It's that time again, when we take to the internets to abuse and disgust strangers on Omegle! So without further ado, I present you with our most recent awkward online conversations. And as always, our responses are the absurd ones in green text!

That went well. I'm pretty sure this was either an incredibly sad obese man or a bot. Here's hoping for the former!

I must admit I didn't expect to get a willing buyer so fast. Now I have this baby all boxed up and waiting for an address to send it to.

God damn it! This guy is probably using a pic of this conversation to leverage his own meaningless and unsatisfying internet fame! No fucking fair, asshole!

Nothing like a manufactured crisis to bring out the best in the online community. Now I need to secure a good lawyer, just to be safe.

The vatican is defending against various allegations of wrongdoing and intrigue as pope Benedict XVI announced he plans to resign at the end of this month from the most holy of positions within the catholic church this morning. The historic decision is far from routine as the last papal resignation occurred nearly 600 years ago, and comes after an 8 year reign that many are calling "disastrous". And with record declines in mass attendance and an overall abandonment of belief, paired with worldwide controversy over child abuse sandals and alleged coverups that are being tracked all the way to Benedict himself, the conspiracy theories are piling up.

The church issued a public statement to the vatican press that immediately dismissed speculation that Benedict was pressured to resign in favor of a pope with a "less terrifying smile", perhaps less reminiscent of a bloodthirsty undead leper. And the wild speculation does not end there.

An anonymous insider source was quoted to have evidence that Benedict was involved in the tracking and attempted acquisition of a famous holy artifact, the arc of the covenant. In an interview transcript released this afternoon the source alleges that Benedict laid claim to "intimate knowledge of nazi wartime research detailing the whereabouts of the most powerful military technology ever devised, the divine gift of the arc itself." And having failed to produce evidence to satisfy doubts within the structure of the church, was ushered out amid a smokescreen of medical reasons for his resignation. As of yet there has been no official response from the vatican on this matter.

Regardless of the reasoning for his premature departure, the world now awaits one of the most celebrated bureaucratic selection processes the world has ever produced: the papal conclave. For those unfamiliar with the ceremony from the April 2005 election that produced Benedict XVI, much ritualistic splendor is to be admired by the outside world. The college of cardinals will convene at the basilica of St. Peter to meet behind closed doors to operate the grand ouija, a lavishly decorated divination tool that requires the full effort and concentration of no less than 43 of the most decorated and trusted cardinals within the church. The men all struggle to force the pointer to spell out their own names, often resulting in many useless strings of nonsensical letters that are dismissed as "interference of the serpent" and causing delays that can grow to weeks of near constant debate and pleading.

Then after a legible name is either agreed upon (or more likely stumbled upon), the moment is communicated to the outside world by way of a small column of colored smoke spouted from the roof of the church. Then the race is afoot to find the new pope and promote him to the the closest position to god possible by mortal man, often complicated by the likelihood of other religious affiliation by the new appointee. But the church has never yet failed to convert or convince the new pope to accept the nomination, commonly through financially persuasive methods.

So the hunt begins to find the next person to wield the ridiculously lofty claims of infallibility and divine communication. Perhaps this time the pope will use this power to lead the masses from their lowly depths of ignorance and intolerance, and eliminate corruption and human rights abuses that occur both around the world and within the core of their very own institution. Or perhaps they will continue to lead the catholic church into increased irrelevance, lost in the shadow of the memory of a once-powerful institution. Either way, non-believers everywhere get to enjoy a world bereft of a figurehead that insists they speak directly to, and for, god himself. However briefly.

Cards Against Humanity, for those unfamiliar, is a game for three or more people in which one dealer selects a black card with some offensive or ridiculous scenario on it and requires each player to supplement the joke by adding one or more of their individully-dealt white cards. Hilarity ensues. But since I have the game but no friends or family that can stand to be in a room with me long enough to play it, I have manually paired up some cards to find chuckle-worthy combinations. Enjoy!

Salvador lives to create art.  He is a true master.  Everyday Salvador musters all of his willpower and creates something beautiful.  A work of precision and beauty, art that transcends genre and twists at man's primal heart strings.  This is excessively surprising because Salvador is not a conventional artist.  He is student of the fecal arts.

