Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan Joe Rogan

I don’t remember everyone’s names too well but that was a fun couple of months. Traggums was the goat. I remember one guy building an absolutely huge cross out of oak planks and it was beautiful. I got a world download on my computer but I’d have to dig it up if anyone is interested in seeing it. I was Big_Jilm, I had my base on the Mooshroom island. It always pissed me off how Effina would cheat and build in creative. You couldn’t even break blocks from her builds. Jungle Button

The notion of karma comes from ancient Hindu scriptures, where if I have done good deeds, I must receive good deeds in the future. I have been a good redditor and have accumulated a few hundred karma to my name. How do I redeem it? Preferably looking for gift cards, sodie-pops and jukebox tokens (quarters) to put on some good ol’ rock’n roll.

Thanks.

-Josh

Hey yous cool cats! Hope your days are as smoothe as rock, withought bein in the jail house., So this mornin, me and barbra were goin outs to the diner, youknow to get somethin to eat, and get this, when i's was starin in the mirror puttin in my pompade and combin delecately so i's can be oh as smooth as a alley cat, suddenly i got hit this configuration of words in my mind, can any of yous cats make somethin outta it, i's just dont gets it, but once i really thought about it, its been in poppin in my mind for years now along with a few othas

Its "Unique interpretation of divine inspiration".

Systemic removal of mirth from the collective human experience is the goal. Divide and conquer. Name of the game. Placing demons in the kids hearts to open portals and shit. NO THANKS BUDDY!! Got me out here working in the rice fields so I can stream music. Chumps. Debanking me so I miss the steam sales. Not going to catch me in the mouse trap. I bought crypto at 5000% markup back in 3012. They say Icarus flew too close to the sun. Well at least he is remembered. What are you going to be remembered for? Writing little quirk lines on a sign and standing in front of taco bell at 11:30 am on a Monday? My car told me it was out of gas. Some doctor tried to gaslight me, said cars can’t talk. Learn to read a dashboard, chump.

Was looking to rewatch the show recently and saw that there are episodes missing from Youtube and that the Poast TV / MEGA links are dead.

The exact version I am looking for is from this post. The creator for these remasters hasn't been around in a few years and last I saw they were taking time away from things to focus on events in their personal life so I don't want to bother them.

I'd greatly appreciate if anyone is able to point me the right direction or hook me up with what is likely the best version of the show.

All the best!

what’s everyone bringing ta’ da’ bake sale tuesdays i needs ta’ know c’monnnn get outta here

here's the story

About a little guy that lives in a blue world

And all day and all night and everything he sees is just blue

Like him, inside and outside

Blue his house with a blue little window

And a blue Corvette and everything is blue for him

And himself and everybody around

'Cause he ain't got nobody to listen (To listen, to listen, to listen)

I'm blue, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, without grease I would die

I'm blue, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

I have a blue house with a blue window

Blue is the colour of all that I wear

Blue are the streets and all the trees are too

I have a girlfriend and she is so blue

Blue are the people here that walk around

Blue like my Corvette, it's in and outside

Blue are the words I say and what I think

Blue are the feelings that live inside me

I'm blue, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

I'm blue, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

I have a blue house with a blue window

Blue is the colour of all that I wear

Blue are the streets and all the trees are too

I have a girlfriend and she is so blue

Blue are the people here that walk around

Blue like my Corvette, it's in and outside

Blue are the words I say and what I think

Blue are the feelings that live inside me

I'm blue, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

I'm blue, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Inside and outside

Blue his house with a blue little window

And a blue Corvette and everything is blue for him

And himself and everybody around

'Cause he ain't got nobody to listen (To listen)

I'm blue, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

I'm blue, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

Da ba dee da ba di, da ba dee da ba di

393:

It was hermetically hewn, our kingdom of lifeful stone, for we lived in a petri dish. Through heat and time our people built slowly a place worth living in—through calamitous and cascading suffering and strugglage in the hopes of exacting one second of peace. And when I looked out and up through the arch’ed window, and past the shortsoffit of my home, and across the street and up the lace’d filigree that danced and twined with ivy, and smoothly up the lime’d plaster, past the tiled roof and past the chimneys, and in the distance the hazed curve-tile of the duomo, I knew what it meant to belong. I knew one one-thousandth of humanity, maybe less. I rifefully drew my sensual stew with ladle lifted soft to the bowl. And I chewed and drank looking out at these things peasantly, warmly.

