Are there any pricks actually left on Thumped? (1 Viewer)

[rettucs]

too much love and sop these days

bring back pricks

 

[Jerry Twig]

ah there's still a few pricks about in fairness.

 

[pete]

too much love and sop these days

bring back pricks

Hello

 

[JohnnyRaz]

Of the about 8 people left on thumped I’d say 7.5 are pricks (@pete os the 0.5 of a prick)

 

[pete]

Of the about 8 people left on thumped)

don't make me tap the sign

 

[pete]

of course now that i go looking for one specific user activity report i can't find it

 

[Jerry Twig]

@pete[/USER] is the 1.5 of a prick)

fixed your typos for you. welcome

 

[flashback]

Pricks were removed from the internet during the Great Prick Scourging of 2012.

Some of them managed to take up positions in society, Sinn Fein TD was a favourite, but a lot of them are lost to the wind like grains of sand. A spent force, wandering through an empty wilderness of sound cunts.

 

[Cormcolash]

Definately a prick

 

[Jerry Twig]

Definately a prick

Definitely can’t spell.

 

[Hector Grey]

Hi

 

[egg_]

It’s summer, years ago, we’re in this room in a house that you live in. it’s a Sunday and there’s nobody moving in the house. Outside the sun glares in at us, and it touches the dust in the air. Dancing motes all gleaming all lit up and phosphorescent, hanging in the air, descending, like a constant curtain, like we were underwater and this is the consistency around us. I can see it, turning you into soft focus. You pull a light dress over your head, and it falls to the ground next to me. We are sitting on the the ground, our legs curled up towards us, there’s no music on, only the sounds of outside and our breathing. Your dress is on the floor next to me and I look at it’s pile, as if it were art or architecture, it fascinates me, how once it held your bones together. Kept your secrets intact. You’re nearly naked now, looking at me, the sun is coming through the window behind your head and your hair is illuminated around your face, as if you were painted there. As if you were art. I look at you, take you in, my hand reaches toward your breast. There’s no sound in the room, but for hiss of bated breath. I touch you like an implication. You say to me, what do you think you’re doing, and smile, but your eyes are lost behind your fringe. I’m looking at your body. I can’t think about what I’m doing, I say. I wouldn’t believe it was happening if I did. You’re a fool, you say. Okay, I say. I’m a fool. It’s summer, and quiet in the room.

I'd forgotten how good at the writing you were. Are you doing any of it these days?

 

[Cormcolash]

Definitely can’t spell.

Or can I?

 

[MilanPan!c]

too much love and sop these days

bring back pricks

Did someone mention me?

 

[Deadmanposting]

I identify as being kind of a prick

 

[Deadmanposting]

Where have all the douchebags gone and where are all the pricks?
Where’s the angry trolly cunts, taking craps on posts?

I need an old prick
I’m holding out for an old prick who’s full of spite
He’s gotta be mean, and he’s gotta be snide
And he’s gotta be so full of shite