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This Thread is not concerned about any conspiracy.
This Thread is way above that.
She knew this day would come, in her secret heart of hearts. This thread, *her* beloved thread, had started off with such promise, such a sweet dream of a future together, strong, unchallenged, the talk of the congosceti. The parties, the laughter, the witty quips. But she had seen a change over the last few months. The unexplaned absenses. The casual remarks, no longer amusing or insigtful, merely conforming to the expectations of their relationship. The formal distance in the bedroom. She bit her lip to hold back a tear. All the promise, and to come to this, she thought. To what?
Her reverie was shattered by the doctor enunciating "ligature marks consistent with", "signs of an unassisted struggle", and "unusual amounts of petroleum-based lubricant". She thought, "No, I will not weep for this thread. This thread lying on the gurney before me is not my thread. Not the thread I once knew." She cast her eye around her and saw, in a new light, the so-called friends of her once beloved thread. She wondered if they knew the truth and had been keeping it from her. She wondered if they had not in fact been keeping it from themselves.
Her mind wandered as the doctor droned on. The crisp moon shone in the deepest blue sky. The night air had a certain chill that reminded her of autumn. "Things will never be the same", she realized.
This Thread knows not what you speak of.
This Thread has never been asked for a refund.
This thread believes everything will work out!
This thread drinks champagne on a warm day, but will search for some ice.
Ice is brought to This Thread.
Alright! Drink up, a toast, to this thread's health!
This thread is rallying briefly, inspired by the words of a true believer!
This thread rises up from the operating table, looking back to see itself surrounded by doctors in masks and smocks.
Now it is moving forward toward the light at the end of a tunnel.
And now it has to take a number and be seated.
Hell is the other thread.
This thread awoke, as if from a dream. The sky was filled with a strange white light, and little fluffy dandelion bits wafted past, carried by the midday breeze. This thread could not distinguish all the shapes in its vision clearly, it was as if it was underwater.
In the distance, it thought it heard voices calling to it. "Come back to us!" Wait, was that Clifton's voice? "Thread... what will we do without you?" That could have been winerkleiner. The sounds of a cool brook babbling nearby distracted its superior consciousness for a moment, and the voices faded. A feeling of sweet peacefull bliss enveloped it, and it let the almost narcotic feeling fill it from post number one through post 1291.
This thread tentatively felt itself around its neck, and was astonished to find that there was no bruising, no crushed windpipe, and no cervical damage. Despite its normal state of omniscience, it found itself taken aback by the sudden change, the perfect state into which its body had returned. On further inspection, not a single byte parity error could be seen anywhere in it's archive, almost the same state into which it had been born.
This thread is going into a spinoff, with Metastable as executive producer.
This thread is having a wonderful time, and wishes you were here.
there once was a thread named This Thread
which was often abandoned for dead
till one more came along
with O2, not a gong
and breathed life in the old gal instead
this thread wants to know the real meaning of development.
I sing of the glory of trysts!
(though her name's gotten lost in the mists)
it was her golden flute
lured this snake from its chute
and, in tribute to her, it persists
What gg really means:
This thread was awakened by the opening theme of the Olympics, it held the torch and needed to pass it to Metashable!
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