MinDonner

Yeah, another one here to report the mobile-skin banner-ad problem. Doesn't always appear, but it totally stops me from posting when it does, cos it covers the post button. Looks like it's saying something about carrying some elephants on a tablet? Yep, useless ad, can't even see the full text of what it's selling!

HMC, your username is genius :thumbsup:

Yo! Yo! Yo!

Out of the hospital and back on the board!

To whom it may concern, I'd love to have my old log-in back, but until then this will do.

Bonesy's back!

Fl00b. :P

:love:

Hey Min, you can be Min alright. :) I entered the old message board as Min, but then got the title of Lady from KAH, and since then, I've been LadyMin on the net. It stuck with me so long that some of my friends call me Min in RL. Did you get "your" Min from The Wheel of Time?

Ha, no, Donaldson's Gap series. But between me and Minaku it can get confusing round here! :D

I fear you have at least two contenders for the title of the Real Min! ;) But welcome back, in any case... :D

Welcome! And props for the Spinal Tap quote in your sig, Heifer! :lol:

Welcome, new folks!

Welcome senny, Kage and Dark Knight!

Slightly disappointing. I prefer Welcome forums not topics, it's not original in any way and makes a community less of a community. In any case hello...

:lol: Interesting choice of first post, dude!

(especially the one about Gregor and Sandor being brothers - that blew me away)

:lol: It's subtle, but all the clues are there :D

Welcome, Wendy and Blackfish Blues!

Welcome to aqualung and all the other new folk! :)

Of course the converse applies, I can't think of much sadder than valuing yourself by cute little green numbers in the corner of a webpage.

basks in self-satisfied glow

...er, shit, no, not that! I mean scrap the wretched thing!

I voted for Maybe, wanting an end to the anonymity of it, but some of the reactions in this thread are swaying me towards a No, much as I'm enjoying my (many years overdue) status as Prom Queen. The +/- thing may just be a little clicky box, but behind every negative click is a person you know, who can't even be bothered to argue with you face-to-face; it shouldn't be so damn hard to understand how this could upset some people. We're not just a bunch of strangers on a news site, this is a community with friends and rivals and cliques and histories, and I just don't think it's an appropriate place for this kind of rating system.

(and, my +93 pwns your -17, so I must be right!)

I'd be in favour of retaining the system if, and only if, the anonymity was removed. This would I hope militate against some of the more absurd uses of the system, I can't imagine that the people down-rating Min's posts in the UK politics thread are really upset about a six month old post on the LibDem's poor editorial control.

:lol: I wondered where my negs were coming from. So I have a secret nemesis sneakily down-rating me on innocuous politics posts from August? Fantastic! :D

The problem is the "if yes, vote in this bit" and "if no, vote here" - turns out you actually have to vote in all questions regardless of what you picked in Q1.

I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with... S! Yes, it's another Speech by Our Yearded Master, and I don't think it has yet been pillioried. The link is here, and it's a corker. Handily written in life-choosing easy-to-read of-course-it's-still-1998 centre alignment with white words on black text, it contains gems such as:

"Take a beautiful painting like the cover of Faith of the Fallen - this painting of a sculpture of two people. A painting of such people does not show volition; the act of painting them does, because when you choose to paint the best life can be, you are acting of volition.

When an "artist" presents you with a non-objective painting, or story, what he is proclaiming is that there is nothing objective upon which to base anything."

"Non-objective art is a rejection of reality, of thinking, and instead attempts to set non-thinking as the standard. Non- thinking is eating poison mushrooms. When an artist presents you with a non-objective view of life, whether painted or written, when he abdicates his responsibility to think, he is rejecting life itself. He is embracing death. And asking you to do the same."

Enjoy!

I think we need to tone down the personal attacks. I don't really see the point in or joy derived from bashing Mystar. It's sort of like beating up a mentally challenged person. It doesn't make you cool, it just leaves people with a bad taste in their mouths.

