Shoddy glitched up, so he did this...
Rules: Ladder Match, Sleep Clause, Freeze Clause, OHKO Clause, Evasion Clause, Species Clause, Strict Damage Clause, Soul Dew Clause
Hook has entered the room.
Platypus: Imagine a Kecleon there.
Angry Ampharos: el oh el
Angry Ampharos: Seriously, this is the 9th time this has happened
Platypus: I think it's broken. Oh, I'm goin' to the top by out-waitin' everybody!
Angry Ampharos: el oh el
Platypus: So, I will begin a reading of Charles Dickens's _Hard Times_.
Angry Ampharos: I'm not giving up that easily
Platypus: I'll probably be disconnected at some point, but, until then:
Platypus: Hard Times
Platypus: BOOK THE FIRST - SOWING
Platypus: CHAPTER I - THE ONE THING NEEDFUL
Platypus: 'NOW, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir!'
Platypus: :
Platypus: The scene was a plain, bare, monotonous vault of a school-room, and the speaker's square forefinger emphasized his observations by underscoring every sentence with a line on the schoolmaster's sleeve. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's square wall of a forehead, which had his eyebrows for its base, while his eyes found commodious cellarage in two dark caves, overshadowed by the wall.
Angry Ampharos: you're really bored aren't you?
Platypus: No, not really.
Angry Ampharos: el oh el
Platypus: Until I can battle, though, I will force others to quit.
Platypus: Anyways:
Platypus: The emphasis was helped by the speaker's mouth, which was wide, thin, and hard set. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's voice, which was inflexible, dry, and dictatorial. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's hair, which bristled on the skirts of his bald head, a plantation of firs to keep the wind from its shining surface, all covered with knobs, like the crust of a plum pie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse-room for the hard facts stored inside. The speaker's obstinate carriage...
DrunkRacoon has entered the room.
Platypus: ...square coat, square legs, square shoulders, - nay, his very neckcloth, trained to take him by the throat with an unaccommodating grasp, like a stubborn fact, as it was, - all helped the emphasis.
Platypus: By the way, DrunkRacoon, I'm doing a reading of _Hard Times._
Platypus: (Where does the period go? I am not sure.) To resume:
Platypus: .
Platypus: 'In this life, we want nothing but Facts, sir; nothing but Facts!'
Platypus: .
Platypus: The speaker, and the schoolmaster, and the third grown person present, all backed a little, and swept with their eyes the inclined plane of little vessels then and there arranged in order, ready to have imperial gallons of facts poured into them until they were full to the brim.
Hook has left the room.
Platypus: "And look, through the door comes Whiskey Pete!"
DrunkRacoon: "Beauty will save the world."
DrunkRacoon: not mine obviously
Platypus: In he came, swinging his bottle majestically and with one foot in a bucket.
Platypus: "You's is mah best friends!" howled the man, hugging the people who were wondering who on earth he was and why he stunk of urine.
Platypus: "I wuuuv yewwww guyssss..." he mumbled before passing out.
Platypus: .
Platypus: CHAPTER II - MURDERING THE INNOCENTS
Platypus: .
Platypus: THOMAS GRADGRIND, sir. A man of realities. A man of facts and calculations. A man who proceeds upon the principle that two and two are four, and nothing over, and who is not to be talked into allowing for anything over. Thomas Gradgrind, sir - peremptorily Thomas - Thomas Gradgrind. With a rule and a pair of scales, and the multiplication table always in his pocket, sir, ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you exactly what it comes to.
Platypus: It is a mere question of figures, a case of simple arithmetic. You might hope to get some other nonsensical belief into the head of George Gradgrind, or Augustus Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, or Joseph Gradgrind (all supposititious, non-existent persons), but into the head of Thomas Gradgrind - no, sir!
Platypus: .
Platypus: In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, whether to his private circle of acquaintance, or to the public in general. In such terms, no doubt, substituting the words 'boys and girls,' for 'sir,' Thomas Gradgrind now presented Thomas Gradgrind to the little pitchers before him, who were to be filled so full of facts.
Platypus: .
Platypus: Indeed, as he eagerly sparkled at them from the cellarage before mentioned, he seemed a kind of cannon loaded to the muzzle with facts, and prepared to blow them clean out of the regions of childhood at one discharge. He seemed a galvanizing apparatus, too, charged with a grim mechanical substitute for the tender young imaginations that were to be stormed away.
Platypus: 'Girl number twenty,' said Mr. Gradgrind, squarely pointing with his square forefinger, 'I don't know that girl. Who is that girl?'
Platypus: "Why, that's Whiskey Pete!" he cried out joyfully.
Platypus: Whiskey Pete proceeded to dance a merry drunken jig around the class to cheers from the students.
DrunkRacoon has left the room.
Platypus: On a spinning leap, he cavorted directly through a window and fell five stories onto a donkey.
