Here's where you can rip on each other. We don't care. If any personal information gets posted about another user, we'll delete it and you'll be banned. No exceptions.
Metal Sludge wrote:What is it about this site that keeps people coming back for more abuse?
No really...think about all the people we've seen over the years, get their ass handed to them so very brutally, lose their mind, get banned, and then go to lengths to come back for more???
Slicer, Lickety, Pretty Dead Boy? Or one of the countless others...please come answer this question for me.
Right? Posting an Amazon link to your vanity press book on Sludge is akin to painting a banana target on your temple, loading ten AK-47's and passing them out to a pack of drunken chimpanzees.
Oh - I didn't answer your question. I'm sane. I can't.
Kristi Vicious wrote:
Someone clone her now, so we have an army of Mitzis when she dies.
Metal Sludge wrote:What is it about this site that keeps people coming back for more abuse?
No really...think about all the people we've seen over the years, get their ass handed to them so very brutally, lose their mind, get banned, and then go to lengths to come back for more???
Slicer, Lickety, Pretty Dead Boy? Or one of the countless others...please come answer this question for me.
Butthurtedness is an intoxicating elixir.
Drunk Mazeraturd wrote:
...but hes going to run and hes going to win.
Metal Sludge wrote:What is it about this site that keeps people coming back for more abuse?
No really...think about all the people we've seen over the years, get their ass handed to them so very brutally, lose their mind, get banned, and then go to lengths to come back for more???
Slicer, Lickety, Pretty Dead Boy? Or one of the countless others...please come answer this question for me.
Grendel wrote:1.0 out of 5 stars $15 Word Salad! Save Your Money, July 12, 2011
By Ron Padavona - See all my reviews
This review is from: The Devil's Canyon: Lines Through The Moon (Paperback)
After the reading the bizarre, nonsensical gibberish that passes for a product description and author's bio here (obviously written by the presumably retarded author), I foolishly decided to bend down and smell this steaming pile. Holy cow! I couldn't even make it past 7 pages.
How the author managed to make a confessional about bestiality a boring waste of time, I'll never know.
In the words of Capote, "This isn't writing - it's typing."
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
1.0 out of 5 stars Wost crap ever!!!!, July 11, 2011
By IJust Threw Up In My Mouth - See all my reviews
This review is from: The Devil's Canyon: Lines Through The Moon (Paperback)
I've graded kindergarten papers that showed more wit and cohesive thought.
Save your fifteen bucks - laughing at stupid people has always been free.
Metal Sludge wrote:What is it about this site that keeps people coming back for more abuse?
No really...think about all the people we've seen over the years, get their ass handed to them so very brutally, lose their mind, get banned, and then go to lengths to come back for more???
Slicer, Lickety, Pretty Dead Boy? Or one of the countless others...please come answer this question for me.
actually, the above underlined doesn't really apply in my case--don't know about the others. there is no way you can seriously believe that a bunch of dipshits calling someone a 'dogfucker' over the internet amounts to "getting their ass handed to them so very brutally". And "go to any lengths to come back for more" means getting shitfaced and signing up again, right? I mean if you overlook all the dog shit aficionados and realize I grew up and lived through what this site is based on for the most part (Hollywood in the eighties), then that would explain the draw. Doesn't matter how many people fuck that up, I still own it.
How about a sample chapter since the "author" didn't use the free "Search Inside" feature.
I think that feature is reserved for the publisher who prefers to offer a preview at their own site where the book is cheaper and they make more money:
Mark Price was born and raised in southern California. After winning a high school art contest, he became an art major and was later given a college scholarship to pursue that talent. He soon dropped out and hit the road. Eventually he became an award winning fine-woodworker. Shocked at how easily a famous woodworking factory could shamelessly begin producing his best design, he sold his shop and resumed exploring more of the world. One day he picked up a book and realized that he held something not unique in form yet still a great object that was fully protected in its content and artistic expression. At that time--in his mid forties--he looked back on the paranormal events of his life and saw that they formed a coherent story he could tell, so he began to write… LMGDAO
tym wrote:She makes My air head 11 year old Girl look like Nikita Tesla.
CrouchingStonerHiddenBong wrote:
-he looked back on the paranormal events of his life and saw that they formed a coherent story he could tell, so he began to write… LMGDAO
you're not laughing. your vacuous green font contains no laughter.
Grendel wrote:This fence had a name: the guillotine fence. The first batch of prisoners was lined up with their backs to the fence, and then their hands were tied behind them through the fence. Then they were all quickly beheaded with a sword.
Grendel wrote:This was evil in its purest form, and it was conducting events around the world. That is what Tom was writing about: the strange power of this evil and its unholy ability to rip a baby’s face off with a smile. With extreme intelligence, it found the most painful and disgusting things to be rather peaceful and pleasing. This evil was an actual pervasive entity. Tom found himself writing from its perspective, and it knew everything.
At least his writer’s block had been completely shattered; he wrote every day until he ran out of food. He drove to town just to stock up on potato chips and soda. When he got back, he started his computer and typed for nine hours. He was trying desperately to capture the new intensity with words. He had had an intense vision that had begun with a military march leading to an execution.
There was something different about this march that he’d never witnessed before: the prisoners were dressed in white and being led by troops dressed in green, but it was the formation of these two colors that was disturbing. It was an evil formation, some sort of symbol. He knew in his gut what it meant—the symbol they created radiated evil. Evil was an ungrounded energy that pervaded the scene, a strange unsettling vibration that had a will of its own. As they marched, he realized that they were all completely possessed by this God forsaken energy.
The prisoners were not being touched or even guided by the troops. The green and white symbol that they formed was holding them all in place and moving them along. Where were they going? They were heading down a hill toward a fence. This fence had a name: the guillotine fence. The first batch of prisoners was lined up with their backs to the fence, and then their hands were tied behind them through the fence. Then they were all quickly beheaded with a sword. One prisoner sat on the ground where he had his arms and legs sliced off in six inch sections. When only his head and torso remained he strangely and calmly looked around at the audience. He’s still alive! the people realized in shock and awe, and then his head was cut off. Women screamed with grief!
This was evil in its purest form, and it was conducting events around the world. That is what Tom was writing about: the strange power of this evil and its unholy ability to rip a baby’s face off with a smile. With extreme intelligence, it found the most painful and disgusting things to be rather peaceful and pleasing. This evil was an actual pervasive entity. Tom found himself writing from its perspective, and it knew everything.
Finally, he clicked off his computer and took a long hot shower before getting into bed. He had even changed the sheets, but still felt strangely unclean. Before he fell asleep, he felt as if a hand was touching his leg, and then it whispered in his ear before flying off. He didn’t hear words, more of a clicking sound that reminded him of an insect. He saw the image of sand dunes under orange sunlight, but the light felt filthy and ancient. And that clicking sound was like some kind of communication used before words. It said, “I’m here.” Tom knew that was true and then fell asleep.
A person with this level of wit got a book deal? WTF?