Do you think I could just leave this part blank and it'd be okay? We're just going to replace the whole thing with a header image anyway, right?
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create a cool story which should end with
"you can make religion out of this"
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you can make the topic out of the post
dimensional adventures is gogbest
we can make a religion out of this
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The separate eras of EE.
You can make religion out of this.
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EE and EBE have same concept and same purpose. But they dislike each other
hey you can make divided christianity religion out of this!!
ee & eeforums gibs me depression
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i dony understand what is ebe i would like to know
anyways
German4Power
we can make a religion out of this-
wait dont
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we can make the forums out of source code
we can make religion out of whirl's miss-understanding of forum games..
ee & eeforums gibs me depression
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"omg omg its drstereos the cancer, just
i whine about my mistakes and then i blame it on someone else and get them banned bcs im stupid" said mysterion/germanpower68/gp68
lets make a religion out of this
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A few centuries, after the 20th, showed unparalleled growth in the human "handle" on the world. The constant weights on human achievement, such as famine and drought, were all but nullified. Increasing secularization first originating in the Renaissance reduced the previously common religions to mere fable: "Christianity? Oh yeah, the worship of Cthulhu, right?" In previously undeveloped countries, labor previously not actualized helped equalize positions on the world stage. What stage could this be but that of power? McNamara's mutually assured destruction could not be contained well. Given the circumstances, once any entity reaches this ability of complete annihilation, all those of comparable status lacking said ability have no defensive choice but to escalate their own situations. Soon, all countries of the world had some level of cold war-esque terror over some other country. The resulting worldwide arms race comes then as no surprise.
Apparent signs of utopian society could not prevent countries more equipped for this race to take the lead. Governments with more extensively developed academic systems naturally found their solutions in a much more timely manner. When we made systems to protect against the trendiest manner of destruction, a new one cropped up. This situation revived the first-, second-, and third-world labels. Whenever the former appeared to reach an agreement, disgruntled latter countries caught up to the latest annihilation, forcing the cycle to continue.
They all thought us crazy. Well, we had to be. No one wants to accept the fact that the world was devastatingly close to ruin. The more advanced a society becomes, the less capable it is to handle drastic setbacks. Each iteration of weapon and active defense had its straggling public “crackpots,” as they say. These individuals regularly build bunkers to survive the latest danger. They—we—didn’t put much weight on the government’s common defense, if you will.
You probably can see where this is going.
No, I wasn’t alone in this bunker of sorts. Carrying on about “bunker sweet bunker” in social settings was a quick way to ostracization for me. So, I had an air about me; when John, peculiar gent that he is, approached me about his reciprocated qualms about our government’s inability to keep up with the latest weapons. I can’t say why I conceded. He had no leverage to speak of. I the philosopher—seems they let anyone run around doing whatever they care for cheap—and he the historian. Not a bad pairing. Maybe he exemplified the maxim about learning from history in my eyes.
That final day, contrary to cliché, did not begin as any other. The ground shook with such intensity, sending threats of a mile-deep entombment, I could hardly think. Of course, the whole fiasco, as I shook there on the steel floor, was eerily silent. This era of bunker was planned with at least that in mind: surviving annihilation only to have a brain turned to mush through vibrations would be unfortunate. I shouted into the darkness after John, to see how he was handling himself, but I received no response. Even as the very floor beneath me began to calm, I couldn’t rally myself to move. Even the light switch was too daunting a task. My limbs still shook and refused locomotion. I figured to try and sleep this off.
I woke to the same all-too-familiar darkness with a start. To say I was firing on all cylinders would be a grandiose claim. But, after making certain the wall nearest me was sturdy (starting from the floor, as one should), I ambled toward the switch. Soon I was out my door and rounding the corner towards John’s room. I shouted, knocked, threatened at that door. It didn’t seem to care. I try the handle: locked. Well, no use staying upset over what cannot be changed.
Just about any planning task is undercut by hunger. Accordingly, I gathered some semblance of a breakfast from the kitchen floor. The jam and peanut butter was easy enough to spot. We always bought too much of it anyhow. A bittersweet thought crossed my mind: I’d have twice as long to live. I curse my choosing not to wear shoes (socks, even!). Heading towards my room for the neural interface, I failed to position my right foot as it came down decisively on a shard of jam glass. Starting to bleed, I hurried my pace up. I didn’t even think about John as I hobbled past his room, leaving a shining crimson trial. I bandaged myself up well enough as could be, but that foot wouldn’t be taking weight anytime soon. With a much more dismal expectation from life, I mustered what I could to head back to my room.
I wasn’t even planning to check if we were still connected to the outside world. No matter, my unit proudly shared that no contact could be made. The error message seemed more surprised than I: “OH NO! CONNEECTION LOST!” – no one even bothered to proof! I checked the recent post office broadcasts. I could only gather that the morning in the southern tip of Africa brought some unrest. The world was quick to respond. Whatever sort of domino effect that took place reached our little outpost in half an hour, a little past two AM locally.
[at this point I got tired of making my point]
[john isn’t dead, he’s just a little unwell. Is in shock, doesn’t want to admit leaving is necessary]
[leave with week’s worth food. Somewhere is better than dying of starvation in a hole]
[roaming immoral folk. Somebody something or other attacks and takes our foods and the medical stuff I was using for my foot]
[maybe some rain in here]
[found a country house.]
We reached the house after a day or two. It wasn’t too hard to find. The line between singed ground and green grass was noticeable to say the least, so we traveled deep into that territory. John mentioned something about a religious group using primitive technology as part of their beliefs. By this time, though, I’d stopped giving him much credit at all. More often than not his sparse offered claims were delusional. Yet, this dwelling, upon closer inspection, yielded some canned goods to tide us over. Sated, we took to exploring the place. Maybe we wondered what fate the former occupants had been dealt. I gave John a wide berth when he started some unusually high giggling and squawking about biting into chips or something.
I had just started on reaching the attic when John called after me. I tried ignoring him; maybe he’d forget me! Next thing I know, he’s pulling me toward the basement. I cautiously relent. He starts some incoherent babble while pointing at this desk in the middle of the landing. If I had to put it to writing, I guess I’d pick some random clauses and avoid punctuation. On the desk are two rectangular objects. One is bright and flat, the other large and humming. "It's truly amazing that even during this apocalypse, this primitive technology still survives! I mean, the intranet is strong, but if our cities are destroyed, where does the intranet go?! To think it's still running... Truly amazing! The trial of hunger we endured makes this all the more considerable. This house! The food! This terminal! There must be some greater being at work here!"
obligatory followup reading: How-to-Become-a-Writer-Lorrie-Moore. yes my piece is oddly written.. I gave up halfway through so have a punchline. also, I think I'm the only person to have come close to following the rules
create a cool story which should end
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stopping Hummerz5 from rambling
we should make a religion out of this!
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