Banfiction

During the mess of 2006-2008, it was something of a tradition for those who were done with the SA forums and in league with SASS to make one last post to announce their departure (or the departure of a parachute account, more likely). As insulting the mods, Lowtax, his wife, or his pets went against the all-holy rules, each of these little stories resulted in a ban. Srsly. Getting banned was the point, but it was also a good way to point out that only on a shit forum like SA is humor ban-worthy. Examples follow…

Editor's note: I'm not sure if anyone else is actually actively hosting these anymore, so I'm going to do it. The point is so that they'll show up on search engines and people won't have to lose their minds slogging through archive.org just to read these. Once I've got the collection as complete as I think it can be, I'll post it on pastebin or some shit so there's a backup too.

I've included (mostly inaccurate) notes for my own users, not for those of you that were there. Why do I bother? Well, the (start of the) decline of SA coincided with the rise of 4chan, the general theme of this whole site. I'm doing this so that future generations can understand how exactly SA moved into a distant second place and then plummeted to the depths of irrelevance through a series of terrible mistakes. Will anyone ever learn from history? Fuck no, but this is still funny…

Additional notes: The authors will never correspond with the username of the person who posted it on SA. Most of this was written and posted on SASS first and then someone else entirely would post it on SA. A lot of accounts/parachutes were donated to SASSers by others for use as a platform for protest.

By Sorry Archives Are Down¹⁾

Lowtax sniffed the cool crisp pre-Spring air. Winter was fading away, and the sunny weather was a relaxing contrast to the cramped airplane ride. There he stood, outside of the airport in a land he did not know. One could say he was a “stranger in a strange land”, but such a description would not properly demonstrate the “strange” nature of the man with a foot fetish. Stroking his muskrat-like goatee, he pondered his next course of action. He was a free man here, free from the catlike nagging of his wife (the Yakuza made no mention of that particular habit²⁾) and flirtations from his closeted homosexual buddy, Radium³⁾. Taking a swig of juice from his bottle of Mangosteen⁴⁾ juice, Lowtax hailed a nearby taxi. He was here on vacation, but not for enjoyment.

He was here to regain lost honor.

The mean streets of Detroit were unfamiliar to Lowtax. He was used to living amongst proper white folk, not niggers with their nigger stench and the high crime rate that followed them. Had he not traveled by airplane, he would have brought one of the many guns he kept in the closet of his daughter's bedroom⁵⁾ to protect himself. Regretting not traveling by car, Lowtax took another drink of Mangosteen.

“Say, buddy, whatcha keep drinkin' there?” Lowtax looked up and saw the cab driver curiously looking at him through the rear-view mirror. “Is he mocking me?” thought Lowtax to himself. Lowtax pondered this as his bipolar brain began to transform the man's words into “What kind of shit juice are you pouring into your toe-sucking mouth?⁶⁾” He turned bright red and began nerd-flailing at that taxi driver, shouting “PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE FAGGOT” repeatedly.

“Fuck you, you some crazy sonovabitch!” yelped the taxi driver, defending himself with a single punch that brought Lowtax memories of Uwe Boll⁷⁾. The taxi driver stopped the vehicle, got out, and threw Lowtax out onto the pavement. “I ain't no nigga that ain't gonna take no shit from some sissy white-boy,” mumbled the taxi driver as he sped away, while Lowtax lay crumpled on the ground on like someone overdosed on ambien.

—

Lowtax stared up at the projects. This was his destination, where he would achieve glory. Today was a day where justice will be met. Lowtax headed to the apartment where the moment of truth will begin. Vengeance would be his.

Lowtax knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. “He's late…” mumbled Lowtax to himself, taking a sip of Mangosteen to calm his nerves.

The door opened, and a white guy, a speck of snow against a black background, opened the door.

“Rich Cryanka,” the guy grinned. “So you came.”

“I've taken you up on your challenge. I've come for the breakdancing competition.”

“Man, you crazy. I never thought you'd accept. How about you compete with my homies, though, I got better things to do.” Lowtax looked behind him and big, burly black gangstas were right behind him. The leader, wearing a do-rag, grabbed him by his shoulder.

“There ain't no going back now, asswipe.”

And they breakdanced. The black guys, being black, knew what they were doing. It was apparently obvious to all that Lowtax's clumsy flailing around, resembling a seizure more than any type of ghetto move, was going to earn him a square beating. After the competition, it was, of course, determined that Lowtax lost.

“Looks like you played the game and you got pimped, Uwe Boll style.” said the white guy. He motioned with his hands, and his homies tore lead through the Moofwear⁸⁾ pajamas he was wearing (Lowtax justified his attire based on comfort). Lowtax fell, dropping his bottle of mangosteen, its cap popping off, juice spilling everywhere. As Lowtax lie on the ground, covered in blood and mangosteen, the white guy grinned, spit on Lowtax's head, and said:

“Unban Keep It Real.”⁹⁾

By Urethra

Lowtax paced nervously at the airport. The large printed card between his hands simply said 'Icequeen¹⁰⁾' with an enlarged version of her forums avatar underneath. He had only been there twenty minutes, but it felt like much longer. He knew the plane was on time, but he was still nervous - or was that excitement he was feeling?

He saw her forehead before anything else, proud before the rest of her face underneath a golden main of hair. Her eyes lit up as she saw him and hurried forward. Her bags dropped to the floor as she neared and her arms flew open to greet him “Rich-” she started. A finger on her lips; “No, baby, call me Lowtax”. They embraced for the first time, her hand reaching for his butt and giving it a playful squeeze.

“Come on my queen, we can't wait around here for ever, we've got better things to do”.

The drive back to Lowtax's luxurious suburban home didn't take long. Lowtax talked about Radium's sabbatical in Tibet and his Google problems. Icequeen listened with a sympathetic ear, excited just to be this close to him, her hand never far from rubbing gently up and down his thigh. She could smell his musk.

He carried her bags from the car to his house. “What about Megan and Lauren - are they away for long?”.

“All week, visiting family, just me and you”

“And a bunch of reports!” Icequeen quipped. They both laughed and fell to the sofa, kissing passionately. Lowtax's hand reached under her thick fisherman's jumper and expertly unclipped her bra. Icequeen mumured with delight and reached down for his rapidly stiffening manhood. “Mmmmm lowtax take me upstairs and show me what you can do with your ban stick”. Lowtax led her up the stairs pausing only to push her gently.

“Pak chooie unf!”. Icequeen giggled.

As they made their way to the master bedroom Icequeen saw something out of the corner of her eye. “Is that it?”. Lowtax nodded and in a moment she had skipped accross the hall and was settling into the leather as it creaked expensively around her. “It feels better than I imagined…and I love how it smells. Fuck me Lowtax, fuck me on your thousand dollar chair¹¹⁾”. She grabbed him by the waist and pulled his jeans to the floor. The rapidly growing bulge in his boxers agreed for him. In a moment it was standing proud and Icequeen was working on it with a practised tounge. Lowtax groaned with delight as a finger slipped between his cheeks and started probing his willing hole.

“This is why I made you admin you hot viking bitch.¹²⁾” Lowtax picked her up and sat in the chair himself. Icequeen slipped out of her jeans and mounted, her hands using the bck of the $1000 chair for support as she rode his trembling cock. Lowtax slurped eagerly at her bouncing floppy tits. Her eyes fell upon the screen next to the chair, dozens of goons each with an inviting ban button next to their name.

