Back to topic:

During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of internet; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Crossfireforum. I know not how it was--but, with the first glimpse of the message board, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasureable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the scene before me--upon the mere message board, and the simple landscape features of the domain--upon the bleak pages--upon the vacant eye-like posts--upon a few rank sedges--and upon a few white trunks of 404 errors--with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium--the bitter lapse into everyday life--the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart--an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime.

And then, encountering the sullen and lifeless denizens therein, I perceived the cause of this distended, dissipated and austere realm of tepid sloth.
Vacant eyes watching blurry screens, sticky intermittent keyboards haltingly pecked by gnarled and enfeebled fingers, ancient laptops, febrile towers, UPSs plaintively and impotently bleeping the sodden death knell of their spent lead acid cells; a metaphor of the cerebral rot directing those brittle digits and dysfunctionally erectile IP Board bleatings.

The trash heap of the internet, vapid in it's moribund torpor, corroded in its' synaptic coma, and self fettered into sub relevance,
Yes dear readers, you've found the abandoned yurt of forgotten Mongolian soured horse milk, realized via conceptual execrableness and fraudulent mis-topia.

Our forum....