Erik, if you make stories up like that and admit years later that it was fake how are we supposed to believe you with anything else you tell us? I'm not doing this to be a bitch but my ex best friend did shit like that and it fucked everything up for me. I stopped talking to her for about 5 years because I literally could not believe any of the shit she told me. I know you were 13 then and you've learned over the past few years but you haven't grown up like you stated, but you are learning. You have about 4-5 more years for that to really happen, or perhaps more because everyone is different.
sorry jake, you need a persuasive essay for it to sink in.
I had one, but right as I went to click the "post comment" button, my brother came down the stairs and told me he heard a strange knocking sound outside of his window. We have raccoons in the area, so I thought maybe one of them had found their way onto our roof. So I ran upstairs, and what do you know A GIANT FUCKING BEAR WAS AT MY BROTHERS WINDOW! I didnt know what to do so I grabbed my brothers pillow and started beating the shit out of that damn bear. Apparently, bears are impervious to pillows because he just sat there. Looking around for something to attack the bear with, I came across my brothers box of action figures. I hurled GI Joe, Cobra, and the Green Power Ranger all towards the bear. But alas, nothing seemed to be working. As the bear knocked down the last of the window and began crawling into the room, I came to a conclusion: I was going to have to fight this thing with my bare hands.
The bear advanced toward me, each menacing step creating an overwhelming thud against the floor. Gathering up what little courage I could muster, I lunged toward the bear, grabbing it by its nose. Shrieking in agony, the bear began spinning around the room, dragging me along, my fingers still caught in it's disgusting, wet, black nostrils. Slamming into bookshelves, picture frames, and dressers, I managed to stay close to the bear for several minutes. As the bear made its way outside of my brothers room and into the hallway, I tried to quickly think of a way to get the bear to leave. Suddenly, it hit me. Releasing my grip from the beast, I darted to my room, scavenging through dirty laundry and porno magazines on the floor until I came to what I was looking for.
I returned to the hall where the bear was, smiling confidently. As the bear turned towards me, I displayed my secret weapon: A Gulch Of Rot demo. 15 minutes of Hawaiian brutality was too much for the bear to handle, and that bastard knew it. Without another thought, the monster turned around and fled through the window which it came from, never being heard from again.
Terrified at what had just happened, yet excited that I had lived to tell the tale, I knew what I had to do now: go online and brag. Digging my Iphone out of my pocket, I jumped online and posted a catchy and telling title to my blog: I Wrestled A Bear Once. I attached a poorly drawn picture of a savage bear attacking a gray stick figure for humor. But right as I clocked the "post blog" button, Krysta Cameron came flying through my brothers broken window, roundhouse kicking me in the face. I fell to the floor, stunned. As I turned to face my attacker, a piece of paper fell into my lap, and I heard Krystas voice from above me.
"Be there, bitch." Before I could stand to retaliate against the shitty deathcore singer, she was gone. I wiped the blood and sweat from my eyes to read what was written on the paper she had left me. I became more stunned by what the paper contained than the roundhouse kick I had received moments prior. I was getting sued. Apparently, I had broken copyright violations with my cleverly titled blog post. There had to be a way out of this. My mind started swimming. Maybe I could change logo, and switch the name to "I Unofficially Wrestled A Bear Once." No, I cant be a bitch about it. I decided to test my chances in court.
The next day I showed up to the courtroom, in my best suit and tie, hoping that the judge with have the slightest bit of sympathy for me.
"Mr. Rutabaga, you realize the charges against you are very serious, right?"
"What? I just titled my blog post, thats all."
The judge stood up from his chair and slammed his gavel in anger. "Are you mocking the severity of this situation?!"
I gave the judge a puzzled look. "No sir, I just dont see the problem-"
The judge once again threw his gavel against the stand, this time shattering it. "Thats it! Bailiff, take this criminal away. I hereby find the defendant guilty on all charges. You are a plague on society. Your tyranny and evil can no longer be tolerated. As for your punishment, I can only think of one so cruel and unusual for someone as sick and twisted as yourself. You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air." I whistled for a cab and when it came near The license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought, "Nah, forget it. Yo, holmes to Bel-Air!" I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo homes smell ya later!" Looked at my kingdom I was finally there, to sit on my throne as the prince of Bel-Air.
sorry jake, you need a persuasive essay for it to sink in.
