
Rage
Rage
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- Gawdzilla Sama
- Stabsobermaschinist
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Re: Rage
Yep, creationism is a Merkin problem.
- Atheist-Lite
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Re: Rage
Newark. Full of grunts and knuckle shufflers. Don't worry. If it stops them inbreeding over that way it must be a good thing? 

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Re: Rage
It's a few miles from hereCrumple wrote:Newark. Full of grunts and knuckle shufflers. Don't worry. If it stops them inbreeding over that way it must be a good thing?

nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeee
- Robert_S
- Cookie Monster
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Re: Rage
It's not us this time!!!!
USA! USA! USA!!! Wooohoo!!! YeeeeeHaw!! and so forth.

USA! USA! USA!!! Wooohoo!!! YeeeeeHaw!! and so forth.

What I've found with a few discussions I've had lately is this self-satisfaction that people express with their proffessed open mindedness. In realty it ammounts to wilful ignorance and intellectual cowardice as they are choosing to not form any sort of opinion on a particular topic. Basically "I don't know and I'm not going to look at any evidence because I'm quite happy on this fence."
-Mr P
The Net is best considered analogous to communication with disincarnate intelligences. As any neophyte would tell you. Do not invoke that which you have no facility to banish.
Audley Strange
-Mr P
The Net is best considered analogous to communication with disincarnate intelligences. As any neophyte would tell you. Do not invoke that which you have no facility to banish.
Audley Strange
- Atheist-Lite
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Re: Rage
Not far from Lincoln on the other side. Their strange folk....reminds me of this whenever I've visited.....Devogay wrote:It's a few miles from hereCrumple wrote:Newark. Full of grunts and knuckle shufflers. Don't worry. If it stops them inbreeding over that way it must be a good thing?
When a traveller in north central Massachusetts takes the wrong fork at the junction of Aylesbury pike just beyond Dean's Corners he comes upon a lonely and curious country.
The ground gets higher, and the brier-bordered stone walls press closer and closer against the ruts of the dusty, curving road. The trees of the frequent forest belts seem too large, and the wild weeds, brambles and grasses attain a luxuriance not often found in settled regions. At the same time the planted fields appear singularly few and barren; while the sparsely scattered houses wear a surprisingly uniform aspect of age, squalor, and dilapidation.
Without knowing why, one hesitates to ask directions from the gnarled solitary figures spied now and then on crumbling doorsteps or on the sloping, rock-strewn meadows. Those figures are so silent and furtive that one feels somehow confronted by forbidden things, with which it would be better to have nothing to do. When a rise in the road brings the mountains in view above the deep woods, the feeling of strange uneasiness is increased. The summits are too rounded and symmetrical to give a sense of comfort and naturalness, and sometimes the sky silhouettes with especial clearness the queer circles of tall stone pillars with which most of them are crowned.
Gorges and ravines of problematical depth intersect the way, and the crude wooden bridges always seem of dubious safety. When the road dips again there are stretches of marshland that one instinctively dislikes, and indeed almost fears at evening when unseen whippoorwills chatter and the fireflies come out in abnormal profusion to dance to the raucous, creepily insistent rhythms of stridently piping bull-frogs. The thin, shining line of the Miskatonic's upper reaches has an oddly serpent-like suggestion as it winds close to the feet of the domed hills among which it rises.
As the hills draw nearer, one heeds their wooded sides more than their stone-crowned tops. Those sides loom up so darkly and precipitously that one wishes they would keep their distance, but there is no road by which to escape them. Across a covered bridge one sees a small village huddled between the stream and the vertical slope of Round Mountain, and wonders at the cluster of rotting gambrel roofs bespeaking an earlier architectural period than that of the neighbouring region. It is not reassuring to see, on a closer glance, that most of the houses are deserted and falling to ruin, and that the broken-steepled church now harbours the one slovenly mercantile establishment of the hamlet. One dreads to trust the tenebrous tunnel of the bridge, yet there is no way to avoid it. Once across, it is hard to prevent the impression of a faint, malign odour about the village street, as of the massed mould and decay of centuries. It is always a relief to get clear of the place, and to follow the narrow road around the base of the hills and across the level country beyond till it rejoins the Aylesbury pike. Afterwards one sometimes learns that one has been through Dunwich.
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- Svartalf
- Offensive Grail Keeper
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Re: Rage
What's that from? It has a Lovecraft feel to it but doesn't ring any bells the tone of which I'd recognize at once.
Embrace the Darkness, it needs a hug
PC stands for "Patronizing Cocksucker" Randy Ping
PC stands for "Patronizing Cocksucker" Randy Ping
- Gawdzilla Sama
- Stabsobermaschinist
- Posts: 151265
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- Location: Sitting next to Ayaan in Domus Draconis, and communicating via PMs.
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Re: Rage
Dunwich Horror.Svartalf wrote:What's that from? It has a Lovecraft feel to it but doesn't ring any bells the tone of which I'd recognize at once.
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Re: Rage
Lovecraft....I was a Lovecraft obsessive when I was younger. Had to have something to go with the Dungeons & Dragons.Svartalf wrote:What's that from? It has a Lovecraft feel to it but doesn't ring any bells the tone of which I'd recognize at once.

