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MicktheGreat

Why is phillybear so angry all the time?

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I enjoy reading phillybear's angry rants, but I've often wondered exactly why he's so furious all the time...

 

Does anybody know??? :lol:

 

If not, feel free to completely fabricate a backstory (as elaborate or simple as you want) as to the circumstances that led phillybear to become his wrathful self...

 

:( :banana: :banana:

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maybe he just needs a hug?

 

 

We should all pass a hat to raise some money so the ladies of this site TNG/STC/Peenie/BigPete fly to his house to give him "a visit with a happy ending". (and if there is a a couple extra bucks left over we can get a bus ticket for Saw too! ;) )

 

Then maybe, just maybe he will finally be happy enough not to kill some one that day......

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I think it's a combination of him suffering from gout and not allowing himself to enjoy "fun, happy" music like Bananarama, Night Ranger, and Loverboy.

;)

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There are so many reasons, I don't know where to begin. So I won't.

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He is a Seahawks fan with two other team names in his handle. Clearly he has issues. ;)

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maybe he just needs a hug?

We should all pass a hat to raise some money so the ladies of this site TNG/STC/Peenie/BigPete fly to his house to give him "a visit with a happy ending". (and if there is a a couple extra bucks left over we can get a bus ticket for Saw too! :( )

 

Then maybe, just maybe he will finally be happy enough not to kill some one that day......

 

:lol:

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he is from Philly.

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The son of an itinerant potato farmer in rural Pennsylvania, Phillybear tilled the fields from an early age and learned to hate the sunrise, for it meant tedious physical work with no respite and no reward. His mother ran off with a traveling salesman at the age of 5. At the age of 13, his father was killed in a terrible threshing machine accident, whereupon he went to live with his drunken uncle in North Philadelphia. The occasional beatings toughened Phillybear, who learned quickly how to parry his uncle's fearsome left hook and to carry a switchblade at all times. On the nights when his uncle was at the dogtrack, Phillybear pleasured himself to images of Shannon Tweed from his uncle's collection of VHS tapes. At age 17, his uncle tossed him out on the street. Drifting, aimless, Phillybear began to cut classes, started smoking and bummed cigarettes from strangers. He knocked over his first liquor store at the age of 19; his first convenience store at 20. An ill-advised attempt to hit a jewelry store in Center City resulted in his first stay in a state penitentiary at the age of 23. The days and nights on cell block C were cruel to Phillybear. Hardened first by life, then by prison, he emerged from jail at the age of 25 the rottened husk of his former potential. Today, at age 37, with a lengthy rap sheet, he struggles to survive, drifting from one part-time job to the next, always looking over his shoulder, hounded by his probation officer, the mothers of his three illegitimate offspring, and a former business partner who has vowed revenge for getting screwed out of a major score six years ago.

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You know I read a lot. Especially things that have to do with history. I find that shiit fascinating. In fact, I don't know if you know this or not, Phillybear was spawned by ni&&ers.

 

It's a fact. Phillybear has ni&&er blood pumpin' through his heart. If you don't believe me, look it up. You see, hundreds and hundreds of years ago the Moors conquered Sicily. And Moors are ni&&ers. Way back then, Sicilians were like the wops in northern Italy. Blond hair, blue eyes. But, once the Moors moved in there, they changed the whole country. They did so much fuckin' with the Sicilian women....heh, they changed the blood-line for ever, from blond hair and blue eyes to black hair and dark skin. I find it absolutely amazing to think that to this day, hundreds of years later, Phillybear still carrys that ni&&er gene. I'm just quotin' history. It's a fact. It's written. Phillybears ancestors were ni&&ers. His great, great, great, great, great-grandmother was focked by a ni&&er, and had a half-ni&&er kid.

 

That is a fact.

 

Now tell me, am I lyin'?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Im not a racist, just too good to pass up :cheers:

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The son of an itinerant potato farmer in rural Pennsylvania, Phillybear tilled the fields from an early age and learned to hate the sunrise, for it meant tedious physical work with no respite and no reward. His mother ran off with a traveling salesman at the age of 5. At the age of 13, his father was killed in a terrible threshing machine accident, whereupon he went to live with his drunken uncle in North Philadelphia. The occasional beatings toughened Phillybear, who learned quickly how to parry his uncle's fearsome left hook and to carry a switchblade at all times. On the nights when his uncle was at the dogtrack, Phillybear pleasured himself to images of Shannon Tweed from his uncle's collection of VHS tapes. At age 17, his uncle tossed him out on the street. Drifting, aimless, Phillybear began to cut classes, started smoking and bummed cigarettes from strangers. He knocked over his first liquor store at the age of 19; his first convenience store at 20. An ill-advised attempt to hit a jewelry store in Center City resulted in his first stay in a state penitentiary at the age of 23. The days and nights on cell block C were cruel to Phillybear. Hardened first by life, then by prison, he emerged from jail at the age of 25 the rottened husk of his former potential. Today, at age 37, with a lengthy rap sheet, he struggles to survive, drifting from one part-time job to the next, always looking over his shoulder, hounded by his probation officer, the mothers of his three illegitimate offspring, and a former business partner who has vowed revenge for getting screwed out of a major score six years ago.

 

:unsure:

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The details of his life are quite inconsequential.... Very well, where do I begin? His father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. His mother was a 15-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. His father would womanize; he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament... His childhood was typical: summers in Rangoon... luge lessons... In the spring, he'd make meat helmets... When he was insolent he was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds — pretty standard, really. At the age of 12, he received his first scribe. At the age of 14, a Zoroastrian named Wilma ritualistically shaved his testicles — there really is nothing like a shorn scrotum — it's quite breathtaking... I suggest you try it.

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The details of his life are quite inconsequential.... Very well, where do I begin? His father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. His mother was a 15-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. His father would womanize; he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament... His childhood was typical: summers in Rangoon... luge lessons... In the spring, he'd make meat helmets... When he was insolent he was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds — pretty standard, really. At the age of 12, he received his first scribe. At the age of 14, a Zoroastrian named Wilma ritualistically shaved his testicles — there really is nothing like a shorn scrotum — it's quite breathtaking... I suggest you try it.

 

 

:doh:

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