Platypus: The donkey, having in its life moved no faster than five miles per hour, now brayed and ran faster than a speeding bus, carrying Whiskey Pete down the road and into the sunset.
Platypus: Both of them died when they ran smack into it.
Platypus: THE END
Angry Ampharos: how long have you been typing that? xD
Platypus: Oh, long enough.
Angry Ampharos: I mean in time?
Platypus: I'm just taking your CPU up.
Platypus: It's hard to say. What season is it?
Angry Ampharos: Winter xD
Platypus: Let's see...
Platypus: I will now begin a dramatic reading of _The Harlequinade_.
soccerkid235 has entered the room.
Platypus: An Excursion by Dion Clayton Calthrop and Granville Barker
Platypus: Published, March, 1918
Platypus: For some time now she has been sitting there. Miss Alice Whistler is an attractive young person of about fifteen (very readily still she tells her age), dressed in a silver grey frock which she wishes were longer. The frock has a white collar; she wears grey silk stockings and black shoes; and, finally, a little black silk apron, one of those French aprons. If you must know still more exactly how she is dressed, look at Whistler's portrait of Miss Alexander.
Platypus: .
Platypus: What happened was this. A pleasant old Victorian art fancier ( of) saw the child one day, and noted that her name was Whistler ("No relation," said her Uncle Edward, "so far as we know"), and "That's how to dress her," said he. And thereupon he forked out what he delicately called "The Wherewithal" ("Which sounded like a sort of mackintosh," said Alice afterwards), for they couldn't have afforded it themselves. "You're still young enough to take presents," said Uncle Edwa...
soccerkid235 has left the room.
Platypus: ...rd.
Platypus: And indeed Alice was very pleased, and saw that the hem was left wide enough to let down several times. And here she is; the dress is kept for these occasions.
Platypus: Here she is in a low little chair, sitting with her basket of knitting beside her on one side of a simply painted grey and black proscenium, across which, masking the little stage, blue curtains hang in folds. "The blue," said Miss Alice when she ordered them, "must be the colour of Blue-eyed Mary." The silly shopman did not know the flower. "Blue sky then," said Alice, "it's the blue that all skies seem to be when you're really happy under them." "Reckitt's blue is what ...
Platypus: ...you want," the shopman said, when nothing seemed to do. Yes; and a very good blue that is--by lamplight.
Platypus: .
Platypus: On the other side of the proscenium, ensconced (and the word was made to express just this)--ensconced in a porter's chair is Uncle Edward. It is an old porter's chair, for they seem not to make them nowadays. This one indeed was given to Uncle Edward by a club that had no further use for it, having cured the draughts in its front hall by puttin
Platypus: a patent door that the fat members stuck in and that tried to cut the thin members in half. A cross between a sentry-box and a cradle stuck on end it is, and very, very suitable to sit upright in and pretend you're not asleep. Years of that sitting in by porters, and of leaning against by under-porters and messengers who keep you awake with their chatter, and of daily dusting and rubbing, have made its leather uniform softly glow and its brass buttons shine till it looks ...
Platypus: ...a comfortable piece of furniture indeed. Now the side of a stage is draughty at the best of times, and Uncle Edward, says he, is by no means so young as he was (a real live joke to him that outworn phrase is), and how he managed before he had it he really cannot think!
Platypus: (This is harder than I thought.)
Platypus: [Perhapes these digressions should be in square brackets. For clarity, I mean.]
Platypus: However early you come to the performance you always find him there. For minutes and minutes you may only be aware of very shiny square-toed boots and black-trousered legs and a newspaper that hides the of him. On most days it will be "The Times", on Wednesday it may be "Punch", and on Saturdays "The Spectator." "That is a gentleman's reading," he says.
Platypus: When the paper is lowered, as he turns a page, you behold one of those oldish gentlemen with a rather pleasant bad temper who really only mean to demand by it that young people shall pay them the compliment of "getting round" them. As the time of the performance draws near he is apt, at each lowering of the paper, to count you up as you sit there waiting, and if there are not enough of you he looks very disapproving indeed.
Platypus: .
Platypus: Alice watches you furtively almost all the time as she knits or crochets. For audiences make such a difference to her, and she is always hoping for a good one. It need not be a big one to be good (Uncle Edward likes them big). To be a good audience is to take your share of the performance by enjoying it in a simple jolly way--if you can. That eases the actors of half the strain, and then they can enjoy it, too. And if you can't do this, you'd much better go home.
Platypus: .
Platypus: When it is quite near the time to begin, you hear the orchestra tuning up. This you should never miss. There is nothing like it as a t to rouse the theatre appetite. At the sound of it Alice puts away her knitting, and hopes her hair is tidy.
Platypus: Suddenly, out of the tuba popped none other than Whiskey Pete!
Platypus: "I luuurve da mooaic!" he yodeled.
Platypus: He proceeded to dance a merry jig, during the entirety of which he was sobbing uncontrollably.
Platypus: THE END
SLBR54 has entered the room.
SLBR54 has left the room.
