In a damaging blow to what might have otherwise been a fruitful trolling endeavor, chronicle.su editor Kilgore Trout trolled his own news agency by warning would-be writing contest participants that the whole thing is an utter scam. Terrible author Frank Mason countered with undue name-calling followed by a dense string of offline gravity bong hits to the face.
“It was worse than anything I’ve ever seen,” said a frowning Joanna Mason, Frank’s mother in Fairfax, Virginia. “He was so high. So happy.”
Mason was not available to comment but wrote Saturday, “I don’t give a flying fuck what you say, it’s going to be really funny when someone tries to write another unintelligible centerpiece about an orgy of world leaders atop President Obama’s stinky sock collection. Rooting around in his dirty fucking socks, Bill.”
The writing contest would have entrants reporting on an alleged plethora of simultaneous sex acts, all taking place on a pile of unwashed clothes previously worn by the President during the exact moment in which he lied to American citizens. “But beyond that,” Mason clarified, “You are free to write anything you wish, adding what you like.”
Trout’s white knight leak is an attempt to limit the overall “collateral damage” of chronicle.su as she recklessly tears through the internet in the name of good comedy, lest she incur yet another case in a myriad of legal axes threatening to drop. By calling attention to Mason’s attempt at baiting bad writers into ridicule, Trout may possibly have prevented another lawsuit.
“Mason maintains all the ethical practices of a trapdoor spider,” he explained. “Oh, he’s a charming young man. Sure. And he’s good at videogames. But he is ugly inside. Inside, Frank is a venomous snake.”
Mason conceded, “At any moment, authorities could intervene . . . and the next thing you know we’re embroiled in a seven year legal battle with someone over use of . . . his face on the end of a penis.” Frank put one hand on his forehead, and looked up at the ceiling. For almost a minute, Mason posed in the lamplight, thinking. At last, he finally said, “Maybe we should just say somebody died. Somebody white this time.”
As of Saturday evening, participation in Mason’s contest is virtually nonexistent.
Hiring new writers
Here at chronicle.su we don’t take credit for our work. It’s just a power thing. When hundreds of thousands of people – or millions – from all over the world believe something simply because you wrote it at chronicle.su, dear God, you’ll never get over it.
If you can write anywhere above an 11th grade level, and I mean a “smart” 11th grade writing level, then we’re offering you a cut of that power, and credit for your work if you desire (but I wouldn’t advise it). For how long? We’re not sure. Something like a month in your own guaranteed spot and potentially longer if you’re good, even indefinitely. Also you’ll receive a free chronicle.su t-shirt, made in a real-life sweatshop as seen on TV.
It does not matter what you write, because if it’s good you’ll know it and so will we. Don’t be afraid of writing tripe, even though we will ridicule it. Tripe is useful here at chronicle.su and you may have a talent you didn’t even know you had; ideally, a talent for shit material that is so weird it’s funny. Write anything.
One thing I want to emphasize is we truly do not give a fuck.
Submit your reports below. Copy and paste it or whatever. Format can suck and that’s okay. If you wish to include pictures, screw that form and email the whole thing to [email protected]
[contact-form-7 id=”7194″ title=”Contact form 1″]
‘Twas the night before Lulzmas, cops bust in my house,
Revolution was stirring, I was drunk, getting soused.
The jury was hung on a “bad budget” scare,
In hopes that the people would not really care.
For children were starving with rotted out heads,
While visions of whiter slums molested their heads.
And mamma in the kitchen, cooking up slop,
Had just surrendered her freedom to a power-tripping cop.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I escaped a pig’s grip to see what was the matter.
Away to the broke door I flew with my cash,
Snorted some cocaine and buttholed my hash.
The paranoid delusions were too real to know
In my snowblind confusion, myself my own foe.
When, what through God’s jealous rage should appear,
But a cluster of hippies, 99%ers like steer.
With a human microphone, so lifeless and thick,
I knew in a moment what message would stick.
“Like lightning we’ll strike in nobody’s name,
We’ll whistle, we’ll shout, like this is a game!”
“Now Leahy! now, Schumer! now, Obama like Nixon!
Sign vomit! Now, Stupid! It’s not your decision!
To profit is all! Fuck rights, for the mall!
