To Troll a Forum
For once The One was not at his local Bierstube getting drunk. Without going into details, a minor dispute had risen between him and the bartender regarding disgorgement on the bar counter. Instead he was home in his own living room getting drunk. Director had gone to Bratislava on a business trip in connection with his "logistics company", and would not be back until the next day. He had even locked the door to the BDSM cellar and taken the keys with him! Hence, The One was left alone with nothing but himself, horrendous amounts of beer and way too much time on his hands. Needless to say, he was bored out of his mind.
Recently Director had bought a new lap top. Since he had no need for two computers, he had given his old one to The One out of charity (or to avoid having to drag his lap top to a recycle station). The One had accepted the lap top with genuine gratefulness, as it happened very seldom that someone actually gave him something. In lack of better things to do, he started surfing the Internet, chugging beer like there was no tomorrow.
By chance he stumbled upon a Norwegian Internet forum for amateur musicians and bands. Downing a bottle of strong ale, he decided to mess around a bit with the haughty know-it-alls of the forum (despite the omnipresence in Norwegian society of the creativity-killing Law of Jante, young Norwegians had a self-confidence that in no way stood up to their actual abilities; everybody who could play three chords on the guitar regarded themselves experts). He registered on the forum, before writing a lengthy and very scathing rant about the horrendous arrogance of the Norwegian music industry. He totally blasted every single one of the artists of the country, especially the female ones, which he claimed had used their pussy power rather than their talent to get a recording deal (as all Norwegian female artists were as interesting as a bottle of cola). If it was one thing he loved, then it was creating lots and lots of havoc with his superior verbal skills - and especially on the Internet, since nobody there had the balls to physically confront him.
Discovering that his bottle of strong ale was empty, he decided to get another beer in the fridge. He whistled merrily when walking into the kitchen. He discovered that he needed to pee, the urge being almost intolerable. With a moan he hauled out his giant member and peed in the kitchen sink. While peeing, he opened the fridge door and took out a 0,5 liter bottle of barley wine, opened it with his left testicle (!) and drank from it in big man sips. Since the beer type barley wine was at least as strong as wine (hence the name), the alcohol got to his head awfully fast.
"A beer fer meee, an' a beer ferrrr me lassie," The One sang in an odd hybrid of Scottish and Irish with a hint of Cornish in it.
The big, drunk man staggered through the doorway and into the living room. He put the bottle of barley wine down and pressed the F5 button, updating the forum page. Not surprisingly he had got lots of angered replies to his topic. The replies demonstrated that none of the forum members knew what orthography was; the replies were riddled with blatant typos, grammatical errors and other linguistically unpalatable phenomena. The One chuckled when reading the replies, which all branded him 'a bitter, delusional loser who did not get laid', 'a despicable prick who was jealous on his far more talented colleagues', or simply crude, juvenile name-calling. One reply consisted of nothing but "DIE!", followed by what had to be twenty exclamation marks.
He then wrote another lengthy, ill-focused harangue that was so defamatory that it could scare the horns off a cow. He concluded this verbal deluge of slanderous, anti-social atrocities by writing that actually liking Norwegian rock was a sign of severe mental illness that only lobotomy could cure. He also insinuated that a great portion of Norwegians had already been lobotomized from this illness, explaining the unlikely popularity of those bland, boring and overrated rock artists and groups. Upon seeing his published reply, he burst out in a roaring laughter, banging his knees with his big man hands.
Discovering that his bottle of barley wine was empty, he decided to get another beer in the fridge. He whistled merrily when lurching into the kitchen. He discovered that he needed to pee, the urge being almost intolerable. With a moan he hauled out his giant member and peed out the kitchen window and into the garden. An old couple passing by on the street fled in disgust while cursing in Austrian German. While peeing, he opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of strong, dark, lovely ale, opened it with his nose (!!) and drank from it in big man sips.
