An Essay/rant That I Wrote.
telemann
Join Date: 2002-11-07 Member: 7621Members
Join Date: 2002-11-07 Member: 7621Members
<div class="IPBDescription">I hope some of you like it.</div> This is an excerpt from a much larger posting I made on <a href='http://www.gummicorp.com' target='_blank'>Gummicorp.com</a>. It is my hope that you find it funny rather than offensive.
On June 30th in the year 1950 Walt Disney Studios released a widely loved cartoon named <a href='http://www.bcdb.com/bcdb/detailed.cgi?film=3922' target='_blank'>Motor Mania</a>. This cartoon depicts Mr. Walker: a perfectly ordinary and kind hearted person-dog-thing. Mr. Walker has a problem. When he gets behind the wheel of a car he transforms into Mr. Wheeler: a maniacal **** with no regard for the safety or well being of himself or those around him. Police departments at the time found the message in the cartoon so true-to-life that they actually showed the cartoon in driver safety classes.
Same story: add fifty more years, a computer, an internet connection, and a spiffy Half-Life mod. For some reason people all become complete wankers when they interact with other people through the internet. This article is going to attempt to build on the esteemed work of Mr. Disney by describing the types of wankers encountered while playing Natural Selection. It will also attempt to describe why these people should be hunted down and have their <a href='http://www.theonion.com/onion3308/headscrackedin.html' target='_blank'>heads cracked in</a>. It is my hope that some of you wankers out there will read this document, recognize yourself, and feel bad. Let's face it, you aren't going to change, that would take effort. Wankers don't expend effort, they just whine about it.
......
<ul>
<li><b>Captain Com Chair</b> -- A new game starts. The frontiersmen form a defensive posture as they await their first Infantry Portal and the inevitable skulk rush that will come with it. They fear it like the hunter fears the majestic Kodiak Grizzly Bear as he aims his father's rifle at it through the foliage. BEEP BEEP BOOP BEEP: The commander takes his position of authority. There is a moment of pure silence. It is the kind of silence you can only get alone on a glacier, deep underground, or just before a massive battle. And a massive battle it will be. The future of the very human race depends on the destruction of this new and mysterious alien threat. The air drips with calm resolve, it is almost peaceful. The commander scans the map, firming up his plan of action. He must enact the plan that will assure the survival of the human species itself. FIZZSHOOOO. It begins, the commander has granted a gift of technology. The designated men approach it reverently, like Moses receiving the ten commandments: respectful, but hungry. This is the stuff that separates mankind from the very animals that now hunt us through our own corridors. But wait. The men hesitate. Those at the front line wonder at what has prevented their comrades from beginning construction. "A com chair?" Again, the silence echoes off of the walls as the loudest roar. FIZZSHOOOO. FIZZSHOOOO. FIZZSHOOOO. Three more. The betrayal is tangible. Sitting amongst the Frontiersmen like three giant malignant tumors: Three extra command chairs. The manifestation of the entire supply of the last of the precious precious resources that were collected to fight the alien threat. Laughter fills the air, and is suddenly and abruptly cut off. "Mr. 1337y p4nts has left the game." Two words inadequately sum up the monumental betrayal that rends the hearts of the men: "NO COMMANDER". Like hope, he is gone.
</ul>
The full text can be found <a href='http://www.gummicorp.com/comic/public/publicMain.php?routingNumber=1000&uid=1' target='_blank'>here</a>.
On June 30th in the year 1950 Walt Disney Studios released a widely loved cartoon named <a href='http://www.bcdb.com/bcdb/detailed.cgi?film=3922' target='_blank'>Motor Mania</a>. This cartoon depicts Mr. Walker: a perfectly ordinary and kind hearted person-dog-thing. Mr. Walker has a problem. When he gets behind the wheel of a car he transforms into Mr. Wheeler: a maniacal **** with no regard for the safety or well being of himself or those around him. Police departments at the time found the message in the cartoon so true-to-life that they actually showed the cartoon in driver safety classes.
Same story: add fifty more years, a computer, an internet connection, and a spiffy Half-Life mod. For some reason people all become complete wankers when they interact with other people through the internet. This article is going to attempt to build on the esteemed work of Mr. Disney by describing the types of wankers encountered while playing Natural Selection. It will also attempt to describe why these people should be hunted down and have their <a href='http://www.theonion.com/onion3308/headscrackedin.html' target='_blank'>heads cracked in</a>. It is my hope that some of you wankers out there will read this document, recognize yourself, and feel bad. Let's face it, you aren't going to change, that would take effort. Wankers don't expend effort, they just whine about it.
......
<ul>
<li><b>Captain Com Chair</b> -- A new game starts. The frontiersmen form a defensive posture as they await their first Infantry Portal and the inevitable skulk rush that will come with it. They fear it like the hunter fears the majestic Kodiak Grizzly Bear as he aims his father's rifle at it through the foliage. BEEP BEEP BOOP BEEP: The commander takes his position of authority. There is a moment of pure silence. It is the kind of silence you can only get alone on a glacier, deep underground, or just before a massive battle. And a massive battle it will be. The future of the very human race depends on the destruction of this new and mysterious alien threat. The air drips with calm resolve, it is almost peaceful. The commander scans the map, firming up his plan of action. He must enact the plan that will assure the survival of the human species itself. FIZZSHOOOO. It begins, the commander has granted a gift of technology. The designated men approach it reverently, like Moses receiving the ten commandments: respectful, but hungry. This is the stuff that separates mankind from the very animals that now hunt us through our own corridors. But wait. The men hesitate. Those at the front line wonder at what has prevented their comrades from beginning construction. "A com chair?" Again, the silence echoes off of the walls as the loudest roar. FIZZSHOOOO. FIZZSHOOOO. FIZZSHOOOO. Three more. The betrayal is tangible. Sitting amongst the Frontiersmen like three giant malignant tumors: Three extra command chairs. The manifestation of the entire supply of the last of the precious precious resources that were collected to fight the alien threat. Laughter fills the air, and is suddenly and abruptly cut off. "Mr. 1337y p4nts has left the game." Two words inadequately sum up the monumental betrayal that rends the hearts of the men: "NO COMMANDER". Like hope, he is gone.
</ul>
The full text can be found <a href='http://www.gummicorp.com/comic/public/publicMain.php?routingNumber=1000&uid=1' target='_blank'>here</a>.
Comments
Sifo
Nice essay btw, very funny.
Oh, and very well written! Good stuff. Always nice to see someone on the internet who still knows his grammatical *** from his elbow.
Very nice read, made me laugh quite a bit <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
Fortunatly, I haven't run into most types on the list.