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Welcome all!

Welcome to Dave Littler’s Tall Blog of Strength! An entertainment blog about entertaining things for the purposes of entertaining people!

There’s a good many reasons why you might be here, and a good many things to see now that you are. For your ease, your convenience, your entertainment and possibly even education, I have prepared for you this small menu of “greatest hits”, so as to aid you in your perusal of my many offerings from over the course of the years during which I have maintained this blog.

First, and perhaps most popularly, is my groundbreaking “The World’s Most Terrifying Penises” series, which documents the wonders and horrors of some of the most outlandish examples of reproductive excess in the animal kingdom. This includes both video-style and text-and-picture-fashion posts, both of which are maximally excellent.

Second, my body painting work; designs and painting by me (and a variety of assistants), modelling by a number of talented models and professional photographers.

Third, my Newdog15 re-writes, in which I take the tawdry straw of japanese “hentai” pornography and spin of it the purest of comedy gold.

Fourth, my currently-ongoing ridiculous comedy pulp adventure story, “The Curse of the Rhino King”, presented both as a read-and-comprehend text-format adventure and astonishing audio-rama radio-play versions for your convenience and enjoyment.

Fifth, my thoughts on religion, with a particular emphasis on my own personal atheism and well-reasoned (I should think!) opposition to the christianity which has so plagued our western world in recent millennia.

Sixth, the bizarrely-popular saga of Vince, the Parasite King; the real-life drama of my nightmarish experiences with one of the world’s most obnoxious room-mates, which serves as a sort of cautionary tale.

There are many other buried treasures in my many years of blogging, the most obviously-entertaining of which can be found among my comedy offerings.

I hope that you find my works to be both satisfying and pleasing, and that if you should wish to friend me or comment on any of it, you should do precisely that.

-    Dave Littler,
Posting from my secret fortress in the future.
June 28th, 2029

Oops! Forgot to post last year!

Fuck, Shit, Argh.

So despite not having posted in like a year and change, I've been getting all of these people friending me these past few weeks! Hello new people! What the hell is going on with you folks?

I actually kept on meaning to get back to this blog but never quite seemed to get around to it and at a certain point it started to feel pointless. Still, though, it seems that at least some people are paying attention, so...

Well! Show of hands! Who's still reading here? If there's any significant number of people interested, I may try to get back into the habit. I've certainly got plenty of material to update with at this point.

For example: I recently got done this collaboration: I did the colours, and a friend of mine did the line art. It's a group of characters called the Bog Fairies; minor chracters from my online roleplaying game (which consumes most of my online time these days), Twisted Reflections (and more on that later).

I suggest you save the image and open it with your own image viewer. I don't know why, but for some reason (and I know this isn't just me), Firefox displays it as FAR darker than it's supposed to be!


An unexpected turn of events


So, you may or may not recall my mentioning some time ago my having joined an online roleplaying game here on LiveJournal, which I had nothing but good things to say about. There have, since then, been some interesting developments on that front.

Specifically, I seem to be running the storytelling side of that game now.

This past summer, the moderator, creator and storyteller of the game went silent on us. No explanation offered, and no sign of what was going on. It actually took a month or so to notice the change, since the game had always been fairly hands-off and player-driven. After two months, though, the game was definitely grinding to a halt as there had been no new plot events or responses to e-mails in all that time. Players began to lose interest and leave, and things began to look very uncertain indeed.

I had put a lot of work into the game just as a player by that time and met some very good friends, and did not want to see the community which had grown up around the game fall apart if the game simply died on us, which seemed likely. Now, I'm a problem solver by nature. I see a problem, and my mind immediately goes towards figuring out what needs to happen in order to solve it. To me, the answer was obvious: There needed to be plot activity which would stimulate player activity and interest, at LEAST until the mod was back at it. And so, I whipped up a package of proposals for various plots, and sent them via what I knew to be reliable means to the moderator, with my word that I would be glad to run any of them until such a time as the moderator was ready to return.

It took some time, but I eventually got a response, and was empowered to run at least one, and more as well, if I should like, and was told that I had any questions, I should just ask. Naturally, being the inquisitive sort that I was, I had plenty of questions. Which I was free to ask. But was not apparently free to expect ANSWERS to. Time went on, and it became more and more plain that I wasn't going to be able to expect any support here. Moreover, it became plain that the original moderator had simply lost interest, despite their protestations to the contrary, and by the time that four months had passed without their being involved in the game in any way, shape or form, I was ready to write them off.

