Thou Shalt Always Kill

[mcshane in the 79th]

Thou shalt not steal if there is direct victim.
Thou shalt not worship pop idols or follow lost prophets.
Thou shalt not take the names of Johnny Cash, Joe Strummer, Johnny Hartman, Desmond Decker, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix or Syd Barret in vain.
Thou shalt not think that any male over the age of 30 that plays with a child that is not their own is a peadophile... Some people are just nice.
Thou shalt not read NME.
Thou shalt not stop liking a band just because they've become popular.
Thou shalt not question Stephen Fry.
Thou shalt not judge a book by it's cover.
Thou shalt not judge Lethal Weapon by Danny Glover.
Thou shalt not buy Coca-Cola products.
Thou shalt not buy Nestle products.
Thou shalt not go into the woods with your boyfriend's best friend, take drugs and cheat on him.
Thou shalt not fall in love so easily.
Thou shalt not use poetry, art or music to get into girls' pants - use it to get into their heads.
Thou shalt not watch Hollyoaks.
Thou shalt not attend an open mic and leave before it's done just because you've finished your shitty little poem or song you self-righteous prick.
Thou shalt not return to the same club or bar week in, week out just 'cause you once saw a girl there that you fancied but you're never gonna f***ing talk to.
Thou shalt not put musicians and recording artists on ridiculous pedestals no matter how great they are or were.
The Beatles... Were just a band.
Led Zepplin... Just a band.
The Beach Boys... Just a band.
The Sex Pistols... Just a band.
The Clash... Just a band.
Crass... Just a band.
Minor Threat... Just a band.
The Cure... Just a band.
The Smiths... Just a band.
Nirvana... Just a band.
The Pixies... Just a band.
Oasis... Just a band.
Radiohead... Just a band.
Bloc Party... Just a band.
The Arctic Monkeys... Just a band.
The Next Big Thing.. JUST A BAND.

Thou shalt give equal worth to tragedies that occur in non-english speaking countries as to those that occur in english speaking countries.
Thou shalt remember that guns, bitches and bling were never part of the four elements and never will be.
Thou shalt not make repetitive generic music,
thou shalt not make repetitive generic music,
thou shalt not make repetitive generic music,
thou shalt not make repetitive generic music.

Thou shalt not pimp my ride.
Thou shalt not scream if you wanna go faster.
Thou shalt not move to the sound of the wickedness.
Thou shalt not make some noise for Detroit.
When I say "Hey" thou shalt not say "Ho".
When I say "Hip" thou shalt not say "Hop".
When I say, he say, she say, we say, make some noise... kill me.
Thou shalt not quote me happy.
Thou shalt not shake it like a polaroid picture.
Thou shalt not wish you girlfriend was a freak like me.
Thou shalt spell the word "Pheonix" P-H-E-O-N-I-X not P-H-O-E-N-I-X, regardless of what the Oxford English Dictionary tells you.
Thou shalt not express your shock at the fact that Sharon got off with Bradley at the club last night by saying "Is it".

Thou shalt think for yourselves.

And thou shalt always... Thou shalt always kill!

 

[Scampi]

Thou shalt not post shite lists

 

[Marc1901]

Thou shalt not post shite lists

You seem like a twat but you said the right thing here

 

[WhingForPresident]

Thou shalt not post lyrics to a shit song on North Stand Chat

 

[Everest]

Thou shalt not post shite lists

Hallelujah Brother

 

[Art Vs Science]

Thou shalt not take the names of Johnny Cash, Joe Strummer, Johnny Hartman, Desmond Decker, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix or Syd Barret in vain

Vs

Thou shalt not put musicians and recording artists on ridiculous pedestals no matter how great they are or were.
The Beatles... Were just a band.
Led Zepplin... Just a band.
The Beach Boys... Just a band.
The Sex Pistols... Just a band.
The Clash... Just a band.
Crass... Just a band.
Minor Threat... Just a band.
The Cure... Just a band.
The Smiths... Just a band.
Nirvana... Just a band.
The Pixies... Just a band.
Oasis... Just a band.
Radiohead... Just a band.
Bloc Party... Just a band.
The Arctic Monkeys... Just a band.
The Next Big Thing.. JUST A BAND.


Confused?

 

[Tom Hark Preston Park]

A big improvement on the original Big 10C for sure, but WAY too random and sloppy. Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Pass Eighth Grade.

