axisflip cryptofinancial

Categories
Entertainment Society World

ELF ONLINE: TAKE THE MONEY AND FUN


Guangdong, Cn.–Unpopular Chinese gaming company HappyMMO has swindled roughly twenty-five gamers out of their American money in a bid to relieve personal economic hardships abroad using a “game” known as Elf Online, an MMORPG in which people get together, set up shops, and do quests with each other while an unknown entity reaps the unseen profits funneled in when users are forced to purchase in-game items in order to advance their characters.

In Elf Online, U.S. currency is traded for worthless in-game items and charm potions (US $20) that give users “1500 affection”, a meaningless statistic that arbitrarily changes a pet’s willingness to do what one says. Pets are “captured” for US $20 and offer no in-game advantages.

The official Elf Online Forums have fallen into disuse as one spammer by the name of “SidorooloFrom” generated thirty-five pages worth of posts containing links to pornography, pharmaceutical advertisements, and internet dating sites that don’t really exist.

Investigation reports broken English and poorly put-together sentences throughout the game, even on the opening screen, where the user must click, “STRAT GAME” in order to enter the mysteriously empty Elven world.

The website, happymmo.com, which is almost unnavigable due to its poor English and sparse Chinese dropdown menus, is registered to Chinese citizen Lin Yong, a known scam-artist and child pornographer who has not been publicly available for comment since May, 2008, when users began demanding both forum and in-game moderation in the wake of neglect.

axisflip cryptofinancial

Categories
Local

Dick, Dedication, and the American Dream


Roanoke, Va.–This girl I liked when we were in ninth grade was really cute and had pretty green eyes. I told her one day as we were walking to the buses and she said ‘thank you.’ I never thought another thing of it because chasing tail, I decided, wasn’t my thing at that age. I still liked cartoons and videogames way too much to give all my energy to a time-vacuum like a girl and her problems.

Six years later, she came over to my close, personal friend’s house seeking heroin. Evidently, she’d found a boyfriend who uses heroin, and she herself got addicted so they could enjoy the drug together. What dedication! I can only imagine how poisonous their relationship together is. If you’ve ever seen Requiem For A Dream, you know what I’m talking about. Obviously, not every chemical romance is like that, but the movie is a very accurate depiction of how many of these kinds of relationships work out.

Now, I have a long-term girlfriend but she is not a painful soul-vacuum, nor does she any heroin – or any hard drug, for that matter. There’s a better way to keep a woman around without addicting her to a fatal drug, or so I like to think. I’d say that I’ve struck an almost psychologically unheard-of balance in which I get to be myself and happy with a woman at the same time. I get to play my videogames and have great sex, too. What’s more, I get to spend any or all of my time at the aforementioned best friend’s house on Bent Mountain because my girlfriend is not a succubus time-hog whose permission is required to fart.

Sometimes I go to my friend’s house and we just play videogames and talk about the latest Elf Wax and how epic it will be when the mainstream media bows to its superiority as the earth shatters under the weight of the resulting irony. Other times are spent watching as drunk, worthless chicks file in and out during the occasional party. It doesn’t happen often, because there’s always an active XBOX 360 in the room – a natural female repellent. But it still happens.

The other night, a girl came in and proclaimed, “I’ll get wasted tonight. I wanna get drunk and make a mistake. A mistake that makes babies.” I hadn’t noticed her until she said this. To me, women at parties are usually inconsequential, serving their benign purpose of making the men talk louder in their presence and nothing more. Also, they are good for starting fights, and beyond that, you’re lucky to bang one and forget about it. You never date these girls. This particular girl was your typical party slut. Kind of chubby because she is too dim to recognize a correlation between McDonald’s, beer, and her faltering appearance. Kind of slutty because the fatter a girl gets, the easier she has to be in order to compensate for her decline in received sexual attention.

So to what I thought was actually the fabled tongue-in-cheek wit coming out of a girl’s mouth, I yelled out, “Yeah, pregnancy, alright!” Nobody laughed. I guess (with good reason) they took her very seriously and the chase was on. Or perhaps they didn’t hear me, because it was funny and the way I said it was funny too, and nothing that leaves my mouth is short of genius. Regardless, I never took my eyes away from Nazi Zombies, at which I was brutally kicking the asses of the undead Wehrmacht.

Around me, cheap beers turned into cheap shots, and this girl got wasted, just like she said she’d do. Much unlike a woman, she stuck to her word, however I was still unimpressed because she hadn’t yet made any mistakes, aside from tipping the bong in the wrong direction and spilling filthy, stinking bong water into the couch cushions. I saw it. It was yellow coming out. Very old, putrid water. Not one oxygen molecule to be found in it. It stunk and made her stink because she’d also spilled it on her clothes. How gross.

The party continued. She flirted with the Brosephs and loved their ability to put unbroken sentences together (when college guys feel intellectually dominant, they like to talk in a loud, reverse-Seinfeld tonality). She revealed her true stupidity when she asked, “Where are you from?”

“They’re from a college, honey. Not a different state. Just not the Food Lion you work at.” My thoughts were growing cynical. It was time to play some killer jams. Oops, no good. The Brosephs took over tha party, bro. They’ve been in there tuning up for two and a half god damn hours and the drummer’s still sitting there twiddling his balls around. You gotta wait, bro. Bro. Dude. Gotta wait. “Get out of my god damn way and let a real musician play you fucking Modest Mouse-imitating honkies with your lame fail-minor chords and shit-eating cock-bang-the-drum-rhythms.” Rather than say this, I thought it, and chose to wait outside patiently by the campfire. The girl was there.

