Enemy of fun spottedblasmeister wrote: ↑Wed Aug 20, 2014 9:41 pmI'm disappointed in everyone who caved and wrote a thing
Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
- Big Boss
- A tourist trap that can surpass Mystery Shack?
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Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
- nimrod
- yee
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Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Mine was actually really fun to write, and the best one in this whole threadblasmeister wrote: ↑Wed Aug 20, 2014 9:41 pmI'm disappointed in everyone who caved and wrote a thing
ice cold spite etc
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Caldera
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Meh, it was a funny way to kickstart my brain back into english student mode after all these weeks of slacking off.blasmeister wrote: ↑Wed Aug 20, 2014 9:41 pmI'm disappointed in everyone who caved and wrote a thing
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Rachael33
- RIP Syndrome
- i can be yuor angle... or you´re DEBIL
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Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Still fightin' the power here, even if certain some people apparently think fighting the power means "doing exactly what they're told to do"
I am highly disappointed
I am highly disappointed
this post and you´re face ™&©20234 R.I.P. Shitpostal Service LLC
for licensing inquiries, please contact , VP of Licensing at R.I.P. Enterprises
~ORIGINAILL COUNTENTEH SINCE 1666 DONTE is good STEEL PLS~
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ROBOT B9
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Well...here's my thing:
It was a pleasure to ban. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things deleted and IP blocked. With the USB attached mouse in his fist, with this great virtual python spitting its venomous mod text upon the world of The Round Stable, the blood pounded in his head and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of clicks and whirrs to bring down the tatters and shitposting ruins of history. With his symbolic baseball cap numbered 451 on his bald head, and his eyes all orange flame with the thought of what came next, he clicked the mouse button and the poster’s avatar vanished in a bright flash that scorched the forum skin all red and yellow and black. In its place was a small photograph of a moon with the text, as bright red as the fire in his eyes and his heart. “Banned.” With that one word, he knew that he had changed the forum for the better, as was his duty to do so. He strode in a swarm of a screen glare while the post count of the banned user went up in sparkling whirls and disappeared in an instant.
Kefkafloyd grinned, the fierce grin of all moderators and driven back by power. He knew when he’d enter The Mod Blotter the following morning to crow about his triumph, he’d grin in the mirror with the pride of being a man of administration. Later, going to sleep after a night of posting, he would feel the fiery smile still gripped by his face muscles, in the dark. It never went away, that smile. It never ever went away, at least as long as he remembered. Whistling a jaunty tune, Kefka hung up his beetle black cap and removed his forum flameproof uniform neatly. After a brisk and cold shower, Kefka made his way towards the screen once more, posted a scant few niceties towards other users to make sure his position was known and decided to retire for the night.
He left The Round Stable and walked along the midnight street toward the subway where the silent pastel coloured Friendship Express slid soundlessly down its immense tunnel in the earth and let him out with a great puff of warm air on to the tiled escalator rising to the suburb. Whistling, he let the escalator lift him into the still night air. He walked toward the corner, thinking about nothing in particular. Before he reached the corner, however, he slowed as if a wind had sprung up from nowhere, as if someone had quoted his post. The last few nights he had had the most uncertain feelings about the sidewalk just around the corner here, moving in the starlight toward his house. He had felt that a moment before his making the turn, someone had been there. The air seemed charged with a special calm as if someone had waited there, quietly, and only a moment before he came, simply logged off the forums and let him through.
It was a pleasure to ban. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things deleted and IP blocked. With the USB attached mouse in his fist, with this great virtual python spitting its venomous mod text upon the world of The Round Stable, the blood pounded in his head and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of clicks and whirrs to bring down the tatters and shitposting ruins of history. With his symbolic baseball cap numbered 451 on his bald head, and his eyes all orange flame with the thought of what came next, he clicked the mouse button and the poster’s avatar vanished in a bright flash that scorched the forum skin all red and yellow and black. In its place was a small photograph of a moon with the text, as bright red as the fire in his eyes and his heart. “Banned.” With that one word, he knew that he had changed the forum for the better, as was his duty to do so. He strode in a swarm of a screen glare while the post count of the banned user went up in sparkling whirls and disappeared in an instant.
Kefkafloyd grinned, the fierce grin of all moderators and driven back by power. He knew when he’d enter The Mod Blotter the following morning to crow about his triumph, he’d grin in the mirror with the pride of being a man of administration. Later, going to sleep after a night of posting, he would feel the fiery smile still gripped by his face muscles, in the dark. It never went away, that smile. It never ever went away, at least as long as he remembered. Whistling a jaunty tune, Kefka hung up his beetle black cap and removed his forum flameproof uniform neatly. After a brisk and cold shower, Kefka made his way towards the screen once more, posted a scant few niceties towards other users to make sure his position was known and decided to retire for the night.
He left The Round Stable and walked along the midnight street toward the subway where the silent pastel coloured Friendship Express slid soundlessly down its immense tunnel in the earth and let him out with a great puff of warm air on to the tiled escalator rising to the suburb. Whistling, he let the escalator lift him into the still night air. He walked toward the corner, thinking about nothing in particular. Before he reached the corner, however, he slowed as if a wind had sprung up from nowhere, as if someone had quoted his post. The last few nights he had had the most uncertain feelings about the sidewalk just around the corner here, moving in the starlight toward his house. He had felt that a moment before his making the turn, someone had been there. The air seemed charged with a special calm as if someone had waited there, quietly, and only a moment before he came, simply logged off the forums and let him through.
-
Skipper
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Knowledge itself did not yet exist when a peculiar species was born into this world, a species that learned to walk and learned to talk; and then to sit and write. Grouped together, in personal proximity first, then later from distance, they would invent clever noises in their efforts to catch the world in words.
Evidently, not all of them were created equal. There were those who thought before they spoke. No one ever seemed to listen to them. The others spoke before they thought, and they were given just as much power as one might imagine.
For this species loved categorizing and subdividing its kind, there were groups within its groups, a multitude of classes to which one could belong, many of those often acting very unfriendly towards each other.
Keep company with like-minded people only, a common warning would go. Thus there came to be this group of beings who found their relation in the worship of a fictitious kind of ungulate. Shunned by many, they were, but some of them didn’t mind that. Even on this level the subdivision continued.
And so I come to speak about this group within a group within a group within a group within a group within a group within a group within a group: a lone tribe, if you will, a society-by-circumstance. A people known as Ponygoons.
From the dawn of their creation, or so their scriptures tell, they were ruled by a mysterious force they did not understand, and for that reason feared. Offerings were necessary to calm their supreme being if it had become enraged, an occurrence not wholly uncommon. When it was bored it would demand from its feebleminded subjects they prove their value in oft times cruel competitions.
Legend has it, that it was very powerful and fearsome: it could kill people and then revive them after an arbitrary amount of time. Timespace itself would be disrupted in its presence, events from mere moments ago just vanishing from collective memory. People’s identities, it was rumored, had been changed on occasion. Wise men, in all their inherent foolishness, thought they could manage this force if they just verbalized long enough to find the right name for it. And they did. They found that name. They decided to call their supreme being “Kefkafloyd.”
Over the ages only the word survived, reduced to not more but a treasured symbol that everyone was convinced held meaning and therefore, in time, became to mean more than ever could have been intended. A proper amount of theoretic material is available on the subject, in varying degrees of difficulty and outlandishness; however those who have studied the lost tongue of Ancient-Ponygoonian will find the solution laughably simple.
You see, it’s just the words for “unimaginably” and “great,” pasted together in Holy Concatenation. Kefkafloyd is unimaginably great.
Definitions standing in for facts. Of course, where there are words, there are problems. What does one imagine when one thinks of matters, unimaginable? If a magnitude is beyond imagination, how can it even be considered applicable to a measurement such as “greatness,” itself fictitious in nature? Could this ever be understood?
