Original URL: http://www.theregister.co.uk/2009/03/20/comment_dungeon/

Enter if ye dare the Comment Dungeon

The week's shoutpourings put to the rack

By The Moderatrix

Posted in Bootnotes, 20th March 2009 14:54 GMT

Ah, Friday, the perfectly-formed posterior of the week. As I sit here surveying the many, many, many hundreds of web-bound hollerings that jostled for my attention this week in the comment threads, I'm inspired to throw a bone to you restless hordes (I said "hordes").

In this spirit, it is my dubious pleasure to invite you one and all to exert your puny arms and swing wide the creaking door of the Comment Dungeon, where the best bleatings of the week are treated to a nice flogging, and the feeblest are punished with a nice flogging. Are you sitting comfortably? Well, that won't do at all.

First up, one AC earns the Desert-dry wit of the week statuette for this deadpan assessment of the econopocalypse, as illustrated by the news of the British International Motor Show's cancellation.

With millions of people worldwide losing their job every month, before ya know it, the Gov will declare we are in an economic recession.

We may be staring into the infinite overdraft abyss, but no amount of recessionate glumness can douse the creative fires of Roger Lancefield, who was inspired by the Guns n' Roses album upload kerfuffle to formulate the beauteous Spectacularly convoluted file-sharing analogy of the week.

If someone wants to pull an open trolley with gold jewellery on it through crowded market places on a regular basis, he has no right to insist that the authorities force everyone in the market to wear straightjackets just so that his absurdly nickable product and daft behaviour remain viable.

This charming telly-format brainstorm on matters relating to the NYC model pandemonium incident earns my approval as Hairy-pitted feminist champion of the week. Right on, sister James O'Shea.

no, they're _not_ America's Next Top Hookers. They're not even New York State, or even New York City's Next Top Hookers. They might make Manhattan's Skankiest Hos... if they worked hard enough.

Bless. Dallying a while longer in ladyland, there were too many delightful utterances with regards the lesbian home insemination for me to possibly choose the best. It simply isn't fair. But as anyone who's ever found themselves on the pointy end of my censor-stick before should know, life isn't fair, and so you can shush your face and humbly bow to Greg Fleming, my anointed Mature adult of the week.

Ooooooh! Oooooooh! White wee-wee!!

Thank you Greg.

As we mused on the problem of Mormon smut-smiting, the Wank-inhibiting/encouraging cereal pun of the week rose proudly from the keyboard of this AC, who was disturbed to be reminded of the anti-masturbatory plottings of John Harvey Kellogg.

Thank you for introducing Mr. Kellog into this discussion.

I now have to try and get the thought of "pornflakes" out of my mind.

The coveted gong of Merciless typo extrapolation smackdown shenanigan of the week I am compelled to throw affectionately at the head of a commenter known only as Tony. Getting straight to the heart of the issue of Scientology and religion in general, he leapt bravely upon the fingerly snafu of an AC, who had previously intoned:

A lot of hollywood are in Scientology, and a lot of people are in Catholicism, quite a few pagans, a lot of Hindu, few into Jedi, then there are the agnostics, and the atheists, Mouslims, Republicans, Democrats it is just a shared belief forming a group.

Poor Tony must have wrestled with the pedantry-demon for some time before he succumbed and responded thus:

'Mouslims'

And yea, the great prophet Mousehammed did squeak : "Go forth my furry bretheren and multiply. Eat of the cheese that falls from heaven and those bits of food you find behind the cooker. Trust ye not the cats for they are servants of the evil one, Tom. Live as I have taught and one day ye might join the great one 'Jerry' in the big hole in the sky."

That's all very well, but it still doesn't answer the question of whether or not there is a Dog.

Meanwhile, the lonely voice of Ferry Boat asked the Forlorn question of the week, having found him/herself bemused by the Reg's adventures in cow alignment.

Why do they align north-south? Does the head always face one way and the pat-producer the other? Do they lie down when it rains? Do they really make shoes out of them? Are there red ones? If not, why is the pub down the road named after one?

Who will answer my cow questions?

In the very same thread could be found the touching tribute of the fine, noble adnim, the only sane choice for Good husband of the week. Aw.

My missus faces any way she bloody well likes

The ongoing Aussie firewall faff inevitably attracted 759,500 comments in various flavours of disgust and hysteria, among them the AC gem that was the Curiously self-censored scatological oppression wisdom of the week.

We stand by our Government.

If we stand in front of them, they f*** us.

If we stand behind them, they s*** on our faces.

(Graffiti read on a poor Venezuelan Street)

But never mind all that - the Insane poetic genius of the week could only go to the enigmatic AC author of this gibberingly brilliant and subversive bit of Carroll-fondling in honour of our Aussie firewall-fortifying chum. (Please feel free to reveal your identity and take a bow for this one, AC, but bear in the mind the rest of you chancers - I will know if you are fibbing. And verily, you will get it.)

This poem is dedicated to Stephen Conroy, the Australian minister for Internet Censorship.

JIBBER-JABBERWOCKY

'Twas silly, as the slimy dude

Did lie to people in the news:

All flimsy were the platitudes

And the logic trail confused.

"Beware the Naked C---, my son!

The jaws that bite, the maws that catch!

Beware the big jugged bird, and shun

The curious Mandersnatch!"

He took his corporeal sword in hand:

Long time the minxsome bird he sought --

So rested he by the Cumcum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in oafish thought he stood,

The Naked C---, with heart of flame,

While grappling with the turgid wood,

Did burble as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The corporeal blade went snicker-snack!

His sword was dead, the C--- was fed,

So he made the journey back.

"And, hast thou slain the Naked C---?

Come to my arms, my righteous boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"

He chortled in his joy.

'Twas silly, as the slimy dude

Did lie to people in the news:

All flimsy were the platitudes,

And the logic trail confused.

Since that masterpiece can never be bettered, you all might as well give up now, frankly. But since you inevitably won't, I can only suggest you do your very best not to show yourselves up in the next week, lest my cane find your backside. Mwah mwah. ®