"I just noticed I'm only sexually attracted to things that utterly terrify me, such as: all other human beings."
"Yeah, me too."
"This is a science-fiction game about time-travel, so we need to use a four-dimensional array in the codebase somewhere."
"I beg you: date mortals. Only mortals. I have an ex with 4000 years of history between us. 4000! It's enough to kill us both if it could!"
Various combining emoji, with (broken) UCS-2 Javascript lengths and ES6 code-point iteration items.
"Look in the infinoculars," she says. You peer an infinite distance forward, and see the back of your head… and her hand nearing your butt…!
You're bound and gagged, but you use telepathy to send one message to your captor: "Don't you DARE tilt your head while grinning! Don't!!"
"OK before you ask: yes, our home planet is sentient, yes, that's why we all call it "Mom", no, it's not a metaphor, yes, she loves us all."
You inform your breeding stock of perfect humans that Earth isn't quite decontaminated yet. Another decade of exercise bikes in microgravity
TFW your dead dragon matriarch's eggs hatch and you must train them to breathe fire by spewing orange juice over your shrine's brazier.
"I could craft data in my hands – filter arrays in my fingers, flatten trees under my thumb… The same godlike power all humans dream of…"
You bid farewell to your horse at the cliff that requires spin jumps. Your heart sinks as you leap, vision blurred with speed and tears…!
You take the elastic band off your ponytail, sending your hair into Attack Mode.
Your plan to pit two broken-up endbosses against each other backfires when they find beating you up has brought them back together.
And there goes the spring pickup truck, towing the giant zipper for the Earth's white jacket, hundreds of huge jagged Z's rising behind it.
You fear trying your new glasses, knowing the shock of a world in focus after decades will put you in a wondrous childlike fugue for a week.
Overwhelmed by writer's block, the writer began to forcibly extrude her characters from her fingertips, oozing tiny heads and hands
"There were two Big Bangs. One of light, that created the world of humans… and one of shadow, that created the world of hot evil monsters."
"Two rival plastic surgeons who practice their techniques on each other… enthralled by their foe's power with each glance in the mirror!"
More time travelers arrived in the coming days. Their words, as they saw our aged sky, were the same: "I never knew how much I missed this."
You still don't have phone signal even with the portal open. He asks why you can't open a portal directly to her. You're not in a face mood.
The candy-person in your party keeps jokingly threatening to eat you, the human. You both love it and you both love confusing everyone else.
"I bet you sure miss your misspent youth," chants the teen ghost. "But I'll be young, beautiful, lonely, confused and sad forever and ever!"
"Dogs can smell evil. Niknetters can smell squirm, which is on another axis of morality humans don't know about. And you are VERY squirmy."
You've never had sex with someone who has so high a polygon count before.
Just as in every episode, the game show host reveals with a flourish that the prize wheel is the entire world, and civilisation the reward.
"Blast! She's protected herself with hexagon-tiled forcefields!" "That's the most defensive shape of all, after the invincihedron!"
"Heh! You didn't save before stepping on my battle trigger, did you? Look at you… full to the brim with sweet, succulent unsaved progress!"
"I'm such a zero that if I fusion-danced with someone, our fusion would just be the other person again."
The ghost is controlling your chest, keeping you breathing slowly and deeply. You're forced to be so relaxed, you can't even be scared!
A succubus fantasising about burrowing into a giant's soul, like a mouse in a loaf of bread.
"Look!" *squeezes out headband* "It's genuine fleeing-with-yr-lover-from-exploding-space-station sweat! The most potent sweat in the world!"
You leave your wrist in the portal as it squeezes to a close, and feel the fabric of the universe, your scholarly love, clasp your hand.
You think of your double: the same soul, in two bodies. Once called impossible, "doubles are demons" – but what's impossible to the eternal?
"So be it: I'll take off my hairband. But are you prepared for a superhuman cuteness that will reduce you to atavistic, nonverbal cooing?!"
"My failed assassinators are interred here. I know not who they were or how they lived, but maybe their ghosts have one thing to bond over."
"I dress my palace guards in livery as rich as my own, for they are my arms and hands, and respect owed to me is in turn owed to them."
"Over centuries the shooting stars fell, and finally, when the sky was empty, we knew to nock them in our bows and shoot them back home."
"Faux pas" – Abbreviation for "fat upper pubic area".
A "SOLD" sign in front of an inner-suburb house for four months succinctly tells the world that the buyer did not purchase it for living in.