"A beer for me and a beer for my elk," The One muttered in broken German, having downed half the bottle of the very strong ale. Then he burst out in a roaring laughter, before shadow-boxing with the wall for a couple of minutes. The shadow won.
The big, drunk man plodded careeningly through the doorway and into the living room. He sat down by the table and noticed to his amusement that more replies had come to his post. Now they were even more aggressive, with nothing but name-calling, crude insults, threats and rattling with sabres. Not one solid, coherent argument was there at all. Nobody was able to state in a polite, civilized manner that The One was wrong in his vilification of the Norwegian music industry. As a brilliant reply, The One suggested removing the hands and vocal chords of every fourth musician or singer - leaving the gates open for people who actually possessed musical skills. He then wrote that the same process should be done with anyone affiliated with the hip-hop and rap genre - what those spoiled, criminal, drug addict brats spouted out was not even real music, he wrote.
"Oh, I am so utterly evil..." The One said to himself, before bursting out in the laughter of a hopping mad man. He then stared at his empty bottle of beer. - "Aw, drats! Not again! They make those beer bottles way too small!!"
He whistled merrily when trudging into the kitchen. He discovered that he needed to pee, the urge being almost intolerable. With a moan (and a loud belch) he hauled out his giant member and peed into a nearby plastic bucket. While peeing, he opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of Fürstenberg lager, opened it with his pinkie (!!) and drank from it in big man sips.
"Ahhh! Forest juice!" he exclaimed with an ecstatic look on his ridiculously masculine face. Then he opened another bottle of Fürstenberger since he had already downed the first one. This bottle he nearly swallowed.
The big, drunk man meandered through the doorway and into the living room, swerving violently from side to side - he had not even bothered to put his giant member back into his pants. He fell into the couch with a bawl, nearly orally impaling himself on the beer bottle. Getting up in a sitting position, he noticed that he had got a private message from one of the moderators. He was commanded to immediately stop "trolling the forum", as the moderator put it, or there would be consequences.
To put it mildly, The One was not intimidated by the moderator's feeble threats - he merely flipped off the lap top screen while roaring something totally unintelligible, even to himself. He put the bottle to the mouth and sucked beer out of it like a calf would suck milk from its mother cow. He let out a loud burp, before writing a vile, derogatory reply back to the moderator. Then he started a new topic where he advised every teenager musician to commit suicide, even writing in detail how it could be carried out as efficient as possible. He then started a topic about the necessary extermination of rappers with an IQ lower than their shoe size - according to himself that would effectively wipe out the lot, paving the way for REAL musicians.
Giggling of his cunning mind, he sucked the last drop out of the beer bottle. He hiccuped, burped and let a long, loud and really smelly fart. Nearly crapping his pants, he got up, prompting to get another bottle of beer. He half fell, half staggered into the kitchen, accidentally stumbling in the plastic bucket of urine, flipping it over. With a loud, thundering roar he fell to the floor with a deafening bang. He was bathed in lukewarm piss.
"Rææææh, piece of crrrrap!!" he roared. He tried to get up, but his hands slipped in the urine. He rolled over with another loud roar and eventually managed to balance himself up on his feet again. He discovered that he needed to pee, the urge being almost intolerable. Since his member was already hanging freely out of his pants, he simply let go of his urine where he was standing. Urine beamed across the kitchen and hit the oven and every pan and cauldron there - the leftovers from his dinner was effectively marinated by the warm, ill-smelling liquid.
Since his clothes were soaked in urine, he took them off and simply flung them out the window - he would wash them the next morning, if he remembered it. A little girl riding a bike let out a gasp of disgust, particularly when The One's trousers hit the fence and splashed urine all over her. Crying annoyingly loudly, she biked away from there as fast as her juvenile legs could turn the pedals. The One burst into a roaring laughter, before letting out an ear-piercing primal scream that in his wasted head sounded like the coolest rock and roll growl ever heard. He opened the fridge and took out an 0,5 liter can of some Czech beer he was too drunk to decipher the name of. Trying to open it, he found himself unable to. With lots of cursing and swearing, he eventually took a pencil and drilled a hole in the can. He goffled the entire can in a matter of seconds.
