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    What becomes of outlaws??

    Posted by On me head on 30/5/2023, 21:56:34

    Next season is possibly gonna be a bit of a free for all on here now we've been promoted. Do you think it might be time to change over to be a registered member of outlaws, or keep it as is??

      Re: What becomes of outlaws??

      Posted by Mr Patel on 31/5/2023, 13:16:48, in reply to "What becomes of outlaws??"

      Being sold to Elon Musk, apparently. As a valued contributor and content provider, please leave your bank details below so you can get your divvy.

        It has already been done

        Posted by The Outsider on 30/5/2023, 22:35:39, in reply to "What becomes of outlaws??"

        https://lutonoutlaws.boards.net/

          Re: What becomes of outlaws??

          Posted by B on 30/5/2023, 22:31:49, in reply to "What becomes of outlaws??"

          What will you call the new board tubbs?

            Re: What becomes of outlaws??

            Posted by Nick NLPBH on 30/5/2023, 22:06:26, in reply to "What becomes of outlaws??"

            Scum to thing we should use the prem money to upgrade our" hideous 1980`s ceefax style board". So for that reason. No. Its much more fun seeing people get confused that this board doesnt sort itself into neat subjects and threads and is completely ####ing random in its nature!

              Re: What becomes of outlaws??

              Posted by Sodje’s Doorag on 30/5/2023, 22:57:57, in reply to "Re: What becomes of outlaws??"

              Give me this forum any day of the week.

              Those other club’s forums with endless threads and ‘sticky’ posts are massively bent and full of sad twats.

                Re: What becomes of outlaws??

                Posted by James on 30/5/2023, 22:14:29, in reply to "Re: What becomes of outlaws??"

                Does every post you do have be longer than the King James Bible

                Asking the whole world

                  Re: What becomes of outlaws??

                  Posted by Nick NLPBH on 30/5/2023, 22:33:10, in reply to "Re: What becomes of outlaws??"

                  It is an ancient Mariner,
                  And he stoppeth one of three.
                  'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
                  Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

                  The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
                  And I am next of kin;
                  The guests are met, the feast is set:
                  May'st hear the merry din.'

                  He holds him with his skinny hand,
                  'There was a ship,' quoth he.
                  'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
                  Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

                  He holds him with his glittering eye—
                  The Wedding-Guest stood still,
                  And listens like a three years' child:
                  The Mariner hath his will.

                  The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
                  He cannot choose but hear;
                  And thus spake on that ancient man,
                  The bright-eyed Mariner.

                  'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
                  Merrily did we drop
                  Below the kirk, below the hill,
                  Below the lighthouse top.

                  The Sun came up upon the left,
                  Out of the sea came he!
                  And he shone bright, and on the right
                  Went down into the sea.

                  Higher and higher every day,
                  Till over the mast at noon—'
                  The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
                  For he heard the loud bassoon.

                  The bride hath paced into the hall,
                  Red as a rose is she;
                  Nodding their heads before her goes
                  The merry minstrelsy.

                  The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
                  Yet he cannot choose but hear;
                  And thus spake on that ancient man,
                  The bright-eyed Mariner.

                  And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
                  Was tyrannous and strong:
                  He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
                  And chased us south along.

                  With sloping masts and dipping prow,
                  As who pursued with yell and blow
                  Still treads the shadow of his foe,
                  And forward bends his head,
                  The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
                  And southward aye we fled.

                  And now there came both mist and snow,
                  And it grew wondrous cold:
                  And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
                  As green as emerald.

                  And through the drifts the snowy clifts
                  Did send a dismal sheen:
                  Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
                  The ice was all between.

                  The ice was here, the ice was there,
                  The ice was all around:
                  It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
                  Like noises in a swound!

                  At length did cross an Albatross,
                  Thorough the fog it came;
                  As if it had been a Christian soul,
                  We hailed it in God's name.

                  It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
                  And round and round it flew.
                  The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
                  The helmsman steered us through!

                  And a good south wind sprung up behind;
                  The Albatross did follow,
                  And every day, for food or play,
                  Came to the mariner's hollo!

                  In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
                  It perched for vespers nine;
                  Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
                  Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'

                  'God save thee, ancient Mariner!
                  From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—
                  Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow
                  I shot the ALBATROSS.

