The reason why I wanted to read this issue in full was specifically because I noticed that my favorite author, Neil Gaiman threw in his name with other famous people (I guess) with a Facebook post about how the Onion should receive a Pulitzer.

This had me questioning the ordeal, as the Onion prides itself on its satire, it’s never actually given anyone any real news stories, but instead is (like the Daily Show with Jon Stewert) news about how stupid news is. My initial thinking was that if they actually had asked for a Pulitzer, it was as a satire of the Pulitzer foundation itself. I don’t follow who gets Pulitzer prizes, and indeed I don’t really care, but my guess was that the Onion does, and that by asking for a Pulitzer they’re trying to say ‘Hey, if you’re just handing those out to any old schmuck, why not give us one too?’

                Then, I tried to think of the alternative. A world where the Onion does receive a Pulitzer, what would that be like? Well I’ll tell you, “real” journalists would be outraged that they were even in the running with a publication like the Onion, the Onion would then publish a story about the Pulitzer, either about how outraged they were for receiving it, or how outraged other people were, or how they’re using the Pulitzer as a golf tee, or a coffee coaster or something like that, maybe all of the above. Or what about a world that’s only half-way to that? Where they don’t receive a Pulitzer this year, but do get one the next after people send the Pulitzer foundation hate-mail. Or maybe the Pulitzer foundation makes a new category just because the Onion doesn’t really compare with “serious” publications.

And then I actually sat down, had some Chipotle, and read the issue. It’s apparently the thousandth one, and there are a lot of funny articles, all focusing in some way on the Pulitzer award. My favorite parts have always been their opinion section, so you should read that, not that that’s on-topic. Anyway, reading it got my ire up, it got my brain-gears grinding, and as I was reading its pages, I realized that maybe there is some worth in being misinformed. After I finished the issue, I picked up my phone, and did a Google search for “Pulitzer” and started reading a Wikipedia article, it was a few sentences into that when I realized that I had been duped. The Onion, a publication who’s pride rests firmly on its ability to make up fictional news stories had gotten me interested in something that I would never have cared about otherwise.

That’s what got me thinking. I began to vaguely recall other times when this had been true of me. I am not a man who is interested in news. I find that too often the news defaults on miniscule happenings that it blows out of proportion, or focuses on things that are too far out of my scope of understanding for me to feel as though I care. However, I am guilty of multiple counts of birddogging issues that I catch friends talking about, or that I see on programs like the Daily Show, or Colbert Report. But because these are things that I am interested in, and though they are current events, I don’t consider them news, because from my point of view the news is very boring.

What I’m trying to say is that the Onion, with its swearing, rambling, and lying is worth something. It is actually a news source, and to boot it’s also an entertaining piece of art. If they win a Pulitzer, it’ll probably make a lot of people angry, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve some recognition for their work. While other newspapers and channels charge you for their service, the Onion does their labor for free. Sure there are other reporters, and publications that have just as much passion and dedication to their work, but all of them are guaranteed to get Pulitzers while the Onion needs to campaign for the one it deserves or no one would even consider it.

______________________________________________________________

What if it was the apocalypse, and everybody came?

That means we don’t stop at just one advent of the apocalypse. We don’t just take a simple thing like nuclear bombs, or angry gods. Either check all boxes, or check the one that says “all of the above.” Bring in the best of a radio-active waste, mixed with alien oppressors, a god-war that smites the earth, and the return of a chthonic being that drives everyone mad.

In order to express this whole story, we have to find the cause in each part. These are in no particular order, and many of them happened simultaneously, or so close on a time-line that neither could be said to affect the other.

The Advent: The “Chosen Races” Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, and Gnomes, enter into an age of hyper-technology led in by the ingenuity of the humans; an age of skyscrapers, and worldwide networks. Many of the members of these races didn’t take to it as well as humans, but it persisted. In the wake of the rabid forward movement, the “Fallen Races” such as Orcs, Goblins, Ogres, and Trolls are barely scraping along, many of them pushed into the shade or the corners of the earth for persisting with more barbaric ideals. The first of these races to evolve and step up to the human’s challenge were the trolls, having a faster capacity for change with their monstrous metabolic rates, they achieved a month-by-month evolution which allowed them to produce enough skilled individuals to manage a sort of race with the chosen races. The trolls formed the basis of the fallen races’ society, building their own cities, and developing their own weapons.

The Bombs: When the chosen races heard that the lesser races were building weapons and armies, they began to take action, and a cold war started. Both sides stockpiled weapons, and conscripted armies; both sides tried to goad the other into an open conflict, walls were built tall, and propaganda was flung far. Eventually, it all exploded literally when the humans launched rockets carrying nuclear warheads at the lands that the fallen races had carved for themselves, in retaliation, before the rockets even found their destinations, the fallen races launched their bombers, and charged the lines. This day would be known forever after as The Event.

