[i] [/i]

[b][i][u]BUT WHAT DID HE DO WITH THE PINK PING PONG BALLS???[/u][/i][/b]

Anyone remember this? My point is how they think there sick god and yes i have read the bible and 99% of you have not you cherry pick because your liars and delusional and get all offensive when you post garbage and then we respond . funny how you have churches all over and fill TV and radio but as soon as anything science comes along you go deaf to it because your brainwashed ways tell you to believe in saruon O SORRY I MEANT GOD . its disgusting promoting your god here go prey if you want but dont need to make a post of you preying and for who . please get rid of that subject on these boards it has nothing to do with gaming or anything but a mental illness bunch of people who are same as heroin addicts that are delusional god junkies instead . we are sick of being blasted with it at every turn then they act like they are the ones offended when they never shut up and try to pass laws and ban games and worse try to make our children stupid by wanting science class to say earth is 5000 years old. best way to make a Atheist is get a religious person to read the bible its book of pure hate and only the fake religious here that have never read it act like its a good book, but hey maybe you want to be a slave to a god that supports slavery, incest murder of children and -blam!- of virgins and yes you its all in bible i have read it i was a believer for 25 plus years until i finally picked up that science fiction novel and then saw how brainwashed i was and how i did not know what i believed in that lie Jesus is good when he made hell a disgusting thought and its jesus that says the worst thing ever HAVE NO THOUGHT FOR THE MORROW and then tells you to turn against your family if they wont believe as you do in him . this post is response to all the stupid i am preying for you posts go prey stop insulting us educated.

[i][/i]

