White Wolf Rants and other crap

We take no responsibilty for any of this. Don't tell anyone. It's just our little secret.


Justin again

 

Pop quiz, hotshot.

You're in the kitchen. You pour yourself a cup of coffee. You spill it.
What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?

If you're the cretin who did it this morning, you just leave the spill on
the floor.

How many fucking times does this sort of bullshit need to be said? You
are not new here. Even if you were new, what kind of logic could possibly
incline you to think, "It's okay for me to leave my filth strewn about,
so that others may dwell in my squalor"?

Are you stupid? That's no excuse. Just because you're stupid doesn't mean
that you live in a world in which cause and effect do not relate. That is
insanity -- schizophrenia or neurosis, I believe -- and while this office
may incline some personalities toward depression, it does not drive
anyone to the point of lunacy. End result: The stupid person would clean
up after himself.

Are you subhuman? That one doesn't work either, as the simple survival
urge would drive you to leave your environment as safe and clean as
possible, to further continue living. End result: The subhuman beast
would clean up after himself.

Are you lazy? Even that explanation holds no water, because a lazy person
would sop up the spilled coffee and suck it from a paper towel to make
sure he got the most coffee from his single trip in the interests of
avoiding traveling back to the machine for another cup. End result: The
lazy SOB would clean up after himself.

Are you so poorly socialized that you don't realize your mess needs to be
addressed? Although highly likely, given the
picked-on-in-high-school-so-I-pretend-to-be-Gorlox-the-Ravager-in-Dungeons-
&-Dragons-and-take-out-my-pent-up-feelings-of-rage-and-impotence bent of
this office's employees, I still can't quite swallow this because
hundreds of e-mails have arrived your very own mailbox decrying just this
sort of thing. End result: The sociopathic game goober would have been
cowed into cleaning up after himself.

So what's the fucking deal? What has retarded your development to such a
degree that you exist on a level below an apathetic, mouth-breathing,
dungeon-hacking child of dogs and possums? What the hell is wrong with
you that you can't draw the simple logical line between "Oog make mess --
Oog clean mess"?

I don't want to be subjected to the vagaries of your lack of hygiene,
self-respect, intellect, or whatever it is that has turned you into
something multiple evolutionary steps below humankind. No one else here
does, either. This isn't Ireland, we don't drink the blood of our fallen
warrior caste, and our offices and cubicles are not made of mud dredged
up from the moors and peat bogs. Vileness of this magnitude is
intolerable to civilized, upright-walking humanity.

Here, then, you mysterious bottom-feeding husk of a worthless lifeform,
is a cheat-sheet for existence. Print it out, stick it in your wallet or
behind a clump of your matted fur, and take it with you at all times.

Did you make a mess?

If yes, clean it up.

If no, continue gathering berries and stuffing them in your maw.

That should help. See me if you have any problems.

Regards,
Justin

 

From a newsgroup

>>>Subject: Re: appology for negative posts - George Johnston
Date: Mon, 02 Feb 1998 20:55:44 -0800
From: heekster <heekster@gte.net>
Organization: Home
Newsgroups: rec.motorcycles.harley, alt.motorcycles.harley

George Johnston wrote:
<snip>
> This post is being sent to Netcom. This whole episode is also under
> investigation by others and I won't comment on it further. The subject is
> far from closed.
>
> Like I said, in the future you may want to think before making libelous
> posts.

Well, well, well. The pathetic little cocksucker is back. And the
first thing you post is insulting, demeaning bait of no consequence.
Still no internet friends, George? Perhaps, it is because you do
nothing but snipe at people, and try to get them fired from their jobs,
or have their ISPs cancel their service. Still posting poorly thought
out bait, and then cancelling the posts, you rat-like, craven,
half-faced, futilitarian? You rude little, bilious baboon. You would
give intestinal nematodes a bad name. You are a snitch, a stool-pigeon,
a tattler, a squealer, a fink, a ferret, a weasel. You dirty rat.

You are what the British refer to, as a git. You are a lout, a varlet,
a puttock. You are a bootless, clay-brained, puking bugbear. You are an
artless miscreant. Your mind is warped. You are an off topic post in
the news group, rec.human.life. And I wish you would go away, for
Avogadro's week-end. You're the best at all you do - and all you do is
make people hate you. You never strike out blindly; you fail in the
light. All your quantum numbers are either 0, or negative.

