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What I expected was the knowledge of the contents of this forum.
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Narration & Review Videos / Re: Scare Your Friends EP35 - Corruptus
« Last post by Diagnoyaz on 12:29:39 AM 06/08/18 »
I would like to know about this forum where you brought it from or invented it.
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Your Stories / That Damn Cat
« Last post by DoviDoes on 06:57:34 PM 06/04/18 »
Salutations my fellow Cat Coveters, Feline Fanciers, and Pussy Protectors. As you can see, I'm a longtime lurker, first-time poster. This is the board for judgment-free venting, right? Great. Because I've just gotta say it.

My cat is pissing me off.

I know, I know. Mind your whiskers and, more importantly, the rules. And maybe, if you're still reading, hear me out.

Cat's name is Renegade Sam. Never met a neutered cat that was so horny. My first cat Ripley is way into it. Beautiful couple, should post pics soon.

The Gader wasn't originally mine. Bought him as a kitten for my Grandpa Chip after grandma died. Grandpa wasn't old enough for a Home yet and we all know what great company cats are.

Now, 10 years later, they've both moved in with me. Got them all set up in the finished part of the basement. Grandpa's mostly fine, still drove himself to his appointments this morning, but the dude's still got to have to have his privacy right? Right.

And a month ago he handed me the Pooper Scooper and said Sam is my cat now. His food and litter box are still in the basement, but sure, alright.

Rener's usually cool though. No sweat. But not this morning.

He was on me the moment I opened the bedroom door. Purring, nudging my leg, tripping me up. I'm just trying to make some fucking coffee.

Samthony would not let up. Definitely wasn't for affection. If it was, he'd have draped over my lap when I sat down on the couch. Or started rubbing on my neck from the back of the couch. He does that too.

Nah, he definitely wanted food. Had plenty of water, we keep that in the kitchen and I checked. He just, did that cat thing, you know? Every time I walked by the basement steps he'd finally leave me alone, walk down a few steps, and look at me like I'm the jackass.

But CoolestCatastrophe, you heartless bastard. Why didn't you just feed the poor kitty?

Because I fed him last night, that's why. I know that cat's stomach, and there is no way the dish is even half empty. And if it is, he should just eat from Ripley's bowl. She won't give a shit. She's better than that.

More than that, it's like. Resentment, I guess? Same kind of knee-jerk reaction from when someone tells you to do something you were about to do anyway. If he'd just leave me alone I'd humor him and check anyway. This is my house, not his.

Even as I'm typing this, there he is, trying to nudge me to stand up and purring incessantly. I guess I should just be glad old Sammy Slammy isn't full-on humping my leg.

Not looking for sympathy or advice, just need to know I'm not alone on this. When has your cat pissed you off by not leaving you alone?

Edit: Just checked the basement. Please keep my grandfather in your thoughts and prayers.
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Story Critique / Katie’s Path to Culthood (Part 1)
« Last post by DoviDoes on 06:55:53 PM 06/04/18 »
You could say I was part of a cult in high school. It wasn’t all punch bowls and hooded cloaks, though I’m savvy enough on the subject to know that’s not how it usually goes. But high school isn’t something I enjoy thinking about, much less discussing with strangers. You’re all lucky though. Now that it’s on my mind I pretty much have to share it here, otherwise it’s going to spill out all over my next date after a few too many glasses. We can’t have that. What if she’s actually cute?

2012 was a year of shake-ups for my family. Lured in by business positions with more potential advancements for my parents, and a better school district for the rest of us, we moved to a small Midwest suburb of a midsize city. Somewhere in there, I stopped being my mom’s favorite daughter and became something else for her and my dad to frantically manage. Once all of our stuff had been moved in over the summer, her infamously detailed “Katie’s Path to College” poster never re-appeared in the new kitchen. That was probably a relief for my two siblings. For me, it left a bigger absence than our smaller refrigerator and dining table.

Mom and Dad started commuting to their respective companies right away, leaving us to fend for ourselves until school started in the fall. That went well enough. The town was just on the edge of the countryside. Beyond our few blocks of near identical houses were large swathes of corn fields and forest groves that just dared a couple of city kids to explore them. My older sister Jun and my younger brother Dave would bike for hours together as we familiarized ourselves with our new home and communed with the locals. I would much prefer to dwell upon this part of my life but it has little relevance.

