Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality

Harry Potter and Voldemort are smart and abuse wizard hacks to break the universe

https://hpmor.com/chapter/1

Worm

A girl with a mid-tier superpower works her way up the food chain with creativity and sheer audacity

https://parahumans.wordpress.com/cat...estation/1-01/

This is one of my all time favorites, been circulating online for decades now:

The Ryan's Steakhouse Story

by Anonymous

Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth.

Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little *******s. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you - in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first I thought it was only gas, which could have been passed in batches right at the table without too much concern.

Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress… I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good ****. But in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire-cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a ****.

I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical portions. I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of **** at the exact same second that one’s ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about halfway into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little *******s attending kids night. It was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events is a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my eso****us.

Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over **** no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since ****ting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake…you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of **** the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass.

But remember, I was only halfway down on the toilet at that moment. The **** wave was of such force, and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat, that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall - at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already halfway to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the **** wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls - unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of **** remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit…

While all the ****ting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweatpants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants…on the inside…with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended. Yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in **** that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid ****. All while thick **** was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no ****ing toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

…continued:

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels.

Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed, in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little ******* kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

I never bought any of that "size matters" crap until my junior year in college. I lived in the dorms with two roommates, David and John. David was a pretty ordinary looking guy, kinda quiet - but John was tall, lean, muscular and (according to him anyway) was hung like a bull. He used to joke about it a lot - even around my girlfriend, Amy. Amy was a sophomore and was petite, shy and somewhat quiet. I didn't like it when John would make his "big dick" comments and jokes around Amy, but she told me she didn't pay any attention to him and truth be told, she really couldn't stand John.

I have a 5.5" dick and with Amy being so petite, it always seemed to do the trick. I was only the third guy she'd ever been with and only her second boyfriend - maybe my guard was just down but who knows.

Anyway, one Friday night, Amy and I were hanging out in my dorm room drinking, smoking some weed and watching TV. David and John had both gone home for the weekend - or so we thought. At about 1AM (Amy and I were pretty toasted by then), John walked in. He'd ended up hanging out with some of his friends off campus and had decided to just drive home in the morning since his parents only lived about an hour and a half away.

He could see that Amy and I were both pretty hammered. He grabbed a beer and sat down and we smoked somem more weed with him. Amy was pretty drunk and started giving John ****. John seemed to get a kick out of it and I could see him kinda flirting with Amy. Then I noticed (and hoped that Amy wouldn't) that John wasn't wearing any underwear.

But Amy started massaging my dick through my jeans and being so ****ed up, I just laid my head back and enjoyed it - I couldn't believe she was doing that right in front of John! I heard John get up to pass Amy the joint we were smoking and I heard her gasp, long and deep and she suddenly stopped stroking my dick. I opened my eyes and saw John standing righ tin front of Amy with a HUGE ****ing bulge in his pants - just inches from her face. The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

He just stood there and I could feel her hand tremble and hear her breathing quicken. when she slowly looked up at him, almost in awe and respect, I could feel my heart start to pound in my chest. Then she softly whispered "ohhhhhhhhhhh" as she gingerly reached up to brush her finger tips across that massive knot in his pants. When she touched it, it throbbed - **** I could see it throb thorugh his pants - Amy just gasped again and looked up at him.

"What?" John asked her and just kinda laughed. Amy did NOT laugh. Instead, she softly asked "can i see it?" John stopped laughing, looked at her very seriously and told her to take it out. Amy never even hesitated - or looked back at me for an "OK" - just just obeyed him and began to open his jeans. I coudl see her nipples rock hard under her t-shirt and I could tell she was practically panting.

She opened his jeans and his big thick dick just fell out…and he had NOT been kidding. That cock was strong, thick, heavy and muscular. The head was a big purple mushroom that sat on top of the thickest shaft i'd ever seen. He was semi-hard and was HUGE compared to me. Amy just gasped and kept whispering "ohmygod..ohmygod…ohmygod". When she wrapped her hand around it, her brow just knotted in disbelief and she almost laughed at how thick he was - her fingers couldn't even touch.

John just stood there watching my girlfriend worship his magnificent cock. Slowly shaking her head in disbelief, she two-fisted him - one hand next to the other…and there was STILL a few inches left - and he was getting rock hard, too.

Amy smiled and patted the couch next to her and John sat down, his cock standing straight up. Honestly he had to be almost 10" (judging from the size of Amy's hand). I opened my pants and took my own cock out. Amy took my cock in her left hand and John's in her right - but there was little doubt whose cock was getting more attention. She couldn't take her eyes off his cock and her hand only occasionally stroked my dick…but John's she pumped with long, purposeful strokes until she finally couldn't help herself any longer and knelt in front of him, kissing his cock and rubbing it against her soft pale skin.

She sucked his dick until SHE came - just from sucking him! I stroked the whole time until he pulled her toward him, peeled off her pants (she didnt even make the slightest attempt to stop him) and sat her on his lap, her back to his chest - the two of them right next to me. She just rolled her head back to kiss him as he squeezed her tits through her shirt. Her hands went down and pushed that big cock against her pussy and she groaned so loud when it touched her that I thought people outside would hear.

John's dick was so ****ing big that he easily penetrated her from behind with her sitting on his lap. She arched up so she could take as much of it as she could and they started to **** right there next to me. It shocked me how easily her petite little body accomodated that horse cock of his. John pounded her in positions that i physically CANNOT do for over an hour - I have no idea how many times she came - she was even in tears a few times (though she never once told him to stop).

He asked her if she was on the pill and when she said she was on the patch, he told her that he was going to cum inside of her to mark her - which only made her cum again! when he finally came, he had Amy on her back, her legs shaking violently as they both came together - and true to his word, John dumped his seed deep up inside my girlfriend's pussy right in front of me. But **** - he didn't even lose his damn hard on! They ****ed for about another 40 minutes and he came twice more. Amy was a wreck by the time we all went to bed.

I will never forget the look on her face - like she was afraid of him and in love with him all at once - the whole time they ****ed. She later told me that there were no words to describe it - it was incredible but even that didn't seem enough. To my knowledge they never ****ed again and Amy and I dated for about another year before we finally broke up. I always wondered if she ended up with him or some other big dick guy.

But one thing I know for sure - she NEVER ****ed me like she did John and the things she said about John - the way she looked at him - and the way she was around him after that night (almost shy and meek) convinced me that a big dick makes a difference.

Amy told me that she "HAD to respect him" even if she didn't like him…and that she almost felt like he "had a right to her". So there ya go.

^ surprisingly real seeming copypasta

Another great classic!