Official Match Thread Season 37 Round 12 - Coney Island Warriors v East Side Hawks at Van Cortlandt Park
- Thread starter Chipmunk
- Start date
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Purple7x08_24
President: Galactic Federation
Yeah, live versions are rarely going to be as good in music quality. They have some really good stuff.
I'm also a big fan of In Flames, and Gojira, Dark Tranquility
The Raven is one of my fav Rotting Christ songs
Purple7x08_24
President: Galactic Federation
How many times can you cut that string in half though?
Purple7x08_24
President: Galactic Federation
Because I'm the only one telling stories, except of course that time TubbsFarquhar told of a majestic story about a bridge. I'm going to share a story that's going to hit deep. Hopefully we can all take something tangible from the power of literature.
In a small town nestled between rolling hills, there existed a tight-knit group of friends. They were inseparable, bound by shared memories, laughter, and the kind of camaraderie that only time could forge.
One crisp autumn evening, as the leaves painted the streets in hues of gold and crimson, the friends gathered at their favorite corner booth in the local diner. The air buzzed with anticipation, for tonight, they would play a game—one that transcended the ordinary boundaries of space and time.
The rules were simple: imagine you could call your younger self on the phone and offer advice. What would you say? The friends leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity, ready to share their revelations.
Alex, the pragmatic one, spoke first. “I’d tell my younger self to invest in stocks early. Imagine the wealth we could amass—the power to change lives, build empires, and leave a legacy.”
Lena, the dreamer, chimed in. “Bitcoin! Oh, how I’d whisper to my past self about the digital gold rush. The chance to be part of a revolution—to ride the waves of uncertainty and emerge victorious.”
Evan, the wounded heart, hesitated. “I’d warn myself not to go on that ill-fated date with my ex-wife. The pain, the heartache—it scarred me. Maybe I could have spared myself years of anguish.”
But it was Caleb, the quiet observer, who held the most profound secret. His eyes, usually hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, shimmered with unshed tears. He cleared his throat, and the room fell silent.
“I wouldn’t tell myself anything,” Caleb whispered. “I’d tell my younger self to give the phone to my dad.”
The friends exchanged puzzled glances. “Your dad?” Lena asked.
Caleb nodded. “My father, who worked tirelessly to provide for our family. He never heard the words ‘great job’ or ‘I’m proud of you.’ Life was relentless, and he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. But he did it all with grace, love, and unwavering dedication.”
He paused, memories flooding back. “My dad passed away before I became a father myself. He never got to see his legacy—the man I’ve become, the love I share with my own children. If I could call my younger self, I’d tell him to hand the phone to Dad. I’d let him hear those words he deserved: ‘You did a great job, Dad. You were enough.’”
The diner hushed, as if the universe held its breath. Caleb’s voice cracked, and he wiped away a tear. “Because sometimes, the most powerful messages aren’t about wealth, success, or avoiding heartache. They’re about gratitude, forgiveness, and love.”
And in that moment, the friends understood. Caleb’s quiet strength, his unspoken tribute to a departed soul, resonated deep within their hearts. They clung to each other, their bond stronger than ever, knowing that life’s true riches lay not in stocks or bitcoin but in the connections they forged—the love they shared.
And so, as the autumn wind whispered through the diner’s window, they vowed to honor Caleb’s wisdom. To cherish their loved ones, to speak the unspoken, and to pass the phone to those who deserved to hear, “You did a great job.”
For in that simple act, they discovered the most profound investment of all—a legacy of love that transcended time itself.
In a small town nestled between rolling hills, there existed a tight-knit group of friends. They were inseparable, bound by shared memories, laughter, and the kind of camaraderie that only time could forge.
One crisp autumn evening, as the leaves painted the streets in hues of gold and crimson, the friends gathered at their favorite corner booth in the local diner. The air buzzed with anticipation, for tonight, they would play a game—one that transcended the ordinary boundaries of space and time.
The rules were simple: imagine you could call your younger self on the phone and offer advice. What would you say? The friends leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity, ready to share their revelations.
Alex, the pragmatic one, spoke first. “I’d tell my younger self to invest in stocks early. Imagine the wealth we could amass—the power to change lives, build empires, and leave a legacy.”
Lena, the dreamer, chimed in. “Bitcoin! Oh, how I’d whisper to my past self about the digital gold rush. The chance to be part of a revolution—to ride the waves of uncertainty and emerge victorious.”
Evan, the wounded heart, hesitated. “I’d warn myself not to go on that ill-fated date with my ex-wife. The pain, the heartache—it scarred me. Maybe I could have spared myself years of anguish.”
But it was Caleb, the quiet observer, who held the most profound secret. His eyes, usually hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, shimmered with unshed tears. He cleared his throat, and the room fell silent.
“I wouldn’t tell myself anything,” Caleb whispered. “I’d tell my younger self to give the phone to my dad.”
The friends exchanged puzzled glances. “Your dad?” Lena asked.
Caleb nodded. “My father, who worked tirelessly to provide for our family. He never heard the words ‘great job’ or ‘I’m proud of you.’ Life was relentless, and he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. But he did it all with grace, love, and unwavering dedication.”
