Swhack is a channel for swingers on the StarChat IRC network. As a liberal conservative environment, it’s impossible to define our stance, but we would have to say that it’s ecological, freedom loving, millitarian, and damp. Our main purpose is to compete for prizes at various events in order to raise more awareness for sexually misabled persons like ourselves. Two of our members are proud winners of the Best Specialty Coffee category at the International Coffee Retailer Association’s Coffee Awards, and they think that they have a chance to win it again next year as long as the judges continue to miss the fact that Frotteur isn’t a blend of coffee.
Isn’t it romantic how any sufficiently complex and organic social entity is indistinguishable from post-modernism? Swhack is also a small gnome, and a marvellous great big butterfly with emeraldine wings, singing in the lilting nautical twilight betwixt the gloaming and an especially brazen sunset. Perhaps it’s not even on the StarChat network at all? Perhaps its members abhor swingers? They might even abhor coffee, but we doubt that even post-modernism may safely venture so far.
Swhack is a compound onomatopoeia: this is certain. This is one of the first things to have been recorded in its digital minutes, the logs of the channel. We are so certain of this fact that we are almost naked. The logs also happen to claim that Aaron Swartz was the one true progenitor of both “swhack” quâ word and “swhack” quâ IRC channel; that the whole caboodle was originally hosted on the Openprojects network and is now hosted on its successor. But what does it mean for logs to claim something? Logs can be doctored. Pasts can be rewritten, and presents are a labour of interpretation. In Finnish, for example, swhakki are a kind of confectionary made from Arctic whortleberries and reindeer spleens. They make good presents.
So, we have sexual deviancy, post-modernism, an emeraldine butterfly, digital minutes, and a strange Finnish confectionary that even the Finns claim not to have heard of. Yet now we move into stranger territory by far. What ought we to make, for example, of Monty?
<Monty> Now walk on me in my ass<Monty> Apparently, you quack at maggots!<Monty> Sgt. Pepper’s is fifficultf to pronounce<Monty> I’m going to attack gerbils<Monty> Rectally administered fuel oil enemas, and g’nite!
Monty also belives that you’ll be obsoleted by Nokia, and that 0xffffffffffff is bigger than anything. When he goes shopping it’s rumoured that he plays with liquidity, but he doesn’t believe that it’s possible to smack lettuce. Perhaps you would like to be in commensurability with Monty’s mum? If you’d like Monty in your own channel, you can send €30 to Paul Mutton, and then he may be willing to oblige your request, or he might simply take your money and never speak to you again. Paul is hilarious.
Some people do the strangest things. Gladstone only became an MP because he tripped outside the House of Commons. What ought you to do if you were to join Swhack’s IRC channel by mistake? The first advice is as in the Hitchhiker’s Guide: don’t panic. And carry a towel. You’ll probably be told that “this is a publically logged channel”, and if you’re not then it means you have entered undetected. When you enter a place undetected, normally this is an opportunity to pee in the drinks fountain and get away with it. Swhack does not have a drinks fountain.
The best thing you could do is to read all of this document and the thing on Technobunkum and pay it some lip sync to win our favour and woo our fairest maiden, Phenny (for, as Monty saith, “God’s algorithm is phenny?!”). The worst thing you could do is to lurk. This advice does not apply to actual lurks. We strictly limit our membership to tramps, hobos, circus people, carnies, binmen, lawyers, monkies, professors, jailbait, turkey-men, newts, squirrels, lurks, olive trees, silicon based aliens, and Welshmen. We’re keeping a close eye on people who look like olive trees but who may actually be some kind of Japanese soy-based imitation olive tree. We reserve the right to throw anyone out at any time for any reason. We’re packed to the rafters and filled to the brim with love and botjism already.
Let’s talk about the rules. If you break a bot, that’s a paddlin’. If you fuck with someone’s quote deelies, that’s a paddlin’. Herfting to the left is being shitrude. Being shitrude is a paddlin’. Being gn00bish is a paddlin’. Would have had being born, but have had will giving your father a vasectomy (this being the subjunctive future causal past verb tense, for all you enthusiasts out there) is a paddlin’. The Loch Ness monster at sunset is a paddlin’. Compiling an FAQ mostly from the back of old sugar packets is a paddlin’.
So what is Swhack? Must every substantive have a correspondant physicality? Not according to Wittgenstein, so not according to us either. But all the same, Swhack can certainly be said to be many things, mythologically speaking. It is the cauldron of Morbus’s fluids. It is an ongoing war against googlecount zero. Once, in all seriousness, I asked Aaron, “what is Swhack nature?”; he replied, “shut up you idiot!”. Swhack is the observation of storks.
The best thing about Swhack is that our topics are actually topics, and that this girl makes me wish that I were a man. As of writing, recent topics include “Hƿæt ƿolde Beoƿulf don?”, “Skip o Fooer”, “Flanked by her Pussy Pillows”, “<nsh> but no shoot mah moonosauri!”, “They will sometimes perform homosexual penetration of the blowhole, the only known example of nasal sex”, “Welcome to the Guild of Purpose-Driven Commodores”, and “Hypermasculinized loue to ech and everie oon of yow!”. You’ve heard that even the Queen of Egypt used to sip it now and then.
It’s hard to say what kind of people frequent the channel, because most of them are masked and anonymous and their words perplex me. There’s Captain Björn of the Elemental Space Patrol, Germany Division; Mister Noah Slater, sub-attendent to his Royal Highness the Princess Dorfmönger of Basildon; Sire Arnia Geldart, head opinion-shakermaker to the columnist Penny Daisyford; Jo Schled, who claims to be the chick in this photo; Terje Bless, alleged slayer of the man who coined the term “pimpbunging”; and Kevin Reeed, who lives on all of the moons of Jupiter. If your name is not mentioned herein, don’t take offence! There is always the deed poll.
So that’s Swhack. You’ll know what to do, when the time is right. Just sit back, relax, and let the natural things happen. Resist all the unnatural things with the jolly stick of clue. And dispense a few loles alongst the way.
— by sbp, kthx ㋡
