8/11 - Christian gets a new cat -

How long will this cat live?

  • 1 week>

    Votes: 62 14.9%
  • 1 month>

    Votes: 76 18.3%
  • 3 months>

    Votes: 84 20.2%
  • 6 months>

    Votes: 51 12.3%
  • maybe Chris won't kill it....

    Votes: 143 34.4%

  • Total voters
    416

Subconcious Offense

kiwifarms.net
View attachment 889947.
I remember the quote from Chris "I take away the kittens from their mother", how is that not kidnapping. And his mom tried taking her neighbor's dog, that' kidnapping as well
He shouldn't be given the benefit of the doubt at this point, but the only thing anyone willing to do anything would do is to give him more money to make sure he keeps doing this.
 

OmniousAttributer

Mi mi mi
kiwifarms.net
Chris is going to keep adopting pets.

A year from now the associates from the local animal shelter are going to show up after several complaints from neighbors; animals go in but they never come out.
They knock on the door and hear the pattering of several animals scattering. They knock again...no answer. One of the associates is bold enough to grab the doorknob and turn it just to find it's unlocked.
They barely open it before a swarm feral cats and dogs barrel out, forcing the door wide open. For the animals it's freedom and fresh air. The associates, however, are greeted by the smell of feces, stale piss and death.
Despite all rational thought the two associates enter the house. They introduce themselves but the only response in pained caterwauling from deeper inside. Every inch of the house seems like a nightmare...a shit and piss soaked walkway etched out amid brightly colored walls poorly painted and animals carcasses ranging from freshly killed all the way down to skeletal.
The caterwauling is getting worse now. Creeping up the stairs the word "Cwcville" is scrawled out in what hopefully was brown paint on the stairwell...a dim light bleeding out from under a door at the far end of the hall. Out of their jacket one of the associates produces a firearm; they've never felt the need for it before now. The other grabs the doorknob and on the count of three they throw it open.
Inside the room reeks of filth, a myriad of colors blinding them momentarily until their eyes adjust...and standing in the middle of the room is a person, half naked, wearing what is clearly animal pelts painted blue. In one hand they're holding what appears to be a wand made out of Legos and the other is currently dipped in a can of yellow paint.
"Who're y'all people?" It asks in a voice that sounded like a man poorly imitating a woman, "You must be trolls! Get 'em Sonichu!" It was here that the Manthing wretched it's hand from the paint can, dragging out a lump and then flinging it unceremoniously onto the floor with a wet smack.
At first it was hard to discern what the mass was but as the paint thinned it was clearly a kitten that had drowned in the viscous paint. There was a moment of stunned silence before the associate was beaned with a possum.
It hit the ground and hissed; painted a vibrant green it looked like it had construction paper leaves stapled to it. "Good job, Wild!" The Manthing exclaimed, pulled an orange turtle out of a decrepit fishbowl. "Ya got this, Bionic!" The next five minutes were a frenzy of flung fur, teeth and claws all in a myriad of colors and names; some missed the associates and hit the adjacent wall and others had long since been dead, limp corpses that had either died from paint poisoning or natural causes.
When the onslaught finally came to a halt, the Manthing muttering under his breath as if speaking in tongues, the armed associated pointed his gun towards the half nude assailant. It was here that those crazed eyes finally focused, pupils dilated, drool dripping from it's bottom lip. "Oh, yer worse than trolls...yer dangy dirty Jerkops!" Without warning it let out an ear piercing shriek; any animals left in the house started in as well...barking, hissing...as something lumbered it's way from the living room and up the stairs.
The low, gutteral growl that emanated behind the two associates could not be mistaken for any small animal; both of them turning to see what clearly a mountain lion...painted neon pink and covered with glitter. "Rosechu..." the Manthing purred like a skilled pervert, "...dinnertime."

Most people avoid Branchland Court.
Animals go in.
They never come out.
I had to give autist reaction because of the dedication.
 
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Glassshardballpit

kiwifarms.net
If Chris is so hard on for felines, why not go fucking adopt one from a shelter?

Oh, that's right, because that would involve shelling out money and doing something to help someone else.

Something that Chris has no concept of if it doesn't also benefit him somehow.

And our Chris-Tran wonders why he has no friends. :lol:
 

Coach Kreeton Of All That

WARRIORS! COME OUT TO PLAY!
kiwifarms.net
Christian's priorities are funny. He lives in a hoard, Borb's ailing, and the first thing on his mind is to find the nearest outdoor kitten to abduct from a stray litter. Nigra, take care of your mother first, yo.