He paused, memories flooding back. “My dad passed away before I became a father myself. He never got to see his legacy—the man I’ve become, the love I share with my own children. If I could call my younger self, I’d tell him to hand the phone to Dad. I’d let him hear those words he deserved: ‘You did a great job, Dad. You were enough.’”
The diner hushed, as if the universe held its breath. Caleb’s voice cracked, and he wiped away a tear. “Because sometimes, the most powerful messages aren’t about wealth, success, or avoiding heartache. They’re about gratitude, forgiveness, and love.”
And in that moment, the friends understood. Caleb’s quiet strength, his unspoken tribute to a departed soul, resonated deep within their hearts. They clung to each other, their bond stronger than ever, knowing that life’s true riches lay not in stocks or bitcoin but in the connections they forged—the love they shared.
And so, as the autumn wind whispered through the diner’s window, they vowed to honor Caleb’s wisdom. To cherish their loved ones, to speak the unspoken, and to pass the phone to those who deserved to hear, “You did a great job.”
For in that simple act, they discovered the most profound investment of all—a legacy of love that transcended time itself.
FootyGuy13
That Guy in the Back Corner
- Feb 21, 2018
- 6,065
- 19,424
- AFL Club
- Melbourne
Cut a piece of string in half and then you have a TWO STRING PIECE!?!
Raveneyes
Floreat Pica
- Jul 23, 2007
- 17,652
- 39,972
- AFL Club
- Collingwood
- Other Teams
- Liverpool FC
How many cuts before you cannot even call it a string anymore?
- Aug 25, 2011
- 26,746
- 81,076
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- Coney Island Warriors, SFFC, Hajduk
Because I'm the only one telling stories, except of course that time TubbsFarquhar told of a majestic story about a bridge. I'm going to share a story that's going to hit deep. Hopefully we can all take something tangible from the power of literature.
In a small town nestled between rolling hills, there existed a tight-knit group of friends. They were inseparable, bound by shared memories, laughter, and the kind of camaraderie that only time could forge.
One crisp autumn evening, as the leaves painted the streets in hues of gold and crimson, the friends gathered at their favorite corner booth in the local diner. The air buzzed with anticipation, for tonight, they would play a game—one that transcended the ordinary boundaries of space and time.
The rules were simple: imagine you could call your younger self on the phone and offer advice. What would you say? The friends leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity, ready to share their revelations.
Alex, the pragmatic one, spoke first. “I’d tell my younger self to invest in stocks early. Imagine the wealth we could amass—the power to change lives, build empires, and leave a legacy.”
Lena, the dreamer, chimed in. “Bitcoin! Oh, how I’d whisper to my past self about the digital gold rush. The chance to be part of a revolution—to ride the waves of uncertainty and emerge victorious.”
Evan, the wounded heart, hesitated. “I’d warn myself not to go on that ill-fated date with my ex-wife. The pain, the heartache—it scarred me. Maybe I could have spared myself years of anguish.”
But it was Caleb, the quiet observer, who held the most profound secret. His eyes, usually hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, shimmered with unshed tears. He cleared his throat, and the room fell silent.
“I wouldn’t tell myself anything,” Caleb whispered. “I’d tell my younger self to give the phone to my dad.”
The friends exchanged puzzled glances. “Your dad?” Lena asked.
Caleb nodded. “My father, who worked tirelessly to provide for our family. He never heard the words ‘great job’ or ‘I’m proud of you.’ Life was relentless, and he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. But he did it all with grace, love, and unwavering dedication.”
He paused, memories flooding back. “My dad passed away before I became a father myself. He never got to see his legacy—the man I’ve become, the love I share with my own children. If I could call my younger self, I’d tell him to hand the phone to Dad. I’d let him hear those words he deserved: ‘You did a great job, Dad. You were enough.’”
The diner hushed, as if the universe held its breath. Caleb’s voice cracked, and he wiped away a tear. “Because sometimes, the most powerful messages aren’t about wealth, success, or avoiding heartache. They’re about gratitude, forgiveness, and love.”
And in that moment, the friends understood. Caleb’s quiet strength, his unspoken tribute to a departed soul, resonated deep within their hearts. They clung to each other, their bond stronger than ever, knowing that life’s true riches lay not in stocks or bitcoin but in the connections they forged—the love they shared.
And so, as the autumn wind whispered through the diner’s window, they vowed to honor Caleb’s wisdom. To cherish their loved ones, to speak the unspoken, and to pass the phone to those who deserved to hear, “You did a great job.”
For in that simple act, they discovered the most profound investment of all—a legacy of love that transcended time itself.
- Aug 25, 2011
- 26,746
- 81,076
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- Coney Island Warriors, SFFC, Hajduk
Until you can no longer pull it out of your vajayjay
Tonga Bob
Please leave a message after the beep
- Oct 26, 2013
- 31,906
- 79,328
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- SFFC, LFC, ADO, CI Warriors
- Moderator
- #585
Glad I'm not the only one to rip off The Raven for personal gain.
7.
