I Hate Streams Here.
Hello, dear gentlemen. Guess what reason I write. Guess that it terrorizes our glorious good blogs, that every day, like a gangrene at the homeless, devours them from the inside, leaving the slightest chance of cure, except for speedy amputation?
Oh, Gays. What is a stream? Stream is a real -time flight attendant. And, I must say, this is many times worse.
I fight about the congestion, each of you once, but I looked at the flyers. At least one, out of the corner of the eye, but saw. Everyone thought “well, maybe, once, what people are saying about there, that it’s still for Yuzya/Tesler/Gofar/Totalbisvit?”. And what do we see in the summer? We see how someone writes off his passage of the game. But there is not enough for them. What is bad in simple passages? We all once got stuck in games, for such people there is. Sometimes the video is even easier, you can see what the author meant. And everything is in order until one but one.
A comrade who writes this offs this with a plentiful portion of sebaceous jokes and fresh laughter, the microphone spontaneous in dubious quality, Great skill, intended plums for the sake of a mystical “fan” and, in particularly neglected cases, with his grinning and tearing and tears in the eyes of the viewer with physiognomy in the corner.
But! It would be okay that the flyers. www.crazydecasino.co.uk Why streams are worse than Lettsples? ABOUT. There are several points here. If the LettsPleer was already consuming, he has already posted more than a hundred episodes of Minecraft, and learned to post effects in the muvimakere, then he will try to slightly ennoble his flyers. Maybe he will prepare the text in advance, having read it and editing it. Maybe he will cut out not the most successful pieces. Tighten the sound. Slightly reduce hissing. Maybe the video is well glued. Or, after thinking, he will remove his product of an inflamed mind from a hard disk. Lettles are prepared for the viewer if the Lettspler is experienced.
Stream – no. Never.
Stream is beautiful unprepared conversations on Skype against the background of a neglected game. These are all mistakes that cannot be fixed on the spot. These are all unsuccessful and flat unprepared jokes, a terrible vulgar improvisation and nasal voices in one bottle. This is all that the Lettspler can fix during the preparation of the recording, and that Stremer will not correct during Stream. And all this for you, dear viewer.
Flytspley is a finished and ridiculous thought of a sober person, and a sober person, despite everything, sometimes says sound things.
Stream is an unprocessed stream (it is not for nothing that Stream is translated – a stream =]) thoughts of a joyful drunkard who extracts thoughts from his open head and present you with a saucer with a blue keys.
24 hours a day. 7 days a week. Without a break for food, the reference of needs and shower. They create a topic behind the theme, perfectly decorated with two lines of the text and spoiler. They laugh at vulgar jokes for you in a voice. They fuck pies for you. They put off all their affairs, launch the game on a braking computer with a terrible Internet and, through all this, overcoming pain and suffering, streaming for you, dear spectators. They do it for you. And for you personally, dear anon.
And what prevents them from getting out of this vicious circle of hell? Laziness? Banal unwillingness to work on the content? Oh, gentlemen, not only that, far not only.
They are not improved because you, dear ones, are happy with this. You eat this, you joke Salne with them, you comment on all their ridiculous actions, joyfully hoot and see everything that they do. There is no reason for development, because you, gentlemen, see this and so. In the meantime, there is a permanent consumer, why do something better?
Again and again. The topic is the topic. Unprepared, spontaneous, dirty, hungry, with full urinary bubbles and other natural departments, they, overcoming them, create topics, and strip. Because they love you, dear anon. You have everything they have. Their festering wounds emit acids slowly decomposing our expensive blogs. The place where you live. Your house. They feed on your love, in return destroying your house. They do it right now, when you read this text. Deprive them of this, depriving them of their love, cut off a rotting limb, save the body from dying.