Yes, that's right.  Salvador uses BM as his medium, his palette covered in poo.  He is a visionary.  Take this piece for example.  He calls it the "Incredible Edible Man".  Many of Salvador's sculptures require constant misting or the patina may crack.  He always has a mist child on hand at every exhibit.  Exquisite.

This painting is entitled "Finger Licking" and it is made entirely of smears of bottom butter.  The piece of fried chicken looks absolutely delicious.  The meat is steaming and falling off the bone.  Do you see how Salvador consumes different foods to obtain a varying hue of dung colors?  For the white, he ate white paint.  Simply genius.

Salvador does not stray from any artistic endeavor.  He is so brilliant, that he makes himself part of the exhibit, a personal touch to an already breathtaking work..  He would be honored if you would experience it.  He calls it "Airline Toilet Poetry Jam Surprise".  It is something everyone should try.   Let Salvador regale you with his political poetry as you relieve yourself of your earthly fouls. 

Salvador is gentle.  Salvador is brilliant.  Salvador is art.  See Salvador for yourself and be inspired!  Salvador!  Art from his inside, out!

Sis, we growed up together, always side by side. Whether on the playground or in the washin' tub, we always had each other's backs. Now that we are of breedin' age I figured we should do the responsible thing and make it official, so this Valentine's day I just wanted to ask... Will you be mine?

Don't listen to them other boys that make fun and say mean things, since they is just angry cuz their sisters are just big and fat, and Billy's sister gots an eyepatch for life and I herd she ain't got no eye under there. But you is just as purdy as any girl up in these hills and yer face reminds me of momma before she was kilt in that trailer fire three harvests ago. Plus we can always be together since we already livin' in the same barn and such, and you know how hard a worker I am cuz I take care of all the sheeps while you are off gettin' schoolin'. And you gonna be happy that I found out what was makin' by mouth stink so bad, and once daddy gets my tooth gone my breath is gonna be right again.

Now I know daddy gonna be right angry when he finds out that we gettin' all close like, especially since he been makin' eyes at you since momma died, but I know we can tell him how much we love each other and he will understand. After all, he and grandad had the same talk when he an' momma run off and got married cuz they was brother and sister before they was husband and wife. But we gots to take it slow like, and only be foolin' around (no kissin') until daddy gives us his blessing. So I'm gonna be a real gentleman until you get fond of me like a boyfriend instead of just a brother, starting with this poem:

The tractor is red,

The sheeps is mostly yella,

So what do you say, sis?

Can I be yer fella?

BE MY VALENTINE!

Hey! You got eye problems, friend? Cuz you been giving me the stinkeye from across the bar for long enough to get on my nerves, mister! Fortunately for you I am in a pretty good mood today, so if you spit out a few apologies I might let you out of this place with all your teeth. So what's it gonna be? Swallow your pride or swallow your blood?

Oh, we've got ourselves a tough guy here, eh? Just cuz you are a foot taller than me doesn't mean I won't beat the everloving shit out of the unconscious sausage sack you call a body! See these shoes? One size twelve and one size ten... The last guy that gave me a look like that took home two of my boot sizes up his turd-cutter!

Whoa! Don't put your semen-soiled hands on me! You know, if your momma fought like that she would have been able to fend off that homeless gypsy rapist that you call a father! And then where would you be? Boiling in some dna soup inside a hobo's sweaty danglers, that's where! Now either sit the fuck down or take that first step towards becoming a Stephen Hawking impersonator! I'll tell you what... Buy me a few beers and I won't make you toss my peanut butter salad in front of your lady friend, alright?

Ah, I see. You think that pouring a beer over my head is enough to scare me off! Well I'm made of tougher stuff, asshole! I've been in the fucking streets, man! Back in the hood in Omaha we used to butt-pound punks like you and throw the dripping leftover filth into the gutters to rot! Now go grab me some towels from the bartender and we'll call it even, unless you still want to make the mistake of a lifetime... Well, DO ya?

Hey! Hey! What's with all the aggression, dude? I didn't do shit to you and you think it's cool to just punch me in the fucking nose? Look at this shit! I'm fucking bleeding here! Oh man, you don't know how lucky you are that I was "born again" after my last run-in with a knucklehead like you... I'm a better person now that I am saved, and I might actually feel bad if I kicked your ass into some kind of unnatural retard coma or something! Now let's put this bullshit behind us and if you pay the drycleaning bill to get the blood out of my jacket then we're cool, alright?

