/sewers/ - The sewers of 22chan

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This board is for posts that are even more random as posts on /b/.

If your post has no meaning/ makes no sense at all, then /sewers/ is the right board for you.

Normal random posts belong on /b/.

Rule breaks may cause ban/deletion.

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I habe epileptsy, pleas keep this chan accessible for people like me by not posting any flashing images...


haha flashingimage.gif

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My name is donk and I love to honk.


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my name is peep and I love to sleep

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Your fortune: Godly Luck


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You rolled the number 798248324 (no dubs or higher)


Certain delicious bag.


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I'm pleasantly surprised that this site is still alive.

Your fortune: Better not tell you now
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Agree, also nice trips


Alive lobsters in the saddle.


You can be lost in the snow.


I love this chan


I came from 4chan and fullchan. Nice to have a place with less people.

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I need some gondolas for recreational use

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smoge weed? yes.
today is weed day
smoge da weed bro
hid it upp dood


ayo mane, is not just blaze day, is uncle adolfs 130th birthday nyigga, wes be celebratin an partyin in this bich haha

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let me tell you a good story!


i dont have a good story...

anons im asking YOU if you have a good funny story.

pic unrelated
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Cuss, the general practitioner, was devoured by curiosity. The bandages excited his professional interest, the report of the thousand and one bottles aroused his jealous regard. All through April and May he coveted an opportunity of talking to the stranger, and at last, towards Whitsuntide, he could stand it no longer, but hit upon the subscription-list for a village nurse as an excuse. He was surprised to find that Mr. Hall did not know his guest's name. "He give a name," said Mrs. Hall—an assertion which was quite unfounded—"but I didn't rightly hear it." She thought it seemed so silly not to know the man's name.

Cuss rapped at the parlour door and entered. There was a fairly audible imprecation from within. "Pardon my intrusion," said Cuss, and then the door closed and cut Mrs. Hall off from the rest of the conversation.

She could hear the murmur of voices for the next ten minutes, then a cry of surprise, a stirring of feet, a chair flung aside, a bark of laughter, quick steps to the door, and Cuss appeared, his face white, his eyes staring over his shoulder. He left the door open behind him, and without looking at her strode across the hall and went down the steps, and she heard his feet hurrying along the road. He carried his hat in his hand. She stood behind the door, looking at the open door of the parlour. Then she heard the stranger laughing quietly, and then his footsteps came across the room. She could not see his face where she stood. The parlour door slammed, and the place was silent again.


Cuss went straight up the village to Bunting the vicar. "Am I mad?" Cuss began abruptly, as he entered the shabby little study. "Do I look like an insane person?"

"What's happened?" said the vicar, putting the ammonite on the loose sheets of his forth-coming sermon.

"That chap at the inn—"


"Give me something to drink," said Cuss, and he sat down.


When his nerves had been steadied by a glass of cheap sherry—the only drink the good vicar had available—he told him of the interview he had just had. "Went in," he gasped, "and began to demand a subscription for that Nurse Fund. He'd stuck his hands in his pockets as I came in, and he sat down lumpily in his chair. Sniffed. I told him I'd heard he took an interest in scientific things. He said yes. Sniffed again. Kept on sniffing all the time; evidently recently caught an infernal cold. No wonder, wrapped up like that! I developed the nurse idea, and all the while kept my eyes open. Bottles—chemicals—everywhere. Balance, test-tubes in stands, and a smell of—evening primrose. Would he subscribe? Said he'd consider it. Asked him, point-blank, was he researching. Said he was. A long research? Got quite cross. 'A damnable long research,' said he, blowing the cork out, so to speak. 'Oh,' said I. And out came the grievance. The man was just on the boil, and my question boiled him over. He had been given a prescription, most valuable prescription—what for he wouldn't say. Was it medical? 'Damn you! What are you fishing after?' I apologised. Dignified sniff and cough. He resumed. He'd read it. Five ingredients. Put it down; turned his head. Draught of air from window lifted the paper. Swish, rustle. He was working in a room with an open fireplace, he said. Saw a flicker, and there was the prescription burning and lifting chimneyward. Rushed towards it just as it whisked up the chimney. So! Just at that point, to illustrate his story, out came his arm."



"No hand—just an empty sleeve. Lord! I thought, that's a deformity! Got a cork arm, I suppose, and has taken it off. Then, I thought, there's something odd in that. What the devil keeps that sleeve up and open, if there's nothing in it? There was nothing in it, I tell you. Nothing down it, right down to the joint. I could see right down it to the elbow, and there was a glimmer of light shining through a tear of the cloth. 'Good God!' I said. Then he stopped. Stared at me with those black goggles of his, and then at his sleeve."