Hopeless. It was a question that many had asked and that probably would never be answered. One of the people that we speak of, one who hoped to be found very clever (one who had a history of thinking more than was good for him), wanted to find out exactly how great “greatness” could be, before it became unimaginable. He abandoned all of home’s comfort and certainty to pursue that knowledge, to go on a search for answers no one had thought to ask.
A quest for truth that would last a lifetime.
Sure, would he have actually gone, it would. But he couldn’t really be bothered to go through all that, so he tried for about a week and then he went back home, his head low, carrying his shame around his neck like a pendant that radiated disappointment. A pariah now, the one that Should Have Had the Answer But Didn’t, he was hated and shunned by those he once considered his friends.
And so he withered away, and died, without ever knowing the answer that he had once so foolishly sought.
But luckily, there were more like him who were enough unlike him to maybe succeed where he had failed. Eventually they should get the answer they so badly wanted, right? Their society had taught them that for every question that could be asked, there was an answer to be found, hadn’t it? So many more sought. Many more gave up. Many more perished in frustration.
Institutions were founded, in a desperate attempt to help them know, their sole raison d'être the pursuit of an answer to this silly question. Teachers came, and study plans, and professors, and syllabi, and grades, and disruption and detention. All that, but nothing more. The efforts were doubled.
Girls. Boys. Women. Men. No matter who or what you were, if you could walk and talk, and sit and write, your life was now in service of The Question. Everyone was supposed to dedicate all their time. From every television set, from every radio, from every street corner sounded the new credo: “Solve It or Die!” It helped nothing. And then she came along.
Betty was her name. She wasn’t what they considered “smart,” but because of that, she was. She thought outside of cleverness, not afraid to say what others found absurd. She was the only one to ever figure it out.
Ultimately, she said, this question could never be answered. “Greatness,” so she said, “does not exist in itself. It must refer to something. So the question is wrong.”
Therefore she proposed a different question. What does Kefkafloyd’s “greatness” refer to? And with that question posed, the solution came to her. Yes, Kefkafloyd was great, but only a part of him. Which part?
The answer became encoded within this text.
Evidently, not all of them were created equal. There were those who thought before they spoke. No one ever seemed to listen to them. The others spoke before they thought, and they were given just as much power as one might imagine.
For this species loved categorizing and subdividing its kind, there were groups within its groups, a multitude of classes to which one could belong, many of those often acting very unfriendly towards each other.
Keep company with like-minded people only, a common warning would go. Thus there came to be this group of beings who found their relation in the worship of a fictitious kind of ungulate. Shunned by many, they were, but some of them didn’t mind that. Even on this level the subdivision continued.
And so I come to speak about this group within a group within a group within a group within a group within a group within a group within a group: a lone tribe, if you will, a society-by-circumstance. A people known as Ponygoons.
From the dawn of their creation, or so their scriptures tell, they were ruled by a mysterious force they did not understand, and for that reason feared. Offerings were necessary to calm their supreme being if it had become enraged, an occurrence not wholly uncommon. When it was bored it would demand from its feebleminded subjects they prove their value in oft times cruel competitions.
Legend has it, that it was very powerful and fearsome: it could kill people and then revive them after an arbitrary amount of time. Timespace itself would be disrupted in its presence, events from mere moments ago just vanishing from collective memory. People’s identities, it was rumored, had been changed on occasion. Wise men, in all their inherent foolishness, thought they could manage this force if they just verbalized long enough to find the right name for it. And they did. They found that name. They decided to call their supreme being “Kefkafloyd.”
Over the ages only the word survived, reduced to not more but a treasured symbol that everyone was convinced held meaning and therefore, in time, became to mean more than ever could have been intended. A proper amount of theoretic material is available on the subject, in varying degrees of difficulty and outlandishness; however those who have studied the lost tongue of Ancient-Ponygoonian will find the solution laughably simple.
You see, it’s just the words for “unimaginably” and “great,” pasted together in Holy Concatenation. Kefkafloyd is unimaginably great.
Definitions standing in for facts. Of course, where there are words, there are problems. What does one imagine when one thinks of matters, unimaginable? If a magnitude is beyond imagination, how can it even be considered applicable to a measurement such as “greatness,” itself fictitious in nature? Could this ever be understood?
Hopeless. It was a question that many had asked and that probably would never be answered. One of the people that we speak of, one who hoped to be found very clever (one who had a history of thinking more than was good for him), wanted to find out exactly how great “greatness” could be, before it became unimaginable. He abandoned all of home’s comfort and certainty to pursue that knowledge, to go on a search for answers no one had thought to ask.
A quest for truth that would last a lifetime.
Sure, would he have actually gone, it would. But he couldn’t really be bothered to go through all that, so he tried for about a week and then he went back home, his head low, carrying his shame around his neck like a pendant that radiated disappointment. A pariah now, the one that Should Have Had the Answer But Didn’t, he was hated and shunned by those he once considered his friends.
And so he withered away, and died, without ever knowing the answer that he had once so foolishly sought.
But luckily, there were more like him who were enough unlike him to maybe succeed where he had failed. Eventually they should get the answer they so badly wanted, right? Their society had taught them that for every question that could be asked, there was an answer to be found, hadn’t it? So many more sought. Many more gave up. Many more perished in frustration.
Institutions were founded, in a desperate attempt to help them know, their sole raison d'être the pursuit of an answer to this silly question. Teachers came, and study plans, and professors, and syllabi, and grades, and disruption and detention. All that, but nothing more. The efforts were doubled.
Girls. Boys. Women. Men. No matter who or what you were, if you could walk and talk, and sit and write, your life was now in service of The Question. Everyone was supposed to dedicate all their time. From every television set, from every radio, from every street corner sounded the new credo: “Solve It or Die!” It helped nothing. And then she came along.
Betty was her name. She wasn’t what they considered “smart,” but because of that, she was. She thought outside of cleverness, not afraid to say what others found absurd. She was the only one to ever figure it out.
Ultimately, she said, this question could never be answered. “Greatness,” so she said, “does not exist in itself. It must refer to something. So the question is wrong.”
Therefore she proposed a different question. What does Kefkafloyd’s “greatness” refer to? And with that question posed, the solution came to her. Yes, Kefkafloyd was great, but only a part of him. Which part?
The answer became encoded within this text.
- Big Boss
- A tourist trap that can surpass Mystery Shack?
- Posts: 108
- Joined: Sat Oct 28, 2017 5:55 pm
- Gender: Male
- Location: Mother Base
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
So much great stuff here, let's rattle down some grades.
Axo: Extra credit for great picture. A great story with excellent beginning, middle, and end. Especially loved the Soviet Robot, he could carry his own series. A***** because + is just not enough and this is WILD.
Nimrod: Well researched though your lack of formatting makes an otherwise good paper mostly unreadable. C.
The Doctor: I'm sending this back because you are not taking this seriously. You've got a lot of talent, and I'd hate to fail you for that. Why not do a comparison between myself, and say, your favorite horses? That subject has always given you inspiration.
Metalsonic: The best formatted thing so far. Properly sourced and everything. I think this one deserves a coveted * GOLD STAR. *
MochaBean: Quite astute of you to make the mythological connections here. This could be the seeds of a great story. B.
Robot B9: Thoroughly enjoyable localization of an excellent work in your native land. You have a future in that business for sure. B+.
Skipper: Very clever! You get a B for "buttes."
Axo: Extra credit for great picture. A great story with excellent beginning, middle, and end. Especially loved the Soviet Robot, he could carry his own series. A***** because + is just not enough and this is WILD.
Nimrod: Well researched though your lack of formatting makes an otherwise good paper mostly unreadable. C.
The Doctor: I'm sending this back because you are not taking this seriously. You've got a lot of talent, and I'd hate to fail you for that. Why not do a comparison between myself, and say, your favorite horses? That subject has always given you inspiration.