As my freshman year commenced, I did not settle in well. My sister found a boyfriend, a very nice boy with eyes that lit up whenever he saw her, and I think that’s when I stopped being her favorite sister again. We had both been growing out our hair for several years, and had been planning to get it cut short together. She abruptly backed out of our plans and lectured me on the need to take better care of how I’m seen by others. I did grow closer with Dave, and he began to tell me everything, even things I would rather not hear. In hindsight, I wish I had done the same.

The friends I made over the summer also felt different when they were with others. Jenny had told me my thick glasses looked cute when we were sitting together by a watering hole near our neighborhood, both of our necks reddened by the sun above our tank tops. I thought about daring to take her hand. On the second day of school, as I was walking near her lunch table, she loudly told two of her friends how ugly my glasses were. To punctuate her warning that things were not to be the same, Jenny called me a word I’d last heard screamed at my dad by a bearded man who could not stop stumbling all over the sidewalk. I sat alone during lunch for a long time.

I began to notice a particular girl often looking at me in our classes. Her name was Mikayla and she had striking red hair and green eyes that even now I still find myself thinking about. While I spent most of class reading fantasy novels, she spent most of class drawing in her many notebooks. Sometimes I would only pretend to read, and instead spend most of class daydreaming about approaching her to ask about one of those drawings. I never did.

She took the initiative herself. I noticed Mikayla right away, especially since our lockers and classes were very spaced out in school and she had no reason to be there after lunch period. Feeling my chest seize up, I pretended to be very invested in tidying up my already organized locker, my bent head half-buried inside while doing so. That must have looked ridiculous, but she still approached once the two other students in the hallway drifted away. I could feel her behind me before she spoke.

“Did you lose something Katie?” she asked. There was amusement in her voice, but it was gentle enough to reassure me that I wasn’t being made fun of.

“No… not really.” I replied, still awkwardly brushing hair out of my face after turning around. It’s a well-known law of the universe that the only days that pretty girls talk to you are the days where you forget something important, like a scrunchie.

“Oh, good,” she said. She was smiling but seemed uncertain how to continue.

“You wanted to talk to me about something?” I was smiling more, emboldened that she was nervous too.

“You eat alone right? I uh, wanted to invite you to eat with us in the library. If you want to.”

From there began my new daily routine. Not just Mikayla, but the rest of her group, welcomed me in a way I hadn’t felt since the summer. School stopped being a challenge to face but became a means to be with my friends. Once the awkwardness of getting to know each other passed, our daily conversations over lunch and in passing mainly focused on our classes and the books we were reading. Kiera somehow loved Anne McCaffrey novels even more than me, though Jordan and Jenny loved horror and would bring it up at every opportunity. I learned Mikayla almost always drew fairies in her notebook and was creating a comic that featured all of us as characters. I was content. I was happy.

The only notable bit of weirdness was Mikayla’s fixation on a certain senior guy. After getting her lunch from her locker, she would interrupt any conversation we were having to talk about him. She used words to describe him that would have gotten us in trouble if the librarian had overheard, but she was across the room and unaware. Mikalya deeply hated this senior. Even after hearing about him on a near daily for a semester, I’m still not sure why.

She would outline his behavior for the day, which to me sounded harmless, and use very colorful language to inform us how disgusting she thought he was. His ugly glasses, his terrible smell, his disgusting complexion. Her insults would get very personal. It made me uncomfortable in many ways, but I didn’t want to risk driving away my new friends by speaking up. Only Kiera, who was never good at hiding the way she felt, displayed the same discomfort I was feeling. But she never said anything either.

After a couple months, Mikayla invited me over for my first sleepover. Just us, none of our friends. I spent way too long choosing which sleepwear to bring, finally deciding on my tank top and pajama pants with long traditional dragons wrapped around the legs. My parents were out of town, but after a few requests Jun drove me over to her house so that I wouldn’t have to change out my sleepwear. It was two blocks away and looked nearly identical to our house, just a different shade of gray. Like a dutiful sister, Jun walked me to the door, and appeared wary to leave me upon learning Mikayla’s parents were out of town as well. Her concern was not enough to make her willing to crush my clear excitement at learning the same fact, and she let me stay.

