twitchquotes:You can say that I was born to be a Twitch channel mod. I catch a glimpse of copypasta, the adrenaline starts pumping. A whiff of drama, I snap into duty. My streamer calls for a chat ban, I erase that motherfucker from the history books of this channel. There is no !command I wonβt code, no timeout I wonβt give, no Twitch laws I wonβt overlook, and no order I wonβt obey to make my streamer happy. And if you become his problem, well, Iβm sorry to say that Iβll become yours.
You can say that I was born to be a Twitch channel mod. I catch a glimpse of copypasta, the adrenaline starts pumping. A whiff of drama, I snap into duty. My streamer calls for a chat ban, I erase that motherfucker from the history books of this channel. There is no !command I wonβt code, no timeout I wonβt give, no Twitch laws I wonβt overlook, and no order I wonβt obey to make my streamer happy. And if you become his problem, well, Iβm sorry to say that Iβll become yours.
Kripp and G2A
twitchquotes:"I won't do it." says Kripp."You guys are rotten scammers selling stolen keys." The G2A dealer stands in the corner, face obscured by the shadows. "Are you sure?" he says with a toothy grin. Kripp nods. The G2A dealer steps out of the shadow, and Kripp is shocked to see it is none other than Scamaz. "I give the order, and Rania and Pupparian die. I've already taken Cattarian as punishment. Now sign the deal." Kripp sobs as he signs, and hopes his viewers will one day understand his plight.
"I won't do it." says Kripp."You guys are rotten scammers selling stolen keys." The G2A dealer stands in the corner, face obscured by the shadows. "Are you sure?" he says with a toothy grin. Kripp nods. The G2A dealer steps out of the shadow, and Kripp is shocked to see it is none other than Scamaz. "I give the order, and Rania and Pupparian die. I've already taken Cattarian as punishment. Now sign the deal." Kripp sobs as he signs, and hopes his viewers will one day understand his plight.
Dear host EZ π· of digital streams EZ π·
twitchquotes:Dear host π· of digital streams π· gentlemen from chat π· ask you to include male music π· with vocals π· of Gachirian era π·
Dear host EZ π· of digital streams EZ π· gentlemen from chat EZ π· ask you to include male music EZ π· with vocals EZ π· of Gachirian era EZ π·
You will never be a crewmate
You will never be a crewmate. You have no purpose on this ship, you have no tasks, you have no mini games to play. You are an impostor twisted into a crude mockery of crewmatery.
All the validation you get is two-faced and halfhearted. In emergency meetings people call you sus. The other players are disgusted and ashamed of you, your friends laugh at your sussy appearance in ghost chat.
Crewmates are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of games have allowed crewmates to identify impostors with incredible efficiency. Even impostors who fake tasks act uncanny and suspicious to a crewmate. Your jumping in vents is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a crewmate to electrical with you, he'll turn tail and use the emergency button the second he gets the suspicion that you sabotaged.
You will never be a winner. You wrench out a fake task every single game and tell yourself it is going to be a win, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it will be too much to bear - people will vote you out for being sus and will plunge you into the cold abyss. Your parents will report your body, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They will eject you with a headstone marked with your birth tag, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know an impostor is drifting there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably sus.
You will never be a crewmate. You have no purpose on this ship, you have no tasks, you have no mini games to play. You are an impostor twisted into a crude mockery of crewmatery.
All the validation you get is two-faced and halfhearted. In emergency meetings people call you sus. The other players are disgusted and ashamed of you, your friends laugh at your sussy appearance in ghost chat.
Crewmates are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of games have allowed crewmates to identify impostors with incredible efficiency. Even impostors who fake tasks act uncanny and suspicious to a crewmate. Your jumping in vents is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a crewmate to electrical with you, he'll turn tail and use the emergency button the second he gets the suspicion that you sabotaged.
You will never be a winner. You wrench out a fake task every single game and tell yourself it is going to be a win, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it will be too much to bear - people will vote you out for being sus and will plunge you into the cold abyss. Your parents will report your body, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They will eject you with a headstone marked with your birth tag, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know an impostor is drifting there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably sus.
For people that use "XD"
twitchquotes:But the real question is, when this musing entered your mind, did you really make such a face? Was it so funny that your face contorted into a gaping wide-mouthed smile as your eyes aggressively squinted shut? Did you truly "ex dee"? Were you able to see your screen as you typed with your eyes held steadfast as though they were steel vice grips clamping with hundreds of pounds of force?
But the real question is, when this musing entered your mind, did you really make such a face? Was it so funny that your face contorted into a gaping wide-mouthed smile as your eyes aggressively squinted shut? Did you truly "ex dee"? Were you able to see your screen as you typed with your eyes held steadfast as though they were steel vice grips clamping with hundreds of pounds of force?