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@pro-garvey
Hey guys, here’s me posting my Preston Garvey discord server yet again
So like 😗👉👈 join if you want 👀
https://discord.gg/WHGvy6B
Check out the simps for Preston Garvey community on Discord - hang out with 19 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
Confession: Sometimes when I see Preston in game I call him, “my husband” in my mind.
Not a question but a confession
You’re so real for this, i confess that I too refer to Preston as my husband, Preston appreciation squad 🦤
Take a shot everytime I paint Bo with an arrow injury
anything for Preston
Happy Black History month!
there’s something about drawing your fav characters as your fav album
redraw of Tyler Childer’s Creeker album cover
Thought I’d post this Preston sketch that I’ve had sitting
Thought I’d post this Preston sketch that I’ve had sitting
“How to make cats and dogs happy at the same time”
(via)
This video is sacred
My three girlfriends. And yes, they smoke weed.
do they smoke weed?
Yes, actually.
you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?
It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)
They don’t look like they smoke weed.
Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.
Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.
I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING
Well that escalated quickly……
What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*
haha oh my god
who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.
love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.
and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.
“the goo pile that is now your body”
i’m dying over here, jesus
please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.
*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot… *leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*
this dude playin omg
Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.* Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
date of origin: 2015
♥ ♥ ♥
me after watching this
Turn the sound on at your own risk
never forget that gintama once had an ms paint styled opening because the staff and author fought over the animation style
ACTUAL IMPORTANT ADDITION:
Okay, in saying the following, I recognize that this is going to sound pretty “out there”, especially if you’re someone who is younger on the internet.
And I will preface what I am about to say with some credentials: I am an Internet Old. I am also someone who is paid professionally to work in the horror genre from time to time. I am also someone who has studied psychology, as well as studying some NLP-type shit (that I do not find ethical in the slightest, as an aside, and I quickly noped out of)…
I also want to let you know upfront that what I will tell you is NOT to make you worry or feel afraid. I am sharing this info only so that you can “see through the curtain” as it were, and recognize media and stories like this for what it actually is.
The tl;dr is - please be very criticial of any online horror story that does not provide a sense of catharsis or release at the end, or at the very least a sense of closure or ending. Or anything that is about someone giving up control.
Why? Because creepypasta stories like this may seem merely surreal and/or hilarious to you, but shit like this is actually subliminally priming you to be more easily manipulated and controlled.
And a lot of these types of stories are absolutely aimed at teens and pre-teens, or college kids, fyi. There is also a really good video here by Ann Reardon about of stories being told over brightly coloured baking videos. Mostly though, these stories are about and aimed at WOMEN.
Basically, this story is linking a fear response (a sewer man! - that sounds bad and weird at first) with a violent action - or a taking away of rights/possessions (the coffee that gets poured in the sewer) that comes from someone with power (the soldier) who is “solving a problem” (thinking rationally - how would coffee dumped in the sewer fucking help anyone?!?!) where the victim (the woman) is shown how the solider is “right” to do what he did.
The subliminal lesson here is that the solider does what he wants to do, because “he knows better” than the civilian girl. This story basically ends on the action of “the soldier did the right thing” and there is no real catharsis or sense of ending. You know, the kind of message that implies “be scared, rely on those in power”. The idea that we should just comply.
And, as a thought exercise: the story would be so, so much different if it were a sweet little old lady that took the coffee. The initial scare/weirdness factor could still be there, but it wouldn’t have that same ‘heaviness’ feeling to it, you know?
Please just think smartly about media, okay?
By the way, I am the creator of the Sewer Man post, and here is the ONLY creepy pasta I have ever written:
Ooo look who hasn’t posted art of their sosu in years and randomly got hit with inspo
Heinz is listening to Danse go on about fascism or whatever dumb shit the BOS are doing