Mikayla’s smile when she looked over my pajamas made every second of decision worth it. In contrast, she was wearing a floral house robe that was two sizes too big for her, that I now suspect she borrowed from her mother. At the time I was only impressed at how mature I thought it looked. Once inside, we hurried off to her room to snack on bowls of popcorn and watch a movie that actually managed to frighten me. I think it was The Craft, but that movie has never scared me since then, so I can’t be sure.

As the credits rolled for the movie and we sat together in darkness lit only by the television, Mikayla took a deep breathe and sat still for just a bit longer than was comfortable to watch. Ignoring my shy inquiries, she began to move around the room with all the flair of a stage production. She had planned this, and I was her very willing audience. From beneath her bed, my friend produced two long white candlesticks, a shiny gold lighter, and two notebooks with covers I had never seen before. Her stunning green eyes now locked with mine, she lit the candles, flipped off the tv, and took both of my hands in hers. I thought I was going to die of embarrassment.

“I have something to tell you Katie,” she said. I was caught up in the moment, but her voice still came across as unusually monotone.

“Yeah?” I managed. Too many thoughts were in my head for my mouth to move correctly.

“I can see spirits. And people’s auras. I’ve been so excited to tell you.” The wave of the candles’ flames made her green eyes flicker. Once I processed what she said, I felt like I had been drowning in them, and had finally broken through for air.

“Wait. What? Ghosts? Dead people?” As I was trying to re-gather my thoughts, I reflexively tried to pull away my hands, but her grip kept them there. It must have meant a lot to her tell me this.

She grew more excited when I said that. Her grip on my hands tightened even more, but it still didn’t hurt.  “Yes! Dead people!” she exclaimed. “They come to me at night. Here, especially in my bedroom. Sometimes they’re standing above me in the morning. Sometimes they yell in my ear until I wake up and help them.”

I tried to look around the room at this, but a sudden tug on my hands told me to keep my gaze locked with hers. The only remaining sliver of my former infatuation with the possibilities of this night was being stirred by the feeling of her warm, excited breathe wafting over to my lips.

I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that. Only later, when I was thinking clearly, would I able be to even try to think about whether or not she was lying, or truly believed this nonsense. Instead, I indulged my curiosity. “Spirits. Okay. What do they look like?” I asked.

Her gleeful expression told me this was the right question. I’d never heard her speak so quickly. “Gray! And if they died, they look the way they did right afterward. Nearly severed heads, stab wounds, a lot of the time they’re even bleeding. It’s just that they’re gray all over and  almost see-through. It’s actually terrifying!” she exclaimed. She didn’t sound very scared.

I let myself smile again. It felt like talking about a story she was writing, which was back inside my comfort zone. “Oh wow… I bet. I can only imagine waking up to that! And what was that about auras?” I asked.
“It’s how I found you! I’ve always seen… colors, and sometimes symbols, just. Around people. Some people are orange, and some people are purple. You were gray, the most gray I’ve ever seen. I could tell you were going to give up soon.” she said. Her excitement dimmed as she explained this, and her grip on my hands became softer and more comforting.

“Oh.” I said. That was a bit too true to dwell upon. “And what color is it now? Did it change?”

“Oh yes!” Mikayla replied. “It’s bright blue now. It suits you much better.” Her smile distracted me a bit more again after she said that.

I had to think harder before replying. “So why are you telling me all this? Because you helped me?” I asked.

She shook her head, her gaze still never leaving mine. I could tell she was getting excited again. “Not just that. Because you’re special Katie. I told you some people have symbols with their auras, and all of us do. Me, Kiera, Jordan, Jenny. And now you!” Mikayala was leaning close again and it was clouding my judgment and ability to speak properly.

“And…. n-now me. What symbol?” I asked. That wasn’t the question I meant to ask, but it was still on my mind.

She shook her head vigorously. “I’m not allowed to tell you. I can only tell you that you’re meant for something greater. And…” She paused dramatically, breathing in deeply and letting it out. “Tonight will be your first step. Will you do it? Please? Just do what I tell you.”