Now sign away! Sign away! Sign away all!”
As dry heaves that before the belching demons sigh,
What’s done by the government, is ignored and denied.
In the hands of overlords, the Red White and Blue,
Is our fate full of shit, and Big Brother too.
And then, hallucinating, I heard on the roof
The hooking and scratching of Satan’s third hoof.
As I drew in my breath, the pigs turned around,
Down the chimney St Sabu came without sound!
He was doxed to the tits, and only one person cared,
Whose opinion was pointless, pretty much anywhere.
An FBI plant or some Caribbean hack,
We looked at each other, then never looked back.
This, now, is my chance! Sweet escape, how scary!
My face was on fire, coked up and eyes weary!
My right logical brain stroked out to my woe,
And I shook violently daft then collapsed in the snow.
Hitting my face on a drainpipe I lost teeth,
And lost consciousness for days in a foul dreamlike sheath.
The protesters lol’d at our profound lack of healthcare,
That provides us with nothing as out, too, goes welfare.
And in deep dark silence, I felt one knee jerk,
As someone just kicked me to test if my brain worked.
Coming alive, hurt, I slowly arose,
To a throng of brown sluts, bitches and hoes.
I sprang to my feet, and despite a contusion,
I suddenly realized it was all an illusion.
The Universe, being not alive, can not die,
‘Ere it told me the truth: “And the truth is a lie.”
Everything the Jester was once known for has been taken away. He has been castrated by Apache developers, posted an embarrassing music video which encompasses his feelings toward small children, and is now shitting himself in fear of Lebal Drocer, Incorporated.
Recently, I met th3j35t3r in Barrett Brown’s empty tinychat room, where he bragged about taking the Chronicle down for a few days. Which is true, he did: by running a simple script against BlueHost, who we paid to host the Chronicle, he caused one of their servers to seize up and a whole bunch of their clientele’s websites went down with chronicle.su. And when I met him, he had just “quit hacking” – supposedly on a whim, so before I left him in there, I was sure to point out the true reason the attacks stopped:
The script Jester used to attack us – and many others – is now obsolete since Apache developers updated their software. No big deal, just a little update and web hosts everywhere are fine again. We updated and now we are fine. But the Jester’s afraid BlueHost and Lebal Drocer are pissed off about it. And he’s probably right. Sure, maybe we provoked him, but this is what happens when you attack the 1%. They do not forgive. They do not forget. So just because he took us down in August doesn’t mean our old host doesn’t want their fucking money now.
Take one quick moment to absorb our small victory, for we have beaten the Jester at his own silly game. You see, the Jester is a terrorist. His goal is to create terror. For example, he wants to chill our speech – by attacking our site, he hoped to make us afraid to write. Obviously, that didn’t happen. But now he’s afraid that our team of lawyers are coming after him in the name of Lebal Drocer, Inc. [Editor’s note: Fact is, he attacked us on shared hosting, on one of the largest webhosts in the world. Did “the jester” really think Bluehost would tolerate him downing thousands of clients’ sites at once?]
What a cowardly bitch. He took everything down, including his picture of the cease-and-desist order they sent him. That means Bluehost actually knows the identity of “the jester.” But we don’t, and neither do you. Still, we can characterize him for you anyway, using all the information we do have.
Who is th3j35t3r?
The Jester, a known pedophile, is an otherwise sexless man – a “script kiddie” that somehow figured out he could bloat up outdated Apache servers to uselessness. This is achieved by holding a large number of connections open with the server at one time. He is a longtime fan of the Insane Clown Posse, who eroded his creativity before it ever had a chance to bloom. Having no web design skills, his only alternative was to destroy. So he went to “work.” But who to attack?
Over time, the fatass Jesterfag became so well known for torturing Urdu (language) Islamic website owners, he became widely recognized as the world’s most likely hacker to vote a third time for Bush and Cheney.
Later on, as he gained Twitter followers, he took on feelings of Unwarranted Self-Importance and pretended to harbor political convictions after the mainstream media assassinated Wikileaks for being better at journalism than them.
He soon claimed attacks on Wikileaks, as well as the Westboro Baptist Church of Trolling Art.