Edit: Nix beat me to this copypasta No, I do not watch Rick and Morty. All over the internet, I notice you churlish cretins lauding the supposedly intellectual television program known as Rick and Morty to make yourselves appear more intelligent by extension, as you are ardent watchers of the aforementioned show. However, you piddling planarians only succeed in illustrating how vapid you really are, as Rick and Morty has the intellectual depth of a petri dish. Truly, the most noetic show is neither Rick and Morty, the Big Bang Theory, Jimmy Neutron, nor any other deluge of drivel you deludable dimwits bombard your brains with. Rather, it is Johnny Test, a pinnacle of animation, sound design, acting, and plot. Despite this, most of you sniveling sub-10000s (someone with an IQ under 10000: for the record, my IQ is several orders of magnitude higher than this; my reason for my usage of this term is simply because I am partial to the number 10000) will dismiss Johnny Test as another subpar piece of rubbish from Teletoon, but you all fail to realize how much genius goes into producing that show. I have watched Johnny Test since I was a juvenile, and already I bear an IQ so toweringly high no known test can measure it (that is to say, no known test for humans can measure it: when using the scale with which computer processing power is evaluated, I clock in at over 8.3 trecentillion yottaflops). I have memorized every facet of human knowledge and only used 32.8% of my potential intelligence (my remaining neurons I allocate towards personal use, research, and wealthy companies for use as server farms and bitcoin mines). Not only that, but I have transformed all of the atoms in my being into a quantum computer to serve as an extension to my enormous encephalon, which handles the menial tasks and other trivialities associated with existence (such as respiration, ingestion, digestion, socializing, et cetera). Capable of perorating proficiently in every method of communication in the world, I have developed my own language that employs a manifold of grammar rules, and I created it all while thrashing a coalition of humanity’s smartest supercomputers in a game of Tic-Tac-Toe (for those who say that Tic-Tac-Toe is “easy,” think about the all the times you’ve played Tic-Tac-Toe: a majority were ties, no? Think about that, and also about the fact that a single, solitary supercomputer, much less over a dozen, is smarter than millions of you combined). And no, you cannot see me type this language because it is purely telepathic. At this point, I can imagine several of you already typing frantically in a fervent effort to keep your egos afloat in the face of such psychological grandeur. That’s right, the collective intelligence of all of you, if we’re using luminosity as an analogy, is akin to a diminutive candle in comparison to the massive quasar that represents my mind. Confronted with this, most of you will attempt to deride me with paltry, nonsensical invective and vitriolic vituperations to protect what minuscule amount of self-esteem you possess. These predictions are not the result of mere intuition, of course. In actuality, I have run several simulations using my brain alone on the possible consequences of my publication of this digital manuscription. My reply to all of you digital detractors is that if you so desire to demonstrate that you are brainier than I, then arrange for an intellectual debate between you and me on a topic of your choosing, any time or place. My schedule is very pliable as I’ve already won over 4 dozen nobel prizes, so I’m perfectly willing to put a temporary halt to my research, if you could even call it that (I speculate without demur that none of your debate skills will be enough of a problem for me to the point where I will be forced to snap out out of my subconscious simulations to employ the use of those neurons). Besides, I don’t want to be a glory hog and leave none of the secrets of the universe left for unlocking. You know, let the dogs have their day and all of that. I already know that none of you simpletons with your senescent synapses will be able to match up to my vast vernacular and verbiage, my mental dexterity with declension, and my phrenic puissance with my phraseology and pronunciation. In a matter of seconds (or possibly longer, if I’ve overestimated your already positively benthic IQs when running my simulations), you’ll fly into cantankerous conniptions after my consummate trouncing and repudiation of every single one of the “facts” that you hold so dear as proof of your purported intellect. And in response to those who claim, overcome with envy and spite, that as intelligent as I am, I will never sleep with anyone: I don’t need to. I am quite capable of simulating, to the meagerest tactile sensation, every position in the Kama Sutra (as well as a few I myself have devised for maximum oxytocin and endorphin release) simultaneously in a few seconds, and the only reason it takes even that long is because I am prolonging the simulation in order to enjoy the experience: I could do it in hundredths of a millisecond if I so wish. However, for someone with such acute acumen as I, life is far too easy. When pure ennui drives you to calculate the movements of the 27 subatomic particles you’ve discovered and how they interact with one another in the 2,038th dimension using a base 3.2407 quadrillion number system, you realize that the universe and its infinite copies and offshoots offer nothing more to you. Except, that is, for Johnny Test. Even for an individual with such altitudinous IQ such as myself, it’s difficult to understand every single subtle joke and reference. That’s not to say I don’t understand any of the plenitude of allusions, in fact, I am able to comprehend virtually every single one. For example, one minutia most of you would fail to notice is when Susan’s chin moves two extra pixels further than in any of the previous episodes when she talks during the seventeenth second of the fifth minute of season 3 episode 10. Hardly any of you would conceive of the fact that this is a reference to the exact number, down to 84 significant figures, of the percent change in total nitrogen in the Earth’s atmosphere due to the eructation of a small cynodont 257 million years ago. There are more examples I could give, such as the color of the walls of the sisters’ lab being a slightly different hue from the norm in season 4 episode 19 (a reference to the presence of approximately 2.9 millimoles of ammonium diuranate in the ink of a Chinese manuscript dated 1256 BCE), but that would detract from the intended purpose of this writing. Johnny Test is a work of art, a perfect concoction of knowledge from a multitude of academic fields that combine to make a program that is the only form of media I have ever encountered that has been even somewhat laborious for me to fathom, and I’m talking about someone who altered the biochemistry and chirality of their body in order to make it more efficient than the prodigality that is the human body. My temples ache with the pain of having to pump copious amounts of Testium (an element I discovered that takes the role of oxygen in my unique biochemistry, named after my favorite show of course) to my brain in order to comprehend what I have just watched. And to everybody who claims that the reason my temples are sore or why I have “delusions of grandeur” are due to my being “high” or whichever way you aim to construe my exegesis of an episode, you will hear vocalizations of a gelatological nature emanating from my larynx whilst Xyzyzyx the paisley pangolin (a treasured acquaintance of mine) and I reflect on your foolishness later that day. I await the furious fussilade of odious obluquies and belittling bombast in the comments below. “Too long; Did not read”: Did you really think I would include one of these silly little things at the bottom of my witty wordsmithery? It's not my fault if you can't handle my de trop of definitions or my lexical linguipotence! Get back up there and read it, even if you have to go through it with dictionary in hand.