And I don't think any of you should attack anyone for spelling or grammar mistakes. You make enough of your own. I let a lot slide here.

And how about we try to focus on the writing and interviews etc. of Goodkind, rather than resort to ad hominem attacks. Just calling him a douchebag is not very impressive.

I also think the obsession with post counts is lame and unworthy of these threads. It makes Ro's arguments against them stick a little better.

To rectify the mistakes that some of you newly ascended are currently making, I will be posting a new excerpt of WFR with comments shortly. To get us back on track.

Consider yourself admonished.

:agree:

And on that note, here's a new parody:

Richard Bond - Rise Up, Live Your Life and Let Everyone Else Die

Miss Boobyfanny, in the tradition of secretaries everywhere, was filing her nails at her desk when a hat whirled across the room towards the hatstand. With raptor-like accuracy, it knocked the hatstand to the floor and ripped out its spine. Richard was back from his latest mission. He stood at the door, striking a manly pose.

"Richard!" cried Miss Boobyfanny ecstatically. She batted her eyelashes at this avatar of manhood.

Richard flashed a rare smile, lighting up his face usually lined with the lines of his boiling hot rage. Miss Boobyfanny sighed. He really was as gentle as a lamb, apart from the whole uncontrollable fury thing.

"Z is waiting for you, you know. You're five hours late," she said archly, thrusting out her boobs and hoping Richard would notice her fifth and latest boob job. Richard gave them a glance, decided yet again that they were still too small for his large hands, and strode into Z's office.

"Ah, Bond, you're here at last," snapped the irascible Z, as he looked up from behind a pile of paper probably containing secret plans and copies of enemy technology and that sort of thing. "We need you to go on another mission behind the Iron Curtain."

"You mean the huge metal barrier that you single-handedly erected across the entire continent, and which protected us from all the horrors that lie on the other side until they found a way to break through last week?" asked Richard, unnecessarily.

"Exactly so," said Z. "Someone behind the Iron Curtain is plotting against us, and I need you to find out who it is and what they plan to do, and anything else you can find out. We fear they may be engaged in... Communism!"

"Wait," said Richard. His mind raced. "You mean my enemies are actual communists this time, not just badly-thought-out strawmen versions?"

"Well, not exactly," said Z. "We suspect that the ringleader may be a communist who plots to amass untold wealth, which sort of contradicts the communist ideal, but as contradictions don't exist then feel free to ignore it."

Richard did indeed feel free. Free, free as the wind blows, free from all care, all doubt, all responsibility for his actions, all semblance of logic. With this in mind, he glamourously jet-setted to a random exotic location to plan his next move.

--------------------------

Over the casino table, Richard's raptor-like eyes were glued to the magnificent bosom of the woman opposite; it was like a rain (of glue) on a campfire. He could feel her sky-blue eyes mentally undressing him as he rolled the dice, winning hand after hand with his Spy's First Rule trick of making all the other players think they had lost.

Roller of Dice.

The woman edged closer and whispered a filthy suggestion into his ear. Instantly Richard's thing rose, and the dice shot from his hand, causing needles to fall from the pine trees and red-hot shards to cascade around him. Throwing her over his shoulder, he swept her away to his magnificent penthouse suite, where they had raptor-like monkey-sex.

Shagger of Random Women.

Shortly afterwards, Richard was awakened from his post-coital snooze by a soft snicking sound in the room, like the sound of someone opening a pair of shears. He looked up to see his beautiful bed-companion standing above him with a pair of shears! His testicles were in danger! Richard's mind raced. Pretending to stretch, he grabbed the shears from her hand and instantly she had been overpowered and tied to the bed. She writhed and spat in anger.

"How dare you do this to me?! Filthy capitalist pig-dog!"

"I ask the questions round here," said Richard sternly, and tried to think of some questions to ask. His mind raced. "Who are you, and who sent you, and what do you want, and why did you try to cut off my testicles?"