After begging everyone present at the party to take shots with her, one at a time, she still couldn’t bait an erection out of even the drunkest men, with the lowest standards. She had begun to embarrass herself by moving person to person, sitting in their laps and seeing if it took. Even after some very obvious lines of questioning, that went from, “I’m tired, I want to go to bed,” to, “I’m going to bed now,” to, “Do you like holding me?” to, “You want to come to bed with me?” she was having trouble getting results.

This worked on one guy. I knew his name because he played Nazi Zombies with me earlier and we shared victory. We got to level eleven together which had yet to be seen on this particular night, and so it felt good. He had originally showed up with a twenty-four pack of Bud Light, so he was drunk and getting drunker.

Sitting by the campfire and watching this pitiful scene between them in which she sat on his lap and he expressed his enjoyment of it, I thought, “This is it. She’s going to finally get fucked like the whore she is on one of those filthy beds in the back room. Won’t that be a pleasant Roanoke memory?”

Then, something interesting happened. He started playing hard to get. Not too hard, because I could tell he still planned to do something with her, if it was really going to be this easy, but he wanted to do it his own way, not hers. What he started doing was saying really funny shit to her, like “Sure, I’ll take you home, but you won’t like where home is,” and then he said something along the lines of, “That should correct your mistake.”

At this, the girl began crying. She’d already done this off and on throughout the night when no one would pay any attention to her. Still sitting on this guy’s lap, she looked around the campfire at a circle of unfamiliar faces, lastly at mine, then turned to the only other girl present, her friend who she showed up with, and begged her to call some one and have her come pick them up.

Almost simultaneously, a bearded man appeared in the doorway of the house – a violent drunk who’d passed out early but knew this girl personally. He approached her with two gallant strides across the yard, asking her, “Do you want me to make you feel really good?” Her eyes melted from personal ownership to childish submission as he took her around the side of the house, where the two were not seen again for at least an hour. The girl disappeared. Chris, my Call of Duty partner, said nothing. Simply opened another beer and enjoyed the company of friends, as he’d been doing before the girl materialized in his lap.

The party was over. I went to sleep and woke up sick. Sick, because I smoked from the same bong as that filthy petri-dish of a girl from the middle of the state. Some unknown, unnamed hick town smaller than this one. The only kind of place capable of producing a dispirited character so familiarly squalid and lacking of common sense or decency. A desperate fat sow whose social success hangs on her ability to fuck someone new at every alcoholic gathering. The product of boredom due to excess. Of a lesson learned in which doing nothing equals doing something as long as a dick still penetrates her at the end of the night.

Hers was a life that led her to pouting her ass around, like a cat in heat, for the first burred penis whose instincts could safely guide it into the dark hole at the end of the tunnel-vision. First shaking it in front of this lap, and then that one, and another one only to be swept up by a surprise male she didn’t expect. But it makes no difference anyway, because she’s chosen the life of a vapid, disease-ridden drunk whore with no inspired future and ugly, meaningless friends, yet retains the ability to carry around a false sense of daytime dignity because she attends a community college somewhere.

A girl who has everything and gets nothing out of it. Has nothing good to say but is feverishly pounding texts out of her cell phone. Knows nothing even though she has the Internet, because she only uses it for Facebook and MySpace.

A girl who will never find this highly-detailed account of her actions, even though I wrote elfwax.com down on a slip of paper and threw it into her purse when she wasn’t looking.

God Bless America. And God Bless The Elf Wax Times.

axisflip cryptofinancial

Categories
Law Video

FBI DIRECTOR WINS WAR ON DRUGS

Washington, D.C.– In a harrowing defense of marijuana’s ongoing criminal status, FBI Director Robert Mueller successfully lumped marijuana in with all drugs. Dopes on the list include meth, heroin, oxycontin, crack and cocaine, but not alcohol, during a debate with Steve Cohen (D-TN). “Alcohol,” he said, “is just poisonous enough in its own right to remain.”

Steve Cohen asked Mueller, “Can you give statistics that point to deaths relating to marijuana?” Mueller said he could not. That is when he employed the “gateway drug” argument, familiar within the intellectual circle of teachers, preachers, school principals, police officers and FOX News viewers. And your granddad.

Tennessee Congressman Steve Cohen’s embarrassing loss in the marijuana debate can be seen here:

Elf Wax Political Science Department analysis hails the FBI director’s clandestine reinforcement of the perceived evils of marijuana, calling it, “a classic D.A.R.E. response, sure to win the hearts and minds of parents who lost children to rampant heroin addictions everywhere.”

Brian “Honeybee” Seesaw, chief Elf Wax drug abuse aficionado, said, “What’s more, is he managed to exact upon all people with drug addictions the notion that they all started with ‘pot’ or ‘grass’, or what is known scientifically as ‘The Devil’s Weed’ by citing anecdotes he imagined in which a parent might hypothetically say their son smoked pot in addition to snorting cocaine. That’s hard-hitting evidence if I’ve ever seen it.”

Furthermore, Robert Mueller reassured Americans that forty percent of them are in fact dangerous drug-abusing criminals, and ought to be locked up or at the very least fined, placed on probation, urine-tested monthly, and disallowed to drive a vehicle, staining their records permanently.

The pot-smoking, acid-dropping Democratic Representative of Tennessee had no further questions for Mr. Mueller and later indicated to the press he would be checking himself into a rehabilitation facility following the discovery of Cohen’s recent shameful thoughts found in CNN’s broadcast of his unpatriotic questioning of the supreme (im)balance of power and his Communistic lack of trust in the State’s ability to make every American’s personal, spiritual, and moral decisions for them.