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Just a taste.
Pretty sure the Amish beard was his struggling hairline flipped upside down.
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Pretty sure the Amish beard was his struggling hairline flipped upside down.
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We got a lot of mileage out of that angry running face.Just a taste.
Pretty sure the Amish beard was his struggling hairline flipped upside down.
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I still don’t get how he ran that whole race with that heavy sweatshirt on
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The final Apostlegate with the phone call is something I'll never forget.
It went from funny to disturbing really quick, so of course I had to stop and make Gosia listen to it with me. She was genuinely taken aback by the craziness she heard - like myself, she always felt he just projected a tough guy mentality through text, and nothing more. That audio convinced her he's legitimately a troubled individual.
I think we talked for nearly an hour after about psychology and social behavior just from that audio.
However, the funniest to me is cumulative - one night on tour, after Fezzie died and I had been bummed out for a few days, I just started having a laughing fit. Right out of nowhere, and I wasn't hiding it. I must've looked like a madman. So our violinist, Alicja, comes over and asks me if I'm alright, and what was so funny - and I couldn't really explain to her the humour in thinking of how one man's life in two years, absolutely crumbling from pressure and teasing, all because of a slam against Norm MacDonald. Plus the fact that he's such a daft, narcissistic pig that he couldn't roll with a joke, and he truly deserves this humbling.
I needed that laugh at the time.
It went from funny to disturbing really quick, so of course I had to stop and make Gosia listen to it with me. She was genuinely taken aback by the craziness she heard - like myself, she always felt he just projected a tough guy mentality through text, and nothing more. That audio convinced her he's legitimately a troubled individual.
I think we talked for nearly an hour after about psychology and social behavior just from that audio.
However, the funniest to me is cumulative - one night on tour, after Fezzie died and I had been bummed out for a few days, I just started having a laughing fit. Right out of nowhere, and I wasn't hiding it. I must've looked like a madman. So our violinist, Alicja, comes over and asks me if I'm alright, and what was so funny - and I couldn't really explain to her the humour in thinking of how one man's life in two years, absolutely crumbling from pressure and teasing, all because of a slam against Norm MacDonald. Plus the fact that he's such a daft, narcissistic pig that he couldn't roll with a joke, and he truly deserves this humbling.
I needed that laugh at the time.
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That's because he didn't.
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My wife was never really on board with the Patposting until she heard the final Josiah tape. Now her friends have heard it and some still refuse to believe it's not a bit.
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Another aspect of the IG bots, which is my favorite Pat moment, is that people were also initiating password reset requests for his IG account at the same time. Just putting in his username and clicking Forgot Password? so he kept getting notifications. He was out in public at a dinner with a friend or something (or so he claimed) and he's so narcissistic that he wouldn't turn off notifications for fear of missing a real one so his phone was vibrating with notifications every two seconds for failed login attempts, password reset requests, and the bot comments.
It probably made me laugh more than anything, Pat-related or not, in like a decade without being drunk or high. All he had to do was turn off notifications and ignore it but he couldn't.
It probably made me laugh more than anything, Pat-related or not, in like a decade without being drunk or high. All he had to do was turn off notifications and ignore it but he couldn't.
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Right, I mean even the part that he did run
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The virus is spreading!
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I'm serious. They find him so fucking weird and creepy without knowing the history behind it.
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Mew... you're you're....... just the best gawd bless it just brings it back like it was yesterday's ribs.
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One of just a few times this place made me involuntarily lose control of my body from fawkin howlin.The Hairdresser Texts.
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My name is Patrick S. Tomlinson. I am 42 years old.
I live on 2611 N Oakland Ave, Milwaukee, WI in a half house next to a housing project.
I believe in not taking care of myself, with a unbalanced diet, in a rigorous Twitter routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I'll eat an entire Entemann's crumcake as I call people child on Twitter. I can do a thousand now.
After I finish calling people child, I then move on to calling people stlaker. In the shower, I expel last night's four chilidogs into the shower drain and use my prediabetic foot to mash it down into the drain.
Then I apply the nigger pepperoni of the child I killed the night earlier onto my face as I prepare the rest of my routine.
There is an idea of a Patrick S. Tomlinson, some kind of fatbody, but there is no real me, only a Twitter account, something lazy, and though I can hide my cold gaze in endless selfies and you can shake my fat hand and feel flesh gripping you and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably incomparable: I simply am fat.
I live on 2611 N Oakland Ave, Milwaukee, WI in a half house next to a housing project.
I believe in not taking care of myself, with a unbalanced diet, in a rigorous Twitter routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I'll eat an entire Entemann's crumcake as I call people child on Twitter. I can do a thousand now.
After I finish calling people child, I then move on to calling people stlaker. In the shower, I expel last night's four chilidogs into the shower drain and use my prediabetic foot to mash it down into the drain.
Then I apply the nigger pepperoni of the child I killed the night earlier onto my face as I prepare the rest of my routine.
There is an idea of a Patrick S. Tomlinson, some kind of fatbody, but there is no real me, only a Twitter account, something lazy, and though I can hide my cold gaze in endless selfies and you can shake my fat hand and feel flesh gripping you and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably incomparable: I simply am fat.
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The book came out, election day coming up and loses his precious Twitter, timing like God had enough of his shit
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I'll see if I can find more but found this one.The Indians flooding his Instagram with comments like ‘can I fuck your tits?‘ and ‘disgusting fat man’.
Nothing will ever top that.
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lotta fawkin choices to make
i'll throw these out there
i'll throw these out there
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Fatrick stalking me on IG is literally rape and I demand compensation. If he had anything of value I would be right behind Quasi in line, being careful not to step in human shit of course.
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*sigh* do I really have to drag out the exhibits all over again? He didn’t run the whole race, atalker. That’s a delusion that you have.