Review A tale of sorrow and despaire.

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They are as a dream, these last few days. A semi-waking nightmare.

I begin my tale on a pleasant Autumn evening. I was in my umptuously appointed boudoir, giving vigorous comfort to a distraught scullery maid whose only son had recently disappeared in mysterious circumstances while in my care.

Sharp knocking was heard at my door, and I bellowed that the purpose of this knocking should be of the gravest import lest the person attached to those rapping knuckles experience the full force of my sternest displeasure.

A senior valet's voice passed to me news from the arena where my beloved Blues were at match with the a'cursed Collinge-wood team. Our warriors led by a slender margin at one-quarter time, our nimble forward line matching the fat and slovenly Collinge-wood backs.

The news pleased me greatly, such that my manliness swelled forth and I comforted the maid thrice more.

Time passed during my ministrations. A new knock was heard, this time timorous and weak. I shouted for the panty-waist to expel his message from his putrid, be-scabbed word-orifice or be torn a new canal for the expulsion of bodily wastes.

A young page spoke, words tumbling from him in abject fear. The news was less than joyful. The Carlton back line had collapsed and a full rout was in progress.

I tore from my chambers in mighty fury, my breeches still un-fastened. The steel-banded oaken door swung open and clouted the page in mid-sentence with such force that, could he afford them, doctors attending him would have shook their heads in worry and gently eased him into the hereafter with opiates.

As it was, I had need of his life-force for the arkane rites I was to invoke this very eve and so did not toss him to the street as was the usual fate of those too injured to serve in my employ.

Having slung the stupefied child-servant 'cross my broad shoulders I made haste to my cellar.

Placing his body at the nexus of many eldritch symbols and geometric shapes drawn on the floor in a grit made from crushed bones of slaves brought from the African wilds, I began my fey incantations. The page awoke, skrieching in mortal terror and agony as my magicks suckt the very soul from his horribly broken body.

I worked tirelessly, breaking only for sandwiches, whiskey and to give a passing troupe of actresses the seeing-to of their lives. Finally my great mortal effort called up the darkest daemon-familiar from across the veil of death.

Great Dick, I intoned to the incorporeal entity, the Blues need you once more. The battle against the Dirty Birds of the Collinge-wood goes badly. Your fiercest retribution is desired by all Sons of the Navy Blue.

The entity agreed to render aid, but demanded I release his earthly avatar from the spirit-cage my magicks had wrought. I cut the tail off of Nig, the black house cat, and with it cleared a path in the bone-chalk through which the daemon exited and flew from the house with savage glee.

Unfortunately it transpired that the sum total of the daemon's efforts amounted to the artificial tripling of the prices of the wares purveyed by the surly Asiatics of the MCG stadium stalls.

Carlton lost the match by a score and eight points.

A deep despair overtook me, friends. I took up my opium bowl and collapsed in a hammock, emerging only now to relate my tale.
 

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Erko Blue

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#4
Indeed,
Not an entirely displeasing passage, containing a modecom of comedic nourishment.
I thank thee for the prose and god-speed to thy quill.
 
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Upon the recognition of this seemingly regular literary offering, I did not dilly dally in opening said piece, and indeed did indulge in a considered critique of same. I find that it doth inspire much interest and a now familiar expectation, of which I hope to experience throughout the whole of this season of the football. My spirit remains impressed and my anticipation of future regalement of such tales, continues to accumulate.
 

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thylacine60

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#13
Upon the recognition of this seemingly regular literary offering, I did not dilly dally in opening said piece, and indeed did indulge in a considered critique of same. I find that it doth inspire much interest and a now familiar expectation, of which I hope to experience throughout the whole of this season of the football. My spirit remains impressed and my anticipation of future regalement of such tales, continues to accumulate.
WTF are you on about? :confused:
 
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Moderator #17
WTF are you on about? :confused:
Ah, my bestriped friend. I could wax lyrically about flights of fancy and tales of whimsy, but I would only be denying the unavoidable truth, such as it is. The facts are now, as they have always been, that I do not rightly know what it is I am trying to convey. I rather hoped that my fellow boardsmen would be incapable of seeing through the rather large mound of excrement that tends to spring forth from my fingertips. Alas, I am mistaken and very much humbled.
 
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Moderator #22
Looks like ODN got the package, Numbers. :cool:
Ah, 'tis my manhood you are now noticing. I am rather proud of my generous proportions, but at the same time I have cause to blush at this unexpected attention. 'Tis surely a difficult decision as to whether to seek out your address so I might explore your motivations further via the telegraph service or have someone slap your extremely fresh mouth with a glove freshly removed from their hand. You are an intriguing scoundrel, thus I am perplexed.
 
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Moderator #23
Excellent, Ghost! Love the deft wordplay that could have easily lapsed into cliche. Another masterful offering. :)
This, I can honestly say that Ghost fills a niche on this board all on his own. Colour and artistry that I would love to see more of.
 
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