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History Encounters / Parabomber

18th Jul '11 5:06:17 PM tennessean
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[[http://www.mediatropes.info/tutorial/parabomber.jpg image]]


to:

[[http://www.mediatropes.info/tutorial/parabomber.info/tutorial/Parabomber.jpg image]]

13th Dec '10 4:18:02 AM FastEddie
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[[http://www.mediatropes.info/tutorial/parabomber.jpg image]]

19th Nov '10 3:32:46 PM FastEddie
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Added DiffLines:

----
''Narrative:''
19th Nov '10 2:58:32 PM FastEddie
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Flying a overhead in a tiny fancy red bi-plane is a monkey in a red Fez. He is dropping oddly-shaped bombs which you're barely avoiding.

Tropedex says:
19th Nov '10 2:55:12 PM FastEddie
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You emerge to the backyard. Wow, are you glad to be out of that place. Everything here seems so peaceful. No weird mutated editors. Fresh air. Breeze brushing against trees. Faint moonlight. Wow, that was exhausting. Perhaps you should find a place to si-

(BOOM!)

Huh. What was that? Some sort of explosion? It didn't ''sound'' like an explosion. You quickly look to your right and to your left, expecting another one of those corrupted editors, but you see none.

,BOOM!,

This time it sounds closer, somehow. You keep looking around (though of course many people would say trying something else would be a better idea) and listen very carefully for any unusual noises- well, very carefully by ''your'' standards, at least- but there's still no sign (that you can recognize) of any activity, in any, well to be exact in any ''conceivable'', direction. (And at any rate you're feeling oddly tired and it's getting hard to actually srting together a coherent thought.)

Man, this- as in, the situation at large; or rather the situation pertaining to you- is really becoming a drag, though Your Mileage May Vary on that, and it feels (though bear in mind that this is a Love It or Hate It sort of Thing) as though your thought process- which is in fact very different from your thought process of three years ago, which functioned in completely different ways- has ground to a complete halt (but many fans call Discontinuity on this and prefer to believe otherwise). You, deciding that you should definitely not look up, decide- in a way that precludes looking up- to look (not up!) up. (@#$%)

Wow. That demanded every last bit of your Willpower. And for good reason: Over your head you see some munchkin-like creature flying a fancy red tiny airplane of the sort you'd expect Dick Dastardly to procure in his endless quest to Stop That Pigeon. And it's dropping those (BOOM!) oddly-shaped bombs which you're now barely avoiding, because you're -BOOM!- expecting them, though you can't ,BOOM!, keep up for much (depending on one's definition of ''much'') longer. Dammit, he got you.

He seems to have grown bored of his current attack method, so he clicks some buttons and pushes some levers which makes his steampunk plane whirr and gather energy ominously. Though this is definitely bad news, it gives you the few seconds you need to whip out your Tropédex and get a reading on it. The munchkin-like creature takes aim. You grit your teeth and hope you make it.

'''''Parabomber.''' The digression editor. The parabomber scans the wiki for appropriate places to assault with his dreaded parenthesese, clauses, brackets and a number of other state-of-the-art artillery shells that fatally derail trains of thought. He packs whatever opinions and resevations come to his mind upon reading a sentence, wraps them up in parentheses and drops them into the middle of the poor defenseless sentence without warning. Brevity and wit are anathema to the parabomber; he delights (thought delights might not be the most exact word here) in nothing more than destroying, and mind you that many will actually call it "enhancing", a comment that is short (or at least short-ish) and to the point. (A "point" can be defined as any number of forms of grammatical catharsis (ironically the word catharsis originated in Greece [which even more ironically did not have parentheses at all, though one will note (all things considered, (well, not literally, (though one's definition of the word ''literally'' can play a part (the size of this part being determined by various factors (not in the mathematical sense though many would aruge that (*STACK OVERFLOW*))%@#@☺☺♫۞Ѭ۩₪░▒▓█''

And your Tropédex unceremoniously crashes into a Blue Screen of Death.

...This was supposed to happen to you. It was ''your'' brain that was supposed to crash! Your Tropédex Took The Bullet for you! It made a Heroic Blue Screen of Death Sacrifice for your sake!

...

