"I have a theory that the truth is never told during the nine-to-five hours."
~Dr. Hunter S. Thompson~

our raptor, who art in heaven
shopped be thy face
thy donations come
thy posts be done, in /b/ as it is in heaven
give us this day, our daily bridget
and forgive us our trolling, as we forgive those who troll against us
and lead us not into faggotry, but deliver us from furry
in the name of the moot, the raptor, and the holy server, amen
~Rev. Lemmy Caution~
The following tale I sling to you is as true and factual as I can remember. The hallucinations have finally stopped [thank god], but as I sit here finishing the last of a six-pack of Rolling Rock with a bottle of whiskey and a half a pack of Newports within grabbing distance, a bottle or rum under the sink, I feel the need to inform my readers that I can’t be held responsible for what I write from here on out.

The Line

I remember the walk to the line: saying my goodbyes to the gang as I made my way from the Re-Death showing, to the other end of the con. I got there early, thank the cold-hearted god. I sat and talked with a couple of fine Habba, or Hobba, or however you pronounce the fucking thing. And a brother and sister. He with his home-made long cat, and she decked out in a bikini of pokemon cards, balling her eyes out because she was worried they were going to close the line. Poor thing, she couldn’t have been more than 14 and this peace of jailbait was being offered up to the fucking scoundrels, to the fucking dogs man. This poor girl had no idea what she was getting into. They were a goddamn army man. A legion of perverts and weirdoes from every corner of America and this poor girl was going into the middle of it; she was going to be eaten alive. They’d have picked her bones clean by the end of the night. Screw it I said, this was every /b/ tard for himself. Then the bitch chosen to wrangle this monstrosity of humanity started throwing the latecomers out, closing the line. Probably saving them from a fate worse then death. They’d been getting on me all day about my sign, the swine. This was the worst though. I had to swallow my pride and put it away until the panel started.

As for the actual panel it’self?

In my adventure, I can only say this: I’ve done plenty of drugs in my time, and it is nothing I’m ashamed of. But no acid trip I’ve ever been on can replicate this experience. There are no words I can type to express this massive live /b/ thread that this became

………I think the video speaks for itself, so go watch it. (ed: Torrent is here. )