Something Sensitive is having a bit of a meltdown atm. Not totally sure why, but it has something to do with jews maybe? Some on that board are saying it's turning into SA or even (GASP!) Kiwi Farms.
I tried to throw this bone at Something Sensitive via the Doxxnet, but I never got the courtesy of a follow up... so with that being said I'm going to let KF in on the good stuff.
I have it to good knowledge, not confirmed as of yet that the NSA (or some sort of Government Agency) is snooping around SA / infiltrated it, for what reason I don't know.
[4/6/2017 6:09:12 PM] (me): kil lme
[4/6/2017 6:09:15 PM] (me): why] [4/6/2017 6:09:24 PM] (Redacted 2): you could get probed
[4/6/2017 6:09:30 PM] (Redacted 2): there is an IK right now that I don't really care for
[4/6/2017 6:09:35 PM] (Redacted 2): on FYAD persona and BYOB persona
[4/6/2017 6:09:39 PM] (Redacted 2): he isn't funny and he just probes people
[4/6/2017 6:09:54 PM] (Redacted 2): he is also an un-employed loser who lives in his moms basement in Oregon
[4/6/2017 6:10:03 PM] (Redacted 2): I had some of my boys in D.C dig into his life a little bit.
I will not be revealing my source, but the user that I am talking to is a moderator on Something Awful so that would already indicate that they have infiltrated pretty far into their site. He also has several accounts as noted above (a FYAD Persona, a BYOB persona(which is also a mod not on BYOB)
Does anyone know this unemployed loser living in Oregon that my guy might be talking about? He is referring to an IK so that should narrow it down.
The NSA keeps a close eye on GIP after some idiot in there posted some classed shit about nuclear subs, not to mention there's a few guys on it who were "mobbed up' in JSOC that got out, went kinda crazy and post in there, so it's an active security risk
google his name and read the article he wrote about himself and his time in helldump. I've never seen someone suck their own dick so hard in written form
The mods censored the (((jew))) echoes to "I love cock" or something. They did it half-assed, so it looks like the censorship ia easily bypassed by inserting a space, or using a defferent number of parentheses, or even a different symbol. Between the mod ineptitude and the SS members flapping their hands autistically and crying angrily because they can't arrange their punctuation marks "in the correct order", SS has gotten funny for a change. Don't worry, it won't last.
Then one day, shit postin with troons,
His wife found out and left'em without poon
nanny, that is. Pink flower, Texas Tuna
Well next thing you know ol Jeb's a journalist
got hisself an apartment next to some pediatrist
But his ex-wife's gash is the place he wants to be
Gonna buy a gun and blow out his memory
Suicide that is, punching the clock, nailing the coffin
The only good to have come out of TNE was Hangly melting down over people mocking his 9/11 truth thread. I want to say there was something else too but if there was I honestly can't remember it. General Cleon posts maybe?
There was the HostGator incident, where some shady hosting company out of Florida tried to sue Hangly, then also there was the Kicesie thread , plus general Cleon trolling of OKcupid and Grindr.
Nigga looks like the corpse of Eric Blair. Ole down and out in my slightly edgy shitposting forum ass nigga!
Don't forget about the banfiction written about him and Tony Danza's Ho (a somewhat attractive raven-haired Portland hipster artfag who aped R. Crumb). The story goes something like this: TDH goes over to Lund's ramshackle apartment to fuck him but he couldn't get hard, so he starts shoving potatoes up her cunt, and seeing her distended belly finally made him hard. Then he starts fucking her, mashing up the potatoes. Then she squirts mashed potatoes all over his face and the story ended with something like "It was the first hot meal he tasted in weeks."
TDH is one of the few Helldump superstars I remember. She was generally not a bad poster, but holy shit did she circlejerk hard. I mean, all of Helldump did, but she was one of the lead circlejerkers.
There was the HostGator incident, where some shady hosting company out of Florida tried to sue Hangly, then also there was the Kicesie thread , plus general Cleon trolling of OKcupid and Grindr.
Yeah, it was Kicesie. Even now I will occasionally run across her videos during youtube searches and all I can think of when I do is Cleon calling out her fake rape claims.
edit: I see you are getting bad ratings for that old ban fiction but honestly everyone, those things were all immensely funny.
