User:Tranvit

Tranvit

Tranvit (guy in middle)
Sex	Male
Date of Birth	2005
Place of Birth	Ústí nad Labem (basically same as Hell on Earth)
Body material	meat and bones and white-yellow skin
Beloved stuff	Gf, Petr Pavel, old buses, old cars, 1970s wearing. tanks, history
Hated stuff	Basically everything and everybody who's in Gen Alpha, Pop Music (especially it's Fandom)

To be honest, I’m like the ultimate vibe check personified. A Gen Z mulatto hybrid with a Czech twist, I’m the kind of guy who’s always on “do not disturb,” not because I’m busy—just because everyone else’s noise is, like, cringe. My communication skills? Low-key fire, though, when I choose to speak. Most of the time, I’m ghosting irrelevant convos, too focused on my grind. FOMO? Not in my vocab. I’ve got main-character energy without needing to flex it—living in my own aesthetic, casually throwing shade at boomers (and probably at you, too). The vibe? Immaculate.

Me: walking, talking (barely), and living proof that sometimes, less is more.

How to recognize ME (If you'll see me, you won't)[edit | edit source]

If you spot someone with longer hair, kinda lanky, usually rolling solo or with just one or two close friends, yeah, that's me. My vibe? Always got a nicopouch in my lip, chilling in my own world, far from the noise. Big crowds? Not my scene. I keep things low-key, watching the chaos unfold from the sidelines. You could think of me as a rare Pokémon—showing up only when I feel like it, never in a rush, keeping my circle small and real.

And my style? Let’s just say I’m not about following trends like a sheep. Modern fashion and being a clone of everyone else? That’s for cowards. I’m all about grandpa chic, like a relic from the '70s who never got the memo to update his wardrobe. Chunky sweaters, old-school plaid, corduroy pants—basically, I look like I raided a thrift store from 1975 and made it my signature. I don’t dress to impress anyone; I dress to stay real. Being a carbon copy of everyone else is just boring.

Stuff that I like[edit | edit source]

Not interested...

Favourite snus brand. But this flavour tastes like shit.

Oh, where do I even start? I mean, who else wakes up in the morning with thoughts of buses, tanks, and the sheer, unadulterated swag of Soviet military uniforms swirling around their brain? Yep, that’s me. While most people are busy fantasizing about beach vacations or fancy cars, I’m sitting here daydreaming about the smooth, boxy lines of a Karosa bus or the thunderous rumble of a T-72 tank crushing its way across the battlefield. It’s not just a passion, it’s a lifestyle choice. You don’t just look at a bus or a tank, you feel it. And don’t even get me started on the uniforms—seriously, why aren’t more people walking around in Eastern Bloc military getups? That stuff has more style than half the fashion industry today.

Fashion is supposed to be bold, right? Well, nothing’s bolder than stepping into a room dressed in Soviet military threads that scream “I mean business.” Sure, it may have been designed for the battlefield, but I like to think it works for everyday life too. Form and function wrapped up in one glorious olive-green package. Forget your skinny jeans and designer jackets—this is timeless, rugged style. Practical and powerful.

Very interested on the other hand....

History? Yeah, I’m into that too, but not your run-of-the-mill “kings and queens” type of history. Forget the knights in shining armor and European court drama. Give me the Cold War, give me tanks rolling through the streets of East Berlin, give me the Cold War era that defined the modern world. I want to know who commanded those armored beasts and why they wore those uniforms with so much pride. Of course, I’ve got love for American military history too—those uniforms have their own charm—but let’s be honest here, nothing beats the drip of the Eastern Bloc. I mean, ČSLA and East German NVA uniforms? Those are peak military fashion. Sleek, efficient, and designed to make anyone look like they could lead a revolution by lunchtime. The Americans may have the M1 Abrams, but the Eastern Bloc had the look.

Now we're talking!

Now, cars—while the average person is drooling over Ferraris and Lamborghinis, I’m out here appreciating the unpretentious charm of a well-built Lada or the utilitarian beauty of a B5 Passat. Sure, those Italian supercars are fast, but can they handle the harsh Siberian wilderness? I think not. And buses? Ah, the simple, robust elegance of a Karosa or Ikarus bus, powering through Eastern European streets like a steel beast on wheels. There’s just something about the sound of a good old diesel engine that gets me going. While everyone else is focused on luxury, I’m all about durability. If it’s built to last and can survive a revolution, I’m sold.

Couple photo...

Let’s talk about Petr Pavel for a second. This man radiates leadership—he’s like a walking embodiment of cool, calm authority. Sure, people admire political leaders for their charisma or policies, but for me, it's all about how they carry themselves, and Pavla is like the perfect blend of soldier and statesman. He’s got that no-nonsense vibe that says he could lead a military operation and then turn around and command respect in a diplomatic meeting. But let’s not get it twisted—my heart belongs to my girlfriend. She’s the real MVP. Not only does she tolerate my endless monologues about buses, tanks, and uniforms, but she somehow finds it all endearing. That’s true love, folks.

