06-21-2012, 10:19 PM (This post was last modified: 06-21-2012, 10:26 PM by mimloopen.)
<There are posters hung around all the goblin cities... and also Orgrimmar. There are a small stack of envelopes next to the poster with an address labelled on them. Warning, very mild language. Poems should be posted in this thread.>
Citizens!
Do you bear a grudge? Resentment for a man? Did someone steal your woman, or your lunch, or your woman's lunch?! Fear not! Violence is the answer most of the time. For the rest of the time, there's the Hate Exchange Poem Contest of Manly Hate!
Brought to you straight from the hosts of the incredibly successful Frostbrand Tournament, this here is the first official poem writing contest of the Hate Exchange. The idea is simple. First, pick someone you hate with a passion, whether it be a cheating human whoreslut lady or the last fellow to roughen you up in a fight. Second, write a poem about them! It can be deep, it can rhyme, it can be funny... but above all, it must be manly. No soppy crap accepted. Poems are to be twelve lines maximum and four lines minimum.
The entry fee is five silver. Take one of the envelopes nearby and mail your poem along with the entry fee to the provided address. The winner of the competition will receive a whoppingninety percent of the provided entry fees. Second place will receive a mystery prize. All poems are to be written in common. A maximum of one poem per person. Entries close soon, so hurry up! And remember, it's never too late to hate!
... Unless you're a dumbass and miss the closing date.
Yours sincLoveFrom
<It seems the writer gave up trying to find an appropriate signature for the posters and just wrote the words HATE EXCHANGE in big block letters at the end>
"Do not be fooled if you hear laughter, or happen upon a smile. There is no happiness or merriment here."
Voragh shambles out of his Ratchet hovel, head throbbing, muscles aching, joints popping, eyes narrowed and hand up against the punishing morning sun. He pauses to squint at one of the posters, snatching it off the nearby wall and turning it in his hands.
"Did . . . I put this up?"
Shrugging, Voragh blindly shoves the flier into the face of a passerby. "Go write a poem. It's manly now."
06-23-2012, 04:06 AM (This post was last modified: 06-23-2012, 04:07 AM by mimloopen.)
<Trotting along the streets of the shanty goblin town with a hefty tome in her arms, Vyndline stops and frowns at one of the posters, leaning forward to read it. Her lip twitches into a smile and she shakes her head at the sheer sillyness of writing a hateful poem. What a dumb idea.
Two hours later the same elf returns to to the spot, except instead of carrying a book she is gingerly holding a piece of parchment and a few silver coins. She takes one of the envelopes and pushes the letter and coins in, sealing it up and going off to find the nearest mailbox wordlessly, thinking back on the poem she had written.>
A Letter to Brother
Dearest brother, how are you, I hope you’re doing well?.
I wonder if you’re comfortable as you BURN IN HELL.
Your life had been so easy that it almost made me sick.
On Whyrme’s test for Psychonance you’d have got full ticks.
(This is of course assuming that the test was run in suitable condition, and not including Pyhre’s recommended emissions which would complicate the results. Therefore we are taking both the first and third theory as true, but not the second theory because it has been disproven many times to be false. Unless one is to believe the dubious evidence presented by the Endmer couple. But getting back on topic, for the above full ticks we are assuming that the mystery element of personality, hereby dubbed x, is the product of two times its predecessor in relation to the ticks on micro management and philosophy (shortened down, X = 2(p[2,17])), after taking in all other results, of course).
"Do not be fooled if you hear laughter, or happen upon a smile. There is no happiness or merriment here."
Rensin goes up to said mail box. He sighs. He's holding a piece of paper that looks like it's been scribbled on a lot.
Spoiler:
Self loathing.
Denial.
Abandonment?
What dost I write oft about?
Is it about the lectures of my father?
The pandering of my youth?
Nay, I write about love. Love for another man.
I shouldn't feel like this.
He doesn't know.
I won't tell him.
My dreams consume all.
My heart aches.
My nights, sleepless.
Roses are Red,
Violets are blue.
I like penis
I'm growing moobs.
06-25-2012, 05:37 PM (This post was last modified: 06-25-2012, 05:45 PM by Krent.)
Somehow, someway, the mailbox was stuffed with two pieces of parchment. Old and dusty, slightly tattered, these pieces looked as if they were written many, many years ago. Written by a gnome from a long-gone era, one that doesn't rightly exist anymore.
The submissions are anonmyous. How they got into the mailbox is anyone's guess.
(( Warning: Language. Also anything within <>'s is gnomish.))
Spoiler:
"Straight Outta Old-Town"
STRAIGHT OUTTA OLD TOWN!
Crazy mudda asshole named Rofu
From da group calling itself Da Krew.
Whens I'ms pissed off,
I'ms wreck off,
Frow a few fists,
An mudda-bitches be hauled off.
Choo too kid, if ya fuckings wiff me.
I'll kill choo in da place where no guards be!
An' if dey come?
I'm make 'em shout!
Beatin' dey faise, dat's how I'ms goin' out.
Fo' all da punk mudda assholes who wanna comes showin' out.
Punks do de mumble, I start da rumble,
Cut 'em up, beat 'em up, cook dem like goblin-gumbo.
Try goings off like dats
Wiff mine foot planted right up cho' ass
So walk aways smooth
Ain't no talkings when I'ms gonna makes mine move
So when I'ms in yo' district DUCK
'CAUSE LIL WRECKA IZ CRAZY AS FAWK!
Spoiler:
"De Changes"
I'm seen no changes.
Wakes up in da morning an I'ms ask mineself
Iz lyfe worth livin'?
O' should I'ms hang mineself?
I'm tireds of being poor,
But even worse I'ms short
My skin iz itchey
So I'ms lookin' for some White to snort.
Guards don't give a shaif about a Gnomey.
Punt a shorty, beat a dwarfy,
With his homies.
Walk past anudda bum
Who da hell cares?
One less hungry man
On da King's welfare.
First give 'em booze an'
Let dem drink wit' each otherz
Let 'em fight, step back,
Watch 'em kill each otherz
"It's time to fight back!"
Dats whut Piken said
Wun boom in da cave
Now Piken's dead.
I's gots love fo' mine Allies
But we's can nevers gone no wheres
Unless we's share an' rise.
We's gotta starting make changes
Learn to see me as da brudda
Instead ov a Tram-bound stranga
Which iz how it supposing two be
How can de Legion take a brudda
When he's close to me?
<I'd love to go back to when we
Could play as a kids...
But things have changed.
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