I had one, but right as I went to click the "post comment" button, my brother came down the stairs and told me he heard a strange knocking sound outside of his window. We have raccoons in the area, so I thought maybe one of them had found their way onto our roof. So I ran upstairs, and what do you know A GIANT FUCKING BEAR WAS AT MY BROTHERS WINDOW! I didnt know what to do so I grabbed my brothers pillow and started beating the shit out of that damn bear. Apparently, bears are impervious to pillows because he just sat there. Looking around for something to attack the bear with, I came across my brothers box of action figures. I hurled GI Joe, Cobra, and the Green Power Ranger all towards the bear. But alas, nothing seemed to be working. As the bear knocked down the last of the window and began crawling into the room, I came to a conclusion: I was going to have to fight this thing with my bare hands.
The bear advanced toward me, each menacing step creating an overwhelming thud against the floor. Gathering up what little courage I could muster, I lunged toward the bear, grabbing it by its nose. Shrieking in agony, the bear began spinning around the room, dragging me along, my fingers still caught in it's disgusting, wet, black nostrils. Slamming into bookshelves, picture frames, and dressers, I managed to stay close to the bear for several minutes. As the bear made its way outside of my brothers room and into the hallway, I tried to quickly think of a way to get the bear to leave. Suddenly, it hit me. Releasing my grip from the beast, I darted to my room, scavenging through dirty laundry and porno magazines on the floor until I came to what I was looking for.
I returned to the hall where the bear was, smiling confidently. As the bear turned towards me, I displayed my secret weapon: A Gulch Of Rot demo. 15 minutes of Hawaiian brutality was too much for the bear to handle, and that bastard knew it. Without another thought, the monster turned around and fled through the window which it came from, never being heard from again.
Terrified at what had just happened, yet excited that I had lived to tell the tale, I knew what I had to do now: go online and brag. Digging my Iphone out of my pocket, I jumped online and posted a catchy and telling title to my blog: I Wrestled A Bear Once. I attached a poorly drawn picture of a savage bear attacking a gray stick figure for humor. But right as I clocked the "post blog" button, Krysta Cameron came flying through my brothers broken window, roundhouse kicking me in the face. I fell to the floor, stunned. As I turned to face my attacker, a piece of paper fell into my lap, and I heard Krystas voice from above me.
"Be there, bitch." Before I could stand to retaliate against the shitty deathcore singer, she was gone. I wiped the blood and sweat from my eyes to read what was written on the paper she had left me. I became more stunned by what the paper contained than the roundhouse kick I had received moments prior. I was getting sued. Apparently, I had broken copyright violations with my cleverly titled blog post. There had to be a way out of this. My mind started swimming. Maybe I could change logo, and switch the name to "I Unofficially Wrestled A Bear Once." No, I cant be a bitch about it. I decided to test my chances in court.
The next day I showed up to the courtroom, in my best suit and tie, hoping that the judge with have the slightest bit of sympathy for me.
"Mr. Rutabaga, you realize the charges against you are very serious, right?"
"What? I just titled my blog post, thats all."
The judge stood up from his chair and slammed his gavel in anger. "Are you mocking the severity of this situation?!"
I gave the judge a puzzled look. "No sir, I just dont see the problem-"
The judge once again threw his gavel against the stand, this time shattering it. "Thats it! Bailiff, take this criminal away. I hereby find the defendant guilty on all charges. You are a plague on society. Your tyranny and evil can no longer be tolerated. As for your punishment, I can only think of one so cruel and unusual for someone as sick and twisted as yourself. You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air." I whistled for a cab and when it came near The license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought, "Nah, forget it. Yo, holmes to Bel-Air!" I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo homes smell ya later!" Looked at my kingdom I was finally there, to sit on my throne as the prince of Bel-Air.
I'm not this huge liar that you guys seem to think I am. I fib here and there, but it's about nothing major whatsoever, I'm a very honest person.
And fuck it, if it'll get me any respect at all for admitting it, the Dimebag story never happened, it was an argument and that's it, but I thought it'd be fun to make this huge elaborate story about it. But I posted that shit the DAY after my THIRTEENTH birthday. In 3 months, I'll be 15, so can we drop the shit already? Yes I was a faggot back then, and a poser in many ways, but I've changed and grown up since then, even though none of you want to seem to agree with that.
Dude, I'm pissed now. That just ruined the whole "I DESTROYED A MOTHERFUCKER".