                  PART II
                  The Sun now rose upon the right:
                  Out of the sea came he,
                  Still hid in mist, and on the left
                  Went down into the sea.

                  And the good south wind still blew behind,
                  But no sweet bird did follow,
                  Nor any day for food or play
                  Came to the mariner's hollo!

                  And I had done a hellish thing,
                  And it would work 'em woe:
                  For all averred, I had killed the bird
                  That made the breeze to blow.
                  Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
                  That made the breeze to blow!

                  Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
                  The glorious Sun uprist:
                  Then all averred, I had killed the bird
                  That brought the fog and mist.
                  'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
                  That bring the fog and mist.

                  The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
                  The furrow followed free;
                  We were the first that ever burst
                  Into that silent sea.

                  Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
                  'Twas sad as sad could be;
                  And we did speak only to break
                  The silence of the sea!

                  All in a hot and copper sky,
                  The bloody Sun, at noon,
                  Right up above the mast did stand,
                  No bigger than the Moon.

                  Day after day, day after day,
                  We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
                  As idle as a painted ship
                  Upon a painted ocean.

                  Water, water, every where,
                  And all the boards did shrink;
                  Water, water, every where,
                  Nor any drop to drink.

                  The very deep did rot: O Christ!
                  That ever this should be!
                  Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
                  Upon the slimy sea.

                  About, about, in reel and rout
                  The death-fires danced at night;
                  The water, like a witch's oils,
                  Burnt green, and blue and white.

                  And some in dreams assurèd were
                  Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
                  Nine fathom deep he had followed us
                  From the land of mist and snow.

                  And every tongue, through utter drought,
                  Was withered at the root;
                  We could not speak, no more than if
                  We had been choked with soot.

                  Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
                  Had I from old and young!
                  Instead of the cross, the Albatross
                  About my neck was hung.

                  PART III
                  There passed a weary time. Each throat
                  Was parched, and glazed each eye.
                  A weary time! a weary time!
                  How glazed each weary eye,

                  When looking westward, I beheld
                  A something in the sky.

                  At first it seemed a little speck,
                  And then it seemed a mist;
                  It moved and moved, and took at last
                  A certain shape, I wist.

                  A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
                  And still it neared and neared:
                  As if it dodged a water-sprite,
                  It plunged and tacked and veered.

                  With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
                  We could nor laugh nor wail;
                  Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
                  I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
                  And cried, A sail! a sail!

                  With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
                  Agape they heard me call:
                  Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
                  And all at once their breath drew in.
                  As they were drinking all.

                  See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
                  Hither to work us weal;
                  Without a breeze, without a tide,
                  She steadies with upright keel!

                  The western wave was all a-flame.
                  The day was well nigh done!
                  Almost upon the western wave
                  Rested the broad bright Sun;
                  When that strange shape drove suddenly
                  Betwixt us and the Sun.

                  And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
                  (Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
                  As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
                  With broad and burning face.

                  Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
                  How fast she nears and nears!
                  Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
                  Like restless gossameres?

                  Are those her ribs through which the Sun
                  Did peer, as through a grate?
                  And is that Woman all her crew?
                  Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
                  Is DEATH that woman's mate?

                  Her lips were red, her looks were free,
                  Her locks were yellow as gold:
                  Her skin was as white as leprosy,
                  The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
                  Who thicks man's blood with cold.

                  The naked hulk alongside came,
                  And the twain were casting dice;
                  'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
                  Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

                  The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out;
                  At one stride comes the dark;
                  With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
                  Off shot the spectre-bark.

                  We listened and looked sideways up!
                  Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
                  My life-blood seemed to sip!
                  The stars were dim, and thick the night,
                  The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
                  From the sails the dew did drip—
                  Till clomb above the eastern bar
                  The hornèd Moon, with one bright star
                  Within the nether tip.

                  One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,
                  Too quick for groan or sigh,
                  Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
                  And cursed me with his eye.

                  Four times fifty living men,
                  (And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
                  With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
                  They dropped down one by one.

                  The souls did from their bodies fly,—
                  They fled to bliss or woe!
                  And every soul, it passed me by,
                  Like the whizz of my cross-bow!

                  PART IV
                  'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
                  I fear thy skinny hand!
                  And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
                  As is the ribbed sea-sand.

