the last person to post here wins

"...see, I have already won..." said the goblin

Beg to differ, thought the Penguin, and waddled into the game.

(the goblin welcomed the penguin then saying "...now there we differ already..." replied the goblin who offered his support here, adding "...see how I support you..." now looking up to the penguin, posting his first then)

the goblin welcomed the poster again to a seemingly normal site with average members, perhaps guessing that somehow she too had realized that something was amiss here, that they were, all to a man, KGB agents just practicing to be humdrum housewives, "...yes, your asking yourself how in your heart you knew this all along, that is how when comrade admin appealed to her fellow proletariat members to rally up against the constraints of capitalism, you couldn't buy into the hidden Bolshevik ideology here..." said the goblin pausing for the exact words again, he continued "...no, like me, you didn't fall for it because their deception was in a way just too perfect to be real so it had to false then...", "...brilliant Holmes..." came the voice in the background as the goblin's three pipe solution was once more pressed into his pipe "...elementary my dear fellow, no one can post on this site longer than three weeks without going mad, and the rest was just a simple deduction from there then..." the solution smoldered away in the goblin mind

wtf????

Poirot carefully twisted his mustache into a fine point "...um, you know inspector the gray matter moves and the gray matter is telling me that there is something about this case that, how would you English put it..." the inspector looking up from the two Dutch texts said "...wash, Hercule, but I don't know, they look alright to me, I mean I can't make head nor tail of them though, but what of it..." the inspector shrugged "...precisely inspector, but that is what they, or should we say he or she wanted..." "...I don't follow..." "...think about it inspector, two posters posting in double dutch on the same day in the same thread, what does that tell you inspector..." the inspector looked back at him and ventured "...that they both wanted to take the last place from the goblin...", Poirot laughed "...oh la la, no inspector it tells you that "unsane_swami" and "the queen of hearts" or whoever they are, are in fact the same person..." at which point the great Ork poked his head around the door in the repair asking "...how it going with that WIFI problem flea...", somehow the goblin's daydreams were never long enough he felt

meanwhile, back in Gotham city, Batman and Robin burst onto the scene "...drat..." Batman's fist hits his cupped hand "Robin I don't get it, this goblin guy is always one step ahead of us, worse I'm sure he's a penguin too, he got to have a weakness if only we could find it Robin we'd have him, Robin what we need is a plan..." "...Batman, what say you that me and my merry men joineth this brigand in Gothem forest yonder and there offer council that he may yet steal but from the rich to offer unto the poor..." "...alright Robin what's that in English and start the sentence with "holy cow Batman"...", "...prithy who sayeth "holy cow Batman" in this here age thus, t'is but a fabrication of the mind's eye m'thinks, come let us settle on "haynonnyno Batman" t'is wisdom is it not...", the waitress interrupts the goblin's string of thought "...excuse me could you pay your coffee it's 3 francs please, oh let me guess, you're a writer..." "...well sort of I'm a dyslexic with multipersonality disorder and a posting addiction..." "...great I've never met one of those, could I have a signature in case you become famous and die, thanks..." "...here you go, by the way do you know sometimes I wonder if the gods might actually envy us our mortality..." "...oh that's too deep for me, sorry but thanks anyway..."

The Penguin, showing no indifference to the Goblins creative thought, flapped his flightless wings in response, and waddled off to play in the snow.

Meanwhile, under the rising Antarctic sun, the hungry Sea Lion watched the Penguin retreat from the stubby, green creature that referred to itself as ''The Goblin''.
Which would I eat first, the Sea Lion wondered, belly rumbling like an autumn thunder.
'The penguin is plump and juicy, whilst the Goblin is covered with warts. Yet the Goblin is intelligent, whilst the Penguin just worries about sliding through the snow . . .' pondered the Sea Lion, head spinning in circles.
'I know, I'll simply eat them both . . .'

(the goblin liked that one very much, and thanked the penguin for it, "...saying, I like your site mortal, for here you and I will post while we can then...", so, speaking of preditors, the goblin posted his next)

which was at the very moment that the now slightly drunk goblin swam onto the scene not only the prove to the world the wondrous effect of a great dry Swiss white but also to take the last post in the process, simply he felt his mind to be happily floating while somewhere around him swam this great white with its sharp teeth focused on dinner but, no doubt, the goblin would be spat out with the hangover in the morning, not even a great white could keep down the goblin for long it seems, too hard to stomach

repost from a UK "last post" thread, just sharing

the goblin thanked xxxx for her comment, saying "...now I know I am going to amaze you though, besides, I think Britain is ready for it too, you see, here in Europe we have a metal water troff we call a "bath tab" which one can fill with hot or cold water depending on what temperature one likes, and then, when one feels its just the right temperature ones takes off ones garments, which I imagine would be those animals skins and war clubs in wales that is, where one gets into the water..." mentioned the goblin not really knowing how to continue with the concept then but he tried, continuing "....now the next bit is harder to explain but do you remember that stuff that pours out of the other poster's ears here, well it's not exactly those poster's earwax as far as I know, but it looks very much like it, anyway, it's called "soap" and it melts ones body grease and grime in the water..." at which point the goblin wondered if xxxx hadn't somehow collapsed on the floor in utter shock here, so the goblin thought it best to wait and see before he would continue in his next post, "...now where are the other poster's socks when you need them..." went the goblin hoping he hadn't gone too quickly here