All over the internet, I notice you churlish cretins lauding the supposedly intellectual television program known as Rick and Morty to make yourselves appear more intelligent by extension, as you are ardent watchers of the aforementioned show. However, you piddling planarians only succeed in illustrating how vapid you really are, as Rick and Morty has the intellectual depth of a petri dish. Truly, the most noetic show is neither Rick and Morty, the Big Bang Theory, Jimmy Neutron, nor any other deluge of drivel you deludable dimwits bombard your brains with. Rather, it is Johnny Test, a pinnacle of animation, sound design, acting, and plot. Despite this, most of you sniveling sub-10000s (someone with an IQ under 10000: for the record, my IQ is several orders of magnitude higher than this; my reason for my usage of this term is simply because I am partial to the number 10000) will dismiss Johnny Test as another subpar piece of rubbish from Teletoon, but you all fail to realize how much genius goes into producing that show. I have watched Johnny Test since I was a juvenile, and already I bear an IQ so toweringly high no known test can measure it (that is to say, no known test for humans can measure it: when using the scale with which computer processing power is evaluated, I clock in at over 8.3 trecentillion yottaflops). I have memorized every facet of human knowledge and only used 32.8% of my potential intelligence (my remaining neurons I allocate towards personal use, research, and wealthy companies for use as server farms and bitcoin mines). Not only that, but I have transformed all of the atoms in my being into a quantum computer to serve as an extension to my enormous encephalon, which handles the menial tasks and other trivialities associated with existence (such as respiration, ingestion, digestion, socializing, et cetera). Capable of perorating proficiently in every method of communication in the world, I have developed my own language that employs a manifold of grammar rules, and I created it all while thrashing a coalition of humanity’s smartest supercomputers in a game of Tic-Tac-Toe (for those who say that Tic-Tac-Toe is “easy,” think about the all the times you’ve played Tic-Tac-Toe: a majority were ties, no? Think about that, and also about the fact that a single, solitary supercomputer, much less over a dozen, is smarter than millions of you combined). And no, you cannot see me type this language because it is purely telepathic. At this point, I can imagine several of you already typing frantically in a fervent effort to keep your egos afloat in the face of such psychological grandeur. That’s right, the collective intelligence of all of you, if we’re using luminosity as an analogy, is akin to a diminutive candle in comparison to the massive quasar that represents my mind. Confronted with this, most of you will attempt to deride me with paltry, nonsensical invective and vitriolic vituperations to protect what minuscule amount of self-esteem you possess. These predictions are not the result of mere intuition, of course. In actuality, I have run several simulations using my brain alone on the possible consequences of my publication of this digital manuscription. My reply to all of you digital detractors is that if you so desire to demonstrate that you are brainier than I, then arrange for an intellectual debate between you and me on a topic of your choosing, any time or place. My schedule is very pliable as I’ve already won over 4 dozen nobel prizes, so I’m perfectly willing to put a temporary halt to my research, if you could even call it that (I speculate without demur that none of your debate skills will be enough of a problem for me to the point where I will be forced to snap out out of my subconscious simulations to employ the use of those neurons). Besides, I don’t want to be a glory hog and leave none of the secrets of the universe left for unlocking. You know, let the dogs have their day and all of that. I already know that none of you simpletons with your senescent synapses will be able to match up to my vast vernacular and verbiage, my mental dexterity with declension, and my phrenic puissance with my phraseology and pronunciation. In a matter of seconds (or possibly longer, if I’ve overestimated your already positively benthic IQs when running my simulations), you’ll fly into cantankerous conniptions after my consummate trouncing and repudiation of every single one of the “facts” that you hold so dear as proof of your purported intellect. And in response to those who claim, overcome with envy and spite, that as intelligent as I am, I will never sleep with anyone: I don’t need to. I am quite capable of simulating, to the meagerest tactile sensation, every position in the Kama Sutra (as well as a few I myself have devised for maximum oxytocin and endorphin release) simultaneously in a few seconds, and the only reason it takes even that long is because I am prolonging the simulation in order to enjoy the experience: I could do it in hundredths of a millisecond if I so wish. However, for someone with such acute acumen as I, life is far too easy. When pure ennui drives you to calculate the movements of the 27 subatomic particles you’ve discovered and how they interact with one another in the 2,038th dimension using a base 3.2407 quadrillion number system, you realize that the universe and its infinite copies and offshoots offer nothing more to you. Except, that is, for Johnny Test. Even for an individual with such altitudinous IQ such as myself, it’s difficult to understand every single subtle joke and reference. That’s not to say I don’t understand any of the plenitude of allusions, in fact, I am able to comprehend virtually every single one. For example, one minutia most of you would fail to notice is when Susan’s chin moves two extra pixels further than in any of the previous episodes when she talks during the seventeenth second of the fifth minute of season 3 episode 10. Hardly any of you would conceive of the fact that this is a reference to the exact number, down to 84 significant figures, of the percent change in total nitrogen in the Earth’s atmosphere due to the eructation of a small cynodont 257 million years ago. There are more examples I could give, such as the color of the walls of the sisters’ lab being a slightly different hue from the norm in season 4 episode 19 (a reference to the presence of approximately 2.9 millimoles of ammonium diuranate in the ink of a Chinese manuscript dated 1256 BCE), but that would detract from the intended purpose of this writing. Johnny Test is a work of art, a perfect concoction of knowledge from a multitude of academic fields that combine to make a program that is the only form of media I have ever encountered that has been even somewhat laborious for me to fathom, and I’m talking about someone who altered the biochemistry and chirality of their body in order to make it more efficient than the prodigality that is the human body. My temples ache with the pain of having to pump copious amounts of Testium (an element I discovered that takes the role of oxygen in my unique biochemistry, named after my favorite show of course) to my brain in order to comprehend what I have just watched. And to everybody who claims that the reason my temples are sore or why I have “delusions of grandeur” are due to my being “high” or whichever way you aim to construe my exegesis of an episode, you will hear vocalizations of a gelatological nature emanating from my larynx whilst Xyzyzyx the paisley pangolin (a treasured acquaintance of mine) and I reflect on your foolishness later that day. I await the furious fussilade of odious obluquies and belittling bombast in the comments below. “Too long; Did not read”: Did you really think I would include one of these silly little things at the bottom of my witty wordsmithery? It's not my fault if you can't handle my de trop of definitions or my lexical linguipotence! Get back up there and read it, even if you have to go through it with dictionary in hand.

