Professur
Well-Known Member
One this day, many years ago, a gentle man named Neo, a punk kid named fury, and an assortment of neer do wells, lunatics and people of questionable moral fibre came together to form one of the most enjoyable public forums on the web ... OTCentral. I was not with them. I resisted temptation. I resisted taunts and jeers. I resisted slander and ridicule. Then they went low, and unleashed the most fearful of all weapons .. the little girl. Thus I was brought low, brought to heel by power against which, I had no defence. Soon, as is often the case, I came to enjoy my guilded cage. Came to find comrades in my fellow captives. I came to rejoice in the gentle prison conceived of by Neo, now called Sam. Came to call the warden friend, and even found the baton of guard in my hand for a short while.
Sadly, as often comes to pass, the gilding has flaked from the bars, and fellows have made good their escapes. All I find left are those gone mad. Too far gone to know they only rail against themselves in the mirror. Even the guards have left the walls, leaving those poor few to fend for themselves. The beloved rooms show the signs of decay, and only the toilets show any signs that life still exists in this mouldering tomb.
From time to time, someone will attempt to repaint a room, or string a festive banner ... but it's little more than a lace curtain on a broken window.
Alas, poor OTC ... I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at
it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your
gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one
now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let
her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must
come; make her laugh at that.
Sadly, as often comes to pass, the gilding has flaked from the bars, and fellows have made good their escapes. All I find left are those gone mad. Too far gone to know they only rail against themselves in the mirror. Even the guards have left the walls, leaving those poor few to fend for themselves. The beloved rooms show the signs of decay, and only the toilets show any signs that life still exists in this mouldering tomb.
From time to time, someone will attempt to repaint a room, or string a festive banner ... but it's little more than a lace curtain on a broken window.
Alas, poor OTC ... I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at
it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your
gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one
now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let
her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must
come; make her laugh at that.
