every american i’ve talked to on skype asked about bagged milk so far
what the hell is bagged milk?
IT’S JUST MILK
IN A BAG
WHY IS THIS SUCH A STRANGE CONCEPT
BECAUSE IF YOU OPEN IT, DOESN’T IT GO EVERYWHERE?
HOW DO YOU EVEN
WHAT THE FUCK IS BAGGED WATER
WHY IS EVERYTHING FUCKING BAGGED?!
I have never understood the concept of putting a liquid in a container that doesn’t have a fixed shape.
Sometimes I think that the Internet has the power to overcome cultural differences, then I see something like this.
(also seriously how the fuck do you open that)
-looking at followers- GASP! Someone unfollowed me!
… -realized was looking at wrong blog-
Oh no wait..i GAINED four followers….
…damn pr0n blog gets more followers than i do, wtf….
Kiwi and I decided…
Next Portal, Mark Hamill plays Rattmann.
Next VGA, we stack the votes so we can’t lose.
But Robert Downey Jr still plays Doug in the movie.
okay, that was weird..
trying to keep from passing out at my computer. Had a flash-dream about Creepy!Male!GLaDOS, standing right over me….
…that…that voice…. -shudders- did he HAVE to say my name?
it…probably has nothing whatsoever to do with anything i’m writing. nothing whatsoever. eheh…
Digi, your dA comment was prophetic! i’m gonna get molested when i go back to sleep, aren’t i?
I knew I could not let them get away with this, away with him. I had to follow them. A loose grenade landed several steps ahead of me. The fat man was laughing about how he’d finally gotten away with one of the company’s ideas. I lunged, grabbed the grenade, threw it back at him. It landed between his feet. He was still laughing as it blew him to bits.
I mounted my motorcycle, following the two men. I knew guards were behind me; if they caught me…if they knew I had turned against the company…they would kill me. But that kid. He didn’t deserve to be tortured every day, just to make their ideas. He didn’t deserve to be punished just because he was doing things right. Doing things right granted him freedom. They didn’t want him to be free. So they tortured him, day by day, hoping to catch him. If he died off of the company grounds, he would be dead forever. I couldn’t let that happen.
I ran into their motorcycles, knocking the kid loose. He ran off into the darkness. The other motorcycle spun out, crashing, spilling over the briefcase and a golden envelope full of foreign money.
And suddenly, I understood. The kid had not been developing drugs. He had been making chemical weapons. He was going to be smuggled into another country to make weapons for them.
I had done the wrong thing by turning against the company. I couldn’t stand the torture any more. But now, I hoped he could be free. I grabbed the money, leaving the briefcase. There was nothing but papers in it, anyway; instructions for using the kid. I got on my bike again, leaving the other two in flames.
I drove into the darkness on my motorcycle, money tightly in hand, knowing that now the kid would be safe.
“Can we talk?” said his sadistic voice. His image popped into my head, blood running down his nose as always, a cruel, twisted grin lighting his face.
I didn’t answer, focusing instead on a turn.
“Can we talk?” he said again. I noticed a small alcove in a wall of cement. Something was glowing within it. I was going too fast to see properly, but it looked like the mutilated corpse of some poor animal. A sign of cruelty.
“Only in person,” I replied to him out loud. My role was over. Finally, I knew that my heart was pure. But the image of the kid flashed through my mind again. I could not get him away from them. It might be only a matter of time before they tried again.
‘If you’re a guardian of villians,’ I thought to the malicious voice, ‘please protect him. For me.’
I sped off into the night, no longer a member of Masako Pharmaceuticals, Inc.
Hideyo Kibagani. No longer the name of villany. But not yet a name of justice.