The Deceit: Meanwhile in the outer planes, the gods were having a much less terrestrial conflict. The Pallid Princess, the Goddess of Undeath, Urgathoa hatched a plan to send her celestial brothers and sisters flying at one another in rage and confusion. She used deceit to convince Asmodeas, The King of Hell that a war was coming; Asmodeas held only one piece of leverage over the righteous gods of the upper planes, and that was the quite literal key to the end of the world. Eventually Uragathoa’s warnings took a toll on the newly paranoid Asmodeas, who instead of thinking of his beloved contracts and deals, now only schemed and plotted what he could do to get through the war with his kingdom intact.

The War: Eventually, Asmodeas warned his archdevils to prepare for battle, alerted his allies, the demon princes, the four horsemen, and the other evil gods. In retaliation, the good gods rallied their forces and the two sides which had lived in odd harmony for thousands of years finally met on the battlefield. On the day which would later be known as The Event, Asmodeas’ servants and allies went into all out celestial war, so catastrophic that it managed to slop over into the real world. Some say that the sight of the celestial war is what caused the nukes to be launched, and the terrestrial races to start their own crazy war.

The Madness: While the celestial and terrestrial wars blasted on and on, Asmodeas stood below the world, at the mouth of the cage that held Rovagug, the god-creature that would bring about the true end of the world, as if it wasn’t already over. He knew his side wouldn’t win. The one thing that kept the forces of good and evil from fighting was the key that he stood pondering over in that dank cave. Surely if he unlocked the cage, he would be devoured, as was Rovagug’s purpose, and then the world would end, boiling in cracked, mad pieces in one of rovagug’s thousands stomachs. But he knew it was the only way to make sure that good never gained an inch, so he did it. And Madness spilled into the world.

The Visitors:

The Desolation: In the world, the days after The Event saw numerous skirmishes, both between the chosen races and the fallen races, the beings of good and evil, and the beasts that Rovagug vomited into the world, and any combination thereof. No force or city had gone untouched by the battle, or the darkness. Many mortal beings had fled into underground bunkers and fallout shelters, but not enough to matter, since billions more lay dead or changed into beings of pure madness. Trolls which possess as much of a mental health healing ability as a physical one survived largely intact, but found their ultimate foe in radiation poisoning. The Event left nearly every being dead, or scarred, and the world itself was no exception. It is likely that nothing since will ever be like anything before ever again.

The Stasis: Urgathoa had a reason to drive the gods to war, and the world to an end. Almost everything happened the way she planned. She organized the celestial war in a way so that the gods had a chance to “die.” But as the gods who fell in the war tried to rise again, she caught their essences and trapped them in stasis, effectively forming herself as one of the few beings left with any sort of celestial power base. Much of the world is in her hands as a result.

The Present: Life in the blasted, misshapen wastelands after The Event is tough. If you don’t have to deal with pockets of radiation, it’s either terrifying alien beings or denizens of Rovagug left in the wake of their father’s grand feast; new fears aside, there are numerous old fears that have scraped their way back into the world. In any case, no matter how many days after The Event you’re in, there are hundreds of opportunities to solve problems and insight adventure, but such things are only there to create a temporary escape from yet more terror and destruction. There is little hope left.

The stage is set, let’s talk about the races that exist in this world, how they’ve changed, and how they haven’t.

The Chosen Races:

Humans – Trolls and humans are said to be the instigators of the end of the world, and thus get a lot of animosity from their elder races, however most present-day humans had nothing to do with the wars of the past, and are only trying to scrape together a meek existences in the blasted wastes. Despite the end of the world’s best efforts, humans are still the most prolific race; many settlements you’ll find will primarily be occupied by humans, as in ages past.

Dwarves – As a mainly subterranean race, dwarves were the chief architects of fallout shelters, and bunkers for the other races, and their own cities located in the reaches of mountains, and hills were very much protected from the fallout of The Event. Many dwarven cities decided to shut their doors when they heard the news of the bombs and the celestial wars; ready to support themselves underground for thousands of years if needed, a lot of dwarves don’t see a need to reopen these doors to humanity again, but curious or socially starved dwarves still find their ways to the surface now and then. Some of these cities remain quiet and solemn, fabled by surface dwellers as being blown out by Rovagug’s children. More proactive dwarves are the kinds who were born outside the cities, in the wasteland. These dwarves tend to take on a more helpful personality, more accepting of those they encounter on the surface.