There was an article published about outdoor or stray cats contain a parasite called toxoplasma, which can affect the biochemistry of humans and their mode of thinking.

Think it was this one from this archive.

Chris' priorities are only going to plummet from here.
 

Yop Yop

Corrupted Citizen of the Private Villa
kiwifarms.net
For the millionth goddamn time, Chris isn't schizophrenic. He's a delusional fucking idiot who likes to play pretend. His only neurological condition is that he's a 'tard.
That's what I like to think, until I remember that Chris gave up 3 months of tugboat gibmes because idea guy threatened to blow up cwcville with lasers on the moon or some shit.

Either Chris is schizo or just super 'tarded and deeply entrenched in his bullshit.
 

Raiken

Making Nanomachines great again
kiwifarms.net
Chris is going to keep adopting pets.

A year from now the associates from the local animal shelter are going to show up after several complaints from neighbors; animals go in but they never come out.
They knock on the door and hear the pattering of several animals scattering. They knock again...no answer. One of the associates is bold enough to grab the doorknob and turn it just to find it's unlocked.
They barely open it before a swarm feral cats and dogs barrel out, forcing the door wide open. For the animals it's freedom and fresh air. The associates, however, are greeted by the smell of feces, stale piss and death.
Despite all rational thought the two associates enter the house. They introduce themselves but the only response in pained caterwauling from deeper inside. Every inch of the house seems like a nightmare...a shit and piss soaked walkway etched out amid brightly colored walls poorly painted and animals carcasses ranging from freshly killed all the way down to skeletal.
The caterwauling is getting worse now. Creeping up the stairs the word "Cwcville" is scrawled out in what hopefully was brown paint on the stairwell...a dim light bleeding out from under a door at the far end of the hall. Out of their jacket one of the associates produces a firearm; they've never felt the need for it before now. The other grabs the doorknob and on the count of three they throw it open.
Inside the room reeks of filth, a myriad of colors blinding them momentarily until their eyes adjust...and standing in the middle of the room is a person, half naked, wearing what is clearly animal pelts painted blue. In one hand they're holding what appears to be a wand made out of Legos and the other is currently dipped in a can of yellow paint.
"Who're y'all people?" It asks in a voice that sounded like a man poorly imitating a woman, "You must be trolls! Get 'em Sonichu!" It was here that the Manthing wretched it's hand from the paint can, dragging out a lump and then flinging it unceremoniously onto the floor with a wet smack.
At first it was hard to discern what the mass was but as the paint thinned it was clearly a kitten that had drowned in the viscous paint. There was a moment of stunned silence before the associate was beaned with a possum.
It hit the ground and hissed; painted a vibrant green it looked like it had construction paper leaves stapled to it. "Good job, Wild!" The Manthing exclaimed, pulled an orange turtle out of a decrepit fishbowl. "Ya got this, Bionic!" The next five minutes were a frenzy of flung fur, teeth and claws all in a myriad of colors and names; some missed the associates and hit the adjacent wall and others had long since been dead, limp corpses that had either died from paint poisoning or natural causes.
When the onslaught finally came to a halt, the Manthing muttering under his breath as if speaking in tongues, the armed associated pointed his gun towards the half nude assailant. It was here that those crazed eyes finally focused, pupils dilated, drool dripping from it's bottom lip. "Oh, yer worse than trolls...yer dangy dirty Jerkops!" Without warning it let out an ear piercing shriek; any animals left in the house started in as well...barking, hissing...as something lumbered it's way from the living room and up the stairs.
The low, gutteral growl that emanated behind the two associates could not be mistaken for any small animal; both of them turning to see what clearly a mountain lion...painted neon pink and covered with glitter. "Rosechu..." the Manthing purred like a skilled pervert, "...dinnertime."

Most people avoid Branchland Court.
Animals go in.
They never come out.
Man, resident evil 8 is going to be awesome in VR.
 

{o}P II

kiwifarms.net
Is Lucy still around? Damn, for a chandler cat, 15 years must be an accomplishment
He informed us of pollos demise so i would expect we would be infored of lucy's mergin with her c-197 counterpart
its acttauly better these days in the way that chris has twitter to post random shit. in the old days cats would go MIA and their fates are mysteriers to this day
 

Super Colon Blow

Does she have big thingies?
kiwifarms.net
If Chris is so hard on for felines, why not go fucking adopt one from a shelter?

