Playing COD is like playing circlejerk but all the dicks are doritos, and the tv is doritos, and you are a fat lazy shit...
Also you are doritos
look guise, chat.
Search in the chat friends list doesnt work as yet.
All messages are deleted after being read, and sending the sender notification of them being read. Nothing will stay in the db on 1eden after that point, however an option will enable it to stay in localstorage if you want to show chat history.
Ash vs Evil Dead. Sam Raimi's new TV series. Sequel to The Evil Dead, Evil Dead II, and Army of Darkness. With Bruce Campbell and Lucy Lawless... http://www.starz.com/
1.10 eps1.9_zer0-day.avi Epically confusing season's end lel. Fav quote: "Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank, give a man a bank and he can rob the world". Tyrell said that (not this episode).
I still don't have a name for this series.
Kyle moved to the the front door of the store and closed it, locking it once it shut completely. It only opened inwards, so he began to grab shelving and other large objects to stack behind it. It wouldn't keep a determined individual out forever, but if they force their way through Kyle hoped it would make enough noise when the barricade crashed down that he would be alerted in the back of the store.
With the entrance secured, he began inspecting the contents of the store. It was a familiar sight from the countless businesses he had encountered since the world fell. Any unspoiled food and drinks were gone, the remaining products smashed on the floor. Instead of looking for the things typical people searched for right off, he began looking around for unsought but useful objects. Wire, rope, razor knife blades, and matches or lighters were some of the many things he used frequently while surviving and were often times completely overlooked by the untrained and panicked few who remained uninfected.
Finding infected inside a building was always a good sign for Kyle, as that meant that either no one had been in the shop in a while, came in and were forced out by the creatures inside before they could search, or that they came in and were infected, turning inside the store. If the latter were the case, their supplies were still within the building's walls. Kyle walked the aisles, searching for the items on his mental list, but also searching for any bags or packs a survivor would have left behind. The main shopping area of the store held little of note besides a roll of electrical tape on the floor beneath a standing shelf and a few bandannas that had been for sale, which he would use to replenish his dwindling charcloth supply.
After sweeping through the front of the store, he cleared the counter once again to move into the back. Before he passed through the doorway his previous hunters had forced their way though, he delivered head stomps to each one to ensure they were down for good. He lifted his boot on the infected that had flung himself over the first two and crashed down upon its skull, hearing the sickening crunch of bone and saw brain and other gore forced from the cracks it created. It was a nasty business, but one of necessity. Nothing ruined a man's day faster than having one of the creatures lean up with the last it had and bite his ankle as he walked by before expiring.
Once the creatures had their "death check", he moved through the door, using a "short stock" pie technique, with his buttstock resting on his back arm, enabling him to pie the doorway without getting his M16 caught in the door frame. Seeing nothing, he moved forward low and quiet. There were two doors on the left side of the hall, and one at the end. His rifle light catching the signs on the two left doors, he saw they were restrooms. He slowly pushed the doors open one by one, seeing nothing in the small rooms that was dangerous or useful. The last room must have been the former owner's office. Many of these older service stations had an office and room where receipts and other records were stored.
He came to the door and slowly pushed it open, taking a step back in case there was a surprise ready to jump out. Nothing happened. He stepped in and scanned the room, right to left, and saw no human forms. He quickly moved in and began a hasty search. He would be losing daylight soon and would rather make camp high in a tree where the infected never seemed to look, or were incapable of looking, than a building they could try to besiege.
He opened all of the filing cabinets along the far wall, seeing only the standard receipts and other paperwork. He then moved to the desk and began searching each of the four drawers. In the first he only saw writing utensils and office supplies, with the next two being similarly useless. The fourth, which was a long drawer that ran under the desktop, had an old Case folder knife inside and a bottle of Ibuprofen. Pocketing these, he scanned the floor, shelves, and other parts of the room. Nothing seemed to catch his eye, so he sat in the musky, rolling chair to rest for a moment before heading out and finding a spot to rack out for the night.
As it so often does, his idle mind began to replay what his heart wished it wouldn't. The common theme was the Fall. When looking back, the thing Kyle will remember most about the end of the world as everyone knew it won't be the fires, the deaths, or the smell of smoke and decay mixed with burnt gunpowder. He will, most of all, remember the screams. For nearly the entire first week, the screams of the infected and their prey mixed into an orchestra of terror and darkness. The shrieks of fear from the lungs of children in the streets outside his home will forever haunt him, both awake and in slumber.
He was tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of killing. Before the fall, he had done plenty of killing with the Marine Corps. He thought that when his EAS came, the day he had counted down to, his killing days were over. Sure, he joked about "slaying bodies" afterwards, but he had hoped the long stressful days that he saw in Afghanistan were over. The biggest difference between a combat deployment and the situation he found himself in, was the fact that those he killed across the ocean were still living when he ended them. They were the enemy, the bad guys. They shot at you and blew your convoy up. Now he found himself...what was he doing? Re-killing the dead? These people had once been Americans. Mothers, fathers, teachers, and businessmen. Now he found himself committing wholesale slaughter against them, just trying to prevent himself from becoming one. It was a shitstorm.
Kyle forced himself from the chair. One thing at a time, always keeping his mind on the next goal of his survival. He moved back out towards the door, clearing the building again on his exit. He quietly deconstructed his makeshift barricade and slowly poked his head from the door. He saw nothing, so he crept out and made his way towards the back of the station, continuing on to the tree line, only 40 meters to it's south. He stayed low and slow, constantly checking in every direction to satisfy his constant paranoia that he was being watched. He found a suitable tree, around 15 meters into the wood, and pulled a 40 foot length of climbing rope from his pack. The rope had a loop tied in one end and he carried it specifically for going up trees. He threw the looped end, weighted by a combination lock clipped onto the 10 inch diameter loop, over a branch and back down. He then slid the other end through the loop and began pulling, making the loop rise to the branch and giving him a way to pull himself up to it.
Kyle strong-armed his way high up into the tree and, carefully, tied a hobo hammock to two branches. His hobo hammock was a banana-style hammock, only vinyl cloth with ropes and hooks at each end to attach to poles. Once the hammock was tied off and secure, he pulled the rope up and secured his small pack to the branch he climbed to with it. He slowly eased into the hammock, keeping one arm around the branch it was tied to nearest where his head would rest, until the hammock accepted his full weight and he could relax. The sun was setting, so he laid his head back and hoped for a dreamless sleep. Tomorrow was going to be another day, and there were no guarantees it would be easier than the one that preceded it.
coder whatever the fuck you did to the post function don't change it, cos i can finally post here now without having to fuck around on my browser
no wait the ban button still doesn't do anything