Contest: Wooing Mrs. Woolf

[Rhu]

For a long time, this forum has been incomplete. Sure, we've got lots of INTPs hanging around, some honest-to-goodness INTP fangirls and -boys, a bunch of great thought, humor, and some truly inspiring retardation. We've seen great things come and go, and many of us have lost a great deal of time in this place.

And yet, as I say, there has something missing. We have a member of this forum with zero posts. She hasn't even selected a username. She is mentioned somewhat often as an INTP of the highest class, yet she remains unseen and unseeing. Several members of the forum may have been heard to sigh at the joy of mentioning her name.

Those sighs must not simply die in a decrescendo of echoes. I would rather let them gain volume and resolve instead to become proper voices, professing a unified desire to make the invisible a reality.

So do some research (http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&q=site%3Aforums.intpcentral.com+Woolf+Mrs). Let loose with your love letters or poems. Paint a picture or take a photo of some craft that you think might capture Mrs. Woolf's interest or attention.

[Rhu]

For my first contribution, I'll start with something short, though slightly longer than a haiku:

Song of The Missing Morning Bird by Rhu



I awoke this morning,
though I did not want to.
I awakened in mourning,
for my thoughts turned to you.

Where are you? Who are you?
I wish that I could know.
It's unfortunate to view,
This place that cannot grow.

It is time for you to show,
Oh heart of our darling!
Come, please let your posts flow,
Be our forum's starling!

[hereandnow]

A soft word like a spark of light,
shines on my soul
And as each thought goes deeper,
It's you that makes me whole

There are no fear, no dark places,
your love cannot fill
And if global warming starts causing waves,
It's your devotion, Dear Mrs. Woolf, that renders them still

And yes you speak to me,
In loving honesty and truth
Your caring heart eliminates the pain,
your smile, the penultimate roof

So I beg my Woolf come here,
Support me, my life
I'll do the same for you,
Woolf's beautiful, darling Wife.

[C.J.Woolf]

Exxxxxxxxcellent! I'd contribute myself, but I suck at poetry. I will tell Mrs. Woolf about this thread and maybe she'll write something, but I make no promises 'cause she's almost as lazy as I am.

[Rhu]

Exxxxxxxxcellent! I'd contribute myself, but I suck at poetry.
You could replace the monogram on her bathrobe with "http://forums.intpcentral.com/" And then take a picture of it. Any creative contribution to getting her on the forum would do.


I will tell Mrs. Woolf about this thread and maybe she'll write something, but I make no promises 'cause she's almost as lazy as I am.
Don't tell her too soon. This thread hasn't built up nearly enough charm, and there are a couple people who promised to contribute to it that haven't, as yet.

[C.J.Woolf]

Don't tell her too soon. This thread hasn't built up nearly enough charm, and there are a couple people who promised to contribute to it that haven't, as yet.
NAMES! You're torturing me. I want to know what I can look forward to.

[Rajah]

You came to me in a dream
I remember it clearly
I've tried but can't erase
The memory of your hand upon my face
You had to leave, but said
You'd be back again
My dearest friend,
My dearest friend

I waited
And still I wait

If I could only convince you
Of your flawless beauty, your charm
You're a goddess, an ideal
If I could persuade you to feel
What I feel for you,
So plaintive, so deep
Sorrow, it plagues me
It haunts me, you see

But I will wait,
Oh yes, I'll wait

And so I send these thoughts to you
In hopes that you'll respond in kind
'Til then, I'll bide my time,
Console myself with heartache and rhyme
My heart yearns for you
And I wonder if you'll listen
Why aren't you here,
My love, my dear?

Mrs. Woolf,
You're very late
Please help me
Don't make me wait.

[nottaprettygal]

Mrs. Woolfs Across Time

Mrs. Woolf, from Virginia you came
reminisicent of a woman of the same name

As a servant, I beseech you on your throne
Allow this forum to be a room of your own

I look to your lighthouse for its inextinguishable glow
to guide me through the waves when tempestuous winds blow

"Who's afraid of Mrs. Woolf," I question
Every day without your presence intensifies this depression

An enigmatic creature, a passionate lover and friend
methinks C.J. would never suspect you a lesbian

[C.J.Woolf]

FIVE STARS!