Oh, that's right, because that would involve shelling out money and doing something to help someone else.

Something that Chris has no concept of if it doesn't also benefit him somehow.

And our Chris-Tran wonders why he has no friends. :lol:
The SPCA for example charges you a hefty fee. This is probably designed to ensure that you won't adopt an animal casually when you can't properly pay the expenses to care for it. It also helps pay for the vaccines and spay/neuter they do before they adopt animals out plus any other medications they need to get them healthy enough. Chris just grabs animals from the woods. I don't think they ever see a vet until they get sick enough for the king baby to notice, in other words, way too late. Ferals always have fleas and worms. It takes an investment to get them healthy for a long life. But hey Chris can always just grab more from the feral colony instead of doing things right. I shudder to think what kind of bottom of the barrel food these kittens are getting. What kind of idiot feeds dogs high carb, high sodium, low protein chicken noodle soup?
 

The handsome tard

kiwifarms.net
Chris is going to keep adopting pets.

A year from now the associates from the local animal shelter are going to show up after several complaints from neighbors; animals go in but they never come out.
They knock on the door and hear the pattering of several animals scattering. They knock again...no answer. One of the associates is bold enough to grab the doorknob and turn it just to find it's unlocked.
They barely open it before a swarm feral cats and dogs barrel out, forcing the door wide open. For the animals it's freedom and fresh air. The associates, however, are greeted by the smell of feces, stale piss and death.
Despite all rational thought the two associates enter the house. They introduce themselves but the only response in pained caterwauling from deeper inside. Every inch of the house seems like a nightmare...a shit and piss soaked walkway etched out amid brightly colored walls poorly painted and animals carcasses ranging from freshly killed all the way down to skeletal.
The caterwauling is getting worse now. Creeping up the stairs the word "Cwcville" is scrawled out in what hopefully was brown paint on the stairwell...a dim light bleeding out from under a door at the far end of the hall. Out of their jacket one of the associates produces a firearm; they've never felt the need for it before now. The other grabs the doorknob and on the count of three they throw it open.
Inside the room reeks of filth, a myriad of colors blinding them momentarily until their eyes adjust...and standing in the middle of the room is a person, half naked, wearing what is clearly animal pelts painted blue. In one hand they're holding what appears to be a wand made out of Legos and the other is currently dipped in a can of yellow paint.
"Who're y'all people?" It asks in a voice that sounded like a man poorly imitating a woman, "You must be trolls! Get 'em Sonichu!" It was here that the Manthing wretched it's hand from the paint can, dragging out a lump and then flinging it unceremoniously onto the floor with a wet smack.
At first it was hard to discern what the mass was but as the paint thinned it was clearly a kitten that had drowned in the viscous paint. There was a moment of stunned silence before the associate was beaned with a possum.
It hit the ground and hissed; painted a vibrant green it looked like it had construction paper leaves stapled to it. "Good job, Wild!" The Manthing exclaimed, pulled an orange turtle out of a decrepit fishbowl. "Ya got this, Bionic!" The next five minutes were a frenzy of flung fur, teeth and claws all in a myriad of colors and names; some missed the associates and hit the adjacent wall and others had long since been dead, limp corpses that had either died from paint poisoning or natural causes.
When the onslaught finally came to a halt, the Manthing muttering under his breath as if speaking in tongues, the armed associated pointed his gun towards the half nude assailant. It was here that those crazed eyes finally focused, pupils dilated, drool dripping from it's bottom lip. "Oh, yer worse than trolls...yer dangy dirty Jerkops!" Without warning it let out an ear piercing shriek; any animals left in the house started in as well...barking, hissing...as something lumbered it's way from the living room and up the stairs.
The low, gutteral growl that emanated behind the two associates could not be mistaken for any small animal; both of them turning to see what clearly a mountain lion...painted neon pink and covered with glitter. "Rosechu..." the Manthing purred like a skilled pervert, "...dinnertime."

Most people avoid Branchland Court.
Animals go in.
They never come out.
Im calling the BSAA. Redfield will need all the intel from Blue Umbrella that they can gather to face this bio threat.
This makes the Bakers case look like a park walk!:aug::deagleleft:
Edit: on second thought, he cant do this alone, he would need Leon or Jill to cover his back too.
 
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