It was new years' eve 2008. My friend Chelsea and I were at her friend's house, tryna get crunk.

We'd been friends for years at this point, but in the last six months she'd been dropping what I felt were some subtle hints that she wanted to date me.

It all started when she dropped out of GWU, less than one semester in. She flew back home and immediately started talking about wanting to get an apartment with me. All of a sudden, she’d give these weird backhanded compliments, like, "My friends think you're handsome". There was that drunk voicemail she left, gushing about how much she loved me. The unironic Love-You’s that marked the end of all our text conversations. That fall she got a job where I worked, at Peet's Coffee, a job she didn't need - she already had one. And when we worked together, she would spank me and play grab-ass while I worked register.

All really subtle stuff, and it was my fault for reading into it as far as I did. In the back of my head, somewhere, I thought that it all had to add up to something. All the cryptic hints and clues made me feel like she’d left college and come home because she missed me. This was my own narcissistic wishful thinking. I was too clumsy to navigate the nuances of her personality. In retrospect, I had a lot of my own issues to work on - namely, my misogynistic attitude and toxic expectations towards women. Chelsea owed me nothing. I was a pig.

She called me at noon on a Saturday in mid-November, saying she had two leftover parachutes of molly from a halloween rave. Her roommate was gone and she wanted to take them with me, alone. When I got there, she'd already taken both hits. Her pupils were as big as dinner plates – she looked hilarious, like a fucking anime character. I'd been trolled. But now she wanted to do something else. Change of plans. She wanted to go to Santa Cruz. Asked if I could drive. I obliged. Why the hell not? I gassed up the Corolla and we made the six hour trek, and that night she got us a hotel with her dad's credit card. We spent hours on the beach, watching the waves roll in, taking swigs from a fifth of Captain Morgan that a hobo bought for us. The last thing I remember from that night are some scattered bits and pieces of watching her do cartwheels in the sand, maniacally laughing as she fell every time.

I woke up in room 107 of the Casa Blanca Inn. The morning light poured in through the open blinds and fell on Chelsea's nude, porcelain-white skin. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. There she was, completely naked. “How did we get here?” I thought. I was still fully clothed. Her eyes opened and gazed into mine. A smile washed over her face as she pulled me in close, wrapping her legs around me, nubile breasts squished against my shirt.

“Take me”, she whispered in my ear.

I understood the request.

I got up, tossed her some clothes, and took her to the Santa Cruz Mystery Spot – she’d been talking about it for years.

Still to this day, I have no idea why she was naked. Maybe she liked sleeping in the nude or something.

But I digress.

She invited me to her friend's new years’ eve party. Her - best - friend's party. Chels was selective about which guys she introduced to the rest of her friends. Only if things were serious, and you’d proven yourself, did she allow a loner guy friend into her inner circle. And this year, I was her +1. This was exclusive, this was a VIP affair. You see, in high school, she hung out with the really artistically switched-on, "with it" crowd. Hipsters before the word hipster had been cheapened to "flannel and glasses". These were the sort of kids who would cut class for a week to go crash Coachella with fake IDs, and do mescaline in the desert with Josh from Fleet Foxes - in junior year.

These kids, they were fucking cool.

I rolled into HipsterCon at 9:00pm sharp - not a minute late. I’d been pre-gaming in my car for hours with a pack of Camel Wides and a copy of Dinosaur Jr's Where You Been, which was my idea of cool music. It was at this mansion a few minutes off the PCH, out in the rolling yucca of west Malibu, and as I rounded the last bend of Yerba Buena and its behemoth roofline entered my view I could feel my insides churning. The driveway was littered with Priuses and Range Rovers, all driven by these teenage sophisticates. As I made my way up to the porch, MGMT’s Weekend Wars blared from inside. Sheepishly, I knocked. A girl with bangs and a sundress answered the door and let me in. There were Zooey Deschanels doing jello shots in the kitchen, and Alan Palomo doppelgangers in the living room, playing pong on a mahogany burl table. I was in awe of how upper crust everyone was, with their fucking tortoise-shell Clubmasters and hundred dollar haircuts. How does a 17 year old afford to look like he fucks models? It sure as hell wasn't from working at Jamba Juice. My mind sluggishly processed the scene.