Mikayla pulled me over to one of the notebooks. For once it wasn’t filled with colorful fairies. Instead, it had pages and pages of text I couldn’t recognize. Some pages were even written in languages I knew, like English and Traditional Chinese, but her frenzied movements barely let me grasp a few words before the page was turned. She finally stopped at a page with four signatures and a fifth empty line below them. Mikayla’s was first, and the most recent was Kiera’s.

For a frightening moment I glanced around for a knife, but then she thrust a pen into my hands. “Sign. Please. For the sake of the future.” Her eyes returned to mine and her expression was so urgent.

I didn’t think I believed any of this. It could even be dangerous. But I couldn’t imagine being with my friends after rejecting something like this. I signed the page.

After a gloriously tight hug, more snacks, and another movie I found myself lying on an air mattress next to her bed and finally able to feel the full force of my regret. What would my parents think? We weren’t exactly practicing Buddhists but this had to violate something we weren’t supposed to be doing. I surprised myself though. After all the pressure and amid this lingering guilt, I was content. I was happy.

I was not happy when I awoke to the man standing above me. His eyes were as wild as a newly caged animal, and he screamed at me incoherently from a nearly detached jaw. If the blood hadn’t been as gray and immaterial as his body, it would have been pouring over my prone body. I gripped the mattress with my fingers as I lost all sense of time, consumed in his wail. Somehow, I had the faintest fantasy of the dragons on my pajamas coming to life to defend me. And then it was over, the world was quieter than it had ever been. I think I fell asleep again.

She would tell me in the morning it was just a nightmare. Maybe it was. But that was the first night I joined a cult.
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I do not have a home like this.
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General Discussion / Re: Was there ever a movie that truly scared you?
« Last post by Yungyurt on 01:24:05 AM 05/30/18 »
I like to watch this movie. same It's very scary.
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Your Stories / Re: The Right Thing
« Last post by KingMob on 01:16:48 AM 05/26/18 »
Just a little fyi. This is TheCancerMan on the discord. Going to be moving away from that name slowly. This may not really be the "traditional" kind of story found here, I wanted to go for a more mundane fear story. This is my first time writing in forever and I just wanted to share. Feel free to savage me with constuctive criticism. I want to keep going, and to do that, I need your help. All feedback is appreciated.
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Your Stories / The Right Thing
« Last post by KingMob on 01:11:41 AM 05/26/18 »
               The Right Thing
                       A Story by King Mob


   I need to tell you a story that I'd rather not. I don't have anyone to really turn to with this kind of thing, and now I'm relying on the kindness of an anonymous community of strangers to unload this burden on. It all begins about a year ago, during what would best be left an unspoken chapter of my life. My Grandmother, whom I lived with as a full time caretaker had just passed away, and I was forced back out into the wide world, penniless, friendless, and jobless to try and fend for myself. Desperate for something to cling on to, I flooded every business in town I could think of with a stream of job applications. Day after day I'd visit each store I applied to, requesting to speak to a manager to discuss my prospects of working. They weren't good. As a soon to be homeless navy veteran who had no job experience in the 10 years since seperation, I can't say I blamed them. One day, after slinking back home after my daily ritual, the phone rang. It was the hiring manager at Wal Mart.
   
   A little background on my town, and the nature of the wal mart that sustains it.  You ever been on a road trip? I'm sure most of you have. You know those unremarkable little highway towns you speed through where the only reason you'd stop would be to refuel, or possibly resupply yourself at the local wal mart? That's my town. A shitty highway wal-mart town in the middle of the Mojave desert. You ever take a moment to think about the people who live in a town like that? No? I don't blame you one bit. It was a vibrant place once, where people owned their own businesses and everyone knew everyone. A dust covered little piece of the American dream. After the wal-mart came, it sucked the life from it's surroundings like a tumor. The shops closed and one by one everybody was forced to apply for work at the open wound that bled their dreams dry, and lucky, lucky me was about to join their number.

   The hiring process went relatively painless. They needed stockers for the upcoming holiday season, and anything i said short of a murder confession would phase them in the interview process. People didn't matter. Bodies did. Paperwork was signed, documents exchanged and after a marathon session of videos and computer tests extolling the virtues of the corporate culture I was given a blue vest, a name badge and was dismissed to find my way to the sales floor without a second thought.

