Inside The Gang Of Four

[Ritchie]

Throughout the time that Mercutio, Padme, and Wilddog were narrating the history of the Gang of

Four, the meal proceeded around us. Beginning with duck’s nest soup, we munched our way through an endless parade of courses, including roast Castletown swan and in Vader’s honour, Cat’s Kidney Pie (I passed on this one). All around me a psychotic babble of conversation bubbled. During the narrative, Wilddog would become very animated spitting fragments of food all over us.

 

At the far end of our table sat a small, dishevelled and distracted young man, he was constantly mumbling to himself a series of disjointed words, “Dream … Perchance … Buy … Sell … Amoeba … Plankton,”

 

Padme, leaned close into me and whispered “That’s Kumquat,” the caress of her hot, sweet, rosescented breath against my ear sent a frisson of static electricity down my spine. We both reached for a bread roll at the same time, and for a delicious moment our hands touched and remained together for a delirious instant longer than was necessary.

 

---

 

I should perhaps now pause and relate an incident, which interrupted my history lesson.

 

The waiters, in their gilded livery, were scurrying around serving the opening course, when the amiable atmosphere in the dinning hall was shattered by a loud crash. At the far end of the room a large door had swung open, and looming on the threshold was the considerable presence of Ans.

 

Purposefully he entered pushing a gurney, on which firmly attached by duct tape and industrial-size staples was a muzzled Phoneman.

 

When they reached the foot of the stage, Roxanne stood up and spoke firmly, “Ans!”

 

“Pans … Meringues … Lemons … Bells…” the poor delusional Kumquat shouted back.

 

Roxanne, a furious terrier-like look on her face, barked, at him “Silence!”

 

Kumquat blanched and paused, as if suddenly remembering himself he appeared to halt his incessant litany, then uncontrollably like a virgin’s first tug, he blurted out “Is Golden … Showers … Baths … Tubs … Gentlemen …”

 

“Kumquat!” bellowed Roxanne.

 

The benighted obsessive clearly couldn’t prevent himself, “Kiwi … Fruit … Nut …” Wilddog leapt on the delusional fool and rugby tackled him to the floor. Although enfeebled by the effort of maintaining his manic compulsion Kumquat continued with his eternal list making, blurting out, “Steve…” before Wilddog silenced him jamming a bread roll down his throat.

 

---

[Ritchie]

When Kumquat was trussed up in a corner convalescing and grunting as if continuing his neverending word-play, Roxanne spoke again.

 

“Ans, how is the reprogramming going?”

 

“Slowly,” grunted the hulking brute, “Not ready to join. Yet.”

 

Roxanne, who at the start of the dinner had changed into an all in one pink PVC catsuit, decorously climbed from the stage. She strode over to where Phoneman was trussed and removed a silver tipped stiletto. Punctuating each word with a sickening blow with the heel to the failed superheroes’ forehead, she spoke clearly and deliberately, “Phoneman Listen To Ans, You Will Join Us Eventually.” Her blows created a bloody welt above the interloper’s bushy eyebrows, like an Indian’s caste symbol.

 

Padme, gave a discreet yelp of empathetic displeasure with every jab, eventually grabbing my hand and squeezing tightly. I could not believe that such a beautiful sensitive soul supported this brutality. I resolved to manipulate the situation so that I could broach the subject with her. In the meantime, my heart was somersaulting as she leant in subtlety closer against my body. (For emotional support?) When she eventually removed her hand from mine I found that Padme had pressed, a message of rebellion in my clammy palm. (Or was it a love poem?) It read

“Shall I compare you to a coffee cup?

Warm and sweet and full of scrummy stuff,

Aah! But when will we two meet again, there’s the rub,

This is the winter of the internet - Shall we sit upon the floor,

And talk of sad things;

Or fly into the breech once more, Against the arrows and slings,

Of the outrageous posters.”

 

While I read Roxanne indicated that Phoneman should be placed in a gap between the tables, in the centre of the dining hall. And there he stood for the remainder of the feast, acting as a target for any unwanted food, that the cult members felt like throwing in his direction. From time to time Ans would go over and apply an electronic cattle prod to his genitals.

 

“And that is the second way of joining our merry band,” Mercutio chuckled, “Ans’ Psychological Reprogramming Programme can be very persuasive.”

 

He went on to detail the procedure, which seemed to involve sensory deprivation, extreme violence, the “music” of Metallica, and a torrent of verbal abuse; but I wasn’t really listening, I was more concerned with formulating my own programme to rescue the delectable Padme from this horror.

 

---

[Ritchie]

Although over the years the Gang of Four’s membership had increased dramatically, so had the forces opposed to it. Whilst, the ever-transforming taxi driver had not been spotted for a while (although some did suspect that his latest incarnation may be the derisible USA NO WAY), Vader and Richie (now ludicrously renamed Riki) were still present, as ridiculous as ever, and they had been joined by three new villains.

