Hard to Believe :15 (featuring Ken Jeong) | State Farm® Commercial


11 thoughts on “Hard to Believe :15 (featuring Ken Jeong) | State Farm® Commercial

  1. Congrats you have come to the scariest comment section in the history of YouTube. Why is it scary you might ask? BECAUSE THERES 3 MILLION VIEWS WITH THREE COMMENTS!

  2. Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis The Wise? I thought not. It's not a story the Jedi would tell you. It's a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith, so powerful and so wise he could use the Force to influence the midichlorians to create life… He had such a knowledge of the dark side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying. The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural. He became so powerful… the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew, then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. Ironic. He could save others from death, but not himself.

  3. The FitnessGram™ Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues. The 20 meter pacer test will begin in 30 seconds. Line up at the start. The running speed starts slowly, but gets faster each minute after you hear this signal. [beep] A single lap should be completed each time you hear this sound. [ding] Remember to run in a straight line, and run as long as possible. The second time you fail to complete a lap before the sound, your test is over. The test will begin on the word start. On your mark, get ready, start.

  4. I sexually Identify as an the sun. Ever since I was a boy I dreamed of slamming hydrogen isotopes into each other to make helium & light and send it throught the galaxy. People say to me that a person being a star is Impossible and I’m fucking retarded but I don’t care, I’m beautiful. I’m having a plastic surgeon inflate me with hydrogen and raise my temperature to over 6000 °C. From now on I want you guys to call me “Sol” and respect my right to give you vitamin D and probably sunburns. If you can’t accept me you’re a fusionphobe and need to check your astral privilege. Thank you for being so understanding.

  5. What the darn-diddily-doodily did you just say about me, you little witcharooney? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class at Springfield Bible College, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret mission trips in Capital City, and I have over 300 confirmed baptisms. I am trained in the Old Testament and I’m the top converter in the entire church mission group. You are nothing to me but just another heathen. I will cast your sins out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before in Heaven, mark my diddily-iddilly words. You think you can get away with saying that blasphemy to me over the Internet? Think again, friendarino. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of evangelists across Springfield and your IP is being traced by God right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggorino. The storm that wipes out the diddily little thing you call your life of sin. You’re going to Church, kiddily-widdily. Jesus can be anywhere, anytime, and he can turn you to the Gospel in over infinity ways, and that’s just with his bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in preaching to nonbelievers, but I have access to the entire dang- diddily Bible collection of the Springfield Bible College and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your sins away off the face of the continent, you diddily-doo satan-worshipper. If only you could have known what holy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you from the Heavens, maybe you would have held your darn-diddily-fundgearoo tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re clean of all your sins, you widdillo-skiddily neighborino. I will sing hymns of praise all over you and you will drown in the love of Christ. You’re farn-foodily- flank-fiddily reborn, kiddo-diddily.

  6. Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels. Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the “loser,” and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round. I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world. Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment. When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3×5 card reading, “Please use this M&M for breeding purposes.” This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this “grant money.” I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion. There can be only one

  7. They targeted gamers.

    Gamers.

    We're a group of people who will sit for hours, days, even weeks on end performing some of the hardest, most mentally demanding tasks. Over, and over, and over all for nothing more than a little digital token saying we did.

    We'll punish our selfs doing things others would consider torture, because we think it's fun.

    We'll spend most if not all of our free time min maxing the stats of a fictional character all to draw out a single extra point of damage per second.

    Many of us have made careers out of doing just these things: slogging through the grind, all day, the same quests over and over, hundreds of times to the point where we know evety little detail such that some have attained such gamer nirvana that they can literally play these games blindfolded.

    Do these people have any idea how many controllers have been smashed, systems over heated, disks and carts destroyed 8n frustration? All to latter be referred to as bragging rights?

    These people honestly think this is a battle they can win? They take our media? We're already building a new one without them. They take our devs? Gamers aren't shy about throwing their money else where, or even making the games our selves. They think calling us racist, mysoginistic, rape apologists is going to change us? We've been called worse things by prepubescent 10 year olds with a shitty head set. They picked a fight against a group that's already grown desensitized to their strategies and methods. Who enjoy the battle of attrition they've threatened us with. Who take it as a challange when they tell us we no longer matter. Our obsession with proving we can after being told we can't is so deeply ingrained from years of dealing with big brothers/sisters and friends laughing at how pathetic we used to be that proving you people wrong has become a very real need; a honed reflex.

    Gamers are competative, hard core, by nature. We love a challange. The worst thing you did in all of this was to challange us. You're not special, you're not original, you're not the first; this is just another boss fight.

  8. I'm not answering the question, but I need help. I've looked this up on several occasions and I still can't quite figure out what copypasta is. As near as I can tell, story-length memes? Is it just some elite-level inside joke that TL;DR people will never get? I just don't get it. I mean, do people laugh about these?

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