[Burichan] [Futaba] [Futaba Ols] [Gurochan] [Photon] - [Home]

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38887 No.1   [Reply]

the stalkers in the virgin suicides were so much more fun than this

8 posts omitted. Click Reply to view.
>> No.10  

>>8
One of the greatest movie soundtrack ever.

>>1
k, luckily a lot is different to this movie. (Also we are not 40 and reminiscing about our old neighbourhood)

>> No.11  

>>7
http://www.wowinsider.com/2007/10/24/16-year-old-girl-stalked-from-wow-to-her-high-school/

>> No.12  

For one 16 year-old girl, her long-time WoW guildmate began to stalk her. The female college student she had been hanging around with in a virtual world for months, chatting about fashion and parties, turned out to be a 20 year-old Canadian male.

a 20 year-old Canadian male.

Canadian male.

Canadian.

>> No.13  

>>7
I'll do anything because I'm stupid. What do you want me to do?

>> No.14  

>>9
Never fear, Captain Obvious is here!

>> No.15  

>>12
Oh for FUCK's sake.



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133220 No.1   [Reply]

last night i dreamed of cracky for the second time . It was great, like previous time, she looked a little better then in rl. I remember i danced with her, and she was really fun in general, sorta like a best friend.
Thx cracky, i needed it.

17 posts and 1 images omitted. Click Reply to view.
>> No.19  

>>18
I was exaggerating to counter >>16.

>> No.20  

>>19
A raep is fine too.

>> No.21  
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129576

>>14
post it here, offcourse

>> No.22  

>>21
I'm not sure I should. It's pretty awful stuff.

>> No.23  

raep is catharsis

post nao

>> No.24  
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58194

>>22
Post.



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154173 No.1   [Reply]

on topic

5 posts and 2 images omitted. Click Reply to view.
>> No.7  

>>2
I can tell you some of the deeper meaning:

  • Look I am cute
  • Look I am pretty
  • Haha, Lulz!
>> No.8  

>>6

>Yes. Lemme see if I can interpret these:
>Rape victim

That's all I got for the first one.

>> No.9  

>>8
You're doing it wrong.

>> No.10  
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42107

>>6

>>Yes. Lemme see if I can interpret these:

i think you are doing it doing it wrong, cracky is weaboo, remember? so you have to read it right to left.

  • if you have green skin and red eyes, cracky wil strip you naked and ly you on a bed.
  • if cracky puts a hat with ears on you, you are hello kitty. She will then take you away outside far away, and torture you by hanging you in an abyss. (see >>2) Nobody knows what happens then.
  • if think the cake is your friend instead of the companion cube, you will have to fuck and eat it at the same time.
  • watch out when she has the mark of the eyes! then she will suddenly grab you and suck your blood out, like a vampire!
  • cracky spent all her money on the realdoll, now she has no money left to buy her clothes.
>> No.11  

>>10
Why does she need a real doll? Aren't those are for pervy indoor kids?

>> No.12  
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153161

>>11
bcs realdoll is like a normal doll, but better.
cracky deserves the best.



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39634 No.1   [Reply]

The first stage of the metamorphosis of cracky-chan into a later form.

3 posts and 1 images omitted. Click Reply to view.
>> No.5  

Not wigglytuff--clefairy.

>> No.6  
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2928

>>5
Not Clefairy--Igglybuff

>> No.7  

>>3>>4>>5>>6 Failtrain leaving the station.

>> No.8  
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23331

>>5
I'll see your clefairy and raise you an autistic igglybuff.

>> No.9  

>>7
#!/usr/bin/clisp

(print "And I'm the caboose!")

>> No.10  

>>9
Somebody laugh at this god damnit.



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167274 No.1   [Reply]
>> No.2  
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54195
>> No.3  

>>1 i like this pic i love all pics off cracky

>>2 she look´s so wow, nice and cute...



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146923 No.1   [Reply]
“Drink it, it's awesome.” I waved the glass in her direction.  She stared at me, nervous and confused.  This was clearly not what was supposed to happen on the way home.

“Do it.” I said as I thrust the two ounce, blue shot glass into her hands. “Hurry up!”