The probe releases a canister of human breath whenever it encounters a truly breathtaking sight – where humanity's gasp is dearly needed.
"All park food must be overloaded sandwiches that squirt out from even tiny bites, or multi-scoop cones that tip over at slight angles."
The teller denies that you've been paid in ghost money, asserting that Elizabeth II appeared as a skeleton in a rare Halloween '98 series.
jQuery's punning of .on() (handle an event multiple times) with .one() (handle an event once) was sadly obscured by the Great Vowel Shift.
You and your other slime friend swap origins. She was a blancmange recipe gone horribly right. You were a sneeze in a particle accelerator.
https://twitter.com/search?f=realtime&q=%22no%20spider%20emoji%22%20ant – I can't believe how hilarious this gets with repetition.
"Uh, WHY does this exist again?"
[photo of tessellating regular pentagons]
Some day, among endless days to come, you'll open your armour suit, pour out the rotten flesh and clothes, and close it, hollow and pure.
You realise you still remember hundreds of jokey forum usernames by humans who are now centuries dead, their other works forgotten.
If Mii Brawler turns out to be the new best character in Smash 4, can I reuse all those Time Person of the Year 2006 jokes
Your roommate turned the plants to face her, and you're missing out on what's undoubtedly some epic growth tonight.
Your owners order you to walk yourself back to the robot shop for a full refund.
Your soft, mossy skin makes you feel better, in your gloomiest hours, about walking the Earth perpetually in your crumbling stone body.
A table of restaurant guests arguing over who ordered the Tower, what exactly the Tower is made of, and why the Tower won't let them leave.
The giants may love being tall
but when rain deigns to fall,
the tallest giant would long for
a tree that is even taller.
"We saved on mo-cap by just filming ants, telling them to "act human". It turns out four of their six limbs usually move naturally enough."
The one thing that you can't even think about (because you think about it constantly).
"OK, I stole the "always surrounded by wolves" thing from the Gully Witch. She's not even into that style anymore! She's all vultures now."
Maybe THIS time frantically hopping up and down will let you grab the "turn back to normal" potion your captor's holding far over your head.
The character select screen portraits have been mysteriously replaced with photos of the characters' cats.
This one was ahead of its time.
I never did figure out what specific art style or artist the Kaleidoscope "Scherzo!" theme was meant to be.
You and your best pals all have colours for names, and an acquaintance's friends all have shapes for names. You both find this terrifying.
"What if love is inseparable from possession? What if dogs can understand humans but not other dogs, their own kind?"
"You wasted your power on evil… you should have thrown fireballs at injustice, not at my shield, then cackled for 5 seconds, then repeated."
"Today's news was sourced from the prophecies of local sage Iva Gak, inscribed 37 years ago and kept unread until today."
"Only a house of cards that feels itself pushed apart by a whisper-wind will die knowing the meaning of itself, its own idiomatic weakness."
"The angels read smoke and ashes. Shredder scraps join humanity's Ethereal Corpus. But a manuscript consigned to the sea is lost for good."
"A work of fiction creates the mind that reads it as it is read, and thus can only be enjoyed by itself, the human a mere voyeur to the act"
"An ice cream cone relieved of its burden by an unsteady hand sings to Heaven a melody of joy, drowned out by the child's wails."
"HARD PLOT TWIST REACTION ACTION!"
Each of your lovers, in turn, draws a different, unique moan out of you, and in doing so obtains their secret name.
"Goggles on?" you ask, before punching a hole in your codebase's biggest abstraction, hair blown back by a gale of escaping implementation.
"The blue region on the diagram represents your swollen fear lobe." *blue slowly fills your entire head, followed by the rest of your body*
"God gave strength to humans, intellect to humans and wealth to humans, but what He gave us tiny slugs was even better: WISDOM and HUMILITY"
Medieval monks bickering over which saints would or would not have been cat owners
The fairy human-tamer demonstrates your obedience by placing her sweet, delicious head in your open mouth.
A plane, perpendicular to Earth's orbit, that, when any spaceship passes through, brings Christmas to that ship.
Software is an industry where technical debt is so pervasive that tools are frequently forced to retcon their own names' acronyms.
You realise in your delirium that your mind causes pain, not the world outside, and you'll never be free of pain as long as you are a mind.
Now for a bit of 'me time', you think – but your sense of self has so badly atrophied over the years that time stops and never resumes.