                  I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
                  And thy skinny hand, so brown.'—
                  Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
                  This body dropt not down.

                  Alone, alone, all, all alone,
                  Alone on a wide wide sea!
                  And never a saint took pity on
                  My soul in agony.

                  The many men, so beautiful!
                  And they all dead did lie:
                  And a thousand thousand slimy things
                  Lived on; and so did I.

                  I looked upon the rotting sea,
                  And drew my eyes away;
                  I looked upon the rotting deck,
                  And there the dead men lay.

                  I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
                  But or ever a prayer had gusht,
                  A wicked whisper came, and made
                  My heart as dry as dust.

                  I closed my lids, and kept them close,
                  And the balls like pulses beat;
                  For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky
                  Lay dead like a load on my weary eye,
                  And the dead were at my feet.

                  The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
                  Nor rot nor reek did they:
                  The look with which they looked on me
                  Had never passed away.

                  An orphan's curse would drag to hell
                  A spirit from on high;
                  But oh! more horrible than that
                  Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
                  Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
                  And yet I could not die.

                  The moving Moon went up the sky,
                  And no where did abide:
                  Softly she was going up,
                  And a star or two beside—

                  Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
                  Like April hoar-frost spread;
                  But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
                  The charmèd water burnt alway
                  A still and awful red.

                  Beyond the shadow of the ship,
                  I watched the water-snakes:
                  They moved in tracks of shining white,
                  And when they reared, the elfish light
                  Fell off in hoary flakes.

                  Within the shadow of the ship
                  I watched their rich attire:
                  Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
                  They coiled and swam; and every track
                  Was a flash of golden fire.

                  O happy living things! no tongue
                  Their beauty might declare:
                  A spring of love gushed from my heart,
                  And I blessed them unaware:
                  Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
                  And I blessed them unaware.

                  The self-same moment I could pray;
                  And from my neck so free
                  The Albatross fell off, and sank
                  Like lead into the sea.

                  PART V
                  Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
                  Beloved from pole to pole!
                  To Mary Queen the praise be given!
                  She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
                  That slid into my soul.

                  The silly buckets on the deck,
                  That had so long remained,
                  I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
                  And when I awoke, it rained.

                  My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
                  My garments all were dank;
                  Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
                  And still my body drank.

                  I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
                  I was so light—almost
                  I thought that I had died in sleep,
                  And was a blessed ghost.

                  And soon I heard a roaring wind:
                  It did not come anear;
                  But with its sound it shook the sails,
                  That were so thin and sere.

                  The upper air burst into life!
                  And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
                  To and fro they were hurried about!
                  And to and fro, and in and out,
                  The wan stars danced between.

                    Re: What becomes of outlaws??

                    Posted by RGDave on 31/5/2023, 1:05:28, in reply to "Re: What becomes of outlaws??"

                    That told him. Full marks for brevity.

                      Re: What becomes of outlaws??

                      Posted by James on 30/5/2023, 22:39:06, in reply to "Re: What becomes of outlaws??"

                      I suspect that was funny in your mind for 3 seconds

                        Re: What becomes of outlaws??

                        Posted by Nick NLPBH on 30/5/2023, 22:50:50, in reply to "Re: What becomes of outlaws??"

                        I suspect you were James in your head for 3 seconds so thought i`d reciprocate

                Re: What becomes of outlaws??

                Posted by crumpsall on 30/5/2023, 22:04:05, in reply to "What becomes of outlaws??"

                To quote the Bard....

                '#### that for a game of soldiers...'

                We are who we are.

                And after all, we have coped with Sunderland, the biggest club in the world...

                  Re: What becomes of outlaws??

                  Posted by pingu on 30/5/2023, 22:03:14, in reply to "What becomes of outlaws??"

                  look forward to you launching the new site.

                  Re: What becomes of outlaws??

                  Posted by Alien Nate on 30/5/2023, 22:02:40, in reply to "What becomes of outlaws??"



                    Re: What becomes of outlaws??

                    Posted by RADSB on 30/5/2023, 22:00:57, in reply to "What becomes of outlaws??"

                    No change. Dealing with a load of plastic trolls will be a piece of cake compared to when we were in the Conference.

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