The Return of "What the Fuck have you been doing anyway, Scumfuck?"

I've been modifying myself to a more low profile presence online.  Not for any strategic reasons or anything; I've just been a slag heap of ennui and nihilism lately and I didn't want to fill this blog with emo poetry.  I'm living a single life now, switching jobs, and my goalposts have been moved from "homeownership with an eye for future compound building" to "Pay ALL the utilities on time."  No sympathy required; I'm a fuckup, a scumfuck even, and nine tenths of what I am suffering is 100% deserved.

In the process, I've been amassing a steady collection of rejection letters and working on the next book, training, parenting up a storm and trying to figure out how to actually run my life by myself.  Like most lunatics, I have fucked up a lot on my own and, God willing, learned something from it.  I also gave myself a year off of following politics, which helped remarkably with my blood pressure.  And I've been running a DCU superheroes game that is, quite frankly, one of my best campaigns-at least that's something.

In the future you can look forward to more ravings and such; I know you love that shit.  For now, let me just say it's nice to be back in Arkham with you freaks.

Shhh....

I am not, in fact, dead (or even undead) at this time.  Some of you have used various means to contact me and check on my welfare; that is seriously awesome of you but I am OK.

My world stagnates when it's not burning, but I am almost ready to join civilization again.  

I have wandered deep in the wild and wooly beyond of Xanax and Sodomy, and returned intact-I hope.  Soon you will all be subject to the merciless scalpel of my bent logic once again, and somehow be better for it.  But I have to get my shit together just a little more before I can accept regular visitors to my funhouse.

Thank you for your concern and patience, you fucking degenerates. 

FALIMT - Good Golly Miss Mollie

Now I'm not trying to brag like I'm some kind of max level Cultist of Ectasy slash Hunter S. Thompson hardcase, but this ol' scumfuck has been around the block a time or two.  Let me tell you, if they tell you Mollie is something new and different, they are wrong.  It's some kind of concentrated X/MDMA type of deal.  There's an upper in there, but I couldn't quite identify it, and of course the ultra squishy feel good happy buzz of the X itself.  I would regard it firmly in the hallucinogenic category but it doesn't get you contemplative really, just gives you a righteous body buzz and a burst of energy.  The only real head change is the grinding down of social inhibitions.

Why is this relevant?  Well, when I first decided I was going to Bonnaroo, I had decided I was going to try some Mollie.  It seems to be the festival drug du jour, we never get it in Bloomington, and it was something I hadn't tried before.  Had I known it was more or less analagous to E, I probably wouldn't have-but maybe I would have, don't know, I'd already taken my first dip when I found out.  The principal difference between it and the E I was getting in 2007 or so is that it hits you fast-if you lick the powder ("taking a dip") you start feeling something within five or six minutes instead of fifteen to sixty.  But I wouldn't regard the sensation as radically different and I've never found MDMA based drugs to be terribly pleasant, although it does grind out my awkwardness enough that I can try to dance.

Can't exactly say why I just had to try it, really-perhaps just as a reaction against my 30's, some desperate need to prove to myself that I am still hardcore despite my mortage, my kid, the whole white picket fence lifestyle I've built for myself-or had built for me-despite all of the nihilistic predictions of my teenage years.  About the furthest out in space I got on the stuff was a long imaginary conversation with my Nephandi, who berated me about that very subject-and I can do that stone cold sober, god help me.

Really, the best time I had out there was on shrooms, and that's mostly because a) I'm comfortable with the trip and know myself well enough to dose effectively and b) because all my friends were tripping at the time and a collective trip is always better than a solo one.  Miss Mollie is a hell of a drug-a HELL of a drug-just like MDMA is.  But I don't see why people consider it so fucking revolutionary or so amazing, nor why it is the big festival drug, with every third motherfucker walking up and down the lines going MOLLIE? MOLLIE? MOLLIE? like he's looking for his lost sister.

I wonder how much of myself I would destroy, just to deny the fact that I'm getting old and boring?  I think that's the only question I can really take away from this.  I thought on it long and hard on my last night at 'Roo, which was Father's Day anyway and always a depressing one for me.  Its easy to see how Mollie, or any drug that is all happy with no crash, can be insidious-alcohol at least has the advantage of being a toxin, telling you when you've gone too far, but all Mollie does is make you kind of thirsty and you can go up-up-up and on-on-on as long as you like. Fortunately I have no real urge to do Miss Mollie again-the only tangible benefit of it on my end was a temporary reprieve on my awkwardness, and I can get that from Jack Daniels.