The woman's beautiful face twisted into a sneer. "I am Nikita Kutchabolokov, super assassin hired by Jagang, the leader of the communists, to destroy you before you found out about our secret plans, hatched in our hidden base in the basement of the orphanage, to ban fire and take over the world, as well as becoming filthy rich in the process by blackmailing everyone with our sole control of fire! But I wasn't going to cut off your testicles. Normally this is my speciality but yours were so magnificent, I was instead only going to cut off your stupid-looking yeard."

Richard recoiled in horror. "Cut off my yeard? What kind of monster are you? But now, I know where your master lies hidden, and your plans will come to nothing!"

He turned to go, when an evil chortling came from behind him. "Not so fast, Mr Bond," said a voice whose foreign accent indicated its evilness. It was Jagang! "My Mord Sith will make short work of you. Girls!"

From the wardrobe sprang three beautiful large-breasted women, whose tight red leather outfits left nothing to the imagination, which is just as well because the author has very little of that.

"Richard, may I introduce... Bigboobina Fuxalot, Slutterella Bendova and Fellatio Suckov, my most trusted and skilled torturers! I leave you at their mercy - I hope your death will be a long and protracted one! Now I'm off to conquer the world! Mwahahahaha!" At that, Jagang twirled his moustachio, swept up his cape and vanished in a cloud of dry ice.

"You'll never get away with this, you fiend!" shouted Richard, and shook his fist.

The Mord Sith advanced, and began torturing Richard in a rather sexy way with lesbian overtones. But soon they were overcome by his manly pheromones, and lay there passively like good women should. Richard soon dispatched them to wash the dishes and do the dusting, and he was back on the trail of Jagang.

Jagang had a good five minutes' head start, but Richard was hot on his heels. After two weeks' chase, Richard saw Jagang enter a building up ahead and close the door behind him. That must be his secret lair!

Richard's mind raced. He decided the best thing to do would be to pretend to be a salesmen, so he combed his yeard, picked up a briefcase and headed to the door.

A nameless flunky answered. "Hello, I'm here to sell things," said Richard, with difficulty forcing his face into another smile.

"OK, what are you selling?" asked the flunky, with suspicion.

Richard's mind raced. "Er, weapons? And other items for world domination?"

The flunky's face broke into a beaming smile that lit up the room. "Ah, welcome then! Come right in!"

Richard's face sagged with relief, flaked out on the sofa and made itself a cup of tea. His plan was working!

Jagang entered the room, holding a button marked "Press for World Domination". He was cackling evilly to himself when he saw Richard.

Instantly a war broke out, but Richard won - apparently his pants could turn into a huge battle-droid which took out all of Jagang's orphan army. Jagang was pushed into his own vat of molten celery and died a traitor's death.

Nikita was waiting for his helicopter as it descended on the casino roof. "I've decided to defect, and not be a commie any more," she declared, the tears falling from her eyes like rain on a campfire. "Take me back across the Iron Curtain with you and away from all this misery!"

Richard swept her up into his arms and they flew off into the sunset.

A quick reference guide for anyone new to our manifold in-jokes:

A Yeard is the beard/ponytail combo sported by Mr Goodkind, and has come to represent the man himself and all he stands for. Celery is the vegetable equivalent of this, and when consumed bestows the eater with the moral high ground, even when cutting down unarmed orphans with a chainsaw.

The Lemmings of Discord is an unofficial alliance formed to fight the forces of celery. Fear us, for we are legion. Like a giant fighting centipede, or possibly like rain on a campfire.

...meh, this seems too much like charity. I'm going to rise up and live my life with a sneaky blog-plug. If you lack the energy to reread all the previous Goodkind threads, many highlights are collected in my blog (link in the sig), including previous parodies and even some terribly thoughtful essays.

Don't be a loser

Or a death-chooser

When's Confessor out, anyway?