“Show me what you can do Lowtax.”

“You want to see my power? Watch this.” Lowtax started clicking, with every ban Icequeen rode harder

“Ban my cunt richard, ban it, it's yours”. Lowtax obliged and with a roar he started to shoot his hot sticky goon love into her slack vagina. Icequeen arched her back in extasy as their mutual climax reached its crescendo. She collapsed onto him, both too exhausted to speak.

Lowtax opened the fridge next to his Alienware computer. “I could do with a drink, Mangosteen?” Icequeen purred in agreement and a frosty glass filled with the life giving juice was place in her hand. “I can fuck for hours after this.” Icequeen's eyes lit up at the thought.

The door creaking open startled them both. Icequeen reached to cover her drooping breasts but Lowtax just chuckled. “Now we have a goon meat”.

“Is this a private forum or can anybody post?” chuckled Ozma¹³⁾.

“Now we have a goon meet!” laughed Lowtax. Ozma opened her large coat to reveal her naked form underneath. Lowtax admired the round, soft belly of his favourite admin as she approached. Icequeen didn't need much persuading and soon the two administrative vixens were locked in an embrace. “You should be charging me for this!” cried Lowtax, admiring the views.

Ozma turned and winked, “Got ten bucks?”.

“I've got more than that and you know it, they don't call me the 'tax for nothing”.

A bright flash and a loud whirr startled them all. Lowtax looked only to see a shape in the door, too slow getting up he didn't have time to stop the intruder from getting away. His eyes fell on the smiling yellow faces of his wife and daughter in the photograph on the wall.

— 3 months later —-

Lowtax sits in a large lawyer's office. His wife, eyes red from crying stares back at him. He has hardly spoken as their lawyers argue over the division of his assets. He hardly blinks as his wife secures the $1000 chair and all profits from Moofwear and OkCupid. He stares at the black and white photograph between his hands. He sees himself, smiling with a glass of mangosteen as Icequeen works her tounge on Ozma's twat. The photograph that ended his marriage, took away his child and ruined his business. The only addition, at the bottom in large Arial font:

“Unban Keep it Real”

By Keep It Real

A rainy day. I'm laid back, slouched on the couch, smoking blunts and updating the SASSclopedia page on Mangosteen. The phone rings. Hello? “Hey baby how you doing?” “Who this is?” “It's me” “Oh…baby, what's up?” It's my internet girlfriend, Megan Kyanka. “I was just wondering if you were coming over this weekend?” “Well what's up with that chump? You know who. Your baby daddy. Mrs. Doubtfire.” “He's in rehab for his Xanax and Ambien addiction. I'm alone in the house for two weeks.” “Word? Alright. I'm on my way.”

“We are now seating Frequent Flyer members, First Class passengers, and those who are travelling with childen or need assistance with boarding.” First class. That's me. I board the plane, settle into my seat, kick my feet up, and order a glass of Hennesy VSOP. After I enjoy a meal of lobster and shrimp, I doze off for a second and dream that I am dicking Megan Kyanka. I dream that her Chinese pussy is sideways, and I tear her pussy walls when I give her the dick. When I wake up, the plane is landing in Lee's Summit. I hop off the plane, into a cab and tell the driver to burn rubber. When the taxi arrives at Lowtax's house, I give the driver a $20 and tell him to keep the change.

I am well presented when I enter Lowtax's house, wearing some crisp Guess Jeans and Timbs. I give Megan Kyanka a hug. drat she is fine. She invites me to sit, turns the DVD player on and put on “Friday”. My favorite flick. She offers me a drink of Goose. “No doubt, I'll take a sip”. We get into convo. “How you been?” “Neglected. stressed out.” “What you mean? I thought Rich took care of you. Bought you spa treatments and gave you foot massages”. “This is true but I need a real man who's got his shit together.” I whisper in her ear, “Unban Keep It Real.”

With her hand on my leg she kisses me on my neck. She starts grinding on my dick while I grip her fat rear end titties. I take off her Flat Falls bra and her Moofwear boy shorts. She lays down on her back and opens up her thighs. I stick my dick in her slanted coochie with no rubber. I fuck her fast, I fuck her slow, I fuck her until she screams “UNBAN KEEP IT REAL”. Her eyes roll back in her head, but I can not tell. We fuck on the couch, we fuck in Lowtax's bed, we fuck on Lowtax's $1,000 chair. I tear that rear end up. She comes twice, then I bust on her belly.

I spark up a Garcia Vega blunt and blow smoke into Lauren Kyanka's crib. Just then I hear a sound. “Honey, I'm home! I snuck out of a window and escaped from rehab.” Rich Kyanka is not aware that seconds ago I was in his wife's Moofwear. “I missed you! I hope you're horny because I'm going to suck your toes so hard the nails come off!”. We hear footsteps walking up the stairs. I look at Megan and say, “Bitch, you better talk to him or there's going to be a goondolences thread in GBS tonight”. She begs me to be quiet. Before I can blink, she screams out, “Honey! Bring me up some Mangosteen!”. He goes back down. More time to think. My brain is racing. An idea comes to me. I grab the bazooka he keeps under Lauren's crib. I hear his footsteps coming up towards the bedroom. The door opens with a creak. I stick the rocket launcher in Lowtax's face. Lowtax drops his glass of Mangosteen. Then he shits his pants. His shitleaks out from his Moofwear thong, and forms a pool with the Mangosteen.

“Don't shoot me please.”, he cries. “I don't want to kill you Lowtax, but I can and I will if you don't listen to my demands. Unban Keep It Real”, I ask boldy. “You got it! Just don't shoot my rear end”. I escort Rich to the basement and he unbans Keep It Real. “One more thing. Give me the keys to your civic”. A tear rolls down Rich's face as he hands me over his vehicle. “I'm gone”, I say. I leave Rich in his basement with shit in his pants. He drowns his sorrow in a glass of Mangosteen.

By GiantStoneMonolith

Editor's note: This was originally untitled. Like all good archaeologists, I edit history as I see fit…

Ozma sat deep in contemplation. Her squat pudgy belly hanging over the edge of her desk as she mused over the idea of what could quite possibly be, her finest hour. The hours of hard work and weeks of planning finally were going to pay off big time. She hobbled over to the door and peered outside into the darkened hallway ensuring no one would be witness to her orgy of the flesh. Slowly unwrapping the twinkie from its cellophane wrapper she listening to the symphonic crackles reverberate in her dimmly lit room, the warm glow of the monitor reflecting Twinkie the Kid onto her thick coke bottle lenses.

The deep fryer beeped, it was time.

She slowly waddled towards the pot of boiling turkey grease, oblivious to the world around her. It was her time now, her time to shine and show those bastards that she was in charge. She lowered the twinkie into the fat, the sizzling gurgle turned into a roaring flurry of pops and crackles. Grease splattered onto her glasses obscuring her vision, she wiped it away greedily with her pudgy thumbs and licked the tips of her fingers slowly. She wanted to savor this moment in her mind. She raised the twinkie from the pot and placed the scalding confection of deep fried sugar onto a drain pan. “No”, she said, absolute in her conviction that there was to be more. “We must wait until the moment is right.”

