The Tale of IceSpear (Finale Out!)

[Türkisblau]

I.

The Queer Poster

     IceSpear. . . the crawling chaos . . . I am the last . . . I will tell the audient void. . . .

       I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago. The general tension was horrible. To a season of political and social upheaval was added a strange and brooding apprehension of hideous electoral danger; a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a danger as may be imagined only in the most terrible phantasms of the night. I recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard. A sense of monstrous guilt was upon the forum, and out of the abysses between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places. There was a daemoniac alteration in the sequence of banned sock accounts—the Senate elections lingered fearsomely, and everyone felt that the world and perhaps the universe had passed from the control of known political theory or forces to that of theories or forces which were unknown.

       And it was then that IceSpear came out of the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election board. Who he was, none could tell, but he had a D avatar and posted like someone that had a history of hackery. The Democrats knelt when they saw him, yet could not say why. He said he had risen up out of the blackness of opebo, and that he had heard messages from places not on this forum. Into the lands of Dave Leip came IceSpear, persistent, annoying, and sinister. He spoke much of politics—of electability and polling data—and gave exhibitions of prognostication which sent his spectators away speechless, yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude. Men advised one another to read IceSpear’s posts, and shuddered. And where IceSpear went, rest vanished; for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare. Never before had the screams of nightmare been such a problem; now the moderators almost wished they could forbid posting in the small hours, that the shrieks of true leftists might less horribly disturb the pale, pitying forum as it struggled after the departure of Update, and the inundation of Korean and gay porn spammers.

[IceSpear]

LOL

Looking forward to Part 2.

[Flake]

I am also looking forward toward part two.

[FEMA Camp Administrator]

Should definitely be a writer. Love the descriptiveness.

[Türkisblau]

II.

He Arrives

       I remember when IceSpear came to my post. My friend had told me of him, and of the impelling fascination and allurement of his revelations, and I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries. My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; that what was thrown on the board called an “effortpost” prophesied things none but IceSpear dared prophesy, and that in the sputter of his sparks there was taken from men that which had never been taken before yet which showed only in the emoticons. And I heard it hinted offsite that those who knew IceSpear looked on sights which others saw not.

       It was in the cool spring that I went on Atlas with the restless conservatives to see IceSpear; through the stifling high traffic night and through the endless threads about scandals into the choking topic. And shadowed on a screen, I saw Hillary’s excellent favorability rating, and Elizabeth Warren, Martin O’Malley, Lincoln Chafee, and Jim Webb still far behind her. And I saw the Republicans battling against her; against the waves of untold campaign contributions from the ultimate Steyer; whirling, churning; struggling around the dimming, cooling campaign finance laws. Then the Iowa and New Hampshire poll numbers played amazingly around the heads of the thread watchers, and hair stood up on end whilst web ads more grotesque than I can tell came out and squatted on the heads. And when I, who was colder and more conservative than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about “polling bias” and an “announcement bounce”, IceSpear drove us all out, down the dizzying boards into the damp, hot, deserted “Forum Community”. I screamed aloud that I was not afraid; that I never could be afraid; and others screamed with me for solace. We swore to one another that the election was exactly the same, and still competitive; and when the forum began to load slowly, we cursed Bushie over and over again, and laughed at the queer posts we made.

[Enderman]

Lol. This is amazing Turk! When is Part III coming out? (pun not intended ; ) )

[Ban my account ffs!]

Oooh...can I play?

Whether an Icespear or a Heatrod, he's going for your heart so he can show you to his friends!

[badgate]

IceSpear is queer?

[Ban my account ffs!]

IceSpear is queer?

So he has said!  Though he goes straight for hillary.

[Türkisblau]

IceSpear is queer?

Used in the traditional sense of the word:

queer
kwir/
adjective
1.
strange; odd.
"she had a queer feeling that they were being watched"

[IceSpear]

IceSpear is queer?

Yes, in more ways than one.

