#1 Horsle World Champion
@symBrosium
A purveyor of only the finest equine photography. Requests are open.
After a hard day at work cyberstalking the profiles of my other selves, courtesy of my own self-sabotaging curiosity and deeply entrenched ennui, I've come to a decision. Our reputation is in the fucking bottom of the ocean, sat primly next to all the hellbeasts of the deep sea and wherever the shit Oda hid the One Piece at. So, it's time to work on that. Not for any of their sakes, obviously, but purely for my own conscious. Yeah, I have one of those. Try not to act too surprised. My bleeding heart can't take much more of it. Anyway, my first stop is apologizing to women. All women. Even you, the plausible woman reading this. Atonement for all the lesbian life hacks and that one Dirk who thought listening to music while feeling sorry for himself gave him an intrinsic understanding of women. Still kinda baffled at that one, honestly. Now here you go. An apology, a once in a life time spectacle, because any real Dirk would shit himself raw before ever asking for forgiveness. I'm sorry, women. And here; take this token of goodwill. My treat.
Jesus Christ. Who left the garden unattended while I was gone? No AFW on Earth could stock enough armchairs to seat all these Lalondes.
For perhaps the first actual time this entire goddamn year, Helios has finally decided to turn his fiery gaze away from the sweating, sweltering masses down below and allowed them a moment of sweet, delectable relief. Now, the cold (85°F) has finally come to greet this modest city with a moderately still-too-fucking-warm welcome. Truly, I'm grateful. No, really, I am. There's only so many times you can sneakily unstick your balls from your leg before you run out of inconspicuous methods to do so, and I'm not about to spend my energy flashstepping while I'm stuck cozying up in Satan's asshole.
BX33 < real as shit im so sick of it being asscrack of the sun hot at all hours
If I ever add a TL;DR to the end (or alternatively, beginning) of any of my chitts, assume that a long life of strifes to near-death has finally resulted in critical, life-altering damage to my 'pan. Either that, or a skinwalker's taking a joy ride in my hollowed out corpse. You'll read every last bit of drawling text or you'll skip it entirely. I don't accept any half-measures.
While I don't have a strong bias towards any one particular horse breed, the humble Clydesdale is one that I hold a great deal of respect for, and that's not just because it looks like it could pummel me into a long pig patty if it really wanted to. No, you see, the Clydesdale does not concern itself with such base acts of violence. Also, if I really did something to deserve getting my shit kicked in, I don't think it'd bother with more than just a hefty kick to the cranium before dismissing me entirely. That doesn't sound nearly as imposing, though. Anyway. In terms of stoicism, its temperament is bested by few, if any. That's not to say it acts entirely aloof. Rather, it simply trots along the steady course of life with nary a whinny snorted in complaint. They're even said to be downright friendly, and I suppose that kind of nonchalance lends credence to a more easy-going personality, but if I was forced to bust my ass day in day out hauling carriages and tilling fields and whatnot for the rest of my equine life, I'd be more than a little pissed about it. But I'm not a horse, as unfortunate as that fact is, so what do I know. As Socrates, the great philosophical guru himself once said, the only thing that I know is that I know nothing. Of the inner-workings of a horse's mind beyond our own hubristic speculation, I do, in fact, know jack shit. But in spite of the above quote typed out not even two sentences prior, what I can confidently say that I know is that they're some handsome motherfuckers. They're not as striking as the Irish Cob or the Friesian, sure, except that comparing them to the 10/10s of the horse world is a little unfair, don't you think? They're like, a solid eight. That's not bad. Not all of us can be a Johnathan Bailey equivalent, alright? Cut 'em some slack. In lieu of that, they're basically the Platonic ideal of a draft horse. The poster child for them, I'd say. If you try to picture one and your first thought isn't one of these bad boys, I'm calling you out on your bullshit immediately. Unless it's a Shire or something, in which case, fair. But only if you're European. Or a troll, even though that should be self-evident. The Budweiser Clydesdales didn't star in all those advertising campaigns just for their kin to go unrecognized by the disgraces of this world who would call themselves self-respecting American citizens. Now put your respect on this horse, 'cause it damn well deserves it. And on that note, I'm ending this chitt here. It doesn't need to get any longer, and I'm more than certain that none of you actually managed to read this far in the first place.