The timer dinged and the hot searing deep fried log that was once a twinkie was cool enough to be touched by her trembling chubby little paws. Each finger was like a vienna sausage slowly enveloping the golden brown log. She began to fellate it every so slowly, imagining it was Keep it Real's turgid manhood inside her. She started to move faster now and with as much rhythm as a fat Jewish girl could muster she slowly stroked the twinkie until the tip started to spill hot steamy cream into her mouth. She let the overflow dribble down her chins and fall onto her waiting, saggy breasts. The huge aeroelas like silver dollar pancakes at the local Denny's.

The excitement coupled with the heat of the now cooling twinkie was too much, she climaxed gobbling the twinkie in its entirety. As she lay on the dirty sticky shag carpeted floor of her dimly lit hovel, the soft green glow of the monitor cast an eery glow over her round shapeless body.

“Unban Keep it Real” she cooed as she drifted off to sleep. She was content to feel the warm seed of Twinkie the Kid inside her massive shrine to obesity of a stomach for now, but soon she would again feel the need to feed upon the confectionary bounty of her goddess, Hostess Snack Cakes.

By GiantStoneMonolith

Editor's note: Rachael = Ozma = Fat. This story is either subtitled “My love has no mercy” or the full title is “I can't ban you from my heart, Rachael. My love has no mercy.” Alternately, a copy in the wild was titled “You Can't Ban Me From Your Heart, Rachael.” Does any of this matter? Nope. ALSO, this one in particular seems to have really really rubbed someone at SA the wrong way because not only is the original thread gassed, it is fucking missing. Like driven into the desert, forced to dig its own grave, and fucking disappeared. I just find that odd. It really made someone mad and that's an accomplishment!

Richard knew his time on this earth was limited. He was bound for better things, bigger things like his mother had always told him, “He was special.” He new the final preparations needed to be made before the ascension could begin properly. He gathered the goons who would follow him to the new world, a better world. Zack was in the kitchen with his woman Fssstgrl¹⁴⁾ mixing the special punch as per Richard's instructions. 3 parts Kool Aide and 1 part Cyclon-B, the final solution to take those who would follow to the forums server waiting in the rings of Saturn.

Radium paced outside furious at his lack of an invitation to the party, he knew Rich had big plans, plans for a better server that didn't include his sill meddling and petty sissyfits. He wanted to admin the new server and he knew without Richard he was nothing more than a hack with an A+ cert and some time manning a Windows 98SE machine at the local internet cafe. Certainly no fortune 500 would hire him after this. He looked furiously at his surroundings for a means to pry the rear window to the Kyanka residence open and sneak into a closet where he would wait for the final moments of the ceremony to take place, then no could stop him in following his master to their beloved nerd valhalla.

“It's ready!”, shouted Schmorky¹⁵⁾ his diaper wet with excitement over the prospect of the new server. “EPG and Fsssty have got the punchbowl ready!” He was excited and could help but piss himself a little more with each passing second. He could feel his bowels quivering. “Hold it.”, he told himself, “It will be so much better to release it later.” Ozma was sitting atop the edge of the coffee table, the legs of the table straining under her massive girth. She knew she wouldn't have the courage to go through with drinking the punch, so she chose to dip a twinkie into the punchbowl instead and suck the cool sugary liquid from the spongy cake snack. He beady eyes peered anxiously from her thick almost comical glasses. Her curly jew-fro hanging in rope like tendrils of grease.

EPG knew he would need at least one extra cup at this strength for his massive girth, so he put a little extra rat poison in his tippy cup to ensure his upload to the new server would be error free. His beloved would drink from his tippy cup with a crazy straw so that they both uploaded simultaneously to the new server. Their avatars would be forever intertwined. She couldn't wait to unleash a flurry of bans as the server filled with new registrants. “Wrong tag.”, she giggled clicking the ban button one last time on her trusty 386 computer. She lugged it all the way from Chicago to Lee's Summit¹⁶⁾ in anticipation of this event. As the hour drew near they could hear their leaders high pitched kermit-like voice reaching its crescendo. Inside the house were gathered all of their trusted and most faithful posters. Only those who had laboriously slavered over the admin cock and reminded others in threads to never question the leaders authority were allowed to partake in this special moment. Honored they donned their moofwear and strolled into the living room, sitting on the floor in a circle holding hands. They chanted rhythmically to Richards words, “Cryanka, Cryanka, lowtax, lowtax, ha ha, ban you.” Over and over, increasingly growing louder as their leaders remonstrated and waves his arms like a little dictator flailing impotently about the new regime and the removal of the infidels from the new server.

“No one will question us!”, he cried. “We are the new order, the only order!”

Radium had managed to pry the window and crawl into the house, slowly creeping up the stairs to a bedroom where he found a closet to wait until he too could begin his upload to the new server. Downstairs he could hear the droning of Ogg Oggilby and Fishmech¹⁷⁾, who true to form was chanting faster and more nasally than his counterparts, even correcting those who mispronounced the words. Humper Monkey was there as well, his 115 pound frame belied the falsehoods of his majestics tales on the old server, he was being spooned by Big Peeler¹⁸⁾ who was stroking Humper Monkey's hair adoringly. “My little big man, we're going to a better place.” He would mumble in his thick mongoloid drawl.

As the speech reached its peak, EPG and fsstgrl entered with the bowl in their pudgy hands. “Drink of this and live in everlasting manbabies!¹⁹⁾” brayed Lowtax. Ozma dipped her twinkie and sucked the semi-bitter sugar drink deep into her corpulent mass. EPG and fistcunt began to drink their extra potent mix it was enough to feel even a horse but they releized they would need a second serving from the bowl and began to lap greedily at the purple drink. Fishmech convulsed at the taste and began to retch, but it was far too late, his eyes began to roll up into his head as his central nervous system shut down, he was uploading. Richard grabbed his wife and held her nose while Schmorky began to shit uncontrollably into his diaper, his bowels loosened by the poisons of the juice. Richard's wife had her Chinese honor to uphold. The law of the ching and chong. She could not upload herself, someone would have to do it for her. Richard pinched her nose and poured a glass of the grape flavored mixture down her gullet. As she lay on the floor convulsing uncontrollably he quickly dumped his glas over her feet and began to suck the poison from her toes. McCaine was crying, he was scared. He began to masturbate furiously in an attempt to calm himself. Soon he found himself being taken from behind by Big Peeler, Humper Monkey already on the ground a disheveled heap of a manchild. Big Peeler then kissed McCaine deeply swishing saliva and grape Kool Aide into McCaines mouth. He cried and collapsed, his already HIV weakened immune system no match for the powerful poisons. Big Peeler lumbered slowly towards the foot of the stairs, he could barely see, he made out the form of Radium seething with rage and crying uncontrollably. He smashed Big Peeler's face with the crowbar he had previously used to pry open the window and gain entrance to this whole sordid affair.

“Why Dick! Why?????” he bellowed monstrously. He began to undress his leader, wiping copious amounts of saliva onto his tiny manhood he began to furiously pump the now still corpse of Lowtax. “I was your admin Rich!”, he cried. “I am your admin!” With this he took a giant swig of the remaining punch in the bowl. With his final breath Radium uttered, “Unban Keep it Real.”

