🍽️ حلال Connor Bible - Everyone's Favorite Molly Ringwald loving, adoption hating, aspiring writer and bellybutton fucker

[Coldgrip]

...skeletons aren’t bound by the laws of mortals.

Truer words have never been spoken my friend.

 

[harvey dirdban]

Man, I'm a big enough 80s sperg that I'm finding some of these visuals almost appealing... but then he has to go and do shit like referring to the female protag as "damaged goods". Women don't like that, Connor.

 

[BOLDYSPICY!]

9000+ hours in MS Paint

Spoiler: meme'd

 

[Meowthkip]

Let's keep the train rolling.

Spoiler: Part 6 and Part 7

PART THE SIXTH: HE’S BIGGER, FASTER, AND STRONGER TOO

“Klaus is what we in the business call a fucking spastic.” Jonathan Jordache, executive member of THE TEAM, explained to Eva. Everything about J. Jonathan Jordache rubbed Eva the wrong way. Wealthy, heteronormative, cisgendered, cisspecied, singlet male scum if she ever saw it.

“What makes you say that, Mr. Shitlord?” Eva asked.

J. Jon Jordache flaunted his privilege by responding. “He’s been pretending to be Hannibal Lecter on and off for the past seven years. Also he wears a fucking eyepatch. Only a fucking spastic would wear an eyepatch.”

“He claims to be a multiple system like you," Holden elaborated. "When he’s not Hannibal Lecter, he’s a god, or sometimes a fox if he’s feeling frisky. One time he got so triggered he set his hair on fire and put it out by giving himself a swirly.”

Eva liked the sound of this Klaus guy. He was clearly misunderstood and misrepresented by the mainstream media. She considered the possibility that Klaus Krieger was a skeleton, but knew that her father would laugh if she asked directly.

“Didn’t he kill like ten people? Why’s he still allowed to coach for THE BIG GAME?” She hoped with every fibre of her being that the answer would be that skeletons aren’t bound by the laws of mortals.

“Remember, dear? Gypsies don’t count as people.” Holden reminded Eva, crushing her skeleton-related dreams like so many brittle calcium-deficient bones.

“So when are we going to…” Eva paused to think of an alternative for 'meet.' The word sounded too similar to 'meat,' something skeletons didn’t have and might be triggered by. “…acquaint ourselves with Klaus?”

“We’ll be seeing him shortly. He’s downstairs with the talking gorilla. Seriously, we have a fucking talking gorilla. Why the fuck do we have a talking gorilla? I genuinely can’t get over the concept of having a talking gorilla just chilling in the basement.”

Following J. Jonah Jordache’s mild existential crisis, the Elliots stepped into the elevator.

#fuckhead #he #goingdown

The elevator started down, deep beneath the earth’s surface where the mole people lived, but not quite as deep as the symbolism in the first chapter. At the bottom, it ground to a halt. Before the door opened, a voice spoke from the intercom.

“This is security speaking. Why is that heaping mound of raw ground beef wearing bifocals?” The voice sounded puzzled. “Are you sure you can bring that in the elevator?”

“It says I can on that sign over there.” Holden gestured toward a poster on the elevator’s wall. As it turned out, today was Bring Your Fat Kid to Work Day. Eva didn’t quite believe she was fat. As a skelekin, she knew that this flesh was all an illusion. She preferred the term big-boned to describe her tendency to occupy large volumes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Elliot, I didn’t know that was your daughter. It amazes me that a human being can survive with so many extra chromosomes.”

The voice burst into laughter just as the intercom cut out and the door opened. In terms of appearance, the basement was to the Xavier School for Young Urban Gangstas as Eva was to most people: dim and poorly maintained.

“See those puddles? Don’t step in them unless you like fungal infections,” J. Jonah Jordson warned as he guided the Elliots along. The basement was like a second home to Holden. He knew it as well as the unwilling sex slaves he kept here knew every contour of his schlong. The steel security door at the far end of the hall opened and a wooden barrel rolled straight at them as gorilla noises echoed throughout the basement.

“Jump!” J. Jonah Jameson and Holden exclaimed in unison.

Eva leapt into the air with all of the grace of a bag of flour and flopped face first into the oncoming barrel, splashing the puddle and cracking her bifocals in the process. Gravity was the most oppressive force in the universe, aside from the patriarchy.

