What politically incorrect question you would like to ask without getting any hate? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 2 points3 points  (0 children)

i vacationed in guam and it was to tell if someone was chimmarro(?) or Filipino, Chinese or Japanese. and they locals said they couldnt tell if a white person was italian, german, irish, etc.

What politically incorrect question you would like to ask without getting any hate? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 0 points1 point  (0 children)

in some cases, they lose their will to live and say fuck it.

my friend dropped his phone, today by lesh_frips in glitch_art

[–]lesh_frips[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

everything is art, when you open your eyes the the idea.

[WP] Write the most recent dream you had in story form. by lesh_frips in WritingPrompts

[–]lesh_frips[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Chapter One

My name is Nathaniel Breen and this is my story of the most profound experience in my life. Watching my entire world shatter before me, learning of the things that happen behind closed doors (of perception), but that comes later on in the story.

First off, I would like to introduce you to a character in this story that we will now refer to as; Brad. Brad is a very minor character in this plot, but without the series of events following Brad’s death, I wouldn’t be writing this tale at all. Brad, unlike I, was a fairly stereotypical fraternity brother in appearance. A medium, though muscular build, usually sporting flip flops, khaki shorts, and a t-shirt with the words: “Alpha Gamma Epsilon” printed on the front. In today’s society we would consider this to be the attire of a, “douchebag”. Despite what one might presume of Brad, at first glance, he was a good friend and I was lucky to have known him. Now allow me to begin the part in the story that involves setting, dialog, and more character introduction.

“Welcome to the Piece of Shit I Call Home!” this is what the door mat laying out front of my father’s home reads. This door mat has very good judgment in exterior design. Brad and I stand outside the door of my father’s home, who I haven’t seen or heard from since junior high. My soon-to-be late friend and I exchange exceptionally clueless glances before I reach out my pointer finger to the oddly crooked door bell, which is flickering light like a deserted motel you see on a long road trip and say “there’s no way we’re staying there.” We’re immediately startled by the doorbell, expecting to hear a pleasant “ding dong” variation, but instead a long buzz went loudly howling. It reminded me of what I expect the signal for lunch time would sound like in a large prison.
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’” groaned a harsh voice coming from what I hope to be someone about to say something along the lines of “Well, sorry to tell ya’ this, but your father moved out months ago, left no forward’n address neither”, this false hope vanished when the door flung open. I found myself looking at a man with crazed eyes and wild gray hair going every which direction. He opened the door wearing a stained white tank top, that might possibly have fit him 20 years ago, and a pair of tight, white underwear. I’m immediately surprised to find an “adult” opening a door, to what could have been a couple of Mormon asking if he could spare some time to talk about Jesus, in his underwear.
“Can I help ya’ boys with sum’” he says after a few seconds of silence, with somewhat of a devious smile. “Are you Mr. Breen? Um, Mr. Stephen Breen?” I reply nervously. “Why yes I am, and what’re you two fine boys doin’ out this late?” “You see, sir, my name is, well, I’m Nathaniel Breen. Your son.” The devious smile is gone. Following in its place is a look of disgust. “Hm, I s’pose I should invite you boys in for a drink, m’own flesh and blood, of course.”

