ThaKillaChef

I remember that when jagex released the living rock caverns the world was 84. Now I don't know about all of you guys but when the bot came out for it I remember seeing literally nearly the whole population of the server in that one place. I think their aspirations for the bot world were something of this nature as they made the new OSRS bot worlds numbered 85 and 86 (sort of). It would seem as though they were drastically mistaken and that prices will probably crash once people figure out that you can go to those worlds manually and farm to your heart's content where there's not a lot of bots.

I've had my account since RSC and it's never sustained a ban, and I've botted since a couple years after PB existed. Only mutes.

That was actually the end of the post. I believe it was in a thread about the new bot world crap. He basically speaks in fragmented sentences that don't amount to much sense, while often missing the point of a question posed. Jagex basically hired a horse's ass for it's mascot lol.

Posted by Mod Mat K on the Runescape Forums... Talking to the community is the priority here. Although giving the bot makers a heads up isn't ideal, you guys are more important and being open and honest with you is a must right now. >bot maker

Reminiscent of the fact anyone who went to the Sochi Olympics got their iPods hacked. APPLE IS SO SECURE GUISE ITS WORTH 4X AS MUCH AS WINDOWS!11!!1!oneshifttactacktak

Gilgad; I'm going to buy your superheater when it becomes paid because of this good luck. EDIT: Just got a third rune defender.

Second one in under ten tokens. The jelly is oozing from the interior of the earth's crust...

u jelly?

sweet jesus it's a miracle hopefully I can bot for more than 2 hours ty

Of course, I cater to bored people exceptionally.

Such a riveting tale to miss out on. Shame. Your loss mate.

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent fast food workers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for my wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathroom. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience: 0.Occupied 1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one. 2.Poo on seat. 3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat. 4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet. Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful s**tter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot. I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. s**tter was blathering to Mrs. s**tter about the s**tty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier. Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder in one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently. Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. "Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with the suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??" Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride. Next door I could hear fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth.... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching. Alas, it is evidently difficulty to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by a string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet. There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth. As I left, I glanced to the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know. I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has manged to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.

All we may do is pray for their success. Because life as we know it, could become diamond car any day now...

Due to extensive research done by the Fourchon University of Science, diamond has been confirmed as the the hardest metal known the man. The research is as follows. Pocket-protected scientists built a wall of iron and crashed a diamond car into it at 400 miles per hour, and the car was unharmed. They then built a wall out of diamond and crashed a car made of iron moving at 400 miles an out into the wall, and the wall came out fine. They then crashed a diamond car made of 400 miles per hour into a wall, and there were no survivors. They crashed 400 miles per hour into a diamond travelling at iron car. Western New York was powerless for hours. They rammed a wall of metal into a 400 mile per hour made of diamond, and the resulting explosion shifted the earth's orbit 400 million miles away from the sun, saving the earth from a meteor the size of a small Washington suburb that was hurtling towards midwestern Prussia at 400 billion miles per hour. They shot a diamond made of iron at a car moving at 400 walls per hour, and as a result caused two wayward airplanes to lose track of their bearings, and make a fatal crash with two buildings in downtown New York. They spun 400 miles at diamond into iron per wall. The results were inconclusive. Finally, they placed 400 diamonds per hour in front of a car made of wall travelling at miles, and the result proved without a doubt that diamonds were the hardest metal of all time, if not just the hardest metal known the man.

gonna be honest they're ripping everybody who bought VIP/donor off hard right now.