Our creator appreciates the Goblins accolade very much, but sometimes it seems he is not all there, thought the penguin, as he rode into the Pyramid on the back of a Camel.
'Now then,' said the perplexed penguin aloud. 'How the fuck did I get here . . . ?!'

As the penguin rode blindly around the ancient construction on the back of a very rough smelling camel, he suddenly remembered something important. He forgot to welcome the Goblin! Oh how could he do such a thing, after all, the Goblin came in peace and taught him of Sherlock Holmes and some other funny looking chaps with moustaches that looked painted on rather than grew . . .

'If I ever find my way out of this blasted tomb, I will be sure to welcome our short, stubby newcomer. As it stands though, at this precise moment, with my creator apparently high as a kite, I am fucked,' said the penguin.

'Oooh, a mummy!'

(the goblin somehow knew that the penguin saw one "last post" thread amongst these many threads on her site now, whereas the goblin saw 50 "last post" threads in his one email inbox, "...you see, each post to this thread calls me, and I will post something to in return, since I enjoy this game and in posting I often come across my typos and can edit accordingly, ah but if noone calls me after a while, then I have won and will move on..." said the goblin, adding "...it's very rare I know, but I only ever leave when the game desends into tagging, or when the thread is locked even as a joke, which is fair don't you think..." and with that the goblin conitinued then by posting his next)

"...everyones who posts is a winner for a while..." thought the goblin, "...it's just that life continues so one has keep on winning not so much against the others here..." though the goblin admitted that that was fun at times too "...no, the real win is against the part of oneself that just wants to live life from day to day without looking, without forming an opinion, without whatever..." the goblin blurted out at himself since somehow he now believed that growing older had something to do with gaining depth at the expense of letting life's distractions go, yet the other question narked him too when he asked himself "...so should I be living life for my old age then..."

When the Penguin ground to a halt, the camel spat.
'Do you have to do that, it's a disgusting habit?' said the penguin, still utterly confused as to why he was here.
The Camel showed no indifference.
'Blasted hunk of hump 'n fur,' said the Penguin. 'Why couldn't I have had a horse at my disposal. they may crap standing up, but at least they have good manners.'
The penguin took a glance around the room. He wondered whether he'd ever make it out, and back home to the Antarctic regions.
'Drat,' said the penguin. 'More bloody tombs. I'd give anything for a cold water slide right now, and a beak-full of fish, I'm bloody baking!'
'Don't fret my little flipper,' rose a strange voice out of the stagnant dark. 'You were still significant enough to have made the last post . . .'
The Penguin felt a sudden sense of ease.

("...interesting..." said the goblin, repeating "...interesting...", the penguin's post deffinately had something of a writer's style to it, as he looked up from the laptop across the polished bistro floor once more to the slow falling rain in the street outside, the chatting people around hardly noticed the goblin now as he raised a finger like a wand, as his mind just repeated those words to himself "...not two writers are alike, no one is better or worse, and there are no rules beyound the Muse's pact here...", no, the goblin would just listen to the penguin, as he posted his next for her this time)

repost from "what did you character say to you" thread elsewhere,

the goblin thanked xxxxx, saying "...then think that I am writing everything here for you alone if you wish...", and with that the goblin was looking across at the slot who was eying the goblin's coffee once more, the evening now promised its depth again and perhaps for that alone that goblin loved the pull of the night here, and yet the goblin also knew that there was no rush at all, nor anything to prove for that matter, no, far from it, he had known, from way back now, that these two were perhaps the biggest failings of anyone who really wanted to write something, "rushing" and "proving" that is, "...simply, they lead to regret and doubt..." he remarked out loud addressing no one, "...goblin, you've read the other posts here, but do you know who any of the characters are, I mean Aria, or Gerard, or Julian, or any of them, it's as if one is expected to know, perhaps even to cast an image up in ones mind that is, and yet what, if anything, is there to go on here when, their age, their gender, their setting, are simply missing, it's as if they forgetting that the reader is someone blind and that their, I mean, the author's job is to see for their readers...", the harlequin nodded in agreement with a Cheshire cat like grin, and then waved her index finger back and forth in one of those "tut tut" fashion women do when rubbing it in, the goblin for his part somehow knew that she was actually addressing him here too, slowly, and perhaps as if to divert her attention, he brought the coffee cup up to his lips, sipped down the last mouthful, and then returned it now empty to the edge of the old wooden desk again, saying "...well that's a tall order slot, I mean both, "being within the story itself" on the one hand, and then "explaining to the blind man" on the other, is not easy at all, but I suppose if one first became "the one", and then later one became "the other", it would work out then, perhaps this then was really what my muse was on about when she stipulated "a shared life" as one of her "three clauses" in her pact with me, funny, now it makes sense, simply one shares as a "go between" would..." and with that the penny had dropped within the goblin's brain, the harlequin quietly bowed out, and slot just swallowed everything with one big enormous greedy gulp again