She looked at the glass, looked at me, and raised it to her face.  She gave it a delicate sniff.  
“It's just alcohol, quit being such a puss!” I hollered.
She furrowed her brow, clearly hurt by my angry words. I scowled back at her, pantomiming a drinking motion. Tentatively, she raised the glass, parting her lips the faintest bit. I reached out and lifted bottom of the glass up, the liquid poured out over her face. She opened her mouth instinctively, trying to drink the mystery liquid rather than letting to go to waste. She looked panicked for a second; her mouth was clearly burning, the stinging vapours wafting up the back of her nostrils. She gagged. She leaned over, her hand and chin dripping alcohol onto the street. She grimaced at the fiery sensation in her mouth. I grinned at her.
“Swallow it!” I said, thrilled my my own cleverness.
She exhaled through her nostrils, hard; her hot breath coalescing in the frosty air. Droplets still fell from her chin. She stared at me imploringly, desperate to know what was in her mouth.
“Relax,” I confided, pretending to read the label of the bottle. “It's just Scottish gin, flavoured with heath, salmon, algae and...uh...rohypnol.”
I had clearly made up the last part the last part to mess with her, but she spewed out the liquid nonetheless. The smoky plume of alcohol and moist air, illuminated by the nearby street light, looked rather dramatic.
“Oi,” I shouted, slapping the glass from her hand, “that shot cost me a quid!”
In the darkness I could hear the glass tinkle against someone's home. She stared at me, frozen in fear, still stooping over to avoid dribbling on her clothes. I beamed at her beatifically.
“Don't worry,” I said placatingly, “I'll pour you another one. And dry yourself off, alcohol will dessicate your skin in weather like this.”
She smiled wanly and stood up, wiping her face on her sleeve. As I fumbled in my pocket for a new glass, I stared meaningfully at her chapped lips. She nervously put her hand, hidden in her sleeve, against her lips.
“I hear they make a stick for chapped lips,” I said conspiratorially. I lowered my eyes and concentrated on pouring the next shot. She extracted some lip balm from a pocket and uncapped it. She began to gently daub it on her lips, her chipped nail polish glinting darkly in the cold, white light. “I'd probably never use that stuff,” I said, never looking up. “I hear it's made out of badger musk.” She stared at me.
“You know.” I asserted, “the stuff they milk from a badger's anal glands? It is what makes it so waxy.” She hurriedly closed the balm and reconcealed it about her person.
“Here,” I thrust another glass in her direction. She took it but here eyes looked over my shoulder, she was probably wondering how to reach her home.
“Drink! Drink!” I chanted. She hesitantly lifted the glass upward. As it touched her pursed lips, I reached out for it again. She cringed and turned away, so I clapped her heartily on the back. She coughed and inhaled a little liquid.
“So,” I cried gleefully as soon as the shot was in her mouth, “wanna know what's *really* in it?” She turned back to face me, panic in her eyes, her cheeks bulging with the fluid. I gesticulated frantically, trying to coax an answer from her. A tiny rivulet of clear liquid trickled from between her lips and down her chin. I clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Don't waste it!” I loudly reprimanded.
She looked up at me imploringly, her eyes streaming from the agony in her mouth. Her nose dribbled onto my hand, I jerked it away.
“Gross,” I stormed off into the night flailing my hand about impotently, trying to remove the mucus. She followed, tugging my sleeve desperately, trapped in a caustic oral limbo.
“Now don't worry,” I assured her happily, turning back to face her, “it's clearly not full of rohypnol. You can *taste* rohypnol.”
She nodded overjoyed that it was not rohypnol, eyes wild and hands clutching my arm. I stood for a moment, peering into her soft, sad eyes, trying to guage them. She wordlessly begged me, her face a picture painted without guile or malice.
“Let me ask you this,” I said, assuming a sagely posture, “what does sodium pentathol taste like?”
She looked at me blankly.
“It's a barbituate?” I tried.
More blankness. She stamped her feet urgently, the situation was clearly dire.
“Fine,” I said resignedly, “I'm sure you've heard of ketamine.”
She nodded, a dim look of hope flickered across her face. I could tell she was fairly certain this was a joke.
“Yeah well...eh.” I trailed off, bored. “I'm going over here now,” I pointed back the way she had come.
As I sauntered away, I could feel her eyes on my back, still pleading for an answer. I opened my ears and absorbed the night sounds: an alley cat exploring some garbage; a lorry grumbling somewhere in the distance; the muffled gibberish of a neighbour's TV; an ounce of gin splashing softly on the pavement.
“Oi!” was my reply.
I halted beneath the streetlight, my grubby hair glowing like a greasy halo. I extended my arm towards the dark street and beckoned her over. I could just barely make out her figure, paralyzed with indecision. Would she flee down street toward the safety of home or obey me. I decided to tip the scales.
“Come here,” I demanded, too loudly for the hour.
She walked timidly towards me, squinting in the bright light.
“You owe me two god damned pounds,” I growled. She stood timidly before me, so I leaned in and pressed my forehead against hers, causing her slowly cower.
“Stand up when I talk to you!” I shouted madly, waving my arms about.
