the last person to post here wins

fleamailman wrote:

Now I understand that having a green skin, pointed ears and a screwdriver

I am wondering how the screwdriver fits into this, but also is it flat or Philips?

(the felt obliged to explain a bit more here, saying "...this is the first entry of my blog...", and with that he posted a bit more)

the goblin's blog

Goblins by nature are those people who play around with comp-bits as opposed to witches who are more into codes, or clairvoyants who delve into HJT logs to remove malware, though that is not to say that each doesn't know a fair deal about the other fields it is just that their type shows. Perhaps this was as good a place to start as any thought the goblin who had been working in a cave(repair shop) in Geneva doing repairs and malware removal for some time before he had had to stop working because his mother at 86 had quickly sunk into old age and memory loss and the choice between an old age home at x amount per week(thus having to sell the house) or just looking after her himself, made him choose the later then. The goblin felt that this would also be a good chance to write and relate this experience to others, hence he has started this blog

4)"...oh, and the goblin got so frigging fed up with Joe Duncehead's comp that I restored it..." result being: "comp 1- goblin 0" then. So when Joe asked for his comp back the goblin explained that Joe now had more free space on his harddrive than any other Joe in cuckooland(switzerland) to which Joe smiled the whole length from one empty ear along to the other, and walked off down the street as if showing everyone just what a "large empty harddrive" he had now. meanwhile the great Ork behind the barrier(counter) charms the female with words like "Ma belle, the color of this computer so matches your eyes and imagine that tropical beach where everyone would envy you then". The goblin let be, knowing that she didn't care that the Ork didn't know the first thing about what he was selling, didn't matter, she wanted more, the comp would sell and even if it worked perfectly she would still return first light to say "... please could just show me how to press the on-switch again..." for she would get her money's worth and the goblin just concluded that "shopping was lovemaking for older people", - oh, and if the Ork called him over to press the "on switch" for them again it had to be done with goblin majesty and style, "... now watch very carefully please..." but they would then be chatting as that "eye-contact thing, long pauses and deep breaths" whatever, took over, till after a few moments the goblin would be called over yet again to do it just one more time. "...anything to please..." the goblin thought.

from the goblin's dear all diary, 18th May 1997

Dear all,
Frantically, the dormouse plays "cat and mouse" with a little ball that will eventually escape his attention: his father (the hatter) poised with a pen, fishes for thoughts while wearing a small hole in the sleeve of the elbow that supports a head which should read "Back in five minutes"; in fact the hatter supposes that only their ages dictate any difference in the degree of distraction here. Later, when hatter has finished writing and rewriting this letter he'll shout at the dormouse to have a bath(wallow in toys), brush his teeth(chew the toothbrush) and go to bed(fall asleep somewhere) but the dormouse plays "cat and mouse" with hatter who will eventually let the dormouse escape from his attention until a few hours later when the hatter actually notices something rather odd about the usually flat floor.

sin., flea

(the goblin likes this thread, saying "...come post with me mortals, this will be our dance then, or you can just look on if you like..." and with that the goblin posted more, all that mattered to him was keeping at it, where giving up would turn him cold he know, "...ah, but I am not cold yet...")

the goblin, unable to use his intellect to better intent, does the laundry observing that those few flakes of snow, that flutter which the goblin hoped had passed this afternoon, have now turned themselves into a full blown storm, the house echoes to gunfires as his son shoots people on the television while the goblin trying to be out of his jittery earshot types half shell-shocked in the bedroom, somehow the goblin knows that he will look back on seeing this text with fondness that it was yet another happy moment in the long journey of his life, so he quickly wrote a reminder "no you are not happy at this moment" knowing it won't work, it never does, "...fondness in the making..." the goblin ventured

the goblin was here as usual facing the slot once more, there was a million things that the goblin could write about he knew as his mind had now almost recovered from the headache that had narrowed his focus down to one sole question(of "how much longer") had passed, his dark silent bed had helped and once more he simply swore that lie that he wouldn't play computer games again, but this lesson, much like a hangover, would eventually be overtaken by a need to escape from the "straight and narrow", "...I guess if one can't do something in moderation then one just has to oscillate between famine and feast like this..." concluded the goblin

