heavy
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RE: How can we end forum beef?
(06-26-2018 07:04 AM)AnonymousBosch Wrote: ...
It just occurred to me, that if someone really asked me to sum up Verbal Game, it's the ability of a man to digress from any prescribed topic in a way that makes the group focus on the the digression rather than the ostensible subject at hand.
This is how, say, a cop will pull me over for speeding on a dirt road, and we'll end up sharing a cigarette and he'll eventually forget he's supposed to be reprimanding me. This is how, as a Sigma, you can capture the attention of the woman who is with the genuine alpha of the group, and spirit her away before he's had time to realise what's happened, because he's still trying to complete the same boring story as five minutes before, that everyone's already heard, but keep laughing at, because he's the alpha.
Hell, I remember being back in High School and hearing the playground gossip over the new German Teacher. Everyone was terrified of her strictness - they'd already nicknamed her 'Frau Cow' before I had my first class with her. I broke her by the end of the second lesson, and spent the next two years talking with her in class about anything and everything except what we were supposed to be doing. Screwball comedy jousting. (I can see I had a crush on her, and, most-likely, the feeling was mutual, because I ran into her as an adult, and the old verbal chemistry was still there coupled with the weight of something unspoken that the passage of time had now made impossible).
I did write an Autobiography in my 40th year at the suggestion of female friend who was a book editor. This might be hard to explain, but I'm very, very glad I did do this because my passage through my forties has really erased the earlier years - most of my childhood is now gone, existing only as fragmentary remembrances, and the teen years and a lot of the twenties are also starting to fade.
She loved what I produced, as did those in her circle she shared it with. One note was "It's like 'Angela's Ashes' if it was actually funny", so I went out and bought the book trying to figure out if that was an insult towards me or towards the writer of that book, but, well, it's seven years later and I know it's floating around somewhere in the house but I guess I never did getting around to reading it.
Still, my would-be Editor - and I think I can accurately-guess here that she wanted to be my lover as well - had this constant problem with my use of footnotes:
"Look, they're great, but you need to integrate them into the work".
"The whole point is that they're digressions. That's why they're footnotes."
She looked over her glasses at me, and pointed to her laptop. "That one..." she said, and I knew it was the story about my childhood attraction to what is now known as 'Spoopy', obvious to the serious Occultism of everyone around me, "... is a Novella in itself."
"...and?"
"It's 8,000 words! I checked!"
"That's the whole joke. It's a footnote that's more interesting than the 'true' narrative."
She argued the point, and, so I poked at them a bit, but never really could find a way to integrate them without ruining the rhythm, and, after a couple of weeks, I realised that: I'd theoretically-written the book to my satisfaction; that it wasn't as hard as I expected; and that everything that followed from that point would be tedious publicly-speaking about the work in order to shill it; and it would just be gaining me public attention that I really didn't want.
I realised that, in the end, I'd written it so I'd remember. The detours I traveled along on the journey to my destination were far more interesting than the destination itself. Life's like that.
Similarly, Trump cheerleading, or everyone theorizing endlessly, meh. It's like everyone talking about Sports: no-one's really playing the game, we're all just armchair quarterbacking. This is why, in most social situations, I'm monitoring the conversation enough to look at why I'm paying attention, but watching the unspoken dramas playing out within the group. Who is irritated by whom? Who's not being faithful to their partner? When does the tedious social game snap, and things become really-interesting?
This is why I used to love listening to Forney, Aurini and co. Fascinating personalities that were guaranteed to generate unexpected conflict.
I remember being bored out of mind in a Maths Class - one of those foggy days outside the window that you wish you could just dissolve into to get away from class - only to see the Special Needs girl walk up to the front of the room, and bluntly-ask the teacher if he would please fuck her.
I remember thinking: Now we're talking.
No-one breathed. No-one laughed. This was so far outside the boundaries of the expected situation, that I doubt the reaction would have been much different if the fog had cleared to reveal a UFO sitting on the sports oval.
Later, after class, the hotter girls were all like, toadally - never 'totally' - and ohmigodding about it, and I could only shrug: "What? She was polite about it. She said please."
This is the sort of thing, that if it happens in your social group, you find the girl you're interested in and run you and me against the world game. "Are we the only ones really seeing this?" or "You seem to be the only one who is keeping her shit together." Ask her what she thinks, then keep digressing, and then, you're now your own private clique and everyone else in the room is outside it.