She stepped back, eyes on her feet. I slapped the glass violently from below, rocketing it up into the night. She clasped at her hand, stung by this violent rebuke. The glass shattered on the ground between us, tiny sparkling fragments cascading over my boots.
“'Two dollars',” I quoted.
She fumbled about in her pocket, removing the lip balm, a mobile and finally a fiver. Her soft eyes darted up to mine and she opened her mouth to speak.
“RAWR,” I screamed, flinging my bottle over her head. I fixed her with a meaningful stare, “you owe me for those two glasses as well.” There was a popping explosion down near her house. “...and a bottle of GHB.”
She silently pulled a few more notes from her pocket and held them, rumpled up, at arms length. I snatched them.
“Eww, they're all warm and clammy,” I inspected her suspiciously. “I can't make change,” I mused, “but I know a pub near here where we can get some singles. Plus he'll do us a few shots of something that's *not* spiked.”
I crammed my arm under hers and set off purposefully into the night. She trembled hesitantly, almost pulling away. I looked behind me, her eyes following mine, towards the safety of her home. It was only 50 feet away, a lamp throwing warm yellow light into the street. I glowered at the back of her head until she turned to face me, her eyes limpid pools. I spat violently in the direction of her house, this seemed to shatter her resistance. I stomped off in the direction of the public house, trying to remember when it shut. She trailed helplessly behind behind me, tethered to my waist by her arm.
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>> No.2  
“Fuck Colonel Sanders and his homosexual expeditionary force!” I raged at the night.
She flinched at this sudden outburst, her small figure balled up next to me, sepia-toned from the overhead streetlight.
“You're cold,” I decided. “I'll give you my sweatshirt.”
She brightened at this, perhaps I had finally stopped yelling about Colonel Sanders and was going to pay attention to her. I tugged my sweatshirt off and pulled it down over her, encapsulating her arms, legs and body. Her head popped out, her hair tousled, eyes wide with joy. I took a swig from the bottle in my hand.
“Bastards deserve it for closing at ...4AM? What time is it?” I mused quietly, “Hey, Miss GMT, what the hell time is it?””
She smiled at me harmlessly, trying, I knew, to convey that I had stolen her watch earlier.
“Well, you have all my shit!” I cried in desperation, rubbing my arms from the cold.
She made a conciliatory expression and tried to offer me my own sweatshirt.
“Don't be daft, you'll just freeze then.” I sulked for a moment. “I know!” I cried out suddenly, lunging at her. I shoved my hands into the sweatshirts pockets and began to rummage around. She recoiled initially but soon was giggling nervously. I knocked her over and proceeded to pat her for stuff. She laughed and writhed around any time my hands got near her hips. This would not do, I needed to know if there was anything in her hip pocket. I slapped her hard, somewhere in the vicinity of her bottom. She looked up at me confused, I seized this opportunity to violently pull the sweatshirt away, accidentally pulling away her skirt as well. I looked down at her sensible, white undergarment and was momentarily confused. She was immediately on her feet, blushing as she pressed her skirt back down.
“Drama queen,” I muttered, inspecting my new hoard. I had two mobiles, some lip balm, a condom, two sets of keys and some assorted coinage. I dropped the lip balm and sketchy condom onto the ground.
“Why d'ya have a pack o' condoms?” I demanded in my occasional brogue. “Oh wait...” I pocketed the condoms and glowered at the world, daring it to call me on this. She stood before me, shivering and confused. I remaining seated on the curb and decided to stare intently at her groin. She smiled faintly and looked down. I grimaced. She tried to make eye contact but I dropped my gaze to her shins, which were covered in faint white lines.
“Dju cut yourself shavin'?” I asked in my brogue, “or are ya just a sad laetle thing?”
She didn't seem very happy about this question, preferring to turn away and stare across the street. A patrol car rolled slowly by, glinting brightly in the street lights. I leapt to my feet and pulled up her skirt, she didn't move. I fixed the driver's side window with a big shit eating grin and planted my hand forcefully on her right ass cheek. I waved my arm violently and let fly with a torrid of gibberish that would put any primate to shame. The cops rolled by, unsure of what they had seen. I turned back to her, pleased with myself.
She was blushing deeply, chin tucked in her sweatshirts, eyes at her feet. I noticed she had lowered her arm and was pressing my hand against her bottom. She looked up at me slowly, though red with shame it was clearly still some sort of invitation.
“Eww,” I said, like a mother chastising her child, “poop comes from there.” I hurriedly retracted my hand and turned my back to her. In the distance the patrol car was turning around in the middle of the road.
“And we're off,” I bellowed. I flung the bottle back into the pub and tossed her over my shoulder, her knees resting on my chest. Uncomfortable with her position, I tossed her up a little, allowing me to reposition her. The force of my shoulder driving into her stomach was a little too much. She farted quietly and whimpered.
“Oh what the fuck!” I screamed gleefully. “That was inches from my bloody face!”
The police arrived shortly after but only found some lip balm, a broken pub window and a a faint odour of poo.

