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and i can't host it myself

this was not r8

Would this be considered rule 8?

What's up with all the blogposts?

i cant post on /jp/
I every time I try to say something but i got this error msg

テスト

cunny in the cleanliness thread

待ち受け画像にしようか

i need sum1 to chat with me (;´Д`)

I remember when heyuris front page looked like this

Reply with yr dav kaomojis!!
ଘ(´•3•)⊃━☆
(,,•﹏•,,)
✧⁺⸜(･ ᗜ ･ )⸝⁺✧
(੭ ˃̶͈̀ ω ˂̶͈́)੭⁾⁾
♪ ٩( ´ω` )و ♪

Lately I've been watching some old games I used to play on YouTube (Starcraft 2 predominantly).

Having spent a collective 2 decades on the internet, I have naturally saved loads of stuff over the years. Pictures, graphics, movies, random shit ive saved from imageboards, groupchats, irc logs, lists of addresses, old passwords, everything. One of my lifelong fears was losing all this one day, so I was always very militaristic about backups and data-safekeeping.

Today, I decided to do away with all of it. None of it matters, really. 99% of I never, ever look at. Digital hoarding is pointless, and really just is a psychological anchor to your computer. I deleted almost everything except a few sentimental things that I actually do like to look at over the years, and downsized my harddrive from my old 4TB, to a 1tb, which is enough for everything I have plus a few games (and I still have 640gb left over).

I also started nofap a month or so ago, so deleting all the random pr0n (or at least, triggers) that was scattered across my computer has probably saved me at some point.

Getting rid of all this.. e-junk, really changed how I view my computer and the time i spend on it. Did I mention bookmarks? I used to have a huge bookmarks tab where I kept easy access to all the sites I use (including heyuri!). I deleted that too. If I need to go somewhere, I ought to have the will to type it in.

TL;DR: Over the years, you save an enourmous amount of junk that just weighs you down, whether you realize it or not. I think getting rid of it has helped me alot.

It's weird how some forms of humor involve humiliating others.
The ambiguity between good humor and bad humor confuses me.

I'm reading this book called 'What Women Want' by Daniel Bergner, basically a review of women's sexuality, with word from sexologists and sexual anecdotes from various women. In it there's a chapter which seeks to explain why women tend to show a certain appreciation for other women, in a way that men don't with other men:

Meana was a psychology professor at the University of Nevada at Las Vegas,and just before I flew out to meet her, she said that we should start by going together to a Cirque du Soleil show at one of the casinos. So, soon after my plane landed, we sat in a darkened U-shaped theater and began our conversation while a pair of topless, dark-haired women in G-strings dove backward into a giant water-filled champagne glass on stage. The women plunged in from opposite sides of the pool, swam toward each other, and entangled with each other, eel-like. They slid up the walls, arching their spines and dragging their
breasts along the glass."

Next, a wispy blonde came skipping like a schoolgirl out on stage. Wearing a tiny pleated skirt, she swirled her hips and kept a set of hula hoops spinning around her waist. Suddenly a cable snatched her up above the audience, hoisting her high. It was her act’s climactic moment, a symbolic ravishing. The nymphet opened her legs wide above our eyes, splitting them wider than seemed humanly possible; the splitting was almost violent.

Then a sinewy black woman wearing only beads thrust and pumped her gleaming body to a tribal beat. The soft-porn performances followed each other in fast succession, the stage dominated by arresting women.
The audience was divided equally between the sexes."

Finally the platinum-wigged MC cried out,
“Where’s the beef?” and a long-haired man in a cowboy’s vest and chaps
climbed through a trap door. He strutted and swiveled and bared his abdominal ladder of muscle. He shed the chaps, kept only his groin covered, and stood in his cowboy boots, flexing his ass. Yet even as male nudity had its minutes, a dozen female bodies surrounded him.
In her early fifties, Meana, wearing a shirtdress and tights that evening and wearing her bronze-colored hair in bangs, didn’t doubt the usual explanations for the fact that women far outnumbered men among the performers, though she didn’t believe they were terribly illuminating. Those explanations went like this:The men in the audience would have been made too uneasy by more male nudity on stage. For them—for the heterosexuals among them, anyway—the cowboy needed to be obscured by breasts. And for the women in the crowd, the female nakedness fed an addiction—judging their own looks against iconic beauty. So the ticket buyers were gratified, given a live version of what they were used to from a million images on billboards, in magazines, on television: for the men, an opportunity to lust; for the women, a chance to compare."

Meana saw more in the imbalance on stage. She began simply, with
something that fit with what Chivers had found through her plethysmograph (female arousal monitors), as the flaccid Adonis tossed stones on the beach. “The female body looks the same whether aroused or not. The male without an erection,” Meana said, “is announcing a lack of arousal. The female body always holds the promise, the suggestion, of sex.” The suggestion sent a charge through both genders."

And then, the imbalance served women in a further way, an essential way—a way that formed the crux of Meana’s thinking. To be desired was at the heart of women’s desiring. Narcissism, she stressed—and she used the word not in damning judgment but in plain description—was at the core of women’s sexual psyches. The females in the audience gazed, erotically excited, at the women on stage, imagining that their own bodies were as searingly wanted as those in front of them"

What do you complete the sentence with?