a bowling ball shifting in my gut. No need to panic though, the hike is only about 2-3 miles roundtrip, and we were almost at the bottom of the canyon by this point. About 50 steps later, however, I broke into a cold sweat, the dreaded poop sweat. Whatever was brewing inside of me was positively howling to be unleashed, and drastic action was necessary. I immediately begin to run as fast as I could without emptying my bowels, and I passed the waterfall without so much as a glance in an effort to head back up the canyon. There were scores of tourists from all around the world scattered along the trail, and most of them were slow and old. I began rushing passed people, cheeks firmly clamped, trying to apologize through painfully gritted teeth as sweat poured down my face.

I honestly thought I was done for at least two or three times as I limped farther and my rectum quivered, but I was able to stop and squeeze the mass back into myself on each occasion. I finally reached the top of the canyon and the restroom was only 100 yards away- I’m saved, or so I thought. As I began the final stretch towards rectal release, the entire squad of Israeli soldiers visiting the canyon was marching toward me looking fucking determined. Each one had a fully automatic weapon and looked generally not to be fucked with. I did a quick calculation and realized that if I took so much as an extra step in this journey I would violently shit my pants. The problem was that there was only a small path to the restroom and the soldiers were marching two by two down it with PURPOSE, which left no room to maneuver around them. I was also at the point were I was doing weird things to take my mind of the pain, which at this point meant breathing/grunting/screaming after each faltering step I took. I had also completely sweated through my shirt at this point.

I had no choice, I limped my way directly through the soldiers, howling and sweating like a lunatic, and, to my immense relief, they broke ranks, staring at me with extreme concern. I wouldn’t have blamed a single one of them if they had decided to shoot me dead. When I finally reached the bathroom I pulled down my pants as I turned around towards the nearest toilet and the shawarma released itself from my body like an unholy demon. I kid you not that I filled an industrial sized toilet bowl to the brim with hummus and God knows what else I had eaten. The relief was so intense that I started tearing up, and when I exited the restroom an Arab man asked me if I was needed because I looked in such horrible condition. I’m sure I learned a lesson among all this, but I for the life of me I have no idea what it is.

Levinas wrote:So I’m a twenty something male who was touring Israel with my wealthy, older relatives. We were right on the border of Syria to do a canyon hike down to what we have been told was a spectacular waterfall. For the past week I had eaten nothing but Shawarma and Hummus, which are delicious, but my were wreaking havoc with my poor intestines. Usually the first and last thing I did when we arrived at our next tourist stop was go to the bathroom to deal with the consequences of eating delicious new food. On this occasion, however, there was a line of Israeli soldiers waiting for the bathroom as we arrived, and my group was already heading down the canyon (we were advised not to wander around alone near the Syrian border), so I figured I could wait until the end to cleanse myself.

As soon as we were halfway into the canyon, I felt something similar in size and density to a bowling ball shifting in my gut. No need to panic though, the hike is only about 2-3 miles roundtrip, and we were almost at the bottom of the canyon by this point. About 50 steps later, however, I broke into a cold sweat, the dreaded poop sweat. Whatever was brewing inside of me was positively howling to be unleashed, and drastic action was necessary. I immediately begin to run as fast as I could without emptying my bowels, and I passed the waterfall without so much as a glance in an effort to head back up the canyon. There were scores of tourists from all around the world scattered along the trail, and most of them were slow and old. I began rushing passed people, cheeks firmly clamped, trying to apologize through painfully gritted teeth as sweat poured down my face.

I honestly thought I was done for at least two or three times as I limped farther and my rectum quivered, but I was able to stop and squeeze the mass back into myself on each occasion. I finally reached the top of the canyon and the restroom was only 100 yards away- I’m saved, or so I thought. As I began the final stretch towards rectal release, the entire squad of Israeli soldiers visiting the canyon was marching toward me looking fucking determined. Each one had a fully automatic weapon and looked generally not to be fucked with. I did a quick calculation and realized that if I took so much as an extra step in this journey I would violently shit my pants. The problem was that there was only a small path to the restroom and the soldiers were marching two by two down it with PURPOSE, which left no room to maneuver around them. I was also at the point were I was doing weird things to take my mind of the pain, which at this point meant breathing/grunting/screaming after each faltering step I took. I had also completely sweated through my shirt at this point.

I had no choice, I limped my way directly through the soldiers, howling and sweating like a lunatic, and, to my immense relief, they broke ranks, staring at me with extreme concern. I wouldn’t have blamed a single one of them if they had decided to shoot me dead. When I finally reached the bathroom I pulled down my pants as I turned around towards the nearest toilet and the shawarma released itself from my body like an unholy demon. I kid you not that I filled an industrial sized toilet bowl to the brim with hummus and God knows what else I had eaten. The relief was so intense that I started tearing up, and when I exited the restroom an Arab man asked me if I was needed because I looked in such horrible condition. I’m sure I learned a lesson among all this, but I for the life of me I have no idea what it is.

Over winter break, a few friends and I were hanging out and playing Super Mario Strikers (the best Gamecube game of all time).

In one matchup, my friend, Corey, was beating me 5-0 with only 1 minute remaining. I scored five times in thirty seconds to tie it up, then hit the game winning goal as time expired.

After throwing the controller and raging for a few seconds, he pulled down his pants and took a dump right on top of my beautiful console.

We don’t play it anymore.

Fuck you Corey.