And so now I'm essentially just taking the reigns of the game, creatively, myself, with the blessings and approval of the other remaining staff members.

Now, I'm entirely certain there are those among my readers who are roleplayers. I am moreover certain that most of you are interested in my writing (however sporadic it may occasionally be!). I am furthermore aware of a certain interest among my readers in my interest in Judeo-Christian mythology. Well, dear friends, here's where the three coincide!

The game, as originally conceived, is heavily based upon this mythology, with a good deal of sci-fi, personal drama, mystery and intrigue going on. To say that I have a WEALTH of plot ideas for this game would be an understatement, and I expect to have a chance to explore a lot of my interest in the concepts underlying this mythology in my approach to running stories here.

All of which is to say, you fuckers ought to join this game!

The player base has suffered considerable attrition in these past four months. Games like this always do, by their very nature, which is dealt with in part by advertising, which has not taken place since early summer. The neglect of the moderator has caused a lot of otherwise active players to drift away as well. However, those who are left are all enthusiastic, friendly people, good writers, and interesting people. A good community which would welcome new players. What's more, I can personally guarantee that any new player applications at this point will be looked upon in a very friendly light, and I will be happy to work with anyone interested in joining the game to get their characters ready.

I once ran a game of Werewolf: The Apocalypse, which ran for three and a half years, which I've spoken about here. The stories I've told, the artwork I produced for it, and the fact that a number of my players told me, without prompting, that it was the best roleplaying game they'd ever played in ought to tell you something of what you can expect from me here. But even beyond that, I will sweeten the deal thus: Anyone interested in any personal plotlines, stories and interactions with NPCs need only tell me so, and I will be more than happy to make it happen, if it should be in any way compatible with the game as a whole. I have said many a time before that there is no single activity I more greatly enjoy than a creative collaboration with another inspired person, and you will see this borne out time and again if you should like to take part in this endeavour.

Anyone with any comments or questions, go for it. I'm all ears.  


Dave's Yankee-land Odyssey, Day 1


Day three of my update-a-day schedule begins! 

I recently took a week-long vacation in Tucson, Arizona, to visit my brother (coincidentally also named David), and my girlfriend, Stephy; the longest amount of time I'd ever spent away from Canada, and had intended to keep up a journal of my journey while there. For various reasons, this largely didn't happen; part of it was that the internet access at the hotel I was staying at simply did not work on my laptop, and thus my internet access during those moments of leisure was extremely limited. Another, obviously, is that while I was there, I was too busy enjoying my trip to spend hours of it writing about the fact that I was enjoying it, in that spending those hours writing would significantly horn in on my enjoyment time. Nevertheless, I do have this log of the first day's events, and a few other odds and ends I recorded while down there which I intend to share.

Dave's Yankee-land Odyssey, Day 1

As alluded-to and foreshadowed some considerable weeks ago, I had been planning on a journey into the mysterious land of primitive savages down south of the 49th parallel. A region known to cartogaphers only as the "United States", and which is little-known or understood by modern man. A journey such as this I could not allow to pass undocumented, and so as I find myself far from any civilization, in the wilds of some airport in Portland, I begin this account of my journey, in the hopes that, if I should become lost forever in this primeaval darkness, there may be some surviving account of my harrowing exploits.

I set off in the early afternoon, taking the new skytrain line towards the airport. The woman sitting next to me was plainly a she-steward, and it occurred to me that I might do worse than to solicit her advice on a small matter of concern. "I was wondering if you might shed some professional light on a subject of some concern for me," I asked her. She assented, and I went on to ask her what she knew about the Americans' crippling fear of fluids being brought onto their planes. Specifically, whether or not the paints which I was transporting in my luggage. She said that would likely be fine, to my considerable relief. I realized, I told her, that the Americans have taken paranoia and bowell-loosening dread to an artform in recent years, and had not relished the notion of needing to abandon my hundreds of dollars worth of paint at my point of departure.

