User talk:Hey its
From Create Your Own Story
Please leave the page count in the page count spot on the main page. Just your story has unlimited possibilities, not everyone else's. --Platypus 10:58, 6 June 2008 (PDT)
Vandalism is totally funny. I am trying to be like you dudes and chadbrochill out, but I couldn't help myself from being a square and messing up all your hard work on improving the site. --Platypus 11:37, 21 April 2009 (PDT)
I'm sorry you feel that I'm raining on your parade. Humor is a very subjective thing. Different people find different things funny. Think of it this way. What would you think if you clicked on the Main Page link to Jim's Barbecue and you ended up at some other story instead? --Platypus 14:04, 22 April 2009 (PDT)
Unless you want to be banned from the site again, don't stick references to Jim's Barbecue anyplace on the Main Page other than where it belongs, in the list of stories. Don't place references to it anywhere else, for that matter. Don't try my patience. --Platypus 21:37, 21 December 2009 (UTC)
This is what I deleted from Drive over and check it out. It does not make sense anywhwere in Worlds End and I don't want to see it pasted back into that story:
You drive Jim's car over to the sign and read its directions which are as follows: Left on Maritime, right on MLK Blvd, another on Yarlbourough, another on Nice Street, past McDonalds, past the other McDonalds, left on Parish Road, past the Wag-a-Bag, and back onto College Street. You carefully follow the directions and arrive back at the brown building and parallel park Jim's car between a white Toyota truck and a red Volvo that looks eerily like Jim's. You look inside the window but your view is blocked by the biggest keg of domestic New Jersey brew, fermented at the microbrewery an immense and painstaking 23-blocks down the street (the thought makes you have a heart attack) at 1763 Marinade Avenue. You believe that from within the depths of this terrifying barbeque shack, you think you hear the eerie sounds of ghostly party fiends madly partying eerily.
No longer able to resist the thought of some of Jim's famous pork ribs marinated in the most amazing applewood barbeque sauce and his girlfriend Margaret's amazing potato salad complete with that brown powder stuff that is on top of potato salad, as well as her amazing hairdo, you turn off the ignition to Jim's car and step out. Just as you had heard the sounds of ghostly sounds of party fiends a moment earlier, your ears tingle as they are invaded by the demonic sounds of Phish, and you are filled with the all-encompassing urge to chadbrochill. Since you have been so shaken up by everyone having disappeared, you are sent into a mad rage of desperation, you attempt to break down the door and you smash yourself headfirst into the door and the eyeslot opens and you think you see a pair of small beady nefarious eyes glaring back at you and you think hear an ethereal voice that says "Whoa dude, chadbrochill out." You grasp your head in pain and reply, "I'm really sorry brosef, I just really really really really really need to party, I've been here in this desolate wasteland for an unspecified amount of time and I really need some brewski." The terrifying gaze of the nefarious eyes slowly lightens upon you and the ethereal voice replies, "It's totally chadbrochill brah," and he opens the door and you are awestruck by what you see inside.
Your jaw drops as you see literally every person in the world totally raging at this awesome rager; the floor is shaking and the earth is quaking as the ipod connected to the Sony Soundalith 9067 changes track and Soulja Boy's "Yaa Trick Yaa" begins to play. The ghostly visage of a ho gets all up in your face so you say "Get out my face, ho Get out my face, ho Get out my face, ho Get out my face, ho Get out my face, ho Get out my face, ho Get out my face, ho, Get out my face yaaa," and the ho gets out your face. Your body feels filled with an unearthly presence and you begin to dance wildly. Someone hands you a red plastic cup filled with the most delicious necter of the gods also known as Pabst Blue Ribbon and someone else, you think it's Jim but the haze of beer steam is so thick you can't make him out for sure, hands you a bitchin' joint. You take badass fat joint and use it to light another totally gnarly spliff, you then proceed to smoke both simultaneously, it is gnarly. Suddenly your dawg hands you a phat plate of totally awesome riblets, they are so delicious that you go into convulsions of ecstacy, or maybe that's the ecstacy the riblets were laced with. You suddenly discover that your wrists are covered with glowsticks. You start feeling dehydrated and you thirst for water, you look around but all you see is the many bouncing bodies of everyone in the world as they totally do that liquid dance with their hands; you desperately cry out for some water, but no one can hear you over Darude's Sandstorm. Instead you light up several more spliffs. You feel an overwhelming urge to pop your caller. Thus popping your caller, your is quenched some how as your broitude increase by +5. Suddenly DJ Lancelot busts up onto the stage and starts covering Standstorm by Darude on his lute (dananana dananana doonanoonanoo dananana) and the crowd literally goes in insane with rage and the fuzz shows up. DJ Lancelot pulls out his Swine Slayer Bastard swordwich 3d6 damage and +2 against cops and +6 against pigs(though there are no literal hogs in the vicinity). Suddenly Jim gets a call, it's his dad, they'll be home in two hours. Jim's like "Yo, man, we totally gotta get outta here, whooooooaaa." You spend the next 1 hour and 55 minutes cleaning up the party with a very large Swiffer and just make it out of there in time. "Another caper successfully pulled," you think to yourself, as you sit on a dumpster in the alley behind the building and light up a cigarette butt you found on the ground. --Platypus 18:41, 22 January 2010 (UTC)