Oh, and how could I forget rock music? None of that poppy, commercial nonsense. I’m talking about real rock—loud, unapologetic, with enough energy to make your heart race faster than a Soviet tank at full throttle. It’s all about the riffs that hit like a tank shell and drum solos that could match the rumble of an engine. I like my music the way I like my vehicles—powerful, raw, and built to shake the ground. And if I can combine that with the roar of an engine, well, that’s just pure heaven.

So, if you haven’t guessed by now, I’m all about history, horsepower, and heavy-duty vibes. From the Eastern Bloc to the open road, it’s all part of who I am. If it’s loud, fast, historical, and preferably Cold War-related, you can bet I’m obsessed with it.

Stuff I hate[edit | edit source]

Oh, where do I even start? I mean, who else wakes up in the morning with thoughts of buses, tanks, and the sheer, unadulterated swag of Soviet military uniforms swirling around their brain? Yep, that’s me. But just as much as there are things I love, there are so many things I hate—things that make me want to slam my head into the dashboard of a well-built Lada and scream into the void.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Let’s get one thing straight: pop music? Absolute trash. It’s like humanity collectively gave up and decided to let auto-tune and shallow lyrics run the show. The catchy hooks, the processed beats—it’s a nonstop assault on anyone with more than two functioning brain cells. Don’t even talk to me about Swifties, Sheerios, or whatever other pop cults have sprung up. People losing their minds over Taylor Swift’s latest breakup anthem as if it’s going to unlock the mysteries of the universe? Seriously? Give me a break. These fandoms aren’t fans—they’re cults, plain and simple. Swifties out here acting like Taylor invented music, as if they’re about to build shrines in their bedrooms. And Ed Sheeran? The human embodiment of beige wallpaper. His music is so bland I’m amazed people don’t fall asleep mid-chorus. How did we, as a species, go from Led Zeppelin to... this?

And don’t get me started on modernity. The entire world has somehow decided that overcomplication is the way forward. Everything’s flashier, more convoluted, and utterly pointless. Every gadget, every piece of technology—why is it all designed to make life harder? I’m nostalgic for a time when things just worked. I mean, have you seen modern cars? It’s like they’re actively trying to confuse you. Half the features are there just so manufacturers can justify the insane price tags. Back in the day, you had a bus, a tank, or a car that ran, no frills, no nonsense. Now? Your car’s got more software updates than your laptop, and God forbid you forget your "smart key." It’s peak modern brainrot.

Speaking of brainrot, let’s talk about Gen Z and Gen Alpha. These kids are glued to their screens like they’ve made some kind of Faustian deal with the algorithm gods. It’s as if critical thinking died the day TikTok was launched. They’ve traded books and real conversations for mindless 30-second videos of people lip-syncing or, worse, participating in challenges that make you lose faith in the future of the human race. These generations live for clout, likes, and the dopamine rush that comes from watching numbers on a screen go up. You’ve got kids out here genuinely thinking that becoming a "TikTok influencer" is a legitimate career path. Forget science, engineering, or even basic human interaction—no, they just want to go viral for some idiotic stunt that’ll be forgotten in 24 hours.

Oh, and let's not forget the “average American,” a person with an IQ hovering somewhere around 2. These are the folks who proudly announce they’ve never read a book since high school, think “critical thinking” is some sort of liberal conspiracy, and believe that deep-fried butter on a stick is a food group. The same people who think vaccines are a mind control plot but happily consume food that looks like it was made in a chemical plant. They're the reason warnings like "Do not eat" are printed on silica gel packets. You know the ones—can't point to their own country on a map, but have strong opinions about everything. They’re convinced that microwaves are spying on them, the moon landing was filmed in a Hollywood studio, and that you can cure all diseases with essential oils and conspiracy theories. Honestly, watching them try to engage in critical thought is like watching a hamster try to solve quantum physics.

ThIs iS a CaR fOr SkIbIdI SiGmAs...

Now, let’s move on to another group of people I absolutely can’t stand: car communities. You know, the cults surrounding BMWs, Mercedes, and JDM cars. These people treat their vehicles like divine objects that descended from heaven on a cloud of burning rubber and toxic masculinity. Let’s talk about BMW drivers, for example—do they even know what a turn signal is? Or do they just think it’s an optional extra they didn’t splurge on? They’re out here swerving in traffic like they own the entire road, convinced their overhyped piece of German engineering makes them invincible. As if spending a ridiculous amount on a car suddenly grants them a license to behave like they’re auditioning for Fast & Furious.

And don’t even start on Mercedes fans—people who think a car that comes with more pointless features than a spaceship somehow elevates them to royalty. These are the folks who think driving a Merc makes them immune to criticism, when in reality, they’re just shelling out absurd amounts for a logo. They drive around thinking they’re sophisticated, but they’re just obnoxious.