There's been plenty of good banfictions but unfortunately many have been lost to the sands of time. However, thanks to web.archive I'm able to share a few of them.
First, there's the granddaddy of banfictions, written by none other than Keep it real.
A rainy day. I'm laid back, slouched on the couch, smoking blunts and updating the SASSclopedia page on Mangosteen. The phone rings. Hello? "Hey baby how you doing?" "Who this is?" "It's me" "Oh...baby, what's up?" It's my internet girlfriend, Megan Kyanka. "I was just wondering if you were coming over this weekend?" "Well what's up with that chump? You know who. Your baby daddy. Mrs. Doubtfire." "He's in rehab for his Xanax and Ambien addiction. I'm alone in the house for two weeks." "Word? Alright. I'm on my way."
"We are now seating Frequent Flyer members, First Class passengers, and those who are travelling with childen or need assistance with boarding.” First class. That's me. I board the plane, settle into my seat, kick my feet up, and order a glass of Hennesy VSOP. After I enjoy a meal of lobster and shrimp, I doze off for a second and dream that I am dicking Megan Kyanka. I dream that her Chinese pussy is sideways, and I tear her pussy walls when I give her the dick. When I wake up, the plane is landing in Lee's Summit. I hop off the plane, into a cab and tell the driver to burn rubber. When the taxi arrives at Lowtax's house, I give the driver a $20 and tell him to keep the change.
I am well presented when I enter Lowtax's house, wearing some crisp Guess Jeans and Timbs. I give Megan Kyanka a hug. Damn she is fine. She invites me to sit, turns the DVD player on and put on "Friday". My favorite flick. She offers me a drink of Goose. "No doubt, I'll take a sip". We get into convo. "How you been?" "Neglected. stressed out." "What you mean? I thought Rich took care of you. Bought you spa treatments and gave you foot massages". "This is true but I need a real man who's got his shit together." I whisper in her ear, "Unban Keep It Real."
With her hand on my leg she kisses me on my neck. She starts grinding on my dick while I grip her fat ass titties. I take off her Flat Falls bra and her Moofwear boy shorts. She lays down on her back and opens up her thighs. I stick my dick in her slanted coochie with no rubber. I fuck her fast, I fuck her slow, I fuck her until she screams "UNBAN KEEP IT REAL". Her eyes roll back in her head, but I can not tell. We fuck on the couch, we fuck in Lowtax's bed, we fuck on Lowtax's $1,000 chair. I tear that ass up. She comes twice, then I bust on her belly.
I spark up a Garcia Vega blunt and blow smoke into Lauren Kyanka's crib. Just then I hear a sound. "Honey, I'm home! I snuck out of a window and escaped from rehab." Rich Kyanka is not aware that seconds ago I was in his wife's Moofwear. "I missed you! I hope you're horny because I'm going to suck your toes so hard the nails come off!". We hear footsteps walking up the stairs. I look at Megan and say, "Bitch, you better talk to him or there's going to be a goondolences thread in GBS tonight". She begs me to be quiet. Before I can blink, she screams out, "Honey! Bring me up some Mangosteen!". He goes back down. More time to think. My brain is racing. An idea comes to me. I grab the bazooka he keeps under Lauren's crib. I hear his footsteps coming up towards the bedroom. The door opens with a creak. I stick the rocket launcher in Lowtax's face. Lowtax drops his glass of Mangosteen. Then he shits his pants. His shit leaks out from his Moofwear thong, and forms a pool with the Mangosteen.
"Don't shoot me please.", he cries. "I don't want to kill you Lowtax, but I can and I will if you don't listen to my demands. Unban Keep It Real", I ask boldy. "You got it! Just don't shoot my ass". I escort Rich to the basement and he unbans Keep It Real. "One more thing. Give me the keys to your civic". A tear rolls down Rich's face as he hands me over his vehicle. "I'm gone", I say. I leave Rich in his basement with shit in his pants. He drowns his sorrow in a glass of Mangosteen.
Then there's one where McCaine attends a bug chasing party.
by Sorry Archives Are Down
McCaine opened the door. He'd been here before, of course--but each time his heart raced with excitement as he entered his "friend" Rorschach's house.
Inside were a bunch of guys--some he had seen before in the many gay bars of the Netherlands, and some he hadn't. Some were lounging on the couch and chatting while having a drink, others were playing against each other on Rorschach's Nintendo Wii, others yet were already beginning to feel and kiss each other. Soon, they would all be lounging on each other and playing with each others' Wiis. McCaine smiled at the thought.
