Song Of The Day Is A Geometry Dash Banger. Im Just Getting Into Its Fire Beats Right Now, And This Is

Song of the day is a geometry dash banger. I’m just getting into its fire beats right now, and this is the one that’s stuck in my head.

Love the wierd incorporation of orchestra elements with the acid house stuff.

Vault Hunter Flow

Shit, man, I’m shootin’ different.

This sorry ass shituationship started when I loaded titanium tipped overpacked powderkeg personnel carrier poppin’ penetrator class peashooter punching ordnance into my 25mm Magnum battle cannon.

Now I’m trading Shit Oil with space psychos outta the cursed canyons so I can take 20 shots from a Torgue weapon to the ass and still siddown in a chair good after I get my hundred grand I spent on hookers and sPACE BLOW, man.

I’m putting a chain saw onto my chainsaw on my battle rifle so I can cut shit even better to get riled up Rakk fumes into my lungs.

I’m smoking that Purloined Pandora Pirate’s Property pack. Shit so purple you’d think it was laced with Eridium via Energized Electrolysis.

Shit so gas it could fuel a raider’s ruckus rig till rain starts falling in the Droughts.

I let a skag bite me in the chest so I didn’t have to feel the fuckin’ flamethrowin’ sawblade launchers dig into my spine, causing irreparable damage to my nervous system.

They call it a new you cause they knew I’d never be like you cause I’m already him.

I shot a vault monster With a Jakobs from a jillion miles away like that nasty motherfucker was nothin’.

Fuck it, I looted the opp. Sold all of his gear to the nearest town, and they didn’t bother to bury his dumb ass.

Kill them. Kill the Xenos immediately. Then use their body for corpse starch.

I need ALL of you to understand that your silly little technicolor furry/scaly/protogen/“creature” OCs would be shot down the moment anyone saw them without hesitation.

Super Earth is the right hand of the god of xenophobia that is Warhammer 40,000, meaning everyone that isn’t 100% human in appearance is dead on the spot.

Hell, they’d probably do worse than that. I wouldn’t put Super Earth past classified concentration camps for people with birth defects, or worse, grievously unethical human experimentation that’s hidden behind the guise of a placebo medical program.

“Oh, you think we’re just gonna give you some pills for a few weeks and you can just leave? Hell no. We’re going to pump a gallon of medical class deliriants into your body to see how much fear the human body can handle. Our Helldivers will really benefit from this glorious sacrifice of yours.”

They might not even bother with all that. They might have mandatory legislation that states they HAVE to abort the baby, and force the grieving family to work on a hell-colony on Hellmire, or god forbid a Terminid hive world.

You wanna know what’s crazy?! It could be EVEN MORE BRUTAL. They could just toss them off a cliff like the Greeks did and brand it as some sick, demented ritual to appease the “Spirit of Democracy”. Shit’s fuckin’ BAD, brother.

Super Earth is a DYSTOPIAN society that makes no place for anything different or erratic. It’s all black and yellow, and the people who are not wearing black and yellow are killed because the government tells them that they are wrong, bad, stupid and dumb and a bunch of poopy face losers.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk about the nature of societal dystopias like these being inextricably linked to puritanical hellscapes.

(It looks really good btw)

Helldiver Demily fanart by @axidentshappen

…

This photo by Vivian Maier, taken in 1953, could be a study for a painting by Edward Hopper—except there would be only one person in the window.

Photo: Vivian Maier via AnOther magazine

A friend told me this would pop off on here:

“It is my god-given, inalienable right as a citizen of this great democracy of ours that is the United States of America to roleplay cat sex with impunity.”

Carry on.

What’s crazy about manufactorums is that this entire structure is probably dedicated to building one component of a single item. Hell, the entire planet probably makes something completely inconsequential to the war effort like signal flares or canteens, maybe even something as simple as bandages. And there are THOUSANDS of worlds, just like these, doing the same thing for centuries.

It’s a Sisyphean task that never ends, and the fruits of such pointless labor will never be seen by even the planet’s higher ups. That’s what makes it grimdark. That’s what makes Warhammer 40k what it is; an endless task that can never be completed, and if it ever is, it only ends one way:

With the end of everything and everyone.

Manufactorum

by DWMIT