 

Firstly, there was the tenacious, egotistical and ridiculous, Steven. He displayed every trait that was guaranteed to annoy the Gang – appalling spelling; idiosyncratic punctuation; pomposity; and selfobsession.

 

But his crowning glory has been his tenacity at holding a seemingly untenable position. On one memorable occasion Steven proclaimed that the dustbin men (or Dusty Bun Men as he called them) were a con and their weekly collections were “Jyst a WAY TO RIP YOU OFF!!!!!!!” When challenged that his home would become an unsanitary health hazard if the rubbish was not collected, he became all indignant and bellowed that if he wanted to live in a “Piggy Stie” it was his choice, and that he was “HELPIN YOU ALL SOO MUCH!!!!”

 

When Stavros countered that if he refuse to tidy his house the council would do it forcibly, the redoubtable Steven was unbowed. “I WILL FORBIDE THEM” he proclaimed, in fact the authorities would respect him for his stance. And then he threatened to set his pet wolf “TIDDELS” on them.

 

Tiddels, was quite a cause-celebre on the forums, many doubted the beast’s existence, whilst many more posters were appalled that Steven had been allowed to import a wild carnivore, into the Island (on a fishing boat, straight from “alkaseltzer”, allegedly), but most feared for the safety of Steven’s twin toddlers – Humfree and Bengamin.

 

Steven would retaliate by creating a multitude of threads about how everybody hates him and would unleash a plethora of grotesque clones onto the forums to create mayhem. It appeared that far from being a harmless imbecile Steven actually had a degrea in Genetic Engineering and a secret laboratory hidden under a mountain of uncollected disposable nappies in his living room.

 

Whilst Steven offended many people, I must admit I had a sneaking admiration for the chap, his indefatigability was a wonder to behold and his creative use of the English language (especially such classic neologisms as “lapsy daisical”) was breathtaking for any lover of words.

[Ritchie]

Secondly, there was Nessa. She was an enigma, her gnomic postings could have made her fortune if she set her mind to setting cryptic crosswords, but as contributions on an internet forum she was a nightmare.

 

She was a master of word trickery, her posts, written in an English dialect of her own devising, and which were crammed with jargon terms that she may or may not have understood. It was very difficult to destroy her arguments because no one could be certain what they were or if indeed she had any. This example of an exchange with the cult member detailed to torment her is illustrative of the problem she posed.

 

BSE: Nessa you are a looney who talks shit.

 

Nessa : I totally agree BSE, words can mean different things to different people in my POV. That is the difficulty with these cyber discussion scenarios.

 

BSE : That’s bollox.

 

Nessa: I couldn’t agree more BSE. But first we need to define what bollox means BSE, IMHO and that of my certain of my personal support network. That is the problem,BSE. It is a social-typing convention situation.

 

BSE: A what?

 

Nessa: BSE is right. What do words mean? BSE should they mean anything…I muse… Perhaps if we all remembered, IMHO BSE in my POV, we all come from different, social background cultures we would, BSE take more cognitive recognition of the realities as I see them.

 

BSE: My head hurts?

 

Nessa: In my POV it is a brain tumor scenario, BSE. My personal network situation scenario suggests as does my POV and IMHO BSE that you take an Aspirin type construction and lie down in a darkened room scenario. BSE, IMHO.

 

Naturally, she had formed a strong alliance with Vader, and they would band together in a “mutual point avoidance support network”.

 

---

 

The third new ally that Vader had recruited to the anti-Gang of Four was really more of a liability. He was a pompous windbag, by the name of Carter.

 

As the only priest ever to be excommunicated for boring his congregations to death, he was the acknowledged master of the banal. The crushing tedium of his efforts could suck the life out of any thread.

 

Additionally, although not in Steven’s league, he too was self-obsessed, doing the old forum favourite of leaving the forums and posting a bile filled diatribe as his parting gift, then returning when it became obvious that whilst he couldn’t live without the forums the forums could live without Carter.

 

From time to time Carter would climb back into the pulpit to pontificate about the latest evil (clones; picking on Steven; people not reading Carter’s posts - were favourites) to infect the forums.

 

The main problem with Carter, though was his all-encompassing hero worship of the quicker witted posters, particularly Monkey_Magic and Rhumsaa, who he followed around the forums like a lost kitten follows Vader. It was almost painful to watch the pitiful way he attempted to emulate the simian one. Carter’s had been blessed with the lumbering intellect of a brontosaurus, and even his best efforts fell flatter than one of Sugar Bee’s Digestives

 

Soon the Gang grow tired of the sound of tumbleweed drifting around the forums following one of his side swipes at humour and they added him to the list of its enemies.

 

But, that’s enough about Carter, I’ve spent too long thinking about this non-entity and it is putting me to sleeeeeeeppppppp……….

[Rhumsaa]

The main problem with Carter, though was his all-encompassing hero worship of the quicker witted posters, particularly Monkey_Magic and Rhumsaa, who he followed around the forums like a lost kitten follows Vader.