To be fair, you have to have a very high IQ to understand Logan Paul videos. The humour is extremely subtle, and without a solid grasp of metaphysical philosophy most of the jokes will go over a typical viewers head. There's also Logan's provident thinking, which is to prevent people from committing suicide from fear that they would end up in a Logan Paul vlog. The fans understand this stuff; they have the intellectual capacity to truly appreciate the depths of these jokes, to realise that they're not just funny- they say something deep about LIFE. As a consequence people who dislike Logan Paul truly ARE idiots- of course they wouldn't appreciate, for instance, the humour in Logan's exclamation "I just wanna say suicide is not a joke but is that a dead body I'm not -blam!-ing with ya'll" which itself has many layers of irony over the social expectations and dogmas around suicide. I'm smirking right now just imagining one of those addlepated simpletons scratching their heads in confusion as Logan Paul's genius wit unfolds itself on their computerscreens. What fools.. how I pity them. 😂 And yes, by the way, i DO have a Logan Paul tattoo. And no, you cannot see it. It's for the ladies' eyes only- and even then they have to demonstrate that they're within 5 IQ points of my own (preferably lower) beforehand. Nothin personnel kid 😎

Try telling that to someone. I reckon you waste 5 minutes of their time.

\ (•◡•) /

[quote]A day before his 15th birthday, the son of a wealthy family was asked by his father, "Well my son, what would you like for your birthday?" The son hesitated a moment and his father's thoughts leapt ahead to a new computer and similar things. However, his son had had a new computer only recently and could have a new one any time he wished. Finally, the son said, "Father, I have everything a boy could wish for, but there is one thing I would really like. I would love to have a pink ping pong ball." The father was rather astonished at this wish, but said, "If it is a pink ping pong ball that you want, a pink ping pong ball you shall have." And so, the next day, the son was given as his birthday present a pink ping pong ball. The boy took the ball to his room and the next morning the pink ping pong ball was gone. The father was mildly surprised but decided not to say anything. The pink ping pong ball, however, was never seen again. The next year, a day before his 16th birthday, the father asked his son what he would like for his birthday. "Father," replied the son, "I have everything a boy could possibly wish for, but there is one thing I would really, really like. I would love to have a tenpack of pink ping pong balls." The father was more surprised than the year before, but kept his curiosity at bay, for he knew that his son had a right for privacy. he said therefore, "If it is a tenpack of pink ping pong balls that you want, a tenpack of pink ping pong balls you shall have." And so, the next day, the son was given as his birthday present a tenpack of pink ping pong balls. The boy took the tenpack of balls to his room and the next morning, not a single ball remained, merely the empty husk of the tenpack. The father wondered where ten pink ping pong balls might disappear to, but decided not to say anything. The pink ping pong balls, however, were never seen again. The next year, a day before his 17th birthday, the son was asked by his father what he would like for his birthday. "Father," said the son to this, "I have everything a boy could wish for, but one thing would make my happiness complete. I would dearly want a carton of pink ping pong balls." The father was beyond surprise, but decided to make sure he had not misheard. "A carton of pink ping pong balls?" "A carton of pink ping pong balls," the boy confirmed. "I can't understand your fascination with pink ping pong balls," said the father, "but if it is a carton of pink ping pong balls that you want, it is a carton of pink ping pong balls that you shall have." And so, the next day, the boy was given as his birthday