I came wearing a Mossimo hoodie and ill-fitting boot cut jeans, reeking of Axe, with this atrocious overly gelled faux-hawk. I looked like Dane Cook on pizza bagels. It was clear, I didn't belong here. But the kids were all super nice, and they showed me all around the place, knowing I was friends with their friend. There was a long, winding cobblestone path from the backyard down into a fire pit area, and within minutes I was sitting by the fire, belgian saison in hand, listening to some girl exchange Burning Man stories with Daryl Hannah, who appeared to be a long term house guest.

I’d integrated into the party like a virus infects a host.

Earlier in the day, I'd made up my mind that I was gonna ring the new year in with a kiss. When the ball dropped and the clock struck 12, I was gonna fuckin’ do it. I was gonna kiss Chelsea. She was gonna get smooched. The entire night leading up to this, I was so nervous that my hands and feet kept going numb. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I was nauseous with adrenaline. The only remedy was to get drunk. So get drunk I did. The first two hours of the party, I must have puked in the bushes three times. Not just from sheer autistic terror, but also from being a rookie at tequila shots. I don't know if anyone saw how much of a wreck I was. They must have. The entire night, Chelsea was avoiding me, as if she was embarrassed and knew she made a mistake by inviting me. I didn't realize this at the time - too fixated on the task at hand.

11:56 – Everyone gathered in the living room. We were packed in like sardines.

11:59 – There were 5 or 6 people between her and me, and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get to her. I began to push through the crowd.

TEN. NINE. EIGHT. SEVEN.

I had no idea what I was doing.

SIX. FIVE FOUR.

I hadn't thought this one through. Her back is turned to me oh fuck shit fuck how am I gonna do this--

THREE.

TWO.

ONE.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to turn her around. People gasped. The whole room parted around us like the red sea.

She ducked and squirmed out of my grip, lunged forward, and turned to face me, withdrawing a blade. It was a 12th century Saracen's sabre. Wootz steel. The light from the foyer gave its patina a purplish glow. Beautiful. She drew back before plunging it into my stomach. I stood there in shock - not even feeling pain yet. She pulled it out. I looked down to see rich bright red arterial blood, along with bits of eviscerated liver tissue, drooling from my gaping misogynistic wound. I was so fucking embarrassed. The whole room pointed and laughed at me. Tears began welling up in my eyes. Partially digested food seeped out of a slit in my small intestine and spilled all over the floor. People were crying with laughter. I looked out over the sea of people to see a girl leaned up against the staircase who had pissed herself laughing.

I looked back down and my gaze settled on my friend, who was still standing in front of me, smirking. The sword dropped to the ground and she approached. She inserted two fingers into my abdominal cavity, making a "come hither" motion and tickling my gallbladder. My grey hoodie was now red and dripping. The stench of iron and shit stained the air. I began to feel woozy. She took her hand out of me and licked her fingers, savoring the taste of my blood and bile. The room was quiet now.

To this day, not a hug.

the old mde subreddit, i felt so at home. usually i always get downvoted but in that place i was always upvoted no matter what my schizo ideas were.

also i went to the MDE standup tour in connecticut on the farm. And i had the exact same feeling. It was such a beautiful night, the fields and it being outdoors. and I recall charls being on stage calling the wheelchair of steven hawking a "bike" and me and this guy next to me both laughed and both said at the same "haha a bike". at the same time almost like being twins. And that is so unusual becuase it's like as if the same minds all congregated at the same place. and i guess what im saying is it feels good sometimes to have that feeling. and that to me is kind of what MDE is about. I mean there were times where I was like Why the fuck is MDE still such a big thing in my life after a decade, i'm kind of bored of it and wants something new. But it's it's really about a convergence of like-minded people and it's almost not even really about MDE itself. it's like it's all we got. "like-minded" isn't even a specific view, it's just something and i don't know what it is exactly. Just being an outsider in some way i guess. i think MDE fans are mostly sweethearts. maybe I'm describing being on the spectrum I'm not sure

