Your are viewing a read-only archive of the old DiS boards. Please hit the Community button above to engage with the DiS !
Do you read them?
Lava-Ball will turn up to remind us of the important things.
They're the only posts over 4 lines that I do read.
Hey Jemble Jemble!
Along with the Monk in the football threads.
Seriously need more Gritty Cop
balonz: posts written in the style of a play, do you read them?
harru: no, they are utter shit.
whilst I was in the USA, you all had an argument about a RUCKSACK? What is with you people?
Almost as shit as the dark, dark days of Quizzing.
Unless you count the time when EMO tried to pass off Plantagenet architecture as a distinct architectural period.
Lava-Ball and other occasional ones can be good though
wrong way round, chief.
m-b is a true original, Lavaball is just... I don't want to mean, so I won't dissect that car-crash just now.
best one was Eltham's post about Juarez in the original gritty cop thread
MATHILDE is sitting by the window; nursing a bowl of soup, and watching the snow fly about viciously in the wind outside, the natural state of the cityscape becoming forgotten within this particularly long winter. When the spring finally arrives, the familiar view of green hills, the cathedral spires, and the bustling grounds of the local schoolhouse will be an extra reward for this long, arduous wait.
MATHILDE: Perhaps this will be the Winter that ne'er ends. Our lives becoming locked within the purgatorial cold, until such a day...
HARRIS: You think too much, mother.
MATHILDE: (maintaining a silence for some time)
MATHILDE: Your father will be home soon. It would be best for you to set the kindling 'pon the fire, so the home is warm and inviting for his presence.
HARRIS: Very well. Perhaps he will have caught a great fish for our supper tonight.
MATHILDE: I remember seeing the optimism in your face the very moment you entered into this world.
HARRIS: (allowing a mild laugh)
MATHILDE: The midwife said it was definitely jaundice, but I smacked him with a newspaper... it is good to see such things as optimism remaining constant. (after a brief smile, she turns back to the window) However, this snow... this winter...
Enter KERNER, with his fishing equipment. He has a wise face like what an owl has. HARRIS gets up, excitedly, from his place by the fireplace and runs to his father.
HARRIS: Father! Have we a fine supper tonight?
KERNER: It shall be Pot Noodles again, I fear, my son. (KERNER sets his bags down, idly fingers the spines of his old books) I have never seen the oceans so barren in all my years... in all the winters I've struggled as a fisherman... it's as if the fish... ... know something.
There is a prolonged silence from the humans. The wind outside and the ticking grandfather clock continue their (respectively) formless plays and their persistent cycles... as if to mock the humans, to - without empathy - consider them lazy in their abundant concern for their feelings, their inner lives, when there is work to be done. Always something.
HARRIS: (breaking the silence) It reminds me a story Uncle Franz used to tell...
MATHILDE: (a sharp tone of warning, but not without some noticeable fear) Harris...
KERNER: We do not speak of him between these four walls, under this roof! It is to bed with you! No Pot Noodle! You have spoken your piece, you have uttered the name of that... that... traitor in this house! In *my* house!
HARRIS: (looking down, defiantly or with shame, it is not for us to know... before quietly uttering) You have to deal with it sometime, father. History can be rewritten, but the past... the objective truth of it... that's constant. It doesn't change.
MATHILDE buries her face in her hands, the soup now forgotten. HARRIS walks to the front door, to leave his father to his rage, his mother to the stress of that her family has brought into her life.
HARRIS: (standing at the open door) The dead stay dead. They shan't walk again. They lie still, and become one with the rot and the meaningless. (slams the door, having left)
KERNER angrily leaves into the kitchen area, off-stage. MATHILDE turns to the window.
MATHILDE: Perhaps this will be the Winter that ne'er ends. Our lives becoming locked within the purgatorial cold, until such a day... ... until such a day...
(the majority of lights fade-out, leaving a single light on MATHILDE)
but it's length in context gave me a strong chuckle
I read it for a moment as Mathilde burying her face in her soup, not her hands. thought that was especially good.
but i do wonder if googling 'kerner's regret' was a mistake.
needs to parody Lavaball.
and then someone should satirise his parody and then hopefully the site will implode and humanity will be consumed in a black hole of ennui and shame.
despite post-coital loathing, a paean borne of tenderness, of its nurturing guardians to absent progenitor, the seed of their sweet, wretched progeny.
and though it recoils, blinking, from the light into which it was thrust, the poor, simple abomination, part-warthog, part-blind mole, part-Michael Bay, it is received with such decadent thrilling by salivating patrons.
still, it writhes in the polygenous schism of its heritage and fostering. yet it settles in bland and heartfelt recapitulation of that pure, abiding affection from which it came!
o, but as I said, I could not pick apart this creature before its doting guardians.
Wait until you read my synopsis for Lavaball 2: Lava Ballier. I'm thinking of adding a talking chimp and a surprise Tarantino-esque career rival for Rob Schneider.
All others including ones by me, but ESPECIALLY ones by Theo or Marckee should be given a wide berth.