Forum Flaming And The Art Of The Insult
Beautiful, isn't it? Disturbing at times, but beautiful nonetheless.
Like the poorly repaired crack in the wall of a waste treatment plant, you have reappeared after a year to add your foul murk to the waters of this good board. While we have all asked why, no real answer has been forthcoming, whether because you seek to deceive us, or you feel that we would not understand. And, yet, we have to admire your perseverance; it is not just anyone that is willing to bodily fling themselves against a brick wall, over and over, bloodying their flesh and concussing their brain in hopes of someday making it through the wall. Truly you have demonstrated to us the internet giant that you are. Your persona is forceful enough to intimidate the boldest of squirrels, and perhaps even overly timid rabbits.
The sharpness of your wit cannot be contained by the traditional classifications of “sharp” or “rapier-like”. No, your vaunted, energetic barbs deserve a class all their own, perhaps “spork-like”, or “blunted jelly-spoon”. While a slash from such might not immediately cut an opponent to the quick, it will likely eventually pierce any plastic shopping bag that they can muster as a defense. Should they brandish brown paper, however, it is possible that your scathing attacks may fall short.
Your quest to become a true member here has been, at best, quixotic. In fact, there are great parallels between yourself and Don Quixote, excepting the facts that his quests were noble at heart, he was a romantic figure, his friends were loyal, he had friends, and the works about him are considered classics of western literature. The only comparisons seem to be that you both seem generally disheveled, disconnected from reality, and people often want to savagely beat you with sticks and laugh.
It is true, we lament your presence here, loudly and often, but none could compare to the first lamentations to reach your ears. Such was the wail voiced by your mother at your birth, when she realized the true horrors that had been wrought from her sixteen minutes of lust with Guiseppe the organ grinder’s syphilitic simian companion. Would that her attempts to end her pregnancy had succeeded rather than simply adding coat-hanger scars to the malformity that already existed.
Alas, since those efforts failed, you are here now. You have mentioned in the recent past that you are a graduate, though not of what level. Given your command of the English language, logic, history, and civics, I would suggest that your local school system be sued for gross incompetence. Allowing you to pass from one grade to the next was a criminally negligent act, though I cannot fault them for trying to remove you from their purview as quickly as possible. I do suggest, however, that any educator that granted you a passing grade be tarred, feathered, and drawn & quartered for, however innocently, imparting you with the confidence to try and communicate with others. With this act, the level of harm to society is virtually immeasurable.
One of the things I try to encourage on this board is blood donation. It is an easy thing to do, and aids in the pursuit of a better society. I urge you not to. I fear that the bilious tar that runs in your veins would taint and injure whatever poor patient might receive it, should the viscous corruption somehow accidentally make its way through the system. More so than AIDS should they fear your contamination of the blood supply. Junkies and prostitutes, while also denied the right to donate, refuse to associate with you, should they lose their social standing by being seen with a lower class of person.
Like Prometheus, this board has granted the gift of fellowship. As with the gift of fire, this fellowship has come with a punishment. It is because of you that we now feel chained to a rock, our liver torn from our body, all because we sought to share a gift. Just when we heal from that pain, again we are torn into, suffering for trying to make our corner of the world a place to grow. Unlike the Prometheus of old, however, we have the means to break our chains and seize our tormentor. It is not with pride or triumph that a Titan smites a bird, but instead pity and regret. Pity, that an inferior being should try to dominate the makers of the world; regret that we did not do it sooner. Make no mistake: this is no myth, and you are no eagle. You are an annoyance, and one rightly removed.