Remember me? You tried to complain to my ISP. Well, binky, I'm still
here, same ISP, and you are still a smegma mouthed fellator of yaks. My
ISP now knows what a beef-witted, unrighteous, whining shitheel you
really are. As do most of the ISP's in North America.

I have seen mold spores with more personal character than you. The
utter vacuity of your social, moral, intellectual, and scrotal
capacities, is without equal. You are emotionally bankrupt. I wish I
had a blueprint for your brain; I'm trying to build an idiot. Your
incessant misanthropy marks you apart from the rest of humanity. You
goatish, cod-faced, dog-hearted backslider. Go away. No one wants to
read what you have to say. You are a waste of flesh, oxygen, and
bandwidth. You remind me of opium, a slow working dope. When you were
born, I'll bet the doctor slapped your mother. Or at least, seriously
considered it.

Once again, there is no point debating your disesteem. Once again, I
have placed the half dozen of your email addresses in my twit filter.
Why any normal person would need that many, I don't know, but given your
prediliction for soiling yourself, it somehow makes sense, in a Bizzaro
world kind of logic.

We know who you are; what you are; you have no friends in these news
groups. I doubt that you have any friends, anywhere. One of these
days, someone is gonna grab you by the ears, and pull you on like a
sock.

the heekster HSB #18

'55 FLE



Brad answers mail order all day at White Wolf. He is the only person who does so.



Excuse me.

AAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

The planet Earth is populated by morons, and they all call the 800 line!

If you want a catalog, leave a complete address like the message says! That includes:

Your name

Street number & name

City

State

ZIP

if you don't, YOU GET NOTHING! ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! Like me, the US Postal Service does not deliver to moronic idiots who can't leave an entire address!

Also, I only speak English. Not Spanish, French-Canadian, Ebonics, or Deep-South Redneck! Enunciate damnit!!!!!

There is no Clanbook: Abomination and there never will be! I don't care how you fit it into your campaign! Don't tell me over the phone. As a matter of fact, I don't care about your campaign at all. The only thing I care about is money$$$$$$$. Give me your credit card number, let me sell you $100 worth of books, and you can tell me about your 4th Generation Corax/Abomination who was actually Macheavelli in the Dark Ages all day long.

If you are under 5 years of age, STAY AWAY FROM THE PHONE!!!! Its not a toy. Your message will be deleted immediately, if I can undestand it above the TV you have blaring in the background.

For those of you calling at 3 AM: who the fuck to you think is gonna answer the phone!!! You want customer service in the middle of the night!? Saying "Hello, pick up the phone" only proves Social Darwinism is right since, if you can't differentiate between voicemail and an answering machine in this day and age, you deserve to wither and die in our ever increasing technological society. Especially since my message starts off with "Hello, you have reached the voicemail of Brad Butkovich..."

RANT OFF

Whew. I needed that.

-Brad



Justin writes the best rants.


Hello.

Ash and I took the white paper recycling to the Farmer's Market this morning. Surprisingly (smell the sarcasm?), some nefarious coterie of brain-dwindled ape-dolts had liberally sprinkled various nonwhite paper items in with what would have otherwise been recyclable stuff.

When putting something in a white paper-only recycling bin, please use the following criteria to determine whether or not it belongs there (your deposit, not the bin, thickie):

· The object must be white, and

· The object must be paper.

If both of these conditions are met, you're okay. If not, your object is not white paper and should be dealt with appropriately. Note that firing it into the white paper-only recycling bin anyway does not count as appropriately.

The following things are not white paper:

Phone books (yes to paper, no to white), posters (neither white nor paper), brown cardboard boxes (neither white nor paper; anyone who puts brown cardboard in a white paper-only receptacle is obviously mind-numbingly stupid, and therefore incapable of making decisions let alone following simple directions - this person should be unceremoniously fired and beaten to death in the parking lot), cups (neither), magazines (not white) and those brown-on-one-side sleeves that paper is packaged in (not totally white, and yes, there's a preposition at the end of that clause).

The Farmer's Market has a little recycling station that is divided up by item. There are special places for phone books, cardboard, glass (clear and green), computer paper (that ancient green-and-white-line-alternated stuff), magazines (slick paper and whatnot), metal cans and white paper. Mixing the stuff up causes the recycler to have to amble about, depositing the improperly-placed miscreant items in their proper homes. Obviously, this wastes time and is a pain in the ass, in addition to fueling my unending surliess and making you the public object of my wrath.

To sum up: Follow directions and don't be a fucking retard. Thanks.