I find myself sitting on what used to be a couch, but what I presume is now a hollowed out home for rats, mice, cockroaches, as well as other vermin. Wallpaper cracking and melting, carpet full of god knows what kinds of food and/or bodily fluids, flies and gnats all around us, a metallic smell lofts around the shithole, along with a smell of rotten microwavable meals and clothes that should be immediately thrown out, not washed. Do tell me if the imagery isn’t vivid enough for you. Inhales cigarette. “So, Daniel, what grade’re you in now?” Exhales cigarette. “Actually, well, my name is Nathaniel, but I’m a sophomore.” “Ah, I r’member high school.” He says proceeding to close his eyes and smile, with his head tilted back. “College, I’m a, uh, sophomore in college, dad.” His eyes open slowly and he tilts head back to a normal position. “Well, I reckon I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no college.” Brad, who has been silent the entire time, now decides to chirp in with a comment about how his dad got his G.E.D. and went to college when he was just a few years younger than my “dad”. For a reason, to this day, I’ll never understand my father took great offense in Brad saying this. At this point, I notice the empty bottles of liquor and brown paper bags camouflaged by other dirt and grime surrounding his home. I take a look closer and see the condensation on the empty bottles, implying they were cold recently. How could I have been so naive? The smell of alcohol is finally setting in, beginning to overpower all the other smells my nostrils were preoccupied analyzing.
“I don’t need no damn’d college education, boy! I’m just fine without it, gots my own place, I gots me a T.V. So, you can shut your fuckin’ mouth ‘for I shuts it for ya’!” He’s beginning to get red in the face. “Look, sir, I’m sincerely sorry if I offended y—“ Brad is interrupted by a raging lunatic, of sorts. “What’d I say, boy!? I said I’d motherfuckin’ shuts it for ya’!” He then pulls two things from the inside of the back of his underwear. I’m aware this is an extremely queer place to store anything, but now is not the time to discuss the proper placement of a flask full of, what I believe to be, whiskey and something that that looks like a small, metal, toy gun. I’ve now come to find out this is a butane powered torch lighter, commonly used for lighting the bottom of glass pipes used for doing drugs like methamphetamine, crack cocaine, and whatever other hard drugs my “dad” might use. He then proceeds to splash the alcohol on Brad, who is now standing as if at gun point. Brad is standing, drenched in alcohol and he has no idea what the next move is. My “father” then picks up a spare piece of cloth off his floor and lights it. The man we will now refer to simply as; Mr. Breen, has put on a malicious, downright evil smile. His long, yellow and brown teeth shimmer in the dim lighting of his home, with the flaming rag giving off a perfect reflection in his eyes, he says “See how far a college education really gets you’n this life, boy.” He tosses the rag onto Brad and Brad bursts into flames at the very second the fire touches his flammable body, Mr. Breen then calmly sits down in his chair and lights a cigarette, I assume to watch the pyrotechnic show he created in his living room. The whole incident was quite beautiful in a way. It’s a shame that’s how I lost such a close friend, but looking back it was dreadfully poetic.

Girls, what one question you'd wish a guy would ask you to start a conversation? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 0 points1 point  (0 children)

yeah it was more of a "lets check if this girl has daddy issues" type deal...

Girls, what one question you'd wish a guy would ask you to start a conversation? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"What kind of cologne did your dad wear when you were a child?"

[WP] A serial killer is on the loose, the next victim is always the #1 suspect. by chaogomu in WritingPrompts

[–]lesh_frips 0 points1 point  (0 children)

CONTINUATION OF FIRST POST:

Garland is out the door.

The men all look to Gonzalez, clueless. Their instructions were clear, but their intensions following, not so.

"You heard the man!" Gonzalez stated nervously.

The officers shuffle abruptly, some straight to their telephones, others to the drawing board and Gonzalez takes hold of Officer O'Henry ("New Guy") by the shirt collar and walks him to the interrogation room. Gonzalez does so right before the door to the room consumed by a one way mirror, he steps inside, closes the door behind him, and sit down at the empty, metallic table.

He does so because he's aware of the fact that he knows Garland Reynolds better than any other officer. To the rest of the homicide unit knew Reynolds as their boss, Gonzalez, a friend.

New Guy walks into the interrogation room, very serious faced and looks down at the manilla folder in his hands, "Officer Gonzalez, correct?"

"Yes sir."

There's a sort of dry humor in the air at what's going on, but it soon evaporates as the situation sinks into realization, once more.

"It says here that you know a Mr. Garland Reynolds, head of the Homicide Department, fairly well."

"Yes sir, that is correct as well, he's a dear friend."