Holden sighed and shook his head. “Shoulda listened, ya fuckin’ spastic.”

Eva and her newfound fungus friends stumbled to their feet. At the end of the hall, a gorilla in a red tie was laughing his ass off at her. Ms. Pickens would have been proud of the gorilla's grasp of schadenfreude.

“Can we just go see Klaus now?” Eva mumbled, feeling her delicate womyn existence being marginalized by both males and higher primates.

J. Jonah Jameson barely contained his laughter. “You two go on ahead. I’ve got a gorilla to train in the art of go-karting.” He pointed to one of the doors. “His cell’s right through there. You know the rules: do not touch or approach the glass. Pass him nothing but soft paper, no pens or pencils. Most importantly, make sure to tag his triggers and respect his pronouns. We don't want him bitching about you on his Tumblr like the last problematic individual."

Eva adjusted her bifocals and Holden put on his “Kiss me, I’m Irish” tee-shirt. Having successfully reminded each other of their bifocals and Irishness, the Elliots stepped through the door into the Haus of Klaus.

Author’s note: I love Connor for including a gorilla in this story. It made my day.

PART THE SEVENTH: ONE IS AN IDIOT AND THE OTHER IS INSANE

Using her bifocals to adjust the incoming light, Eva’s eyes and nervous system worked together to process the visual stimulus presented before her. Klaus had a pretty big haus for a guy locked up in the basement of a government building. Perhaps he needed the extra space to store Japanese comic books about underage boys fucking each other. If only the skeletons under Area 51 could live in such luxury.

“Tero is currently fronting. Bun prefers bun/buns/bunself pronouns but xe/xir/xirself are also acceptable. CAMAB brakefluid demimoore hemizygous. Our major triggers include lobsters, belly buttons, Hustine Fiber, Pepsiman, kiwis, blue arms, and bifocals. Our complete list of triggers can be found on our tumblr.” Klaus’s voice was that of a morbidly obese man in his fifties pretending to be a young woman with an unconvincing falsetto. "And you must be Evangeline."

Without missing a beat, Eva removed her bifocals and responded. “Molly Ringwald is currently fronting, she/her/herself pronouns. Magi-girl demisexual. My triggers are skeleton disrespect, my own reflection, thin privilege and matchbox cars.”

Klaus spun around in his chair. Even without her bifocals, Eva had no trouble seeing this because Molly Ringwald was perfect in every aspect, especially vision. He looked like the world’s fattest potato had put on a loose-fitting hoodie with a cat-ear headband to distract onlookers from his ever-thinning hairline which was receding. Both his eyes were covered by eyepatches for reasons unknowable by human minds. His lack of pants was equally inexplicable.

“I'm acquainted with your complete list of triggers,” Eva said. "I read your whole blog last night."

“Annnnnd…?” Klaus inquired. “What is your opinion of it?”

"It was about as problematic as I expected from a hydrophobic cisfat literacy-privileged scumbag who erases the experience of median systems without a consistent front runner," Eva responded. "But no biggie."

“If we didn’t know any better, we’d have taken you for an amoebakin, but judging womyn based on appearance is a tool of patriarchal oppression.”Klaus smiled as he looked Eva over. “Your phantom wings are coming in nicely.”

“T-thank you.” Eva was amazed. Nobody had ever noticed her phantom wings at first glance before--certainly not through two eyepatches. Klaus was certainly an exceptional individual. “What’s that you’re reading?”

“It’s a Superwholock-Homestuck crossover where all the characters are the headmates of a polyamorous asexual tortoisekin womyn of size and colour.”Klaus was holding the book upside down as he explained this, but Eva didn’t dare mention it lest she be accused of ableism.

“Those franchises are a tad problematic for my tastes. The source material stinks of binary interpretations of sex and gender.” Eva sent forth Ellen Page to front. She was much better at being smug than Molly. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes. THE BIG GAME.”Klaus swapped the positions of his two eyepatches to spice things up. “Tell us, Ms. Page… what do you know about THE BIG GAME?”

“It’s not my job to educate you.”

“Exactly the answer we were looking for. Does that folder contain what we need?” Klaus gestured toward the wall, no longer remotely facing in the direction of Eva and her folder.

“More than enough,” Eva replied. “Inflation fetish art of each of the original 151 Pokemon straight from my DeviantART, plus the American Rabbit as a bonus.”

“Autistic, aren’t you?”Klaus said as the author made the easiest conceivable joke.