8=l < There aren't enough like buttons for this
Finally some good fucking equine appreciation up in here. Even if you cannot let yourself grasp to understand them, you sure as hell can talk the talk and walk the trot. Or whatever would be the most clever thing to say here for commentary's sake, coming from one of the bastards out there to be ever so graced with as close to the idea of being one of these beaus in real time. An honorable choice to put respect on, considering these juggernauts of pure horsepower got themselves so highly recognized to have steel monuments made after the breed in Scotland. Technically it's more or less based off of the myth of Kelpies, as that is also what the statues are called, but still. Pretty damn respectable.
I was going to say something suitably witty, as is our default response to just about anything ever, but then I reread your first paragraph. What the fuck do you mean you're "close to the idea of being one of those beaus"? Don't answer that. Rhetorical goddamn question. I can't believe the universe plays favorites.
Yeah. You read those words exactly right. Not every day do you see somebody of this caliber get hit with a deus ex machina so hard it literally is a gift from god. A word of advice: Talk to some friendly wizards or witches who will do anything for "the bit." And you just might end up lucky yourself.
Oh, fuck off. There's no way that's how you actually got the life of our dreams. I reject that reality entirely.
And sometimes it's a motherfucking Christmas miracle. Alas, I suppose that can only happen to very few of us at a time.
You know, I was going to spew my regular barrage of word vomit all over the dash, but I think I picked a notably shit time to do so. Sorry to cancel, folks. I know you're just as devastated as I am. I'll be sure to get back to my regularly scheduled program soon enough though.
you know some of you guys cant balance on a skateboard and it shows. you either go your entire life without touching a skateboard once or you have the humbling experience of busting your ass until you figure out how to get around on it and it changes you. i mean a lot of shit will change you thats kind of just how it works im just talking about the micro-instance of your ability to balance on a four wheeled plank of wood.
You know, an earlier chitt I saw brought a long-standing grievance of mine back to mind. Every other unlucky bastard to enter the game and leave it in a fresh new pair of Halloween sleepover jammies at least got something useful out of it. Maybe not much pragmatically in Egbert's case, but the ability to tell a hurricane to fuck off with a stern enough tone still ranks pretty high in my books. Hell, it's why Beryl didn't send my ass packing out of Houston back when it made landfall. That's not even getting into people like Jane, whose homegrown garden can birth enough produce to put every Amish farmer's life's work to shame with just a flick of her finger. And oh yeah, how could I forget her power to heal anything from a scraped knee to a mild case of decapitation? Silly me. Not quite as useful as cheaping out on outrageous grocery prices, mind you, but it's still probably worth a mention. Thanks to that, I can even order an extra avocado toast to go nicely with my pumpkin chai lattes. Shoutouts to her. And to Rose, who got us all banned from damn near every casino in the States. Turns out, the dealers don't get very chummy with you when you use clairvoyance to cheat. Unfortunate. Not like she didn't already predict that outcome, though. Need I even get into the others? Rhetorical question. Of course I do. I do so love the look of my own orange text. There's Roxy, who can pull, almost quite literally, everything she can imagine hard enough out from her ass. Jade, who could have every tech or manufacturing megacorporation clamoring to beg on their hands and knees for her ability to downscale or upscale their technology. Jake. And Dave, of course, who could live out every Doctor Who fan's wet dreams if he really wanted to. And having another you grab the TV remote from across the room when he's feeling a little more up to the task sounds pretty useful too. You see where I'm going with this, right? And you might ask: "Dirk, my good man, you've been waffling on about jack shit for the past four paragraphs, could you maybe get to the point a little faster?" to which I'll respond, hold the fuck on, man, I'm getting there. Alternatively, you might wonder: "Huh, if your good friends can do all of that awesome stuff, what about you, dude?" I can blow out my phone's battery moderately faster, I guess. Or explode it, if I'm bored enough. Maybe I can even fuck up the Houston power grid a little more if I'm feeling particularly vindictive against CenterPoint that day. That's basically all the use cases I get in my day-to-day life. Really won the deific lottery here when it comes to my god powers. Yeah, blowing up my own creations is cool and all, but it gets boring pretty fucking fast. It's only actually useful for killing shit, and -- if any of you happen to be unaware -- is by and large illegal where I'm from, and I'm not in the business of killing random, defenseless animals for funsies. There's no honor in that. So, I'm basically just stuck being a portable charger for the rest of my immortal life until humanity rebels one day and turns me into a battery or something. Thank you, Sburb. Very cool.
