This is a repost of Part 2 of Chapter 1 of my Great Troll Epic. I erroniously attributed the Famous Open Letter to ESR to opensourceman, when it was, in fact, the naked and petrified guy. All appologies.
So here it is again, in its corrected form:
Troll and Troll Again
Chapter 1: An Unexpected Troll
Part 2
The mother of our particular karma-whore--what is a karma-whore? I suppose they need a bit of explanation, as they are sly and hard to pick out from the hordes of brainless idiots. They are (and will continue to be) wanky little pricks with truncated dicks and inflated egos. There is little or no intelligence about them except for the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to search quickly on Google for a semi-related link and post it to appear well read. They are inclined to be leather assed fag masters; they dress in bright color women's clothing and no underware, as it chafes their petrified wee-wees. Now you know enough to go on. As I was saying, the mother of this particular karma-whore is a feminazi slut.
By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of Comments.pl, when there was less noise and more signal, and the karma-whores were still numerous and prosperous, and Signal 11 was posting the same old tired crap he always does--Opensourceman came by. Opensourceman! If you had heard only a quarter of the trolls that I have, and I have read very little of them, you would be prepared for any sort of crazy shit. Nutty trolls poped up around him wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion.
"Opensourceman! Opensourceman! Good gracious me!" Signal 11 exclaimed. "Not the Opensourceman that publishes opensource copyrighted, undistributable naked women? Not the fellow who trolls with the skill of a genious mad scientist on acid in his crazy mushroom lab?" You will notice alread that Signal 11 is about as good with words as he is at picking up women. "Not the Opensourceman who was responsible for so many repsectible karma-whores turning to a life of trolldom? Bless me, life used to be quite inter--I mean, you posted a lot of useless crap in Comments.pl. I beg your pardon, but I had no idea you were still in business."
"You have my pardon. I am here to send you on a very special troll," said Opensourceman, ushering in front of him a hord of trollish posters into Signal's nice thread.
"I'm sorry, I don't do trolls. Not today."
"This is a very special troll," whispered Opensourceman as he pushed the last of the trolls into the thread. Once the trolls were all introduced and demanded food from Signal 11 (which made absolutely no sense), Opensourceman introduced the leader of the small band of trolls: Gnarphlager, son of Gnorphan, son of Gnoran."
"Well, if I am to troll, I should like to know about the risks, out-of-karma expenses, time required for karma-rebuild, and soforth," quivered Signal 11, "and what my part would be."
"Oh very well," scruffed Gnarphlager. "In the time of my grandfather, my fellow trolls were driven out of Comments.pl by moderation and the 0 default threshold. All of our moderation points were stollen from us by the Great Dragon Meept!!!, so we traveled far to other threads. The evil Meept!!! guards his coveted pile of moderation points deep in the heart of the Lonely Mountain, and we need a karma-whore to steal them back."
And so began the great troll of a lifetime, to restore the trolls their rightful moderation points. End of Chapter 1.
I would like to present my Great Troll Epic: Troll and Troll Again.
Troll and Troll Again: Chapter 1: An Unexpected Troll Part 1
In a thread in Slashdot, there lived a poster. Not an offtopic, first-post, trollful thread, or a sublime, witty, and funny thread: it was a humorless, strictly ontopic, karma-whore thread, and that meant comfort.
It had a perfectly agreeable subject, all open sourced, with a vague opinion right in the middle on every issue. The thread opened on a happy discussion: a very comfortable discussion without nay-sayers, with on-topic, non-petrified replies, and lots of humorless posters. The thread wound on and on, going fairly, but not quite straight into the noise--Comments.pl as all the people from many miles around called it--with many little subjects to chime in the collective voice on. No thinking for the posters--all of the topics were generated by Slashdot, and almost all exactly the same. The best posts were all moderated up, for these were by the only posters with enough articulation to karma-whore while saying nothing new.
This poster was a very high-karma poster, his name was Signal 11. Signal 11 lived in the neighborhood of Slashdot for time out of mind, and people considered him very agreeable, not only because he had no new opinions, but also because he never posted any petrified, first-post, trollish posts: you could tell what Signal 11 would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is the story of how Signal 11 had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether trollish. He may have lost the other Slashdot Karma-whores' respect, but he gained--well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.
Three Companies for the record industry on TV, Seven for the Browsers in their halls of stone, Nine for smaller ISP's doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord AOL on his throne. In the land of Wall Street, where the shadows lie. One Company to rule them all, one Company to find them, One Company to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
Slashdot Mirror
Please don't try to be me.
(No I don't troll anymore.)
(Yes I still read slashdot.)
This is a repost of Part 2 of Chapter 1 of my Great Troll Epic. I erroniously attributed the Famous Open Letter to ESR to opensourceman, when it was, in fact, the naked and petrified guy. All appologies.
