Amaurote
11-18-01, 11:31AM
No; I am very sorry, but I'm afraid that I've brought you all here under false pretences. My name is not really Enrico; nor do I have a shack. I did once know a man named Enrico, however, and I have seen actual footage of shacks on CNN occasionally.
I have cynically arrogated to myself the power of pornography and criminal pimpery to boost the popularity of this thread. I am truly shameless, I know. In the real world I would be beaten to a pulp by a mob of frustrated punters for selling fraudulent wares, but I don't trouble myself much about the real world.
There now follows a bedtime story; you don't actually have to read it in bed, of course, or indeed at bedtime, whenever that may be; but I insist on imagining you the user population of this site doing just that. I find it both stimulating and morally elevating, though not necessarily at the same time.
My name is Amaurote, and I am the vicar; more precisely, that title haunts me not so much because I believe in God, or because I have any particularly well-developed sense of redeeming divinity, but because I live vicariously, eavesdropping on the posts of the good people of well-programmed, beautifully-designed forums like NoChickTrix; and, like a sordid, inflated, swirling tornado of mud, dust and excrement, or a swelling, pestiferous bedbug, I batten monstrously and vampirically on the lives that I encounter.
http://gnv.ifas.ufl.edu/~fairsweb/images/en/bedbug.gif
I'm also addicted to horribly long-winded, unreadable, semi-colon-ridden sentences, as you can see; this doesn't really occur to me, of course, because I'm immune to external criticism, having once survived a thread on Akpcep completely devoted to the subject of whether or not I was a pestilential, pretentious waste of space; I refuted the arguments with as much logical rigour as I could muster, and emerged vindicated, but there's a catch, unfortunately: I was lying.
I am shockingly pretentious, and I delight in sheer perversity. I have drunk from the Cup of Staggering, and I even managed to avoid paying for the round. No man alive can beat me for pretention; I am the most pretentious person that was ever abortively thrown forth into the world - in fact, I pretend to the title, with pretention. I'm so pretentious, indeed, that I contend that pretension is the more accurate spelling, without actually caring; just so long as it wins me some dancing girls, which, in all probability, it probably won't - although it is quite probable that some things will happen contrary to probability. I am guilty of serial imposture, hypocrisy, spiritual negation, voyeurism, sciolism and shamelessly unscrupulous loitering, lurking and egostical self-promotion. I also have cash-handling experience.
I gained the derogatory handle of "vicar" several years ago, after being regularly accosted by local urchins, who very kindly followed me around with "All Things Bright and Beautiful" as I passed; it didn't stick, but it did reoccur, and I can count at least seven separate instances where I have been referred to as vicar, monk, and saint. I am perennially associated with morbid, woolly spirituality; only last week another, completely separate band of small urchins asked me "whether you used to dress up dead people and put make-up on them". It is moments like these which begin to make me doubt my holy mission.
Oh, yeah - I'm from Durham in the UK. I read, I walk, eat, and possess all of my own fingers, limbs and teeth; I want to be a prison librarian; no-one will let me. I will eventually succeed, of course, if only because my facility for pathological mendacity is growing stronger every week. I am nothing if not not consistent. Indeed, here's a tip - to pull off a really big lie, like this one, always preface it with the truth in amazing, tedious detail for - oh, I don't know - maybe four, five paragraphs, thereby boring your readers, and then slip in something extravagantly, flagrantly false. Their psycho-spiritual stupor will prevent them from noticing your horrible, shameless lie.
I am married to Liberty Ross. I have a million dollars. Amaurote is a pseudonym for Barry Van Dyke. I am very popular. People love me. I am super-great. I did not steal those books from the school library. I have never cut keys for a living; that was just a dream. I will not tell anyone about those nude jpegs on Moriarty's website.
There. Do you see what I just did? You won't care, of course, because you all have lives; but this sort of self-circling, utterly nugatory narration-without-owt-happening titillates me endlessly. I never tire of it; I can bore for my country, and, unfortunately for you all, I am a citizen of the world. You will all presently suffer, as you have been suffering for my last 80 posts, but I won't notice, because I'm just too shockingly egocentric to pick up on these things.
I first learned of NoChickTrix via Aussie, whose posts on Monochromism.net earned him international fame and notoriety. This was typified by his assertion that we should "Kill them too Alexander", in a thread devoted to the question "Should fat people die?", and in response to Alexander King's polite rejoinder, "What about those fat people who can't help it?"which brought several houses down at the time. I'm impressed by what I've seen over the last month, and the spread of geopolitical views; I know most of the people here from their previous incarnations (Orbital, BeLLa, Redallnite, Aussie, LucifersChild, Villager etc.), and I have been ruthlessly exploiting their good nature to gain knowledge of bizarre geographical locations like, ah, Australia, Alabama, New York, Washington, California, New Zealand, Tasmania, Canada, Georgia, Puerto Rico and, er, Southampton. This equals, coincidentally, the exact number of prisons I've visited in the last eighteen months. Wow. Yeah.
In conclusion, then; I am the Abomination of Desolation, I am, I am.
Those of you who want to reply to this can try and avail yourself of Diva's remaining webspace, but you will not succeed: I have "bagsied" it all with this post. I am battening already in my hideous, insatiable greed, as you can see. I would apologise, but I fear that apologies would merely prevent me from satisfying my awful greed. It would certainly stop me from eating things. Now that would be just terrible.