Metalsonic: The best formatted thing so far. Properly sourced and everything. I think this one deserves a coveted * GOLD STAR. *
MochaBean: Quite astute of you to make the mythological connections here. This could be the seeds of a great story. B.
Robot B9: Thoroughly enjoyable localization of an excellent work in your native land. You have a future in that business for sure. B+.
Skipper: Very clever! You get a B for "buttes."
- stuff
- Posts: 168
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Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
kefkafloyd: an oral legend
Last edited by stuff on Thu Aug 21, 2014 3:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.
- nimrod
- yee
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Mon Oct 30, 2017 11:11 pm
- Location: Seattle
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Feh. It was formatted in WORD. I went back and edited it. FOR OTHERS NOT FOR YOU.kefkafloyd wrote: ↑Thu Aug 21, 2014 10:17 amNimrod: Well researched though your lack of formatting makes an otherwise good paper mostly unreadable. C.
ice cold spite etc
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Stargazer
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
KEFKA-FLOYD: The Greatest Steel-Trader in the Wild, Wild West
The saloon was near closing time when the stranger arrived. His luminescent #DEE3E4-colored stallion gave a single, lone whinny, snorting softly at him.
“Quiet,” the stranger murmured, stroking through her radiant #5E4FA2 mane. “Here.” A single sugar cube satisfied this young horse; still, she huffed at him, turning up her nose in faux disapproval. The stranger shook his head and turned on his heel, his boots crunching through the sand dusted along the entrance. He coughed, spit out some tobacco, and swung the doors wide open.
“I’d like a place to stay the night.”
“We don’t have free space, friend,” the barkeep said, gravelly voice lacking any and all friendliness.
“That so?” the stranger replied, hand fingering his concealed steel, voice steady as the moonlight. He was well aware of the two men by the far corner, prepared to shoot him on signal, as well as the town sheriff, eyeing him cautiously.
“Uh-huh.”
“Uh-huh,” the stranger echoed. “Well then, perhaps just a whiskey.” He took three bold strides, seating himself at the far end of the bar. “Please, boys, resume your own little lives. You’d only waste your bullets on me.”
Nobody moved a muscle. The stranger chuckled. So did the barkeep, coming over to fix his drink. “Well, we serve payin’ customers. So the arrest can wait, I s’pose.” The glass clinked as it slid into the stranger’s hand.
“Thank you kindly.” A single gulp and the glass was emptied. The stranger grinned at the fiery sensation – a sharp, toothy reveal. “That’s a might fine rye.”
“You’re known around these parts. I suppose you’ve figured that one out by now.”
There was no response save another toothy grin.
“What I want to know, friend, is what is it that you do?”
“My occupation is many things, dear barkeep, and my interests are numerous. What I am most interested in, however, is steel.”
“Steel trade, then.”
“Ah, yes. One might call it that, if one were trying to keep it legal.”
“But you don’t live a life on the side of the law, now do you?”
The stranger chuckled. “No... not quite.” He leaned back, stool creaking with the weight shift. Every pair of eyes was once again on him.
“Well, friend...” the barkeep drawled, inching his pistol out from underneath the bar, “It’s high time you paid up.”
“’Deed it is, dear barkeep.” The stranger coughed once more. “But first, let me tell you a story. It’s a tale I tell every man I’ve ever known, and it’s a tale each one takes with him to the grave.
Dust and moonlight littered the saloon. The two men in the far corner lay slumped on the ground. The sheriff stood perfectly still, a single bullet hole in his forehead, mouth hanging open in shock. The barkeep’s mouth hung open in shock, not comprehending
“Don’t look so scared, dear barkeep. You’re the blind man – the last one to my tale. You get too keep your life.” The stranger turned, boots once again crunching through the sandy entranceway. “Oh, and one more thing – well, two more, technically...” Two steel coins shot out of his hand, hitting the barkeep in each eye. He cried out in pain, grabbing at them at a pitiful attempt to stop what had already been done. Before his vision blacked out completely, he was able to make out the strange words engraved on one coin:
KEFKA-FLOYD
RARITY’S-ROUGHNECKS-GANG
E-PLURIBUS-UNUM
“Damn...” he whispered. “I should never... have passed... that... whiskey...”
And far off in the distance, a luminescent #DEE3E4-colored stallion whinnied, riding off with KEFKA-FLOYD into the moonlight.
The saloon was near closing time when the stranger arrived. His luminescent #DEE3E4-colored stallion gave a single, lone whinny, snorting softly at him.
“Quiet,” the stranger murmured, stroking through her radiant #5E4FA2 mane. “Here.” A single sugar cube satisfied this young horse; still, she huffed at him, turning up her nose in faux disapproval. The stranger shook his head and turned on his heel, his boots crunching through the sand dusted along the entrance. He coughed, spit out some tobacco, and swung the doors wide open.
“I’d like a place to stay the night.”
“We don’t have free space, friend,” the barkeep said, gravelly voice lacking any and all friendliness.
“That so?” the stranger replied, hand fingering his concealed steel, voice steady as the moonlight. He was well aware of the two men by the far corner, prepared to shoot him on signal, as well as the town sheriff, eyeing him cautiously.
“Uh-huh.”
“Uh-huh,” the stranger echoed. “Well then, perhaps just a whiskey.” He took three bold strides, seating himself at the far end of the bar. “Please, boys, resume your own little lives. You’d only waste your bullets on me.”
Nobody moved a muscle. The stranger chuckled. So did the barkeep, coming over to fix his drink. “Well, we serve payin’ customers. So the arrest can wait, I s’pose.” The glass clinked as it slid into the stranger’s hand.
“Thank you kindly.” A single gulp and the glass was emptied. The stranger grinned at the fiery sensation – a sharp, toothy reveal. “That’s a might fine rye.”
“You’re known around these parts. I suppose you’ve figured that one out by now.”
There was no response save another toothy grin.
“What I want to know, friend, is what is it that you do?”
“My occupation is many things, dear barkeep, and my interests are numerous. What I am most interested in, however, is steel.”
“Steel trade, then.”
“Ah, yes. One might call it that, if one were trying to keep it legal.”
“But you don’t live a life on the side of the law, now do you?”
The stranger chuckled. “No... not quite.” He leaned back, stool creaking with the weight shift. Every pair of eyes was once again on him.
“Well, friend...” the barkeep drawled, inching his pistol out from underneath the bar, “It’s high time you paid up.”
“’Deed it is, dear barkeep.” The stranger coughed once more. “But first, let me tell you a story. It’s a tale I tell every man I’ve ever known, and it’s a tale each one takes with him to the grave.
The barkeep scoffed. “That story don’t make no sense. How is a blind man gonna see – holy!-”One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight.
Back to back they faced one another,
Drew their guns and shot each other.
The deaf sheriff heard the noise,
And came and shot the two dead boys.
But soon enough, that sheriff was dead,
Because the steel-trader shot him right in the head!
If you don't believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man – he saw it too.
Dust and moonlight littered the saloon. The two men in the far corner lay slumped on the ground. The sheriff stood perfectly still, a single bullet hole in his forehead, mouth hanging open in shock. The barkeep’s mouth hung open in shock, not comprehending
“Don’t look so scared, dear barkeep. You’re the blind man – the last one to my tale. You get too keep your life.” The stranger turned, boots once again crunching through the sandy entranceway. “Oh, and one more thing – well, two more, technically...” Two steel coins shot out of his hand, hitting the barkeep in each eye. He cried out in pain, grabbing at them at a pitiful attempt to stop what had already been done. Before his vision blacked out completely, he was able to make out the strange words engraved on one coin:
KEFKA-FLOYD
RARITY’S-ROUGHNECKS-GANG
E-PLURIBUS-UNUM
“Damn...” he whispered. “I should never... have passed... that... whiskey...”
And far off in the distance, a luminescent #DEE3E4-colored stallion whinnied, riding off with KEFKA-FLOYD into the moonlight.