Is that your lightsaber or are you happy to see me ....

Chris

Top Ten sexually explicit lines from Star Wars....

 

10. Get in there you big furry oaf. I don't care WHAT you smell!!
9. Luke, at that speed do you think you'll be able to pull out in time?
8. Put that thing away before you get us all killed.
7. You've got something jammed in here real good.
6. Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?
5. Sorry about the mess...
4. Look at the size of that thing!!
3. Curse my metal body, I wasn't fast enough!!!
2. She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts, kid.
1. You came in that thing? You're braver than I thought.

Top Ten sexually explicit lines from the Empire Strikes Back...

10. I thought that hairy beast would be the end of me.
9. Size matters not. Judge me by my size, do you?
8. There's an awful lot of moisture in here.
7. Control, Control! You must learn Control.
6. But now we must eat. Cum, good food, cum....
5. That's okay, I'd like to keep it on manual control for awhile.
4. Hurry up golden-rod...
3. I must've hit it pretty close to the mark to get her all riled up like that, huh kid?
2. Possible he came in through the south entrence.
1. And I thought they smelled bad...on the outside...

Top Ten sexually explicit lines from Return of the Jedi...

10. There is good in him. I have felt it.
9. Hey, Luke, thanks for coming after me, now I owe you one.
8. You're a jittery little thing, aren't you?
7. In time you will call me master.
6. A little higher, jut a little higher...
5. I never knew I had it in me.
4. Grab it, almost...you almost got it. Gently now, all right, easy, easy...
3. Hey, point that thing someplace else!!
2. What could possibly have come over Master Luke?
1. Back door, huh? good idea...



Heads Need To Be Cracked In!

Ahead Of The Crowd

By Johan Hed

      I know I speak for every organism that has ever existed on the planet when I say that heads need to be cracked in, fast. Cracking people's fucking heads in was my first love, and it shall be my last.

      What else is there, besides cracking people's goddamn heads in? Not much: the march of days, seasons, dreams, love and lies. Sex, anxiety, getting by. Food, albums, murmurs and moods. Memories and plans, sidewalks and fruitstands.

      And that's all fine, but like it says on my bumper sticker--and T-shirt and customized baseball cap and kitchen table (carved with a key) and bedsheet (scrawled with a Magnum marker): "I'd rather be cracking your bastard-ass head in."

      Take it personally. I'm talking about everyone, including you. I'm very democratic. That's one of the things I like about me, besides that "thing" I have about cracking people's heads in.

      This one guy whose head I wanted to crack in said to me, "Isn't what you really want to do is to bash people's heads in? How can you crack someone's head in?" Shit, man, that's exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about! Bash, crack, smash, whichever! Those are just words, and words are of no interest to me. What is of interest to me is cracking in the fucking, bitch-testicle, fucking head of every damn living thing on this planet that has a goddamn head! That's what I mean! That is very interesting to me!

      Everyone I see practically says to me, "Please crack my head in for my own sake." They don't say it in those words, no. They say it in other ways, like in the way they dress, but I hear them. And I heed their cries. I'd be a bastard if I didn't!

      Story of my life:
    Mom: Oh, Johan, you look so cute in your suspenders!
      Mom's head: Crack!
      Dad: Johan, life isn't always going to be easy.
      Dad's head: Crack!
      Me: Maybe you shouldn't go around cracking people's heads in all the time.
      My head: Crack!

      Cracking heads in is the only image I can, or will ever, comprehend. It is the single action which resonates sensibly within the rhythm of this world. Hopes are dashed! Heads are cracked! People forget! Of course you don't understand! Which is why your head needs to be cracked in! You do understand? Are you among the kindred? Then your head needs to be cracked in even harder, friend.


From some guy on the web to our web address

Subject: you suck

Date: Mon, 20 Jan 1997 22:10:48 -0800

From: "William W. Bishop Jr." <williamb@ptialaska.net>

To: chrism@white-wolf.com

Dear Dirty Cocksucker,
You Suck.
I now know that next time I consider buying any of your card games, I will first pull three bucks out of my wallet and wipe my ass with it. which would be a far more pleasurable experience. Next time you think about making a card game...DON'T! Let somebody who knows what they are doing make it. Did I mention you suck? Next time spend money and create a rulebook, you cheap bastard son of a leperous whore who couldn't give 25cent blowjobs to limp-dicked winos with bad eyesight(you know, your father). Did I happen to mention you suck. You people need to get your shit together before I come down there and force feed you the corn from my shit like I did to your sister last night (which would probably be about as enjoyable as trying to play one of your lame-ass games). It probably makes you erect just thinking about my shit doesn't it you greasy-faced cum-guzzlin' butt-pirate. You people need to get your shit right the first time instead of having to put two editions of every one of your monkey-spankin' games just to rip off those deluded no-nut zombie children groupies that buy your games, you know the type ass-wipe, like the one you tried to convince to suck your dick because he thought he was a vampire and you told the deluded acid-freak reject that blood would come out instead of just polishing his teeth and gums with a load of your aids infected semen.