Platypus: I just finished a reading of _The Harlequinade_. Would you like me to start again?
Platypus: Oh, he/she left. No matter; I'll move on to _Best Russian Short Stories_.
Platypus: Ahem:
Platypus: BEST RUSSIAN SHORT STORIES
Platypus: Compiled and Edited by THOMAS SELTZER
Platypus: .
Platypus: THE QUEEN OF SPADES
Platypus: BY ALEXSANDR S. PUSHKIN
Platypus: There was a card party at the rooms of Narumov of the Horse Guards. The long winter night passed away imperceptibly, and it was five o'clock in the morning before the company sat down to supper. Those who had won, ate with a good appetite; the others sat staring absently at their empty plates. When the champagne appeared, however, the conversation became more animated, and all took a part in it.
Platypus: .
Platypus: "And how did you fare, Surin?" asked the host.
Platypus: .
Platypus: "Oh, I lost, as usual. I must confess that I am unlucky: I play mirandole, I always keep cool, I never allow anything to put me out, and yet I always lose!"
Platypus: .
Platypus: "And you did not once allow yourself to be tempted to back the red?... Your firmness astonishes me."
Platypus: .
Platypus: "But what do you think of Hermann?" said one of the guests, pointing to a young Engineer: "he has never had a card in his hand in his life, he has never in, his life laid a wager, and yet he sits here till five o'clock in the morning watching our play."
Platypus: .
Platypus: "Play interests me very much," said Hermann: "but I am not in the position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of winning the superfluous."
Platypus: "Hermann is a German: he is economical--that is all!" observed Tomsky. "But if there is one person that I cannot understand, it is my grandmother, the Countess Anna Fedotovna." "How so?" inquired the guests. "I cannot understand," continued Tomsky, "how it is that my grandmother does not punt." "What is there remarkable about an old lady of eighty not punting?" said Narumov. "Then you do not know the reason why?" "No, really; haven't the faintest idea."
Platypus: [What is this punting? Is it gambling-related?]
Platypus: "Oh! then listen. About sixty years ago, my grandmother went to Paris, where she created quite a sensation. People used to run after her to catch a glimpse of the 'Muscovite Venus.' Richelieu made love to her, and my grandmother maintains that he almost blew out his brains in consequence of her cruelty. At that time ladies used to play at faro.
Platypus: On one occasion at the Court, she lost a very considerable sum to the Duke of Orleans. On returning home, my grandmother removed the patches from her face, took off her hoops, informed my grandfather of her loss at the gaming-table, and ordered him to pay the money. My deceased grandfather, as far as I remember, was a sort of house-steward to my grandmother.
Platypus: He dreaded her like fire; but, on hearing of such a heavy loss, he almost went out of his mind; he calculated the various sums she had lost, and pointed out to her that in six months she had spent half a million francs, that neither their Moscow nor Saratov estates were in Paris, and finally refused point blank to pay the debt. My grandmother gave him a box on the ear and slept by herself as a sign of her displeasure.
Platypus: The next day she sent for her husband, hoping that this domestic punishment had produced an effect upon him, but she found him inflexible. For the first time in her life, she entered into reasonings and explanations with him, thinking to be able to convince him by pointing out to him that there are debts and debts, and that there is a great difference between a Prince and a coachmaker. But it was all in vain, my grandfather still remained obdurate.
Platypus: But the matter did not rest there. My grandmother did not know what to do. She had shortly before become acquainted with a very remarkable man. You have heard of Count St. Germain, about whom so many marvellous stories are told. You know that he represented himself as the Wandering Jew, as the discoverer of the elixir of life, of the philosopher's stone, and so forth. Some laughed at him as a charlatan; but Casanova, in his memoirs, says that he was a spy. But be that as it may, St. Germain, in ...
Platypus: Even to this day my grandmother retains an affectionate recollection of him, and becomes quite angry if any one speaks disrespectfully of him. My grandmother knew that St. Germain had large sums of money at his disposal. She resolved to have recourse to him, and she wrote a letter to him asking him to come to her without delay. The queer old man immediately waited upon her and found her overwhelmed with grief. She described to him in the blackest colours the barbarity of her husband, and ended b...
Platypus: Gah! I messed the continutity up. I am a failure
Angry Ampharos: We've been here for a whole hour xD
thenextkidRED has entered the room.
Platypus: Let's see...
Platypus: I just butchered _Best Russian Short Stories_.
Platypus: Which book is next?
thenextkidRED has left the room.
Platypus: I think I'll try something a little more intellectual.
Platypus: Here for your enjoyment, a reading of _The Snare_ by Rafael Sabatini.
He's still typing 0_o
EDIT: Updated. HE'S STILL TYPING!
EDIT 2: IT'S BEEN A WHOLE HOUR, AND HE'S STILL GOING!
Thu Nov 20, 2014 6:12 pm by MrDanGaming
Subject: This Guy Must Be Really Bored... 
