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| Krzyzewski Man 700th Post
 
Red Carpet Regular Member
  
    
    
|  "WHO AM I!?"
, posted Mon 19 Apr 19:43
For shits and giggles (mostly shits) I've come up with an idea! A brilliant idea! I'll just post some random quotes in random works of fiction (or, at least, semi-fiction) and you'll attempt to post the correct character and work! (Or more likely, refer to me as a homosexual and then let the thread die.) Please put your answers in spoiler form so as not to give out possible hints.
NUMBAA WAN (very long)
"Then we should need a strange new quantum ethics. There'd be a place in heaven for me. And another one for the SS man I met on my way home from Haigerloch. That was the end of the war. The Allied troops were closing in; there was nothing more we could do. Elisabeth and the children had taken refuge in a village in Bavaria, so I went to see them before I was captured. I had to go by bicycle - there were no trains or road transport by that time - and I had to travel by night and sleep under a hedge by day, because all through the daylight hours the skies were full of Allied planes, scouring the roads for everything that moved. A man on a bicycle would have been the biggest target left in Germany. Three days and three nights I travelled. Out of Wurttemberg, down through the Swabian Jura and the first foothills of the Alps. Across my ruined homeland. Was this what I'd chosen for it? This endless rubble? This perpetual smoke in the sky? These hungry faces? Was this my doing? And all the desperate people on the roads. The most desperate of all now were the SS. Bands of fanatics with nothing left to lose, roaming around shooting deserters out of hand, hanging them from roadside trees. The second night, and suddenly there it is - the terrible familiar black tunic emerging from the twilight in front of me. On his lips as I stop - the one terrible familiar word. 'Deserter,' he says. He sounds as exhausted as I am. I give him the travel order I've written for myself. But there's hardly enough light in the sky to read by, and he's too weary to bother. He begins to open his holster instead. He's going to shoot me because it's simply less labour. And suddenly I'm thinking very quickly and clearly - it's like ski-ing, or that night in Heligoland, or the one in Faelled Park. What comes into my mind this time is the pack of American cigarettes I've got in my pocket. And it's already in my hand - I'm holding it out to him. The most desperate solution to a problem yet. I wait while he stands there looking at it, trying to make it out, trying to think, his left hand holding my useless piece of paper, his right on the fastening of the holster. There are two simple words in large print on the pack: Lucky Strike. He closes the holster, and takes the cigarettes instead... It had worked, it had worked! Like all the other solutions to all of the other problems. For twenty cigarettes he let me live. And on I went. Three days and three nights. Past the weeping children, past the lost and hungry children, drafted to fight, then abandoned by their commanders. Past the starving slave-labourers walking home to France, to Poland, to Estonia. Through Gammertingen and Biberach and Memmingen. Mindelheim, Kaufbeuren, and Schongau. Across my beloved homeland. My ruined and dishonoured and beloved homeland."
YAY
The resident lapsed Catholic progressive absurdist.
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| Krzyzewski Man 702th Post
Red Carpet Regular Member
| "Re(3):I smell a cheat" , posted Mon 19 Apr 21:56
quote:
The "blarg" must be a hint! The passage must've been said by old RPGamer humor columnist Thor Anthrim or else by Ramus in Lunar~SSS! Or by one of those lava dragons in Super Mario World. I'm onto you, Kman!
Uh, no, you're not. I always say that. And it's with two A's, dammit! Also, if you want to give me a nickname, make it Fog, as in "Friend of Gedo-sama." Thank you.
Anyway, here's a hint: the answer is still uncertain. And yes, that's a legitimate hint. Now, if only Hagen de Merak would take a guess...
The resident lapsed Catholic progressive absurdist.
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| Dr Baghead 2962th Post
Platinum Carpet V.I.P- Board Master
    
    
 
| "Re(1):WHO AM I!?" , posted Wed 21 Apr 09:15
quote:
For shits and giggles (mostly shits) I've come up with an idea! A brilliant idea! I'll just post some random quotes in random works of fiction (or, at least, semi-fiction) and you'll attempt to post the correct character and work! (Or more likely, refer to me as a homosexual and then let the thread die.) Please put your answers in spoiler form so as not to give out possible hints.
NUMBAA WAN (very long)
"Then we should need a strange new quantum ethics. There'd be a place in heaven for me. And another one for the SS man I met on my way home from Haigerloch. That was the end of the war. The Allied troops were closing in; there was nothing more we could do. Elisabeth and the children had taken refuge in a village in Bavaria, so I went to see them before I was captured. I had to go by bicycle - there were no trains or road transport by that time - and I had to travel by night and sleep under a hedge by day, because all through the daylight hours the skies were full of Allied planes, scouring the roads for everything that moved. A man on a bicycle would have been the biggest target left in Germany. Three days and three nights I travelled. Out of Wurttemberg, down through the Swabian Jura and the first foothills of the Alps. Across my ruined homeland. Was this what I'd chosen for it? This endless rubble? This perpetual smoke in the sky? These hungry faces? Was this my doing? And all the desperate people on the roads. The most desperate of all now were the SS. Bands of fanatics with nothing left to lose, roaming around shooting deserters out of hand, hanging them from roadside trees. The second night, and suddenly there it is - the terrible familiar black tunic emerging from the twilight in front of me. On his lips as I stop - the one terrible familiar word. 'Deserter,' he says. He sounds as exhausted as I am. I give him the travel order I've written for myself. But there's hardly enough light in the sky to read by, and he's too weary to bother. He begins to open his holster instead. He's going to shoot me because it's simply less labour. And suddenly I'm thinking very quickly and clearly - it's like ski-ing, or that night in Heligoland, or the one in Faelled Park. What comes into my mind this time is the pack of American cigarettes I've got in my pocket. And it's already in my hand - I'm holding it out to him. The most desperate solution to a problem yet. I wait while he stands there looking at it, trying to make it out, trying to think, his left hand holding my useless piece of paper, his right on the fastening of the holster. There are two simple words in large print on the pack: Lucky Strike. He closes the holster, and takes the cigarettes instead... It had worked, it had worked! Like all the other solutions to all of the other problems. For twenty cigarettes he let me live. And on I went. Three days and three nights. Past the weeping children, past the lost and hungry children, drafted to fight, then abandoned by their commanders. Past the starving slave-labourers walking home to France, to Poland, to Estonia. Through Gammertingen and Biberach and Memmingen. Mindelheim, Kaufbeuren, and Schongau. Across my beloved homeland. My ruined and dishonoured and beloved homeland."
YAY
  you're Krzyewski Man! LOL!
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"Re(3):I smell a cheat" 