The big, drunk man had to get down on his knees and crawl through the doorway and into the living room. He struggled his way into the couch, making enough roaring noises to wake the dead (thank Heavens the nearest neighbors lived a street away!). Closing one eye to avoid seeing double, he discovered that he had got a new private message. The moderator informed him that he had been banned from the forum. The moderator wrote that he would consider lifting the ban if The One apologized and took back everything he had written.
The One then started typing macabre and extremely graphic death threats in a reply to the private message. His wasted condition made writing very difficult, it took him forever to finish the fifteen-or-so lines of libelous, sickening, nefarious obscenities.
Afterwards he laughed out in triumph, before noticing that he was once again beerless. Standing up, he immediately fell over the table and hit the floor with amazing impact. The table flipped over, sending the lap top down on the soft carpet - rendering it unharmed. The One got up and careened sideways through the doorway and into the kitchen. He slipped in the now cold urine and fell out through the window headfirst, an animalic roar of another world protruding through his lips. Scaring the living daylights out of an elderly lady and a little boy, The One landed on the frozen grass. His stark naked man body made the lady gasp in dismay.
"Oh no!" the little child cried with big eyes. - "Eins is wasted again!"
"Come with me, child," the elderly lady said and pulled the kid with her. - "Don't look at that horrid, stuporous swine!"
The One burst out in a roaring laughter, before getting the urge to pee once again. Since he was outside, lying down and already naked, he simply let go of his urine. Feeling the comforting warmth of the urine seep under him (he was lying on his stomach), he felt another, much less comfortable urge.
"Ræææhh!!" he roared, before vomiting violently. People stared out of every window in the street, and people already out on the street fled the area in horror. The troll was loose again, they all whispered to each other with the calmness so characteristic of Austrians.
When Director came back the next morning, he promised a very hung-over The One never to lock the door to the BDSM cellar again. He had now experienced that a bored The One was one of the most dangerous animals that walked the Earth.
Recently Director had bought a new lap top. Since he had no need for two computers, he had given his old one to The One out of charity (or to avoid having to drag his lap top to a recycle station). The One had accepted the lap top with genuine gratefulness, as it happened very seldom that someone actually gave him something. In lack of better things to do, he started surfing the Internet, chugging beer like there was no tomorrow.
By chance he stumbled upon a Norwegian Internet forum for amateur musicians and bands. Downing a bottle of strong ale, he decided to mess around a bit with the haughty know-it-alls of the forum (despite the omnipresence in Norwegian society of the creativity-killing Law of Jante, young Norwegians had a self-confidence that in no way stood up to their actual abilities; everybody who could play three chords on the guitar regarded themselves experts). He registered on the forum, before writing a lengthy and very scathing rant about the horrendous arrogance of the Norwegian music industry. He totally blasted every single one of the artists of the country, especially the female ones, which he claimed had used their pussy power rather than their talent to get a recording deal (as all Norwegian female artists were as interesting as a bottle of cola). If it was one thing he loved, then it was creating lots and lots of havoc with his superior verbal skills - and especially on the Internet, since nobody there had the balls to physically confront him.
Discovering that his bottle of strong ale was empty, he decided to get another beer in the fridge. He whistled merrily when walking into the kitchen. He discovered that he needed to pee, the urge being almost intolerable. With a moan he hauled out his giant member and peed in the kitchen sink. While peeing, he opened the fridge door and took out a 0,5 liter bottle of barley wine, opened it with his left testicle (!) and drank from it in big man sips. Since the beer type barley wine was at least as strong as wine (hence the name), the alcohol got to his head awfully fast.
