| rdfs:comment
| - Lurking = A lurker is a person who reads discussions on a message board, newsgroup, chatroom, file sharing or other interactive system, but rarely or never participates actively. In Mafia, players that are quiet during the day cycles are said to be lurking (or laying low). The term most often applies to voluntary absence, as opposed to inactivity. In many cases, without host intervention, players can't distinguish between lurking and inactivity, unless they can see the player is active through other means (which falls under active metagaming).
- Lurking is the act of browsing a web forum such as the Board without actively participating in it; reading the conversations without giving one's own opinion. On the PPC Board it is not necessarily frowned upon, but we do like it better if people make a post to say "hello" and introduce themselves at the very least. Trust us, we don't bite. :)
- When I first saw you this evening, I didn't think much of it. You were sitting quietly in the foyer, drinking whiskey, minding your own business. It was a little unexpected, but not a big deal. I'm pretty open to meeting people (and stalkers), and I was even willing to consider you as my new, third roommate. As the hour went by and I worked on my homework, I even grew fond of you. I began to consider you my friend. But then you started to push things. The comfort of my loveseat just wasn't enough for you. You wanted more.
- Lucy leaves for home from work as a cashier at Wal*Mart at 7:30 every Monday to Thursday. I love her, those sparkling blue eyes, that long, dark brown hair, everything about her is amazingly beautiful. I can't stand to not be with her, because when I watch her, my heart skips a beat, I go cold and numb. I daydream of us being together. When she looks at me, my legs go weak, I lose my senses of taste, smell, and sometimes hearing. I just can't stand it. I NEED her. "You're safe with me, my love. You can be with me, and I can be with you, and we can be together forever and ever and-"
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| abstract
| - Lurking = A lurker is a person who reads discussions on a message board, newsgroup, chatroom, file sharing or other interactive system, but rarely or never participates actively. In Mafia, players that are quiet during the day cycles are said to be lurking (or laying low). The term most often applies to voluntary absence, as opposed to inactivity. In many cases, without host intervention, players can't distinguish between lurking and inactivity, unless they can see the player is active through other means (which falls under active metagaming).
- Lurking is the act of browsing a web forum such as the Board without actively participating in it; reading the conversations without giving one's own opinion. On the PPC Board it is not necessarily frowned upon, but we do like it better if people make a post to say "hello" and introduce themselves at the very least. Trust us, we don't bite. :)
- Lucy leaves for home from work as a cashier at Wal*Mart at 7:30 every Monday to Thursday. I love her, those sparkling blue eyes, that long, dark brown hair, everything about her is amazingly beautiful. I can't stand to not be with her, because when I watch her, my heart skips a beat, I go cold and numb. I daydream of us being together. When she looks at me, my legs go weak, I lose my senses of taste, smell, and sometimes hearing. She bicycles home on a lonely, partially-paved road that winds through a forest full of tall redwoods, scraggly bushes, and soft, cool mosses. My residency isn't too far from about the halfway point of the road, and I hike out those days when she rides home, lurking behind shrubs and observing her with my binoculars. My lust for her is unquenchable. I must be with her. I've realized that I'm way too shy, and I need to talk to her more. By the term "more", I mean that I do talk to her. Every day that she works, I go to buy something, anything, just to see her more, to talk to her, to get close enough to her. Just to be able to touch her, that's all I need, just to touch her, and let her know I love her... I have pictures of her. And videos. I know everything about her. I observe her, study her. I know all of her likes and dislikes. I know where she lives, what she eats, what she worries about. I know her secrets and fears, everything from her grades, to what brand of shampoo she uses. I just can't stand it. I NEED her. I decided to arrange a special meeting with her, and a clever way to do it. So, I grabbed my hunting rifle and some bullets, camouflage gear, my boots, and my lucky locket, which has a hair of hers in it. I wait for hours, lurking behind the wild shrubbery, prepared for her visit to this stretch of the path. She rides by, her hair blowing in the light, autumn wind, against a background of stunning red and yellow leaves stirring about, and greenish-yellow shrubs. The moment may have been incredibly picturesque, but I knew it was probably now or never, so I had to do this. I took up my rifle, aimed, and nailed her with a bullet to the foot, wounding her, causing her to fall forward over her bicycle's handles, injuring her further. I sprang up from behind the vegetation, and sprinted over to her, moaning in pain on the smooth, dusty dirt. I arrived quickly at the scene of the accident to meet her, with an energetic mood and a wide grin. It didn't take very long to figure out she was having an asthma attack, and she was able to get a word out: "Inhaler." Luckily for her, I knew exactly where it was, in the second pocket from the front of her scarlet and cerulean striped purse. I gave her a dose of her inhaler, and once she thanked me and I apologized, I injected her with a sedative, knocking her out. She came to around four days later, drowsy at first as she stirred from her deep slumber. She was all over the news, and at least two missing persons reports were filed for her. Strapped to an angled table with 4 inch thick leather bonds, she was mine at last... She was uncaring at first, and then shocked to see me staring at her, less than three feet away from her amazing face. She began to stammer. "You're... you're that guy... guy who I-" "You're safe with me, my love. You can be with me, and I can be with you, and we can be together forever and ever and-" "No, where am I? Why am I here? I don't want to be here! Get me out of here!" she so rudely interrupted. "You're safe, with your one true love. We can-" "NO! I'LL LOVE YOU, JUST LET ME GO HOME! I WANT TO SEE MY FAMILY! Don't... DON'T TOUCH ME!!! STOP! LEMME GO!" she screamed, as I tried to comfort her. I couldn't take it... this... unwanting, and so a wave of sadness swept over me, as she didn't love me, but deep down she really did. She was lying, she DOES love me. She has to, she HAS TO! Soon followed a sense of extreme infuriation, and I slapped that girl flat across her pretty face. She was more shocked than hurt at first. She started crying, salty tears streaming down her face, and she started screaming again. I slapped her again. It felt good, she could know my pain, my misery, my feelings for her, and the feelings I have when she shows such disinterest in me. I began to beat her, and torture her, so she could know what she showed me for as long as I loved her. After a few weeks, her corpse was decomposing, so I had to throw it with the others. But what can I say? Love stinks. "You're not sick, you're in love." -Irving Berlin
- When I first saw you this evening, I didn't think much of it. You were sitting quietly in the foyer, drinking whiskey, minding your own business. It was a little unexpected, but not a big deal. I'm pretty open to meeting people (and stalkers), and I was even willing to consider you as my new, third roommate. As the hour went by and I worked on my homework, I even grew fond of you. I began to consider you my friend. But then you started to push things. The comfort of my loveseat just wasn't enough for you. You wanted more. Suddenly, you were sitting on the chair by my computer, and I was not feeling so great about our situation. I should have told you then that I was feeling uncomfortable. I mean, it was unreasonable for me to expect you to read my mind, and I understand that it was probably my passive-aggressive tendencies in this situation that would ultimately lead to our later confrontation. I know what you were feeling—the craving for more, newer, better things. The wanderlust that pushes us to move forward, to pioneer, to explore. I've been there. I understood what you were going through, and so I didn't hold it against you.
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