GBS FM continued to play on the desktop in the basement²⁰⁾ as silence slowly enveloped the house. The act complete the final step was made. In a single instant a cron job on the SA server unleashed a mass banning. The internet itself was said to have cried in pain at the collective nerdgasm that ensued. Many attempted to follow their leader to the new server from their own homes. Hanging was impossible for most of these portly fellows and so they were forced to OD on horse tranquilizers or fling themselves from the roof of their parent's houses. Some attempted to eat to death by consuming ever growing quantities of doritos and Mt. Dew Code Red. Without their leadership many fled to Genmay or 4chan. Others joined the legion of pantshitting trolls on #linux-admins.

“I put some holes in that nigger's Moofwear, son.” was all he said. A lone solitary figure cut harsh against the backdrop of the setting sun. He slung his Mossberg over his shoulder and walked towards tomorrow.²¹⁾

By Sorry Archives Are Down

It looked sort of like a hill.

At least, that's what an observer would have thought. The fat man lied there in his bed, his blob-like stomach moving like shaken jello as he snored. It was a disgusting sight, to see so many folds of flesh wearing disgusting “tire-track” stained underwear, lying in a bed covered in cookie crumbs and stale doritos.

Suddenly, the alarm clock at the head of his bed went off. “Buh…” said the heap of man, his eyes still closed as his meaty hand shut off what awoken him from his slumber. He smacked his lips, yawned, and then rubbed his eyes. A new day was beginning.

He waddled into the rarely-cleaned kitchen. He was hungry. He was always hungry. And he could smell something frying. Mmm-mmm, he loved food. It was why he was fat. Not that he enjoyed being fat, mind–he hated it. He was disgusted at how he looked, and would often make up for it by pointing out other peoples' shortcomings and disabilities. Laughing at grieving mothers and physically deformed children was his modus operandi. It made him feel badass, even though as a person he was really as pathetic as he was fat.

“Ah, fixin' breakfast, Fisty?” he said to his girlfriend, behind the stove. She was an ugly sort of thing, a perfect match for her disgusting oversized amoeba of a husband. In addition, she suffered from paranoid delusions, which often manifested itself in her internet usage habits.

“I fixed us bacon, EPG.”

EPG grinned. He loved bacon. Delicious. Greasy, fatty bacon. He literally had an erection thinking about it. Not a very spectacular erection–he was undersized at 3 inches.

He was sexually aroused. The smell of grease, of frying pig…he couldn't contain himself.

He ripped off his underwear. “Let's fuck.”

They suddenly embraced in sexual fervor, coming together like two mushrooms being squeezed together on a stick. EPG was being rather aggressive in his tongue action in Fistgrrl's mouth–he taste of bacon she had sampled was delicious. Mmm, bacon.

Fistgrrl knelt down and began to finger EPG's butthole. He moaned softly as her finger probed his anal sphincter, feeling the texture of his shit-encrusted colon. Once he was properly stretched out, she put her fist into his ass. She could feel a festering shit inside his anal cavity. This made her wet, feeling and taking pleasure in what her boyfriend's body rejected. She removed her hand to rub her clitoris with his shit, his gaping asshole releasing the contents of his bowels all over her and the floor. She sighed in sexual ecstasy as she smeared shit over her vulva.

The began to get ready to fuck right in there in the kitchen, amidst the rotten fruit, overflowing garbage, fecal matter, and dirty dishes. EPG grabbed some bacon grease out of the frying pan (it had been taken off the stove and cooled) and rubbed it all over his pathetic phallic organ, and plunged it into Fistgrrl's shit filled, yeast-infected vagina (which would have been otherwise healthy, had it not been treated like a septic tank and not used as a storage for ham sandwiches). As he pounded away at Fistgrrl, the best he could, he ate the bacon. He opened cans of creamed corn, of canned soup (Beef Vegetable, Clam Chowder, and Chicken Noodle), and various others as he poured it down his throat and all over Fistgrrl. Bananas, tomatoes, potatoes. Leftover fried chicken. Spagetti sauce. Crackers. Cookies. Hotdogs. Raw hamburgers. Ice cream. 2-week old meatloaf. 3 pairs of hot-pockets. Cream of Mushroom, even.

The sexual tension was staggering. They were going to cum. And they did. Semen, shit, food and condiments everywhere. EPG fell to the floor, knocking over the refridgerator and causing 20 hams to fall out. It was true that he claimed to be a vegetarian, but vegetarians don't get fat by eating celery. He was as big a liar as he was big.

There they lay, breathing heavily as their orgasms faded away. EPG grabbed a liter of Diet Pepsi that was stored under their kitchen table, opened it, sat up, and guzzled the entire thing down in one try.

He rubbed Fistgrrl's shoulder, and turned to her.

“I'm not drinking regular Pepsi now. I'm on a diet.”

By Sorry Archives Are Down

Editor's note: McCaine is/was the moderator on D&D. He liked to punish people for not sharing his politics…

McCaine opened the door. He'd been here before, of course–but each time his heart raced with excitement as he entered his “friend” Rorschach's house.

Inside were a bunch of guys–some he had seen before in the many gay bars of the Netherlands, and some he hadn't. Some were lounging on the couch and chatting while having a drink, others were playing against each other on Rorschach's Nintendo Wii, others yet were already beginning to feel and kiss each other. Soon, they would all be lounging on each other and playing with each others' Wiis. McCaine smiled at the thought.

One of Marx's few great failings was his inability to see how communism naturally led to homosexuality, McCaine thought to himself. For Marx understood that men, if they banded together, could all be a brotherhood, but McCaine knew that was only the first step. A true communist would go one step farther, he thought to himself, and not to just love men as brothers but as symbols of eroticism and romance. He sighed. He thought that Marx would have made a great homosexual–perhaps his relationship with Engels could have been a little more than platonic. If only!

After chatting with a few guests and waiting for the rest to arrive, Rorschach entered the room, and it fell silent.

“Today, as you all know, we are having a party…” he said, his voice trailing off as he surveyed the room. His eyes fell on McCaine, and Rorschach winked at him. McCaine returned a loving smile.

”… we will test you today. As you all know, one of here amongst us…” he trailed off again, this time gesturing his hand around the room, ”… is HIV positive. The rest, as you all know, is HIV negative. ” Everyone looked around the room, wondering who the lone wolf was. McCaine glanced around, trying to read the expressions on their faces.

“Of course, the gay experience is all about taking risks, about trying new things. Some of you may possibly leave here with a gift… the gift of HIV. I have been HIV positive for many years,” Rorschach said, taking a pause to let it sink in, “And since then I have hosted many of these parties, and seen many people walk away from here pozzed up. It is a gift that keeps on giving, a reminder of your connection and dedication to your homosexual brothers and sisters,” he said, with no sarcasm in his voice. “Now, I leave you men–” he shook his head at the few sad murmurs that followed and held up his hand, ”–I have other matters to attend to personally”.

He dimmed the lights, put a techno/electronica CD in his stereo system, and walked out of his apartment to run personal errands.

The men turned, looked at each other, and smiled, some eagerly looking for poz seed, others wary and concerned but there because like all gay men can't turn down a homosexual orgy.

It was time to begin.

The next day, McCaine ran into Rorschach on the way to the bus.

“Hey sweetie. How'd it go last night?” Rorschach inquired.

“Not bad. I think I pozzed up²²⁾ the most people in one orgy last night. A new record and new initiates!” All men were to be equal, and this included gay men. As a communist, equality was the most important virtue to strive for–and since no cure for AIDS exists, there was only one way to equalize all homosexuals. This was a fact that both McCaine and Rorschach knew.