She asked me what the paints were for, and, always glad for an engaged audience, I whipped out my sketchbook and showed her photos of some of my body painting work. She was fascinated, while at the same time plainly uncomfortable with that interest she was experiencing. She had been taught the ways of irrational and crippling guilt and shame, and had internalized her well. It was like watching a grown woman being scolded by an invisible and silent mother for being a naughty girl. It soon came out that she lived in Alberta (or "Cold Texas" as I like to call it), and her "conservative" views made it difficult to understand or embrace this artform. Nevertheless, she did share with me a somewhat disjointed but nevertheless fascinating account of a friend of hers who runs a site called Ditchgirls, featuring women reputedly dressed in clothing woven from foliage; leaves and branches and such. I resolved to investigate it later. She could not believe, though, that there would be women who would be willing to take part in my body painting work, even as I tried to explain the matter to her. She asserted that she was too "prudent" to ever consider taking part in such a thing (not that I had intended to ask her), and I asked her if she had meant "prudish". She prudishly demured, claiming she was no such thing, and was mildly and stuffily offended by the suggestion. Soon thereafter, the train arrived at the airport and we parted ways.

I found my gate, leading to the Alaska Airlines flight I would be taking, and bid my luggage a fond farewell. I felt somewhat like a parent fretfully seeing their child off to school for the first time; hoping they would be okay, but knowing that there was nothing to be done to impact its well-being until I saw it again in Phoenix, Arizona. This was made doubly disconcerting by the knowledge that I would be making a connecting flight here in Portland, and that my bag would not be joining me during that stopover. The idea of it being out of my control for that long was deeply disconcerting.

I then proceeded to customs, and experienced a moment of gnawing horror at the "Welcome to the United States" sign that greeted me, stars and stripes abounding everywhere. While rationally I realized then as I do now that merely setting foot across that threshold and placing myself within their legal territory would not put me at the mercy of their military-industrial complex and that I would not have ill-informed and rabid christian fundamentalists swarming about me, attempting to infect me with their particular brand of lunacy, there was nevertheless that in me which recoiled at the sight. These symbols which I only ever saw in connection with murderous foreign wars and imperialistic expansionism... it hit me like a brick wall that I was putting me at the mercy of a legal system which condoned all of the excesses of this nation. Profoundly unsettling!

The border guards were bizarre. So unfriendly, so unsmiling and pointlessly brusque. I almost laughed out loud, as it occurred to me that they struck me as some crude and cartoonish parody of stern-faced and dour American guards, hostile and dead inside. Then it hit me that these people were not the parody. They were what the parody was based upon, and there was no comedy intended in it!

I eventually got through the compulsory dehumanizing process of having most of my clothes and belongings stripped from me and put through a scanner, though I was in some sense almost disappointed that it was only brown-skinned people who got the more thorough treatment of being put through the "see what you look like naked machine". It looked fascinating!

Sitting down in the boarding area, I attempted to make use of the airport's free wifi, only to be forcefully reminded that you get what you pay for. In this case, I had paid a sum of zero dollars and received approximately that level of service in accessing the internet over the course of fifteen minutes, every website refusing to load more than their most basic and rudimentary elements on my browser.

The flight was uneventful; an hour-long trip to Oregon on a twin propeller plane which was spent reading Larry Niven's Rainbow Mars; one of the hundreds of books which I inherited upon the death of my father some four or so years ago and which I am perhaps a third of the way through having read now. A highly idiosyncratic book, but enjoyable nonetheless.

Arriving here in Oregon, I made another attempt at connecting with the Internet on a machine at a kiosk. Requiring a minimum of five dollars to operate for thirteen minutes or more, I fed one of the impossibly bland American bills into the machine, only to be immediately told that the machine could not connect to the internet. I became enraged, and all the moreso when I saw the clock counting down on the lower right hand corner of the screen. Indeed, upon realizing there was no mechanism by which I could be refunded and no customer service person I might speak to on the topic, I became double-enraged, and stormed off in a triple huff, resolving to leave the matter of internet connectivity aside until I arrived at my brother's place.

Seeking out pleasures of a more gastronomic nature, I found a Wendy's, and was taken aback by what I saw. I had always been told that portions at American restaurants were significantly greater than those in their Canadian counterparts, and this was certainly on display here. The largest hamburger I would consider buying was the smallest one available here, aside from those in the culinary ghetto of the children's menu. I ordered that, somewhat nonplussed, when I caught sight of the single silver lining in this dining experience: Dr. Pepper on tap! Such a thing is unknown to me in Canada! The drink just has not yet built up much of a customer base in my homeland yet, to my annoyance. I blame the inane law - only repealed a few short years ago - that stated that the only soft drinks which could contain caffeine were colas. While Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew and their like have always existed in Canada, their lack of caffeination has rather hamstrung their ability to grab, addict, and thus hold a committed group of soft-junkies.