present a carton of pink ping pong balls. The boy was delighted and took the carton to his room. The next day, miraculously (as if by magic, even) the pink ping pong balls had all disappeared. "Dear son," said the father, "I must ask now, what do you do with all those pink ping pong balls?" The son, however, was reluctant to tell him. "Please humor me, dear father." The carton of pink ping pong balls, however, was never seen again. The next year, it was clear that the son would get a car, but the father felt that, perhaps, his son also had some other wish apart from the obvious. So, one day before the son's 18th birthday, the father asked him whether he had a special wish for his birthday. "Dearest father," the son started, "I have everything a young man could possibly want, but there is one craving in me. I would, more than anything, want a warehouse full of pink ping pong balls." One of these years, his father thought, I should get to the bottom of this. However, he decided to humor his son's wish. At least he had been wise enough to buy shares in a pink ping pong ball factory. The next day, the son was given the address of a warehouse where all his new pink ping pong balls were stored. The son was delighted and decided to spend the next night in the warehouse rather than at home. The following morning, the son stepped out of the warehouse, but it seemed to be empty otherwise. The father had a closer look and indeed, apart from empty cardboard boxes, nothing was left inside the warehouse. No pink ping pong balls were left. The following year, one day before the son's 19th birthday, the father braced himself for another warehouse of pink ping pong balls. He asked his son what his deepest desire was and he had not been entirely wrong. "Father, you have made me very happy these last years and this year I ask of you a shipload of pink ping pong balls if at all possible." It was possible, if only because the father had by now bought each and every factory of pink ping pong balls in the country. The next day, the father took his son to the harbor and showed him a huge tanker and told his son that there were millions, billions, trillions of pink ping pong balls in there. "Father," the son said, "You've made me very happy yet again." That night, the son spent on board the tanker. The next morning, not a single of the pink ping pong balls could be found, but the son was happy. A few days before his 20th birthday, however, the son had a terrible road accident and was taken to the hospital. His father visited the young man in hospital. "My dear son! Can I bring you anything to make you feel better?" Weakly, the son sat up in bed. "Father, dearest father, grant me this wish; just one tenpack of pink ping pong balls." The father held his son's hand tightly. "Whatever you wish my son, but I have to give you one condition. Even if it may be embarrassing, I must know what you did with all those pink ping pong balls." "Very well, father, but please indulge me first. I will tell you whatever you wish to know after you have given me the ten pink ping pong balls." The father thought that was fair enough and the next day brought his son the ten asked for pink ping pong balls. The son smiled weakly but seemed too weak to talk. "Son, I leave these pink ping pong balls with you and shall come back tomorrow to ask of you what you have done with all those pink ping pong balls." The son nodded weakly. The next day, less than surprisingly, no pink ping pong balls could be found in the son's hospital room. "Now, my dearest son, apple of my eye, treasure of my life, please tell me what you did with all those pink ping pong balls," the father requested. The son nodded and the father gripped his hand tighter. "I-" the son started and sat up a bit, swallowing with a dry mouth. "I- I-" Then he died.. [/quote] How did I not already have this one?

Man, I love that copy-pasta. It's so long and well-told, and it ends so perfectly.

735382091 Don’t remember what this was for [spoiler]totally not nuke codes[/spoiler]