#Deacons of DEEZ NUTS

[mood2you]

top ten pronunciations of Degnan's Deli

10. Deg ninz deh lee : This is how I say it, so it's boring

9. Dee ganz deli

8. Den ganz deli : Nice try but you're saying Dengan not Degnan

7. The sandwich place : Bad try

6. Dee kawnz deli : I really like this one, Deacons Deli in the Yoseminary

5. dee ganz (said more firmly than 9) deli : I think we should stop playing along with settlers and say things wrong on purpose wait wait i actually have one that is jot just a duplicate entry deez nuts

4. Dang inz : I made this one up

3. Whatever the carabiner is : aroo!!!

2. Dane ganz : everyone I know says it this way

Dilly's Diner : I have a crush on this person but they're straight and think I'm a girl (u can't win!)

[originale42-66]

man at this point i don’t think I’m ever going to beat Dark Souls 3. I don’t play it often enough and i’ve reset my computer which loses my saves and I’ve been through the starting areas so many fucking times i’m sick of it.

I wanna do the Ringed City tho so aughhh I might just commit and do a strength run through it all. Brute force ds3

[stormyykat]

pirate doodles i never posted

[returnn-of-the-mac]

Companions + any others

Falls for a deez nuts joke

Thats it.

I literally felt like I was transported back in time to the sixth grade while writing this one lmao. Enjoy ✌️🥴

FO4 Companions React: Deez Nuts

Sole: Hey Preston?

Preston: Yeah?

Sole: Do you like pudding?

Preston: I do! Why?

Sole: Cuz you’re gonna love pudding deez nuts in your mouth!

Preston: General! We have more important things to do right now!

…

Sole: You’ll never guess who I saw hanging out together!

Piper: Ooo! You know I love this kinda tea! Who??

Sole: Deez nuts!

Piper: [annoyed] Blue!

…

Sole: What kinda music do you like?

Danse: Uh…? Country?

Sole: Do you like Imagine Dragons?

Danse: Yeah they’re alright. Why?

Sole: Imagine Dragon deez nuts over your face.

Danse: [flustered] Wh—goddammit why are you so immature!?

…

Sole: Hey man? You leaving?

MacCready: No, wh-?

Sole: Leavin deez nuts in your mouth!?

MacCready: Nah, that’s Phillip.

Sole: Phillip who?

MacCready: Phillip you with deez nuts!

…

Sole: Hey Codsworth? Do you like CDs or tapes?

Codsworth: So help me if you say—

Sole: SEE DEEZ NUTS IN YOUR MOUTH!

Codsworth:

Codsworth:

Codsworth: I am leaving.

…

Sole: Are you hungry?

Strong: Strong always hungry.

Sole: You can have some of deez nuts!

Strong: Little nuts no big enough for Strong.

…

Sole: Bad news! I have SDN!

Curie: Are you alright? I’ve never ‘eard of zuch a zing! What ees eet?

Sole: Suck Deez Nuts!

Curie: What an interesting name vor an illness.

…

Sole: Do you wanna get a pizza?

X6-88: I do not know what this pizza—

Sole: Pizza deez nuts!!

X6-88:

Sole:

X6-88: Are you done?

…

Sole: You need to shut up before you end up like Ken.

Hancock: Who’s Ken?

Sole: Ken deez nuts fit in your mouth!?

Hancock: [laughing] I dunno, wanna try?

…

Sole: You hear about what happened in Norway?

Longfellow: Kid, I don’t even know what’s going on in—

Sole: NORWAY DEEZ NUTS CAN FIT IN YOUR MOUTH.

Longfellow: Damn, walked right into that one.

…

Sole: I think your next disguise should be a goblin.

Deacon: A goblin!? Why?

Sole: Goblin deez nuts!

Deacon: I was thinkin Sokka.

Sole: From Airbender?

Deacon: From Sokka on deez nuts!

…

Sole: [sniffing] Do…do you smell that?

Nick: Smell what?

Sole: Smell deez nuts!

Nick: [irritated] Wow. Cute.

…

Sole: Hey, do you like Wendys?

Cait: Yeh. What kinda stupid question is that?

Sole: Because you’re gonna love it when deez nuts hit you in the face!

Cait: [nodding in agreement] Yer damn right I will.

…

Sole: Have you ever been to Chewon?

Gage: No. The fuck’s Chewon?

Sole: CHEWON DEEZ NUTS!!

Gage: [pointing at Sole] OOOOOH!