Good night, scumfucketeers.  I'll discuss some of the other 'Roo drugs, and the cultures surroudning them, in tomorrow's entry.

Fear and Loathing in Middle Tennessee

So I took the usual route for a writer suffering from literary constipation and took myself down to Bonnaroo this weekend and listened to some music while engaging in pointless drug consumption.  It was my first 'roo I thought I'd scrawl out a few of my impressions on the music, the drugs, the culture and the experience so I'd have something to write about.

The experience was a fascinating one.  My overall impression was of a purpose built playground for adults who really should damn well know better.  It was the right thing for me, though the timing was terrible-we just bought a house and I'm in the middle of moving and my lovely wife is in the process of 9000 unrelated projects including putting on a gaming convention.  I left straight from work at 0700 on thursday morning.  We ended up in camp Peter Griffin on the very far end of Pod 11, giving us about a 45 minute walk to Centeroo.

On the surface, everyone was friendly-your neighbors in camp say hello, share their weed and beer and food freely.  But there are some worms in that big mushy apple too-we got burned on acid not once but twice.  Buying drugs at 'roo is absurdly open-air and easy, but obviously synthetic drugs can't be verified outside of a lab and it is clearly caveat emptor.  Basically, anyone who has anything to sell walks up and down the lines of people calling it out, so if you are wondering why everyone is looking for someone named Molly, that's why.  (Miss Molly will have her own entry later on in this series-she is a fascinating lady.)  I feel bad for anyone actually looking for a girl named Molly, as they will never find her.

We took a good group-3 cars worth of degenerates from Bloomington and elsewhere.  Some of us were experienced Bonnaroovians but most of us were virgins.  Basically there are two types of 'roo-goers-those who are there for the music and those who are there for the crowd.  I was more in the latter type although obviously I am a colossal music whore as well; I loved immersing myself in the great screaming mass of humanity and getting fucked up and wondering what it all means.  Essentially the whole damn thing was a noisy backdrop to me figuring out a bunch of things that needed to be figured out.  I wasn't the only one either; I met people there that only went to one or two shows.

The next entry should go live tomorrow where I'll discuss my impressions of the music.  Stay tuned, Scumfucketeers.

Overthinking Memes: Idiot Nerd Girl

Today i'd like to begin a series where I needlessly overthink various internet memes.  I'm going to start things off with our dear friend Idiot Nerd girl and what it means for gender relations.  Trust me, you're going to love it.

Idiot Nerd Girl for reference.

Fundamentally, the concept is Anti-Poseur.  Nerds have a long history of being Anti-Poseur and we absolutely RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE when someone gets a niggling detail of our particular fandom wrong, misquotes our favorite heroes, or disagrees with us on which fandom is superior.  This is not a laudable trait, but it is demonstrably true-just spend time at any convention.  Despite the feminist interpretation of the subject that somehow translates into All Dudes Are Rapists, this meme isn't truly about gender so much as a lack of the encylopedic knowledge that nerds tend to accumulate in lieu of any information that could theoretically prove useful.  This is not misogynist rage; it is simply hipster rage.  Nerd culture is at a sociological peak and there is an unspoken, but very strong agreement still present in the culture that you have to suffer for it, which many many many of the people who were nerdy when it wasn't popular did.

I'm not trying to come off as Old Schoolier Than Thou.  I don't give a shit.  But being asked to prove your cred (and that is exactly what it is, the same instinct as gangster rappers, skateboarders and any other nominally outcast subculture-you have to prove your cred) is not participating in Rape Culture.  It is participating in Nerd Culture and you don't have to be a girl to deal with it.  Generally it is restricted to your favorite fandom and I feel what the culture is really lacking is some sort of Jeopardy themed geek-off to determine who is the bigger waste of good DNA and has memorized the most irrelevant facts.

There is real, serious misogyny within Nerd Culture-ask any girl that has been to convention and is cosplaying "out of body type" or maybe google the term "Cosplay is not consent."  I am not even saying that geeks are free of the bullying instinct-in fact if you read any fandom based forum or go to any fandom based convention, you'll find it is as viciously darwinian as anyone else's, if not more so.  But folks, firing up the Feminist Black Flag about this meme is much ado about nothing.  Nobody likes fake people.  It isn't restricted to your gender; you just haven't noticed it until now, because you didn't participate until it became popular.

