Broken Pedestal

Cracked... you were one of my favorite websites. Why are you killing yourself like this? D=

Have a read over those comments folks. This is what gets you banned at Cracked - sane, rational, civil discussion. Not one of those comments exists anymore. Strangely, not one of them violates the User Policy either. I can't imagine why someone at Cracked feels the need to hide these comments.

This is only four screencaps - I didn't make more. I didn't feel the need to, but over well 500 comments are missing from the comments section and now it seems the moderators are just deleting them as they come.

For those not in the know, allow me to quickly summarize the situation:

John Cheese writes this article. It's a bit condescending, but nothing to be all that upset over. Cheese follows up by specifically stating on his Facebook and Twitter that the article was an attack on the comment section of Cracked and continues shooting himself in the foot with some pretty horrific insults that I'm not comfortable repeating here. The comment section (rightfully) explodes with indignation.

I have managed to get myself banned altogether - not just my account, my IP address. For the post in the first picture.

I had commented perhaps half a dozen times since having an account with Cracked, if that, before this incident. I haven't so much as uttered a "damn" over the whole incident, so why the deletion and ban? I don't even know how to react to this much douche.

I Am Terrified of Things with Exoskeltons

I needed a shower tonight. I got one, but in the aftermath was forced into hand-to-wing combat with Nature's terrorist: the cockroach. And let me tell you, fighting terrorism is no fun when you're naked and your hair is wet.

The formalities began when I entered the bathroom and flicked on the light. Being of sensitive peripheral vision, I immediately noticed the scurry of brown far below, and also being of supremely excellent reflexes jumped a good six inches backwards over the threshold with, I might add, enough of a muffled scream that my grandmother did not rush to see what was happening.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, I made a quick spot check to see - yes, the roach was hiding around the sink cabinet. Making a tactical retreat to grab a shoe, I returned to find my enemy vanished; to where, I knew not. No doubt to some dark crevice whence I could not follow.

It was late; I still needed a shower. I shrugged off the situation as best I could, but not amount of hot water could ease the apprehensive tension growing between my shoulder blades. I would have to fight this enemy again. With any luck at all, my foe would not rear his exoskeleton until after my nightly cleansing ritual.

Luck was on my side, but She is a fickle goddess; though my shower remained unbugged, I was attacked almost immediately upon my exit. And this time, I had nothing heavy on hand, no weapon of smiting. Looking around for something, anything to MacGuyver with, the cockroach took the opportunity to scurry across the floor and begin crawling the wall. I spotted my makeshift weapon - a tissue box. The roach made it to the towel rack.

As a towel rack is a rather awkward shape, one less than ideal for smiting, I waited. Waited for him to move to a less advantageous position. This was a mistake. For he readied himself with a twitch and FLEW RIGHT AT MY FUCKING FACE FUCKFUCKFUCKTHISAAAAAAAAHHHHHH.

He missed - towels make excellent shields. He hit the floor and ran. I slammed the box down and held. Then pulled up to do a body check. No good - still alive. Hit him again. And again. Once more for good measure. Then sweep him under the rug and find something heavier to grind the body to crumbs with.

Then I finished drying off and got dressed. And thus ends my epic battle with a cockroach. Lauren: 1, Terrorism: 0.