The largest spot in the graveyard was saved for the Mayor Eternal, the grumpy man on City Hall's roof who would only die once the town died.
"My sword's enchanted, humming voice guides me to those in dire peril, and gives them free legal advice in song… I am a feared foe of evil…"
Fantasising about pushing down hundreds of copies of your lover, standing in a row like dominoes
"No, not with your hands," she says, lifting them from her chest, "with the Manipulizer 2000." The claw-like gizmo shines on the dresser.
You open the Trash to recover something and find 90TB of alphabetised junk from your past five centuries of life. You briskly click "Empty".
Some of your jurors have pupated into chrysalides right in their seats, and the cicadas seem to have molted and made their escape.
"It can be hard for the compiler to trust you at first. Earn its respect with clean code, and it may repay you with better optimisations."
"At first we needed only one machine to endlessly cast spells to maintain our social structure. Today, they number in the thousands."
"No visitors!"
*piano crashes thru window*
"The master is composing his 2nd-greatest–"
*another piano crashes*
"–GREATEST symphony to date!"
The hotel's sockets provide shadow energy instead of electric. You plug in your laptop and its screen changes from LCD to spectral illusion.
"Faced with global loss of land, humanity crashed the Moon into the Pacific. The people of this new continent grew huge in its low gravity."
AIs getting really invested in stories about evil duplicates, that they themselves call "hostile forks".
"Around five to ten cells in the body are actually ants that wandered in and found themselves doing the work out of obligation."
At the end of the night, all that's left of you is a single femur. They satisfyingly lick you clean and fling you into the dish behind them.
"The meteor that carried me to Earth was a radioactive mineral that limited my power. My "childhood" was me recovering from its effects."
You roll up to the club in your flashiest ride: a much fancier club on Baba Yaga-style chicken legs.
"Only two of the original gods are still alive, and unless enough fertile human wizards ascend to godhood, they are at risk of extinction."
I can't freaking believe that in three days Mewtwo will be added to Homestuck.
These Smash tournament commenters just began ad-libbing a fanfic where various characters are in romantic relationships with stages.
Hiding in your thick leather jacket with "SENSITIVE LITTLE FLOWER" emblazoned on the back.
"With this phone, it's like all your friends are in the palm of your hand!" reads the oddly worded ad in the wizard's mail-order catalogue.
"Wait. All these coloured, locked drawers makes me think this is a room escape room. I'll bet this bedknob is loaded with, like, ten keys."
"At last, lads! After dozens of deathtraps, we've finally found a treasure chest chock full of… DARK chocolate?! NOOOO! It's inedibleeeee!!"
"You tower over me so much, I need spring shoes to jump your bones."
"The dungeon is basically the butt of the castle", remarks your cheery cell guard. "That's why it's my favourite place!"
"I've spent ten minutes in Earth 1.1 and it seems every problem is fixed! To update, just ground-pound the "update" switch in Antarctica."
Trying so hard to giggle-whisper cutely that you instead make a sharp wet spluttering noise right in their ear.
WIZARD: "Aren't monsterisation potions illegal?"
UNDERCOVER COP: "Are you really a monster if you only become a lion from the neck down?"
In the shock of the earthquake, your refrigerator split into three TVs.
A "spinning gears" animation where the gears spin the same direction and their cogs just clip through each other. Your most diabolical work.
Any moment your partner will ask to become a duo of wandering spooky prophetic puppeteers, and your cackling YES will echo in the hills.
"OK, we've both been wrapped in it for an hour, and our heights haven't changed, so I'm sorry to report: shrinkwrap doesn't work."
Disheartened by the vast mighty powers of other species, the "Humans: The Sleek, Simple Lifeform" campaign tried to rekindle human pride.
Even though it's going away, I find it hard to believe this was a Chrome error message all the way up to 2015.
*boredly spins a little top on the desk* "Wow, I apparently subconsciously desire AJAX loading spinners in real life."
"Buggy OCR turns scroll of death to scroll of life" and with that eyerolling headline you struggle to swipe the surface of your crystal ball
That accursed hourglass-lock sits before the door. Only when your geokinesis lifts the sand back up, to "turn back time", will it open.
"The human body has many weak points. Poke the left nipple, and the limbs fall off. Tug the right, and the chest swings open like a door."
The dragon is only "smoking" by putting a white straw to their mouth and gently blowing smoke through it, but they really own the look.
Films where the male lead and female love interest are both run over by a steamroller and keep arguing as they spin around the cylinder.