Elves – Nearly all dead, surviving elves have tried to seclude themselves away from the world, pulling to the deepest forests and jungles. However, these surviving bastions of greenery have become the target of the scions of the new world, and thus the elves find themselves in the midst of the new civilization which encroaches on them asking for advice and help every day. All surviving elves were born before The Event, and in fact the surviving elves have found it impossible to have children, except when paired with humans. Many elf thinkers and scientists have taken this as a challenge, trying to find a way to create new full-blooded elves through cloning, or alternate-insemination, but to absolutely no avail. Other elves have taken it to mean that it’s simply the end of their race. Yet others have gone ‘preservation crazy’ attempting to create as much half-elf offspring as possible.

Halflings – Traditionally halflings have always led a kind of parasitic existence, following humans and other taller races in their endeavors around the world. Halflings have been slaves and servants, friends and helpers, but rarely is it seen that the halflings as a race have done anything without the help or urging of someone with more stature. The apocalypse has changed them in an odd way. Halflings are some of the richest, most powerful of the chosen races. After The Event, the surviving halflings gathered their numbers into what the rest of the world has dubbed The Scavenger Hordes. Families of halflings, called Baronies move across the blasted wastes, sending small armies of scavengers into old ruins, picking them clean of anything worth trading, and then move into the nearby villages and towns to be treated like kings.

Gnomes – Fairies haven’t led a significant force in the world in a few hundred years, which means that in that time the gnomes have become even more disconnected from their distant, distant ancestors. But the oddest thing happened a few hours before The Event; all gnomes disappeared from the world. Their houses, apartments, cars, even military bunks when empty, not a gnome could be found in the entire world. Throughout the conflict, the gnomes went unseen and unheard, until one day a few weeks after The Event, they all just turned up again. It seems the fairies, in an act of unselfishness unheard of their kind, pulled their lesser kin into the primal world, taking them all back, and keeping them safe until the conflict had passed. As a result gnomes are paragons of the past. They remain untouched by The Event, but left to the devices of its aftermath. Many have no idea what to do with the new world, yet others take to their more primal side as a second nature. Very, very few came back into the world with large groups of fairies, and agree to a slave lifestyle in order to receive their protection.

The Fallen Races:

Trolls – Proven by the test of time to be the most adaptive race on the face of the world. Trolls managed to evolve their intelligence to the levels of the average human. The problem is that they seem to need something to act as a catalyst to help them reach higher levels of evolution, but as a result trolls are versed with the use of computers, and the respect and skill of firearms, even developing their own in their emulation of human society. A troll’s regenerative property has also evolved to tend to their mental health as well as their physical, meaning that the insanity effects perpetuated by Rovagug and his children don’t set in to most trolls as easily as other races. It would seem that trolls have it pretty easy, even in the blasted wastes, but besides fire and acid, trolls have found a third weakness in radiation. Radiation gets processed by their metabolism a hundred times faster than it does in comparison to most other races, so where a human may develop deadly cancer from radiation in years, a troll can develop it in weeks, or days. In any case, trolls are some of the heartiest members of the wastes, and usually travel alone or in small groups, scavving and trading ammo and food.

Orcs – Orckind has come a long way in the last few thousand years. What was once a race of marauders and barbarians given time and a chance became a race of… well, slightly less barbaric people who don’t maraud nearly as much. The feeble orcish will and big muscle has always led orcs to come under the wing of the more devious minds in the world. Before The Event, they had nearly gotten free of that, given a place of acceptance in the cities built by trolls. The god-killing nature of The Event managed to cut the rest of these ties, by slaying most of the evil barbaric celestial minds that would come to orcish prophets goading them to do what they did best, which means that orcs are now free to lead uninterrupted lives, in a land of chaos and spite. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers. Orcs tend to form tribes, where they carve their own traditions, and for once make their own rules. Towns that can tolerate orcs will often form pacts of trade, goods for protection, as orcs still have a seemingly hardcoded disposition towards fighting anything bigger than them.

Goblins – Now I wish I could tell you that something awesome and noteworthy has happened to goblin-kind since The Event, but I really can’t. They’re still miserable little shits. Even during the advent leading up to The Event, goblins were still living in dumps and sewers, scrounging together an existence that most hobos would reject. Goblins however are everywhere; in towns founded by the fallen races, they may have been more tolerated, and had chances at a better life, but they could still be found around areas where the other races settled, living on the fringe, and lowering property values. Goblins after The Event haven’t changed much, although they’ve taken on a greater surface personality, living more openly when allowed. Hobgoblins tend to rise up as an upper caste, and usually the strongest or smartest of them will forge a few bands into a tribe, settling a land, and making trade agreements with anyone who will accept them (usually orcs). Bugbears are still the paragons of goblin-kind, usually accepted by multiple tribes and calling more than one tribe home simultaneously; trolls and bugbears get along well, and sometimes will form traveling bands together.