At the back of his mind, the Penguin heard the Goblin's words. Wise words they were indeed, although being stuck in a tomb they weren't much help. His Camel went on trotting, and the darkness began to strangle every corner of the rooms, every nook and cranny that could've been a doorway were cloaked, every orifice a window was choked with the pitch black.

All was silent in this creepy place, save for the occasional hawking sound as the Penguin's bearer spat, much to the dismay of its burden. These rude, uncomfortable land creatures are a far cry from those back home. Even those big dumb Walrus' have more intelligence.

Suddenly, the Penguin felt himself tumble.

'What's happening?' he cried into the hungry void.

he was still perched on the camel, yet they were spinning round and round in circles.

they were falling, the ground seemed to have opened up and into the schism the unlikely duo went. 'help, help, no last post is worth this!' the penguin pleaded.

'Don't fret little flipper,' came that mysterious voice out of the emptiness. 'Your journey has only just begun. The Goblin, although wise and friendly, has placed unto you a challenge. Your story must continue.'

The Penguin saw in his mind the Goblin, in its many shapes and persona's, his many voices and disguises, as not the reason he was here, but the reason he must go on. He felt the Camel morph beneath his flightless wings and the beast's girth began to shift almost violently up and down. The choking darkness began to dwindle and light filled the sky.

The penguin now found himself on the back of a roo' in the outback's of the strange down under, with the yellow, slanted eyes of the crocs watching from the river, and those larger, hungrier birds, circling above him in the sky.

'Oh bother,' said the bemused Penguin . . .

(nighttime fell upon the scene now, slowly the goblin turned over his thoughts again, "...she is good..." he heard himself say, continuing "...she must be encouraged then to write in her own way, not mine though, no one is right here, this is live writing now...")

repost from "writing hints" thread, elsewhere

day whatever and the usual thing, those cleaning ladies ever calling across the tables of the bistro to one another somewhat reminiscent of creatures across some enormous forest canopy while the goblin himself, tucked neatly into the corner, tries to both type, keeping his mind focused on the question in front of him, and ignore them long enough to make a valid reply here, ah but who is he kidding then as the moment the goblin opens up the "reply slot" here, umpteen tangents offer their distractive seductive candidacy for his post instead, "...no I want to offer sound advice to the humans this time, be off with you..." he voices out loud though fortunately the cleaning ladies around him don't speak English and are all too used to the goblin's sudden outbursts like this, so he waits on the time now as the cursor blinks away the moments, simply the goblin is waiting for that feeling like a retracting wave that is followed by a sudden gush of vision like thought which he will just type down rereading the last words where he loses track, "...goblin, can I swallow this post down yet, I'm hungry and do remember that humans don't have much of an attention span these day, you're lucky if they've read this far that is..." reminded the slot to the goblin as the next bout of raw Portuguese is hurled wildly across the bistro canopy, the goblin ducks to avoid it, that is while hitting the "send" button that feeds the slot here, his post was done he knew but could anyone these days read this far then he wondered

the goblin never expected anyone to do anything, well not for him he meant, in fact, the goblin often remembered that he too, didn't really address anyone beyond his own muse while writing here like this, "...well, there have been many sites where things simply haven't worked out between us where I had have to leave, but as long as I can see that the admin is active on the site, I can lock onto that vibe of faith in the site's future, and post on regardless through thick and thin..." ventured the goblin who himself, was still learning how to post in his own right, "...simply, I make mistakes like the rest of us, I am human then..." said the goblin speaking figuratively of course, continuing "...you see, there are no books about being a good poster, and the majority of writing rules have no bearing here, and if anything are completely off putting, to the average post's reader, as something stuffy, bookish and bygone..." mentioned the goblin who knew he had to think of "good for posting" now, no longer "good for writing" here, in fact, at times the goblin was even reminded of everyones love of sail, with it's epic elegance and beauty that is, fully aware that those supertankers now cruising down the ether of today's Internet, had little in common with "sailing ships" then, an opinion which didn't exactly adhere the goblin to those members of the writer's site elsewhere he had noticed

the goblin had an aversion to using "full stops" while posting, much as he did for "colons" and "semi colons", in that, what with modern day readers newly coming unstuck from the television and accidentally drifting in here like this, the goblin doubted that they would really know what those punctuation marks meant, so somehow the image of "...Scotty, damage report please...", "...captain, I don't know how long this vessel can take much more of those funny dots and dashes coming from the goblin there...", "...OK Bones, disengage then, set a direct course for "facebook"..." crossed the goblin's mind whenever any mad temptation to write normally arose