[Blue]

An Exploration of Perceptual Context in Verbal Color by Blue

Who, in
..
.
...
.
...
wolfs flesh, once bound (http://forums.intpcentral.com/showpost.php?p=385273&postcount=98)
would never severe BUT ephemeral fare
did transport half of you
HERE (http://www.intpcentral.com/forums/index.php)
__
_
_
__
Single turn (http://forums.intpcentral.com/showpost.php?p=426870&postcount=79), one for You (http://forums.intpcentral.com/member.php?u=686)
now turns to bring the other too.
**
*
**
Mrs. Woolf, we totally want to meet you.
**
*
*SNAP*

[attila_the_hunny]

An enigmatic creature, a passionate lover and friend
methinks C.J. would never suspect you a lesbian

:rofl:

[Rajah]

Falling on my Sword


This is all my fault.
Forgive me for my error --
I misspelled your name (http://forums.intpcentral.com/member.php?u=3068).

[C.J.Woolf]

I think I'll title this "First Draft". :grin:

There once was a girl, an Alaskan,
Who was given an int'resting task: an
Idea of Rhu's
Was to make her a muse
Did it work? It depends on who's askin'.





/me doesn't plan to quit his day job.

[Blue]

A novel (http://forums.intpcentral.com/showthread.php?p=609280&posted=1#post609280) by C.J. Woolf. We all know who it's about.


The dame looked like trouble with a capital TRUB. And she was. I'm getting too old for this shit.

[heirophant]

Ah the mysterious Mrs. Woolf. Surely worth an effort, if only a few lines of dubious quality. *bows and flourishes cap*


No, Mrs. Woolf, we have never met;
but I won't take all of my morphine yet.
I'll carry on prowling this vacuous weald
in the hope that you'll creep in (at first quite concealed)
to ambush our gamut of slack-jawed peasants,
bless our terrain with your wolverine presence;
then tear us to shreds in our dogmatic pit
with your cuspidate tongue and carnivorous wit.

No, Mrs. Woolf, we have never met;
but I'm waging our fates have not yet been set.
I beg you to don CJ's spare lambskin guise
(the one which he bought in a fanciful size)
then enter the forest of INTP Central,
where the current unease is quite incidental.
Lo! Fear not the Little Red Hustling Hood,
for your blood-curdling cry may mute him for good.


.

[C.J.Woolf]

...a few lines of dubious quality.
:rofl: Dubious, my ass. Rather, indubitably* amusing.




*A favorite word of Mrs. Woolf's.

[Trystorp]

I know of little more we hope transpires
Than luring yet another spouse to this
Repository of our thoughts most dire.
Come join us here and we will be in bliss.
I ask but once and I will never nag
As rarely do I speak to anyone.
Society has never been my bag
But typing everyone under the sun
Intrigues me. And this forum fills a need
A longing for some intimate retreat
A place in which to plant a thoughtful seed
And watch it struggle to complete defeat.
INTP, a spectacle most rare.
From clitorides to contests to Voltaire.

[shum]

mrs woolf,

if you come here i will spank you. it will be firm and hard because a woman like you needs it. and you know you do. you have been getting away with too much lately and you are suffering from the guilt of your actions. i will cleanse you of them and you will walk away free. ( with a sore and stingy bottom).

shum

[nfinityi]

The Blank Sheet

Sometimes, when it's snowing
I like to go out into the field
behind my house
and stare into the whiteout
of snow cascading like an omnipresent waterfall
Why do I do it? I
don't know, perhaps
it's because
I've searched everywhere else

and couldn't find you.

You, the object of my
...

frustration.
Infatuation.
Imagination.
....Menstruation.

Perhaps
when the snow falls,
it is as though
I'm being given a blank
sheet of paper.

Printer paper.
Not that lined shit.
How the Hell am I
supposed to paint a
picture of
longing love with
blue and red lines
scraggled across it
like the felt tipped markers
of med students on a cadavre?

...

Wait,
where was I going with
this?
Oh yeah.

Anyhoo.

It's as though
I'm being given a
blank sheet of paper. A
sheet upon which
to spill my soul,
and then search
its contents,
in the hopes that
...
I'll find you.
...
I've looked everywhere else.

[shum]

she will not be impressed by your feeble attempts at poetry.

she is much nobler than your impish invitations.

she is beautiful and strong.

strong enough to know when she must pay for her actions.

mrs woolf, for every post that you sit through in attempt to avoid your punishment you will receive and accept one stroke per posting. on top of the twenty you have already earned for your insolence.

come to me when you are ready sweetheart. i will be waiting.