Thou shalt not take the names of Johnny Cash, Joe Strummer, Johnny Hartman, Desmond Decker, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix or Syd Barret in vain.

Thou shalt not put musicians and recording artists on ridiculous pedestals no matter how great they are or were.

 

[Scampi]

You seem like a twat but you said the right thing here

Whereas you actually are a twat

 

[mcshane in the 79th]

Every now and then I cower and I need to find empowerment
Empowerment is paramount to how I can begin to mount
A plan that I can implement
to make a dent on ignorance
Instead of drunk belligerence
and the dissidence of miscreants
Especially in this instance
with the never ending persistence
to use the words in each sentence
as if they were blunt instruments
to beat a hole in the defence
of this beauty and her innocence
which serves to just build resistance
in spite of all my good intents.

The beat that my heart skipped

This is the beat that my heart skipped when we first met
Now that I’ve heard it, it leaves me with a kind of regret
No disrespect
We just left a lot of people upset
And what we had wasn’t really what we’d come to expect

Well good god damn and other such phrases
I haven’t heard a beat like this in ages
To miss such a beat would have been outrageous
But when you heart skips a beat its ruthless and aimless

She caught my attention in her fishnets
Then she reeled me in expecting nothing more than kissed necks and quick sex
But that weren’t the case with this platinum princess
She’s attracted my interest
So I wanted to impress….
Upon her all the positive things
That come form having more than just a one night fling
But that’s something that’s easier in theory than in practice
Since pick up lines are tactics
To get prey to the mattress
And this actress
Is practiced
In shunning such theatrics
When put upon daily by tactless geriatrics

So my genuine advances are met with po-faced scepticism
Throwing complements but she just straight elects to miss them
Her lips were put on this earth for dispersing wisdom
God forbid I suggest she lets me kiss them

But I really want to know what she thinks of me
Because I’m loving every idiosyncrasy
But I ain’t one to jump through hoops to make a 1st impression
Been there, done that, learnt the worst of lessons
We want to be loved for who we appear to be instead of who we are
So I real selves take a backseat behind the pomp and the façade
And that’s as true of the rude boys, downing pints and acting hard
As of the kids shunning convention with clinical disregard

 

[Marc1901]

Whereas you actually are a twat

You well and truely are a prick now.

 

[Scampi]

You well and truely are a prick now.

So you called me a naughty name and because i called you one back I'm somehow worse? Why don't you get your mum to come and tell me off.

 

[Marc1901]

So you called me a naughty name and because i called you one back I'm somehow worse? Why don't you get your mum to come and tell me off.

im not going to ruin a thread that is already shit , so you carry on acting like a twat.

 

[Art Vs Science]

Anyway girls, put the handbags away, still does not explain the contradiction in the original post.

 

[Djmiles]

You seem like a twat but you said the right thing here

Whereas you actually are a twat

You well and truely are a prick now.

Haha genius! Can you call him that to his face then start a thread about how a big bad man threatened to kick your face in?

Wouldn't be the first time.

 

[¤DãŃn¥ §êãGüLL¤]

Whoah, bad karma in this thread.

I'm outta here...

 

[Stoo82]

I see dead people.

 

[Meade's Ball]

I AM dead people. 7 in total. Or the spirits of them trapped inside me at least. One is a hairdresser called Derek who tuts every time i remove my cycling helmet and pass by my reflection in my work doorway. I heard him snigger thrice and scream once. I think he's gay, or at least one of his sexdreams that i happened to wake and see inside me had him and a couple of hairy bears going at it. Les is the quietest. Not of hairy bears, but the perished within. I heard her sob the other week as if it had all become too much for her. I asked whether she'd decided to move on, had come to terms with the mortality i knew virtually nothing of, but i caught a seeping "No i don't think so." that petered away into nothingness. Maybe she's just playing games with me. Often the unsaid is the most powerful and haunting and she wants me to fancy her because of all i fail to know, but whenever i look with the back of my eyes she's always lurking in the shadows somewhere, usually the tightened cracks between ribcage and lungs. I only catch an eye and a frizzle of hair. She does look nice and intriguing. But i won't go there. It'd be stupid and i couldn't be sure that she'd really be any more than this hider in the dark and as chatty as i need. I also don't know Les is surely a woman. One of those manwoman names. Deirdre's a woman though. A big one with a giant cheeky smile. She was a caterer, she says, and will intstruct me when i have the family over and need to make a nice variety of triangular sandwiches and crisps. She chortled when i put the chef hat on inside out. Good old Deirdre. She's been there for so long now that i can't really remember when she arrived. I know we're not to talk about her personal life though. She went apeshit when i asked her once about children. I didn't see her for a week and wondered if she'd snuck out the back and into another body when i was crushed on the tube one morning, countless bodies all baring themselves down on me like towels blown from the balcony they were drying on. But out she came, with relatively dry eyes and a request for me to sign an imaginary agreement that the subject should never be raised again. We shook pretend hands and have got on quite well since.

