THESE FORUMS NOW CLOSED (read only)
Fun Stuff => CHATTER => Topic started by: Inlander on 06 Apr 2010, 07:09
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So over Easter I was away in the IT black hole known as rural Australia. When I got back into the city I had 17 unread emails (I know, I'm a popular guy), one of which was a notice from Facebook saying that Martha Sharp had added me as a friend.
Not knowing who Martha Sharp is, I clicked on the link to find out more, but the friend request had mysteriously disappeared. Not only that, but of the several Martha Sharps on Facebook, none had a profile photo that matched the one in the thumbnail in the email alert.
Now I am intensely curious to know who Martha Sharp is (also, a little bit bored). Who is Martha Sharp? Is one of you Martha Sharp? Or perhaps you are hiding her? Does anybody here know Martha Sharp? If not, would anybody care to speculate as to what kind of a life of mystery and intrigue Martha Sharp may lead? I mean it's clearly a spy name. Martha Sharp.
Either that or Martin Sharp (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DnG1vqVlPGE) has had a sex-change operation, in which case I wouldn't ask questions about why he/she is friend-requesting me, becuase hey, it's Martin Sharp.
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Richard Sharpe's distant relation?
I don't know, I've got nothing here.
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I hope you enjoy your exciting future in accounting.
Non-creative accounting.
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But that would mean that I would have to leave the laugh in the face of death world of government legal work, or long distance landscaping, and then what would I do for excitement?
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We are all Martha Sharp citizen. You were sent the e-mail and did not reply. Thus you have forfeited your right to sharphood, within the next 3 days all that you know and love will be taken from you and given to more deserving Sharp. Do not struggle, do not run. For we are Sharp, we are ALL Sharp.
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Martha Sharp is dead. She Facebook'd you from the grave. And then her account got deleted because Facebook is anti-dead. Can't have corpses crowding up the joint.
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I cut Martha Sharp's LVAD wire.
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I'd like to believe there's a little bit of Martha Sharp in everyone. We are all one with the universe, so we must be at least one with each other...man
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Harry, where is my Sunday SMS Story? You forgot this week!
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I am Martha Sharp!
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Harry, where is my Sunday SMS Story? You forgot this week!
Sorry about that. I didn't forget, but I was in the mobile phone signal black hole that is the far south coast of New South Wales. No signal all Easter! Normal service will be resumed next Sunday.
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I am worried that this is starting to take the same plot as the film Identity and that one of us will eventually become Harry.
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Ooh ooh dibs, I call dibs.
I call dibs on eventually becoming Harry.
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We have always been here.
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Soho, 1968
The Hardwicke was a crowded dive. Hairies crowded up in a corner booth, peddling free love and acid to each other, whilst slick-haired and sharp-tongued fag gangsters lounged against the bar in suits so finely-cut you could bleed out a body on them. I called it my local, it being walking distance from the flat in Wellestone Grove that I clung to as driftwood from the wreck of my grim Catholic childhood. The rent and ceilings were low, and the gas boiler petered out at two A.M. on idle tuesdays - it was a metropolitan heaven nonetheless, and I dug into the local clubs and dives like an epicure into gourmet. My new mother, Hardwicke, was packed out tonight. All the usual faces. Drug-peddlers, risky politicians, and the usual 'elite business' crowd, if that euphemism does justice (they themselves certainly shied from justice like meek wolves). I slunk into my corner, where Harry the Panama and Tommy Whisky conversed wildly on novel musical productions, the latter clad in the latest bona drag dripping off of hangers in Carnaby, whilst Harry - a believer in longevity and thinking the modernists' street far too flashy - wore a summertime linen two-piece; waistcoats being out and with the season as what it was.
It was then that the aroma of jasmine and calabash dreamed into the club, whispering the promise of fickle new flesh. She wore an outlandish blood-velvet catsuit. Instantly you could hear the polari queens at booth nine get catty - vada that! brave, with those stimps - but we didn't care. Her thighs traced a murmur alongside the bar which had shut its gaping maw and now stayed shtum. Incidental, a quirk of fate, that the only slice of free bar was by our trio's patch. Tommy, being only part-HP (sympathetic, shall we say), straightened out his basket and gentlemanly flourished an entrance for this captivating thing. She twitched sultry green orbs at us from underneath a soft red fringe.
"I understand that perhaps manners aren't what they used to be - but oughtn't one of you boys be buying me a drink?"
Her impeccably royal accent sent a circuit of thrill through collective spines. Tommy braved the field:
"I understand that you don't get something for nothing. A whiskey for your name?"
Her sneer gave way to a delighted and merciless laugh, at the end of which, she succumbed.
"It's Martha. Martha Sharp."
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A woman who was hot in '68 friended you on facebook, and then deleted her profile when you didn't reply fast enough. She's at least 60, and you've crushed her heart.
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Facebook suggested that I add Against Me!'s Tom Gabel as a friend recently. Still trying to figure that one out.
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So I guess the spamosphere does this thing now where they grab names off of facebook and then start adding/messaging all their suggested friends to trawl for people's information.
This kind of poked a nerve when I got a message the other day from my favorite great uncle, who has been dead now some two years.
Fuck you, industrial spamplex. You're bothering me and making me unhappy.
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I have been friended on Facebook by people who must be on this forum, judging by our common friends, although I have no idea who they are on here.
That was not implying that I am interested in finding out, by the way
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I'm the guy whose name is similar to "Johnny C."
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Buenos dias, Juan Calderon.
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So I guess the spamosphere does this thing now where they grab names off of facebook and then start adding/messaging all their suggested friends to trawl for people's information.
This kind of poked a nerve when I got a message the other day from my favorite great uncle, who has been dead now some two years.
Fuck you, industrial spamplex. You're bothering me and making me unhappy.
The spamosphere is getting pretty crazy! I shut down a facebook account the other day, and it tried to stop me by generating a page of photos of people with text saying "Person X will really miss you" and shit like that.
Also someone emailed me the other day demanding to know how much I charged for horse feed scoops. I couldn't work out if this was cleverly disguised spam or not.
Also also sometimes spambots leave really lovely, complimentary messages on some of our websites. They're getting really eloquent, I swear.
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They'd have to otherwise they'd invalidate my cautiously optimistic view of humanity.
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Also someone emailed me the other day demanding to know how much I charged for horse feed scoops. I couldn't work out if this was cleverly disguised spam or not.
I got a frantic email a few years back from someone demanding sheet music, so they could play the Mario theme on their trombone. I replied, they didn't.
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I'm the guy whose name is similar to "Johnny C."
Good to see you back Mr. Carson
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HIYOOOOOO