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- Svartalf
- Offensive Grail Keeper
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Re: Rage
Well, shows I haven't read it enough times, or closely enough, I oughtta be able to recognize at once one of the major opera of my second favorite writer.
Embrace the Darkness, it needs a hug
PC stands for "Patronizing Cocksucker" Randy Ping
PC stands for "Patronizing Cocksucker" Randy Ping
Re: Rage
Lincolnshire is completely flat, there be no hills, no mountains; just unemployed people, inbreds and chavsCrumple wrote:Not far from Lincoln on the other side. Their strange folk....reminds me of this whenever I've visited.....Devogay wrote:It's a few miles from hereCrumple wrote:Newark. Full of grunts and knuckle shufflers. Don't worry. If it stops them inbreeding over that way it must be a good thing?
When a traveller in north central Massachusetts takes the wrong fork at the junction of Aylesbury pike just beyond Dean's Corners he comes upon a lonely and curious country.
The ground gets higher, and the brier-bordered stone walls press closer and closer against the ruts of the dusty, curving road. The trees of the frequent forest belts seem too large, and the wild weeds, brambles and grasses attain a luxuriance not often found in settled regions. At the same time the planted fields appear singularly few and barren; while the sparsely scattered houses wear a surprisingly uniform aspect of age, squalor, and dilapidation.
Without knowing why, one hesitates to ask directions from the gnarled solitary figures spied now and then on crumbling doorsteps or on the sloping, rock-strewn meadows. Those figures are so silent and furtive that one feels somehow confronted by forbidden things, with which it would be better to have nothing to do. When a rise in the road brings the mountains in view above the deep woods, the feeling of strange uneasiness is increased. The summits are too rounded and symmetrical to give a sense of comfort and naturalness, and sometimes the sky silhouettes with especial clearness the queer circles of tall stone pillars with which most of them are crowned.
Gorges and ravines of problematical depth intersect the way, and the crude wooden bridges always seem of dubious safety. When the road dips again there are stretches of marshland that one instinctively dislikes, and indeed almost fears at evening when unseen whippoorwills chatter and the fireflies come out in abnormal profusion to dance to the raucous, creepily insistent rhythms of stridently piping bull-frogs. The thin, shining line of the Miskatonic's upper reaches has an oddly serpent-like suggestion as it winds close to the feet of the domed hills among which it rises.
As the hills draw nearer, one heeds their wooded sides more than their stone-crowned tops. Those sides loom up so darkly and precipitously that one wishes they would keep their distance, but there is no road by which to escape them. Across a covered bridge one sees a small village huddled between the stream and the vertical slope of Round Mountain, and wonders at the cluster of rotting gambrel roofs bespeaking an earlier architectural period than that of the neighbouring region. It is not reassuring to see, on a closer glance, that most of the houses are deserted and falling to ruin, and that the broken-steepled church now harbours the one slovenly mercantile establishment of the hamlet. One dreads to trust the tenebrous tunnel of the bridge, yet there is no way to avoid it. Once across, it is hard to prevent the impression of a faint, malign odour about the village street, as of the massed mould and decay of centuries. It is always a relief to get clear of the place, and to follow the narrow road around the base of the hills and across the level country beyond till it rejoins the Aylesbury pike. Afterwards one sometimes learns that one has been through Dunwich.
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeee
