seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Türkiye
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Philippines
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Switzerland
seen from Chile
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drawing poll: salty runback edition
all around me are familiar faces
Bazett Fraga McRemitz (Fate)
B.O.B. (B.O.B. / Space Funky B.O.B.)
Cheelai (Dragon Ball)
Chrissy (Animal Crossing)
Chun-Li (Street Fighter)
Creepy Susie (Creepy Susie / The Oblongs)
Doogal (Doogal / The Magic Roundabout)
Dust Man (Mega Man)
King (Deltarune)
The Master (Doctor Who)
(whoever gets LAST place)
(see results)
THE SALTY RUNBACK
A video game can make people do amazing things. It no longer becomes a game of fun. It becomes a game of emotion. Your blood not being flushed with adrenaline but with rage, willpower, salt. Your once desire to have fun has been brutalized in front of your eyes with that of a metal flail and soiled on.
The abuse comes any many forms but are not limited to:
constant lost
failure to appeal to the in gaming situation
taunting by the opponent then losing
taunting by the crowd then losing
eating the trash talk you said pre-game
losing a money match
losing to Chris G
getting spammed out by that faggot who keeps using the same move whose name is probably Chris G(then again that can be anyone)
Your clothes soaked in the blood of Fun time, feels as though you've just taken a trip to the beach and a massive wave from the ocean has hit you. Flailing your arms as you wreak in the smell of salt water. You want vengeance. Your moves lose precision, your execution becomes sloppy, you start to become a guy named John as you create an excuse for every fuck up you make. Your mouth becomes very dry and the only words you can mumble out are a cluster of swears and frustration.
The madam with the umbrella behind you is giggling as she pours grade A Morton's Salt on your back into the wounds of your hopeless battle and it doesn't look like the shaker is going empty any time soon. Fun has deceased more then two hours, but you don't care. You show no quit in your desire defeat your enemy as you mash every button on your controller hoping to get a different outcome to your past results.
The battle continues. The sun never rises. Victory never grazes your lips. You go home defeated, helpless, angry, lost, SALTY.
"I once played a tournament set against a four-hundred-pound shut-in whose body odor was so overpowering that my eyes were literally watering the entire time I sat next to him, but nobody felt the need to say anything to this guy. Yet, if the girl with a joystick in her lap is not perfectly-coifed and appropriately charming in a demure way, and if she possesses any level of skill, she is obviously a lesbian."
Warning: This article may be offensive to dick-riders of Japan.