One of Marx's few great failings was his inability to see how communism naturally led to homosexuality, McCaine thought to himself. For Marx understood that men, if they banded together, could all be a brotherhood, but McCaine knew that was only the first step. A true communist would go one step farther, he thought to himself, and not to just love men as brothers but as symbols of eroticism and romance. He sighed. He thought that Marx would have made a great homosexual--perhaps his relationship with Engels could have been a little more than platonic. If only!
After chatting with a few guests and waiting for the rest to arrive, Rorschach entered the room, and it fell silent.
"Today, as you all know, we are having a party..." he said, his voice trailing off as he surveyed the room. His eyes fell on McCaine, and Rorschach winked at him. McCaine returned a loving smile.
"... we will test you today. As you all know, one of here amongst us..." he trailed off again, this time gesturing his hand around the room, "... is HIV positive. The rest, as you all know, is HIV negative. " Everyone looked around the room, wondering who the lone wolf was. McCaine glanced around, trying to read the expressions on their faces.
"Of course, the gay experience is all about taking risks, about trying new things. Some of you may possibly leave here with a gift... the gift of HIV. I have been HIV positive for many years," Rorschach said, taking a pause to let it sink in, "And since then I have hosted many of these parties, and seen many people walk away from here pozzed up. It is a gift that keeps on giving, a reminder of your connection and dedication to your homosexual brothers and sisters," he said, with no sarcasm in his voice. "Now, I leave you men--" he shook his head at the few sad murmurs that followed and held up his hand, "--I have other matters to attend to personally".
He dimmed the lights, put a techno/electronica CD in his stereo system, and walked out of his apartment to run personal errands.
The men turned, looked at each other, and smiled, some eagerly looking for poz seed, others wary and concerned but there because like all gay men can't turn down a homosexual orgy.
It was time to begin.
The next day, McCaine ran into Rorschach on the way to the bus.
"Hey sweetie. How'd it go last night?" Rorschach inquired.
"Not bad. I think I pozzed up the most people in one orgy last night. A new record and new initiates!" All men were to be equal, and this included gay men. As a communist, equality was the most important virtue to strive for--and since no cure for AIDS exists, there was only one way to equalize all homosexuals. This was a fact that both McCaine and Rorschach knew.
They squealed with glee and began to caress each other, whispering Marx quotes into each others ear as they fell onto grass, a symbol of something much more than brotherly love.
Another gem by Sorry Archives Are Down
Lowtax sniffed the cool crisp pre-Spring air. Winter was fading away, and the sunny weather was a relaxing contrast to the cramped airplane ride. There he stood, outside of the airport in a land he did not know. One could say he was a "stranger in a strange land", but such a description would not properly demonstrate the "strange" nature of the man with a foot fetish. Stroking his muskrat-like goatee, he pondered his next course of action. He was a free man here, free from the catlike nagging of his wife (the Yakuza made no mention of that particular habit) and flirtations from his closeted homosexual buddy, Radium. Taking a swig of juice from his bottle of Mangosteen juice, Lowtax hailed a nearby taxi. He was here on vacation, but not for enjoyment.
He was here to regain lost honor.
The mean streets of Detroit were unfamiliar to Lowtax. He was used to living amongst proper white folk, not niggers with their nigger stench and the high crime rate that followed them. Had he not traveled by airplane, he would have brought one of the many guns he kept in the closet of his daughter's bedroom to protect himself. Regretting not traveling by car, Lowtax took another drink of Mangosteen.
"Say, buddy, whatcha keep drinkin' there?" Lowtax looked up and saw the cab driver curiously looking at him through the rear-view mirror. "Is he mocking me?" thought Lowtax to himself. Lowtax pondered this as his bipolar brain began to transform the man's words into "What kind of shit juice are you pouring into your toe-sucking mouth?" He turned bright red and began nerd-flailing at that taxi driver, shouting "PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE FAGGOT" repeatedly.
"Fuck you, you some crazy sonovabitch!" yelped the taxi driver, defending himself with a single punch that brought Lowtax memories of Uwe Boll. The taxi driver stopped the vehicle, got out, and threw Lowtax out onto the pavement. "I ain't no nigga that ain't gonna take no shit from some sissy white-boy," mumbled the taxi driver as he sped away, while Lowtax lay crumpled on the ground on like someone overdosed on ambien.