- Xamonas Chegwé
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I speak 9 languages fluently, one of which other people can also speak.
When backed into a corner, I fit perfectly - having a right-angled arse. - Location: Nottingham UK
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Re: Rage
And tulips.Devogay wrote:Lincolnshire is completely flat, there be no hills, no mountains; just unemployed people, inbreds and chavsCrumple wrote:Not far from Lincoln on the other side. Their strange folk....reminds me of this whenever I've visited.....Devogay wrote:It's a few miles from hereCrumple wrote:Newark. Full of grunts and knuckle shufflers. Don't worry. If it stops them inbreeding over that way it must be a good thing?
When a traveller in north central Massachusetts takes the wrong fork at the junction of Aylesbury pike just beyond Dean's Corners he comes upon a lonely and curious country.
The ground gets higher, and the brier-bordered stone walls press closer and closer against the ruts of the dusty, curving road. The trees of the frequent forest belts seem too large, and the wild weeds, brambles and grasses attain a luxuriance not often found in settled regions. At the same time the planted fields appear singularly few and barren; while the sparsely scattered houses wear a surprisingly uniform aspect of age, squalor, and dilapidation.
Without knowing why, one hesitates to ask directions from the gnarled solitary figures spied now and then on crumbling doorsteps or on the sloping, rock-strewn meadows. Those figures are so silent and furtive that one feels somehow confronted by forbidden things, with which it would be better to have nothing to do. When a rise in the road brings the mountains in view above the deep woods, the feeling of strange uneasiness is increased. The summits are too rounded and symmetrical to give a sense of comfort and naturalness, and sometimes the sky silhouettes with especial clearness the queer circles of tall stone pillars with which most of them are crowned.
Gorges and ravines of problematical depth intersect the way, and the crude wooden bridges always seem of dubious safety. When the road dips again there are stretches of marshland that one instinctively dislikes, and indeed almost fears at evening when unseen whippoorwills chatter and the fireflies come out in abnormal profusion to dance to the raucous, creepily insistent rhythms of stridently piping bull-frogs. The thin, shining line of the Miskatonic's upper reaches has an oddly serpent-like suggestion as it winds close to the feet of the domed hills among which it rises.
As the hills draw nearer, one heeds their wooded sides more than their stone-crowned tops. Those sides loom up so darkly and precipitously that one wishes they would keep their distance, but there is no road by which to escape them. Across a covered bridge one sees a small village huddled between the stream and the vertical slope of Round Mountain, and wonders at the cluster of rotting gambrel roofs bespeaking an earlier architectural period than that of the neighbouring region. It is not reassuring to see, on a closer glance, that most of the houses are deserted and falling to ruin, and that the broken-steepled church now harbours the one slovenly mercantile establishment of the hamlet. One dreads to trust the tenebrous tunnel of the bridge, yet there is no way to avoid it. Once across, it is hard to prevent the impression of a faint, malign odour about the village street, as of the massed mould and decay of centuries. It is always a relief to get clear of the place, and to follow the narrow road around the base of the hills and across the level country beyond till it rejoins the Aylesbury pike. Afterwards one sometimes learns that one has been through Dunwich.
A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return.
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing
Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing

Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
- Atheist-Lite
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Re: Rage
The mountains do require a little imagination but the remainder is spot on. There is a long standing rumour that this is the most boring county in the entire UK and developed a drug habit centuries ago to compensate. As for chavs we expelled them to the New World sometime ago, how are they doing?Xamonas Chegwé wrote:And tulips.Devogay wrote:Lincolnshire is completely flat, there be no hills, no mountains; just unemployed people, inbreds and chavsCrumple wrote:Not far from Lincoln on the other side. Their strange folk....reminds me of this whenever I've visited.....Devogay wrote:It's a few miles from hereCrumple wrote:Newark. Full of grunts and knuckle shufflers. Don't worry. If it stops them inbreeding over that way it must be a good thing?
When a traveller in north central Massachusetts takes the wrong fork at the junction of Aylesbury pike just beyond Dean's Corners he comes upon a lonely and curious country.
The ground gets higher, and the brier-bordered stone walls press closer and closer against the ruts of the dusty, curving road. The trees of the frequent forest belts seem too large, and the wild weeds, brambles and grasses attain a luxuriance not often found in settled regions. At the same time the planted fields appear singularly few and barren; while the sparsely scattered houses wear a surprisingly uniform aspect of age, squalor, and dilapidation.
Without knowing why, one hesitates to ask directions from the gnarled solitary figures spied now and then on crumbling doorsteps or on the sloping, rock-strewn meadows. Those figures are so silent and furtive that one feels somehow confronted by forbidden things, with which it would be better to have nothing to do. When a rise in the road brings the mountains in view above the deep woods, the feeling of strange uneasiness is increased. The summits are too rounded and symmetrical to give a sense of comfort and naturalness, and sometimes the sky silhouettes with especial clearness the queer circles of tall stone pillars with which most of them are crowned.
Gorges and ravines of problematical depth intersect the way, and the crude wooden bridges always seem of dubious safety. When the road dips again there are stretches of marshland that one instinctively dislikes, and indeed almost fears at evening when unseen whippoorwills chatter and the fireflies come out in abnormal profusion to dance to the raucous, creepily insistent rhythms of stridently piping bull-frogs. The thin, shining line of the Miskatonic's upper reaches has an oddly serpent-like suggestion as it winds close to the feet of the domed hills among which it rises.
As the hills draw nearer, one heeds their wooded sides more than their stone-crowned tops. Those sides loom up so darkly and precipitously that one wishes they would keep their distance, but there is no road by which to escape them. Across a covered bridge one sees a small village huddled between the stream and the vertical slope of Round Mountain, and wonders at the cluster of rotting gambrel roofs bespeaking an earlier architectural period than that of the neighbouring region. It is not reassuring to see, on a closer glance, that most of the houses are deserted and falling to ruin, and that the broken-steepled church now harbours the one slovenly mercantile establishment of the hamlet. One dreads to trust the tenebrous tunnel of the bridge, yet there is no way to avoid it. Once across, it is hard to prevent the impression of a faint, malign odour about the village street, as of the massed mould and decay of centuries. It is always a relief to get clear of the place, and to follow the narrow road around the base of the hills and across the level country beyond till it rejoins the Aylesbury pike. Afterwards one sometimes learns that one has been through Dunwich.

nxnxm,cm,m,fvmf,vndfnm,nm,f,dvm,v v vmfm,vvm,d,dd vv sm,mvd,fmf,fn ,v fvfm,
Re: Rage
You in Lincolnshire?The mountains do require a little imagination but the remainder is spot on. There is a long standing rumour that this is the most boring county in the entire UK and developed a drug habit centuries ago to compensate. As for chavs we expelled them to the New World sometime ago, how are they doing?
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- Atheist-Lite
- Formerly known as Crumple
- Posts: 8745
- Joined: Sun Sep 12, 2010 12:35 pm
- About me: You need a jetpack? Here, take mine. I don't need a jetpack this far away.
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Re: Rage
I've lived here a while. It's better than living next to spaghetti junction....now I'm older. 

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