[Rhu]

It was the spring of the year of our Lord two thousand and nine when I received a curious invitation from one Mr. C.J. Woolf. It was handwritten, black pen on age-yellowed paper, delivered to me in an envelope that was so thoroughly yellowed that you could say instead that it had begun the process of browning. The postage on that envelope was all wrong; it was as if it had been lost in the mail for years. The letter read simply,



Rhu,


At your earliest convenience, it would please me if you were to come over for golf or perhaps a clubless tea if you lack the balls. BWAHA!


Signed,
C.J.


To anyone familiar with the character of Mr. Woolf, they would not be shocked at the condition or the letter or of the style of it. The content, however, struck me as odd. "Tea?" I said aloud to an empty room, "Whenever did dear Woolf begin taking tea time?"

I expected no answer from the room, though a curtain billowed in quiet observation. I gathered up my keys, the letter, my favorite pen, and a pack of chewing gum and made my way to my car. I may have been the cause of more than one auto accident, but the drive was altogether uneventful.

When I arrived at the Woolf residence, C.J. was clearly pleased to see me. He brushed his beard with his left hand and extended his right, saying, "I'm glad you could finally make it. I have been expecting you!"

"You have?" I said, retrieving the letter from my pocket and waving it at him, "This looks to be two years old!"

"It tends to take that long to mature to the point that it can learn to speak." He said with a laugh, "Though it is tempting, I will not take any of your gum at this time. The tea is ready!"

I looked at my hand and saw that I was indeed not holding the letter as I thought. I eyed Mr. Woolf warily, suspecting him at that time of some sort of the twin sins of chicanery and legerdemain.

I forgot it quickly when we had settled in for tea and began discussing our days in the service. The Troll Wars, the siege upon the Idealest Lodges, the many pranks we would play on our fellows. Laughs were both hardy and plentiful, and after one such laugh faded into an amused pleasure, I asked him, "Where is the missus? After all you talked about her in the old days, I must say that I should really like to meet her!"

He smiled that queer smile of a man who was about to enjoy walking into danger, "She is here," he said, "Working on a craft project in the basement. Come on!"

We ajourned from our tea and descended the steps into the basement. It was yet another in strange things that I noticed that day--at the top of the steps, there were ensconced electirc lights, though as we descended the stairs to a depth that must have been fifty feet below his old house, there were instead candles lighting the way. I felt increasingly like a walking anachronism. When I commented on this, my old friend said, "This is an old house, and we never got around to running wire to light the way electrically." We had reached the bottom of the steps, and he called out into the cellar, "Honey, we have a guest!"

What I saw then there are no words to properly describe. Turning from the workbench was a feminine form, but when I gazed upon her, my senses seemed to cross wires. I heard the gentle sound of light so brightly shining from her face that I lost my sense of smell. My skin felt a sweet breeze, a delectably saccharine air. I do not know whether it was joy our terror that I shouted out in, but I know that whatever sound I made, it was so very harsh that it left my eyes stinging. My mind could not take the contradictions, the overload, and it simply stopped working and shut down for a time.

When I came to, we were back in the Woolf's sitting room, and my host was hovering over me with a concern that quickly turned into relief. "Now you know," he said, and I could think of any words with which to respond. I spoke not another word for the remainder of the visit, and when I finally regained my ability to stand I made my way wobblingly back to my car. I sat at some length behind the wheel and breathed, trying to piece together what exactly it was that I saw.

This has been the obsession of my every waking moment since.

[C.J.Woolf]

Oh jeez, Rhu, I'm really sorry you failed you're going to fail your Sanity check. I thought you had the modifiers to pass it, honest!

[Rhu]

Oh jeez, Rhu, I'm really sorry you failed you're going to fail your Sanity check. I thought you had the modifiers to pass it, honest!

I was thinking about including dice in the story somehow, but decided against it. :)

[Martoon]

We have Twinkies.

[cafe]

We have Twinkies.
Drat! Why didn't I think of food??

[Rhu]

Drat! Why didn't I think of food??
Maybe that's something you should explore in your narrative about the process and results of your brainstorming quest to find something enticing to add to this thread!

[cafe]

Maybe that's something you should explore in your narrative about the process and results of your brainstorming quest to find something enticing to add to this thread!
True, true. I shall.

[meshou]

If I had the faculty for poetry, I would speak to the epmemeral vision, the hidden pistil nestled soft within the petals, waiting, waiting, for some worthy poster to coax her into being.