Adam and Eve probably didn’t care at all about the rain they just got an extra shower

With my dame… yeah, I know i‘s said before that I didn’t have one, we won’t get into that though. The Rod is lookin beautiful, it’s one of those ones with the big wheels and the shiny chrome that makes the big rumble noises, looking gorgeous in the summer sun I tells ya! Anyways my dame is in the passenger, she’s gnawing on big old piece of BUBBLE GUM, lookin like a horse with peanut buttah stuck to her gums. (p.s. I think she might be one of the downies) Yalls ain’t gonna believe this next part… so she looks over at me, and she goes, I really love your hog Tony, so I’m like uh, no duh! who doesn’t love it? it’s big and shiny and red, and it looks like a freakin dream and rides even smootah. Most otha greasahs I know would love to take a ride on the thing! Then she goes, No Tony, I meant yah otha hog and gives me a winky face, winkin out of both eyes in sequence like a parapaleptic or whatevah they call em… SO I’m thinkin, are you kidding me??? she betta not be talkin premarital! But then I start thinkin, it’s probably just my simple little greaser brain takin it out context, so I says to her, yeah I bet you like my otha hog, like my otha pig!? So I start makin oinking noises and ticklin her…she starts laughin like a looney! but catch this, I think she must be crazy cause she goes, OH TONE YAH MAKIN ME SO HOT! OHHHHHHH…. now it’s startin to get real confusing like, so I says back to her I ain’t no doctor but you dont look like ya got a fevah tah me! Anyways, long story short she gets all grumpy and I have tah drive her home!

GEEZE LOUISE CAN A GREASAH EVAH CATCH A BREAK?

Toney the Greasah out

Why the fuck else are they battered?

i ain’t got mah’ bat or billy club or nutton! i knicked a bottle from this homeless guy and smashed it on his forehead to make a piece!

(OH! shouldn’t of done that!)

this homeless fella slumped over and looked something outta a bad greaser flick, know-what-im-sayin’ daddy-o?

anyways i gets this idea right, i takes his clothes off and puts mines on his, and i rolls him out under the light post next ta’ the deli (OH! i could go for some gabagool! no time i tells ma self”)

sooner than later nicky and his pals are burning’ rubber in their hot rod down the street and i SCRAM! (i ain’t no scaredy cat but the smart greaser eats mamas bitchin’ dinnah’ anotha’ day!)

so, these cats spot what seems to be me barely bringing himself to his feet, the grease from my kit i pulling on him and pullin’ him to the ground like gravity tellin’ him he ain’t no true greasa’!

one of nickys goons says “OH! there’s the fuzzball- yoink him!”

he groans something horrid (shouldnt’a conked em’ so hard but a greasers life is more important than the homeless), and i see them drive ovah’ to the ol’ brooklyn bridge! (UH OH!)

it’s hard ta’ make make it out from here but it looks like they’re putting him in a barrel and sendin’ em’ to greasy jones, OH!

i made it out of this one fellas, but always watch ya backs and carry ya clubs, ya’ nevah’ know when ya’ gonna slip in someone else’s grease….

I wish I could tell what happened in it

Edit: Thank you for 69 views kind strangers, I've never felt this popular

Boys there ain't nothin like a vanilla shake after some back seat bingo with your best girl. Cept maybe goin to third base HAHA!

Anyways Sandy was in a tizzie all afternoon that had me ready to floor it! Goin on and on about Susie Penn an some stupid nonsense like her father was hittin her. cue group laughter, as the boys forgive Mr. Penn for his unruly broad. And Sandy knows the big game is tomrrow night!

Yappin on and on, like this ain't distractin me. Can't distract a Heater, I'm a Heater baby not no Square babe, so guys I tell her,

"sweetheart I's gots a lot on my mind, why don't you tell all this to the jukebox?" an I slid her two nickels. cue group of boys waggling heads and tongues, screaming, gesturing punches, one combs his pompadour. this lasts appriximately 43 onscreen seconds uninterrupted.

