Admin - What's the next rep level?

[AtW]

You may have missed the video where Esther Rantzen presents Wilmslow with a plaque for being a long term volunteer - yeah, you're right, you couldn't make that sh!t up.

And you still think he is real!

[Churchill]

And you still think he is real!

Keep laughing funny boy.

I know he's real and that's the scary bit. Do you want his office phone number?

[EricBartlett]

Keep laughing funny boy.

I know he's real and that's the scary bit. Do you want his office phone number?

0800 1111 - Shirley?

[AtW]

Keep laughing funny boy.

I know he's real and that's the scary bit. Do you want his office phone number?

Is it a premium rate number?

[Freamon]

I negged MF last week. I liked one of his posts, I wanted to give him some rep, but could not possibly + him as he is MF. So I negged him and said why. He just negged me back. No sense of humour some people.

All but one of my neg reps have been from MF.

[Old Greg]

All but one of my neg reps have been from MF.

It would all make sense if he were a ****.

[AtW]

All but one of my neg reps have been from MF.

Two actually...

[MarillionFan]

It would all make sense if he were a ****.

"To rep, or not to rep, that is the question:
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous posters,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of bedwetters,
And by repping end them: to die, to flounce
No more; and by a flounce, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die to flounce,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely, [poor]
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay, [disprized]
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment, [pith]
With this regard their Currents turn awry, [away]
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons
Be all my sins remembered."

Ah feck it!

[mudskipper]

Poetry? Real men don't do poetry.

Grow a pair of Davinas and get back to your cage fighting.

[MarillionFan]

Poetry? Real men don't do poetry.

Grow a pair of Davinas and get back to your cage fighting.

Shall I compare thee to my monthly pay?
Thou art cheaper and more desperate.
Rough times do come our way,
And we shall part ways at any rate.

Sometime too hot the oven bakes our dine,
And often is the pie’s gold complexion burn’d;
Your cooking, looks and smell continually decline,
Through chance or time, you’ve never learn’d.

But thy idiotic comments are never late,
Nor lose their place as the lowest;
Nor shall I brag thou know me, or that you’ve ever been near my shade,
When in reality I see everyday those desperate repest growest.

So long as you can breathe and I can see,
So long my mission is you will never overtake me from thee