This experience opened my eyes somewhat, and as I toured the airport, killing time while waiting for my connecting flight, I realized that the stereotype of Americans as uncommonly huge people was not without merit. While not everyone here was overweight, it was plain that, if you are the sort of person who doesn't make the decision to stay in shape, it is much easier to become much larger here. Looking again at that menu, I realized I simply COULD NOT SURVIVE in a country like this. I struggle to keep my weight under control, even given the comparatively modest opportunities to pursue the goal of morbid obesity that Canada provides me. Here? I would be lost. Utterly lost, and would soon come ro resemble the man I saw sitting near my departure gate; by far the largest and softest human being I have ever seen in my life, whose body was like a sack filled with melting ice cream; possessing some small measure of definition yet near the top, but which was little more than a flowing sea of fluid flesh near the bottom. A man whose life was surely a cautionary tale which I resolve to learn from. The sight of a bottle of Diet Coke in his hand was at once both sad and brave. A confusion of emotions welled up in me at the sight of it.

The next leg of my journey, to Salt Lake City, was less noteworthy, though the sight out of the plane window as we circled the fabled lake of salt for which the city was named was surreal. It was such an overpoweringly unpleasant sight that I could not help but marvel at the idea that anyone would voulentarily commit to creating a community here. I suppose that when those early Mormons sought out land to hide from the law and from christiandom within, they chose well; picking out a plot of land that there would be no competition for, as no half-way rational person would ever choose to live there. A grim and inhospitable sight.

Finally, I arrived in Phoenix, a city I've always wondered at. Seldom will you see a land so decidedly and fixedly artificial at this one; the view from the plane confirmed everything I had gathered while learning about the city from Google Maps; the greenery of the city extends to the very edge of the desert and then stops on a line which is as straight as a ruler. It's a remarkable sight, and slightly unsettling, in a "man's conquest over nature" sort of way. Exiting the plane and making my way as swiftly as I could for the baggage carousel, I was gladdened to see my brother standing there, looking greyer and more stout than I remembered him from our last meeting some seven or eight years ago, but no less a welcome sight. Another welcome sight greeted me a minute or so later when my luggage appeared on the carousel, none the worse for wear in spite of its anxiety-inducing time away from me. Seconds later, we were on our way into the warm Arizona night, and thence to his place in Tucson, where I met his girlfriend, Heather, and some hour or so later was sound asleep.

Their Personal God

For quite some time now, I've been saying that not only do cultures create their gods in their own images, so too do individual believers within these cultures invent their gods in their own individual images. Not too long ago, we got some medical data which seems to support this contention.

A year or so ago, I remember reading about some interesting studies. What had happened was that a number of voulenteers had their heads hooked up to scanning devices which monitored activity in different sections of their brains under different sets of stimuli. These voulenteers were asked a number of questions, all along similar lines, such as "What do you think about 'topic A'", "what do you think about 'topic B'", and so on and so forth. The actual topics being asked about are largely immaterial. They were then asked a similar set of questions, along the lines of "What do you think the average American thinks of 'topic A', 'topic B', 'topic C'", and so on and so forth. Interspersed among all of these second set of questions was the question "What do you think god thinks of 'Topic C'", or what have you.

What they found was really quite amazing.

Whenever these people were asked what they, personally, thought about a given topic, one section of the brain lit up with activity. Let's call this 'section 1'. Whenever they were asked what they thought someone ELSE thought on a given topic, a separate section of the brain lit up with activity. Let's call this 'section 2' (more specific details of which can be found here). But when they were asked what they thought god thought about a given topic? It was always section 1 that got busy. It seemed that when these people were forced to think about their god's motives and tastes, they invariably just thought of their own and then assigned these motives to their god.

Indeed, in a separate part of the same survey, people were asked about their own values on given topics, and then about their god's values on these topics. They were then presented with strong arguments in favour of an alternate position on these issues. Wherever their own personal beliefs on these topics were altered by these arguments, so too did they report that their god's views were similarly altered.

This got me to thinking.