"A beer fer meee, an' a beer ferrrr me lassie," The One sang in an odd hybrid of Scottish and Irish with a hint of Cornish in it.
The big, drunk man staggered through the doorway and into the living room. He put the bottle of barley wine down and pressed the F5 button, updating the forum page. Not surprisingly he had got lots of angered replies to his topic. The replies demonstrated that none of the forum members knew what orthography was; the replies were riddled with blatant typos, grammatical errors and other linguistically unpalatable phenomena. The One chuckled when reading the replies, which all branded him 'a bitter, delusional loser who did not get laid', 'a despicable prick who was jealous on his far more talented colleagues', or simply crude, juvenile name-calling. One reply consisted of nothing but "DIE!", followed by what had to be twenty exclamation marks.
He then wrote another lengthy, ill-focused harangue that was so defamatory that it could scare the horns off a cow. He concluded this verbal deluge of slanderous, anti-social atrocities by writing that actually liking Norwegian rock was a sign of severe mental illness that only lobotomy could cure. He also insinuated that a great portion of Norwegians had already been lobotomized from this illness, explaining the unlikely popularity of those bland, boring and overrated rock artists and groups. Upon seeing his published reply, he burst out in a roaring laughter, banging his knees with his big man hands.
Discovering that his bottle of barley wine was empty, he decided to get another beer in the fridge. He whistled merrily when lurching into the kitchen. He discovered that he needed to pee, the urge being almost intolerable. With a moan he hauled out his giant member and peed out the kitchen window and into the garden. An old couple passing by on the street fled in disgust while cursing in Austrian German. While peeing, he opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of strong, dark, lovely ale, opened it with his nose (!!) and drank from it in big man sips.
"A beer for me and a beer for my elk," The One muttered in broken German, having downed half the bottle of the very strong ale. Then he burst out in a roaring laughter, before shadow-boxing with the wall for a couple of minutes. The shadow won.
The big, drunk man plodded careeningly through the doorway and into the living room. He sat down by the table and noticed to his amusement that more replies had come to his post. Now they were even more aggressive, with nothing but name-calling, crude insults, threats and rattling with sabres. Not one solid, coherent argument was there at all. Nobody was able to state in a polite, civilized manner that The One was wrong in his vilification of the Norwegian music industry. As a brilliant reply, The One suggested removing the hands and vocal chords of every fourth musician or singer - leaving the gates open for people who actually possessed musical skills. He then wrote that the same process should be done with anyone affiliated with the hip-hop and rap genre - what those spoiled, criminal, drug addict brats spouted out was not even real music, he wrote.
"Oh, I am so utterly evil..." The One said to himself, before bursting out in the laughter of a hopping mad man. He then stared at his empty bottle of beer. - "Aw, drats! Not again! They make those beer bottles way too small!!"
He whistled merrily when trudging into the kitchen. He discovered that he needed to pee, the urge being almost intolerable. With a moan (and a loud belch) he hauled out his giant member and peed into a nearby plastic bucket. While peeing, he opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of Fürstenberg lager, opened it with his pinkie (!!) and drank from it in big man sips.
"Ahhh! Forest juice!" he exclaimed with an ecstatic look on his ridiculously masculine face. Then he opened another bottle of Fürstenberger since he had already downed the first one. This bottle he nearly swallowed.
The big, drunk man meandered through the doorway and into the living room, swerving violently from side to side - he had not even bothered to put his giant member back into his pants. He fell into the couch with a bawl, nearly orally impaling himself on the beer bottle. Getting up in a sitting position, he noticed that he had got a private message from one of the moderators. He was commanded to immediately stop "trolling the forum", as the moderator put it, or there would be consequences.