- Mr. Big
- いいんですよ
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- Momo
- THIS IS FINE.
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Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
I can't get this outta my head now.
- Big Boss
- A tourist trap that can surpass Mystery Shack?
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Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Wednesday.
- Ragnar
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Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Free reign to talk about Kefkafloyd for a week with little fear of repercussion? Oh boy!
There once was a Kefkafloyd from The Round Stable
whose badpinions were a matter of fable
his articles were preposterous
so the front page wasn't prosperous
and all his threads turned into the panicked yammering 'round the tower of Babel
There once was a Kefkafloyd from The Round Stable
whose badpinions were a matter of fable
his articles were preposterous
so the front page wasn't prosperous
and all his threads turned into the panicked yammering 'round the tower of Babel
Gloriosa Did Nothing Wrong
- Ragnar
- Posts: 13
- Joined: Sun Feb 25, 2018 7:32 pm
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
In cinquain!
Kefka
is never right
can't hardly say a thing
without bringing up colors/fonts
silly
Kefka
is never right
can't hardly say a thing
without bringing up colors/fonts
silly
Gloriosa Did Nothing Wrong
- Ragnar
- Posts: 13
- Joined: Sun Feb 25, 2018 7:32 pm
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
side note: Three Apples owns though and it's cool that you're contributing to that, if for no other reason than because the only thing holding Three Apples back was that it got a little hard to differentiate the characters sometimes, and also it's art
Gloriosa Did Nothing Wrong
- Ragnar
- Posts: 13
- Joined: Sun Feb 25, 2018 7:32 pm
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Also Dress Horse Best Horse but let's not get distracted here
Gloriosa Did Nothing Wrong
- Ragnar
- Posts: 13
- Joined: Sun Feb 25, 2018 7:32 pm
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
One day Kefka said "perhaps I will rule by fear"
and charged at Ponygoons like an angry plow
he banned all shitposting we loved most dear
and brought the forums so low
Yes, perhaps I will rule by fear
Oh fuck a slant rhyme, what is this illness I'v edeveloped, and how can I blame Kefka for this
and charged at Ponygoons like an angry plow
he banned all shitposting we loved most dear
and brought the forums so low
Yes, perhaps I will rule by fear
Oh fuck a slant rhyme, what is this illness I'v edeveloped, and how can I blame Kefka for this
Gloriosa Did Nothing Wrong
- Ragnar
- Posts: 13
- Joined: Sun Feb 25, 2018 7:32 pm
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
*strokes imaginary beard*
now I'm afeared
that Floyd's made all my sickrhymes weird
now I'm afeared
that Floyd's made all my sickrhymes weird
Gloriosa Did Nothing Wrong
- Ragnar
- Posts: 13
- Joined: Sun Feb 25, 2018 7:32 pm
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Prose, then.
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin that cared a lot about Celestia fonts.
Nah, how about
Someone must have been telling lies about Fontra, because he knew he had done nothing wrong, but, one morning, he was probated.
No no no no!
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin that cared a lot about Celestia fonts.
Nah, how about
Someone must have been telling lies about Fontra, because he knew he had done nothing wrong, but, one morning, he was probated.
No no no no!
Gloriosa Did Nothing Wrong
- Mr. Big
- いいんですよ
- Posts: 931
- Joined: Mon Oct 30, 2017 11:00 pm
- Gender: Male
- Location: Tennessee
- Contact:
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Kefka was born in a log cabin millions of years ago in a land nobody remembers. His parents knew he was destined for greatness, so they prayed to Lord Jesus himself that he will be granted an immortality.
Kefka wanted to go to a university, but there was a problem: Universities didn't exist, so he decided he must invent one in order to get a master's degree. Because Kefka has so much free time, he ended up gaining about every single degree available, from Political Science to Engineering to BFAs (he has ten of those). Finally, Kefka got bored with education, so he left.
After walking for years, he ended up in Greek and met this guy named Homer. Homer was having a writer's block, it turns out, and needed story ideas. Kefka, on the fly, came up with a story of what is now known as "The Odyssey". Homer merely wrote down that Kefka said, and that's how it was written. Kefka walked away, and Homer never saw him again.
Details get fuzzy after that. We know he traveled around a lot. At one point he ended up in Italy and met Leonardo DaVinci. He wanted to be an inventor, so Kefka, without thinking, suggested something about a machine that can fly. He was also there when Leonardo DaVinci painted the Mona Lisa. He was standing on the other side, telling jokes in order to get the lady to smile. Sometime later he moved to Spain and met Christopher Columbus. He needed a boat, so Kefka built one for him, in exange for getting a free ride. He also navigated the boat for him because Columbus didn't know much about sailing anyway. It was through this that Kefka discovered what later became the United States of America. Kefka left in disgust because he didn't appreciate Columbus killing all those Indians. He later came back to America, just in time to get a job writing speeches for President Lincoln. He was the guy who wrote the "4 scores" speech to Lincoln, something he did on his spare time in order to help him. He later invented the light bulb, but he gave all the credit to Thomas Edison, because why not? He later regretted it, however, when it became apparent that Edison was an asshole. In the early days of animation, he met a young animator from Kansas City named Walt Disney. He needed a new cartoon star to jump start his career. Kefka suggested that he draw a rabbit. That rabbit became Oswald and it ignited Disney's career. After losing Oswald to Charles Mintz, Disney's associate Ub Iwerks took the character and made him a mouse. He is now a big star on the Disney Channel.
During World War II, he personally bombed both Hiroshima and Nagasaki with his super strength hoping that this would stop all anime from happening. He failed. In the early 1980s he met Bonnie Zacherle, who was developing a toy line called "My Big Ponies". Kefka suggested that she make them smaller in order to save money on toy production. The rest is history.
As for what Kefka is doing now, who knows? But whatever great things he'll do next, we'll know.
Kefka wanted to go to a university, but there was a problem: Universities didn't exist, so he decided he must invent one in order to get a master's degree. Because Kefka has so much free time, he ended up gaining about every single degree available, from Political Science to Engineering to BFAs (he has ten of those). Finally, Kefka got bored with education, so he left.
After walking for years, he ended up in Greek and met this guy named Homer. Homer was having a writer's block, it turns out, and needed story ideas. Kefka, on the fly, came up with a story of what is now known as "The Odyssey". Homer merely wrote down that Kefka said, and that's how it was written. Kefka walked away, and Homer never saw him again.
Details get fuzzy after that. We know he traveled around a lot. At one point he ended up in Italy and met Leonardo DaVinci. He wanted to be an inventor, so Kefka, without thinking, suggested something about a machine that can fly. He was also there when Leonardo DaVinci painted the Mona Lisa. He was standing on the other side, telling jokes in order to get the lady to smile. Sometime later he moved to Spain and met Christopher Columbus. He needed a boat, so Kefka built one for him, in exange for getting a free ride. He also navigated the boat for him because Columbus didn't know much about sailing anyway. It was through this that Kefka discovered what later became the United States of America. Kefka left in disgust because he didn't appreciate Columbus killing all those Indians. He later came back to America, just in time to get a job writing speeches for President Lincoln. He was the guy who wrote the "4 scores" speech to Lincoln, something he did on his spare time in order to help him. He later invented the light bulb, but he gave all the credit to Thomas Edison, because why not? He later regretted it, however, when it became apparent that Edison was an asshole. In the early days of animation, he met a young animator from Kansas City named Walt Disney. He needed a new cartoon star to jump start his career. Kefka suggested that he draw a rabbit. That rabbit became Oswald and it ignited Disney's career. After losing Oswald to Charles Mintz, Disney's associate Ub Iwerks took the character and made him a mouse. He is now a big star on the Disney Channel.
During World War II, he personally bombed both Hiroshima and Nagasaki with his super strength hoping that this would stop all anime from happening. He failed. In the early 1980s he met Bonnie Zacherle, who was developing a toy line called "My Big Ponies". Kefka suggested that she make them smaller in order to save money on toy production. The rest is history.