 

[sydney]

thou shalt never be an utter bell-end (also read as cock)

 

[Kazenga <3]

I AM dead people. 7 in total. Or the spirits of them trapped inside me at least. One is a hairdresser called Derek who tuts every time i remove my cycling helmet and pass by my reflection in my work doorway. I heard him snigger thrice and scream once. I think he's gay, or at least one of his sexdreams that i happened to wake and see inside me had him and a couple of hairy bears going at it. Les is the quietest. Not of hairy bears, but the perished within. I heard her sob the other week as if it had all become too much for her. I asked whether she'd decided to move on, had come to terms with the mortality i knew virtually nothing of, but i caught a seeping "No i don't think so." that petered away into nothingness. Maybe she's just playing games with me. Often the unsaid is the most powerful and haunting and she wants me to fancy her because of all i fail to know, but whenever i look with the back of my eyes she's always lurking in the shadows somewhere, usually the tightened cracks between ribcage and lungs. I only catch an eye and a frizzle of hair. She does look nice and intriguing. But i won't go there. It'd be stupid and i couldn't be sure that she'd really be any more than this hider in the dark and as chatty as i need. I also don't know Les is surely a woman. One of those manwoman names. Deirdre's a woman though. A big one with a giant cheeky smile. She was a caterer, she says, and will intstruct me when i have the family over and need to make a nice variety of triangular sandwiches and crisps. She chortled when i put the chef hat on inside out. Good old Deirdre. She's been there for so long now that i can't really remember when she arrived. I know we're not to talk about her personal life though. She went apeshit when i asked her once about children. I didn't see her for a week and wondered if she'd snuck out the back and into another body when i was crushed on the tube one morning, countless bodies all baring themselves down on me like towels blown from the balcony they were drying on. But out she came, with relatively dry eyes and a request for me to sign an imaginary agreement that the subject should never be raised again. We shook pretend hands and have got on quite well since.

 

[¤DãŃn¥ §êãGüLL¤]

I AM dead people. 7 in total. Or the spirits of them trapped inside me at least. One is a hairdresser called Derek who tuts every time i remove my cycling helmet and pass by my reflection in my work doorway. I heard him snigger thrice and scream once. I think he's gay, or at least one of his sexdreams that i happened to wake and see inside me had him and a couple of hairy bears going at it. Les is the quietest. Not of hairy bears, but the perished within. I heard her sob the other week as if it had all become too much for her. I asked whether she'd decided to move on, had come to terms with the mortality i knew virtually nothing of, but i caught a seeping "No i don't think so." that petered away into nothingness. Maybe she's just playing games with me. Often the unsaid is the most powerful and haunting and she wants me to fancy her because of all i fail to know, but whenever i look with the back of my eyes she's always lurking in the shadows somewhere, usually the tightened cracks between ribcage and lungs. I only catch an eye and a frizzle of hair. She does look nice and intriguing. But i won't go there. It'd be stupid and i couldn't be sure that she'd really be any more than this hider in the dark and as chatty as i need. I also don't know Les is surely a woman. One of those manwoman names. Deirdre's a woman though. A big one with a giant cheeky smile. She was a caterer, she says, and will intstruct me when i have the family over and need to make a nice variety of triangular sandwiches and crisps. She chortled when i put the chef hat on inside out. Good old Deirdre. She's been there for so long now that i can't really remember when she arrived. I know we're not to talk about her personal life though. She went apeshit when i asked her once about children. I didn't see her for a week and wondered if she'd snuck out the back and into another body when i was crushed on the tube one morning, countless bodies all baring themselves down on me like towels blown from the balcony they were drying on. But out she came, with relatively dry eyes and a request for me to sign an imaginary agreement that the subject should never be raised again. We shook pretend hands and have got on quite well since.

This what I looked like reading that -