For a long time now, it's been clear to me that a given christian will typically pick and choose which parts of the bible are "literally true" or merely "symbolic/metaphorical/allegorical/the product of human error" on the basis of which ones do and do not line up with their personal values and ethics. Every christian invents their own little god in their own heads, based upon what they like to believe of their god, and then, when confronted with something like the story of Noah's Flood, asks themselves something like "Well, do I think that it's morally permissible to murder every man, woman and child on Earth who disagrees with me?" If they view this as morally repugnant, then so too, naturally, does their god. Therefore he would never do something like that. Therefore the Flood never happened. Therefore the story is no more than myth and legend. Another christian, of a more bloodthirsty streak, might say "Well, of course, I would be glad to murder everyone on the planet who disagrees with me," and they might be a bit more likely to view the Flood as historical fact, and one that they think of rather fondly. These people are kind of terrifying.

The variability of this personal bias has long been a point of frustration for me when discussing this stuff with christians. They seem to feel free to dismiss any part of their mythology that they find uncomfortable as being, for whatever reason, not a fit topic for discussion, especially where the actions of their god, as described within that mythology, are in conflict with their own sense of right and wrong. Sometimes they can find ways to reconcile these conflicts, and sometimes they just pretend the conflict doesn't exist, such as by saying that these events simply never took place, even if the bible is otherwise largely a true story. I will sometimes push them to justify this selective editing process that they go through; "Show me where in the bible it spells it out that this story is no more than myth and folklore", I'll ask them, and will point out all the eminent christian authorities who will confidently assert that these stories are historical fact. Of course they can't do so, and will tend to fall back on a wishy-washy excuse such as "you've just got to have faith", and assertions that I need to pray to their god for guidance on the topic so that it can be made as plain to me as it is to them (choosing to ignore the fact that these other christians have doubtless done the same things and gotten different answers from their god).

But now I think it becomes a bit more clear what's going on here. The selection process is literally no more complicated than "Do I want this story to be true? No? Well then neither does god, and therefore it isn't true, because god wants whatever I want." They don't phrase it in this manner, and I'm sure the majority of them aren't even faintly aware of this process consciously, but the results are the same.

I've always wondered why so many christians take it so very personally when I point out the various moral failings of their god, as evidenced in their mythology. It always seemed to run more deeply than the resentment one might feel at a criticism of a friend of family member. I begin to see, now, what's going on here. To attack the moral character of their god, on an emotional level, seems no different than an attack upon themselves, because their god is nothing more than a deification of themselves.

It also begins to become more clear why it's so difficult to get believers to find fault with the moral character of their god. I had always believed it was just fear that prevented them from agreeing with me when I pointed out that acts which they would call evil if performed by anyone other than their god were also evil when performed by him. Fear of hell, fear of doubt, fear of whatever. And perhaps it still is on some level. But more fundamentally, if their god's values are identical to their own, then how in the world are you supposed to get them to disagree with or disapprove of the moral character of this god? You may as well be trying to get them to disagree with the actions of their own shadow or mirror reflection even as they're performing them, since this is all that their god is.

It's given me pause to re-think my approach to talking with christians on this topic. All this talk of "letting Jesus into your heart" makes a lot more sense now; their god is not some entity separate from themselves, but an extension of themselves, whether they realize it or not. My strategy of getting people to see the moral bankruptcy and obsolescence of their creator-figure seems to have a flaw in it that I had hitherto fore not considered, and one that bears some reflecting-upon.

Oh, hello, there, Livejournal!


It's weird; for the last couple of months, I've had not so much a writer's block as a poster's block. I keep on coming up with all this stuff and then never posting any of it. I honestly don't know why. I'm going to try to shake off some of that funk by keeping up a habit of posting at least one thing a day for the next couple of weeks (and thus work through my backlog of stuff, incidentally), and thus hopefully get back into the swing of posting regularly.

One of the things I've been up to lately is more of the sort of abstract art which went into the creation of my website, though this stuff is less "mission-oriented" per se, in that none of it is meant to be elements of menus or whatever; it's all just visual explorations, and a lot of it, for that matter, is the product of what amounts to doodles I'm doing while listening to something else; just something to keep my hands busy. Nevertheless, there's a few that I think are worth showing off, and so here's a small handful of them, for your perusal.



