Rob

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Posts posted by Rob


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    It's 5:30. Sun's only just rising, and the freeway below is already gridlocked. Suits on the way to their 9-to-5s, making money that will only be wasted on their cheating wives and idiot kids.

    I'm on a mountain, above the Land Act Dam, not another soul around for miles. Sitting on an iron horse, three quarters of the way through a bottle of whiskey, waiting for the text message that tells me who has to die today. I don't owe anyone. I don't need the money. I'm a millionaire. I can do what I please. I could fly to Vice City tomorrow, never think of Los Santos again. But I love what I do. I love gasoline and bullets and blades. I love explosions, executions, robberies. I love the look on some poor hood's face as he sees my blacked-out Buffalo S powerslide around the corner, knowing that he's breathing his last breaths. I love watching some suit trying to crawl through his window and scream at me as I flick the butt of my Redwood into the pool of gasoline I've rolled his Granger into. I love every second of it.

    So sit in your Oracle and judge me as I white-line my Daemon through rush hour traffic. Think about the cigarette in my mouth and the blood on my clothes and judge me, while the missus rambles about the upcoming remodel to your home. While you're lying awake at night, dreading the fact that you'll be sitting in traffic again in three hours, think about the satisfied smirk on my face, and the pistol tucked into my waistband, and judge me. Judge all you want. When you're sitting in your little cubicle tomorrow, think long and hard about how you're living your life, and think about how you judged me for living mine. Think about that smirk on my face, as you take notice of the frown on yours. Ask yourself...

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    ... who's really wasting their life?

    (It is impossible to get a good selfie)

    Nice. Remove the line "I am a millionaire" it diffuses the motive. Other than that. I could easily put a couple of hundred pages into what you just described.

    • Like 2

  2. Two crates for 19 pound? I'm not going to argue. If I have to drink Fosters it might as well be in vast quantities.

    Don't get me wrong. It's actually one of the better beers we make. But it's like corona. Mexicans won't drink the shit but some clowns here will pay $10 for a 330ml stubby gladly. We don't really even have a marketing drive for fosters here. The only reason I knew QD was refering to an ad is coz I've seen it on one of those "Worlds funniest ads" shows.


  3. Stupid fucking car. Why would you want a 600hp car with absolutely no weight over the rear drive wheels? Those things are rolling coffins

    I'd also like to point out, modem Ute's has rear independent suspension. Put anything heavier than a spare tyre in the tray and you get racing camber for free on your rest wheels