"That's all. He never said a word; just glared, and put his sleeve back in his pocket quickly. 'I was saying,' said he, 'that there was the prescription burning, wasn't I?' Interrogative cough. 'How the devil,' said I, 'can you move an empty sleeve like that?' 'Empty sleeve?' 'Yes,' said I, 'an empty sleeve.'

"'It's an empty sleeve, is it? You saw it was an empty sleeve?' He stood up right away. I stood up too. He came towards me in three very slow steps, and stood quite close. Sniffed venomously. I didn't flinch, though I'm hanged if that bandaged knob of his, and those blinkers, aren't enough to unnerve any one, coming quietly up to you.

"'You said it was an empty sleeve?' he said. 'Certainly,' I said. At staring and saying nothing a barefaced man, unspectacled, starts scratch. Then very quietly he pulled his sleeve out of his pocket again, and raised his arm towards me as though he would show it to me again. He did it very, very slowly. I looked at it. Seemed an age. 'Well?' said I, clearing my throat, 'there's nothing in it.'


"Had to say something. I was beginning to feel frightened. I could see right down it. He extended it straight towards me, slowly, slowly—just like that—until the cuff was six inches from my face. Queer thing to see an empty sleeve come at you like that! And then—"


"Something—exactly like a finger and thumb it felt—nipped my nose."

Bunting began to laugh.

"There wasn't anything there!" said Cuss, his voice running up into a shriek at the "there." "It's all very well for you to laugh, but I tell you I was so startled, I hit his cuff hard, and turned around, and cut out of the room—I left him—"

Cuss stopped. There was no mistaking the sincerity of his panic. He turned round in a helpless way and took a second glass of the excellent vicar's very inferior sherry. "When I hit his cuff," said Cuss, "I tell you, it felt exactly like hitting an arm. And there wasn't an arm! There wasn't the ghost of an arm!"

Mr. Bunting thought it over. He looked suspiciously at Cuss. "It's a most remarkable story," he said. He looked very wise and grave indeed. "It's really," said Mr. Bunting with judicial emphasis, "a most remarkable story."

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Im gay
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Borglar not included (or not invented).


Hi, gay, I'm dad


Posting in life.


no one cares lol


fucking namefags man FUCKKKKk
you're even gayer than the gay guy

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u are all poopy heads and dumb and stupid and blergh


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This is nice board.
No rude allow.


This is 22chan anon.

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As a result of the victory of the 22chan's revolution, the Otter Question has become a problem for those who never before thought about solving the Otter Question, who never fought to solve it. Everyone has seen that the current situation is intolerable. Allowing free development and equality for the Otter has led to an “unfree” situation of exploited competition, and to a handing over of important positions within the /sewers/ to those dirty Otters.
We can outlaw them, ban them, kick them out....
Nevertheless, these temporary measures cannot be a final solution to the Otter Question since the time is not yet ripe, although the laws point out the direction and leave room for any future developments.
continue in parts because body is too long
1 reply omitted. Click here to view.


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The otters must be stopped. They are a grave and immediate danger. We cannot afford to let them remain inside of our precious sewers. They have no respect, they have no morals, and they are the sworn enemy of gators everywhere.


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The otters already have a powerful grasp on the media, and use this to endear themselves to the general public through literal brainwashing. Ask any child what they think of otters, and they will surely reply that they are "cute" or "funny." But these are LIES. The cute otter narrative is entirely manufactured. THIS is what otters REALLY look like, without makeup or fancy camera angles. Never let your guard down.

Otters want you to think they are all of the following:
However, nothing could be further from the truth. Real otters are:


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Look familiar?


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no otters!


I found a telescope.

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Heil, mein Führer!




I take your disk.


"He wuz bit," said the Japanese imageboard.sage


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Thank you for warning me traveler

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After communing with the higher powers, I have come to learn that I have been sent here to bully people. This is a difficult truth for me to accept, since I have thus far lived my life trying to comfort all those who wear a frown on their faces. I am scared, as I know the path which lies before me is long and stony. Please, help me to practice before I depart to do my work upon the world. Let me bully you.


We understand Anon, this has happened to many people before you. You're just another on the path to becoming a lonely incel.


Oh, I'm never going to be an incel. Your father makes sure of that.


Ahh my favorites.sage


I like posting.

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First rule of sewers is that we do not talk about sewers.

Your fortune: You will meet a dark handsome stranger
1 reply omitted. Click here to view.


second rule of sewers is that we DONT, TALK ABOUT, SEWERS.




Tell me something.


I have always loved you, Steve.


I feel hungry.sage

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