But he fucked up when I provoked him to attack us. If you’ve been reading up till this point, you know how: he took my bait, ultimately unleashing a ravenous team of coked up Lebal Drocer lawyers who seek to hunt him down like a runaway slave – they are on so much cocaine they’re representing the web hosts of jihadists.
The Jester thought he could bitch and complain to our host that we were running profanity and “slandering” his fake name. [ Editor’s note: libel is written. Slander is spoken. ] But he doesn’t know about the law and how there are no laws which protect false identities from libel.
If the Jester read more, he might have learned the laws before making an ass out of himself. But books are for faggots. Still, he is willing to pull Steinbeck quotes from wikiquote. #pseudointellectual #pedophile
Steinbeck wrote about the Great Depression – a time when men were men, and you didn’t fuck with other people’s accounts unless they were fucking with your moonshine operation. But if you did, you learned the hard way not to. The Jester, too, will learn.
The Chronicle always wins.
Mach2600 is a slut. Her #pussy stinks..
Anonymously37 gets dragged into our shit for the lulz. He has no idea why.
Mockingbird = sockpuppet of the sockpuppet, or #sockingbird
The Charles Manson Update of the Century
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chronicle.su is under attack
I’m Adrian Chen, and I know many things. I mean, there are a lot of things I know. I know stuff about politics, the Internet and hacktivism because I myself am a troll hacktivist. I try really hard to know as much as possible about what Anonymous tweets, and especially LulzSec, Sabu and reddit.com. But what I know most of all to be most factual and more true than any other fact on the Internet, is that the Chronicle.SU is wrong.
They are wrong about many things, especially the stuff I know more about than they do. I write for a website called Gawker, which is never wrong, and always right. In fact, since I can’t seem to find any satire websites with balls enough to tackle hacktivism on the internet, I am thinking about starting my own satire site, in which I replace the word “write” with “right” – because I am always right! (I’m a righter! Get it?)
One of the things Chronicle.SU is wrong about is Sabu of LulzSec and #AntiSec being a brown guy named Hugo. They are especially wrong about that because they wrongly Photoshopped an image of Hugo’s face as the leader of #ANTISEC, the group competing against Anonymous for most lulz. WRONG! He’s not the leader, fucking idiots! Sabu is! And Sabu isn’t Hugo! Jesus.
You know, if the Chronicle.SU was a satire website, this would almost be forgivable, even though LulzSec is no laughing matter, but this is an egregious error on the part of Chronicle.SU Editors, right on up to the executives and I’m speaking out!
If I were the owner of that newspaper, and it wasn’t some socialist experiment of a defunct military state like the Soviet Union, I’d call a company-wide meeting to talk about fact-checking and making sure we never run anything wrong, ever again. Because like I said earlier, Gawker has never run a single wrong thing – not with MY name attached to it, they haven’t. The Chronicle.SU is the most inaccurate, least factual source of information I’ve ever read. And yet, I keep coming back for more! It’s sickening.
I have a message for you Chronicle.SU readers out there who fall consistently for their lies and disinformation. You ready for it? Here it is, BIG NEWS BABY HERE WE GO:
The Chronicle.SU is a propaganda tool of the disinformation arm of the United States Government.
During Psy-Operative campaigns by the CIA, the Chronicle.SU was imbedded in IRC chats distributing pro-wikileaks articles and information so biased toward truth we jokingly called it truth-propaganda around the Gawker office. And they released DDoS instructions, toolkits and PHP-based starter kits to help lies spread faster, no matter what they were; they even helped build the Louise Boat. Simply disgusting.
Get a clue. Avoid Chronicle.SU
In a trend that appears to be sweeping the Chronicle.SU, resident columnist and editor Old Brutus has reportedly snubbed fame and left the Internet, saying true anonymity can not be achieved online. “Fuck that NSA Octopus,” he said.
Fuck that NSA Octopus!
But anonymity is not the mysterious writer’s only motivation for leaving the Web in exchange for newspapers.
Old Brutus, who recently discovered the Deepnet, or Dark Net, shut down his laptop Tuesday, saying, “That’s it. I’ve seen the entire Internet. I’m done.”