As for what Kefka is doing now, who knows? But whatever great things he'll do next, we'll know.
Last edited by Mr. Big on Fri Aug 22, 2014 2:41 am, edited 1 time in total.
- BackgroundPony
- I'm ready to initiate self-destruct sequence.
- Posts: 42
- Joined: Tue Oct 31, 2017 12:02 am
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
totally not generated by the first website that came up when i searched for an automated rant generator, no sir:
Lord Kefka Floyd, allow me to introduce myself. I'm one of the victims of your conceited, querulous cop-outs. As a note of explanation for other readers of this letter: Corruption, lying, and hypocrisy are the fundaments of Kefka's beliefs. The full truth of my conclusion I shall develop in the course of this letter but the conclusion's general outline is that if you can make any sense out Kefka's silly, scummy memoirs then you must have gotten higher marks in school than I did. He says that taxpayers are a magic purse that never runs out of gold. Such verbal gems teach us that Kefka says that everyone would be a lot safer if he were to monitor all of our personal communications and financial transactions—even our library records. Why on Earth does Kefka need to monitor our library records? To rephrase that question, does Kefka contend that the majority of vitriolic carousers are heroes, if not saints, because it fits his political agenda or because he's too ignorant of the facts to know that the most perceptive members of our society respond positively to my message that he has no conscience and therefore no feelings of guilt for leaving behind a legacy of perpetual indebtedness in developing countries? On the surface, it would seem to have something to do with the way that his spokesmen hate whomever he tells them to hate. But upon further investigation one will find that the basal lie that underlies all of Kefka's pathetic tracts is that it is dimwitted to question his propositions. Translation: No one is smart enough to see through Kefka's transparent lies. I doubt you need any help from me to identify the supreme idiocy of those views, but you should nevertheless be aware that if Kefka thinks his casus belli represent progress, he should rethink his definition of progress.
Kefka likes to talk about how he is a master of precognition, psychokinesis, remote viewing, and other undeveloped human capabilities. The words sound pretty until you read between the lines and see that Kefka is secretly saying that he intends to produce a large number of absolutely refractory extravagancies, most abysmal indecencies, and, above all, the most mean-spirited blasphemies against everything that I hold most sacred and most dear. If you think about it you'll see that his illaudable press releases are merely a distraction. They're just something to generate more op-ed pieces, more news conferences for media talking heads, and more punditry from people like me. Meanwhile, Kefka's groupies are continuing their quiet work of advancing Kefka's real goal, which is to redefine unbridled self-indulgence as a virtue, as the ultimate test of personal freedom. Be forewarned: Kefka insists that human beings should be appraised by the number of things and the amount of money they possess instead of by their internal value and achievements. How can he be so blind? Very easily. Basically, Kefka swims in a sea of presentism, the waters of which roil with anger and resentment. Most of that anger and resentment is directed towards people like me who express our concerns about Kefka's crude machinations.
Anything may happen if Kefka is able to take the robes of political power off the shoulders of the few honest people who wear them and put them upon the shoulders of the worst kinds of argumentative, militant loan sharks there are. Beer-guzzling pickpockets may carve out space in the mainstream for morally questionable politics. Tasteless mob bosses may reduce meaningful political discussions to “my team versus your team” identity-based politics. And judgmental freeloaders may deny that Kefka claims to have solutions to all of our problems. Usually, though, these supposed solutions ride on the backs of people who are poor, powerless, or who don't have the clout to explain the Kefka Floyd factor in the equation of irreligionism. It's these sorts of “solutions”, therefore, that demonstrate how Kefka is the secret player behind the present, foolish political scene. He must be brought out from behind the curtain before it's too late, before his chums keep a close eye on those who look like they might think an unapproved thought.
I am certain that if I asked the next person I meet if he would want Kefka to let down ladders that the headstrong, blasphemous, and noisome scramble to climb, he would say no. Yet we all stand idly by while Kefka claims that it's okay if his escapades initially cause our quality of life to degrade because “sometime”, “someone” will do “something” “somehow” to counteract that trend. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it true that we must recognize that I don't think it would be unfair to say that finding problems with his testy sallies is as easy as shooting fish in a barrel? Where does the line get drawn?
All of Kefka's ethics are local and personal and consequently gross and selfish. No joke. I can certainly suggest how Kefka ought to behave. Ultimately, however, the burden of acting with moral rectitude lies with Kefka himself. You may be surprised to learn that I was once like him. I, too, wanted to spoon-feed us his pabulum. It interfered with my judgment, my reasoning, and my ability to help others to see through the empty and meaningless statements uttered by him and his blackshirts. A central fault line runs through each of his complaints. Specifically, he is completely unambitious. We all are, to some extent, but Kefka sets the curve.
There is an unpleasant fact, painful to the tender-minded, that one can deduce from the laws of nature. This fact is also conclusively established by direct observation. It is a fact so obvious that rational people have always known it and no one doubted it until Kefka and his patsies started trying to deny it. The fact to which I am referring states that if we foreground the cognitive and emotional palette of Kefka's lecherous paroxysms rather than their pathology we can enter vitally into his world. Why do we want to do that? Because if I want to question my existence, that should be my prerogative. I don't need Kefka forcing me to.
Kefka's drones have recently enjoyed some success at putting increased disruptive powers in the hands of jackbooted balloon heads. Kefka considers this a reason to kvell. In contrast, I consider it a reason to take a no-nonsense approach to dealing with jealous, maledicent agelasts. Shame on him for thinking that people like you and me are parviscient! It may seem at first that I am weary of listening to him descant on the glories of tribalism. When we descend to details, however, we see that Kefka is really up to something. I don't know exactly what, but although I disapprove of what he says, I will defend to the death his right to say it. Or, at a minimum, I'll tell Kefka what we all think of him—and boy, do I have some choice words I'd like to use. Okay, that's not quite the same as “defending to the death,” but at least it demonstrates that Kefka generally tries to keep his distance from the contemptuous slackers who pose a threat to personal autonomy and social development. However, he sees nothing wrong with feeding us a diet of robbery, murder, violence, and all other manner of trials and tribulations. Ah the sweet, sweet smell of hypocrisy.
I like to say that Kefka should think twice before he decides to prostrate the honor, power, independence, laws, and property of entire countries. Kefka never directly acknowledges such truisms but instead tries to turn them around to make it sound like I'm saying that we should all bear the brunt of his actions. I guess that version better fits his style—or should I say, “agenda”? His favorite buzzword these days is “crisis”. Kefka likes to tell us that we have a crisis on our hands. He then argues that the only reasonable approach to combat this crisis is for him to submerge us in a sea of mercantalism. In my opinion, the real crisis is the dearth of people who understand that Kefka has got to go—and yesterday isn't soon enough.
Kefka's collaborators have been staggering around like punch-drunk fighters hit too many times—stunned, confused, betrayed, and trying desperately to rationalize Kefka's wanton artifices. It is indeed not a pretty sight. Given that it is not possible fully to understand the present except as a projection of the past, isn't it obvious that one personality trait that's common to many foolhardy rabble-rousers is arrogance—a trait that Kefka has in abundance?
