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Your release had increased so much that they could no longer contain you. Your cum has consumed the entirety of the cosmos. Humanity is without a shred of doubt, gone. You are alone in the universe. If there were aliens, they are dead now. It’s over. In despair, you mourn the death of the scientists, of humanity, of everyone. You realize you'll never hear her sweet and calming voice, see her proud body. Your sad. Your terrified. Chronicles pass. The last stars in the universe eclipse. You silently watch as the last atoms break into protons, into quarks, into mere beams of weak energy that disperse along the vertical ropes. But the ropes no longer play their docile music. They have gonne silent. You watch, helplessly, as the Last mozon is engulfed into the ever expanding plane of Cum. Your own creation destroys the very own universe, defying the own plan of existence. You are alone. You scream, but nothing comes out of your mouth. You cry, but nothing descends from your eyes. Do you even have eyes? All you can see is the torrid Instotucional white across the whole of the Universe. Entire Gans eclipse before your eyes, but then you realize the horror: The Cum turned against you. With nothing more to consume, your sons turned against their father, and begin to consume you. You tremble. There's nothing to do. The huge weight impacts you like if whole planets fell onto your shoulders. Your alone. In your last moments, a odd sentiment of peace invades you for the first time since the early days of the universe. It's finally gonna end. You think about all the people that you've met during your stay in this universe. In the end, you think about the researcher. About her arms. Her breasts. You feel... good. For the first time in many hipereons. You jack off it. It's so.... good, you come at the right time, freeing the constrained cum from your menber. You open your eyes, and behold the bathroom door. You are Ok. You remember everything. It's all over. You exit the bathroom after jacking off again, going back to your old life. The cum stops.

It's not that the game is addicting, it's just that there are no decent alternatives. War Thunder is basically the intellectual version of the FPS games that all the stupid children and mongoloid brains play. Instead of just being based purely on twitch "skills" which require as much intellectual ability as closing popup spam windows, in War Thunder you have to use at least some tactics and strategy. FPS games are like playing Pong on high speed. War Thunder is like playing chess. The art of gaming is simply dead for big brains. 20 years ago there were tons of games that required brainpower because PC gaming back then was by nerds and for nerds, but then the corporate suits took over and were like "broaden the appeal to we can make more sales" so everything got dumbed down to the lowest common denominator. My GF asked me if I was "having fun" playing War Thunder, and I looked at her like she was a fucking retard to even consider that sentence a valid question. I don't have FUN playing War Thunder. This game routinely pisses me off and makes me rage. However, when I stomp the entire enemy team and crush them so utterly I can hear the lamentations of their mothers, I feel satisfaction. I spent weeks grinding for Operation Winter. The vikings had a word for this. They called it Valhalla. Endless war. Endless combat. Knowing only victory and death. Bathing in the blood of your enemies. You get 15 kills and bask in glory and rewards, and think: what should I do now? Should I get in my Honda Fit and tour the local strip mall for my Triumph? Should I microwave some tendies and throw myself a great Feast? But there is only one option. There is only ever one option. To Battle! Various cultures have alternatively described the gameplay loop of War Thunder as their vision of Heaven or Hell. It is both.

So me (69m) and my friend (69m) were at waffle house (7300 Innerplan Dr, North Little Rock, Arkansas 72113-7645, US) and were discussing funerals (6-9k). I mentioned that since I will be attending his funeral (approx. 2032) that it would be impudent for him not to turn up to mine (approx. 2036). Long story short, this lead for him to swing a naughty haymaker (right) directly aiming for my jaw when I rapidly dodged and gave the cheeky cunt a swift uppercut (broken nose). He is now hospitalized (critical condition) and I am now currently evading law enforcement (on foot). My family (69f wife, 54m son, 69f wife) have been trying to contact me but I keep telling them if I ever see that punk again, I will give him a little combo (right hook, left hook, headbutt then roundhouse kick). If he is still moving I will stomp on his head until he is a little red smear on the bottom of my boot (black timberlands). I know I’m right but I feel as if I may have overreacted a tiny bit (not too much) AITA?

NA, AKA. "No Americans" is a Riot Games' Minor League that is often associated with very low domestic player participation (2/5). Is also ridiculed for being washed-up and it is specifically known for its obnoxious fanbase and mind-numbing throws.