 

A rare compliment!

 

I think I must have missed this first time around

[Declan]

Quicker witted than Carter, is not that much of a compliment.

 

He was the only one to take offence.

[Declan]

Considering he effectively started the only thread that's survived MT, Manx Online and is still in the active topics on MF he should be better remembered.

[Rhumsaa]

Considering he effectively started the only thread that's survived MT, Manx Online and is still in the active topics on MF he should be better remembered.

 

which thread was that?

[Ritchie]

As the meal progressed Padme, Wilddog and Mercutio continued to detail the history and structure of the sinister organisation.

 

With time the Gang of Four, developed a formidable strategy to wage war against its enemies. When Vader or one of the other foes, made a post the sect’s members would swing into action, in carefully regimented waves. Each member had been assigned a role, by the leader, and each member adhered to that role.

 

The first attack would be staged by the Twitterers. These were the lightweight and inconsequential chatterers – Sunny Days, Cream Horn, Moon, Sugar Bee, and several of the academy’s students would flutter around a topic. They would exchange inoffensive pleasantries and attempt to hijack the topic and distract its initiator.

 

This approach was particularly successful against the ineffectual Carter, who was always relieved when the conversation turned away from weighty matters where his lack of debating skills would be exposed.

 

Should this approach fail the leader would call on the rapier attack of the Pisstakers - Declan, Monkey_Magic, Rhumsaa, several of the Trolls, Mrs Trellis from North Wales, Dave the Cardboard Box, and a clone or two would enter the fray.

 

The approach of these posters was to launch a series of humourous barbs. Often they would create a

“comedy” persona. Their goal was to annoy and disturb the flow of a poster. Steven, with his innate self righteousness and creative spelling often fell victim to these tactics.

 

Often several of the Pisstakers would hang around to provide support for the Big Hitters who went in next (the intellectual heavyweights of the forum - Ripsaw, Stavros (although his powers have lately begun to wane alarmingly), The Ruler of The Trolls, TPFKANOYN, and Addendum).

 

When one of the Big Hitters fixed in on his target, with a Monkey_Magic or BSE in support, he would rip every single phrase of their opponent apart. Every fact was examined and dismissed. This approach worked well because with the supporting Pisstaker angering their target, the posts became less coherent and left Ripsaw or Stavros to destroy every scintilla of argument that Vader and his chums could master.

 

---

 

My companions, pretty much explained the entire workings of the Gang. I was, however, still concerned about one thing.

 

“If I’m not joining through the academy or Ans’ re-education programme what are you gonna do to me, as part of my initiation.”

 

Padme watched sadly as the whirlpool of sheepie milk amalgamated into her coffee; Mercutio let out a sly chuckle; and Wilddog released a baying howl of laughter before replying.

 

“Ah, you are already a member. Your stories have seen to that. You’ve been a member for some time. It just took us a while to contact you.

 

“That’s why we have told you all this, shown you the Trolls, the induction ceremony, and that is why you will be at the Grand Ceremony like the rest of us. We knew it was safe to entrust you with this information, because you are a member.

 

“And a member cannot leave us or betray us, because he knows the consequences,” as he said these final words there was a cynical glint in his eye and I saw a flash of pointed teeth.

 

Naturally, I was distressed by this development, I appeared trapped in the evil cult, and if I was to escape, I would need to destroy it. I made my excuses and went to the toilet, to ponder the situation.

 

Whilst sat on the pan, I took the opportunity to compose a strongly worded letter to the moderators,

Gary and Sarah. It read …

 

My Dearest Sarah ( & Gary)

 

To quote from the forum rules: -

 

"Thou shalt have only two Gods, and their names shall be Sarah (and Gary), and shall not band together to worship other things."

 

“And, thou shalt not bare false witness against Vader, because he cannot help it.”

 

In my time as a forum member I have witnessed many members breaking the above rules, being generally very beastly to each other, and must admit that I have done so also.

 

In defence of my naughtiness I must however point out that it was to reveal the evil doings of nasty other people, in the main from very senior members.

 

Most recently I have seen such members perform heinous acts of torture towards the weaker members of the forum, namely Phoneman and DRAM.

 

My own behaviour is not very good and if you feel you must then you can ban me but I also would like these other members investigated and banned if this is to be the case because they are members of an evil cult called the Gang of Four and want to destroy us all, members include:-

 

·Monkey_Magic

· Ans

· Ean

· Declan

· Stavros

· Roxanne

· Mercutio

· The Ruler of the Trolls

+ many others too numerous to mention.

 

I realise you have a difficult task on your hands but I was prompted to this course of action by other members more senior than myself so thought it best to bring the matter to your attention. sincerely

 

GOF NO WAY (aka Ritchie).

 

I then ripped the paper from the roll, and secreted it in a bottle of Bushmills, that Declan had discarded, and flushed it down the loo. I had to hope that Sarah (or Gary) was walking along Douglas Beach as my missive washed ashore.