...NOW IT'S PERSONAL.

to:

You emerge to the backyard. Wow, are you glad to be out of that place. Everything here seems so peaceful. No weird mutated editors. Fresh air. Breeze brushing against trees. Faint moonlight. Wow, that was exhausting. Perhaps you should find a place to si-

(BOOM!)

Huh. What was that? Some sort of explosion? It didn't ''sound'' like an explosion. You quickly look to your right and to your left, expecting another one of those corrupted editors, but you see none.

,BOOM!,

This time it sounds closer, somehow. You keep looking around (though of course many people would say trying something else would be a better idea) and listen very carefully for any unusual noises- well, very carefully by ''your'' standards, at least- but there's still no sign (that you can recognize) of any activity, in any, well to be exact in any ''conceivable'', direction. (And at any rate you're feeling oddly tired and it's getting hard to actually srting together a coherent thought.)

Man, this- as in, the situation at large; or rather the situation pertaining to you- is really becoming a drag, though Your Mileage May Vary on that, and it feels (though bear in mind that this is a Love It or Hate It sort of Thing) as though your thought process- which is in fact very different from your thought process of three years ago, which functioned in completely different ways- has ground to a complete halt (but many fans call Discontinuity on this and prefer to believe otherwise). You, deciding that you should definitely not look up, decide- in a way that precludes looking up- to look (not up!) up. (@#$%)

Wow. That demanded every last bit of your Willpower. And for good reason: Over your head you see some munchkin-like creature flying a fancy red tiny airplane of the sort you'd expect Dick Dastardly to procure in his endless quest to Stop That Pigeon. And it's dropping those (BOOM!) oddly-shaped bombs which you're now barely avoiding, because you're -BOOM!- expecting them, though you can't ,BOOM!, keep up for much (depending on one's definition of ''much'') longer. Dammit, he got you.

He seems to have grown bored of his current attack method, so he clicks some buttons and pushes some levers which makes his steampunk plane whirr and gather energy ominously. Though this is definitely bad news, it gives you the few seconds you need to whip out your Tropédex and get a reading on it. The munchkin-like creature takes aim. You grit your teeth and hope you make it.

'''''Parabomber.
'''Parabomber.''' The digression editor. The parabomber scans the wiki for appropriate places to assault with his dreaded parenthesese, clauses, brackets and a number of other state-of-the-art artillery shells that fatally derail trains of thought. He packs whatever opinions and resevations reservations come to his mind upon reading a sentence, wraps them up in parentheses and drops them into the middle of the poor defenseless sentence without warning. warning.

Brevity and wit are anathema to the parabomber; he delights (thought delights might not be the most exact word here) in nothing more than destroying, and mind you that many will actually call it "enhancing", destroying a comment that is short (or at least short-ish) and to the point. (A "point" can be defined as any number of forms of grammatical catharsis (ironically the word catharsis originated in Greece [which even more ironically did not have parentheses at all, though one will note (all things considered, (well, not literally, (though one's definition of the word ''literally'' can play a part (the size of this part being determined by various factors (not in the mathematical sense though many would aruge that (*STACK OVERFLOW*))%@#@☺☺♫۞Ѭ۩₪░▒▓█''

And your Tropédex unceremoniously crashes into a Blue Screen of Death.

...This was supposed to happen to you. It was ''your'' brain that was supposed to crash! Your Tropédex Took The Bullet for you! It made a Heroic Blue Screen of Death Sacrifice for your sake!

...

...NOW IT'S PERSONAL.
point.
6th Sep '10 11:30:33 AM TripleElation
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He seems to have grown bored of his current attack method, so he clicks some buttons and pushes some levers which makes his steampunk plane whirr and gather energy ominously. Though this is definitely bad news, it gives you the few seconds you need to whip out your Tropédex and get a reading on it. The parabomber takes aim. You grit your teeth and hope you make it.

to:

He seems to have grown bored of his current attack method, so he clicks some buttons and pushes some levers which makes his steampunk plane whirr and gather energy ominously. Though this is definitely bad news, it gives you the few seconds you need to whip out your Tropédex and get a reading on it. The parabomber munchkin-like creature takes aim. You grit your teeth and hope you make it.
30th Aug '10 12:33:03 AM TripleElation
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How? This place was clean just a few seconds ago! You wonder how it could have possibly gotten there, and then ''it hits you''. You are slammed to the ground painfully and in the process you also realize how the it had gotten there. ''You'' made it. You did not get rid of the parabomber's dangerous weapons at all; you broke them down to their even more volatile, more dangerous components. You extracted from them the core of pointless trivia, of needless blabbing that has nothing to do with the subject at hand or even the trope at all. The '''Cruft'''. All of that irrelevant information is still there, only now it isn't bound by the parentheses. Apparently the parabomber knew how to handle this stuff better than you did.