They squealed with glee and began to caress each other, whispering Marx quotes into each others ear as they fell onto grass, a symbol of something much more than brotherly love.

By Lolopolis Dongs

Meet Something Awful's newest member, J. Random Newbie²³⁾. Newbie's hung out on several Internet forums and generally kicked around the Internet for a good few years. He discovered Something Awful when somebody on one of his regular forums mentioned SA in an off-the-cuff remark. Newbie notices that the forums demand $10 to sign up, but decides it'll be worth it since thousands of other people have taken the plunge before him, and he hasn't seen any bad press about the forums anywhere else. Besides, the $10 acts as a quality control, right? Newbie reasons that Something Awful is probably quite strict but otherwise a civil and interesting forum.

With this in mind, Newbie gets out his credit card and peruses The Rules. For the most part, they make a lot of sense, and each new one strengthens the impression that Newbie has of SA being nice and sane. Newbie decides to heed the first rule: “Lurk before posting!” We cannot stress this enough.” He puts his credit card back into his wallet, loads GBS in his browser and read some of the threads. And continues reading.

After four months and many, many threads increasingly closely scrutinised, out of the blue, Newbie hits upon a hilarious thread stuffed with manbabies. Newbie wants in, and quickly asks himself whether he's ready to dive in. Why not? He's immersed himself in the forums' culture for weeks on end, has a good idea of what most of the subforums are about (although FYAD still bemuses him; no matter, he just won't post there), and has generally positive feelings towards the forums and its users in general. Once more he studies the rules with his new, more experienced eye, and decides, in accordance with Lowtax's request, that he not only respects SA's rules and SA's members, but that he also really wants to be there. He is 100% sure he wants an account. Out comes the credit card again; Newbie punches in his username and credit card number, and $9.95 promptly changes hands.

Newbie's especially gratified to find that with his newly procured SA account, he can read as much as he wants, when he wants, and sups upon every subforum all night. The next day, he's tired but gratified, and the initial uncertainty he'd had months before has vanished with his ten bucks. After a time, he chips in a post here and there in threads that touch on subjects close to his heart. He weeps with TV/IV when a beloved TV show is cancelled; he rends his hair and beats his breast in GBS when his favourite comedy of the year fails to receives an Oscar nomination; he shakes his fist with D&D when Hugo Chavez gets another bashing in the media.

One day, Newbie is cruising GBS and feeling fine, when he happens upon a Lowtax thread, the average score of which is a scant 2.9 and falling fast. Newbie pokes his head in and discovers that Lowtax has posted several paragraphs exulting in the magic of a particular brand of fruit juice, complete with a convenient Amazon referral link for goons to follow. Newbie likes Lowtax as much as the next guy, but he's not so naive as to assume that Lowtax's motivation is 100% pure. The post in and of itself is a little unusual, since Lowtax so rarely waxes lyrical about anything, but the Amazon referral is what sets his left eyebrow askew. Newbie makes a tentative query in the thread regarding Lowtax's motivation. Ten minutes later he finds he's been probated for a week.

Newbie panics. He doesn't want to get worked up – it is only a forum on the Web after all – but he can't help it. It dawns on him that he may be addicted. Newbie begins to calm down after remembering that he can simply email Lowtax to say hi, and how was he, and would it be OK to have the probation lifted, he didn't mean to offend anyone? He fires off his email and waits. And continues waiting. Newbie gives it a couple of days; after all, Lowtax has a busy time administrating a forum of thousands of members. He sends another email. Again, no reply. By this time the week's expired and Newbie is so relieved to be back that the lack of response starts to fade from his mind.

Newbie notices that he's spending more and more of his free time on the Something Awful forums. He doesn't worry about it; it's just a detached observation he makes to himself one day while refreshing GBS to find something funny, to regain that original spark of interest that had driven him to register in the first place. There's nothing for him here. Newbie re-reads an admin sticky that's a few days old. It requests feedback on a new idea of Radium's. Newbie is sceptical, and carefully crafts a post which gently raises several problems with Radium's latest scheme. Once he thinks he's drafted into something sufficiently gently and tactful, he submits it.

Newbie logs in the next morning to a screenful of ejaculating spidercock.

Newbie is utterly befuddled. He's broken no rules: his post was courteous, respectful, and a helpful pointer. Racking his mental log of SA history, he can recall a few old memories of pants-shitters²⁴⁾ being banned for crying about some forum innovation or another. They were all just agitators stirring up drama, though. Why's Newbie been lumped in with them? Another plaintive email is fired off, this time to Radium.

Newbie can't see it, but Radium has taken Newbie's email and several others and posted them in a stickied BYOB thread for all and sundry to boo and jeer.

This time it's only a matter of hours before Newbie gives up waiting for a reply, and he coughs up another ten bones to re-register. He scans the rules yet another time to see what guideline he's violated, but can come up with nothing other than “We reserve the right to ban anybody on the forums.” While Newbie understands this, it still leaves a bitter aftertaste.

Due to his unexpected hammering, Newbie lies low for a little while. His posting drops off a little, although it never completely stops; he can't resist shooting out innocuous posts here and there. Next time Radium or Lowtax posts a GBS thread asking for feedback, he sends out harmless, effusive posts of applause. Nothing happens to him, a win-win situation: he feels like a participant in the running of the forums and receives no negative reaction. Over time, he feels increasingly snug and ensconced in the forums, smiles of schadenfreude beginning to appear on his face when trolls, whiners, and complainers are summarily dispensed with.

In fact, Newbie is now actively annoyed by any posters he sees as getting in the way of the flow of threads. He dispatches more and more money to change avatars, and to buy platinum to send ascerbic private messages. While he's at it, why not get archives access to dig up dirt and get extra entertainment for those boring, empty nights? And why not a cool little avatar of his very own, too? The money flows.

And yet SA's cash flow is getting a little shaky. Lowtax posts an urgent GBS thread, prodding people to buy merchandise and anything else SA-affiliated they can think of to keep the site afloat. Newbie is aware of the cost of bandwidth, and picks out some neat Moofwear and a hilarious City Name Sports Team jersey. Reading the thread, Newbie notices a bunch of crybabies bitching about not receiving their merchandise. How silly; don't they follow the forums? In the rare event of an order failing to arrive, you're meant to send an email, not blubber about it in GBS! Newbie rolls his eyes and joins everyone else in heckling these fools, safe in the knowledge that his shirts are winging their way to his home as he posts.

Or not, as it transpires. Newbie waits two months, which is some time more than the requisite number of weeks, out of a concern that his shirts aren't coming at all. Sadly, it becomes ever more obvious to him that nothing's coming. He politely emails orders@awfulmart.com as AwfulMart's front page requests, but the response amounts to an unhelpful “Sorry, I sent it”. Newbie sends a second email to elaborate but this time remains unacknowledged. That long-forgotten sensation of confusion and annoyance is returning. Newbie's spent $85 to no end.

There's only one course of action to take. Newbie gets a drink and takes a few moments out to calm down. He settles down and watches some TV for the first time in weeks, drafting a request for assistance to post in Lowtax's begging thread. He sits down at the keyboard, and polishes it to a fine shine over the course of a half-hour. What he's doing is strictly against the rules, but he has no recourse. To reduce his likelihood of being banned as much as possible, he makes his post as wheedling as possible, buffering his criticisms with twice as much adulation to soften Lowtax up. Off it goes!

