Lord Raffles
New member
Hey kids. Do you like silence? Would you prefer a kindly passing surgeon to staple shut each one of your eyelids? Or in other words would you miss me? Would you miss my darkly dulcet tones, the music and the merriment of my argument? Would you gnash your teeth at night at having nothing left to say to me, or speculate about in your innocent hours? Or would your undernourished intellects fall to the ground like the finest mist, surrendering themselves to the drones of gravity in the absence of my verbal hurricanes? Would your atoms lose the will to band together under a single rubric, and go their separate ways entirely as you lose all sense of self - all definition? With respect to the superficiality of the shared brain, I fear not.
To correct this plain imbalance, this abhorrent flouting of the rules of nature, of psychology, of society, of philosophy and cant, I propose the following corrective. To quote Domestos (or was it Hitler?): simply wipe the fuckers out. ‘Exterminate all the brutes’ said Conrad, and I think he had a point. It’s so sweet and staggeringly simple I don’t know why it hadn’t previously occurred to me. One step up from pulling the legs from spiders - a favorite pastime of Spinoza. I must admit I always prefered to build arenas of Fairy Liquid and watch the earwigs take up arms against the ants. But the sanguine evenings of the summer holidays are always drawing to a close. And so we pull our winter boots on. And trample cunts instead.
Although you made me feel as much at home as the proverbial welcome in the hillsides, the green green grass of home has lost its hue, and its rustic humour. The failing sunlight does to chlorophyl what 9/11 has done for Ramadan. The euthanasia of pure reason? On a forum? Now that was funny. How about the wilful murder of textually inexperienced n00bie twats? Now, I care as much for random categories such as forum, state and language as I do for any verbal tick, and, like any tiny gothic teen, they should be squished like a ripened zit. Now I admit that isn’t funny. But if you use a pneumatic drill... My friends. I give you Raffles - inc. Your clown prince of chaos is moving into deconstruction. I won’t even charge you for materials. Why would I? Why would anyone, when they’re about to bring the house down...
In decided comic villain style I’m theatrically obliged to offer you a lifeline - with a limit. I will give you fourteen days (because I like the sound of it) to find three anonymous posts by me which have not yet been deleted. In each of these there is a word which, each taken out of context then strung togther, will reveal a phrase. Which is the answer to the riddle that I am. Quote me this one phrase and I will call off the concrete mixers. Fail me now and I will raze this house to ashes. And then raze the ashes. And then urinate on the remains of the ashes.
Little province, relocate thee to them hills. Little women, get thee and thy hardbodies to thy nunneries. Like Glyndwr I can raise spirits from the vasty deep - a veritably salivating army of Trolls makes its way across the cyberscape as we speak - and yes, (on the miserably minuscule off-chance that you happen to know your Shakespeare), they come when I do call for them.
You have fourteen days to save the forum. Actually, call it thirteen. I wrote this yesterday.
Final note: you must recall that famous Nietszchean postmodern dictum ‘What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger’. But also bear in mind the Rafflism ‘What kills you, in love or nature, generally couldn’t give a flying fuck’. Somewhere between these two lies your motivation.
Let the final game begin.
To correct this plain imbalance, this abhorrent flouting of the rules of nature, of psychology, of society, of philosophy and cant, I propose the following corrective. To quote Domestos (or was it Hitler?): simply wipe the fuckers out. ‘Exterminate all the brutes’ said Conrad, and I think he had a point. It’s so sweet and staggeringly simple I don’t know why it hadn’t previously occurred to me. One step up from pulling the legs from spiders - a favorite pastime of Spinoza. I must admit I always prefered to build arenas of Fairy Liquid and watch the earwigs take up arms against the ants. But the sanguine evenings of the summer holidays are always drawing to a close. And so we pull our winter boots on. And trample cunts instead.
Although you made me feel as much at home as the proverbial welcome in the hillsides, the green green grass of home has lost its hue, and its rustic humour. The failing sunlight does to chlorophyl what 9/11 has done for Ramadan. The euthanasia of pure reason? On a forum? Now that was funny. How about the wilful murder of textually inexperienced n00bie twats? Now, I care as much for random categories such as forum, state and language as I do for any verbal tick, and, like any tiny gothic teen, they should be squished like a ripened zit. Now I admit that isn’t funny. But if you use a pneumatic drill... My friends. I give you Raffles - inc. Your clown prince of chaos is moving into deconstruction. I won’t even charge you for materials. Why would I? Why would anyone, when they’re about to bring the house down...
In decided comic villain style I’m theatrically obliged to offer you a lifeline - with a limit. I will give you fourteen days (because I like the sound of it) to find three anonymous posts by me which have not yet been deleted. In each of these there is a word which, each taken out of context then strung togther, will reveal a phrase. Which is the answer to the riddle that I am. Quote me this one phrase and I will call off the concrete mixers. Fail me now and I will raze this house to ashes. And then raze the ashes. And then urinate on the remains of the ashes.
Little province, relocate thee to them hills. Little women, get thee and thy hardbodies to thy nunneries. Like Glyndwr I can raise spirits from the vasty deep - a veritably salivating army of Trolls makes its way across the cyberscape as we speak - and yes, (on the miserably minuscule off-chance that you happen to know your Shakespeare), they come when I do call for them.
You have fourteen days to save the forum. Actually, call it thirteen. I wrote this yesterday.
Final note: you must recall that famous Nietszchean postmodern dictum ‘What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger’. But also bear in mind the Rafflism ‘What kills you, in love or nature, generally couldn’t give a flying fuck’. Somewhere between these two lies your motivation.
Let the final game begin.