For those who couldn't really bring themselves to read all this, I attach some confusing pornography as a consolatory gesture. I regard this as an entirely legitimate pedagogic device, and I'm sure some of you will regard it, too.
http://www.crookback.demon.co.uk/Assets/lace.jpg
I have cynically arrogated to myself the power of pornography and criminal pimpery to boost the popularity of this thread. I am truly shameless, I know. In the real world I would be beaten to a pulp by a mob of frustrated punters for selling fraudulent wares, but I don't trouble myself much about the real world.
There now follows a bedtime story; you don't actually have to read it in bed, of course, or indeed at bedtime, whenever that may be; but I insist on imagining you the user population of this site doing just that. I find it both stimulating and morally elevating, though not necessarily at the same time.
My name is Amaurote, and I am the vicar; more precisely, that title haunts me not so much because I believe in God, or because I have any particularly well-developed sense of redeeming divinity, but because I live vicariously, eavesdropping on the posts of the good people of well-programmed, beautifully-designed forums like NoChickTrix; and, like a sordid, inflated, swirling tornado of mud, dust and excrement, or a swelling, pestiferous bedbug, I batten monstrously and vampirically on the lives that I encounter.
http://gnv.ifas.ufl.edu/~fairsweb/images/en/bedbug.gif
I'm also addicted to horribly long-winded, unreadable, semi-colon-ridden sentences, as you can see; this doesn't really occur to me, of course, because I'm immune to external criticism, having once survived a thread on Akpcep completely devoted to the subject of whether or not I was a pestilential, pretentious waste of space; I refuted the arguments with as much logical rigour as I could muster, and emerged vindicated, but there's a catch, unfortunately: I was lying.
I am shockingly pretentious, and I delight in sheer perversity. I have drunk from the Cup of Staggering, and I even managed to avoid paying for the round. No man alive can beat me for pretention; I am the most pretentious person that was ever abortively thrown forth into the world - in fact, I pretend to the title, with pretention. I'm so pretentious, indeed, that I contend that pretension is the more accurate spelling, without actually caring; just so long as it wins me some dancing girls, which, in all probability, it probably won't - although it is quite probable that some things will happen contrary to probability. I am guilty of serial imposture, hypocrisy, spiritual negation, voyeurism, sciolism and shamelessly unscrupulous loitering, lurking and egostical self-promotion. I also have cash-handling experience.
I gained the derogatory handle of "vicar" several years ago, after being regularly accosted by local urchins, who very kindly followed me around with "All Things Bright and Beautiful" as I passed; it didn't stick, but it did reoccur, and I can count at least seven separate instances where I have been referred to as vicar, monk, and saint. I am perennially associated with morbid, woolly spirituality; only last week another, completely separate band of small urchins asked me "whether you used to dress up dead people and put make-up on them". It is moments like these which begin to make me doubt my holy mission.
Oh, yeah - I'm from Durham in the UK. I read, I walk, eat, and possess all of my own fingers, limbs and teeth; I want to be a prison librarian; no-one will let me. I will eventually succeed, of course, if only because my facility for pathological mendacity is growing stronger every week. I am nothing if not not consistent. Indeed, here's a tip - to pull off a really big lie, like this one, always preface it with the truth in amazing, tedious detail for - oh, I don't know - maybe four, five paragraphs, thereby boring your readers, and then slip in something extravagantly, flagrantly false. Their psycho-spiritual stupor will prevent them from noticing your horrible, shameless lie.
I am married to Liberty Ross. I have a million dollars. Amaurote is a pseudonym for Barry Van Dyke. I am very popular. People love me. I am super-great. I did not steal those books from the school library. I have never cut keys for a living; that was just a dream. I will not tell anyone about those nude jpegs on Moriarty's website.
There. Do you see what I just did? You won't care, of course, because you all have lives; but this sort of self-circling, utterly nugatory narration-without-owt-happening titillates me endlessly. I never tire of it; I can bore for my country, and, unfortunately for you all, I am a citizen of the world. You will all presently suffer, as you have been suffering for my last 80 posts, but I won't notice, because I'm just too shockingly egocentric to pick up on these things.
I first learned of NoChickTrix via Aussie, whose posts on Monochromism.net earned him international fame and notoriety. This was typified by his assertion that we should "Kill them too Alexander", in a thread devoted to the question "Should fat people die?", and in response to Alexander King's polite rejoinder, "What about those fat people who can't help it?"which brought several houses down at the time. I'm impressed by what I've seen over the last month, and the spread of geopolitical views; I know most of the people here from their previous incarnations (Orbital, BeLLa, Redallnite, Aussie, LucifersChild, Villager etc.), and I have been ruthlessly exploiting their good nature to gain knowledge of bizarre geographical locations like, ah, Australia, Alabama, New York, Washington, California, New Zealand, Tasmania, Canada, Georgia, Puerto Rico and, er, Southampton. This equals, coincidentally, the exact number of prisons I've visited in the last eighteen months. Wow. Yeah.
In conclusion, then; I am the Abomination of Desolation, I am, I am.
Those of you who want to reply to this can try and avail yourself of Diva's remaining webspace, but you will not succeed: I have "bagsied" it all with this post. I am battening already in my hideous, insatiable greed, as you can see. I would apologise, but I fear that apologies would merely prevent me from satisfying my awful greed. It would certainly stop me from eating things. Now that would be just terrible.
For those who couldn't really bring themselves to read all this, I attach some confusing pornography as a consolatory gesture. I regard this as an entirely legitimate pedagogic device, and I'm sure some of you will regard it, too.
http://www.crookback.demon.co.uk/Assets/lace.jpg