IP 216.73.216.118 has been banned until the end of time because of VPN Detected
If you couldn't possibly be guilty of what you're banned for, the person we banned probably had a dynamic IP address and so do you.
See http://whatismyipaddress.com/dynamic-static for more information.
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YEAH I'M A SHITOKO
YEAH I'M A BRAPHOG
YEAH I'M A TACOBLIMP
YEAH I DRINK COCA-COLA
SO WHAT
YOUR BUTT IS WIDE
MINE IS TOO
WATCH YOUR MOUTH
OR I'LL SIT ON YOU
THE INFATIMUS REX
THE FATASS OF FATASSES
THE LARDASS OF LARDASSES
THE GORGER OF GORGERS
THE TUBSTER OF TUBSTERS
CHUBBYtoko the OBESE
GREASEtoko the GORGING
ROLLtoko the FLABBY
OBESEtoko the HUGNRY
UGLYtoko the REVOLTING
PAUNCHtoko the BLOATED
SMELLtoko the STINKY
DIABETEStoko the UNHEALTHY
FEEDtoko the STUFFED
OVERWEIGHTtoko the PANTS-STRECHING
LARDtoko the CORPULENT
WIDEtoko the CHAIR-CRUSHING
MUNCHtoko the SNACKING
WEIGHTtoko the HEAVY
BLUBBERYtoko the TITANIC
FATASStoko the GROUND SHAKING
WADDLEtoko the ELEPHANTINE
OVERINDULGENTtoko the VORACIOUS
SHITtoko the INCONTINENT
SAFAT THE TOKO
TOKOFAT THE FAT
LARDFAT THE CHUBPLUMP
THE FATTY OF FATTIES
ENFAT FATTOKO
FATTYFATTY FATTYFATTY FAT
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All the "validation" you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people beat you. Nintendo's greatest are disgusted and ashamed of you, your "friends" laugh at your ghoulish gaming skills behind closed doors.
Men are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out fake gamers with incredible efficiency. Even fake gamers who "beat" look uncanny and unnatural to a gamer. Your controller is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a nintendo beater home with you, he'll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected nintendo console.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it's going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbeatable weight.
Eventually it'll be too much to bear - you'll mod a rope in your game, tie a noose, put it around your player, and plunge into the cold abyss as you die too. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They'll bury you with a headstone marked with the fact you never beat them, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a non gamer is buried 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 terrible at games.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.