No ban! Newbie is surprised and gratified, for a time, until Lowtax shows up to remind him that the correct course of action is to email orders@awfulmart.com. Yes, yes, Newbie follows up, he's well aware of this. In fact, he stated it in his original post! Lowtax maintains there's nothing he or Radium can do, and that Newbie should get out of the thread; he's shitting it up for everyone else. Something atrophied in Newbie's cerebral cortex dimly realises that his last shot at getting his merchandise or his $85 is being snuffed out, and Newbie sends out one last, rattled plea for help, fatally ending his post with “I don't understand what's so hard to understand here.” Lowtax snaps back with “I don't understand why it's so hard for you to understand that you need to get out”, and permabans Newbie.

Newbie's mental model of the Internet comes crashing down, collapsing in on itself. He's given hundreds of hours and upwards of $200 to the forums. He's tried at every opportunity to bring something to the table. All he's been left with is a brain hooked on a drip-feed of goony content and the pieces of his mind and wallet that he's handed over to the goons, now on the other side of a virtual wall that is, as far as Newbie knows, impenetrable.

Lowtax idly spins around in his $1000 chair, blowing buzzing noises with his lips, completely oblivious.

Now multiply Newbie by ten thousand, age him by five years, and proffer him snapshots wherein the forums, on which he spent so much time, slouch idly into mediocrity while Lowtax belittles it from afar and Radium continues to prance around feedback and exert his ban-muscle.

One day, Newbie registers buttes.org²⁵⁾…and is pleased to see he's not the only one.

By Urethra

“Wake up, lover”. Lowtax spoke softly as he rubbed the shoulder beside his.

“Mmmm?”. Tired after going to bed so late, Radium eventually awoke and turned to look into Lowtax's eyes. A quick kiss, morning stubble on morning stubble creating a delicious friction as their tongues met.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log Richard, you always tire me out.”

Their meetings had become less regular since Richard had become a family man. But running an Internet forum takes a lot of work, and a lot of meetings with Kenneth. A lot of opportunities. They made the most of them.

“I'll put the coffee on Rich, would you like a shot of Mangosteen in it?”

“I think I better had!” Lowtax exclaimed, admiring Radiums smooth supple figure and taut buttocks as he rose from beneath silk sheets. He laid there, thinking of the night before. The wild, almost angry kissing downstairs in the kitchen that had led to equally fervid action in the bedroom. It had been a long night all right. As his mind wandered back to his recent memories, he felt a sympathetic stirring between his legs as Radium - looking hot as ever in pink fluffy slippers and smile - came back to him.

Radium glanced at the bulge in the sheets “Don't you get any ideas big boy, I've got something to show you first.”

Lowtax sat up and took sips at his hot coffee eagerly as he took in the view of Ken swinging towards his computer. He was almost dismayed “do we have to do this now? I've had enough for pants shitters on IRC.”

“You'll like this Rich, remember I had a surprise for you?” Radium's fingers danced across the keyboard and in a few moments a web browser was opened and Lowtax saw the familiar site of the Something Awful forums. Except something was different, he moved closer and his eyes widened in realisation.

“Ken! You finished it?”

“Yes Rich, two years ahead of schedule - those thirteen hour days paid off”.

“I don't know how you do it Ken, I really don't”.

“I did it for you, Rich, all it took was hard work and a lot of this.” Gesturing towards the empty bottle of mangosteen juice beside the bed. They both laughed with delight. Lowtax got up and put his arms around Radium, a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the neck. “Want me to show you how it works?”

“I love it Ken, but you know I won't understand it - I just write the checks, remember? Come here, I'm going to show you how I pay for work on my forums, then we're going to go and buy you a new chair”.

Radium and Lowtax fell to the bed. Lowtax appraised Radium's rapidly growing girth, one hand cupping his balls. “Shame we can never explain how we came up with the name Titan.” They both laughed and went to work pleasuring each other expertly, each knowing instinctively what the other wanted.

A short while later and they were both spent, laid on the bed breathing hard. “I'll just check my PM's rich”.

Radium reached for the keyboard, knocking the now cold cup of coffee laid down by Lowtax before they had fucked, spilling it's energizing contents onto it. “Shit!” Radium's response as he started mopping up the mess with a Moofwear shirt. It was only when he looked up did he realise his mistake. Titan²⁶⁾ was gone.

Shaking, Radium started to search through his hard drive, hoping he'd only moved it somewhere else. “What's wrong, Ken, you look like you've seen a ghost”.

“It's gone, Rich, Titan's gone! I've deleted it!”

“Don't you have it saved somewhere else?”

Radium's eyes blazed “I don't DO backups Rich, I'm Radium - I don't need backups, I don't make mistakes. Fuck!”

Radium grabbed the keyboard and threw it across the room. then slumped to the bed, crying.

“Ken, it's alright we'll get through his.” Lowtax wrapped his arms around Radium's shoulders, rocking him gently.

Lowtax knew this was a bad situation. He glanced across the room at the computer display where Titan had been glorious that morning, albeit briefly. His eyes fell and settled on the upturned cup, the cup that had broken his lover's heart. He squinted, something was different about the base. Reaching for it he read the words, words he had seen before but shouldn't - couldn't - be there. He shrieked and dropped it on the floor, the cup shattering into dozens of pieces.

Two powerful men, in charge of perhaps the greatest Internet forums the world has ever known. Crying, afraid - together but alone.

A broken mug on the floor, the base still in one piece. Four words written in bold, black script: “Unban Keep it Real”.

By Johnny JJ

Lowtax returned home, the work of the day weighing heavily on his shoulders. Having to go through all the receipts he'd amassed in the past 10 years due to the IRS auditing him was hard enough, but since he didn't keep records beyond credit card numbers and addresses for his website signups, his total income was sort of hard to pin. He walked up the front steps and noticed his front door was ajar.

Slowly, Lowtax opened the door and was greeted with a dark room, all the lights out and lit candles everywhere. They bathed the stark white walls of his front hall with a warm orange glow. He glanced down and saw a path had been made from mangosteen rinds. They lead down the hall and up the stairs in his house.

“M-Megan?” He called out to no answer. A smile slowly found its way across his sweating face. “Oh God it's been a year. Daddy's comin'!” He dashed up the stairs and followed the mangosteen rinds to his bedroom. The door was closed.

“Megan? Honey?” Lowtax opened the door carefully. “Feetsie poo?”

The bedroom was dark. He could make out the shape of a figure on his bed, but it was slightly larger than his wife.

“Megan?”

“No, not Megan.” Came the reply in a husky tone. Lowtax's heart skipped a beat. He recognized that voice.

“Wh- Ken?!”

“No, not Ken.”

Lowtax was sweating profusely. Who was this man? Was he being robbed? Clumsily, he groped for the lightswitch and turned on the lights. Before him, on the bed, was a gangly man with a lopsided grin on his face, wearing Lowtax's wife's underwear.

“KEN!” Lowtax screamed at him.

“No, KenDRA!” Ken shouted back.

“Oh God, oh my- wha-what the fuck are you doing?!” Lowtax squeaked. His heart was racing but he wasn't scared. This felt… different.

“I wanted to surprise you. You can take me off the site but you can't hide me forever!”

Lowtax took a few steps toward the bed, sweat pouring from his fingers. Something about seeing his old coder on the bed, naked save for a bra and panties, made his head spin in a familiar way.