The penguin feared for the Goblin's sanity, and thought once back to his usual habitat, away from these blasted mosquitoes, away from those horrible snapping crocs, and off of this poxy Roo, which I'm sorry, must have ate a ten pack of Duracell this very morning (although on some levels the Penguin knew his creator had designed the Roo to make his journey just that little bit more humiliating), he will take the Goblin to see the his tribes elder. He'll know what to do...



'Yes, yes, he'll know what to do, then maybe the Goblin, as wise as he is talkative, will stop referring to him as a woman,' lol'd the Penguin.

So the confused and troubled penguin bounced on the back of the relentless Roo, slapping at his own neck with his flightless wings to squish those pesky bugs, dodging snaps from the wretched crocs, all the whilst aware of how the scene must look to see one of his kind caught in this strange situation...

'At least I got the last post,' the totally unamused Penguin mused...

(the goblin thanked the penguin again, saying "...no need to rush the reply here, for example, one can cut paste a bit of something one has done before, adding the personal touch in brackets above...", which is what the goblin often did, since he knew that the important thing here was not to win, but to produce, and often in something's reposting it just got very slightly reworded into something neater or better or both)

morning and the goblin starts the day with the usual "what have I forgotten" and then, when he sees he has forgotten nothing, forgets everything till his next "what have I forgotten" moment comes some time later in the day, it is as if he pops in and out his "dailylife" in this way then, "...oh no, I don't daydream during my day as that is my normal state I "down to earth" at times..." joked the goblin while his body did the household chores unnoticed by him

'Hmmm,' the penguin reflected. 'To produce, and not to win. Maybe there's a lesson to be learnt from this.'
As he struggled with what it could be, that's when it hit him, he may have posted, but he did not win, for the Goblin will be back sooner or later.
'To produce .. . '

("..oh yes, any fool can win here with a mere "I win" post, what has one won with that I wonder..." ventured the goblin who had written about it before, so up went his next then)

"...oh yes anyone can steal the "last post" crown by posting a simple "I win"..." said the goblin continuing "...and yet that crown would simply be lost to the next poster and the post itself rightly forgotten for being just another "I win" post...", so the goblin saw this "last post" game more in terms of creating ones posts each time, instead of winning, "...like this it's as if that same crown somehow gained jewels through ones creative effort for it..." guessed the goblin

"...are you for real..." came the voice within him, "...don't know but I know the Internet is real, just as this thread is real, even your reading this post is real, and yet a person's sincerity is always unknown to someone else, so whether I am "for real" or "false" falls on the viewer to decide here..." ventured the goblin, adding "...in fact, each post I do is dead by the time I hit the post button, but it is this long time facing the open posting slot here sifting though my thoughts and feelings that makes posting worth it..." meaning that the goblin was probably hopelessly insincere towards others here, that is, as the goblin was looking inwards each time but what of it

"...ah, look at the miss set alarm clock Watson...", Holmes pointed across the bed "...ingenious..." Watson replied "...so the zombie we found at the writing desk came from that...", "...yes, and most probably the work of Moriarty and the unsane culture club again, a ploy to stop him from posting most likely...", "...I say Holmes, this just isn't cricket, what's to be done I wonder..." "...no time to explain now Waston, we must retrieve the last post before it falls into their hands...", "...by Jove, brilliant Holmes..." as their steps quickened towards the goblin's computer

the goblin never hid who he was, just he didn't believe that his "dailylife" self was really him while here, that's all, saying "...actors, who do not believe in their parts, while acting, are unlikely to have the audience believe in any of their parts either, and, where the story engulfs its reader, the story teller too, is most likely been possessed by his own story..." the goblin tried to bridge it, continuing "...but you writers all know that much I guess, you've been there yourselves, in your stories that is, oh no, don't try to tell me that it was by some cold calculating thought process here that you wrote your stuff, no you wait for it to come, it's that funny gripping sensation isn't it, in which you type on following something in your minds it seems, building it up, and above all "being it" in ones total, oblivious to all else, especially time that is..." ventured the goblin as if somehow returned at the point to the bistro where he had been before he had started writing this "...gosh, is that the time..." the goblin just mentioned as his "dailylife" intruded on his thoughts once more, yes, like everyone else the goblin's "dailylife" owned the goblin on the outside, but inside it was up to him to make sure it didn't own him there too