I’m here, because I’m tired of sites like Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Reddit, Ect,Ect.
I’m hoping this place isn’t dead.
Why are you here?
It was once a Vice. Now it’s a Habit.
I came for the pie.
It started with maze games and Helen Keller jokes on WWIVnet and went downhill from there. I must be at rock-bottom now.
We used to have great games of Mornington Crescent here.
There are merkins here who read my posts and don’t tell me to fuck off.
Gives a me a warm fuzzy feeling, rather like pissing in a wetsuit.
This place isn’t dead. It’s just pining for the fjords.
Everybody’s got to be someplace.
Inertia.
I have always been here.
Unka Cecil brought me, but I stayed for the squid.
The bars were closed.
Bored at work or drunk at home.
I have a LOT of downtime at work. I’m pretty much only here from the office. If it’s a weekday and I’m not here, it’s because I’m not at work.
There are people here whose thoughts I still find worth reading, and I occasionally feel that I have a thought worth sharing.
Uh…
Hey, don’t judge me! You don’t know my life!
They kicked us out of AOL and we had to go somewhere.
Oh, before that? Well, AOL had this space called The Exchange, sort of little online communities where people posted. They killed it off. But by then I was addicted to posting in little online communities. AOL also advertised things that an AOL member might find of interest, when you first logged on, and the (AOL version of) The Straight Dope was one such promoted space, so I came in, I shot my mouth off on a subject or too, and was quickly hooked.
I find this community can be intellectually stimulating and it’s nice to pepper that throughout my day. I haven’t found any other place online that scratches that itch.
One of us is doing life backwards.
Because I can. I lost interest in the other Forum I was on and found an old link to here and just edged in. Then joined the Monday Morning Post (MMP) and well…I just can’t leave my friends now.
Because occasionally someone will indulge me in a discussion about whimsical things that we know will never happen. Of course, for every person who indulges me, there will nine other assholes who will be unable to refrain from telling me that whatever we’re talking about will never happen.