Then there’s the JDM community, acting like their Nissan Skyline is the second coming of Christ. If I hear one more time about how their turbocharged engine is "legendary," I might scream. We get it—you watched Tokyo Drift once and now you think you’re a professional street racer. Congratulations. Meanwhile, your car still can’t make it over a speed bump without scraping its undercarriage.

It’s all a game of showing off who’s got the loudest exhaust or the most unnecessary body kit, all while pretending they’re in some elite club. Newsflash: it’s still just a car.

Honestly, car communities are like the modern-day equivalent of medieval jousting tournaments—just with more noise and fewer brain cells.

So, yeah. Let’s recap: I hate pop music, modern complexity, TikTok generations, the average American with an IQ of 2, and car cults who think their overpriced toys make them better than everyone else. If it’s shiny, overhyped, or part of a fandom, count me out. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here with my Tatra bus, my Soviet military gear, and my sanity intact.

Personality[edit | edit source]

Look at this monkey.... (it's 2021)

As an INFJ cynic, I’m a mix of compassion and cutting sarcasm, depending on who I’m dealing with. I’m tolerant—up to a point. I can put up with a fair amount of nonsense, but if you’re a proper prick, I’ll have no problem tearing you a new one. I’ll help you when you’re in need, but don’t mistake that for a free pass; if you’re being a total asshole, I’m just as likely to hand you your ass on a platter. I don’t sugarcoat things for the sake of politeness, and if your behavior’s begging for a verbal smackdown, I’ve got no problem delivering it.

I tend to navigate life with a balance of empathy and a "no-bullshit" attitude. If you’re genuine, I’ll be the first to have your back—going above and beyond to help out when I can. But if you’re coming at me with manipulative or selfish behavior, don’t expect me to play nice. I’ll call you out without hesitation, sometimes with language that’s less than flattering. It’s not about being cruel; it’s about not wasting my time on people who don’t deserve it. I’d rather be bluntly honest than fake-friendly.

So, yeah, I’m generally a decent person who’d rather help than harm, but cross the line, and I won’t hold back. You’ll get a fair shot, but if you’re acting like a proper piece of shit, don’t be surprised if I treat you accordingly. I’m not here to coddle or cater to everyone’s delicate feelings—life’s too short to put up with idiots who should know better.

Uncyclopedia career[edit | edit source]

I started my Uncyclopedia journey back in 2020 or 2021 on the Czech version, where I made my debut with "Hylmar Skřet," a satirical piece targeting my biology teacher—who, to put it mildly, had some seriously creepy tendencies. It was a mix of humor, mockery, and a bit of personal catharsis. After that, I delved into writing about "Obrněné dopravníky třídy Pergl" (Armored Personnel Carriers of the Pergl class) and penned the "Mimoňské války," a legendary topic among my friends that combined absurdity with a hint of personal folklore.

It all kind of snowballed from there, with each article feeding the next idea, and I eventually found myself on the English Uncyclopedia. My first contribution there was about the Tatra 603, because why not start off with a bizarre piece of automotive history? The transition felt like a natural evolution, taking my sarcasm and satire to a broader audience, where I could continue blending mockery, cynicism, and a touch of niche historical parody.

Some flops[edit | edit source]

Yup. I'm an imbecile

I've had my fair share of screw-ups, and I’ve definitely walked a fine line between being a troublemaker and just plain clueless. Vaping in the school bathroom, for instance, wasn’t exactly a masterstroke of rebellion—it was more like a half-baked attempt to look edgy, which predictably landed me in hot water. But hey, who doesn’t make a questionable life choice or two during their teenage years?

Then there was the incident with my German teacher. For reasons that seemed funny at the time (and absolutely weren’t), I gave a full-on Nazi salute in the middle of class. The look on her face was a mix of horror and rage, and I’m pretty sure I set back German-Czech relations by a good 50 years with that one. It was one of those moments where you realize your sense of humor doesn’t exactly align with common decency—or legality.

I’ve also made it a habit to disrupt the dull routine of school by loudly proclaiming "Good morning, Vietnam" to kick off the day. There’s something about the bewildered reactions from teachers and students alike that just never gets old. It’s not like I’m trying to cause a scene every time, but sometimes the mundane just needs a little extra chaos.

And of course, there’s the incident where I, in a fit of what I thought was honesty (and what was actually just tactless stupidity), told a girl that her boobs had grown. Not exactly the kind of comment that goes over well, and yeah, it earned me some well-deserved backlash. It wasn’t meant to be creepy—it just kind of came out that way, and in hindsight, that’s not the kind of "observation" anyone needs to hear, especially from a guy who should know better.

So yeah, let’s just say my disciplinary record is a colorful tapestry of poor decisions and moments where my mouth moved faster than my brain. I’ve managed to toe the line between being the school’s unofficial comedian and its walking HR violation.