Ogres – There isn’t a whole ton to say about ogres, except maybe that they’re gigantic, degenerate scum. As one of the fallen races, the trolls felt almost obligated to include them in their new society, but even with years of official domestication, ogres still gravitate towards an evil deviancy that their neighbors seemed to be able to shake. Much like the orcs, ogres don’t have much of a drive for evil now that many of the gods that perpetuate it are gone, so instead of larger more well planned acts of evil, they find smaller, random bursts of violence to be satisfying enough. Ogres are merchants of death, they scavenge for guns and ammo and then use it to hold up anyone who they think can provide them with what they need to live. Rare is it an ogre who thinks conforming into working society is a good idea, and no ogre towns, villages, or tribes have ever been formed for long. Most ogres form small bands of three to five members and roam as they will.

Pale Races: The pale races are those who were lucky enough to live underground in what is now known as “The Shade.” A lot of the pale races still live as they did in ages past, working dark magic, and eschewing technology, but some modern conveniences have made it down to them. Drow, Duregar, Svirneblin, Derro, and all other subterranean civilizations are included in the ranks of the pale races, although because they are lumped together under a common moniker by surface dwellers, that hardly means that they get along between one another. After The Event, many of the pale races made inquisitive trips to the surface, finding the place blasted, and desolate; many of these races, especially the duregar have laid out permanent trade routes to distribute guns and ammo to what surface dwellers are left, branding them as heartless gun runners to most. The drow’s sole interest in the world is beating what little hope is left from the surface by enslaving whole encampments of people, or stealing away those maddened by Rovagug as samples for expirments.

The Forgotten Races: Lizardfolk, Tengu, Aasimar, Teiflings

Religion: Religion after The Event is a bleak thing. More than half the gods have all but disappeared, and with no one to remember them, many people end up worshiping things that they don’t understand. Even still clerics and paladins persist and try to spread religion when they can. Many have read texts about old gods and tried to keep their temples alive, others simply feel a distant calling of some religious aspect and do whatever they can to find out what it could mean. One thing about all these men and women is sure: None of them feel like their god is speaking to them, and many feel quite forlorn and lonely without some kind of divine feedback

Truly no god can die, they are supernatural constants of the world, when they fall for whatever reason they simply spend a while as a pure essence before coming back to life at full force and ready to seek revenge. Urgathoa found this out by observing the flow of life force when celestial beings would die, and simply come back; she even toyed with them, trying to make new kinds of undead from ones she could capture. Eventually she came across the capture of a soul of an angel which had a small cult of its own; it was slain, so she put it in what she could only call “necrotic stasis” where she prevented the being from forming as an angel again. She noticed that putting the angel in stasis forced the energy he received from the worship of his cult to instead fuel her, as it had to siphon through her in order to eventually reach him. She deduced that if she could do this to a god, or ALL gods, she could become the old goddess that anyone on the world ever needed, and right under their noses too.

This boggles me. See, It took me more then a year to get that first thousand, and here I am sitting just over the cusp of another, with the second birthday of this blog only a couple months away.

I also just noticed that with this post I’ll have exactly one hundred entries. So that’s also a bit of a milestone.

I know mainly where those views have come from, and that would be from my bro, Alexander, and a miniscule handful of other people who he’s shown it to, so I don’t know ho much of an actual accomplishment this is fer sure, but I like to think that at least a couple of the views I’ve gotten a day are just from people who have stumbled upon it.

Blogs get random hits from keywords, and a bevy of keywords can only be built by first laying a solid foundation of posts. So when you think of it in terms of a ratio built over time, the number of views I get a week are probably pretty average for how much stuff is on here and how often I post.

My life’s changed a lot since I started this blog. Little things were tweaked until it hit such a scale that the subject and feeling behind my writing has changed a lot. I’ve been thinking about going through and hiding a lot of my older, more embarrassing posts so that people who do visit this place can only see the things which I currently find the most entertaining or fondest to look back on. But then y’know, I feel like that’s lying kinda sorta. Like I’m dressing myself up so that people can only see a certain side of me, and also most of the really stupid, sticky, and boring posts (like this one right here) will probably just get skipped by most sane people after a couple lines. And I’m okay with that. I’m not indignant at all, I actually kind of like it. This is just a personal blog, where I post things that I want to talk about, that are on my mind, so on one hand, this blog is fulfilling it’s duty nicely as a place where I can put whatever I type. On the other, when a friend of mine finds a post that they find hilarious, or interesting to read, that’s double good; I get a little satisfaction when they say “That post you wrote about Alexander’s inside-jokes made me crack up in the middle of class.” So really I’m satisfied with this. I hope it stays around for a long time so I can keep filling it with fuck-all.

Speaking of filling it, I haven’t felt very creative lately. I used to have spurts where I would find something to write about, whether it was a joke, a dream, some fiction, or griping, but lately, nothing’s been going on here. I hope my stint at this blog isn’t over, but I’m not about to start making promises that I’ll be more diligent. I have no idea how diligent I’ll be. And honestly, I have no obligation to the internet, so I don’t feel to bad.