---
Lowtax stared up at the projects. This was his destination, where he would achieve glory. Today was a day where justice will be met. Lowtax headed to the apartment where the moment of truth will begin. Vengeance would be his.
Lowtax knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. "He's late..." mumbled Lowtax to himself, taking a sip of Mangosteen to calm his nerves.
The door opened, and a white guy, a speck of snow against a black background, opened the door.
"Rich Cryanka," the guy grinned. "So you came."
"I've taken you up on your challenge. I've come for the breakdancing competition."
"Man, you crazy. I never thought you'd accept. How about you compete with my homies, though, I got better things to do." Lowtax looked behind him and big, burly black gangstas were right behind him. The leader, wearing a do-rag, grabbed him by his shoulder.
"There ain't no going back now, asswipe."
And they breakdanced. The black guys, being black, knew what they were doing. It was apparently obvious to all that Lowtax's clumsy flailing around, resembling a seizure more than any type of ghetto move, was going to earn him a square beating. After the competition, it was, of course, determined that Lowtax lost.
"Looks like you played the game and you got pimped, Uwe-Boll style." said the white guy. He motioned with his hands, and his homies tore lead through the moofwear pajamas he was wearing (Lowtax justified his attire based on comfort). Lowtax fell, dropping his bottle of mangosteen, its cap popping off, juice spilling everywhere. As Lowtax lie on the ground, covered in blood and mangosteen, the white guy grinned, spit on Lowtax's head, and said:
"Unban Keep it Real."
And that's all the ones I could find. There were many great ones, like the one where all the mods and GBS superstars commit suicide, Heaven's Gate style. Then there was one where Ozma (fat) cooks a dildo out of hamburger meat and turns herself into a baconator. Then there was one where Zack Parsons dresses up like a woman to meet then-Presidential candidate Barack Obama (then gets fucked in the ass).
There's been plenty of good banfictions but unfortunately many have been lost to the sands of time. However, thanks to web.archive I'm able to share a few of them.
First, there's the granddaddy of banfictions, written by none other than Keep it real.
A rainy day. I'm laid back, slouched on the couch, smoking blunts and updating the SASSclopedia page on Mangosteen. The phone rings. Hello? "Hey baby how you doing?" "Who this is?" "It's me" "Oh...baby, what's up?" It's my internet girlfriend, Megan Kyanka. "I was just wondering if you were coming over this weekend?" "Well what's up with that chump? You know who. Your baby daddy. Mrs. Doubtfire." "He's in rehab for his Xanax and Ambien addiction. I'm alone in the house for two weeks." "Word? Alright. I'm on my way."
"We are now seating Frequent Flyer members, First Class passengers, and those who are travelling with childen or need assistance with boarding.” First class. That's me. I board the plane, settle into my seat, kick my feet up, and order a glass of Hennesy VSOP. After I enjoy a meal of lobster and shrimp, I doze off for a second and dream that I am dicking Megan Kyanka. I dream that her Chinese pussy is sideways, and I tear her pussy walls when I give her the dick. When I wake up, the plane is landing in Lee's Summit. I hop off the plane, into a cab and tell the driver to burn rubber. When the taxi arrives at Lowtax's house, I give the driver a $20 and tell him to keep the change.
I am well presented when I enter Lowtax's house, wearing some crisp Guess Jeans and Timbs. I give Megan Kyanka a hug. Damn she is fine. She invites me to sit, turns the DVD player on and put on "Friday". My favorite flick. She offers me a drink of Goose. "No doubt, I'll take a sip". We get into convo. "How you been?" "Neglected. stressed out." "What you mean? I thought Rich took care of you. Bought you spa treatments and gave you foot massages". "This is true but I need a real man who's got his shit together." I whisper in her ear, "Unban Keep It Real."
With her hand on my leg she kisses me on my neck. She starts grinding on my dick while I grip her fat ass titties. I take off her Flat Falls bra and her Moofwear boy shorts. She lays down on her back and opens up her thighs. I stick my dick in her slanted coochie with no rubber. I fuck her fast, I fuck her slow, I fuck her until she screams "UNBAN KEEP IT REAL". Her eyes roll back in her head, but I can not tell. We fuck on the couch, we fuck in Lowtax's bed, we fuck on Lowtax's $1,000 chair. I tear that ass up. She comes twice, then I bust on her belly.