Sole: [pointing at Gage] OHHHHH!

Gage: HUH HUH! GOTTEM!

[nikolaitheprickolai]

Fallout 4 but Deacon says internet shit like

Respect the drip

So true bestie

Ratio

Deez nuts

[unculturedratss]

Deacons of Deez Nuts

[smexyhancock-fangirl]

Rosie: "Deacon, have you seen deez?"

Deacon: "Do you mean Desdimona? Des?"

Rosie: "No, I mean deez"

Deacon: "Who or what is deez?"

Rosie: "Deez nuts"

What is a reference your OC/s make(s) all the time?

[barryhuff]

My Cut - 3rd Revision  (Fiction Story)

“It’s better to avoid the cut, than it is to heal the wound,” Minister Christine Steves warned firmly as she stood behind the wooden podium at the front of her church buried by layers of preaching robe fabric. 

Subdued choruses of “Mm-hmms” from the nodding heads of the sisters filling the auditorium replied back.

 “I said, ‘It’s better to avoid the cut, than it is to heal the wound!” she announced with more volume.

 More subtle murmurs.

"Now...!" Minister Christine sang out, beads of sweat framing her face, "Turn to somebody close to you, and say, 'It's better to..."

Obediently, her congregation of “Big Mommas”, elderly men, and restless children shift in unison like well-dressed, brown-faced, ocean waves, and toward the person seated next to them in the stiff-backed pew.

However, I sat straight-up and stare at that nigguh two pews up who owed me $20 from March 7, 1994.  Sooner or later, I was gonna get my money.

 "It's better to...," the church body parroted together.

 "A-VOOOOOID the cut," Minister Christine sang out as she leaned over the podium as if she needed to give herself the Heimlich Maneuver.  Her billowy, preaching robe flowed forward like icing being applied to a cake that was still too warm.

 "A-VOOOOID the cut!" the alto-voice of the congregation echoed back.

 I sat stone-faced, concentrating on that $20 stealing-nigguh.

 "Boy...," my concentration interrupted by rapid-fire tapping on my shoulder.

I turn slowly to my left, my eyes dark angry slits.  I didn't know anyone in this church.  I just wanted my money. "What?" I growled.

 "Boy...," she repeated, through her clenched teeth, lips pressed tightly, like she was about 10 seconds away from pinching me like my Momma used to when my brother and I started acting up.  "Say what you supposed tuh," she whispered.

I shrugged her gloved finger off my shoulder roughly and continued to stare at her.  The pearl earrings, matching the pearl-colored veil that rained down from her small hat tilted slightly on the corner of her head.  A true church O.G.

"Say. What. You. Sup-posed. Tuh. Say," she demanded quietly.  Her probing finger had regained its perch on my shoulder, joined by its pinching partner - her thumb.  

Uh-uh, I thought to myself.  I know this bi-

 “...to heal the wound!” Minister Christine called out to her people, layers of fabric pouring off her extended arms.

 “...To heal the wound!” the Church O.G. screamed out, staring at me wildly.  Her pincers ready to snag the skin off my shoulder at any second. “Say it!” she screamed.

 I stared back silently, equally wild-eyed.  Other crowned church O.G.s start turning their heads toward us, including that $20 owin’ fool.

“Say it!” she screamed again, raising her white-gloved, left-hand in the air as if she was wanting a teacher to call on her in a classroom of her youth.  Her white-gloved right-hand was still in a strike-ready position on my shoulder.

“Say it!” 

Suddenly the organ pounded twice in syllabic rhythm to Church O.G.’s demand.

“Say it!”  Two more organ harmonies again echoed back.

Several other church OGs stood up around me, arms raised, gloved fingers spread out like they were trying to block a Lebron James last second-shot, and screaming so loudly their throats must have felt like they were gargling broken glass.  “Say it!” they cried.  

Two more harmonies from the organ, joined by the keyboard, bass, and lead guitar.  

More Church O.G.s started to rise up, each belting out “Say It!”  The music was now loud and continuous.  Everyone, except me, was on their feet praising the “Lawd”.

I could no longer see that $20 bastard through the thick layers of O.G.s.  I’m sure that slippery nigguh was out the door of the church, and off with my money.

“Avoid the Cut!” I yelled out threateningly, hoping he could somehow hear me through the forest of swaying bodies and raised arms begging for the Holy Ghost.  I patted the front pocket of shirt to make sure my Camels were ready to smoke once I walked out of here.