Anyway, this is the two year/two-thousand view/one-hundred posts update. I’d be amazed if you made it this far in. :,]

Harsh environments and hostile foes might keep down the body, but to those with a strong spirit these things don’t always make that much of a difference. And yet, in the dark corners of the world one might find the remains of someone who’s spirit didn’t help them in the end.

So, is the answer to give up? Is that even an option to where that would be a feasible question? Maybe instead of these philosophical discharges, we should focus more on what’s directly at hand.

And yet, even with such dismissal of the remotely possible, the questions remain much the same: How will you survive? And at what cost?

As you take to your private boxes, or luxury cushioned seats abroad The Starlit Mile, you know not what’s in store for you. You ignore the shiver of fate that shoots like electricity down your spine and then into your finger tips. The conductor refuses to meet your gaze as he punches your ticket.

“It’ll be a long trip,” he says, as he walks away from you, unknowing that he has claimed far more then he knows.

________________________________________________________

My bro, Alexander, recently just dazzled us with his latest RPG mastercraft involving a gritty look into the world of Jack Dynamite, Deadwolf, and The Snazzle. Never would I have thought the incident to work as well as it did, considering the generally goofy over and undertones of such topics. But damn, he thought it out, wrote it down, and built it up, and in the end, the whole thing was simply genius. The only real regret was that Brent, Truman and I ended up focusing so much on possibility that we never broke through to make any of them realities, and in the end we only made it through about thirty percent of the game that Alexander had prepared.

But of all the things that impressed me about the campaign, it was the presentation of his setting and the goal of the game through an opening monologue, that put things in perspective, and made sure the three of us knew what kind of serious shit we were getting into. His carefully worded, and expertly timed sentences painted us the portrait of our setting, and inspired us to jump into characters that might not have been as vivid any other way.

The ordeal inspired me to do a similar write-up of an opening for an epic campaign of my own. This is what I’ve produced, but I think it might be too wordy. We’ll see if it even gets used.

Oh my ME***
Alexander Jasper
1:46 AM
HAY S’HAR SOMEBODY SPILLED PAINT ON YOUR PS3 IT WASN’T ME THOUGH HAY WATER DRAGON WE SHOULD DO KAREOKE!!!
Big Roy Overdrive
1:50 AM
Ugh, fuck me, I just got that… I gotta do something about this- Uh hey! Gee-Oh-Ell, uhh, did you see the garden yet? I just planted some forbidden fruit trees out there, it’s really nice, you wanna go take a look?
Alexander Jasper
1:52 AM
HAY THAT SOUNDS COOL I’LL GET A BEER FROM THE KITCHEN REAL QUICK DO YOU WANT ANYTHING?!
Big Roy Overdrive
1:54 AM
ACTUALLY! Uh… Gee-Oh, we’re all out of beer… So… there’s none.
Alexander Jasper
1:56 AM
OH THAT’S FINE I’LL JUST GET ONE OF THOSE TWO LITER SODAS AND *CLANG* HAY I THINK YOUR STOVE BROKE!!!
Big Roy Overdrive
1:59 AM
FUCK! DAMNIT!
1:59 AM

I’M SO SICK OF THIS GUY’S BULLSHIT!
1:59 AM

WHY DO WE TOLLERATE THIS?
Alexander Jasper
1:59 AM
Well, He Is The Oldest God Around…
2:00 AM

One Does Not Gather That Many Followers By Accident
Big Roy Overdrive
2:01 AM
Uh, jesus christ Nec-lord, do you have to pull that creepy shit? This is a party…
Alexander Jasper
2:03 AM
Fine. If You’re Going To Be A Douche, I’m Going To See If The Machine Spirit Wants To Play Beer Pong.
2:04 AM

HAY S’HAR WAS THAT THE NECRO LORD!? I OWE HIM SOME MONEY COULD YOU HELP GET YOUR STOVE OFF OF ME?!
Big Roy Overdrive
2:07 AM
Usdamnit… Nec-lord, see? The man is a walking accident! I bet he’s the god of accidents too. I mean, he found just such a way to trip over a full-on gas-range oven/stove-top combo that it could fall over and pin him to the ground…
Alexander Jasper
2:09 AM
I’m Staying Out Of This. You Obviously Have Some Issues With The Laughing God. Perhaps- Hang On, I’m Getting A Text From Valtheria. Oh My You Dirty Girl…
Big Roy Overdrive
2:11 AM
Okay, FINE… I guess it’s my party, my oven, my problem… shit… MC Cheese, keep spinnin’ those mad beats… I’ll be right back.
Alexander Jasper
2:12 AM
S’Har? LiKe, WhO’sE ThAt GuY uNdEr YoUr OvEn?
Big Roy Overdrive
2:17 AM
Oh hey, Astradae. Glad you could make it. That’s just The Laughing God. I’ll get him out of here in a bit.
Alexander Jasper
2:18 AM
KaY. iS tHeRe AnY bOoZe ArOuNd?
2:18 AM