I spark up a Garcia Vega blunt and blow smoke into Lauren Kyanka's crib. Just then I hear a sound. "Honey, I'm home! I snuck out of a window and escaped from rehab." Rich Kyanka is not aware that seconds ago I was in his wife's Moofwear. "I missed you! I hope you're horny because I'm going to suck your toes so hard the nails come off!". We hear footsteps walking up the stairs. I look at Megan and say, "Bitch, you better talk to him or there's going to be a goondolences thread in GBS tonight". She begs me to be quiet. Before I can blink, she screams out, "Honey! Bring me up some Mangosteen!". He goes back down. More time to think. My brain is racing. An idea comes to me. I grab the bazooka he keeps under Lauren's crib. I hear his footsteps coming up towards the bedroom. The door opens with a creak. I stick the rocket launcher in Lowtax's face. Lowtax drops his glass of Mangosteen. Then he shits his pants. His shit leaks out from his Moofwear thong, and forms a pool with the Mangosteen.
"Don't shoot me please.", he cries. "I don't want to kill you Lowtax, but I can and I will if you don't listen to my demands. Unban Keep It Real", I ask boldy. "You got it! Just don't shoot my ass". I escort Rich to the basement and he unbans Keep It Real. "One more thing. Give me the keys to your civic". A tear rolls down Rich's face as he hands me over his vehicle. "I'm gone", I say. I leave Rich in his basement with shit in his pants. He drowns his sorrow in a glass of Mangosteen.
Then there's one where McCaine attends a bug chasing party.
by Sorry Archives Are Down
McCaine opened the door. He'd been here before, of course--but each time his heart raced with excitement as he entered his "friend" Rorschach's house.
Inside were a bunch of guys--some he had seen before in the many gay bars of the Netherlands, and some he hadn't. Some were lounging on the couch and chatting while having a drink, others were playing against each other on Rorschach's Nintendo Wii, others yet were already beginning to feel and kiss each other. Soon, they would all be lounging on each other and playing with each others' Wiis. McCaine smiled at the thought.
One of Marx's few great failings was his inability to see how communism naturally led to homosexuality, McCaine thought to himself. For Marx understood that men, if they banded together, could all be a brotherhood, but McCaine knew that was only the first step. A true communist would go one step farther, he thought to himself, and not to just love men as brothers but as symbols of eroticism and romance. He sighed. He thought that Marx would have made a great homosexual--perhaps his relationship with Engels could have been a little more than platonic. If only!
After chatting with a few guests and waiting for the rest to arrive, Rorschach entered the room, and it fell silent.
"Today, as you all know, we are having a party..." he said, his voice trailing off as he surveyed the room. His eyes fell on McCaine, and Rorschach winked at him. McCaine returned a loving smile.
"... we will test you today. As you all know, one of here amongst us..." he trailed off again, this time gesturing his hand around the room, "... is HIV positive. The rest, as you all know, is HIV negative. " Everyone looked around the room, wondering who the lone wolf was. McCaine glanced around, trying to read the expressions on their faces.
"Of course, the gay experience is all about taking risks, about trying new things. Some of you may possibly leave here with a gift... the gift of HIV. I have been HIV positive for many years," Rorschach said, taking a pause to let it sink in, "And since then I have hosted many of these parties, and seen many people walk away from here pozzed up. It is a gift that keeps on giving, a reminder of your connection and dedication to your homosexual brothers and sisters," he said, with no sarcasm in his voice. "Now, I leave you men--" he shook his head at the few sad murmurs that followed and held up his hand, "--I have other matters to attend to personally".
He dimmed the lights, put a techno/electronica CD in his stereo system, and walked out of his apartment to run personal errands.
The men turned, looked at each other, and smiled, some eagerly looking for poz seed, others wary and concerned but there because like all gay men can't turn down a homosexual orgy.
It was time to begin.
The next day, McCaine ran into Rorschach on the way to the bus.
"Hey sweetie. How'd it go last night?" Rorschach inquired.