“But, my-my wife…” Lowtax was quickly shushed by Ken putting a finger on his lips.

“No, don't talk…” He said.

“Oh God I want this!” Lowtax fell on Ken, aggressively kissing and tonguing his face while Ken embraced him and flipped him around.

“And now… I'm going to show you Titan!” He smirk as he thumbed the waistline on the panties. Lowtax's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he lowered the underwear but his face quickly fell.

“That's it?” He couldn't hide his disappointment at the shrivelled, two inch member before him. Ken's face scrunched up.

“IT'LL BE READY SOON JUST WAIT A LITTLE BIT!” He screamed, his right pointer finger involuntairly twitching, trying to click a ban button that didn't exist. Lowtax sheepishly grinned.

“It's okay Ken… uh, Kendra,” He corrected himself. “It'll be ready in the very near future.” Lowtax's hands slipped below Ken's waist.

It is said that neighbours claim to have heard horrible, horrible squeals and screams, as if the Kayanka household was slaughtering pigs and boiling lobsters for seven minutes straight.

The next morning, Lowtax rolled and faced his partner. Ken's lipstick was smuged and his fake mole had come loose. He smiled in post coital bliss. The phone rang, waking Ken.

Lowtax picked up the receiver.

“Hello? Yes, this is he… Oh, hello Mr. Wong Su, how're y- yes, yes sir. Yes, I'm well aware of what Xango Corp has done for me. Yes, I tried to- I tried! They didn't want to click my fucking links! But I- y-yes sir, yes. I understand sir. No no, you'll get your money. Yes. Thank you sir. Goodbye.”

Lowtax hung up the phone and faced Ken, his face pale.

“Woah, what's wrong hon?”

“Xango is threatening to repo my wife! They said unless I come up with two grand, they'll put her to work in a breakdance club!”

“Well, what's so wrong with that? I mean, at least it isn't a body r-” Ken was cut off by a dismissive wave of Lowtax's hand.

“No! I've… I've had bad experiences with break dancing…” He trailed off, his eyes welling up with tears. He turned his head to avoid looking at Ken. “Dammit! If only I didn't buy that mixer! But I just couldn't have got the beeps right without it! Fuck!”

“Well, hey, hey, it's okay. Look, just, just ban 200 people.”

Lowtax's face lit up. “Hey yeah! Do you still have the data you mined on those SASS users?” He asked hopefully.

“N-no, Rich. They punked my bitch ass, remember?” Lowtax's face fell again.

“Oh, yeah. Fuck! And with Icequeen gone I can't get her to piss off anyone… Ozma is at the cat convention all weekend… fuck!”

“Okay, okay, calm down love, calm down.” Ken soothed as he rubbed Lowtax's inner thigh. A shudder of pleasure went down Lowtax's back. “I know exactly what you need to do.”

“What, what!” Lowtax begged, his face pained.

“Unban Keep it Real.”

By Urethra

The Yakkety Sax doorbell chime had rang three times before Lowtax finally opened the door to his luxury suburban home. The visitor looked up and Lowtax responded with a smile that betrayed a hint of smugness.

Lowtax was the first to speak. “Hi there, good to see you finally, come in!”

His genial manner covered a core of nervousness. His high-pitch laugh punctuating every other sentence as he gestured for the guest to enter. He pointed at the strangers shoes “hey take those off and help yourself to a pair of moccasins”. A row of almost identical slippers lined one side of the wall. The visitor removed his shoes and placed a pair on.

“Lauren doesn't like people wearing shoes in the house. She's out of town for the weekend, but she has a way of finding out when I've been bad. Anyway, follow me.”

Lowtax started up the stairs, with the guest following behind. Lowtax himself wore only a short silk kimono and a pair of slippers. The guest tried hard not to look to high as he followed his host.

The amiable chatter continued. “So you've finally made it here. I have to admit, I thought you'd come sooner. But I'm glad you have. This is it - this is Goon Central'.

There was a buzz in the air - almost electric. Despite his cynicism the guest could feel it. “This is my home, but it's also where I conduct most of my business. It's a great way of saving tax…”

Lowtax continued to talk animatedly about the various ways he avoided paying to the IRS as he strolled down the long hallway. Rooms, some with doors ajar flanked the passage. Through one door he could see piles of cardboard box with hoodies and broken shot glasses spilling out onto the floor. His eyes widened as he past the next and saw two chubby goonettes either fighting or fucking - he couldn't tell which. A camera recorded the scene in the corner whilst a thin goon fiddled with a Nintendo DS.

Lowtax stopped abruptly and held a finger to his lips, his voice barely audible over the loud hum of a hundred large computers fans. “Here's somebody I'm sure you'd like to see. You had your suspicions - and you were right, meet Kendra”. Lowtax pushed the door below a sign that the legend 'Don't Enter or I'll Rip Your Face Off' had been crayoned on in childish letters. The guest could see Ken Stumpf hammering away at a keyboard. Loud 1990's Industrial Metal played on a stereo, plastic lobster adorned most of the furniture²⁷⁾. Radium didn't register the two newcomers at the door and Lowtax brought the door closed again gently. His voice regained it's almost childish tone “I like to leave him alone most days. He works on Titan thirteen hours a day. It's going to be spectacular, so he tells me. What do I know? I just write the”

Lowtax's monologue was brought to a halt by the chime of a clock. “Time is pressing, let's move on”.

At the end of a corridor there stood a heavy wooden door. Lowtax produced a brass key from the pocket of his silk dressing gown and the lock turned. The door struggled to open over thick carpet and the guest was led into the heart of goon central. A large Ikea desk dominated the room with three widescreen monitors connected to a single Alienware PC. Each screen showed a page of the forums - one pink, one grey and one blue. Close to it a pair of full size electronic keyboards were covered in papers and notes. “I've been concentrating on my myself a lot lately, though I still spend lot of time on the forums.”

The guest turned around and found a tall frosted glass shoved in his hand, a thick dark liquid filling it almost to the brim - it looked like a mixture of red wine and egg yolk. “Try it, I think you'll be surprised.” The visitor brought it to his lips and sipped at the bitter liquid, trying to disguise the look of disgust that flickered across his face. He felt lowtax's hand tug at his own free hand and he was led to the computer. With a flourish lowtax removed a light fabric cover from the large shape that sat in front of them.

Despite himself, the guest gasped. It was glorious. Standing five feet high, covered with what must be a herd of cattle the Chair stood proud and magnificent. The smell of quality leather overwhelmed his senses. His eyes tried to take in all the creases and grooves of natural hide dyed a deep red, but found it impossible as each natural fissure in the material led to another, a fractal kaleidoscope that almost made him dizzy.

Lowtax, himself almost in awe of his own acquisition urged the guest on “try it, see how it feels. I don't think you'll be disappointed.”

The guest stood in front of the Chair, a hand placed on each arm and lowed himself slowly as if entering a bath with the water too hot.

He was in heaven. Firm yet giving leather held him in it's reassuring embrace. The smell only seemed stronger - he could almost hear the expense. “$1000 buys you a lot of chair” whispered Lowtax. “What do you think?”

“Glorious”. Admin5²⁸⁾ spoke for the first time. “I want to die in this chair.”

“Haha that won't happen, not today anyway.” He held the base of his glass up and drained the last of his mangosteen. He arched his back as his vertebrae popped and he let out a satisfied sigh. Admin5 tried his own again. It didn't taste so bad this time - he almost liked it. “You can feel it can't you, you can feel the power it gives.”