What makes someone a poser: 1. If you like one metal band and consider yourself a metalhead, you're a poser 2. If you like a non-metal band, and consider the band metal when it's not, you're a poser 3. If you're a guy who wears more make-up than Dee Snider, you're a poser 4. If you are EMO, you're a poser
im sure everyone here listens to alot more emo/scene shit than TDWP
what i wanna know is who considers me a poser?
i listen to TDWP (not often but i have their albums) i also listen to Attack! Attack! and ADTR i call it being musically diverse... i also listen to a shit ton of Deathcore and i bet more than 90% of the people on these forums would be considered posers by their own criteria. i probably have more music than most people on the forums. i love all music. thats what being a musician is all about. if you call me a poser for liking all kinds of music not just one, all i have to say is youre the one who is a poser.
FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE WHO BELIEVE IN MUSIC DIVERSITY AND ISNT A BIASED DICK MEAT!
however i dont listen to TDWP, or AA!, or ADTR, yet i have an ADTR album...
Comments
The bear advanced toward me, each menacing step creating an overwhelming thud against the floor. Gathering up what little courage I could muster, I lunged toward the bear, grabbing it by its nose. Shrieking in agony, the bear began spinning around the room, dragging me along, my fingers still caught in it's disgusting, wet, black nostrils. Slamming into bookshelves, picture frames, and dressers, I managed to stay close to the bear for several minutes. As the bear made its way outside of my brothers room and into the hallway, I tried to quickly think of a way to get the bear to leave. Suddenly, it hit me. Releasing my grip from the beast, I darted to my room, scavenging through dirty laundry and porno magazines on the floor until I came to what I was looking for.
I returned to the hall where the bear was, smiling confidently. As the bear turned towards me, I displayed my secret weapon: A Gulch Of Rot demo. 15 minutes of Hawaiian brutality was too much for the bear to handle, and that bastard knew it. Without another thought, the monster turned around and fled through the window which it came from, never being heard from again.
Terrified at what had just happened, yet excited that I had lived to tell the tale, I knew what I had to do now: go online and brag. Digging my Iphone out of my pocket, I jumped online and posted a catchy and telling title to my blog: I Wrestled A Bear Once. I attached a poorly drawn picture of a savage bear attacking a gray stick figure for humor. But right as I clocked the "post blog" button, Krysta Cameron came flying through my brothers broken window, roundhouse kicking me in the face. I fell to the floor, stunned. As I turned to face my attacker, a piece of paper fell into my lap, and I heard Krystas voice from above me.
"Be there, bitch." Before I could stand to retaliate against the shitty deathcore singer, she was gone. I wiped the blood and sweat from my eyes to read what was written on the paper she had left me. I became more stunned by what the paper contained than the roundhouse kick I had received moments prior. I was getting sued. Apparently, I had broken copyright violations with my cleverly titled blog post. There had to be a way out of this. My mind started swimming. Maybe I could change logo, and switch the name to "I Unofficially Wrestled A Bear Once." No, I cant be a bitch about it. I decided to test my chances in court.
The next day I showed up to the courtroom, in my best suit and tie, hoping that the judge with have the slightest bit of sympathy for me.
"Mr. Rutabaga, you realize the charges against you are very serious, right?"
"What? I just titled my blog post, thats all."
The judge stood up from his chair and slammed his gavel in anger. "Are you mocking the severity of this situation?!"
I gave the judge a puzzled look. "No sir, I just dont see the problem-"
The judge once again threw his gavel against the stand, this time shattering it. "Thats it! Bailiff, take this criminal away. I hereby find the defendant guilty on all charges. You are a plague on society. Your tyranny and evil can no longer be tolerated. As for your punishment, I can only think of one so cruel and unusual for someone as sick and twisted as yourself. You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air." I whistled for a cab and when it came near The license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought, "Nah, forget it. Yo, holmes to Bel-Air!" I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo homes smell ya later!" Looked at my kingdom I was finally there, to sit on my throne as the prince of Bel-Air.
LOLOL!
YOU.
ARE.
GOD.
There has to be a forum award for that
1. If you like one metal band and consider yourself a metalhead, you're a poser
2. If you like a non-metal band, and consider the band metal when it's not, you're a poser
3. If you're a guy who wears more make-up than Dee Snider, you're a poser
4. If you are EMO, you're a poser
Feel free to add to my list
Now back to the other matter.....The story of Erik kicking that kids ass was made up all along???
FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE WHO BELIEVE IN MUSIC DIVERSITY AND ISNT A BIASED DICK MEAT!
however i dont listen to TDWP, or AA!, or ADTR, yet i have an ADTR album...