Thank you for your time, I hope it wasn't too much of a diversion from your chronic mastrubation habits.

P.S. Lick my hairy white ass clean you dirty bitch.


Subject: addendum

Date: Mon, 20 Jan 1997 22:11:51 -0800

From: "William W. Bishop Jr." <williamb@ptialaska.net>

To: chrism@white-wolf.com

 

Hey, I almost forgot, YOU SUCK.

 

 


 

From:Justin Achilli(Dark Ages Developer) via White Wolf Office E-mail

Date:1/30/97

Subject:Truly Dreadful Events!

Imagine the terror.

It all began as a lunch discussion at El Chico. A few days earlier, we had been arguing that staple of goobiness: Which superhero could kick which other superheroes' asses? Someone, probably Andrew, said that a magazine had run a story on the subject (imagine that - aren't comics geeks creative?) in which Captain America was determined to have thrashed Batman soundly. Not wanting to inflame the issue, I shut up, but it surfaced again at Chico's.

Now, anyone with half a lick of sense knows full well that Batman could waste anyone who looked at him wrong. Or so I thought, as my fellow lunchketeers began to assail me with a barrage of "Batman versus Person X?" challenges. Naturally, Batman was declared the victor of all these laughable pairings.

Except for a few. Batman was determined to match the starting lineup of the 1985 Chicago Bears equally. Likewise, Rose from Street Fighter Alpha and Alpha 2 (as Batman could never actually be beaten by a woman - no offense, ladies, but that's just how it is) broke even with him. This line of thought proved problematic, apparently.

Because Milberger pulled out the big guns. "Batman versus Madonna?" he posed, with all the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl in puppy love. Knowing that the Dark Knight could not fall to the wiles of the fairer sex, and simultaneously knowing that Madonna could conquer the world if she so wished, I was dumbfounded.

"A tie," I pronounced, visibly maintaining my cool but inwardly shaken. You see, this clash of foundational tenets had upset the delicate balance of the carefully-constructed fantasy world in which I live. My mind reeled.

I gracefully acknowledged the rest of the mock-challenges at lunch, although I trembled inwardly. I announced Bats' victories over Galactus, Han Solo (with or without the Millenium Falcon and Chewbacca's aid), Hollywood Hulk Hogan and even Linda Hamilton as Sarah Connor in Terminator 2 (a quick brawl which resulted in Batman tearing off Linda's arm, beating her to death with it and then hoisting her over his head and drinking the blood. Batman does that kind of thing).

Returning to work, I finished up my responsibilities while mulling over the issues of faith with which I was struggling. It was the classic "unstoppable force versus immovable object argument" and I'll be damned if I could envision a victor.

So, gritting my teeth, I made a few phone calls:

"Batcave. Batman speaking."

"Hey, Batman. Madonna said she could kick your ass. If you're not chicken, show up at the White Wolf office at seven tonight. And bring your belt."

"Why that brazen strumpet! The audacit-"

The phone call to Madonna was surprisingly similar.

Seven o'clock drew nigh, and I let the prospective combatants in the building. I had drawn a little chalk circle in the arena, out there just past cubicle Shantytown. They took their places in the circle, two grim warriors of an imminent apocalypse, offering no quarter and expecting none.

Well, apparently Madonna hadn't done much in the way of vigilante combat training, because the initial scuffle ended pretty quickly. She kicked Batman in the ding, but the Dark Knight was wearing an armored codpiece. Actually, she didn't kick him at all; I just wanted to say "ding" in an office e-mail. In truth, Batman kicked her in the stomach and, while she was doubled over on the ground, he pulled off her head and cast it aside.

What happened next was truly astonishing.

Madonna's headless body twitched spasmically on the ground while Batman strutted around and talked a bunch of smack. "Yeah, take that, bitch," he bellowed, parading around like a wrestler on Monday Night Nitro and flexing his muscles as if mocking me for ever doubting his ability to wreck the Material Girl.

