I love the smell of burning gamers in the morning.

 

I love the smell of burning gamers in the morning.
--
[not in citation given]

 

Jack Thompson

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I caught another kid last Friday who called and threatened me. How dumb does a kid have to be made by video games to call me, with caller ID out there, and with news reportage that the last knucklehead who did this to me got thrown into jail in Houston? Apparently he has to be as out of touch as most of the folks posting at this site. Hooah! Jack Thompson, The kid is from Boston, a gamer, and his mother is furious, despite the recent St. Patrick's Day festivities. I love the smell of burning gamers' moms in the evening!

 

Jack Thompson

 

I can smell burning flesh ... and I hope to God it's human.

 

Morrissey

 

No, you have an unhealthy involvement in Nazi-like propaganda campaigns
By your logic, identifying a book burner makes one part of a book-burning jihad. The fact is this: Avid video gamers are the most intolerant and most hypocritical people on the public scene today. In the same of "free speech" they terrorize and threaten anyone with whom they disagree.
You all are so utterly wasted mentally that you celebrate being "Pixelantes," when that term refers to your vigilante tactics. Nobody in his or her right mind thinks that being a vigilante is a good thing. Thus, you gamers--and your chronic antics prove it--are clearly not in your right minds.
Thanks for proving the point yet again. Jack Thompson

 

Jack Thompson

 

You are all people
To whom has happened, at most a continual impact
Of external events. You have gone through life in sleep.
Never woken to the nightmare. I tell you life would be unendurable
If you were wide awake. You do not know
The noxious smell untraceable in the drains,
Inaccessible to the plumbers, that has its hour of the night; you do not know
The unspoken voice of sorrow in the ancient bedroom
At three o'clock in the morning. I am not speaking
Of my own experience, but trying to give you
Comparisons in a more familiar medium. I am the old house
With the noxious smell and the sorrow before morning,
In which all past is present, all degradation
Is unredeemable. As for what happens —
Of the past you can only see what is past,
Not what is always present. That is what matters.

 

Thomas Stearns (T. S.) Eliot

 

Who knows how to make love stay? Tell love you are going to the Junior's Deli on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to pick up a cheesecake, and if love stays, it can have half. It will stay. Tell love you want a momento of it and obtain a lock of its hair. Burn the hair in a dime-store incense burner with yin/yang symbols on three sides. Face southwest. Talk fast over the burning hair in a convincingly exotic language. Remove the ashes of the burnt hair and use them to paint a mustache on your face. Find love. Tell it you are someone new. It will stay. Wake love up in the middle of the night. Tell it the world is on fire. Dash to the bedroom window and pee out of it. Casually return to bed and assure love that everything is going to be all right. Fall asleep. Love will be there in the morning.

 

Tom Robbins