So, Trump thread... rah rah blah blah. Scroll, scroll. Oh, Fisto becoming Duke. Now I'm intrigued. I mean, I have absolutely no idea what exactly to say to him now, because he's obviously-had a very deep personal experience and I feel somewhat spiritually-inferior by comparison. Hell, I had a woman around the corner from my house randomly stop me on the street the other day and ask me if I knew how to fix her laptop - a ridiculous idea looking the way I do! - and it was became fairly obvious that she just wanted any excuse to get me inside so she could then try to seduce me into fucking her. Note that she didn't say 'Please'.
And whilst I didn't fuck her, and cheat on my fiance - I damn well thought about it, so I don't think I possess the necessary virtue to really offer Duke guidance. I mean sure, she'd interrupted me quietly-saying ten Hail Mary's for Fenetre, and I had a 19th Century Prayer book in the back pocket of my pants, but I'm damn sure she didn't stop me because she detected an aura of holiness about me.
Funnily enough, I talked to Bill the next day, and he said how he'd been picking up something from a woman's place the day before, who then asked him if he knew anything about engines, and the game was on.
"She was hogging for it," he said. "I wouldn't have had to say any more. She was on the platter, arse in the air, apple in the mouth, waiting for the stuffing."
I asked him if she lived round the corner, then, when he looked confused, I told him what happened to me, and said "Something got her randy," - a 70's word for all youse bloody kids reading - "and it had happened long before I walked past. Maybe it was you, mate."
"Nah, other side of town." He stopped, then raised an eyebrow. "Wait, so you didn't do it?"
"No. Thought about it. But didn't."
"Man, we must be gettin' old."
I sensed the pause. "So you didn't either? It's not like you to ever let a chance go by."
"I wanted to," he said, "But something held me back. Was thinking it wouldn't go down too well for the business if the bird telegraph fired up." [the small-town female gossip network]
"That'd be the right call. Trust your gut. But, man, that's really not like you." He's always described himself as a self-confessed 'slut' and said the 70's for him were just 'a mass of gash' and somewhere, he 'lost count'.
I, unfortunately, know that feeling. I mean, I know it's at least, but I don't really want to poke that bear. Even my girl said "As long as I'm the last, I don't care."
Bill had grinned, and slyly said "Well, I ain't too prim and proper. I did think last night I'd sent her a little message on Facebook..."
"Ah here we go..."
"Nah, didn't happen. I got a message back from her boyfriend's mother, who said her daughter-in-law is a 'farken feral slutmole' who 'can't even bring the waste bins in from out front without 'accidentally' falling on a dick'."
I laughed damn hard at that one. I remember writing about a woman I knew on here who always said she was raped, which involved 'accidentally' going home with two guys, and 'accidentally' getting cornholed by the pair of them because she 'accidentally' couldn't be bothered calling a cab, and 'accidentally' ending up with Herpes from the experience, which is when she then decided that she must have been raped all along.
Women, man.
See what I mean: the unexpected digression from Bill of not closing was far more interesting than where I expected the conversation to go.
I've never understood what the problem with this kind of thing is. There's a magical invention that can solve everyone's problems if they don't like the content of posts. It involves not responding to the post in a manner that says, stop stealing my attention, or, in that particular case, it must be some instinct to White Knight for Trump, like everyone's going to magically-forget about him if a few random posts of one internet forum are going to steal his limelight.
![[Image: mouse-scroll-wheel.jpg]](http://pctechnotes.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/mouse-scroll-wheel.jpg)
This is why I didn't notice how ridiculous NTP ended up, because I'd already decided he was a retard early on in the piece and had scrolled past everything else he'd ever written, until he got up to the olympic gold medal swimmer with lightning bolts shooting of his arse stage, and even then, he still wasn't that interesting, so, if you look back on the forum, you'll see I immediately got distracted by the member who asked if 'fecal accidents' were normal and claimed a dick had 'accidentally' fallen into his mouth. Maybe he'd gone out the front to bring in his waste bins.
Scrolling seems a lot easier than content policing every single thread with what is allowable conversation. This isn't a horror movie, where you're being forced to read everything against your will by evil forces, and you're secretly-hoping a big strong mod will swoop down and save you from the Bad Man.
![[Image: 3a02579d1a2233c45aab526b448c1f0a.jpg]](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/3a/02/57/3a02579d1a2233c45aab526b448c1f0a.jpg)
Of course, you could always mount the platter, stick your arse in the air and maybe he'll come. But do be polite. Say please.
So glad I did a quick scroll through this thread. Thank you again AB. Very well articulated. I don't have the ability to distill it in such a meaningful form, but this is how I generally read threads as well...or at least I try to.
In case anyone missed this post, it's beautiful.
“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”
(This post was last modified: 06-28-2018 10:55 AM by heavy.)
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