What? There's no way I'm gonna suck your dick in front of all these people! You have got to be shitting me! I mean, the only reason you are still standing right now is because I have the decency to let you keep that ugly head on your shoulders! Whatever, dude. I am fucking out of here. Get the fuck out of my way... Oh, not gonna let me leave? Do you know what you are getting yourself into? Look. I'm gonna do you a big fucking favor right now. I'm gonna do the christian thing and turn the other cheek, and save myself the guilt of nearly killing you. Now unzip your pants and let's get this over with...

I tried. I got drunk and went on omegle in pursuit of hilarious conversations with the mix of pedophiles, date rapists, and overall depressing bastards. But alas, I had very few people willing to play ball with me and ended up just scaring away several people. Maybe next time I will pretend to be a 16 year old girl and count the skype requests. As always, the green text represents my end of the conversation, as if that weren't obvious by what was written.

I work as a supervisor in a facility of between 700 - 1000 people, most in "no previous experience required" positions with liberal allowances for educational qualifications. This attracts a large number of people that are from a generation younger than me, born in the 90's and raised in the socially disconnected world of technology. And while this makes them proficient in typing and navigating the various programs that make up the core of their job, it puts them at a severe disadvantage in their communication skills. This is usually most apparent in their terrible spelling, leading to written messages like "I fore got to punch out for lunch today" sitting on my desk, looking as if it should be scrawled in red crayon on construction paper.

So far in the two months I have been employed there I have witnessed several exchanges that have led me to believe that we are in an age of social regression that will have us devolve into technologically-dependent neanderthals that will use the same decision making skills to wield the might of tomorrow's armies as they are using now to amass a legion of fatherless babies that they proudly display as toddlers with whore-like makeup in photograph form at their desks.

And I recognize the "grumpy old man" tone I am taking, but the anecdotal evidence is backing me up here. I have one young lady on my team that now has to be escorted to the front of the building to pick up her paycheck because she nearly got into a fistfight with another young woman that works there. After interrogation about the incident she admitted that the two of them have "the same baby daddy". Another young man who seems to have committed himself to entry-level employment (as evidenced by his decision to decorate himself with no fewer that three facial tattoos) recently resigned from work. His reason for entering the world of the unemployed? His newborn baby has been in and out of the hospital since it's birth and he needs time off to "take care of" his family. Apparently this can be done better with good ol' elbow grease than with a steady paycheck and medical benefits. Another young lady seems perfectly good-mannered and polite until the site director decides to treat everyone to breakfast but fails to make a special menu of gluten-free items... which prompts her to cry so hard that she falls to the floor in a seizure-like fit of rage that leads to an ambulance being called. Apparently she was home schooled and has never been able to socialize with anyone that is not a blood relative.

The other evidence is there, usually in the form of someone roughly twenty years old that has more children than teeth, or the group of five guys that were reunited in the workplace after all serving juvenile sentences together for various felony convictions. But there is a greater point to my rant about the worthlessness of today's youth, and that is in the recognition that for every loudmouth, annoying, undereducated misfit there is an equally intelligent and dedicated young person to work alongside them. The difference is in their breeding. The foul is spreading at a birth rate of five-to-one, and the age of idiocy by way of numerical domination is at hand. So if we want to build a bridge over the cliff of social regression, or at least turn the sheer drop into a gradual decline, then we have to either figure out a way to sterilize the uncivil or encourage more fucking among the intelligent. I vote for both.

When you are approaching the US-Mexico border you can tell by the dramatic cultural changes from street to street. The houses go from earthy shades to flashy neon colors, late model cars transform into battered pickup trucks, and the chain restaurants are replaced by snack cart vendors and food trucks with handwritten spanish only signs promising some two day old organ meat swimming in a spicy broth.

But even the busy background is going totally unnoticed by me, because all I can think of is how I am going to get past the checkpoint without being identified, robbed, or shot. And to settle my nerves a bit I decided to sit in a nearby dive bar and drink a bit, eat a ham on rye, and visit the rest room before staggering into the daylight and staring south across the border toward my salvation. The beer was good and cold, but if you ever get a chance to pass on using a public toilet near the border, jump on it. I got into the car and got in line to cross the border.

