Poster

''"Veni, vidi, vici." - Poster''

Summary
Originally a literal poster on the wall of some basement, withering away in the sands of time, Poster achieved sentience when the planets aligned and The Great Benis in the Sky pointed itself directly at him. It is unclear whether or not Poster is still a poster, and if so how he can achieve certain feats such as typing on a keyboard. Nevertheless, Poster serves Benis as one of his many messengers in hopes to spread the good word by force.

He is also super cool and drowns in pussi every day.

DISREGARD THIS HE SUCKS DICK

Actually a known squidboy molester, Poster lurks in the squidboy park hoping to catch his prey of fresh squidboy.

The squid kidnapper as he's also known, has made his life goal to taste all the squidboy white ink in the world, if you see this molester please put a loaded gun in your head and pull the trigger, the meme police will arrive shortly.

delete this

A veteran of the War in Afghanistan, he carries with him memories of tragedy and regret. While he rarely discusses the war since his return home, he is a twice-decorated veteran with four tours of duty. The last time he saw combat, his platoon was ambushed. While many of his comrades were wounded, he was still on his feet. Shrapnel having destroyed his radio, and no help in sight, his only option was to retreat. The only two of his compatriots left alive were both wounded at the knees, unable to walk. Ramirez to his left, he quickly lifted him onto his shoulders and gave a couple of the ragheads their fill of brass. With Cpl. Kovacs thirty yards away, he began to make a move, then an insurgent sprayed suppressive fire over the open area, with no sign of running out. He yelled he would send help, but Kovacs probably couldn't hear him over the clamor. He could barely hear himself. He fled across the barren landscape, the sun bearing down upon him. He heard an RPG explosion, and glancing back, saw Kovacs' body destroyed to the waist, the rest unrecognizable from blood, scars, and shrapnel. In his last breath, he let out a terrible groan of agony, quickly fading to the silence of death. But there was no time to stop. There was no time to cry. There was no time to curse. He could only keep running. It might have been a miracle, that he could run for so long in the midday sun, with the full weight of a wounded man on his back, but he made it. A full eight miles, dead reckoning. Of course, seeing that he questions if he could have saved them both, maybe he wishes he was still running.