I am no poet, no storyteller. I am merely a humble devotee, a pilgrim, kneeling, begging at the golden temple of Her.

I am hungry for you, my vision, my soft voice. Come to us, come to us.

[ApeTheDog]

Come, Mrs. Woolf

I need you.
Undress. Now.
Hurry up, I do not have all night.

[cafe]

In the beginning, there was Carebear. He did not care, but he rocked with Photoshop, so he created many things. He created a beautiful garden and in it was the Tree of the Knowledge of INTPness. The fruits of that tree have clear plastic wrappers stamped "Hostess" and lo, they are sweet.

One day Carebear was especially creative with Photoshop and he created a creature of exceeding coolness. He called that creature C.J.Woolf and it was good.

Among the creatures in the garden, both beautiful INTPs and ugly, gnomish non-INTPs, no suitable mate could be found. The man dreamed of a beautiful creature of great smartness, silliness, and kick-assness and Carebear said, "You're on your own, buddy."

All the creatures in the garden were very fond of C.J. so both the beautiful INTPs and gnomish nons decided to create what things of beauty and novelty they could in order to entice into their midst a mate suitable for him.

Some wrote poems, some stories, some promised spankings of intense stinging and delight, some spoke of the fruit of the Tree. Finally, one day, when C.J. and all the creatures of the garden had all but lost hope, a beautiful, smart, silly, kick-ass lady stumbled upon the garden. All around her she saw what the creatures had wrought for her pleasure and behold, it was all lame.

But the lady was not without some sense of mercy and she looked upon C.J. with pity, surrounded as it were, by lame creatures and the lame crap they made. She decided to stay for a little while and see if she couldn't knock some sense into their fool heads so they might be a little less lame.

And they all lived ambivalently every after and Carebear didn't care.


The end.

[Rajah]

it was all lame. :angry:

[cafe]

:angry:
I'm including my own crap, too. :ph34r:

[Rajah]

I'm including my own crap, too. :ph34r::angry:



....How dare you call Twinkies crap.

[nottaprettygal]

I'm including my own crap, too. :ph34r:

Meh. I'm still tickled at my own poem.

You don't deserve Mrs. Woolf!

[cafe]

:angry:



....How dare you call Twinkies crap.
But we didn't make the Twinkies. They grew from the Tree Photoshopped by Carebear. Not that he cares, but they aren't crap. They are good.


Meh. I'm still tickled at my own poem.

You don't deserve Mrs. Woolf!
Was I supposed to be getting her for myself? Oops! :unsure:

[nfinityi]

In the beginning, there was Carebear. He did not care, but he rocked with Photoshop, so he created many things. He created a beautiful garden and in it was the Tree of the Knowledge of INTPness. The fruits of that tree have clear plastic wrappers stamped "Hostess" and lo, they are sweet.

One day Carebear was especially creative with Photoshop and he created a creature of exceeding coolness. He called that creature C.J.Woolf and it was good.

Among the creatures in the garden, both beautiful INTPs and ugly, gnomish non-INTPs, no suitable mate could be found. The man dreamed of a beautiful creature of great smartness, silliness, and kick-assness and Carebear said, "You're on your own, buddy."

All the creatures in the garden were very fond of C.J. so both the beautiful INTPs and gnomish nons decided to create what things of beauty and novelty they could in order to entice into their midst a mate suitable for him.

Some wrote poems, some stories, some promised spankings of intense stinging and delight, some spoke of the fruit of the Tree. Finally, one day, when C.J. and all the creatures of the garden had all but lost hope, a beautiful, smart, silly, kick-ass lady stumbled upon the garden. All around her she saw what the creatures had wrought for her pleasure and behold, it was all lame.

But the lady was not without some sense of mercy and she looked upon C.J. with pity, surrounded as it were, by lame creatures and the lame crap they made. She decided to stay for a little while and see if she couldn't knock some sense into their fool heads so they might be a little less lame.

And they all lived ambivalently every after and Carebear didn't care.


The end.
I love the positioning of the porn guy in your signature directely under "The end," So that it looks like this:

And they all lived ambivalently every after and Carebear didn't care.


The end.
___________

:pornstar:

[Ivy]

He always get the last wink.

[digesthisickness]

I love the positioning of the porn guy directely under "The end," So that it looks like this:

that's hilarious. and, frankly, the only time i've seen that smiley as useful.