I'm writing stories for next week.Because I'm the only one telling stories, except of course that time TubbsFarquhar told of a majestic story about a bridge. I'm going to share a story that's going to hit deep. Hopefully we can all take something tangible from the power of literature.
In a small town nestled between rolling hills, there existed a tight-knit group of friends. They were inseparable, bound by shared memories, laughter, and the kind of camaraderie that only time could forge.
One crisp autumn evening, as the leaves painted the streets in hues of gold and crimson, the friends gathered at their favorite corner booth in the local diner. The air buzzed with anticipation, for tonight, they would play a game—one that transcended the ordinary boundaries of space and time.
The rules were simple: imagine you could call your younger self on the phone and offer advice. What would you say? The friends leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity, ready to share their revelations.
Alex, the pragmatic one, spoke first. “I’d tell my younger self to invest in stocks early. Imagine the wealth we could amass—the power to change lives, build empires, and leave a legacy.”
Lena, the dreamer, chimed in. “Bitcoin! Oh, how I’d whisper to my past self about the digital gold rush. The chance to be part of a revolution—to ride the waves of uncertainty and emerge victorious.”
Evan, the wounded heart, hesitated. “I’d warn myself not to go on that ill-fated date with my ex-wife. The pain, the heartache—it scarred me. Maybe I could have spared myself years of anguish.”
But it was Caleb, the quiet observer, who held the most profound secret. His eyes, usually hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, shimmered with unshed tears. He cleared his throat, and the room fell silent.
“I wouldn’t tell myself anything,” Caleb whispered. “I’d tell my younger self to give the phone to my dad.”
The friends exchanged puzzled glances. “Your dad?” Lena asked.
Caleb nodded. “My father, who worked tirelessly to provide for our family. He never heard the words ‘great job’ or ‘I’m proud of you.’ Life was relentless, and he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. But he did it all with grace, love, and unwavering dedication.”
He paused, memories flooding back. “My dad passed away before I became a father myself. He never got to see his legacy—the man I’ve become, the love I share with my own children. If I could call my younger self, I’d tell him to hand the phone to Dad. I’d let him hear those words he deserved: ‘You did a great job, Dad. You were enough.’”
The diner hushed, as if the universe held its breath. Caleb’s voice cracked, and he wiped away a tear. “Because sometimes, the most powerful messages aren’t about wealth, success, or avoiding heartache. They’re about gratitude, forgiveness, and love.”
And in that moment, the friends understood. Caleb’s quiet strength, his unspoken tribute to a departed soul, resonated deep within their hearts. They clung to each other, their bond stronger than ever, knowing that life’s true riches lay not in stocks or bitcoin but in the connections they forged—the love they shared.
And so, as the autumn wind whispered through the diner’s window, they vowed to honor Caleb’s wisdom. To cherish their loved ones, to speak the unspoken, and to pass the phone to those who deserved to hear, “You did a great job.”
For in that simple act, they discovered the most profound investment of all—a legacy of love that transcended time itself.
The string will suffer phantom limb syndrome tho
8.
To bead or not to bead, that is the question.
Purple7x08_24
President: Galactic Federation
For 1m length perhaps, but for 1KM string it's about 18, for 1million KM it's 39 cuts
- Aug 25, 2011
- 26,746
- 81,076
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- Coney Island Warriors, SFFC, Hajduk
por_please_ya
por_kill_ye
I did laugh at your use of vajayjay
Purple7x08_24
President: Galactic Federation
- Aug 25, 2011
- 26,746
- 81,076
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- Coney Island Warriors, SFFC, Hajduk
FootyGuy13
That Guy in the Back Corner
- Feb 21, 2018
- 6,065
- 19,424
- AFL Club
- Melbourne
Are we able to join in on Qooty-related Banter Day? We haven't been doing so hot this season.
Where you plying your trade these days IMS?
On the other hand, East Side seems to be our bunny side, this is probably our best chance to have a good run home.
Reginald Perrin
Shouting at clouds
- Oct 19, 2010
- 18,873
- 25,096
- AFL Club
- Tasmania
- Other Teams
- Coney Island Warriors South Fremantle
Reginald Perrin
Shouting at clouds
- Oct 19, 2010
- 18,873
- 25,096
- AFL Club
- Tasmania
- Other Teams
- Coney Island Warriors South Fremantle
Have you got the instrumental version?
- Aug 25, 2011
- 26,746
- 81,076
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- Coney Island Warriors, SFFC, Hajduk
Well I'm not drinking beer or in the song contest, so I'm not sure there's much else left?
Purple7x08_24
President: Galactic Federation
Ok S.A How many times can you divide it by TWO by cutting it. Apologies for being eloquent.
AND **** THE CHANGE in buttons on this site. I hate the reversal.
Purple7x08_24
President: Galactic Federation
You are exceptionally talented in SFA forums. You can't be good at everything. The SC may not be for you.Well I'm not drinking beer or in the song contest, so I'm not sure there's much else left?
Purple7x08_24
President: Galactic Federation
Nah. I only listen to 4-5 of their songs. They have a lot of top heavy content but a lot of their other stuff doesn't vary enough or it's not that good. Same as Septecflesh
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