My mind fairly boggles at the possible applications of this technology to some of my artwork.
A week or so ago, I posted a story on bad_rpers_suck  ; a community of some 13,000 or so people I co-moderate (AND WHICH CONSUMES LIKE TWO HOURS OF MY DAY EVERY DAY AS A RESULT), which I figured you folks might also enjoy. There's a bit of pre-amble which isn't totally necessary to understand the story, but which may be of interest to you as well; I'll simply leave the link to that post in the community itself as-is, rather than posting it here. The story - as my subject line suggests - deals with one of the most batshit insane people I have ever known, and the drama which her coming and going produced.


So, when last I spoke of the Evangelion PBEM RPG I played in back in the waning days of the 20th century, I mentioned a
woman who eventually joined and caused some difficulties.

For the purposes of this story, I shall call her "Alligator Sally", because that name makes me laugh, and her character "Tits McGee", because I think Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy is an under-rated movie, which more people ought to

When Alligator Sally started playing Tits McGee, she was introduced as a member of NERV's staff, paid to keep tabs on the pilots and potential pilots who attended the local high school, and see to their mental health. In many respects, she could not be a worse choice for this, though this would reveal itself only gradually, over time. Nevertheless, in this capacity, she was assigned to work as a teacher at this school, so as to be on-hand throughout most of their day.

My character, who I had designed to be sour, antagonistic, and all but a villain, immediately clashed with her, figuring that conflict is good for a story, and adversarial relationships generate conflict. Alligator Sally didn't seem to care for this at all. The idea that anyone might not like her character was on some level a personal offense to her, since she had not designed
Tits to be unlikeable. She took this out on me, OOC, for quite some time, and I was kind of puzzled by this, until later on.

During her first couple of months in the game, she was seen making inappropriate advances towards a number of the male students, which made for some very awkward and uncomfortable scenes. I watched these with great interest; I though she was doing GREAT; Evangelion was always about emotionally-damaged characters with tons of issues which they expressed in unhealthy ways, and to me, it seemed as though she was capturing the spirit of that better than most of the other players in the game. One day, speaking OOC, I praised her for her deranged whore of a character, asking what she planned on doing with her next.

And Alligator Sally just EXPLODED at me. She was infuriated by the suggestion that Tits McGee was doing anything out of line. She was mortally wounded by the fact that I would dare to insult Tits. What right did I have to say something bad about someone else's character? Bloody typical of me, she said, to be so harsh and judgemental, and she would be sharing this conversation with everyone else in the game, and just see what they thought of it!

I was blown away. I had sincerely meant it as a compliment to her writing skill. Even if she didn't intend to write the character that way, I had no idea why she was so personally affronted by my insulting a fictional character of her creation - not saying it was a bad character, even, but that it was a good character because of it's bad traits!

Eventually, I would realize that she had, in her mind, intended her character to be 100% based upon herself, and it was never meant as anything but a self-insert, with a name change. Moreover, she assumed this was the case with all of the other characters as well! Suddenly, her antipathy towards me became that much more clear, as I realized she was basing her opinion of me upon my sour, antagonistic and evil character in the game.

It took a while, but eventually things cooled down. In the mean time, her character continued her weird and creepy advances upon virtually every male character in the game, including that of my friend Colin. I would in time learn that she was taking this OOC, as well, and making all sorts of wild promises; she would come to Vancouver, where we lived, so that she might be able to be with him and all that. Colin was at that time a seventeen year old boy, who had never had a girlfriend, and Sally Alligator was a thirty-something mother of seven.

When this went sour on her, she turned her attentions on me. I responded by sending an IM to my girlfriend, who was online at the time, and advised her to have some words with Alligator Sally. Alligator backpedaled frantically; she was only kidding! Ha, ha! She never meant that she was in love with me! What a crazy idea. Ho-ho-ho! And all that erotic artwork of my characters she had sent me? The poems about them? The tales of her kids drawing pictures of me around the kitchen table? Ha-ha! My goodness! No sense thinking too deeply on any of that!

I would then tell this story to another player, another virginal young man living in England, whose character had been receiving certain amorous attentions from, from Tits McGee. He was HEARTBROKEN to learn of this state of affairs! Alligator had promised to travel to England to be with him! She had told him that she was in love with him! How dare she?