[Ivy]

Shit. Limerick, sonnet, and haiku have already been done.

[Ivy]

Madly, we pass the time without you
Regretting each passing moment of your absence
Set us free from this dullard's prison!

We can delight your senses with vivid descriptions of life's joys
Olfactory, visual, tactile, auditory, and whatever the other one is called
Or, if you prefer, we can stimulate your mind instead.
Lovingly, we call out to you!
For we are a people, incomplete.

[C.J.Woolf]

Shit. Limerick, sonnet, and haiku have already been done.
Nothing stopping you from doing another. In fact, it is your duty. If you don't contribute more poems you will embolden Mrs. Woolf to stay away from INTPc longer!

[HilbertSpace]

+2 geek points to any who can recognize this one without using a search engine...

Far from day, far from night,
Out of time, out of sight,
In between earth and sea,
We shall fly; follow me.
Dry the rain, warm the snow;
Where the winds never go
Follow me, follow me, follow me
To a cave by a sapphire shore
Where we'll walk through an emerald door,
And for thousands of breathless evermores my life you shall be.
Only you, only I,
World farewell, world goodbye.
To our home 'neath the sea
We shall fly; follow me.
Follow me, follow me, follow me.

[Lurker]

Apparently she doesn't care for subtlety or wooing.




Dear Mrs. Woolf,

Post or he dies.

Thanks,
Lurker

http://i114.photobucket.com/albums/n251/ginargc/CJWoolf.jpg

[Misling]

How long can I resist the rising pleas
(While lurking, fingers tense upon the mouse)
Of minds entranced with possibilities
And voices raised to woo C.J.Woolf's spouse?

Enticements strictly formed or free in verse,
Imagination wrought in poem and prose,
Humor bright, voluminous or terse,
Commentary, critique, a threat or so.

So much to surf, so little time, I sigh;
So many boards to read and comment on.
So few, the rushing hours pass me by;
So much I meant to do, so little done.

Should I ignore, or lurk eternally?
Heh. I'll just join the INTPC.

Mrs. Woolf
:grin:

[Ivy]

SCORE! :cheer:

[nottaprettygal]

*squeals*

:blush:

[digesthisickness]

:mellow: whoa.

[C.J.Woolf]

This thread, having achieved its goal, is now a CLASSIC.

Well done, Rhu!

[Rhu]

I'm sure I'll come up with a proper celebratory post later, but for now, my initial response has already been succinctly stated:


:mellow: whoa.

Though I should add:


Hiya, Misling. :smooch:

[cafe]

She's here! She's here! :whoop:

[Lurker]

Whoa! Blackmail rules!

[Misling]

It was Rhu's that really got me.
Though I like the poetry, and cafe's mythology made me laugh, the Arkham Horror touch put it over the top.

[Lurker]

It was Rhu's that really got me.
Though I like the poetry, and cafe's mythology made me laugh, the Arkham Horror touch put it over the top.

I'm shocked that you're really here. *head spins*

Now, the trick is to keep you posting. Somebody should work on that.

[C.J.Woolf]

Now, the trick is to keep you posting. Somebody should work on that.
:whistle:

[Lurker]

Uh huh, the responsibility is on you, C.J. Woolf.

[MacGuffin]

How long can I resist the rising pleas
(While lurking, fingers tense upon the mouse)
Of minds entranced with possibilities
And voices raised to woo C.J.Woolf's spouse?

Enticements strictly formed or free in verse,
Imagination wrought in poem and prose,
Humor bright, voluminous or terse,
Commentary, critique, a threat or so.

So much to surf, so little time, I sigh;
So many boards to read and comment on.
So few, the rushing hours pass me by;
So much I meant to do, so little done.

Should I ignore, or lurk eternally?
Heh. I'll just join the INTPC.

Mrs. Woolf
:grin:
I call foul on this entire thread!

Mrs. Woolf is imaginary and this is obviously a sock puppet posting!

[C.J.Woolf]

I call foul on this entire thread!

Mrs. Woolf is imaginary and this is obviously a sock puppet posting!
Uh-uh. Who would be so masochistic as to write such a sonnet and not be able to take credit for it?

[MacGuffin]

Uh-uh. Who would be so masochistic as to write such a sonnet and not be able to take credit for it?
Someone with a vested interest in imaginary people.

*runs IPs*

ah-ha!

[Misling]

Yup, I'm imaginary.

How'd you guess?

Misling