“Self-diagnosed.”

“So are we. In addition to bipolar, post-traumatic stress disorder, schizophrenia, polio, hysteria and sudden infant death syndrome,Tero in particular suffers from snuffleupagitis, the poor thing.” Klaus grinned, satisfied in having won this year’s Oppression Olympics.“Go on then, send the folder through.”

Eva slid the folder through the Haus of Klaus’s mail slot. Klaus fumbled around trying to find it for a solid minute before letting out an exasperated sigh and removing one of his eyepatches. He undid the rubber bands protecting the folder and began to tremble violently.

“Evangeline, what are these?” Klaus sounded on the verge of tears. He held out his hand, the rubber bands dangling from his fingertips.

“Rubber bands to hold the folder shut,” Eva replied nervously.

“What else is kept shut by rubber bands?”Klaus glared at Eva and let the folder drop to the floor.

Eva paused in thought for a moment before gasping and covering her mouth. “Lobster claws,” she muttered to herself.

“Do you see how triggered we are right now, Evangeline? How could you leave our trigger untagged like this? Can’t you see how we can barely even? No, we CAN’T EVEN. We just can’t.”Klaus fell from his chair and began to blubber on the floor of his cell and flail his limbs wildly.

Eva and Holden waited patiently for three hours to see if Klaus would calm down. “How can bun do this for so long without getting tired?” Eva whispered to her father.

“This is nothing," Holden replied. "When they changed Sonic’s arms, he killed ten gypsies and cried for six days.”

As the fourth hour of Klaus’s meltdown dawned, Eva tried to change the subject. “So, um, did you like the art?”

“fhtadsfggffd,”Klaus replied, still flailing wildly through the room.

Holden was a patient man, but unlike the list of things he would put his penis into, his patience had limits. “Klaus, cool it. I’m not going to wait here for you to act like a human being while there are still pigs unfucked. Is Eva going to play in THE BIG GAME or not?”

Klaus continued to babble incoherently with no signs of acknowledging Holden’s question.

#tw #buffknuckles #likeifyouread

Author’s note: Why is Klaus allowed to speak in italics? Does he think he’s me or something?

Tero's guest appearance.

 

[Arkangel]

We were chatting with Connor again in Teamspeak. He had to leave abruptly because he claimed that his mother found out he was talking to us and didn't approve of it. His last words which I paraphrase: "She's afraid that you guys will track us down and murder us."

 

[EI 903]

We were chatting with Connor again in Teamspeak. He had to leave abruptly because he claimed that his mother found out he was talking to us and didn't approve of it. His last words which I paraphrase: "She's afraid that you guys will track us down and murder us."

He should just put up some car windshield sun reflectors on the walls. We'd have no way of tracking him.

 

[Watcher]

"She's afraid that you guys will track us down and murder us."

The paranoid irrational nature of his parents explains so much about why Connor acts the way he does.

 

[EI 903]

Lolcows rarely come from good families.

 

[Watcher]

Connor's user title now is "recovering lolcow"

 

[MysticMisty]

The paranoid irrational nature of his parents explains so much about why Connor acts the way he does.

That's assuming he was even telling the truth and not just making up a dumb excuse like with Chris "impersonating" Barb telling him to clean up cat shit. I mean, sure it could be true, but Connor admitted that he exaggerated how his parents actually treat him. Either way Connor is lying and I wouldn't trust what he says.

Man, I'm a big enough 80s sperg that I'm finding some of these visuals almost appealing... but then he has to go and do shit like referring to the female protag as "damaged goods". Women don't like that, Connor.

Connor also thinks we're nothing but sluts, whores, and bitches for not dropping our panties and have sex with him whenever he looks at a woman. His utter lack of empathy is pretty bad, but especially so when it comes to women.

 

[4Macie]

He got depressed and upset (maybe he cried a little... it sounded like it anyway) when people were questioning legit faults in his story. Simple things like "why is so and so a serial killer? what's their motive?" and "what's your plan for this character?" were met by depressed sighs and answers like "I don't know" or "I really should have thought about this more".

He got a shit ton of GOOD advice from those of us in the Teamspeak. Not just about his story, but about life too (school and such). If he uses that advice, and takes it too heart, I think it would do him a world of good.

Will he actually use it? Unfortunately, I doubt it.