(pic unrelated)

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>> No.3  

OP here. Desregard, I suck cocks.



No.1   [Reply]

http://youtube.com/watch?v=gWJUm--3ECY



No.1   [Reply]

Today I am thankfull for finding a group of stalkers as delightfully sick and obsessive as I. Who needs turkey when you have Cracky?

9 posts omitted. Click Reply to view.
>> No.11  

>>10

>Why do you want pictures of my dinner so badly?

Because I didn't have any dinner.

>> No.12  

>>10

Since I said so.

>> No.13  

>>11
I will mail you an aid packages.

(more like an AIDS package, amirite?)

>> No.14  

>>13
I'd settle for either.

>> No.15  

>>10

>>since when did ellipsis indicate waiting patiently.

I believe that you missed a question mark.

Ellipsis' are often used to indicate the passage of time. As such it is reasonable to assume that, when posted alone, that the entire point of the posting is "Time is passing, yet I'm still here and attentive."

>> No.16  

>>15
Naw.



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78024 No.1   [Reply]

You're weightless, semi-erotic
You need someone to take you there
Saying meanwhile can't we look the other way?
Why can't we just play the other game?
Why can't we just look the other way?

>> No.2  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNtGYdm2rOY

better as video.

>> No.3  

thats one of my least favorite videos, but favorite songs



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23959 No.1   [Reply]

So, I keep coming to this site...

But lately, my brain has not been "ON CRACKY" as the site advertises.

What happened?

20 posts and 4 images omitted. Click Reply to view.
>> No.22  

>>21
Her family name wordfitlers to 'Cracky'? That is massively gay. MASSIVELY GAY, ADMIN.

>> No.23  
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15093

>>21
Tarja Halonen.

>> No.24  

>>23
Congrats, you googled Cracky's fake-mother's fake maiden name. You win a swift kick to the head!

(fine print: only redeemable when I'm wearing boots)

>> No.25  
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6756

>>23
Joik

>> No.26  

Stop polluting .71 with this failfaggotry.

>> No.27  

>>26
That might work, you never know.



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