HAY ASTRADAE THEY DON’T HAVE ANY BOOZE COULD YOU GET ME A *SMASH* NEVERMIND!!!
Big Roy Overdrive
2:21 AM
Uhh, yeah, Desius hid the beer. Don’t tell the big guy… Uh hey, so, I really am glad you could make it Astradae. I was kinda wanting to talk to you about getting back together… y’know… the stars and the sky… back together again…
Alexander Jasper
2:22 AM
uM…
2:22 AM

I’m KiNdA WiTh ThE mAn WiTh A LiGhTBuLB fOr A hEaD…
Big Roy Overdrive
2:23 AM
That… neeeerd?
Alexander Jasper
2:26 AM
He’S a NiCe GuY S’HaR! pLuS hE dOeSn’T jUsT mAkE mE pRoPhEcIeS fOr OuR aNnIvErSaRy.
Big Roy Overdrive
2:28 AM
Yeah, well that guy wouldn’t know the first thing about prophasies! Usdamnit, this is the worst party I’ve ever thrown… y’know what, Astradae, you’re a bitch! You don’t have any real powers! I’m gonna go ask out Da’lun, or maybe Hydrangia. Yeah! A TERRESTRIAL goddess! Deal with that!
Alexander Jasper
2:29 AM
YoU’rE sUcH a DiCk, S’HaR! wHy DoN’t YoU-
2:30 AM

Oh VaLtHeRiA, yOu DiRtY gIrL…
2:31 AM

HAY S’HAR SOMEBODY SPILLED MAYO ON YOUR MICROWAVE!!!
Big Roy Overdrive
2:32 AM
Yeah? And who do you think did that, big guy?
Alexander Jasper
2:33 AM
WHAT?! THE MUSIC IS SO LOUD!!! DO YOU HAVE TWISTER!? I COULD CALL MY MOM AND HAVE HER BRING TWISTER!!!
Big Roy Overdrive
2:35 AM
Fuck it… *facepalm* Yeah, I think I got twister somewhere… Hey, can anyone give me Valtheria’s cell number?
Alexander Jasper
2:37 AM
(S’HardoyoumindifIborrowAltanisforabit?)
2:38 AM

(Vashtorisjustsocutebuthewon’teventalktomeunlessIdoamiracle)
Big Roy Overdrive
2:39 AM
Wha? Who’s that?
Alexander Jasper
2:40 AM
(sorryI’mnewheresoValtheriainvitedme)
2:41 AM

(mynameisFrellithIdowindstuff)(mostlybutmydadsaysIcanusehislightningonceIgetmylicense)
Big Roy Overdrive
2:42 AM
Uh no, it’s cool, it’s just, I usually don’t forget names. Do you actually have a physical form I could look at for a minute? It just really helps me, y’know, remember people…
Alexander Jasper
2:44 AM
Bro! S’Har! You gotta check this out! Me and Wolf and Buffalo are gonna do keg stands! You talking to somebody?
Big Roy Overdrive
2:46 AM
Uh yeah, there was uhh… well anyway. Grey Man, y’know, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Somebody’s gotta. I mean I feel like the only thing that could make this party worse for me is if the Proteans showed up…
Alexander Jasper
2:49 AM
Ugh. Fuck those guys bro. “Oh look at me! I’m an ascened intelligence wrought by a hyperadvanced alien race! I’m totallly a god!”
2:49 AM

Also, there’s some dude in your kitchen. I think he’s stuck under the stove?
2:50 AM

Oh wait- Nope, he’s good.
Big Roy Overdrive
2:51 AM
Did he get out? I bet he’s stuck under the fridge now. Dumbass…
Alexander Jasper
2:53 AM
(solikeareyoubusyorcanIuseAltanis?)
Big Roy Overdrive
2:55 AM
Uh, oh, you’re still there? I don’t think that’s a good idea little… guy?
2:55 AM

Or, girl. Whatever. Point is, that’s technically my domain. Being in the sky and all.
Alexander Jasper
2:56 AM
(ohmymewhyareboysalwayssomean?)
2:58 AM

HAY S’HAR DA’LUNE AND HYDRANGIA ARE TOTALLY MAKING OUT YOU SHOULD COME *WHUMP* UH OH!!!
Big Roy Overdrive
2:59 AM
Oh my us! Uh, I gotta go kid, try to exert a more forcefull presense next time, if you want to catch Vastor’s eye. WHAT IN HADES DID YOU JUST DO?!
Alexander Jasper
3:00 AM
DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE’S A HOLE IN YOUR FLOOR I JUST FOUND IT ALSO SOMEBODY LET IN A POSSUM!!!
Big Roy Overdrive
3:02 AM
And that was the last thing S’har ever heard before he willed himself to stop living.