gray morning of many, the goblin arrives slightly late to have the boss tapping feet and crossed arms at the bus terminal to the usual words "...late again flea what's your excuse this time...", the goblin looks at the punters waiting to go to the tour to the mountains, puts his hands together in praying motion under the boss's gaze, and then, as if readying his reply for the boss, says aloud "...do you think they're pickpockets..." which turns the boss's head followed by his attention towards the group there long enough for the goblin to repeat the line "...sorry boss, been trying to portray the essence of my existence through the focus of my pen again..." said in unison with the goblin's firmly praying hands breaking apart and going diagonally downwards till extended backwards in the full "Mary Teresa about to takeoff down the runway" mode, all of which catching the boss's renewed attention on the goblin with a full volley of "...well just don't me hear you using that excuse again now..." as the unscathed somewhat indifferent goblin walks to the tour bus once more

a Post. the Blank sheet of the internets.

Urs wrote:

a Post. the Blank sheet of the internets.

"...nicely put..." said the goblin feeling it was much as Urs had put it, adding "...I can relate, in fact, I wrote something on those lines..." said the goblin as he posted it below

an empathy is found in that an angel is not there to be nice but to help one find oneself, the goblin had fought them often enough but still this snowy slot was his journey he felt not theirs, his steps compacted the snow, the snow covered his footsteps but as long as he trod onwards he was winning for a while the "unwinable", what else mattered then, what else could matter

(and again)

the goblin thanked the poster for the humble attempt to covert the inevitable course of things and sympathized deeply but alas time had given the last post once more back to its rightful goblin who loved this thread because no matter how his own fortune changed here at least the goblin, like anyone else, could win just by posting but the goblin reminded himself that this, like any other post, might well be his very last so the goblin always wanted to post something he would like to read later even if in fact the goblin wouldn't be able to being no longer in this world "...anyway we goblins are silly about leaving pretty footprints in the snowy path of life..." said the goblin continuing "...more snow will fall and all would be forgotten but here we thread on then..."

(next day and the goblin still wins here, but not against others, against the distractions of "dailylife" saying "...my motivations would be cheap if I wasn't writing for the merit of what I am writing about, moreover readers would know, you would know and, worst of all, I would know too...", meaning that being anonymous the goblin had no motivations as it is unlikely that they were ever going to erect a tomb to the unknown goblin for him so to speak, as he posted his next)


"...no post is pointless as each post is a point along the thread, no thread is pointless as each thread is a chapter in ones life, and life isn't pointless as each happening is a chance to make a post again..." said the goblin seeing the treadmill that that logic creates

it wasn't that the goblin was sometimes thoughtless, it was that the goblin was normally thoughtless and that sometimes he saw just how thoughtless the goblin was that shocked him

"...so our hero goblin doesn't want to do his invoices after all...", "...well slot, I thought we could just present ourselves at the "last post" thread again and continue these intellectual pursuits of ours, for you see although I admit that I am "a well oiled cog in the workings of capitalism" there is yet part of me that rebels towards the free spirit...", " and prithy when doth this free spirit partake of his invoices leth they do multiply upon us..." inquired the slot, "...how about "and then the trumpet blasted and the heavens opened" as at least a framework of my heartfelt commitment..." suggested the goblin in the honesty of the moment, meaning later again

("..HAHAHAHA you let me win mortals..." went the goblin who had written today about London)

repost from a UK "last post" thread, just sharing

well Britain is known for its fruitcakes, "...oh and yes, I love their Dundee cake too, and rare amongst the Swiss, I have eaten their Christmas pudding and lived to tell the tale, isn't that just amazing then..." went the goblin with his mind going back to that fabled moment where, waiting for the number 9 bus in the drizzling yet windswept street, the goblin first realized that here, at least, was somewhere rather conducive to daydreaming, which in turn the goblin knew was just a short step away from doing imaginative posts, "..."London, the springboard to ones escape from reality" then..." the goblin concluded

fleamailman wrote:

well Britain is known for its fruitcakes, "

Tears, I was laughing so hard it came to tears from that line.