"Not bad. I think I pozzed up the most people in one orgy last night. A new record and new initiates!" All men were to be equal, and this included gay men. As a communist, equality was the most important virtue to strive for--and since no cure for AIDS exists, there was only one way to equalize all homosexuals. This was a fact that both McCaine and Rorschach knew.
They squealed with glee and began to caress each other, whispering Marx quotes into each others ear as they fell onto grass, a symbol of something much more than brotherly love.
Another gem by Sorry Archives Are Down
Lowtax sniffed the cool crisp pre-Spring air. Winter was fading away, and the sunny weather was a relaxing contrast to the cramped airplane ride. There he stood, outside of the airport in a land he did not know. One could say he was a "stranger in a strange land", but such a description would not properly demonstrate the "strange" nature of the man with a foot fetish. Stroking his muskrat-like goatee, he pondered his next course of action. He was a free man here, free from the catlike nagging of his wife (the Yakuza made no mention of that particular habit) and flirtations from his closeted homosexual buddy, Radium. Taking a swig of juice from his bottle of Mangosteen juice, Lowtax hailed a nearby taxi. He was here on vacation, but not for enjoyment.
He was here to regain lost honor.
The mean streets of Detroit were unfamiliar to Lowtax. He was used to living amongst proper white folk, not niggers with their nigger stench and the high crime rate that followed them. Had he not traveled by airplane, he would have brought one of the many guns he kept in the closet of his daughter's bedroom to protect himself. Regretting not traveling by car, Lowtax took another drink of Mangosteen.
"Say, buddy, whatcha keep drinkin' there?" Lowtax looked up and saw the cab driver curiously looking at him through the rear-view mirror. "Is he mocking me?" thought Lowtax to himself. Lowtax pondered this as his bipolar brain began to transform the man's words into "What kind of shit juice are you pouring into your toe-sucking mouth?" He turned bright red and began nerd-flailing at that taxi driver, shouting "PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE FAGGOT" repeatedly.
"Fuck you, you some crazy sonovabitch!" yelped the taxi driver, defending himself with a single punch that brought Lowtax memories of Uwe Boll. The taxi driver stopped the vehicle, got out, and threw Lowtax out onto the pavement. "I ain't no nigga that ain't gonna take no shit from some sissy white-boy," mumbled the taxi driver as he sped away, while Lowtax lay crumpled on the ground on like someone overdosed on ambien.
---
Lowtax stared up at the projects. This was his destination, where he would achieve glory. Today was a day where justice will be met. Lowtax headed to the apartment where the moment of truth will begin. Vengeance would be his.
Lowtax knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. "He's late..." mumbled Lowtax to himself, taking a sip of Mangosteen to calm his nerves.
The door opened, and a white guy, a speck of snow against a black background, opened the door.
"Rich Cryanka," the guy grinned. "So you came."
"I've taken you up on your challenge. I've come for the breakdancing competition."
"Man, you crazy. I never thought you'd accept. How about you compete with my homies, though, I got better things to do." Lowtax looked behind him and big, burly black gangstas were right behind him. The leader, wearing a do-rag, grabbed him by his shoulder.
"There ain't no going back now, asswipe."
And they breakdanced. The black guys, being black, knew what they were doing. It was apparently obvious to all that Lowtax's clumsy flailing around, resembling a seizure more than any type of ghetto move, was going to earn him a square beating. After the competition, it was, of course, determined that Lowtax lost.
"Looks like you played the game and you got pimped, Uwe-Boll style." said the white guy. He motioned with his hands, and his homies tore lead through the moofwear pajamas he was wearing (Lowtax justified his attire based on comfort). Lowtax fell, dropping his bottle of mangosteen, its cap popping off, juice spilling everywhere. As Lowtax lie on the ground, covered in blood and mangosteen, the white guy grinned, spit on Lowtax's head, and said:
"Unban Keep it Real."
And that's all the ones I could find. There were many great ones, like the one where all the mods and GBS superstars commit suicide, Heaven's Gate style. Then there was one where Ozma (fat) cooks a dildo out of hamburger meat and turns herself into a baconator. Then there was one where Zack Parsons dresses up like a woman to meet then-Presidential candidate Barack Obama (then gets fucked in the ass).
Assistant Loan Underwriter
California Statewide Certified Development Corporation
530 756-9310
HQ Phone: (800) 348-6258
426 D St.
Davis, California 95616