But while Batman was prancing around, Madonna's headless corpse got up from the ground and throttled Batman until he passed out. Not satified with a mere incapacitation, the body continued to squeeze until Batman's own head popped off like grits out of corn. Even then, amidst the sticky red-black haze of spurting blood-mist, Madonna's body retrieved her head from across the room and placed it atop the corpse of the fallen Batman!

At that point I fainted. The last thing I saw before my vision faded to black was this:

And yet, I have to wonder: If Madonna hadn't just had her baby daughter (Lourdes, for those of you not in the know), would the fight have gone differently?

The world will never know.

Yours in mental trauma,

Justin

 


 

From: Katie McCaskill (production layout) on White Wolf Office E-mail.

Date: Wed. Jan 29, 1997

Subject:Your Horoscope

 

Aquarius Jan 11 - Feb 18 You have an inventive mind and are inclined to be progressive. You lie a great deal. On the other hand, you are inclined to be careless and impractical, causing you to make the same mistakes repeatedly. Everyone thinks you are stupid.

Pisces Feb 19 - Mar 20 You have a vivid imagination and often think you are being followed by the CIA or FBI. You have minor influence over your associates and people resent you for flaunting your power. You lack confidence and are generally a coward. Pisces people screw small animals.

Aries Mar 21 - Apr 19 You are the pioneer type and hold most people in contempt. You are quick tempered, impatient and scornful of advice. You are a prick.

Taurus Apr 20 - May 20 You are practical and persistent. You have a dogged determination and work like hell. Most people think you are stubborn and bull headed. You are nothing but a goddamn communist asshole.

Gemini May 21 - Jun 20 You are a quick and intelligent thinker. People like you because you are bisexual. However, you are inclined to expect too much for too little. This means you are cheap. Geminis are notorious for thriving on incest.

Cancer Jun 21 - Jul 22 You are sympathetic and understanding to other people's problems. They think you are a sucker. You are always putting things off. That is why you'll always be on welfare and never be worth a shit.

Leo Jul 23 - Aug 22 You consider yourself a born leader. Others think you are pushy. Most Leo's are bullies. You are vain and cannot tolerate honest criticism. Your arrogance is disgusting. Leo people are always thieving bastards.

Virgo Aug 23 - Sep 22 You are the logical type and hate disorder. This nit-picking is sickening to your friends. You are cold and unemotional and often fall asleep while making love. Virgos make good bus drivers and pimps.

Libra Sep 23 - Oct 22 You are the artistic type and have a difficult time with reality. If you are a man you are more than likely a queer. Chances for employment and monetary gain are excellent. Most Libra women are excellent whores. All Libras die of venereal disease.

Scorpio Oct 23 - Nov 21 You are shrewd in business and cannot be trusted. You shall achieve a pinnacle of success because of your total lack of ethics. You are a plus perfect son of a bitch. Most scorpios are murdered.

Sagittarius Nov 22 - Dec 21 You are optimistic and enthusiastic. You have a reckless tendency to rely on luck since you lack talent. The majority of Sagittarians are drunks and dope fiends. People laugh at you a great deal because you are always getting fucked.

Capricorn Dec 22 - Jan 10 You are conservative and afraid of taking risks. You don't do much of anything and are lazy. There has never been a Capricorn of any importance. Capricorns should avoid standing still for long periods as they tend to attract the fucking bugs.

 

------ Reply by: Fred Yelk(sales guy), Wed, Jan 29, 1997 ------

Re> Fwd> Your Horoscope

Scorpio Oct 23 - Nov 21 You are shrewd in business and cannot be trusted. You shall achieve a pinnacle of success because of your total lack of ethics. You are a plus perfect son of a bitch. Most scorpios are murdered.

Wow, this is exactly how I see myself.

I feel Justin will eventually be the one to murder me.

fred

 

------ Reply From: Justin Achilli, Wed, Jan 29, 1997 ------

Re>Re> Fwd> Your Horoscope

Scorpio Oct 23 - Nov 21 You are shrewd in business and cannot be trusted. You shall achieve a pinnacle of success because of your total lack of ethics. You are a plus perfect son of a bitch. Most scorpios are murdered.

Wow, this is exactly how I see myself.

I feel Justin will eventually be the one to murder me.

fred

Sorry, Fred, but I'm already dead. I was done in by the syphilis that I contracted from one of my fellow queers.

Justin,

The Flaming Libra