Shamefully Yours,
Chris By-The-Throat

A Crisis of Faith

Life moves on in Babylon, with or without me.

I've found myself experiencing a crisis of either confidence or faith as the days move on.  Personal dramas are high and I often mope to no good purpose.  It attacks my resolve on every front.  And the blog languishes in idleness because I don't want to spread my disease among the community, as it is the only community up to this point that has welcomed me.

But I'm here, alive and un-incarcerated, for the moment.  I am still working hard to improve myself-to get my own life together so I can possibly think about helping others.  My goals are not impossible, merely insane.

You will see more of me in the future.  But if you've been wondering where I was, that's it.

And I ain't licked yet.

The Perils of Pathfinder: World Creation Process

So I'm finally getting things going on my Pathfinder game.  Basically I'm set up with 2 different player groups on different days, once per month on each.  Player level 4, mostly human party, a lot of first timers, nothing groundbreaking.

Most of my previous campaigns have not strictly even had a setting; it was just my bastard psychopath PC's wandering from one burning town to the next.  So this was really my first time creating my own setting that would have a persistent state beyond the current adventure.  So I was basically starting from zero, but there is a surprising amount of good information in the DMG on the mechanics involved and I haven't had any major problems so far.

The first image that came to mind for me was the skyline.  I could see a big lighthouse on the southern end of some little island on a wide river, with a big arched bridge connecting it to a little rural hamlet and palisade fort.  It developed a little further when I realized that the palisades were made of petrified trees, far stronger than they should be, and thus the region was named the "Stonetree River Delta."  It is a vast swampy area based off of turn of the century New Orleans, dotted with rivers and lakes and mysterious islands and some buried sins.

Anyway, I more or less built it from there, adding bits of libertarian propaganda (Oh yeah, the PC's are going to have to pay taxes and HOW THEY WILL HATE IT BWAHAHA) and background story until I had it ready for what amounts to my final test.  I looked over the info I had at the time and wrote down 99 adventure hooks as fast as I could.  It must be a pretty good setting because I had all 99 in less than 45 minutes.

Anyway, that's the muthafuckin' happenings on my Pathfinder game.  We go live with the tutorial dungeon in about a week.  I'll let you know how it goes as time progresses.

How Do I Join the Ronnie Barrett Fan Club?

All right, so here's the problem.  Ronnie Barrett is awesome and I want to send him my money.

Your first question probably isn't "Why is Ronnie Barrett Awesome?" but in case it was, here's why.

Elected state officials of New York, having been sworn to protect our Constitution, have instead committed an offense against it and their citizens by stripping inalienable rights duly protected and guaranteed under the Second Amendment. By their deliberate and sinister actions, these officials now cause their state and local policing agencies to enforce these unconstitutional and illegal so called “laws.”
By current law, Barrett cannot be an accomplice with any lawbreaker, therefore, cannot and will not service or sell to New York government agencies. Barrett also applies this stance to the individual elected official who, as a matter of public record, has voted for or created regulation that violates the constitutional rights of their citizens. This is an expansion of our 2002 ban against the California government due to their Second Amendment infringements, and shall apply to any future violators.

Read more: http://dailycaller.com/2013/02/21/ronnie-barrett-barrett-firearms-will-not-service-or-sell-to-new-york-government-agencies/#ixzz2NZ4ExTVB

So yeah, pretty obvious.  This isn't even their first time doing this to a .gov agency.

The real dilemma I'm having is that I want to send the dude my money, but I don't want to send him $4000 bucks worth of my money for a super sick 50 cal rifle.  I don't really have a slot for it in my tactical defense needs, by my own fucking judgement and no one else's but I still want to show my support for a dude with the nads of a buffalo who stands up to this kind of government bullshit.

My solution is pretty simple: Fucking T-Shirts.  Does that make me a poseur if I have the T-Shirt but not the rifle?  

I don't think so motherfucker.  I'm just part of the fan club.   

Femslash Friday: Rapunzel X Helga

This is just super cute to me.

I wonder what the Atlantis fandom is like?