Puts on ten articles of clothing, takes one selfie, somersaults out of clothes in single leap, spraying them all over the dust-laden floor.
So tired, you describe an escalator as "a staircase where the stairs walk up themselves", conjuring a powerful vision of self-determination.
Careful testing reveals that you get the Same-Type Attack Bonus when throwing pieces of garbage at enemies
You've a devil of a time arranging your master's bones in the resurrection pool, with those nearby warriors playfully pushing each other in.
"Fiends… You dare destroy history's greatest life-form with this so-called "happiness"?! …The very hate that gave me life, withering…!"
Sliding into and vored by your DMs
*slow-mo zoom-in on my finger clicking "tweet", the click pitch-shifted into a bellowing deafening boom*
The boat's motors surge as we approach the stretch where the river does a loop-de-loop before ramping over a pine thicket.
Your mind's grown so used to silently waiting that you catch yourself doing it for hours on end instead of anything else.
A mysterious dark-suited figure leaving roses at the foot of your bed on the anniversary of the day you vowed never to leave it again.
Another night where you place all your dresses in the bathtub and then melt all over them so you can be ten fashionable people at once.
Your only wish is that the family that bought the playset you came in can someday afford the new updated model to replace you with.
What sweeter reward to a hero than the smell of their best friend's crappy apartment after their own apartment sank into a dimensional pit.
You used to calm yourself by practicing your spells, but now that every one of them has claimed a beast's life, they no longer offer solace.
Ugh, your new house's heart is beating too loudly for you to sleep near, which is a shame because its lungs sound like soothing white noise.
"Who's the real one?" asks your lover and their illusory copies. You lean in and kiss one, but they vanish – leaving you open to be tackled!
You're enraptured by this park walk… you want to kiss these trees, this sky, this breeze.
As you imagine this, a leaf blows onto your mouth.
Slime girl pressing cold packs on her shoulders to keep them solid enough that her fabric dress straps won't sink through them again.
Cruising in suburban skies, searching for a diner sufficiently retro enough for you to stash your stolen flying saucer in the carpark of.
You admit you've never had sex outside of lucid dreams before. The prospect seems terrifying. How do you avoid seriously injuring yourself?
A vision of eternally advancing out of fog, an illusion where the figures awaiting you are constantly clearing but never become distinct.
"Er" your wizard pal says, "my family's using a lot of magic in there, and I know you need to slowly get used to it, so let's go elsewhere."
Their magical work done, their welcome overstayed, you squeeze the demons out of your partner, squirting them shrieking out of every orifice
"Aargh, how do I get the data from this class into the other one?"
*types ASCII-art catapult*
Voiceover: "Until now, this was just a dream,
Generations of church sculptors differed on whether a saint bitten in half vertically appeared holier than one bitten in half horizontally.
The demon-king's minions collapse while lifting him through the fiery portal in your apartment floor, and he refuses to haul himself up.
There's no point giving chase: magic doesn't work on naked people lit only by moonlight.
The anti-meteor forcefield on your bus stop bench flips on, trapping you inside while your bus speeds past. The meteors aren't even on fire.
You uploaded your pillow fort, and now 8000 people are inside and it's getting press reviews. You should buy better pillows for the sequel.
Thank you in advance to everyone who remembers this from two years ago http://www.level5.co.jp/15th/vote/
I'm fully prepared for the outcome where the Smash Bros. character poll is won by the Inazuma Eleven kids and the plane from Aero Porter.
http://animatedscreenshots.tumblr.com/post/115237324144/defender-of-the-favicon – I was going to post a screenshot from @increpare's Forest for this April 1, but I remembered something better.
I guess the humour I look for in it is R-18 art treating sex as unimportant, of the participants having concerns outside of it, during it.
I want to enjoy these on a humourous level, but I feel I can't fully separate its humour from usual patriarchal male performativity garbage.
There's this pixiv R-18 tag that's about het women boredly reading their phones or magazines during sex.
https://twitter.com/royaltheartist/status/583265765828202496 – I like how this interleaves a spoof of one kind of obvious joke with another.
Now that Homestar Runner's re-returned once again, I think Achewood's almost due for its traditional yearly comeback attempt, too.
"It's OK. I got used to being stuck in human form, too. You learn to live with the feeble, soul-aching powerlessness eventually."
She turned and stood in the doorway, her shadow so dark that it left an impression in the floor, a lasting sunken groove.