("...help..." went the goblin noting that someone might actually reading these posts, adding "...thanks, in fact, I was just getting round to posting the second one, but I don't know if you have the have to same service in the states so this one might fall flat, let you know if it doesn't make sense than..." requested the goblin)

the goblin never forgot Hemingway's ways famous line "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a movable feast", and then the goblin felt that he too, should try for a quote, something like "..."if you are lucky enough to have lived in London as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for London is "meals on wheels" then..." ventured the goblin

("...just to show that I am even handed in my larceny then..." said the goblin as he posted his latest)

repost from an American site's "last post" thread, just sharing

the goblin thanked the poster, saying "...actually I only keep two basic scores here, that of "am I last" and "have I posted here recently"..." knowing that often the goblin let things slip a bit and then jumped in by posting stuff to keep this thread up to date, adding "... ah but I have said it before I know, but I like this site here for its Americanness, it's like straight out of "happy days" on the one hand, with tinges of "friends" and perhaps a hint of "sesame street" on the other..." ventured the goblin who always came back for more, he was simply glued

"...morning again..." said the goblin who had been thinking that, although it is raining outside, any idea of space travel this morning is off in that each planet, and even each sun for that matter, was moving through space meaning that one would have to keep a constant eye on ones destination knowing that once there it would be very hard to find ones way back even if there were a friendly alien to help out, something like: "...excuse me Sir alien I am trying to get to Geneva, which is large collection of buildings we call a city, a city because it has a an empty large structure called a cathedral for sightseeing, which is in a country called Switzerland, which in fact isn't a country at all, but a confederation of little counties, which is in turn surrounded by lots more countries but is anyway all one landmass that no one cares to call an island because it is surrounding by the sea which makes our planet blue to look at, being the third planet from the nearest sun in our galaxy quite near the milky way, thanks...", "...ah but you're an earthling, welcome to our neck of the woods then, ah Geneva you say, you just take the third galaxy to the right, the second sun and it's the third planet, good luck then, do come again and "have a nice day"..." to which the goblin instinctively knew that if he followed those instructions he would just end up at MacDonald's as happens always with the hapless tourists in Geneva, nope the goblin feels that perhaps this morning he'll give space-tourism a miss then

http://www.elektordi.net/

the goblin slipped in and out of his daydream to kill time, somehow the slow spiraling fan turned unconvincingly in the night's stifled heat, perhaps it too, stuck the goblin to a solid chair in that inevitable long wordless wait with the deputies that all crawled the clock down to a long forced annoying tick tick tick tick, in fact, the goblin felt that his detention had been standard almost unincidental till now, seated between himself, the deputies and a dull hard table bare bar for the contents of his out turned pockets, they waited for the sheriff, "...coffee goblin..." a deputy ventured daring to break the rule of silence before an interrogation, a preoccupied non committal "...please..." reply came out from somewhere within the goblin only fading a few moments later back to the same silence upon silence until long later in an unexpected instant everything changed into action as eyes quickly turned towards the unlocking sound of a rattling key heavy in the cell door that then jarred out to let the sheriff in only to slam shut behind him again tight, the sheriff, still only at the door, was now the center of the room, an authority expressed not so much in how others saw him but unquestionably in how he saw others with his quick minded penetrative stare, “...what do have here Urs...”not really asking, “...he fits the description TerishD, I thought that...” a half answer the deputy remarks surrendering the case-report into the hands of the sheriff who looked over the pages while making random glances at the goblin in a calculating conformation and tally, then walking up to the side of the table dumps the report under the goblin's view as he sticks his thumbs hard into his belt, silence, heat, words “...your not from these parts goblin...”, “...no sir I visit many sites...”, “...do you know why you are here, goblin...”, “...no sir...” the goblin said unconvincingly, the sheriff makes for his chair, sits then claiming the table with his elbows he bites into his cupped knuckles causing the goblin to sit back in his chair, “...400posts, 5000 hits, where did you get all these from goblin...”, “...I came up with them myself Sir, they're mine, promise, they came out of thin air...”, the sheriff's hand flew apart in a full fingered ten of disbelief “...hell goblin that more hits than anyone gets here in a month, so what are you really then and why are you here...”, “...I am a poster sir, I need this place to post...” replied the goblin looking back at the sheriff, “... well we'll have to collaborate that goblin and for the moment I'm just not buying it...” as the sheriff's head slowly turns to meet the deputy's gaze back at him and they rise from their chairs leaving the goblin seated looking down at the table, “...Urs, just put him back in the “last post” thread and keep your eyes on him, watch everything he does, can't trust goblins...” voiced the sheriff making sure the goblin could hear, somehow the goblin guessed that his detention would be a long, perhaps something there in "the heat of the night" had told the goblin the simply truth that the differences between them were as ever black and white