To put it mildly, The One was not intimidated by the moderator's feeble threats - he merely flipped off the lap top screen while roaring something totally unintelligible, even to himself. He put the bottle to the mouth and sucked beer out of it like a calf would suck milk from its mother cow. He let out a loud burp, before writing a vile, derogatory reply back to the moderator. Then he started a new topic where he advised every teenager musician to commit suicide, even writing in detail how it could be carried out as efficient as possible. He then started a topic about the necessary extermination of rappers with an IQ lower than their shoe size - according to himself that would effectively wipe out the lot, paving the way for REAL musicians.
Giggling of his cunning mind, he sucked the last drop out of the beer bottle. He hiccuped, burped and let a long, loud and really smelly fart. Nearly crapping his pants, he got up, prompting to get another bottle of beer. He half fell, half staggered into the kitchen, accidentally stumbling in the plastic bucket of urine, flipping it over. With a loud, thundering roar he fell to the floor with a deafening bang. He was bathed in lukewarm piss.
"Rææææh, piece of crrrrap!!" he roared. He tried to get up, but his hands slipped in the urine. He rolled over with another loud roar and eventually managed to balance himself up on his feet again. He discovered that he needed to pee, the urge being almost intolerable. Since his member was already hanging freely out of his pants, he simply let go of his urine where he was standing. Urine beamed across the kitchen and hit the oven and every pan and cauldron there - the leftovers from his dinner was effectively marinated by the warm, ill-smelling liquid.
Since his clothes were soaked in urine, he took them off and simply flung them out the window - he would wash them the next morning, if he remembered it. A little girl riding a bike let out a gasp of disgust, particularly when The One's trousers hit the fence and splashed urine all over her. Crying annoyingly loudly, she biked away from there as fast as her juvenile legs could turn the pedals. The One burst into a roaring laughter, before letting out an ear-piercing primal scream that in his wasted head sounded like the coolest rock and roll growl ever heard. He opened the fridge and took out an 0,5 liter can of some Czech beer he was too drunk to decipher the name of. Trying to open it, he found himself unable to. With lots of cursing and swearing, he eventually took a pencil and drilled a hole in the can. He goffled the entire can in a matter of seconds.
The big, drunk man had to get down on his knees and crawl through the doorway and into the living room. He struggled his way into the couch, making enough roaring noises to wake the dead (thank Heavens the nearest neighbors lived a street away!). Closing one eye to avoid seeing double, he discovered that he had got a new private message. The moderator informed him that he had been banned from the forum. The moderator wrote that he would consider lifting the ban if The One apologized and took back everything he had written.
The One then started typing macabre and extremely graphic death threats in a reply to the private message. His wasted condition made writing very difficult, it took him forever to finish the fifteen-or-so lines of libelous, sickening, nefarious obscenities.
Afterwards he laughed out in triumph, before noticing that he was once again beerless. Standing up, he immediately fell over the table and hit the floor with amazing impact. The table flipped over, sending the lap top down on the soft carpet - rendering it unharmed. The One got up and careened sideways through the doorway and into the kitchen. He slipped in the now cold urine and fell out through the window headfirst, an animalic roar of another world protruding through his lips. Scaring the living daylights out of an elderly lady and a little boy, The One landed on the frozen grass. His stark naked man body made the lady gasp in dismay.
"Oh no!" the little child cried with big eyes. - "Eins is wasted again!"
"Come with me, child," the elderly lady said and pulled the kid with her. - "Don't look at that horrid, stuporous swine!"
The One burst out in a roaring laughter, before getting the urge to pee once again. Since he was outside, lying down and already naked, he simply let go of his urine. Feeling the comforting warmth of the urine seep under him (he was lying on his stomach), he felt another, much less comfortable urge.
"Ræææhh!!" he roared, before vomiting violently. People stared out of every window in the street, and people already out on the street fled the area in horror. The troll was loose again, they all whispered to each other with the calmness so characteristic of Austrians.
When Director came back the next morning, he promised a very hung-over The One never to lock the door to the BDSM cellar again. He had now experienced that a bored The One was one of the most dangerous animals that walked the Earth.