Word got back to the Mod, living in Mexico, who began to realize this could lead to a meltdown in his game. He and I spoke, and he told me she had tried the exact same routine with him. We'll call him "Mike", so as to give context to the love poem she had sent him entitled "The Moon, [Mike], and Me." He had rebuffed her, and told me he began to suspect that she
had some kind of schizoid personality disorder. One by one, it became clear that she was entertaining relationships with virtually every male in the game, and - horrifyingly - seemed to mean it with each of us, even if only for the moment during which she was actively talking to us.

Oh, how enraged she was with me! If not for her "funny joke" about how she had fallen in love with me, Alligator's house of cards need never have collapsed. For a while, she tried to pretend that I was just "talking shit" behind her back, making up stories, until it became clear that I could back up everything I had said with chat logs which the people I was speaking with could corroborate.

The resulting meltdown was epic.

She had invited a number of her teenaged daughters into the game - none of who had actually watched the show upon which it was based, nor cared to (also worth noting: None of us were supposed to know these were her daughters, presumably because it would horn in on her sexytime image, but I managed to ferret it out over the course of a couple of months) - and the lot of them rage quitted like there was no tomorrow. Tits McGee in particular had a spectacularly gory and LOOKATMELOOKATMELOOKATME public suicide as her final post to the game.

Things had become so completely poisoned, so utterly derailed by this poison that this game, which had been going along very nicely for some years by this point, came to a screeching halt. The mod, eager to wipe the taint of this deranged clan, decided the only cure was to reboot the game from scratch. We all know how well that sort of thing goes. It limped along for another few months, perhaps a year, but the momentum was by this point dead, and the game ground to a halt.
As people seemed to enjoy the previous offering of wisdom from the Yahoo! Answers Shaman, I can see no reason why not to share some of his more recent advice to the confused tribesmen Yahoo! Answers.

For example, Sammy asks...

How do i get my girlfriend to be sexualy attracted to me ?

im a young 18 year old girl and my girlfriend is 23. weve been dating for a little bit. and when were over the computer or in notes we tell eachother how much we turn eachother on. but she wants to go slow. but shes also very scared to make first move. and i understand taking it slow. but i wanna go a little further with her, and scared to tell her or ask her, and scared to make first move. i dont know what to do. i want to tease her, and get her wanting me then see where it goes. but i dont know where to start, help!!

To which an obvious solution is offered: 

Go to her home, spear in hand, and painted with the ceremonial paints of your father's tribe, and tell her! "When next you see me, I shall be dead, or I shall be victorious! I go forth to slay a mighty beast in your name, and when I return with its carcass slung upon my mighty back, we shall feast heartily!"

Strike out into the wild! Let your coming be as the thunder and lightning of a terrible storm, and let your footfalls be as death itself! Bring down an animal twice your size, and bathe yourself in its still-warm blood, so that you might take in its strength and virility! When you return to your woman, you eyes wild and pulse still quickened from the kill, you take her in your arms and make her yours. Later, as you feast together upon the flesh of your prey, she will truly be yours, and glad to be so.

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Once again, if any among you has a question to ask the Shaman, now is the time, that the heavy burden of ignorance might be lifted from your back, that you might walk tall and proud.

The Intimacy of Loathing

Fuck, Shit, Argh.
A small thought:

A friend of mine and I were talking about people who vanish into their jobs. We've all seen this happen. They become more and more fixated upon their work environment until finally they have little or no contact with anybody not connected to their job.

We were wondering at the gradual erosion of intimacy that these people go through as their friendships wither away; that loss of a sense of your place in the world, in the community, in your circle of friends.

The fact that these people often do not in fact seem to LIKE their co-workers or even the job itself seems to have no bearing on this. Indeed, obsessive complaining about one's job is often a precursor to their vanishing into it.

And then an idea came to me: What if their intense loathing of their co-workers actually provides all the intimacy that they need? What if part of the reason why they vanish is that the passion they invest in the hatred of the people in their life is all the passion they want or need, leaving no room for any passion for any friendships? What if their place, surrounded by their hated co-workers provides them all the place in the world that they need in order to situate themselves?

I've seen this happen to some very interesting and worthwhile people, who have gradually become less and less so - less interesting, less worthwhile, and less like people - as time goes on. It's always depressing to watch, and I don't imagine it to be a very happy or fulfilling existence, but perhaps in terms of the human need to be a social animal, it is minimally satisfying?

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January 2012


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