Here is a contest with no prize other than loyal recognition by fellow sciforums peers. I believe it was Xev (but, alas, could be wrong) that coined the term 'trolls'-that is, describing a so called 'sciforums asshole,' or 'flamer' who peppers the board with raunchy rants and abusive assaults. Even though the flame-o-meter seems to be in 'quiet, reclusive' mode, the possibility of another flamer is undoubtedly 100%...possible.
So, describe what you would do to this person, if you met them in a backally or something. I'll go first, through the eyes of 'Bernstein Patrick III'--super upper class Iraqi serial-killer.
When I find you lounging in my lounge, I'll soft talk you to your oblivion, pouring various wines into calm cups of glee, slipping extra alchohol in here and there, waiting until your eyes wiggle like the tail of a dog. Then you will mumble something about going home to mother, and you will black out.
Your eyes will close in my comfy room, and then open an instant later peering down at the lights of expensive cars as they roll by on the streets of the city below--far bellow. Your breath will increase as you realize that your back muscles are aching, and as you comprehend this impossible situation (that is, dangling hundreds of feet in the air from nothing) you'll find that the hook of an industrial crane has been embedded under the skin of your back and is hooked under your spine. You can feel your blood dribbling off of your dress clothes, pattering onto the streets below.
It is then that I appear with a happy fun helicoptor-pack, prancing about wildly in the sky, making my way toward my honored guest, who has begun to shriek at the top of his lungs, eventually coughing blood from his ragged and now shredded throat (from all the screaming, you see). I will dislodge you from the hook, holding you as the rotors of the helicoptor strain with the extra weight, then toss you into the breeze, which will soon gather into a roaring wind. It will all cease in an instant, however, as the gaping hole in your back is suddenly filled-again, with another hook. You will be caught, and you will hoarsely cough with intense pain as your skin is peeled off of your back like the undershirt of a slut preparing to get some.
You will then fall, and splatter on the pavement, your spine clattering like a metal pole a few feet away, and your skin sloppily squishing atop the roof of a car, drooling your blood onto the unlucky people inside.
I will then prepare the trap for the next troll who comes along...
So, describe what you would do to this person, if you met them in a backally or something. I'll go first, through the eyes of 'Bernstein Patrick III'--super upper class Iraqi serial-killer.
When I find you lounging in my lounge, I'll soft talk you to your oblivion, pouring various wines into calm cups of glee, slipping extra alchohol in here and there, waiting until your eyes wiggle like the tail of a dog. Then you will mumble something about going home to mother, and you will black out.
Your eyes will close in my comfy room, and then open an instant later peering down at the lights of expensive cars as they roll by on the streets of the city below--far bellow. Your breath will increase as you realize that your back muscles are aching, and as you comprehend this impossible situation (that is, dangling hundreds of feet in the air from nothing) you'll find that the hook of an industrial crane has been embedded under the skin of your back and is hooked under your spine. You can feel your blood dribbling off of your dress clothes, pattering onto the streets below.
It is then that I appear with a happy fun helicoptor-pack, prancing about wildly in the sky, making my way toward my honored guest, who has begun to shriek at the top of his lungs, eventually coughing blood from his ragged and now shredded throat (from all the screaming, you see). I will dislodge you from the hook, holding you as the rotors of the helicoptor strain with the extra weight, then toss you into the breeze, which will soon gather into a roaring wind. It will all cease in an instant, however, as the gaping hole in your back is suddenly filled-again, with another hook. You will be caught, and you will hoarsely cough with intense pain as your skin is peeled off of your back like the undershirt of a slut preparing to get some.
You will then fall, and splatter on the pavement, your spine clattering like a metal pole a few feet away, and your skin sloppily squishing atop the roof of a car, drooling your blood onto the unlucky people inside.
I will then prepare the trap for the next troll who comes along...