On a casually hot evening midway through October a young man arrived on the forum in which he talked much sh*t and posted slowly, as though in hesitation, his pithy homage to Dostoyevsky.
He had successfully avoided meeting turbowop in Anything Goes. His alterego was behind the firewall of a high, 10-storied building and was more like an homage than a slight. The 'wop, who preyed upon the sloth, ignorance, and righteous indignation of rookies, lived elsewhere, and every time he posted with his new psuedonym he was obliged to pass those replies, the potential for drama invariably open. And each time he passed, the young man had a smug, beligerent feeling, which made him smirk and feel cocky. He was carelessly indifferent toward turbowop, and was eager to meet him.
This was not because he was pompous and indifferent, quite the contrary; but for some time past he had been in an overstrained irritable condition, verging on shenanigans. He had become so completely disinterested in the status quo, and isolated from his fellows that he longed to meet, not only turbowop, but anyone at all from the PNW. He was crushed by indifference, but the anxieties of his position had of late ceased to weigh upon him. He had given up attending to matters of practical importance; he had lost all desire to do so. Nothing that any turbowop could do had a real terror for him. But to be caught on the board, to be forced to listen to the parlance of the automotive proles, to irrelevant, fatlace, hellaflush dorifto, to pestering demands for information, cop-outs and complaints, and to rack his brains for answers, to prevaricate, to lie--no, rather than that, he would sneak about the board like a cat and slip out unseen.
This evening, however, on coming to the forum, he became acutely aware of his mistake.