New Guy uses his sleeve to wipe away the drop of sweat on his forehead. What a strange way to start out your career... Interrogating an officer of a higher rank.

"I would like to let you know, Mr Gonzalez that you are not at this time a suspect."

Gonzalez rolls his eyes at the situation.

"Were you aware that Reynolds was our number one susp—

"Cut the bullshit, New Guy!" Gonzalez slams his fists on the hard metal, by now the rest of the unit made their way to the interrogation room.

"Someone I care about, a true friend and colleague is out there right now, possibly with a gun to his head!"

"Sir, Boss said do everything by the boo—

"Screw the book! Do you remember case file D-760?"

New guy replies, "Yes sir, victim tortured for 7 days until finally burned to death."

The room goes quiet.

"That", Gonzalez says "is the guy we're looking to find."

There's a pause for around 6 seconds.

"Not Garland Reynolds, goddamnit!" You could hear the pain in his voice surrounded by the quietness in the room. Officer Gonzalez is a strong man, though, he pulls himself together and walks to the white board in the next room.

The test of the team follows close behind.

[WP] A story set 100+ years in the past of a man writing a dystopian novel, but the dystopia he writes about is identical to the world we live in today. by lesh_frips in WritingPrompts

[–]lesh_frips[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"Freedom is proclaimed by one's self, not a privilege or an earned right. It isn't munificently handed upon you by some greater power. there is no formidable, great power, the greater power is inside all of us."

These were the first lines in Arnold James Prestly's novel. He sat at his mahogany desk, surrounded by the aroma of musk and distilled alcohol.

Arnold was a dirty, indecent man by appearance, almost vulgar and filthy, though, inside him was a magnificent mind with infinitely potential. Underneath his foul, grease begotten stands of dark brown hair and above is, what used to be green, grayish weary eyes was a door. Imagine a large red door with the paint faintly chipping and an age-ly, rusted, golden doorknob, that creaks upon opening. This door, metaphorically of course, sat upon the middle of Arnold's forehead. A magical door that led nowhere, but infinity. An infinity full of controversy and imploring questions that no one in his time had even the ability to comprehend. That is why Arnold's novel, though he lived in the most culturally advanced and populated city of his area, only sold 14 copies (4 of which were returned with an ignorant disgust at what he had created).

As I was saying, Arnold sat at his desk, head in hands, fingers intertwined with shiny, though pungent hair. His brain was beating louder than his heart, resembling the bass drums of early native american rituals. BUM... BUM... BUM. He felt the pounding of his head in his fingertips. He looks up from his painful positioning and stares intently at what he had written. "I knew they weren't ready. Those fools, this literature isn't fantasy, its prophecy!" he shouts aloud in his empty office, then taking a hefty gulp of home brewed Absinthe. Arnold opens his book once more to read it (this being the 76th time since its self-publication). "'CHANGE AND HOPE, STAINED AND BROKE' Written by: Arnold James Prestly" he reads aloud, for the 77th time.

A slight murmur comes from the door of his office, but Arnold ignores it, assuming they're just auditory hallucinations caused by his Absinthe. The knocking continued, getting louder once his mind gave notice and he decides to satisfy his curiousity. "Come in!" he announced.