In the past, I've said that Kefka always tries to shift blame from himself to the most nefarious rotters you'll ever see. Were I to make such a generalization today it would contain a few “weasel words”—an escape hatch or that indispensable cliche that we must assert ourselves as champions of freedom and take a strong position on Kefka's proposed social programs, which, after all, interfere with my efforts to tear down Kefka's fortress of wowserism. But because Kefka should stop and savor life, not eliminate the plebiscitary mechanisms that ensure a free and democratic society, I am not ready to retract my conviction or to recant error. Given the tenor of our times, it's scary how effectively he has been promoting a culture of dependency and failure. I deeply regret the loss of life and injuries sustained by this tragedy. I am currently working to understand the surrounding circumstances so as to improve our ability to launch an all-out ideological attack against the forces of warlordism. Unfortunately, there is no shortage of individuals and organizations, many of whom may seem innocent at first glance, who secretly want to monopolize the press. I can assure you that Kefka's older threats were unimaginative enough. His latest ones are undoubtedly beyond the pale. In closing, I ask that you swear in the holy sanctuary of your soul that you will never stop inculcating in the reader an inquisitive spirit and a skepticism about beliefs that Lord Kefka Floyd's comrades take for granted. That's how I live my life, and that's how you should consider living yours.
Lord Kefka Floyd, allow me to introduce myself. I'm one of the victims of your conceited, querulous cop-outs. As a note of explanation for other readers of this letter: Corruption, lying, and hypocrisy are the fundaments of Kefka's beliefs. The full truth of my conclusion I shall develop in the course of this letter but the conclusion's general outline is that if you can make any sense out Kefka's silly, scummy memoirs then you must have gotten higher marks in school than I did. He says that taxpayers are a magic purse that never runs out of gold. Such verbal gems teach us that Kefka says that everyone would be a lot safer if he were to monitor all of our personal communications and financial transactions—even our library records. Why on Earth does Kefka need to monitor our library records? To rephrase that question, does Kefka contend that the majority of vitriolic carousers are heroes, if not saints, because it fits his political agenda or because he's too ignorant of the facts to know that the most perceptive members of our society respond positively to my message that he has no conscience and therefore no feelings of guilt for leaving behind a legacy of perpetual indebtedness in developing countries? On the surface, it would seem to have something to do with the way that his spokesmen hate whomever he tells them to hate. But upon further investigation one will find that the basal lie that underlies all of Kefka's pathetic tracts is that it is dimwitted to question his propositions. Translation: No one is smart enough to see through Kefka's transparent lies. I doubt you need any help from me to identify the supreme idiocy of those views, but you should nevertheless be aware that if Kefka thinks his casus belli represent progress, he should rethink his definition of progress.
Kefka likes to talk about how he is a master of precognition, psychokinesis, remote viewing, and other undeveloped human capabilities. The words sound pretty until you read between the lines and see that Kefka is secretly saying that he intends to produce a large number of absolutely refractory extravagancies, most abysmal indecencies, and, above all, the most mean-spirited blasphemies against everything that I hold most sacred and most dear. If you think about it you'll see that his illaudable press releases are merely a distraction. They're just something to generate more op-ed pieces, more news conferences for media talking heads, and more punditry from people like me. Meanwhile, Kefka's groupies are continuing their quiet work of advancing Kefka's real goal, which is to redefine unbridled self-indulgence as a virtue, as the ultimate test of personal freedom. Be forewarned: Kefka insists that human beings should be appraised by the number of things and the amount of money they possess instead of by their internal value and achievements. How can he be so blind? Very easily. Basically, Kefka swims in a sea of presentism, the waters of which roil with anger and resentment. Most of that anger and resentment is directed towards people like me who express our concerns about Kefka's crude machinations.
Anything may happen if Kefka is able to take the robes of political power off the shoulders of the few honest people who wear them and put them upon the shoulders of the worst kinds of argumentative, militant loan sharks there are. Beer-guzzling pickpockets may carve out space in the mainstream for morally questionable politics. Tasteless mob bosses may reduce meaningful political discussions to “my team versus your team” identity-based politics. And judgmental freeloaders may deny that Kefka claims to have solutions to all of our problems. Usually, though, these supposed solutions ride on the backs of people who are poor, powerless, or who don't have the clout to explain the Kefka Floyd factor in the equation of irreligionism. It's these sorts of “solutions”, therefore, that demonstrate how Kefka is the secret player behind the present, foolish political scene. He must be brought out from behind the curtain before it's too late, before his chums keep a close eye on those who look like they might think an unapproved thought.
I am certain that if I asked the next person I meet if he would want Kefka to let down ladders that the headstrong, blasphemous, and noisome scramble to climb, he would say no. Yet we all stand idly by while Kefka claims that it's okay if his escapades initially cause our quality of life to degrade because “sometime”, “someone” will do “something” “somehow” to counteract that trend. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it true that we must recognize that I don't think it would be unfair to say that finding problems with his testy sallies is as easy as shooting fish in a barrel? Where does the line get drawn?
All of Kefka's ethics are local and personal and consequently gross and selfish. No joke. I can certainly suggest how Kefka ought to behave. Ultimately, however, the burden of acting with moral rectitude lies with Kefka himself. You may be surprised to learn that I was once like him. I, too, wanted to spoon-feed us his pabulum. It interfered with my judgment, my reasoning, and my ability to help others to see through the empty and meaningless statements uttered by him and his blackshirts. A central fault line runs through each of his complaints. Specifically, he is completely unambitious. We all are, to some extent, but Kefka sets the curve.
There is an unpleasant fact, painful to the tender-minded, that one can deduce from the laws of nature. This fact is also conclusively established by direct observation. It is a fact so obvious that rational people have always known it and no one doubted it until Kefka and his patsies started trying to deny it. The fact to which I am referring states that if we foreground the cognitive and emotional palette of Kefka's lecherous paroxysms rather than their pathology we can enter vitally into his world. Why do we want to do that? Because if I want to question my existence, that should be my prerogative. I don't need Kefka forcing me to.
Kefka's drones have recently enjoyed some success at putting increased disruptive powers in the hands of jackbooted balloon heads. Kefka considers this a reason to kvell. In contrast, I consider it a reason to take a no-nonsense approach to dealing with jealous, maledicent agelasts. Shame on him for thinking that people like you and me are parviscient! It may seem at first that I am weary of listening to him descant on the glories of tribalism. When we descend to details, however, we see that Kefka is really up to something. I don't know exactly what, but although I disapprove of what he says, I will defend to the death his right to say it. Or, at a minimum, I'll tell Kefka what we all think of him—and boy, do I have some choice words I'd like to use. Okay, that's not quite the same as “defending to the death,” but at least it demonstrates that Kefka generally tries to keep his distance from the contemptuous slackers who pose a threat to personal autonomy and social development. However, he sees nothing wrong with feeding us a diet of robbery, murder, violence, and all other manner of trials and tribulations. Ah the sweet, sweet smell of hypocrisy.
I like to say that Kefka should think twice before he decides to prostrate the honor, power, independence, laws, and property of entire countries. Kefka never directly acknowledges such truisms but instead tries to turn them around to make it sound like I'm saying that we should all bear the brunt of his actions. I guess that version better fits his style—or should I say, “agenda”? His favorite buzzword these days is “crisis”. Kefka likes to tell us that we have a crisis on our hands. He then argues that the only reasonable approach to combat this crisis is for him to submerge us in a sea of mercantalism. In my opinion, the real crisis is the dearth of people who understand that Kefka has got to go—and yesterday isn't soon enough.
Kefka's collaborators have been staggering around like punch-drunk fighters hit too many times—stunned, confused, betrayed, and trying desperately to rationalize Kefka's wanton artifices. It is indeed not a pretty sight. Given that it is not possible fully to understand the present except as a projection of the past, isn't it obvious that one personality trait that's common to many foolhardy rabble-rousers is arrogance—a trait that Kefka has in abundance?
