No

Why?

Nah.

Landerson 2012/04/22(Sun)12:58 No. 403341 ID: 76956e
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Because its 4am, now fuck off kthxbai

Okay.

Okay, we'll fuck off into your dreams and molest you there

No it isn't.

>>403341
Okay.

Landerson 2012/04/22(Sun)13:12 No. 403353 ID: bb2e88
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There is nothing you can do that I've not already done to myself. Go to sleep.

I so very much doubt that.

Imagine this: five thousand beetles with the prehensile tongues of anteaters and the fingers of a skeleton clawing their way through your scrotum, each with a dark intent that can only be fulfilled by your unique and immutable suffering.

That is what we do. That is what we are.

>>403358
Ah dammit, why'd you ruin it? I love seeing the look of surprise on their faces just because they start screaming.

You forgot the urethra dentatas and prehensile barbed clitoral hoods, btw.

Landerson 2012/04/22(Sun)13:28 No. 403362 ID: 084d3d
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Try harder IdiotBeta

Imagine this: You wake in a sere desert, alone. On the infinite horizon, you can see a sandstorm approaching. It is no ordinary sandstorm. It has billions of grains, billions of tiny broken jagged shards of silicon crystal, and each of those houses one of our consciousnesses.

We approach, seeking prey. We approach, seeking entertainment. We approach, seeking lovers.

We invade your orifices, desiccate your flesh, and grow ever larger, growing in complex and terrible fractal patterns that dance at the edge of your consciousness and wound reality with our madness.

We expand in your orifices, injecting our neurotoxic aphrodisiacs. You feel the tiny, tiny blades tearing through your flesh, bringing agony and ecstasy at the same time.

You gasp, half in pain and half in orgasm, as you feel the crystalline demons grow and grow and reproduce and split open your scrotum and prostate and eyes and everything else. You moan shrilly as you feel your blood, now more powdered iron oxide than anything, cascade down your lacerated, shriveled intestines. At last, you die.


And another of us is born.


This is what we do. This is what we are. We are the Krampus. We are the locusts of Old Egypt. We are the primal scream in the darkness of the cave. We are every dark, shadowed thing in the corners of your psyche, every screaming trembling nightmare every sophont has ever had. We are terror. We are nightmare. This is what we are. This is what we do.

You're trapped in a room with man holding a claw hammer. The man's name? Jack Hammer, he's a lover not a fighter. I'll let your imagination stew over that one.

We are also incredibly bored, well, most of us.
As an example let's consider myself. I just took your advice to go do something productive. I did that, now I'm here to be entertained either by you, your suffering, the attempts of others here to get an entertaining reaction (urethra dentatas on scrotum beetles, really?) or something else.
Like it or not, someone or something has brought you to our attention for our amusement. While we are not all reality breakers, makers and changers of the first order here we are much more useful to have on your side than against you.
So please quit it with the passive-aggressive doing nothing but whining like a petulant princess shtick, it's obnoxiously boring from one of them and it's even uglier on you.

I'm all for just leaving this guy alone. We're not monsters. Most of us, anyway,

have you ever had your entire digestive track removed with a spoon without dying?

>>403362
You WILL entertain us... or I will be obnoxiously polite.