 

[Xarpho]

guys guys I think I found the promised story for the forums

Spoiler

Connor Selfinsert trudged through the rain. It was raining in LA, that is, Los Angeles and not Louisiana, every time Connor went out there in his favorite trenchcoat. How was he ever supposed to counter the villainous plans of Dr. Smutley and the Kiwi Corporation? He refused their suggestions. He could be working in the local supermarket bringing in carts to get some pocket money and maybe lose some weight, but he didn't want to. He ran under a canopy to take shelter from the rain and pulled out a faded picture from his wallet.
"Oh, Molly, we'll be together someday. Just you wait!"

Spoiler

In all seriousness, name-dropping forum members would be pretty funny

 

[24isthehighestnumber]

Connor's user title now is "recovering lolcow"
View attachment 13476

Dude has to earn that "recovering".

 

[Pikonic]

"She's afraid that you guys will track us down and murder us."

We have nothing against Connor's mother.

 

[Uzumaki]

Granted. But the trees take their revenge.

For someone who fancies himself a writer, he can't even play a stupid forum game when it requires the barest minimum level of writing ability.

 

[HipstrsGonnaHip]

He got a shit ton of GOOD advice from those of us in the Teamspeak. Not just about his story, but about life too (school and such). If he uses that advice, and takes it too heart, I think it would do him a world of good.

Will he actually use it? Unfortunately, I doubt it.

He's going to use it, remember he took "mental notes."

But seriously, when he was getting advice he spent the entire time blowing smoke up our asses and telling us what he thought we wanted to hear. There's no doubting, he's not going to use a single bit of it because he wasn't listening to a single bit of it.

 

[Ryker]

We were chatting with Connor again in Teamspeak. He had to leave abruptly because he claimed that his mother found out he was talking to us and didn't approve of it. His last words which I paraphrase: "She's afraid that you guys will track us down and murder us."

This is hilarious! Doesn't he realize that with all of this "Connor Bible, [removed], South Carolina" nonsense that he tags himself with all over the net that a simple 60 second search of public records gives up his parents' names and his address. He effectively doxxed himself. No social engineering or trollish trickery required.

 

[EI 903]

Basic internet security is almost always a weak point of the cripplingly autistic, so it's not too much of a surprise. Please don't post the information on the forum, though, or use it to ween. We're better than that.

 

[Ryker]

Never fear, there's no chance in hell that I'd post addresses or names or use such info to torment poor ol' Connor ~ he's tormented enough without me contributing to his discomfort.

 

[Randall Fragg]

And now, for a fan fic about Eva's much more interesting dad, Holden.