“You sound just like him!” Denise breathlessly called out over the pulsing  cackles of her brothers and sisters.

“Nigguh, no you don’t!” Damon hissed silencing his brothers and sisters sitting underneath the tall, thick pecan tree. Forgotten branches and bark littered the ground of the brittle tree. Their mother was only there in spirit, and not physically there with her arms crossed, lips pursed and cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised, casually asking, “Why don’t one of you pick up those branches?”

A question that couldn’t be easily ignored, because Momma was their Daddy’s woman. Their Daddy seemed to be tuned into anything that would have her continue to cook for him, wash his clothes, give him silence in his home, and provide him with some not-so-subtle night time romance.  And if it meant surgically slicing the legs of their kids in order to continue to get these things, then so be it.

“All that damn proper-talking was getting on my God-”

Damon coughed, as if he heard his mother’s warning about using her Lord’s name in vain in the whispers of the leaves dancing on the breeze above him.

“Got-damn nerves,” he corrected himself unaware that his eyes cautiously darted left and right.

“Look at this nigguh here,” Deacon laughed.  

The only people brave enough to call him Deacon instead of his preferred “Deek” was Momma and Daddy.   Although Damon once called him “Deez” as kids.

“Why Deez,” an 11 year old Deacon asked then his 13 year old brother on the bus after school, “and not Deek?”

Damon stood up on the moving bus, grabbed the crotch of his blue jeans, lifted his head to the ceiling, and screamed, “DEEEEEEEZ nuts!”

Damon and Deacon easily slipped into arguments and fights everyday of their relationship after that point.

“He thinks Daddy rotten carcass is gonna pop up and give his ass yet another whoopin!” Damon chuckled.

The circle of graying brothers and sisters start to laugh again.

Denise’s toes burrowed deeply in the moist dirt, as weak anchors for her white plastic lawn chair on its relentless rotation onto its unsteady back legs.  Denise’s left arm slips off the armrest, causing her fingers to graze the tops of the thick bladed grass.

She breathes in deeply, and closes her eyes expecting darkness.

Not the unknowable darkness of death -- only her dead father and mother could speak to that. Her darkness felt like soothing water in its inevitable pursuit to quickly drench and consume dry body parts -- even to the point of consuming sound as it fills the crevices of the ears.  Clear voices become muffled and eventually silent the deeper a submerged body travels.

In the silence she could again feel the blades of grass in the yard.  This time, each blade reaching out to her, caressing her feet, teasing her ears.  Reminding her that the only way to cool the burning soles of her 10 year-old sidewalk blackened, bare feet was to hustle five houses down to Mr. Walton’s yard. 

“Put on your shoes, Girl!” Momma’s fading voice demanded in the vacuum of the silence.

Denise stares down at the tops of her little girl feet as they take turns pressing down on the sidewalk radiating the scalding punishment expected from it’s solar summertime master.  She feels the thick air moving through many shiny, oiled parts of her braided hair. The parted hair looking like a map of countless, unlabeled, intersecting streets.  Each square block of parts bordering its own small limp braid. 

Houses blur past her as she gains momentum towards Mr. Walton’s.

His face glistens like wet coffee grounds, underneath his straw, wide-brimmed hat.  Quietly, he works his yard.  Spreading piles of dirt, cutting, trimming, repeat.  Against the sun-bleached sidewalk, his yard glows green like a full pot of freshly cooked collard-greens.    

And the reward to stubborn, naked feet, was cooling off for a moment in Mr. Walton’s creation.  Soothing blistered feet in his finely crafted suburban front yard for three seconds before he could growl, “Get yo’ black-ass out my yard!”

Bright light forces its way through Denise’s eyelids causing her to wince.  

“Neese! Neese!”  

“Stop calling her that!  Yo’ drunk ass know she hates that nickname!”

“Neese! Neese!”

“You all right, Girl?”  

“Y’all always breaking my shit! Leaning back and breaking the legs of my chairs!  That’s why I cain’t get anything!”

“Serves her right for acting like she ain’t never heard that story before.  She and all y’all are God..Got-Damn fools!”

“Nigguh shut yo’ ass up!  It was funny.  Yo’ black ass always with his lip poked out like you fixin-nuh get a whooping!  Shit...I’ll beat a smile onto yo’ face right now!”

“Neese...uh, Denise!”

Her eyes slide away the mist of memory.  The cackles become the familiar faces of her family staring down on her like they have always done.  Faces full of critique and disdain.