to:

How? This place was clean just a few seconds ago! You wonder how it could have possibly gotten there, and then ''it hits you''. You are slammed to the ground painfully and in the process you also realize how the it had gotten there. ''You'' made it. You did not get rid of the parabomber's dangerous weapons at all; you broke them down to their even more volatile, more dangerous components. You extracted from them the core of pointless trivia, of needless blabbing that has nothing to do with the subject at hand or even the trope at all. The '''Cruft'''. All of that irrelevant information is still there, only now it isn't bound by the parentheses. Apparently the parabomber knew how to handle this stuff better than you did.
30th Aug '10 12:28:56 AM TripleElation
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Very exhausted, you turn to slump down when you hear a faux-pastoral piano composition that nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Then you realize that it's the windows startup sound. Your Tropédex has managed to recover and restart itself! It was Only Mostly Dead!

to:

Very exhausted, you turn to slump down when you hear a faux-pastoral piano composition that nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Then you realize that it's the windows Microsoft Windows startup sound. Your Tropédex has managed to recover and restart itself! It was Only Mostly Dead!
30th Aug '10 12:27:38 AM TripleElation
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Your erasing beam and his parenthetical beam crash in a great shower of sparks and you spend the next few minutes pushing and letting out frustrated, frustration-laden yells each in an effort to push the other's beam back. At one point you can swear you can hear a smug narrator going "What will be the result of our This fateful clash between Editor and Parabomber? Stay tuned for the next episode!". Pale echoes of the Parabomber's previous victims emerge from the tip of his cannon, cheering you on and giving you the strength you need to tip the scales in your favor. The shadow of a particularly masterful four-word-long observation regarding Shakespeare's love for wordplay that had been impaled with a parenthetical seventeen-word-long paragraph spits in the parabomber's face.

to:

Your erasing beam and his parenthetical beam crash in a great shower of sparks and you spend the next few minutes pushing and letting out frustrated, great frustration-laden yells each in an effort to push the other's beam back. At one point you can swear you can hear a smug narrator going "What will be the result of our This fateful clash between Editor and Parabomber? Stay tuned for the next episode!". Pale echoes of the Parabomber's previous victims emerge from the tip of his cannon, cheering you on and giving you the strength you need to tip the scales in your favor. The shadow of a particularly masterful four-word-long observation regarding Shakespeare's love for wordplay that had been impaled with a parenthetical seventeen-word-long paragraph spits in the parabomber's face.
29th Aug '10 6:12:24 AM TripleElation
Is there an issue? Send a Message


'''''Parabomber.''' The digression editor. The parabomber scans the wiki for appropriate places to assault with his dreaded parenthesese, clauses, brackets and a number of other state-of-the-art artillery shells that fatally derail trains of thought. He packs whatever opinions and resevations come to his mind upon reading a sentence, wraps them up in parentheses and drops them into the middle of poor defenseless sentences without warning. Brevity and wit are anathema to the parabomber; he delights (thought delights might not be the most exact word here) in nothing more- though this is controversial- than destroying, and mind you that many will actually call it "enhancing", a comment that is short (actually many think it should also be sweet and short is not enough of a requirement) and to the point, where a point can be defined as any number of forms of grammatical catharsis (ironically the word catharsis originated in Greece [which even more ironically did not have parentheses at all, though one will note (all things considered, (well, not literally, (though one's definition of the word ''literally'' can play a part (the size of this part being determined by various factors (not in the mathematical sense though many would aruge that (*STACK OVERFLOW*))%@#@☺☺♫۞Ѭ۩₪░▒▓█''

to:

'''''Parabomber.''' The digression editor. The parabomber scans the wiki for appropriate places to assault with his dreaded parenthesese, clauses, brackets and a number of other state-of-the-art artillery shells that fatally derail trains of thought. He packs whatever opinions and resevations come to his mind upon reading a sentence, wraps them up in parentheses and drops them into the middle of the poor defenseless sentences sentence without warning. Brevity and wit are anathema to the parabomber; he delights (thought delights might not be the most exact word here) in nothing more- though this is controversial- more than destroying, and mind you that many will actually call it "enhancing", a comment that is short (actually many think it should also be sweet and short is not enough of a requirement) (or at least short-ish) and to the point, where a point point. (A "point" can be defined as any number of forms of grammatical catharsis (ironically the word catharsis originated in Greece [which even more ironically did not have parentheses at all, though one will note (all things considered, (well, not literally, (though one's definition of the word ''literally'' can play a part (the size of this part being determined by various factors (not in the mathematical sense though many would aruge that (*STACK OVERFLOW*))%@#@☺☺♫۞Ѭ۩₪░▒▓█''



Your erasing beam and his parenthetical beam crash in a great shower of sparks and you spend the next few minutes pushing and letting out frustrated, testosterone-laden yells each in an effort to push the other's beam back. At one point you can swear you can hear a smug narrator going "What will be the result of our Hero's and the Parabomber's fateful encounter? Stay tuned for the next episode!". Pale echoes of the Parabomber's previous victims emerge from the tip of his cannon, cheering you on and giving you the strength you need to tip the scales in your favor. The shadow of a particularly masterful four-word-long observation regarding Shakespeare's love for wordplay that had been impaled with a parenthetical seventeen-word-long paragraph spits in the parabomber's face.

to:

Your erasing beam and his parenthetical beam crash in a great shower of sparks and you spend the next few minutes pushing and letting out frustrated, testosterone-laden frustration-laden yells each in an effort to push the other's beam back. At one point you can swear you can hear a smug narrator going "What will be the result of our Hero's and the Parabomber's This fateful encounter? clash between Editor and Parabomber? Stay tuned for the next episode!". Pale echoes of the Parabomber's previous victims emerge from the tip of his cannon, cheering you on and giving you the strength you need to tip the scales in your favor. The shadow of a particularly masterful four-word-long observation regarding Shakespeare's love for wordplay that had been impaled with a parenthetical seventeen-word-long paragraph spits in the parabomber's face.



You take a few steps and you start noticing that the air is thick with ''something''. At first you ignore it, but it seems to be fine sickly powdery oily white stuff, like some sort of hi-octane dandruff. It clings to your hand. You try to get it off, but to no avail. And then it strikes you that you've heard about this stuff once.

Oh no oh no oh no. It has many names. That-which-glues. That-which-clutters. That-which-comes-and-never-goes. That-which-smothers-silently.

How? This place was clean just a few seconds ago! You wonder how it could have possibly gotten there, and then ''it hits you''. You are slammed to the ground painfully and in the process you also realize how the it had gotten there. ''You'' made it. You did not get rid of the parabomber's dangerous weapons at all; you broke them down to their even more volatile, more dangerous components. You extracted from them the core of pointless trivia, of needless blabbing that has nothing to do with the subject at hand or even the trope at all. The '''Cruft'''. All of that irrelevant information is still there, only now it isn't bound by the parentheses. Apparently the parabomber knew how to handle this stuff better than you could.

to:

You take a few steps and you start noticing that the air is thick with ''something''. At first you ignore it, but it It seems to be fine sickly powdery oily white stuff, like some sort of hi-octane dandruff. It clings to your hand. You try to get it off, but to no avail. And then it strikes you that you've heard about this stuff once.

Oh no oh no oh no.

It has many names. That-which-glues. That-which-clutters. That-which-comes-and-never-goes. That-which-smothers-silently.

How? This place was clean just a few seconds ago! You wonder how it could have possibly gotten there, and then ''it hits you''. You are slammed to the ground painfully and in the process you also realize how the it had gotten there. ''You'' made it. You did not get rid of the parabomber's dangerous weapons at all; you broke them down to their even more volatile, more dangerous components. You extracted from them the core of pointless trivia, of needless blabbing that has nothing to do with the subject at hand or even the trope at all. The '''Cruft'''. All of that irrelevant information is still there, only now it isn't bound by the parentheses. Apparently the parabomber knew how to handle this stuff better than you could.
did.
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http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/article_history.php?article=Encounters.Parabomber