Admin5 drank thirstily.

“You can have all this, all this and more.” Lowtax placed a knee on the Chair between Admin5's legs. The knot of silk holding the kimono together had suddenly become loose. He ran his fingers from his lips, down over his glistening chest, parting his robe as he went as Moses once parted the Red Sea. His fingers went down, down - Admin5 couldn't look away and he was rewarded with the sight of Lowtax's crotch; hairy, proud. His member stirring with turgidity. It trembled.

“Much, much more…” Lowtax's dry voice intoned in Admin5's ear as he slowly started to first kiss his earlobe, then his neck, finally his mouth, licking a last drop of mangosteen from between his lips.

“Just join me Admin5. You can be an admin - you can have your own subforum. You can join me here in Goontopia and every day can be like this. Each and every day.”

Admin5 fluttered his eyes open and saw on the screen numbers preceded by a dollar sign that kept going up and up. The proceeds of new accounts, re-registrations, custom titles and sales moofwear. He didn't know when lowtax had unzipped his fly and started licking at his testicles. All he knew was he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Lowtax looked up into his eyes “all you have to do is give me the list. The list of IP's that I can match to usernames on Something Awful. Together we can rid the forums of pants shitters. You'll be at my right-side - you can have Ken's room.” Lowtax returned to the task in hand, expertly licking at Admin5's rock hard penis, cupping his balls in his hand - murmuring with delight as he persuaded Admin5 to give in with his words and his tongue.

Admin5 moaned and gasped “Yes Rich! Yes! You can have it all….just don't…..stop….”

The sound of breaking glass, the bang and a bright flash seemed to happen all at once. The two forum masters froze, their senses overwhelmed - Lowtax felt this erect organ of Admin5 being dragged from his mouth but he was powerless to do anything as his head tried to return to normal. The door opened and Radium ran in.

“Rich, Rich, what happened?”. Lowtax pointed to the window. “What the fuck?” The administrative lobster was angry “I'll rip his fucking face off!” His voiced reached a crescendo of volume as he ran to the broken glass. He saw a rope leading down the street outside and a black van with dark tinted windows screech away.

Lowtax's eyes began to normal, the ringing in his ears no better. He could see the shape of Radium at the window, the outline of his keyboards and monitors. He could feel the reassuring warmth of the Chair under him. He saw something on the wall. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Random curves and lines resolved into words written with what appeared to be feces.

He read the words. He didn't understand. He read them again.

“UNBAN KEEP IT REAL”.

Lowtax sank back into his chair, his mind spinning as he tried to reconcile the events of the last five minutes. He turned back to look at radium and noticed something white and fluffy in the corner of his eye. Moving his neck he saw what looked like clouds bleeding from a long ugly gas in his chair.

Lowtax screamed.

By Gardias

Editor's note: This one is kind of complicated and I'll try to format it so that it makes sense. For those having a heavy autism day: I don't know if Gardias is the author or just the SA account this was posted under. It doesn't matter, but I have problems that can only be solved with meticulous record-keeping…

Ah yes, it's story time again. Form a circle around me, children, quickly now! Hmmm.. which book shall we be reading from today? Hmm.. Ah, yes! I've got it! Today, children, I will be reading to you from one of my old favourites. It's a classic, mmm yes it certainly is. This book is called:

“The Brothers Goonn”

So, let's just open it up and take a peek at the tales inside. I'm sure you'll enjoy it.

Ah, yes. The first story. This is a story called

starring Lowtax as the mean old troll!

Once upon a time there were three little goons, who were as goony as could be, neckbeard and all. One day they decided to wander around the majestic land of forums.somethingawful.com

On the way up was a bridge over a cascading stream they had to cross; and under the bridge lived a great ugly troll, with tiny beady eyes, and ears like great big bat wings.

So first of all came the youngest goon to cross the bridge. As he started towards the bridge, a the troll crawled out from underneath the bridge and approached the goon. “Who's that coming to my bridge?” roared the troll .

“Oh, it is only I, the tiniest Goon, and I'm going up to the hillside to make some posts,” said the Goon, with such a tiny voice.

“Well, you'll to pay a fee of ten dollars to do that,” said the troll.

“Eh, that doesn't seem too bad,” said the billy goat. “here's your ten bucks, troll.”

“Well, be off with you,” said the troll, eyes lighting up at the 10 dollar bill, dancing majestically in his claw as the wind picked up. As the littlest Goon was crossing the bridge, he fell through a hole in the bridge and was swept away by the river, never to be seen again.

Angry, the middle Goon game towards the bridge. “Who's that coming to my bridge?” roared the troll. “Oh, it's the second Goon, and I saw what happened to the little Goon. What the fuck, man? He paid 10 bucks and all he got was thrown into the river by your shitty bridge,” said the Goon, who hadn't such a small voice.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, THAT WAS LIKE 20 YEARS AGO,” said the troll. “IT WASN'T EVEN THIS BRIDGE OK”

“What are you talking about troll? Are you trying to lie to me?”

“Jesus fucking christ! Be off with you!” said the troll, and with that, the troll banished the middle Goon from ever entering forums.somethingawful.com

But just then up came the big Goon, glorious facial hair blowing in the wind.

“NOW who's that coming towards my bridge?” roared the troll.

“It's I! The big Goon! Why did you have to ban that other Goon?” asked the Goon, who had an ugly hoarse voice of his own.

“WHY WON'T ANYONE JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU PEOPLE ARE JUST OBSESSED WITH THE INTERNET, STOP ASKING QUESTIONS!” Screamed the troll. And with that, the troll banished the third Goon. The end.

Wasn't that great, kids? Hold up, there are still 2 more stories! Want to hear the second one? Well alright then

This story is called:

Starring Ozma as the hungry HUNGRY wolf!

Once upon a time, a wee little goon was bringing a basket of goodies over to his grandmother, who was very ill. He had to pass through the dark forest to get there, but it was no matter. The little goon knew he was safe, for he was a goon! On the way, he saw a wolf approach him. The wolf said

“My my, what a large basket of goodies. Have you got any cadbury eggs in there? Or maybe a few bottles of mountain dew? I'm ever so hungry!” Said the wolf, licking her lips.

Scared, the goon stammered out “G.. get away from me… you fat ugly beast!”

The wolf looked very surprised, but then very angry. Suddenly, the wolf lunged at the goon and banned him from the forums, and ate all of his goodies because the wolf is a fucking fat ass. With the goon's last breath, he uttered “unban keep it real”. THE END.

That was great, kids, wasn't it? Now for the very last story. This one is called:

starring Radium as the Coder

Once upon a time there was man named Richard who wanted a website and forum, so he needed a coder. He travelled all over the world to find one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted.

One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. Suddenly a knocking was heard at Richard's door, and he went to open it.

It was a coder standing out there in front lawn. But, good gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made him look. It was hard to tell if the coder was any good or not.

“Well, we'll soon find that out,” thought Richard. But he said nothing, went into the basement, and made the coder build the website right then and there. The coder coded all night. In the morning he was asked how the site was coming along.

“Oh, very badly!” said he. “I think somebody accidently pressed the 'manage DNS' button on the webhost's page because I was just about done and then everything just basically shit on itself.

Richard didn't really care and hired the coder anyway, whose name was Radium. THE END.