Just felt like sharing this. . .

Okay. 4chan, for the half of the readers who didn't come from that site in the first place (You guys can just hit the link and skip this next part), is terrible place. Terrible! Half their humor is oriented around being as offensive as possible. Abandon hope all ye who enter there, for you witness the anonymous online community in its concentrated form and the truth may be too terrible for you to bear.

That having been said, I myself am a part of said community- specifically, I spend my time on /tg/, the sub-board dedicated to traditional games. One of the purposes behind this blog is to let me post a link to a post I've made here rather than writing it all up again every time someone asks for campaign ideas or advice on zombie games. In the past I've likened /tg/ to a cool, breezy section of hell with lots of interesting people to talk to. Because it is a very creative place, with all sorts of interesting often-humorous ideas being bounced around. It just all happens to be very warped. For example, in one case the discussion topic was this charming fellow:

D&D veterans will recognize this as an Atropal, one of D&D's most inspired and macabre monsters; the undead fetus of a stillborn god. The /tg/ thread began as an exploration of some sort of horror story, with an atropal wailing across the cosmos for its mother. Then, as is to be expected for the board, the discussion took an unexpected turn.

"Atropals need a placenta attack"
"A placenta lasso and a little cowboy hat? Requesting shop of this plz."
"Done."

At which point I just had to write the following:

"Evenin', Frank."
"Evenin', Doc."
"Heard you got yourself a new hired hand."
"Yup. Jake's boy been helpin me with the cattle for a week now."
"Well, ain't that something. Seems like just yesterday Jake's missus found the poor child out in the cold. Been what, fifteen years?"
"Real curly wolf, that lady. You know she always wanted a child of her own."
"Jake's plenty game himself, standing by her like that even though everyone knows they was split on it in private."
"Well, the boy seems to have turned out right enough. Here he comes now."

The two men fell silent as the rider came up to the front porch.

"The cATtle'RE ALl penNED UP, Mr. ThompSOn."
"How many times I have to tell you boy, call me Frank."
"yESsIr. HoWDy, Doc."
"Howdy, son. Give my regards to your mother."
"I'LL do thAT."
"The cattle give you any trouble today?"
"nO SIr, tHEy was wELl behaVED as alwAys."
"Yep, you never do have trouble keepin'em in line. Well, I reckon that's enough for today. You can go on home."
"ThANk you, sIR."

Together they watched the figure retreat into the distance. Doc Worthington scratched his head.
"That's, ah, that's quite a steed he's got there."
"Eeyup."
"Strange how it seems to radiate a pure darkness deeper than any shadow."
"Eeyup."
"Still, nice gait to it though."
"He likes to feed it apples."
"Don't surprise me. He's a good kid."
"Eeyup."