In the past, I've said that Kefka always tries to shift blame from himself to the most nefarious rotters you'll ever see. Were I to make such a generalization today it would contain a few “weasel words”—an escape hatch or that indispensable cliche that we must assert ourselves as champions of freedom and take a strong position on Kefka's proposed social programs, which, after all, interfere with my efforts to tear down Kefka's fortress of wowserism. But because Kefka should stop and savor life, not eliminate the plebiscitary mechanisms that ensure a free and democratic society, I am not ready to retract my conviction or to recant error. Given the tenor of our times, it's scary how effectively he has been promoting a culture of dependency and failure. I deeply regret the loss of life and injuries sustained by this tragedy. I am currently working to understand the surrounding circumstances so as to improve our ability to launch an all-out ideological attack against the forces of warlordism. Unfortunately, there is no shortage of individuals and organizations, many of whom may seem innocent at first glance, who secretly want to monopolize the press. I can assure you that Kefka's older threats were unimaginative enough. His latest ones are undoubtedly beyond the pale. In closing, I ask that you swear in the holy sanctuary of your soul that you will never stop inculcating in the reader an inquisitive spirit and a skepticism about beliefs that Lord Kefka Floyd's comrades take for granted. That's how I live my life, and that's how you should consider living yours.
-
Aracat
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
I'm not sure if repeating the word "pony" 500 times with occasional capitalization and punctuation would be funnier than scraping every line Kefka has ever said in IRC, feeding it to a Berrybot/Yellowbot analogue and extracting 500 words of nonsense from that.
Decisions...
Decisions...
- ToastGhost
- Big adventure's waiting.
- Posts: 399
- Joined: Tue Oct 31, 2017 7:23 pm
- Gender: Male
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
The Ballad of Kefka-Floyd
An Epic Poem in Many Parts
With the rise of man and animal, did it bring
And in gentle accordance, it would sing
A treatise upon which we would come to rely
Between man and beast that allowed both to survive
With fields plowed and companions made
And in the orchards everlasting gaze
Underneath the fruit tree, both red and soft
Relax'd a good man, and cider he quaffed
His name at his birth, given Kefka Floyd
In Sweet Apple Acres, he was employed
And though you say, how handsome he must be
I must say unto you, that he was pony
It had happened one day, as the youth lay
Upon his gold throne, some folks they do say
Had he a gallant voice and demeanor
For he 'twas the forums moderator
For four years then and another years four
He played the role of administrator
Until he washed up on a foreign shore
In search of the equines he did adore
And through a change that shook his very core
His form had changed, and was human no more
"What magic is this?" He spoke, "Please, pray tell!"
"Lost I my memory under some spell?"
True, many things he did not remember
But he had known it was near September
Asked he "Were not I just at summer's end?
In search of horses, nay, also friends?
But how can that be, when horse I do see
Upon my reflection, in this blue sea?"
His words he spoke true, amidst surf and sand
Had he four legs, and a hoof for a hand
Tis strange, he had thought, how queer it must be
To have no memories of being pony!
For many hours did he ponder his state
How he came to be, unknowing of fate
"I must be here for a reason" he said
"'Less this be a vision from my dream bed!"
As he lay in the sand, he gave a great sigh
Unable to answer his question of why
His eyes idly fixed on the clouds way up high
Watching their shape and the way they flew by
Until at last he heard a voice saying "Hi!"
A voice nearby, from one given Pinkie Pie
He got up quickly, then heard a loud "WOAH!!"
"You must be new here, and I sure would know!
I know everyone that does live in this town,
And your face is one I've not seen around!"
His turn to speak, "Oh how weird it must seem!
But I know your face, as if from a dream...
But I've seem to've lost it, if I once knew
My name or your name, so who am I, who?"
"Beats me!" she did say, the pony of pink
"My name's Pinkie Pie, or at least I think!
You cannot remember, no thing at all?
And though I doubt it, remember a fall?"
He shook his head nay, "Neigh, I cannot deduce
My reason for being (with a horse caboose)!
Our questions are good, though answers we lack
And then there's the question of how I get back!"
"Don't worry, I know a Princess!" said she
"She's good as this stuff, a clever pony!
And should you need rest, she lives in a tree
Or you could instead come stay over with me
There's plenty of space, and the rent is free
And lots of good food; it's a bakery!"
He said, "Thanks for your generosity."
She replied "No, that's my friend Rarity!
But feel free to stay as long as needs be
And if you need work, there's work bucking trees!"
And though he would make it back on some day
For some while in Ponyville he would stay
But alas, I'm afraid, the story's at ends
With Pinkie Pie saying, "I just know we'll be friends!"
An Epic Poem in Many Parts
With the rise of man and animal, did it bring
And in gentle accordance, it would sing
A treatise upon which we would come to rely
Between man and beast that allowed both to survive
With fields plowed and companions made
And in the orchards everlasting gaze
Underneath the fruit tree, both red and soft
Relax'd a good man, and cider he quaffed
His name at his birth, given Kefka Floyd
In Sweet Apple Acres, he was employed
And though you say, how handsome he must be
I must say unto you, that he was pony
It had happened one day, as the youth lay
Upon his gold throne, some folks they do say
Had he a gallant voice and demeanor
For he 'twas the forums moderator
For four years then and another years four
He played the role of administrator
Until he washed up on a foreign shore
In search of the equines he did adore
And through a change that shook his very core
His form had changed, and was human no more
"What magic is this?" He spoke, "Please, pray tell!"
"Lost I my memory under some spell?"
True, many things he did not remember
But he had known it was near September
Asked he "Were not I just at summer's end?
In search of horses, nay, also friends?
But how can that be, when horse I do see
Upon my reflection, in this blue sea?"
His words he spoke true, amidst surf and sand
Had he four legs, and a hoof for a hand
Tis strange, he had thought, how queer it must be
To have no memories of being pony!
For many hours did he ponder his state
How he came to be, unknowing of fate
"I must be here for a reason" he said
"'Less this be a vision from my dream bed!"
As he lay in the sand, he gave a great sigh
Unable to answer his question of why
His eyes idly fixed on the clouds way up high
Watching their shape and the way they flew by
Until at last he heard a voice saying "Hi!"
A voice nearby, from one given Pinkie Pie
He got up quickly, then heard a loud "WOAH!!"
"You must be new here, and I sure would know!
I know everyone that does live in this town,
And your face is one I've not seen around!"
His turn to speak, "Oh how weird it must seem!
But I know your face, as if from a dream...
But I've seem to've lost it, if I once knew
My name or your name, so who am I, who?"
"Beats me!" she did say, the pony of pink
"My name's Pinkie Pie, or at least I think!
You cannot remember, no thing at all?
And though I doubt it, remember a fall?"
He shook his head nay, "Neigh, I cannot deduce
My reason for being (with a horse caboose)!
Our questions are good, though answers we lack
And then there's the question of how I get back!"
"Don't worry, I know a Princess!" said she
"She's good as this stuff, a clever pony!
And should you need rest, she lives in a tree
Or you could instead come stay over with me
There's plenty of space, and the rent is free
And lots of good food; it's a bakery!"
He said, "Thanks for your generosity."
She replied "No, that's my friend Rarity!
But feel free to stay as long as needs be
And if you need work, there's work bucking trees!"
And though he would make it back on some day
For some while in Ponyville he would stay
But alas, I'm afraid, the story's at ends
With Pinkie Pie saying, "I just know we'll be friends!"
Last edited by ToastGhost on Fri Aug 22, 2014 5:51 am, edited 1 time in total.
- ToastGhost
- Big adventure's waiting.
- Posts: 399
- Joined: Tue Oct 31, 2017 7:23 pm
- Gender: Male
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
sorry if the ending's rushed but it's near 6 AM and I ran out of drugs/creative reasons as to why you got teleported to the pony realm
Celestia Ex Machina
edit: added a title
Celestia Ex Machina
edit: added a title
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Skipper
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
So, you kind of got visited by the Person from Fetlock Porlock?
- stuff
- Posts: 168
- Joined: Tue Oct 31, 2017 3:15 am
- Location: 36th state
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
kefka grade the essays
- nimrod
- yee
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Mon Oct 30, 2017 11:11 pm
- Location: Seattle
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Why you gotta bring that up, man? That was my life's work.
ice cold spite etc
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Dragongem
- ToastGhost
- Big adventure's waiting.
