UnBooks:The Miseries of Uncyclopedia Life

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“Sitting in one's small place, surrounded by stark ironwork, one has time to think of such things - I suppose”

~ Oscar Wilde on Unbooks: The Miseries of Uncyclopedia Life

There is comfort in numbers

Written in 1899 by Vicar Youngquest Colt, The Miseries of Uncyclopedia Life was a treatise on the number of possible petty outrages and needling jabs that the average Uncyclopedia contributor could encounter in his (or her) life.

Although never proven, it is widely believed that the true author of the book was Oscar Wilde, an important and earnest Irish writer. Given the publication date, the tome could have been written in the can, where Wilde was serving time for being altogether too happy during the later Victorian period – a behavior seen as disrespectful to Queen Victoria who was on month 456 of the traditional one-year period of mourning observed by even the most pious of women of the era.

The book was a critical success, although it was viewed as somewhat of an inside joke by many. A nineteen-year old H. L. Mencken, writing under the user name of “Ambrose Rectumble” called the book an “amusing trifle written by one who not only understands that skill of scorn, but knows how to use it his advantage in the chat room.” Dorothy Parker, the rapier tongued ringmaster of the Algonquin Elementary School Lunch Table said of the book that “This is not a book to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.”

Chapter One – Creative Prolapse[edit]

Having a dream of such quality as to rouse you from your sleep and think that this would make a splendid featured article - only to nod off and upon wakening, forgetting the sure fire idea.

The inability to get a joke, and the ability to only go along with the joke lest anyone find out how simple you really are.

Spending hours developing an idea, replete with great satire, mucho double entendre to tickle the humor of the reader, only to find that it's been nominated to VFD after one day because someone feels it violates Rule #1.

Not knowing what Rule #1 is.

This picture is a bit out of date. Chimps use <airquote>the internets</airquote> now. Wikis, too. Wikis are like collective, collaborative typewriters. That's why they're shit.

Having your least favorite, worst written article nominated for VFH and seeing it enthusiastically and overwhelmingly vote to become a feature article, and you hailed as a master of humor.

When Mr. Mhaille suggests that writing for The Economist would be a better use of your time.

Encountering writers block of such magnitude that even the words simplest words, such as A, For and Against, are a struggle to type and submit. And just when you think that it it is beginning to crack, rereading your composition and coming to the painful conclusion that it is an insult to Sophia.

Working on a topic for a great length of time to ensure its perfection only to find that another writer has beaten you to the punch with their tepid, although highly regarded, version.

Having your user page vandalized by some IP, and then receiving congratulatory messages on how well the rehab has gone.

Sitting naked, at your desk, for it stirs the creative juices, and yet no one notices, and if they did, they are in all probability gay.

Chapter Two – Personality Dislikes[edit]

Encountering an uppity community member who cannot write, and refuses to contribute to anything constructive, instead preferring to assail and degrade everyone elses work with rude comments and negative voting. And if confronted, the twit will vote against everything that you do for the rest of their natural born days because they are a no talent twit at that.

The arsehole who votes against you because you are not British enough for them.

The asshole who votes against your humor is too American for their tastes.

Having visited the VFD salon only to find that all of your carefully crafted articles on early television programs have been nominated for deletion by a high school age user who is tired of all this ancient stuff.

Being haunted by IP’s that think it is unendingly funny to insert sophomoric nonsense into an article because it is something that occupies their time during study hall.

Encountering well-meaning editors who insist that “a lot” is one word.

Spreading viscous lies about another user only to have everyone ignore your efforts.

Having an annoying twit become an Admin when you are so much worthier.

Being a noob who is adopted by someone that is your third or fourth choice.

Chapter Three - The Unwelcome Mat in the IRC[edit]

Remain vigilant at all times that no one steals your comedic devices.

After stumbling about for weeks trying to find the IRC’s entrance only to find out that your browser is incompatible with the IRC.

Others knowing that you have been stumbling about for weeks trying to find the IRC’s entrance.

Coming into the middle of a conversation on IRC in which two or three people dominate ad nauseum, and being unable to understand what they are conversing about.

Upon entering the IRC, having others refer to you as a “crazy bitch” or “complete asshole” as if you are not there. Worse yet, they mock you as unworthy for even thinking that you are welcome in the IRC.

Spilling your hot tea in your lap whilst conversing about Proust in the IRC.

Having a bot on the loose in the IRC while you are trying to converse convivially with others.

Chapter Four - The Cabal[edit]

Being invited to join the Cabal but being unable to do so because you are afraid to admit it exists.

Complaining at every instance that the Cabal has it out for you, however there not being such a group, you look irrational and insane.

Knowing that in Russian Reversal terms, you are the Cabal.

Being picked upon by a snot nosed Bulgarian, a creature borne of the soft underbelly of Europe, you find that the Cabal has little interest in saving you from the Wikipedophile because someone needs to be thrown under the bus to appease the brute and you are "it".

Chapter Five - Village Dump[edit]

Discovering that you are in a forum complaining about another unnamed user only to discover that said user is “you”.

After great consideration, starting a thread of great importance only to see it die a slow death of loneliness and neglect.

Chapter Six - All Other Things Considered[edit]

While pleasurable under the best of circumstances, a sinus infection in which ones nose oozes copious amounts of brownish tinged yellow lung butter makes kitten huffing a useless activity.

Having your personal user page vandalized and discovering that either no one else noticed, that everyone thinks the resulting rubbish is so much better that you are pressured to keep it as your own.

Entering Uncyclopedia and requesting a random article only to find that you are given a Mr. Winkler article. Asking again and again being given another sort of Mr. Winkler article. Approaching the random article request thrice, and receiving a third article that features the foul Mr. Winkler a third time. Then loping off, doomed and depressed.

Winning a competitive accolade when you are the only one nominated, thus preventing your gloating rights.

Having your true on screen identity discovered by a fellow Uncyclopedian who doesn't even want to tell anyone who you really are.

Cursing Wiki because there is no Frontpage version of it sold by Microsoft.

Spending hours on end developing an image of Queen Elizabeth, on her back, trying to kiss the Blarney Stone and being told that the lighting and shadow is not only all wrong, but looks as if the effect was done by a chimp.

Seeing the text of one of your best Uncyclopedia articles appear in and on The Onion the day after you post it on Uncyclopedia.

Being told that your new article should have spent more "idea" time in the sandbox.

Being Jimbo Wales.

Having your witticisms reconfigured as in something called a Russian reversal and finding that they are more humorous in that fashion.

Being chided about wearing a thong, and after feigning disinterest in that type of garment only to have ongoing lurid dreams of dancing before the Cabal in said thong underwear while Zombiebarron plays the theme from Borat on a pair of musical spoons.

Making a minor and classical illusion to Hephaestion’s fine rump whilst writing about your acquaintance, Lord Alfred Douglas, and having it land you in jail because the Queen is smarter than she looks.

See also[edit]