__________________________________________________________
Alone.

To whoever keeps hotdogging my car:

I love you.

Every day, I walk to my car to drive to work, and find five to seven hotdogs strewn on the windshields. This has been happening consistently for a week, and I’ve grown to wonder who you are, what you look like. You must be my soul mate. I’m convinced. I have elaborate fantasies about our two year anniversary, where I surprise you by hotdogging your car early in the morning. You rush back inside our apartment (which we decided to live in about three months prior) and shower me in affection, hugs, kisses and some cuddling on the couch. You then tell me that you can “call in sick today” and we make love.

I have a feeling that you’re doing the same thing. I sometimes fantasize that you are leaning back on your couch (or maybe you’re a loveseat person) wondering who I am, and fantasizing about me in a likewise fashion.

I beg you, please get in contact with me however you can. I don’t feel comfortable giving out my phone-number on craigslist, but email is fine. I will start going to my car early, in the hopes that I can see you face-to-face.

If you don’t feel like meeting me, please don’t stop hotdogging my car. It would kill me. ;-;

What I remember about the first was that it was the middle of the day, and my roommate Don had come home from work with three women all around or about our age. He introduced me to each of them from where I was on the couch, and then things got weird. They all began to disrobe while I sat perched on the couch. This is confusing, because Don is p.gay. I even pointed this out in the dream, but this didn’t seem to bother him. So just like the real me would, given the situation, the dream me got up and went to his room. No orgy would happen that day while I was present. Oddly I rememebr my room being positioned differently. The bed was up against another wall, and there was a lot more floor space. The blinds were pulled, and there was only a low-light. I sat down and pulled over a tub full of legos, and began playing with them. Two of the girls had put their clothes on, and came into the room with me to watch me play with legos. The remainder of the dream was just me talking to them.

The second dream I had started with me and a few friends down in a dank sewer-like dungeon. We adventured along until we reached a door, opening it and proceeding through into a large room with stockpiles and shelves near the door, at the back of the room was a partially submerged area that sloaped down into grimy water. Three beasts came out and began to speak to us. They were all freakish aquatic monsters, and they explained to us that they were once human; they were turned into weird giant-insect like creatures that could gain the properties of things that they consumed. One of them had the upper-torso of a rather attractive blonde woman, another a black haired young man, and the third was all mish-mash monster, mainly constituting the head and claws of a huge green lobster. Their tails had the heads of many other things they had consumed, ending in tentacles, and snake heads. They showed us bundles of animals they had caught for experiments, a whole bushel of live foxes, and another of venomous snakes. They then told us that they would be forced to kill us, and consume us so that they could gain whatever good we had for them. The one with the torso of a woman then tried to attack me, and that’s about when I woke up.

Never once since I moved in here has Don ever spoke about how much he likes coffee. At most, since I came, he has mentioned, probably twice the kind of coffee he likes to order, it’s like everything else that he likes to put in his mouth; it’s got long Italian name that I don’t care to memorize, and it’s got ingredients that people only put in coffee when they need to feel like their morning caffeine is a gourmet experience. In short, you could not make the kind of coffee that Don likes with a coffee maker that you get from the grocery store.

So why then, did I wake up today to find one sitting on our counter?

“Oh, well it was only ten dollars.” Don replied when I asked what it was doing there.

A million angry queries surged through my head… maybe it was because I had only just trudged from my room and into the kitchen after waking up, and maybe it’s because sometimes roommates do things that would normally be considered good and normal, but still make roommates fly off the handle. Or y’know what? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the only one in the world who gives a flying fuck. But I don’t care. I’m going to let that fuck fly; at least as far as this blog is concerned.

Everything I want to yell at Don right now:

“How does something having a reduced price, even if it’s useless, suddenly count as a good idea to have?

“We finally managed to move the microwave to a place where it would be out of the way, and now the counter space is being used again. Where do you expect to cook? Where do you expect to put the dirty dishes?

“You say this is for tea, but you never drink tea. Even when I make tea, and come back to offer it to you, you never leave your computer-side long enough to drink any. You say ‘this just goes to show how truly lazy I am’ but that’s not true at all; it only goes to show that you think you need a gadget for every tiny job, if whatever your doing can’t be preformed for you by something in your general vicinity then it does not interest you. Funny thing is that I made tea every single day, you never even had to lift a finger, yet here we are.

