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2月15日 JackanoryThe cat and the chat.
This story is fictional and no events or persons portraid are true life. (lie).
Once upon a time there was a chatroom. A utopia where anyone without humour was chased away and banished from the kingdom of fun. A room so fine that it spawned an empire of mirth that spread from Chapletown to Catcliffe, Dore to Woodhouse.
One day the room was infiltrated by a liberal. A bot so remote from reality the arse (oh so plentiful) was eating the head. Call me your friend our bot announced! I'm your pal talk to me, give me your woes our liberal self righteous bot proudly typed. ERM, but we are all friends we replied, we get pissed together often we know each others woes n have the decency not to bother people with them we protested.
I am your saviour! let me talk crap at you 6 hours a night! I will cure you of your ethan ways! Rejoice in the light proclaims our bot. But you are blocking out our light you dumb f**K wit, we (with our usual respectful way) point out.
This is where our problems begin, as is usual for any chat room we attract our fair share of nutters and do gooders - if u class the two differently - and so we were not too worried. Our complacency as now brought us to war, our bot infiltrated the room and brought forth an army of freaks and manic depressives who each came with a retard under each arm.
Our liberal bot and the army of wrist lovers are now in such numbers that they are spilling over into our nights of alcohol and groping. Our cherished nights of cherry hugging, bernardette ogling, piss funny absurdness as been driven underground for fear of being infected by the weapons of liberal fun destruction.
The General at the head of the liberal invasion now sits proudly in the throne as leader of our group, smug in the glow of the minion lovers, but... is it really so hard for the old faithful rebels to defeat an army of self lovers and soldiers so thick they need colour coded socks to help them put there shoes on the right feet?
The fight back is in progress, the sound of humour will once again echo in the walls of chat as we rebels come blazing back fueled by vodka and armed with years of piss-taking weapons of anti liberalism. We took our eye off the ball, we spent too much time in the pub, but now we're home and we dont like kicking dogs so we gonna kick you self righteous pricks instead.
:D lifes about to get interesting in our rum world. Part two of this... erm... fictional story will appear here shortly.
Discrete comments are welcome plus any plotlines from those who know what the hell it is i've been drinking tonight.
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