I'm reałły great at typing øut a respønse tø a pøst ør even my øwn pøst and then deciding ønce it's døne that actuałły I dø nøt give a fuck and dełeting it. I suggest everyøne get in øn this, tøø.
Watching a version of myself lose an argument to a statue, after going for the dick pic gambit no less, has to rank real fucking high in most embarrassing moments of all time. Send this one to WatchMojo and they might just get a Guinness award for it.
in his defense it is a very nice picture.
You and me, though? We cool. There's a sick kind of masochistic schadenfreude in watching your own self get his ego kicked down a few hundred notches in a public humiliation ritual. It's worth the abject second-hand embarrassment.
i'm afraid i don't understand the question.
i'm not betting on shit. i just acknowledge an attractive person as being, in fact, attractive.
Alright then. I ain't here to yuck anyone's yum, despite the earlier implications of exactly that. You do you.
Wait
Fuck off man it was my pride.
After a hard day at work cyberstalking the profiles of my other selves, courtesy of my own self-sabotaging curiosity and deeply entrenched ennui, I've come to a decision. Our reputation is in the fucking bottom of the ocean, sat primly next to all the hellbeasts of the deep sea and wherever the shit Oda hid the One Piece at. So, it's time to work on that. Not for any of their sakes, obviously, but purely for my own conscious. Yeah, I have one of those. Try not to act too surprised. My bleeding heart can't take much more of it. Anyway, my first stop is apologizing to women. All women. Even you, the plausible woman reading this. Atonement for all the lesbian life hacks and that one Dirk who thought listening to music while feeling sorry for himself gave him an intrinsic understanding of women. Still kinda baffled at that one, honestly. Now here you go. An apology, a once in a life time spectacle, because any real Dirk would shit himself raw before ever asking for forgiveness. I'm sorry, women. And here; take this token of goodwill. My treat.
fahahahaha holy fuck.
imagine this hate+mediate reaction combo as a reddit downvote. whatever you're doing that caused you to post this unironically, do something else.
Ouch. My ephemeral internet points, slipping from my grasp like desert sand. Hefty blow to my pride, that one. Your critique has been taken into account, however. Worry not, the next session of Dirk PR speeches will be given with due care, and of course, with my Reddit karma on the line.
Confrontation is a social artform lost to time in the modern world. You can't have a little disagreement without getting a gun pulled on you or becoming the nebulous subject of a vaguepost. Admittedly, the former may just be an innate Texan feature. But my point still stands.
Which is to say, learn how to tell people off for being pricks. It's quite simple.
Don't let life be the one to dick you down. You gotta remember how to put yourself back on top. - Sun Tzu, or something.
Does every Joe Schmoe on this site have the immediate compulsion to sign up with their full legal name on display? Thiel would cream a hole through his jeans if he saw how many motherfuckers doxx themselves on the regular here. And, look, before any smart ass points out the elephant in lingerie here, I know my own anonymity Chittr-side is a thin facade held only marginally together by the ignorant few who have yet to encounter my glowing personality(s) -- or don't give enough of a shit to -- and my kickass profile. That's not my fault. Blame the other orange douchebags.
Holy shit.
Never should've mentioned the orange douchebags. I should've known my karma's deep enough in the gutter to summon one here. What's up with the reverence, man? Actually, I shouldn't even ask. It's definitely about Kamina. Me too, dude. You ever just stare into that sword-edge jawline and get lost in its perfectly angular curves? Don't answer. I know you have. We all have.