   The sales floor was a chaotic affair, trying to stock shelves in the throngs of the thanksgiving shoppers with no idea of where the product goes was like being lost in an ever shifting maze of increasingly rude meat. I bumbled my way through the churning seas of customers, trying and usually failing to find items as I tried to question my co-workers as to how to perform my job, most were apathetic and barely bothering to acknowledge the "short timers", and others were much like myself, spit out into the churning seas of the holiday rush. So I resolved to continue to push forward through the day in silence, just wanting to get through the day without incident.

   The mid-shift break eventually rolled around and I found my way to the break room at the back of the store and found a seat at an empty corner table to collect my thoughts after the insanity of the first four hours of the day. The few other workers ate in silence, absentmindedly staring at the tv set towards the center of the rear wall. I closed my eyes and cursed to myself, wondering how I found myself in this mess and what gods I offended by simply trying to do the right thing by looking after an elderly family member. "C'mon, it's not as bad as all that, is it?" Said the first friendly voice I've heard since my grandmother's passing. I opened my eyes, startled from my inner pity party to see a lanky, silver haired co-worker making himself to home on the seat opposite mine.

   We spoke for most of the hour break. His name was Len, and he had been with the company for nearly 15 years, using the transfer policy to travel the country whenever he felt the need for a change of scenery. Listening to Len, he'd seen and done it all. Served in the navy for a while during the Vietnam war, worked as a stuntman for low budget direct to video action affairs. Working on an Alaskan crab fishing boat,  You name it, Len had done it. And now that he was "all used up.", as he put it, the only thing he could find to do was work as a door greeter. Welcoming people to the store, as corporate made bank off the tax breaks for hiring yet another senior citizen.    "It's dirty, but it's a living.", he said with a chuckle. I pondered if he meant his situation was dirty, or the store's. The look in his eyes made me think he was wondering the same thing.

   The days went on. Wake, work, sleep, repeat. The increasing desperation of customers buying food for their thanksgiving feasts meant more hours and more hours meant I was at work more than I was home. I found myself more and more increasingly ok with this as thanks to advice from Len I was getting more and more comfortable with the job, finding myself able to nimbly weave my way through the crowds and delivering products to their homes with relative ease. During breaks I'd exchange pleasantries with Len, trading stories over cigarettes and just laughing at the state of our lives that brought us to this point in time. As well as more advice on how to survive the cut-throat time on "The Wal" as we both started referring to it with the wry form of gallows humor that dominated our talks. This became our lives all the way through Thanksgiving, and as Christmas drew closer, I noticed Len was "off", sitting in silence for long periods of time while staring off into space with a lit cigarette burning away hanging, unsmoked, between his lips.

   And then, he told me the story.

   "My mom died back when I was young, Fifteen or so.". He told me, his voice cold and distant "Leaving me and my old man on our own. Dad, well he didn't take it well at. He looked so lost without her. You should have seen him before. A large man, larger than life to me back then. Always laughing, always willing to help anybody who needed it. Family, friends, hell, even total strangers".  I still remember the faint smile on Len's lips when he talked about his dad, finally taking a long drag off the cigarette in his mouth, mostly ash by the time he remembered it was even there.
   "Well, like I said, he didn't take it well at all. And took to drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. At first it was just a little to calm his nerves, then a little more to help him sleep and then to help him roll out of bed and face the day. The more he drank the more he receded and  the man I admired most was replaced with a clumsy, violent man as quick to swing a fist as he was to crack a joke. The money started running out pretty quick and yet he still had money to drink. Not even so much as a loaf of bread on the table some weeks, but always a bottle of cheap whiskey on his bedside table. 

   "Bastard finally got himself fired from the hardware store he used to work in once the till came up a hundred dollars short. When he slurred out the story of what he was doing home in the middle of the afternoon I finally lost it. I hit him. I reeled back my skinny fucking fist and decked him in the mouth, sent him right to the floor. The way he looked at me after that, that quick flash of fire as his fists clenched. I thought I was dead after that. He must have seen me shrink back from him in that moment and the most profound look of hurt came across his face as he looked down at me. He shook his head and stumbled out the door, out into the streets. I didn't see him for a week after that".