("...something else from "dailylife"..." said the goblin)

"...we're not flipping slaves you know..." the driver beefed at being given a follow-on job over the phone, the goblin seated behind him the goblin played dead hoping that in five minutes he would calm down which didn't work so goblin then reassured the driver saying "... no no, you're not a slave, you're a worthless employee, slaves have some resell value..." a black joke worked, the driver laughed and his pride felt restored as his mind chugged along to the road in front of him

the goblin showed up a little after the dawn which, in turn, seemed long before this continuing rain had, "...well at least this won't turn into snow I feel or, if it does, it won't settle..." said the goblin sensing that there was more optimistic hope than any substance to his comment, and yet somehow, in spite of this weather and the global downturn, punters always turned up at the bus terminal wishing to go on the tour to Chamonix because they had paid for it, "...their sense of money's worth is not shared..." mused the goblin wondering, if the heavens opened up and God called on them to join him by his side, whether someone would actually reply "...yes God, but I've paid for this excursion so do I get a refund then..."

without a real coffee, the goblin's mind turns back to where he was at this point, sitting in an Internet cafe in London's Earls Court road with the day to himself as a tourist in the city that he grew up in and seeing everything as if one was looking at some ex girlfriend knowing why it ended yet still wasting thoughts on "what if we were still together, what if....," but she had been a crushing mistress then, and today too the cold damp reserve of this place almost reflected in its inhabitants leaves little doubt in the goblin's mind as to why he left London, and anyway as, one by one, those last remaining family ties snap, the goblin knows he is slowly casting this unforgiving place to his memory as if ridding on by unlikely to return

repost from a gothic "last post" thread, elsewhere

xxxxxx wrote:

But tell me this oh foul and evil goblin thing, what is the point? I mean at the end of the day nothing ever changes, nothing we do really matters. So, why bother? Why do we exist? Wouldn't the world be better off without us?

the goblin hailed the queen of the zombies for her presence "... yes, a cheap person might be dissuaded by an argument of life's futility, that, or by some grand promise of heaven or some dire threat of hell..." said that goblin who made a point of caring far less for what lies ahead of him than for caring for that which lied within him, so the goblin continued "...so don't you want to know who you are by what you post then in spite of it all..."

The elf walks in and sits on a rock. The elf begins to mumble softly by himself. Maybe the mumbling has to do with breakfast or maybe just an odd speech impediment. The elf really has nothing to think about or nothing really to say, but he just wanted to be the one who posted last and win.

the elf had won, "...yes you win each time you post here..." repeated the goblin continuing "...but what you win always differs with what each poster wants to give of themselves here, oh and this slot is always hungry and very catholic in its tastes, everything constitutes a win here...", in fact that goblin felt that this "last post" thread could become the best on the server if the scribblebots would jump into the fray with their talent, "...extracts, insights, reflections, whatever, let your hair down then, dance with me mortals for our time is short and "dailylife" is cheating you with its distractions..." voiced the goblin in a promise to everyone here and to his muse again, he, for one, would win here