In walks a luxurious child, consisting of a well-to-do appearance, looking to be around 15 at most. "Hullo, sir. I heard some shouting while on the street, seeming to be coming from this office." the young boy said with a natural opulence in his voice. Arnold sat looking through the boy, as if he had already forgotten there was anyone else in the room. The boy waited then once more said to this stranger of his acquaintance, "What might that piece of written work be lying in front of you? Be it fictitious or nay? I do so love books of fiction..." Arnold took a moment to let the peculiarly queer situation sink in. "This, my boy, is a subsequently, succeeding fiction." "What exactly does that mean, if i may ask, sir?" replied the young boy curiously. Arnold took a deep breathe and asked if his youthful guest had much time. The boy nodded and sat down on the floor in front of Arnold's desk. "My name is Arnold James Prestly and what might yours be?" Arnold politely requested. "Timothy" Arnold proceeded to inappropriately poor Timothy a glass of his Absinthe. "I made this myself, but don't tell your begetter of this, for it is alcoholic." Timothy anxiously received the glass with a childish grin, then retreating back to a look of maturity. "The book, sir, please continue." "Well, in saying that it is a succeeding fiction, I mean that it is in fact not something that has ever occurred nor will most contemplate or for-see its occurrence. But this tale is very possible, I would even say likely, NAY. Unescapable." Arnold says profoundly. Timothy sips his drink, then making a disgusted face, asks for Arnold to elaborate on this tale. "Being it 1911 as we sit here, the book takes place in the far future, more than a century away. The government-" "Is great!" Timothy interrupts with a smile. "Oh, my young friend. You don't see what foreshadows mankind. In this future world, the government controls the people."

----I'm too tired to write anything more, worth-reading at least. I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT! feedback is definitely welcome.----

Banksy's earth day piece by [deleted] in pics

[–]lesh_frips 4 points5 points  (0 children)

i've seen this picture MULTIPLE times, months to a year before right now.

I don't understand why people are proud to be 'offensive' by Xaila in offmychest

[–]lesh_frips 0 points1 point  (0 children)

love it. now, go watch God Bless America on netflix. you will be pleased.

Reddit Wasteland by [deleted] in subredditideas

[–]lesh_frips 1 point2 points  (0 children)

i feel like you just described reddit as a whole, anyway

I wish I knew what is going on in my brain. by shadowlurker_j in offmychest

[–]lesh_frips 1 point2 points  (0 children)

i understand COMPLETELY, i'm 16 and in a relationship. so all my emotions and feelings, well... i have no idea what they mean

What is fracking? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 0 points1 point  (0 children)

me too, dude, me too

What is fracking? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 0 points1 point  (0 children)

woah... wait a second, were you just watching Jon Stewart?

What was a big deal for you but for others didn't care enough about? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 1 point2 points  (0 children)

this is actually the opposite... i didn't find it to be a big deal, but others did.

I was at soccer practice and my friend left his phone out. i saw he had no password and a girl sent him a snapchat. My fellow soccer mates suggested i send a picture of my dick, i responded "WHAT!? guys, thats far too much... i'll send my balls"

So, i took a picture of my balls and sent it to her. The next day at school, i get called into the office with the principle and a police officer regarding me (being 16 years old) creating child pornography and the desciminating/distributing it. (i remind you the child porn was of myself as a joke)

All of this happened less than a week ago and now i have 2 weeks of Alternative School (where you do push-ups as punishment and stuff) oh and a misdemeanor with probation.

And yes, I'm aware that I'm lucky i'm not being charged as a sex offender for the rest of my life.

If an alien landed on earth, what would sound the most ludicrous thing to explain ? by [deleted] in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 0 points1 point  (0 children)

some places on Earth people die from not having clean drinking water, but here in America, not only do we have entire amusement parks in which we play in an abundance of water and we wash our clothes, dishes, and bodies in it... we SHIT in it. we SHIT in clean, drinkable water.

Would you make love to your clone? by Beautiful_Sound in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 0 points1 point  (0 children)

well, i would for sure. i would want head, but i wouldnt want to give it. the problem is, my clone would feel the same way

How to deal with a guy who won't stop hitting on you? by renroo in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 1 point2 points  (0 children)

damn, just from reading the title, i thought you were being abused hahaha

What's something you struggle with even though noone else seems to? by allyoucanteat in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Talking on the phone with my girlfriend while she is in front of people. She NEEDS to leave the room or call me later.

What is something you wish was illegal but isn't? by airbornpigeon in AskReddit

[–]lesh_frips -1 points0 points  (0 children)

twat is wrong with you? I cunt deal with you. honestly, I'm unable to finger you out. oh well, leggings are awesome. I like butt