I don't know if it was the heat beating down on my non air-conditioned car, or the squeeze of the booze that was making the sweat drip down my forehead and into my eyes, but I was getting anxious. And after what seemed like hours of sitting stationary surrounded by ten lanes of parked cars I locked eyes with a ballsy little shit of a kid who had his face plastered to the rear window of his mother's suburban. He was making stupid faces and motioning the universal gesture for jacking off. I watched it for a few minutes before I lost it and just grabbed Vanessa's bag off the seat next to me and got out of the car. In a stupor I just turned and walked past the endless line of American tourists and Mexican nationals that were waiting for their turn to be counted and filed through the line like cattle, and made my way back to American terra-firma. The car sat with the driver's door open, engine running, and I never looked back.

Standing on the porch of a restaurant and drinking deeply from a fresh bottle of whiskey (which I had to pay a ridiculous amount for) I could see the chaos I had made. The border crossing was visible from here, now with cars facing all different directions and honking like a motherfucker. I could see my car sitting there, with a tow truck trapped among the protesting mass of automobiles, no one able to make an inch of progress now that they had deviated from their neatly organized rows and found themselves entangled in a hellish gridlock. It was most entertaining, and held my attention for several minutes before the conversation of the three men sitting at a table nearby caught my ear. One of them was visibly shook, but the other two were laughing. "Why are you so worried? The US guards don't fucking care if you swim the river over to the mexican side! And the Mexican guards are so fucking lazy that they wouldn't waste their time chasing you down. But for getting back, you're gonna need some help..."

I hadn't been swimming since I was a kid. Shit, I haven't even taken a bath for at least a decade! But I liked my odds a lot better than trying to explain myself to the authorities with my freedom on the line. So I walked back out of the restaurant and walked into the first shithole that looked like it might be a motel.

Back in college, I was in desperate need of money.  To relieve my financial burden, I volunteered for a medical study.  It was a study in pheromones and how they affect the human brain.  I didn't care much about the experiments and I willfully participated in dozens of different tests.

That's where everything changed.  One day they had me take some pills.  They said they re-sequenced something in my DNA.  I was a bit concerned, but they offered me double pay and I accepted.  I felt totally fine, but a few hours later, strange things started to happen.

One of the research scientists started to get very flush in the face and began making "bedroom eyes" at me.  It was very out of character of him.  He was usually a very restrained and extremely smart guy.  Suddenly, he leaped from his chair and started groping and kissing me all over.  It took several minutes for the other scientists to pry him off of me.  It was ..... awkward.

He was completely irrational and had a raging erection.  The other scientists dragged him from the room and as quickly as it started it stopped.  Once he was a couple of rooms away from me and regained his sanity.  He was very confused and extremely embarrassed.  He says it was like he completely blacked out.  He retained no memory of his attack.

The four other scientists working on the project were at a complete loss.  What had triggered the strange behavior in their coworker.  They knew that they had scrambled my DNA and made my pheromones all funky, but they could not determine why it only affected that one guy. 

When I was walking home from the lab that night, I passed a frat party.  There were a good dozen of the bros on the front porch drinking beer.  I know a few of them, they are cool guys.  They offered me a beer and when I approached to take one, two heads jerked up, eyes fixed on my face.  The two guys bolted from their seats, dropping their beers.  They then proceeded to tackle and passionately dry hump me on the front lawn.  The bros, thinking it was a joke, started laughing.  The laughter slowly died down when they realized that their friends weren't kidding and weren't stopping. 

They pulled the guys off of me and I started to sprint back to the lab.  Running hurt because my legs and butt were covered in dick bruises.  I made the mistake of taking a short cut through the musical theater department.

Suddenly, I had a baker's dozen of thin, scarf wearing men sprinting after me, boners exposed.  I made it to the lab and slammed the large glass doors.  I grabbed a chair and rammed it against the doors.  The men started to pound on the glass, but with me no longer sharing their air, there lustful looks faded and looks of confusion took over.

The scientists have not yet been able to find a way to fix me.  To prevent my future unintentional rape, I have to wear a pressure suit whenever I leave the house.  Hmmmmmm...  It's the fault of science that all gay men need to fuck me.