Path: csiph.com!v102.xanadu-bbs.net!xanadu-bbs.net!feeder.erje.net!eu.feeder.erje.net!news2.arglkargh.de!news.mixmin.net!aioe.org!.POSTED!not-for-mail From: "Rod Pemberton" Newsgroups: comp.lang.forth Subject: Re: hows the communism? Date: Sun, 08 Dec 2013 17:00:57 -0500 Organization: Aioe.org NNTP Server Lines: 53 Message-ID: References: <71443280-191a-403a-9356-b990a22520b5@googlegroups.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: CNsg4fVcCsvs3UaOgZtQCw.user.speranza.aioe.org Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii; format=flowed; delsp=yes Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Complaints-To: abuse@aioe.org User-Agent: Opera Mail/12.16 (Linux) X-Notice: Filtered by postfilter v. 0.8.2 Xref: csiph.com comp.lang.forth:27195 On Sun, 08 Dec 2013 13:59:48 -0500, Alex McDonald wrote: > Yes, as I thought. Completely clueless. Whinge, whinge, whinge... Stop throwing wobbly. Bloody hell, I think you're bladdered again. You a bit narked now? Get stuffed, wanker! An Ode-less Ode to Alex -- After posting an inciteful post from his home via ExternalSeptember to obfuscate his IP, he takes a trip into London via the double-decker bus. He's such a loser that he's absolutely giddy about his post. He can't wait to see how trollish he's been. He thinks to himself: "Those morons on c.l.f. are such losers and idiots, I don't know why I bother anymore and sighs..." The economy is a grind, so he's having a hard time making ends meet. After doing some emergency banking at HSBC since he's just about broke now, he picks up lunch at Subway to save money. He deludes himself into believing he'll lose weight by eating the mayonnaise infused tuna salad sub. Whatever happened to bangers and mash or fish and chips, he ponders. He wants a girlfriend or wife back in his life, but who is going to marry a bald, short, broke, fat fuck like him? He takes his lunch to the easyInternetCafe on Strand to check his post via Google Groups. "Aha! Fish on!" After the thrill wears off, he gets his groceries at Tesco. Then, he waits for the bus so he can go home. He arrives home to a small, empty, lonely flat. One of many rows of non-descript, identical looking, never ending, flats within 5 to 10 miles of downtown. It's an easy place to get lost and never be noticed. He realizes London's like the Labyrinth, in real life: trapped here forever until he dies. He wonders: "How did I get here? How did I waste my life so badly?" To which, there is no reply. He is but one of numerous Alex McDonalds in London. He wishes he had just one true friend, any friend. It's time to feed the cat again... Nothing on the tele, so he goes to the local pub for yet another overpriced warm beer. Maybe, someone will start a fight and knuckle sandwich his face so he feels alive. At the pub, it's all anarchy, Banksy, the Queen, yet one more time. He swears he's going to shoot himself in the head if Sex Pistols comes up again. Despair, boredom, nihilism, alienation, at least, Banksy gets it... Rod Pemberton