When asked what he plans to do in the absence of 4chan and its bottomless supply of jailbait, Old Brutus told the Chronicle this:
There ain’t shit out there for me that I ain’t already seen. Child porn? Hell, I was havin’ sex before I knew what sex was. My best friend had to tell me what me and his sister had just done together. Bomb-manufacturing? Shit, the Anarchist Handbook is just copied and pasted from the annals of Chronicle.SU! DRUGS AND BITCOINS? NIGGA, I HELPED APPERSON ‘N PICKARD MAKE THE WORLD’S SUPPLY OF LYSERGIC ACID DIETHYLAMIDE OUT OF AN ABANDONED MISSILE SOLO TILL TWINNY OT FO’!”
Indeed, Old Brutus is a man of many worlds whose “dick don’t never go down.” Sources indicate he has regressed to the use of a 1972 IBM Selectric typewriter and pleasures himself via phone sex while looking through a window into his neighbor’s yard.
Old Brutus can be found busking on the streets of Asheville, North Carolina, like a bum, for marijuana and dollar bills – or whatever you will give him. Toenail clippings and old receipts have uses, he said, but refused to go into detail about what those uses may be.
The Chronicle remains staffed largely by psy-operatives and cyber-intelligence officials who hate your freedom. Our CIA-enhanced pseudo-intellectual framework of satirical propagandist innuendo promises to continue subverting your ideology and feeding upon the very fears which we nurture inside each and every one of you. Now read. It’s okay. Read.
Loving endorsements from the omnipotent Lebal Drocer, Inc. ensure that the Chronicle will never die, but in fact absorb all weaker publications, such as pravda.ru, anonnews.org and Roanoke Revolution.
In related news, Lebal Drocer, Inc. is proud to announce its acquisition of roanoke revolution dot com. We hope you will enjoy the bland mediocrity of a culture where depth is only a measurement of the polluted river upon which it was founded.
The Chronicle website is stupid and wrong about everything. Why do people read this shit? It is the lamest ever.
Here, the “satire” around anonymous has grown increasingly satirical in nature, which is not funny.
And the ads are just pointless, they don’t even make any money! An advertisement for Grady Warren? That guy will never win! And what’s with all the joking? These are serious topics, people.
I am NOT butthurt, because I was one of the FIRST to hate the website. Chronicle.SU is fail and AIDS. anons who just showed up out of nowhere and started hating the chornicel are a bunch of summerfags
I don’t think abortion is funny anymore and I especially don’t think Pseudonymus’ article about God was factually accurate. It might even be illegal. Low blow assholes, God is dead and He can’t be here to defend himself anymore from slander.
I hope this site gets DDoS by Ryan Queery and Assoc.
In the heart of a black sun morning, my chest was pouring my love adoringly over you, but
In the overcast overmind soul decay, the tooth aloof amassed fast to say what’s real is only phony.
All’s baloney, Jim Mahoney!
Come what may, the preachers pray Karl Malone, he shoots a three and earns him lots of money ’cause my bet is on the pony.
Sick dilution soul’s pollution come come come on restitution
’cause this destitution’s tripping me
Out on the fields of sea lions and seals
I’m looking for the Walrus, man the bridge, is out and Paul, Ringo, and Saul of the Molemen, please, come in.
The Chronicle speaks and leaks truth and disease, mal-ease and pleases the masses
to hear what they fear on deaf ears and dead eyes,
paralyzed by marketing, advertised lies, loan sharking and bastardized
the size of a scene in a dream that seems brighter, beautiful, more green
than previously perceived, deceived by the president, relieved by the precedent,
set crescent moon in the view of the smog, over pogs, peace frogs and hippies with the drip,
acid tripping, time perception clipping, nation-overstepping
conglomeration double-pacing human devolution
loss of the thumb, get dumb, watch crack, listen to choosic, it’s a revolution.
And lose it, drink beer, this bud’s for you, the blue’s clues, it’s
Bred to bleed these thoughts, get taught that your brain rots
swallow, chug, belch and absorb salt, Heart’s shot, here’s a shot
And prescription, no description of what it is or what it’s not.
Don’t sell yourself short, get bought, Stamped and dated,
register yourself online and get rated,
And in just in case it wasn’t plainly stated,
Your ass belongs to Lebal Drocer Incorporated.
Editor’s note: asdfjkl;