[Antonio the Sixth]

this is pure genius

[Türkisblau]

Lol. This is amazing Turk! When is Part III coming out? (pun not intended ; ) )

I think sometime tonight.

[Ban my account ffs!]

I guess the ultimate question is...is Icespear spearing for good or for ill?  I look forward to finding out!

[Türkisblau]

III.

The Ultimate Horror

       I believe we felt something coming down from the greenish, secret Moderator Board, for when we began to depend on its enforcement we drifted into curious involuntary formations and seemed to know our destinations though we dared not think of them. Once we looked at what was marked “unread” and found that Chris Costantini of the Oregon Ballet Theatre returned and CountryClassSF dominating the discussion, with scarce a line of in-depth analysis highlighting where the forum had previously excelled we knew that the forum had changed irreparably. And again we saw the Forum Community board, lone, monotone, dilapidated, and almost dominated by sexual innuendo. When we gazed around the horizon, we could not find the sane posts by Monarch, and noticed that the silhouette of Polnut was scarce of sight. Then we split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a different direction. One disappeared in a gay marriage discussion to the left, leaving only the echo of a shocking moan. Another filed down a scene-choked BRTD thread about suburbs, howling with a laughter that was mad. My own column was sucked toward the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election board, and presently felt a chill which was not of the early presidential election season; for as we stalked out on the dark board, we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil Hillary Clinton logos. Tasteless, inexplicable logos, pointing in one direction only, where lay a gulf all the blacker for its glittering reds and blues. The column seemed very thin indeed as it plodded dreamily into the gulf. I lingered behind, for the black rift in the green-litten board was frightful, and I thought I had heard the reverberations of a disquieting wail as my fellow Hillary skeptics vanished; but my power to linger was slight. As if beckoned by those who had gone before, I half floated between the titanic primary wins for Hillary, quivering and afraid, into the sightless vortex of the unimaginable.

       Screamingly sentient, dumbly delirious, only the gods that were can tell. A sickened, sensitive candidate writhing in hands that are not hands, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting debates, corpses of dead Iranians, charnel ads that brush the pallid voters and make them support the evil. Beyond the worlds vague regulations of monstrous industries; half-seen laws of unsanctified elitism that rest on Wall Street donors and reach up to dizzy tax cuts above the spheres of the working and middle class. And through this revolting election of the United States the muffled, maddening beating of Hillary hacks, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous speeches from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond the DNC; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto speaks slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate Hillary Clinton—the horrible, dynastic, mindless DINO whose soul is IceSpear.

FIN

[Ban my account ffs!]

Es war sehr schön, es hat mich sehr gefreut.

[Antonio the Sixth]

Wow.

[IceSpear]

[Ban my account ffs!]

Such prophecy.  I just hope the smoldering dead Iranians doesn't come true.

[H. Ross Peron]

In case anyone was wondering: http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/n.aspx

[Ban my account ffs!]

In case anyone was wondering: http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/n.aspx

. I guess 95% of it goes to HP Lovecraft and 4% to Hillary and Ice Spear for starring in it.  And 1% to Dave for hosting it.  What does that leave, Türkisblau?  Is 0% enough to recover your expenditure of fairy dust?

[Türkisblau]

Note that Icespear hasn't posted since right after Hillary's loss. I believe that, as Hillary's soul, he was vanquished after her loss.

[President Punxsutawney Phil]

I wished he still posted.

[Kingpoleon]

Note that Icespear hasn't posted since right after Hillary's loss. I believe that, as Hillary's soul, he was vanquished after her loss.

Our forum now remains yet same in brightness still, though our captain lost his life and our crew lost their will. That which touched by Icespear was, now our memories seem to be but fuzz. All we now know, and everything we now recall, from Icespear dedicated, in leather making, is such awl. IceSpear, a leather maker, a cobbler, and memories with many holes, yet such he was, and such he has been, a mender of soles. Though on the decimal his contribute be a ten, none but he knew how to derogate awl men. As is oft the case with the deceased, the good men do is oft interred with their posts. Yet the evil men do lives on after them, as such become ghosts.