To newspost, or not to newspost: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The flames and pkills of outrageous players,
Or to take arms against a sea of nuns,
And by opposing kill them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a post to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand summoning fins
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to newspost;
To pkill: perchance to post again: ay, there's the rub;

For in that post of death what removals may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal game,
Must give us pause: there's the newsreader
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the zaps and freezers of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the poster's contumely,
The wizzard of despised love, the Admins's delay,
The insolence of Blackstar and the bans,
That botposting merit of the unworthy blame,
When his rating might his quietus make

With sound zapping? who would fardels bear,
To newspost and sweat under a threat of pkill,
But that the dread of something after BatMUD,
The undiscover'd country from irl bourn
No suicider returns, puzzels the will
And makes us rather bear those pkills we have
Than play other games that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make newsposters of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution (1280x800)
Is flamed o'er with the pale cast of negative rating,

And newsposts of great pitch and moment
With this regard their readers turn awry,
And rate the name of action -1. you now!
The fair Admins! Wiz, in thy powers immortal
Be all my sins recorded.



- blackstar -