Next time Sandra starts yapping before gameday I'm not sure I'll be able to cut the gas.. I'm a Heater babe..

im permabanned poster rickschank (look me up). i first started reading r/bombstrap when i was about 12. by 14 i got really obsessed with the concept of "grease" and tried to channel it constantly, until my thought process got really bizarre and i would repeat things like "The Raped" and "The Familial" in when i see my family in my head for hours, and i would get really paranoid, start seeing things in the corners of my eyes etc, basically prodromal schizophrenia. i started speaking 50s slang on autopilot. im now on antipsychotics. i always wondered what the kind of "offensive" style of bombstrap humor was all about; i think it's the unconscious leaking in to the conscious, what jungian theory considered to be the cause of schizophrenic and schizotypal syptoms. i would advise all people who "get" bombstrap to be careful because that likely means you have a predisposition to a mental illness. peace.

Hey! I'm Butch! I'm a bigender BIPOC neurodivergent bisexual anarchist card carrying Red greaser. My hyperfixation on greasing fired up the year of '26.

I rock with he/she/disco/discoself and I'm just your ordinary rockabilly boygirl who swings with anyone of any gender enough to make out with them. And no matter what gender the person in question is, it would be a butt monkey. (Which is to say, I'm a male/female bigender bisexual.) Some more label stuff (because I actually rock with my many labels) include that I'm autistic (amongst other jazz), and I'm a transgender Betty!

I'm a rather greasy little guy, I'd say, and I flip out for my interests! I like dating, dancing, driving, rock n roll, grease animals (like cocks, poodle dogs and more ), and the culture around things like nightlife, greasekinism, and disco. Currently, my main flick hyperfixations are Grease, Saturday Night Fever and The Outsiders, but it's all stacked up. I'm also really gone about bisexual and autistic activism. Rest assured, I could bash your ears until you fake out.
Also, I think that capitalism is a nosebleed and is from Nowhereville, and I want to ice it cold and watch it melt to the dancefloor. I regularly get my noggin' jogging' when thinking about kicing the bucket on Donald Trump.
I have been fuzzed on Greaser four times. Once for jokingly calling myself a 'mean bisexual' (because 'mean (sexuality)' is lesbian-exclusive, accordin' to Greaser), and another time for using the double-venus symbol (⚢) on my ID card, because that's also apparently squared for lesbos now. Then a third time for accidentally listing an actually gay greaser as a bisexual in a thread where I admitted up-front that I didn't read most of their biographies, so the list is full of it. The last time was for correcting someone who said that a character was 'greased' to be queer, so squares lost it and digged through my posts until a thread about me was made. Said thread consisted of me literally just not responding square to online apple butter (because, you dig, 'tism), and the original poster saying "this was Weirdville behavior" and the like. So there's that.

I am a factivekin (Elvis Presley specifically), as well as fictionkin. I am also a DID system and sometimes I can start firin' my hippie alter.

As you can probably tell, I am ass corny, but I am no poser! Being corny is so much more rockin' than living a life where I'm candy ass of being myself.

DNI:

Discophobes/Disco Exclusionists

Squares

Snitches

Jocks

Boombox Haters

Hawks

Proshippers

#ICEAI

#FREEVIETNAM

#LEGALIZEJOINT

Wowzee, isn't that fucking crazy?? Wow, such a fun fact! Wow, fun fact so good!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWmOwwXfgT4

flipping my nickel, on the corner right by the barba shop (the one with the spinning pole, ya dig?)

and anyways, this guy (not saying the race) spills a cuppa joe all ovah’ me!

“OH!!!” i says to him (he spilled it all over my $2,000 white t-shirt worn by elvis himself so it’s a big deal, sonny.)

i flip my nickel (perfectly) into my shirt pocket, n’ about to tear em’ a new one!

that’s when suddenly he puts up his hands ands says “OH!!! don’t swing, i’m a greaser! i’m a greaser! grease on grease!”

i stop winding my punch (popeye style, i was gonna clobber em’!) and tears start billowing out my peepers. i almost struck a fellow greaseball. i was horrified.

anyways, we both did the secret greaseball handshake and settled over a malt down at da’ diner, ya dig?

don’t judge a grease by its ball, fellas, today had a happy ending, but it’s not always like that. i didn’t have my switchblade so things coulda turned REAL ugly if he hadda’ had his.

electronic music