So here it is again, in its corrected form:
Troll and Troll Again
Chapter 1: An Unexpected Troll
Part 2
The mother of our particular karma-whore--what is a karma-whore? I
suppose they need a bit of explanation, as they are sly and hard to
pick out from the hordes of brainless idiots. They are (and will
continue to be) wanky little pricks with truncated dicks and inflated
egos. There is little or no intelligence about them except for the
ordinary everyday sort which helps them to search quickly on Google
for a semi-related link and post it to appear well read. They are
inclined to be leather assed fag masters; they dress in bright color
women's clothing and no underware, as it chafes their petrified
wee-wees. Now you know enough to go on. As I was saying, the mother
of this particular karma-whore is a feminazi slut.
By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of
Comments.pl, when there was less noise and more signal, and the
karma-whores were still numerous and prosperous, and Signal 11 was
posting the same old tired crap he always does--Opensourceman came by.
Opensourceman! If you had heard only a quarter of the trolls that I
have, and I have read very little of them, you would be prepared for
any sort of crazy shit. Nutty trolls poped up around him wherever he
went, in the most extraordinary fashion.
"Opensourceman! Opensourceman! Good gracious me!" Signal 11
exclaimed. "Not the Opensourceman that publishes opensource
copyrighted, undistributable naked women? Not the fellow who trolls
with the skill of a genious mad scientist on acid in his crazy
mushroom lab?" You will notice alread that Signal 11 is about as good
with words as he is at picking up women. "Not the Opensourceman who
was responsible for so many repsectible karma-whores turning to a life
of trolldom? Bless me, life used to be quite inter--I mean, you
posted a lot of useless crap in Comments.pl. I beg your pardon, but I
had no idea you were still in business."
"You have my pardon. I am here to send you on a very special troll,"
said Opensourceman, ushering in front of him a hord of trollish
posters into Signal's nice thread.
"I'm sorry, I don't do trolls. Not today."
"This is a very special troll," whispered Opensourceman as he pushed
the last of the trolls into the thread. Once the trolls were all
introduced and demanded food from Signal 11 (which made absolutely no
sense), Opensourceman introduced the leader of the small band of
trolls: Gnarphlager, son of Gnorphan, son of Gnoran."
"Well, if I am to troll, I should like to know about the risks,
out-of-karma expenses, time required for karma-rebuild, and soforth,"
quivered Signal 11, "and what my part would be."
"Oh very well," scruffed Gnarphlager. "In the time of my grandfather,
my fellow trolls were driven out of Comments.pl by moderation and the
0 default threshold. All of our moderation points were stollen from
us by the Great Dragon Meept!!!, so we traveled far to other threads.
The evil Meept!!! guards his coveted pile of moderation points deep in
the heart of the Lonely Mountain, and we need a karma-whore to steal
them back."
And so began the great troll of a lifetime, to restore the trolls
their rightful moderation points.
End of Chapter 1.
got to get my facts straight before i start writing. :)
Far over the crufty distros cold,
Through dependencies deep and rpms old,
We must QA ere break of day,
"Squash the bugs," we are cajoled.
The Gnomes of yore make mighty apps,
We wont fall for the same ole traps,
Download, install and test, please do,
And help us fill existing gaps.
While the Gnomes QA beneath the moon,
KDE hears the tramp of doom,
They rpm -e, their desktop falls,
Beneath our apps, it will be soon.
Have a nice day.
I take it you thought my post on the AOL-Timewarner EMI merge so much you decided to post something just like it three times on another story, huh?
Okay.
*smack*
The One and Only:
I'm not supposed to be moderated up.
I would like to present my Great Troll Epic: Troll and Troll Again.
Troll and Troll Again:
Chapter 1: An Unexpected Troll
Part 1
In a thread in Slashdot, there lived a poster. Not an offtopic,
first-post, trollful thread, or a sublime, witty, and funny thread: it
was a humorless, strictly ontopic, karma-whore thread, and that meant
comfort.
It had a perfectly agreeable subject, all open sourced, with a vague
opinion right in the middle on every issue. The thread opened on a
happy discussion: a very comfortable discussion without nay-sayers,
with on-topic, non-petrified replies, and lots of humorless posters.
The thread wound on and on, going fairly, but not quite straight into
the noise--Comments.pl as all the people from many miles around called
it--with many little subjects to chime in the collective voice on. No
thinking for the posters--all of the topics were generated by
Slashdot, and almost all exactly the same. The best posts were all
moderated up, for these were by the only posters with enough
articulation to karma-whore while saying nothing new.
This poster was a very high-karma poster, his name was Signal 11.
Signal 11 lived in the neighborhood of Slashdot for time out of mind,
and people considered him very agreeable, not only because he had no
new opinions, but also because he never posted any petrified,
first-post, trollish posts: you could tell what Signal 11 would say on
any question without the bother of asking him. This is the story of
how Signal 11 had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying
things altogether trollish. He may have lost the other Slashdot
Karma-whores' respect, but he gained--well, you will see whether he
gained anything in the end.
Three Companies for the record industry on TV,
Seven for the Browsers in their halls of stone,
Nine for smaller ISP's doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord AOL on his throne.
In the land of Wall Street, where the shadows lie.
One Company to rule them all, one Company to find them,
One Company to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.