Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Pastimes : FLAME THREAD - Post all obnoxious/derogatory comments here -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Druss who wrote (6086)	9/24/1998 4:51:00 PM
From: Rainy_Day_Woman	Respond to of 12754

Druss: is this a true story? and you call this a gentler memory? than what? snakes.....yuck! foxy

To: Druss who wrote (6086)	9/25/1998 12:21:00 PM
From: Solon	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 12754

Druss! I always thought we kids were very cruel, the way we had stoned the frogs that were innocently sunning themselves around the rocky edge of a stillwater pond along our creak. You make me feel much better about myself! (:-) More FLAMING TALES from the North and the South, eh. Selected and edited by foxy, with the gorgeous wavy tail...chicken thief par excellence... His name was Kingpin; and he was the meanest Son of a Bitch that ever grew tail feathers. All we kids were terrified of him; he, on the other hand, was afraid of nothing this side of Hell; he simply found us contemptible. Our outhouse was about 50 yards from our house. The approach followed an oblique angle across the outer limits of the chicken area. The house, chicken house and outhouse formed a loose triangle. This is the first necessary clause, but it is not sufficient. The second clause sets it up: When ya gotta go, well...ya GOTTA GO! You would start across the yard--quiet, innocent, and unobtrusive as all hell; inching closer and closer to the point of no return. Meanwhile, about 70 feet away, perfectly oblivious to everything except his perpetual pecking: pacing and strutting, head down, unaware--the majestic Kingpin measured every inch of ground, and waited like a lightning bolt waits to strike...BAAAANNGGGG!!! You freeze as a white streak launches itself across the yard, hurling itself at breakneck speed: a maelstrom of destruction and seemingly certain death; the ultimate fighting warrior. Now the streak launches itself; the wings spread and they beat the air like a giant eagle. The spurs rake and the beak jackhammers. You feel like a runaway moose has hit you in the chest. You are going down... Everything is blurry. Somehow how have regained your feet. Your nemesis does a continuous shuffle hop in front of you, wings opening then closing as he threatens interminably to launch once again; eyes never leaving your face. Unconsciously, you have adopted his manner, your head moving forward and backward, synchronized with his. You have learned that the slightest turning or moving away, the slightest relaxing of the tension, will result in an instant strike. The terror and the tension are draining your strength; your legs are weak and your will is faltering; but Kingpin is tireless; his eyes burn beams of hatred and contempt at you--he feints, and feints, and feints... SMASH!! Your 250 pound dad has just nailed Kingpin with a huge club from the lumber pile. Kingpin is down! He lies stunned. 5 seconds; no movement. 10 seconds; nothing. Kingpin is dead! Kingpin is deeeaaaddd!! Your heart goes THUMP, THUMP, TH--U--MP... WHAT IS THIS! The bastard is up! He starts to circle. He isn't attacking, but he isn't running either. He is dropping one shoulder, stumbling a bit as he tries to focus. He is putting on a show for the hens. Every second he seems to get bigger and bigger, and his eye gets cockier and cockier. Dad swings a huge boot at him, and he leaps back, stiffening his legs and spreading his feet, opening and closing his wings... Suddenly I remember I have to go to the toilet. Fortunately, it is not too late! I can see him now in my mind's eye...pretending to be preoccupied as he planned his deadly attacks. OH! He wanted to hurt us; he wanted to KILL US!. I thought him evil; but now with the advantage of years, I wonder...I wonder what the hens thought--what did his people--think of him? He sent no children to fight his fights. He was President and King. He was preacher; he was Pope. He WAS the armed forces. He was the cop on the beat. He had no back up...and I guess he liked it that way... I like to imagine that late in the night when they all roosted down in the hen house; when the lonely voice of the coyote howled dismally from a harmless distance; when the moon crept overhead and painted a mottled chiaroscuro around their home: I like to imagine that more than one young hen sidled along the roost to his perch; to softly stroke his feathers, and to nuzzle his comb, saying: "You looked great out there today again, champ! You REALLY DID LOOK GREAT!!!!"

To: Druss who wrote (6086)	9/29/1998 2:43:00 PM
From: E. Charters	Read Replies (3) \| Respond to of 12754

Off topic. the truth. I just thought I would muster the courage here to tell an ordinary truth, you might wish to hear. I depise, truly, the people who post comments to each other that others do not understand and attack people out of hand and feel strongly that theads must contain content of a "take" upon what relates to their belief the subject matter of the thread is. Idiotic drivel to justify their peasant moderation is just that. Kasha, Sherry and a few others are the worst offenders. I realize you are smarter than that so feel free to show off. Pollysyllabics await your sylvan fingers. The few who realize I am a superior intellect and defend my right to be as stupid as they get my begrudging admiration. But I feel many of you miss a great opportunity to network to mutual commercial benefit. It would not hurt, is painless, and does not deserve your disdain. EC<:-}