We admins/mods have been lying to you all along.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

There really IS a secret "Pogs" forum.

There.  I said it.

TGRR,
Knows that Pogs are not for the inexperienced.

[Richter]

I've been nurturring a secret love of pogs for years, and have gone to great length and risk to signal fellow pogs enthusiasts all these years.  I know what's at stake.  We all do, and have seen exactly WHAT happens to people who let out their love for pogs.  The midnight raids, the harsh lights and harsher questions from employers and loved ones.  Denouncing my passion for pogs just to get by a bit longer...

I can't deal with the fact that I've been so blatantly ignored and decieved.  I've sacrificed so much for what I love, and now it's been thrown in my face.

I'm flouncing.
I'll fly home in impotent rage, trash my room, and burn my treasured stack of pogs before snorting draincleaner laced smack off the linoleum and fallign asleep cold next to the toilet sobbing and singing "You are my sunshine"

[The Good Reverend Roger]

See?  This is why we keep it hidden.  Most people cannot live with the sheer eldritch horror that Pogs reveal. 

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Like this poor bastard.

[Freeky]

This thread makes me plotz.

[Phox]

 

[Suu]

I'll fly home in impotent rage, trash my room, and burn my treasured stack of pogs before snorting draincleaner laced smack off the linoleum and fallign asleep cold next to the toilet sobbing and singing "You are my sunshine"

That just sounds like Tuesday to me.

[Eater of Clowns]

You talk about it like it's a game, like it's something past.  You act like it's a hobby, or reminisce about the times when the novelty was still new.  But you don't remember.  You weren't there.  I was.

The tension of the two piles stacked up, ready for both sides to attack.  The weight of the little metal piece in your hand.  The hungry look when you were playing for keeps.

But then there was the one guy.  Maybe you did pogs for the fun of it, maybe you did it for the game.  I say did because you don't play pogs like you play with, say Lego.  You did them.  Like smack.  Well maybe you played them for fun, and hey, maybe I did too.  Not this one guy.  I can remember the look in his eyes.  Crazed and malevolent, not looking for the sport of it.  Only the destruction.

He had these slammers.  Oh god the slammers.  Kept them in some little pouch that always appeared out of nowhere, like him.  I don't even think he went to our school.  Hell, he might not have been from our state.  But whenever the thunder clouds were low in the sky he'd be there, those eyes shining like the lightning the proceeded.  The slammers.  I've still never seen anything like them.  Custom, had to be, or maybe bought using whatever life that no longer shone from his corneas.  Wrought iron, jagged and rusty, maybe, hell, it could have been a shuriken.  I just remember the sound, and the look.

Thing is, he never flipped any of them over.  He never needed to, or wanted to really.  Not after what he'd done to them.  What use did he have for a torn up little bottle cap, abused beyond even the loosest schoolyard regulation.  You can't win that way, we thought, and technically no, he never did.  But you always knew he'd won his own game - and you lost, hard.  Didn't make any sense to us then.  Couldn't talk about it much.  Never had the right words and, well, talking just made it more real, didn't it?

So talk about your game of pogs, like you know.  Like you were there.  But you weren't fucking there.  You didn't see the shit that I saw.

You couldn't.

[Telarus]

 

[E.O.T.]

POGS?

          like, pogroms?

[ñͤͣ̄ͦ̌̑͗͊͛͂͗ ̸̨̨̣̺̼̣̜͙͈͕̮̊̈́̈͂͛̽͊ͭ̓͆ͅé ̰̓̓́ͯ́́͞]

[Luna]

I...

The time has come.

I must confess.

I worked at a comic book store, during the Pogs craze.

Yes...  I was a dealer.

It's my fault.

[navkat]

I'll fly home in impotent rage, trash my room, and burn my treasured stack of pogs before snorting draincleaner laced smack off the linoleum and fallign asleep cold next to the toilet sobbing and singing "You are my sunshine"

That just sounds like Tuesday to me.

Say, girl...where you stay at?

[Jenne]

EoC and Richter: 

[Jenne]

I...

The time has come.

I must confess.

I worked at a comic book store, during the Pogs craze.

Yes...  I was a dealer.

It's my fault.

It's ok, Luna--it was a sign of the times.  You can't fight the sweet, sweet music that fills your head when you see those round disks of cartoon characters...the slickness of the coating on the cardboard...the way they stick together when they're new...it's madness that just takes a hold and doesn't let you go.

You were held hostage, Luna.  You, are a victim.

But you broke free, and that's what's important here.  And if you're still feeling that tug when you see baggies of them round the 'hood, I know there are probably support groups you can join.  Pogs Anonymous would probably be happy to help.  Seek out your local social worker and let them know that pogs are a disease, and should be treated like one.

You're not to blame, Luna.  You have a good heart.