The board has been very small recently. My nice threads die fast.
splatters
are those breast implants?that's my guess
>>13150205bump
I hate this 14 hour or 4 hour board thing we have had going on it is annoying having it this unpredictable I funpost on a schedule, you see?
Your threads die fast because they're shit threads, Josh. :^)Your fortune: Excellent Luck
>>13150419JOSH check your #privilege that was far ruder than usual lole
>>13150401>>13150419you seem very upset by me merely commenting on recent changeis this because you don't like accepting there is change, or you hate the idea of someone having more belonging to this board that yourself?
>>13150419What is wrong with you Little Mike?Did the insult got into you that you go insult others?Can you not be rude?>>13150205Its because of that spammer.He doesn't respect the 5 limit thread!Your fortune: Average Luck
>>13150205nice sluges
>>13150430Oh I am >>13150401 I was aggreeing, I was commenting on my own opinion on the state of the board...Sorry for le misundertandeing
>>13150421he's been a total asshole lately>>13150401i think if we blow up america this will go away. trump, fire the trump missilesYour fortune: Reply hazy, try again
>>13150205is this the blue thing they've been warning me about?Your fortune: You will meet a dark handsome stranger
>>13150430Change can only happen if large enough people want it. Nobody wants one certain posters changes and nobody asked for them, so yes, people are upset, sometimes even attack the wrong person or each other. Whats happening here is like someone going into a church with a different religion and this single person tries to convert everyone else, then keep sh*tting on the floor when they don't want that. People will leave and just go to a different church, then go back when the sh*tting stops, leave again when it starts again. People who don't see who just sh*t on the floor accuse others of doing it, then infighting happens, and even more sh*t hits the fan. Esfores is truly in a sh*tty position right now.Your fortune: Average Luck
>>13150205blame spammers
>>13150999TRIPS but I was not attackig! I am being framed....
>>13150205you is moron
>>13150999lol
tis just like flushing a toilet, anyway¯\_ (ツ)_/¯
>>13151028you think you can get away with saying that without me recognising you?
>>13151028 >>13151083U~la~la~Your fortune: Better not tell you now
>>13151083you have no idea who I am; I am anonymous
>>13151138you are much more than that to me
>>13150996no but closeYour fortune: Godly Luck
>>13151028rude
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a colored poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a meter wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black mustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine, and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed) but there was no way of shutting it off completely. He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagerness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the Party.Your fortune: （ ´_ゝ`）ﾌｰﾝ
tA heavy black volume, amateurishly bound, with no name or title on the cover. The print also looked slightly irregular. The pages were worn at the edges, and fell apart easily, as though the book had passed through many hands. The inscription on the title page ran:THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF OLIGARCHICAL COLLECTIVISM by EMMANUEL GOLDSTEIN[Winston began reading.]Chapter 1.IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.Throughout recorded time, and probably since the end of the Neolithic Age, there have been three kinds of people in the world, the High, the Middle, and the Low. They have been subdivided in many ways, they have borne countless different names, and their relative numbers, as well as their attitude toward one another, have varied from age to age; but the essential structure of society has never altered. Even after enormous upheavals and seemingly irrevocable changes, the same pattern has always reasserted itself, just as a gyroscope will always return to equilibrium, however far it is pushed one way or the other.The aims of these three groups are entirely irreconcilable....Winston stopped reading, chiefly in order to appreciate the fact that he was reading, in comfort and safety. He was alone: no telescreen, no ear at the keyhole, no nervous impulse to glance over his shoulder or cover the page with his hand. The sweet summer air played against his cheek. From somewhere far away there floated the faint shouts of children; in the room itself there was no sound except the insect voice of the clock. He settled deeper into the armchair and put his feet up on the fender. It was bliss, it was eternity. Suddenly, as one sometimes does with a book of which one knows that one will ultimately read and reread every word, he opened it at a different place and found himself at the third chapter. He went on reading:Chapter 3.WAR IS PEACE.Your fortune: Godly Luck
The frightening thing, he reflected for the ten thousandth time as he forced his shoulders painfully backward (with hands on hips, they were gyrating their bodies from the waist, an exercise that was supposed to be good for the back muscles}the frightening thing was that it might all be true. If the Party could thrust its hand into the past and say of this or that event, it never happened-that, surely, was more terrifying than mere torture and death.The Party said that Oceania had never been in alliance with Eurasia. He, Winston Smith, knew that Oceania had been in alliance with Eurasia as short a time as four years ago. But where did that knowledge exist? Only in his own consciousness, which in any case must soon be annihilated. And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed-if all records told the same tale-then the lie passed into history and became truth. "Who controls the past,"' ran the Party slogan, "controls the future: who controls the present controls the past." And yet the past, though of its nature alterable, never had been altered. Whatever was true now was true from everlasting to everlasting. It was quite simple. All that was needed was an unending series of victories over your own memory. "Reality control," they called it; in Newspeak, "doublethink."Your fortune: Bad Luck
Winston hardly knew Tillotson, and had no idea what work he was employed on. People in the Records Department did not readily talk about their jobs. In the long, windowless hall, with its double row of cubicles and its endless rustle of papers and hum of voices murmuring into speakwrites, there were quite a dozen people whom Winston did not even know by name, though he daily saw them hurrying to and fro in the corridors or gesticulating in the Two Minutes Hate. He knew that in the cubicle next to him the little woman with sandy hair toiled day in, day out, simply at tracking down and deleting from the press the names of people who had been vaporized and were therefore considered never to have existed.Your fortune: Average Luck
>>13152573you a b*tch too
>>13152610I'll never forget this day when you came to my thread and stayed like a true friend
>>13150205false youre thread is ~ >>2 days oldYour fortune: Outlook good
>>13153792Your fortune: Good news will come to you by mail