“I found the act of boiling water in a pot and then pouring it into the teapot rather fun and slightly cathartic, I don’t know how to use a coffee maker, I don’t want to learn how to use a coffee maker. The logic is not in that it was only ten dollars, and it was not in that we needed an easier, more hands-off way to make tea. You saw the deal, and you got manic, and thought ‘I have ten dollars, and this is something I don’t have yet.’ Well you know what? The likelihood that that thing is going to break  is pretty much 100%, because you can’t buy something like that for ten dollars and have it last forever.”

Fuckin’ coffee maker…

SLEESTAK CR 5
XP 1,600
NE Medium Aberration
Init -2 Senses Darkvision 60ft; Perception +9
DEFENSE
AC 20, touch 8, flat-footed 20 (-2 Dex, +12 natural)
hp 59 (7d8+21)
Fort +9 Ref +2 Will +9
Weakness Light Sensitivity
OFFENSE
Speed 10 ft
Melee 2 Claws +7 (1d4+4 plus grab)
STATISTICS
Str 18 Dex 6 Con 17 Int 11 Wis 12 Cha 10
Base Atk +3 CMB +7 CMD 15
Feats Coordinated Defense, Gang Up, Great Fortitude, Outflank
Skills Climb +12, Intimidate +9, Perception +9, Survival +10, Swim +12
ECOLOGY
Environment jungle, ruins, dungeons
Organization solitary, pair, hunting party (3-5), you’re surrounded (6-12)
Treasure standard
SPECIAL ABILITIES
Slow as Molasses (Sp) Sleestak move at a reduced rate for creatures of their size, and are easy to escape from. They cannot force themselves to move more then 10 feet with a move action, and cannot run at all. They can double move, however. While this hampers them greatly, it also makes them steady as rocks; sleestak gain a natural +4 bonus to CMD against bullrush, and trip attempts, and are never effected by spells or special abilities that slow or delay their actions. This steadiness also give them great aim with ranged weapons; instead of the regular penalty they strike as if they had a +2 bonus to dexterity. If Haste is cast on a sleestak the effects are as follows: the subject begins to vibrate rapidly and incurs 1d4 rounds of paralyzing stun, after which his intelligence, wisdom and charisma scores increase by 4 for the duration of the spell; the regular effects in the text of the spell do not apply to sleestak targets.
Bonus Feat All sleestak have Gang Up as a free feat.

Sleestak are humanoid monsters from another plane. They stand between six and seven feet tall, with scaly green skin, bulbous black eyes, and pincer-shaped hands. Their appearance is almost primordial, and the only thing keeping them alive seems to be an average intelligence, akin to humans of the material plane.
Sleestak colonies tend to range between five and seven hundred citizens, but they’ve been known to double or triple such numbers with a single breeding period. They prefer easily defendable ruins as places to set up their cities, carving what they need from the stone left behind.
Rarely they will encounter a human, the results of such encounters have brought them to believe that humans are evil. A sleestak hunting party will go to great lengths to capture or destroy any of the fairer-skinned people they meet. Captives in this way are usually thrown into a great pit as sacrifice to their god.
Sleestak are proficient with simple and martial weapons, and light to medium armor, but cannot wield or wear anything not made by a sleestak. This compulsion is a knee-jerk superstition, and cannot be overcome. Sleestak weapons and armor are odd-feeling in the hands of other humanoids, but are not unwieldy. They prefer ranged weapons such as crossbows or nets so they can pursue opponents even with their hampered speed.

The internet has changed art.

I remember this scandal I read about a few weeks ago; nothing particularly large or important. It was about this woman who’s become sort of a diva on Deviant Art. Her drawings weren’t bad, and she had gained a large base of fans and people who had commissioned works from her. She did a bad though, when she began neglecting her commissions, opting instead only to produce art for herself. People continued to commission work from her, and she continued to accept, adding money and work to her long list of unfinished art.

The shit hit the fan eventually, and the whole thing blew up in her face when she decided to start uploading provocative photography of herself and the girl in the photos turned out not to be her at all. Anyway, the point is that she got what was coming to her; humbled and hurt, with nearly all her fans giving up on her, she locked everything on her account up tight, and decided to make up for it with nothing but the finished commissions .

Now while the second paragraph up there is kind of an extreme (but true) scenario, the first is something that’s happening all the time lately. There are thousands of small-time artists out there who are taking money from eager commissioners, and letting it float to their heads. All of them think it would be great to get money for something they ‘love’ but when they start being recognised as superior in what they do, they get lethargic thinking that their fans will forgive them.

If the internet weren’t around, this would never happen, as the small-timers wouldn’t have the ease of a few simple uploads from the comfort of their home.

I don’t mean to knock real artists who are using the internet as a means to skyrocket their career. People who’re working hard to get what they want deserve it obviously, but the ones who are kind of hanging on to the coattails of the idea just need to tuck and roll. :[