   "I spent my days working in that same hardware store, Pulaski, the old man who ran the place took pity on me and gave me a job. He skimmed my wages pretty hard to make up for what dad had taken, but at least it was something. I spent my days working the counter and my nights crawling every back alley bar in town, looking for my dad. Never finding a trace of him outside of angry stories from the lowlifes that hung out in those places, talking about how he cheated them in stupid bar bets, or when that didn't work, just beating them down and helping himself to their beer and their wallets before disappearing back into the night".

   "Then, on Christmas Eve I finally got the call. The police. Turns out they picked him up previous night, bastard tried pick pocketing a cop and you can imagine how well that went over. They asked if I wanted to post bail, and for some reason I said yes. I scraped together what money I could and made the long walk down to the station, mad as hell but relieved at the thought of having him back at the same time. We made the walk back in silence, neither of us knowing what to say to the other. When we reached the front step to the house, I put my hand on his shoulder and finally broke the silence."

   I looked over to Len, he was visibly shaking, his fingers wound tightly through his thinning hair. "My dad was trembling where he stood. It was so hard to look at him in this state. The fact that I used to look up to this broken thing that used to be my father was sitting sour in my gut. 'Look at you'. I told him. 'Look at what you've done to yourself. You're a wreck! You're a damn wreck and I don't know how, but things have to change'. I'll never forget the look on his face. He had the saddest smile, the saddest damn smile I think I've ever seen. 'I know son, I know. I need to sleep now' he voice was so cracked and gone. He hung his head and clumsily shuffled off into the house. I stayed out on the porch for a long time. Just watching the sun sink down."

   "When I woke up in the morning Dad was dead. Hung himself in the living room while I was asleep". Len turned and looked at me for the first time since he started talking. He looked like he wanted to cry, but forgot how a long time ago. "I spent most of my life on the run after that. Just kept moving, y'know? Doing anything I could to not think about that night. Lied about my age and joined the Navy and just never looked back. Now I'm getting too old, I can't keep moving and the memories" His body shuddered as a dry sob slipped out. "Well the fuckers are finally catching up to me and all I can think about is that night and I keep wondering if I could have changed things, that if I said the right thing that maybe he'd have made it through that night".

   I was stunned, while I considered Len as much as a friend as I considered anyone back then, which, when I think about it was really nobody. I really barely knew the guy. He was a sympathetic ear for my problems, and an encouraging voice when I was lost in the world. I had no idea what to say. Still don't to this day. My hand found his shoulder as I tried to put on the most reassuring face I could muster. "You said what you had to. You said the right things to a man who didn't know what the right thing to do was anymore". My eyes met his, and the tears were flowing after I spoke.

   "Thank you". He managed to choke out, as he rose to his feet. "I've ran from that memory for so long I never took the time to even think about it like that" Shakily he began to walk away from the store. "Tell the boss I had to leave early, you'll think of something. Right now, I need to sleep". I watched him shuffle off through the parking lot on unsteady legs until he disappeared beyond the flickering amber glow of the street lights.   

   The neighbors found Len dead in his home the next day. Hung himself during the night.

   I left that shitty job and all of it's shitty people after I found out. Just worked whatever I could find, didn't matter. I just had to be as far from there as I could. It's been about five years now and the memories of that night have been creeping in little by little. And the more I try to ignore them, the more they catch up with me. When I close my eyes I see the sad, small eyes of the only man who took the time to try and be my friend. I think of the tears in his eyes, the tears of the man who tried to teach me to be a little stronger in the chaotic world I had been thrust out into. I see those eyes and I wonder if I had said the right thing that night. Which is why I'm writing this.

         Please, tell me. Did I say the right thing?   

   
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General Discussion / Re: Random LOL..
« Last post by Bautistaz on 12:42:20 AM 05/23/18 »
The main forum of this forum is usually where to find it.
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Your Stories / Re: The Circuit Board
« Last post by Bautistaz on 12:41:40 AM 05/23/18 »
The forum is the most important forum right now.
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