Spoiler

The rusting blue sedan blasted The Clash as it jumped the lane divider in the Del Ray Booze 'n Things parking lot. It's occupant, a middle aged white man with long black hair, an unkempt beard, a leather trench coat, a 'kiss me I'm Irish' t-shirt, and jorts, belted out the lyrics as he threw the parking break on. "We're still at the age o clubs 'n fists, hurrah, tralah, hehe" Holden muttered as he exited the vehicle, spilling several empty beer cans on the asphalt. He had just dropped his spastic daughter off at school, and had an hour to kill before he needed to get to work. This meant one thing: getting some 'luck 'o the Irish' in his veins courtesy of Mr Jack Daniels. With a pleasant ding, the doors slide open as Holden entered. He immediately turned to the whiskey section and walk quickly towards his target: a big ol bottle of whiskey. Some of the bastards at work had criticized him for coming in buzzed, but the company never bothered to take action against him. They knew that a buzzed Holden was a happy Holden, and a happy Holden caused far less...incidents. Holden grabbed the bottle of booze, walked to the front of the store, and got in line behind a fat guy with three six packs of Miller. Holden tapped his feet as his mind began to wander to work. Wonder if the LRP5 treatment's workin on the mice yet. If we get this right, and it works in humans, we could be lookin at a Nobel Prize fer curing osteoporosis...and of course a shitton o cash fer some o the less peaceful applications of gene therapy induced high bone density...I wonder if anyone will bring in donuts today? Holden was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the sliding doors chime as two people entered, or the fat guy and the cashier turn and freeze. He did notice the larger of the two thugs fire a 9mm round through the ceiling. He turned to face the two robbers. The shorter robber, a gorilla faced cracker with a blonde neckbeard and an AK-47 sneered at him. “Don’t move fucker, or like i’ll haf ta wast yah an shit. give us the money an noone gits hurt.” Short Robber’s point was undermined by the larger thug blowing the fat Miller Guy’s head off. “TAAAH, like Stone Tone just blew that feggot away after sayin that no one would get hurt, that’s a prank!” Holden cleared his throat and attempted to reason with the robbers. “Hey, I have no quarrel with yah fine chaps, I simply wish to purchase some whiskey. May I please leave?” The smaller thug retorted by sending a 7.62 bullet through Holden’s bottle of whiskey. “Taah, pronked yew fag, dats what I think of yer whiskey!” Holden’s eye twitched. “Boyoo....are ye gettin between me an me whiskey?” The thug broke into a grin. “Yeah, I gus I am faggot”. Holden leaned in close, cause the thug to take a step back. “Listen here boyoo. No One gets between me ahn me whiskey.” “well, looks like I just did. Whut r u gonna do about i-” The thug was cut off by the AK-47 being ripped from his hands, followed by the sensation of the rifle’s stock colliding with his abdomen. The thug crumpled into a heap and groaned pitifully. Holden spun around and stuck the barrel of his newly acquired rifle in ‘Stone Tone’s” face. Tone dropped his pistol, make a sound akin to a rat falling in a deep frier, and ran off to hide in the stockroom. Holden, rifle in his hand, proceeded to the whiskey aisle to grab another bottle of Jack Daniels. As he came back to the check out and fished out his wallet, he hear the soft whirr of an electric motor approach him, followed by a “Freeze, law breaker!” The liquor store security guard, a sweaty fat guy on a segway, had ridden up to him and was now pointing a glock at the back of his head. Holden sighed and looked towards him. “Officer, I broke no laws. I just defended myself against the goons assaulting this store. Which was supposed to be your job. If you want to arrest someone, arrest that guy” Holden pointed to the unconscious thug on the ground, who had now produced a sizable puddle of urine. “Don’t talk back to me Lucky Charms, and don’t yew tell me how to do mah job! I gots to arrest someun, and if I arrest three crooks instead of two, I’ll be promoted! No more mall coppin fer me! Get yer mick hands on yer head and turn round!” Holden turned fully towards the mall cop. “Officer, yer gettin between me and mah whiskey.” “Do I look like I care? Maybe this’ll convince yah!” the mall cop said as he fired a round past Holden’s head. Holden responded by unloading his AK into the mall cop’s chest, reducing him to a bloody mound of gore and adipose tissue. Holden set his gun down, placed some cash on the counter (the cashier was still cowering behind the register), and walked towards the exit. A flash of blue and red caught his eye, and he looked out the window. “Oh booy” he groaned. The parking lot was filled with cop cars. There had to be at least 8 cops aiming their weapons at the store front.
“Come out with you hands up!”
“I’m an innocent bystander, I didnaught do annythin wrong!”
“I said come out with you hands up!”
“I just wanna get me whiskey and leave, yer gettin between me ahn me whiskey!”
“Last chance, come out or we’re comin in there!”
“Alright, you asked for it...”
The cops looked at each other. “Alright, so we’ll send a team round the back while we keep him distracted out-”
“CRAWWLLING IN MY SKINNNNNNN!!!!!!”
The police all turned to face the store as it’s PA system began to blair Linkin Park. “What the hell” muttered one Officer Tolino.
Holden charged out of the doors, trench coat flapping in the wind, rifle in one hand and whiskey in the other.


The parking lot was a battlefield of bullet riddled cars, dead or injured police officers, and stray casings. Officer Tolino struggled to crawl away from the site; he had been struck in the vest, and most of his ribs had been broken. He froze. There was a voice in the air.
“So away with yer pills it’all cure all ills, pagan christian or jew. Take off yer coat an grease yer throat with a bucket full o mountain dew”.
Tolino grunted and attempted to crawl faster. He could hear the rhythmic stomping of boots growing closer and closer.
“ommph!”
Tolino gasped in pain as Holden flipped him onto his back and leveled the AK at his face.
“You there, copper!”
“No, please don’t-”
“What, kill yah? No, I need you alive. I need yah tah take a message back to the station.”
Holden looked at the half empty bottle of whiskey, took a swig, and looked back at Tolino.
“Don’t. Stand. Between. Me. an. Me whiskey.”
With that, Holden stepped over Tolino, got into his sedan, and drove off to work.