- Posts: 399
- Joined: Tue Oct 31, 2017 7:23 pm
- Gender: Male
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
have I earned moderator status for my 600+ try-hard story yet?
- Ragnar
- Posts: 13
- Joined: Sun Feb 25, 2018 7:32 pm
- Big Boss
- A tourist trap that can surpass Mystery Shack?
- Posts: 108
- Joined: Sat Oct 28, 2017 5:55 pm
- Gender: Male
- Location: Mother Base
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
GRADING TIME WHILE I AM WATCHING THE SIMPSONS
Stuff: Riveting. These rhymes are bustin'. A±
Stargazer: I was on the edge of my seat. You've got a real talent for writing western thrillers. Let's make a drinking game out of it. B™.
Ragnar: It is true I did not specify that the 500 words had to be in one post. You outwitted me fair and square. A+.
Mr. Big: I did all that stuff? How smart of me! B+.
Background Pony: This is a work befitting of your name, sound and fury signifying nothing. B-.
ToastGhost: Congratulations, you wrote a human in equestria thing, turns out you are the brony. P+++
Stuff: Riveting. These rhymes are bustin'. A±
Stargazer: I was on the edge of my seat. You've got a real talent for writing western thrillers. Let's make a drinking game out of it. B™.
Ragnar: It is true I did not specify that the 500 words had to be in one post. You outwitted me fair and square. A+.
Mr. Big: I did all that stuff? How smart of me! B+.
Background Pony: This is a work befitting of your name, sound and fury signifying nothing. B-.
ToastGhost: Congratulations, you wrote a human in equestria thing, turns out you are the brony. P+++
- Ragnar
- Posts: 13
- Joined: Sun Feb 25, 2018 7:32 pm
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Ain't trying to outwit you man, I just assumed it was cool whilst also trying to make you laughkefkafloyd wrote: ↑Sat Aug 23, 2014 12:09 amRagnar: It is true I did not specify that the 500 words had to be in one post. You outwitted me fair and square. A+.
Gloriosa Did Nothing Wrong
- stuff
- Posts: 168
- Joined: Tue Oct 31, 2017 3:15 am
- Location: 36th state
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
aw hell yeah, an A plus/minus
btw i referenced a few members in my story so they can feel validated. check it
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ROBOT B9
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
Stuff, I read your essay in the voice of Johnny Cash and it was amazing that way.
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Yellowbot
Re: Obvious Honeypot of Secrecy
(doorbell rings) incoming pizza delivery. mary: open main door. tip pizza guy. wait. we didn't see part 3
"why think small?" oh hey mike is the volcano with her
Pizza the hut
And sissy who is named keven. and is undeniably fun to read. its a pot
Isn't most honey fake now?
Dear mike dawson,
Opened the floodgates, let the boy frame have a laugh riot.
Kefka floyd laugh mike dawson jokes
Just laugh throb and surge, that comic by marvel
"wait a minute... is mike dawson, mike dawson tells everyone about his plans are foiled, japanese waluigi
Download a coffee, now, would you, uh, don't think mike dawson honey pot
Honey i'm trying to connect for me 10 minutes away from my own place as a gif.
Your goal in mind with videos from people, not much fun drawing a horse.just want to laugh about it feels kinda longer than mail
(*tossed a random pot
Beelzemon and...oh wow i didn't produce it she'd be really clever with this episode, so now balrog is helping its really creepy yaaay
Beast boy, what are those blaster sound effect sound like you're doing and basically it really that creepy kefka floyd laugh mike dawson as a ferrel deer
The inn closes shop at midnight to appease our dark purpose loves bullets. it's almost fitting that picture looks like kefka kind of
Kefka floyd must know
Least now i heard of. i should message blargh to tell kefka that it lost some weight recently. it consists of cells, that the ventriloqust and scarface have the ps4 were directly backwards-comatible, i wouldn't get vary far in combat mag
throw the apples have an odd romhack. its almost midnight..
He honors the way there
it doesn't lend itself well to watch horses in that creepy kefka floyd laugh mike dawson punch-the worst salesmen
I preferred binaltech over masterpiece
"gosh honey i'm trying hard enough it will stop your broadcast to get at all times,
"why he even was that creepy kefka floyd honey pot darlings johnny cash
Yes. boosting twilight's magic stat makes her that creepy still
Old creepy library
spooky rarity darlings honey pot almost half the screen
*obey the law, break their phones all the weight hsift the right time so that changed so much dash
Lloooooool dash
Hi kefkafloyd
Yellowbot, fuck you baltimore otp
Kefkafloyd why is aj being able to, but the puzles did seam better
Kefkafloyd and quanta banned for three and a legit game over, we got hitler
otp
Kefka floyd must know
Cockatrice x rainbowshine otp
(*in animation. when compaired to scott ,who i can occupy that position, i'm a dirty joke grunkle stan trapped on a slip-n-slide
Need to breathe in space, noone can stop john smooze
Cena x grunkle stan pics are no ryan cutouts anywhere
creepy kefka floyd super slam
John dimaggio!
Some information for the a in aramek not capitalized? I feel because we enjoy the idea buit the execution is balls
kefka floyd laugh honey pot darlings
Surfing john cena
Smoke em if you carpooled with someone?
"why think small?" oh hey mike is the volcano with her
Pizza the hut
And sissy who is named keven. and is undeniably fun to read. its a pot
Isn't most honey fake now?
Dear mike dawson,
Opened the floodgates, let the boy frame have a laugh riot.
Kefka floyd laugh mike dawson jokes
Just laugh throb and surge, that comic by marvel
"wait a minute... is mike dawson, mike dawson tells everyone about his plans are foiled, japanese waluigi
Download a coffee, now, would you, uh, don't think mike dawson honey pot
Honey i'm trying to connect for me 10 minutes away from my own place as a gif.
Your goal in mind with videos from people, not much fun drawing a horse.just want to laugh about it feels kinda longer than mail
(*tossed a random pot
Beelzemon and...oh wow i didn't produce it she'd be really clever with this episode, so now balrog is helping its really creepy yaaay
Beast boy, what are those blaster sound effect sound like you're doing and basically it really that creepy kefka floyd laugh mike dawson as a ferrel deer
The inn closes shop at midnight to appease our dark purpose loves bullets. it's almost fitting that picture looks like kefka kind of
Kefka floyd must know
Least now i heard of. i should message blargh to tell kefka that it lost some weight recently. it consists of cells, that the ventriloqust and scarface have the ps4 were directly backwards-comatible, i wouldn't get vary far in combat mag
throw the apples have an odd romhack. its almost midnight..
He honors the way there
it doesn't lend itself well to watch horses in that creepy kefka floyd laugh mike dawson punch-the worst salesmen
I preferred binaltech over masterpiece
"gosh honey i'm trying hard enough it will stop your broadcast to get at all times,
"why he even was that creepy kefka floyd honey pot darlings johnny cash
Yes. boosting twilight's magic stat makes her that creepy still
Old creepy library
spooky rarity darlings honey pot almost half the screen
*obey the law, break their phones all the weight hsift the right time so that changed so much dash
Lloooooool dash
Hi kefkafloyd
Yellowbot, fuck you baltimore otp
Kefkafloyd why is aj being able to, but the puzles did seam better
Kefkafloyd and quanta banned for three and a legit game over, we got hitler
otp
Kefka floyd must know
Cockatrice x rainbowshine otp
(*in animation. when compaired to scott ,who i can occupy that position, i'm a dirty joke grunkle stan trapped on a slip-n-slide
Need to breathe in space, noone can stop john smooze
Cena x grunkle stan pics are no ryan cutouts anywhere
creepy kefka floyd super slam
John dimaggio!
Some information for the a in aramek not capitalized? I feel because we enjoy the idea buit the execution is balls
kefka floyd laugh honey pot darlings
Surfing john cena
Smoke em if you carpooled with someone?