This blog is a satire of the now-defunct ICQ chat service, which is thankfully dead because I destroyed it.

Sunday, January 12, 2014


Cleaning up the chat, Lennon style.

As I stand here on a mountain made of the decomposing, festering corpses of all of my former foes and rivals, I can only chuckle as I look down upon the quaint villages below, with ruthless humor as I realize most of them destroyed themselves with infighting.

True, pre-2013 ICQ was a different place- as my own forces poured in, the foe was split into various warring factions, which sometimes couldn't tell the difference between the external enemy and those that were internal- overrunning enemy defenses becomes easier when, in the confusion and fog of war, the enemy has gone to war with itself.

What do we have to fear as we march on streets made of the bones of the enemy? I have sat in the thickets for hours, surrounded by corpses to deflect enemy fire, low on ammunition and praying to Satan that the onslaught would stop.

And it drove me to the brink of insanity.

As the countertrolls poured from the jungles like autistic kamikaze warriors, and were joined by hundreds of regular chatters, the melee was intense- both sides suffered catastrophic losses, we fled into the deserts and lived in caves, surviving by drinking each others' piss like a bunch of gay golden shower enthusiasts- but we regrouped, I led the charge, we overran the foe, burned every village, and finally watch now in amusement as the remaining opposition rips itself apart in sectarian struggle.

ICQ became my land, and I became a god.

For the empire!

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