Shamelessly cribbed from here.  Head on over for larger versions and more Femslash goodness.

Character Classes in Gracieworld

The art of interactive storytelling is as old as the forebrain, if not older.  We use a lot of toys to entertain ourselves now, from NERF guns to polyhedral dice to specialized computers the size of your palm to anal beads.  But the simple fact is that all forms of entertainment are subservient to one-we like to hear, and tell, good stories.

Telling Gracie a bedtime story is always an adventure, and it is something like a cross between self insertion fan fiction and role playing.  Typically "Princess" Gracie goes out on adventures.  We have, over the course of the past 5 years, set a sort of campaign setting up that is reiterated in every intro like cheap 80's cartoons.  The basic premise is that Gracie and her dog Sadie live in a castle on the edge of a spooky forest filled with various monsters and undead antagonists, and she goes adventuring for various reasons (I typically give her an objective every time, such as "Save Pingu from the mean witch" or "Explore the spooky pumpkinhead's cave."

Anyway, each time I let her pick her equipment loadout and such, but lately, over the past month or so, she has been describing her abilities to me instead, accompanied by a name or label she uses. Note that this is without me projecting anything to her; she has based it off her loadout and abilities she chooses at the beginning of her "adventure."  And it seems to come down to character classes.  So I thought I'd list the character classes she has given me so far.  Note as well that guns are typically included on any adventure and are not any particular class feature.

"Riding Hood" as in "Red Riding Hood."  The riding hood classe appears to be some form of benevolent ranger and is her most frequently picked class.  She has described a Riding Hood's powers as walking "Very far and very fast."  Specialized equipment includes the hood itself (which sometimes has magic powers) and the basket.

"Cowgirl"  Typically, this is a mounted character in boots with a Woody hat.  Abilities seem to be limited to horsemanship, although some of the feats of horsemanship she describes are pretty impressive.  Specialized equipment includes the woody hat and the "cowboy string" which is a lariat and also sometimes has magic powers.

"Ballerina"  This is the newest incarnation and is largely a product of her grandma getting her a ballet costume.  Still, we went over the ballerina gracie version tonight and apparently they can "Dance and sneak and jump really well" which makes a sort of intuitive sense to me.  The ballerina doesn't appear to have any specialized equipment, except the outfit itself.

"Fairy \ Nice Witch"  This is sort of a hybrid catch-all spellcasting class.  Sometimes the witch flies on her broom, sometimes the witch has fairy wings and casts fairy spells.  Special abilities include magic use, which in Gracie's paradigm is mostly limited to baleful polymorphs.  Specialized equipment includes her magic wand or "bibbidy bobbidy boo" and occasionally a broom to ride.

Somehow, I think I could make a coherent game system out of this.

Kind of Femslash Friday: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Edition

Sometimes, you find a fan fiction that is either beautifully awful or brilliant troll.  This particular fic is an example of one or the other. It's called Rand Loves WEEEEEEEEEEEEED and it is exactly what it says on the tin, with bonus lesbian action.

 Here is the first chapter...and yes, there's more than one.

Rand loves weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed So I was like walking and talking to my voices when I saw it. The most beautiful bong EVER. I piked it up lit it and puffed on it till I couldn't fucking breathe.  Oh then I puffed some more the things going through my mind were insane so natrually I acted upon my emotions. My first genious idea was to puff a little more then I had another idea. I would conquer TEAR no wait I already did that.Then I thought oh I know I will go lead the aiel out of the waste. no done that. eventually I had no more thoughts so I puffed some more here were wy thoughts FUCK YEAH SMOKE SMOKE SMOKE SMOKE. then I thought of something I had never done before I would throw eggs at Moraine and get into a battle of the Power (we do those a lot) "Oh Moraine come out to play Moraine come out to play Moraine come out to play ." I shouted at her house. "What Rand "I"'m trying to fuck in here!!" she shouted back without a comeback I trew an egg at her.It pissed her off so she cast lightning on me then I cast a ball of fire. She hates it when I do that. But then a thought accured to me. "Moraine who are you fucking in there?" I asked. I was really disturbed when Ahvienda said "Hey sugar. Moraine come finish licking my pussy"I had no way to answer but "Holy shit Moraine and Ahvienda are fucking!" The factor that realy disturbed me is when Mat stood up and said "Is someone gonna finish sucking me off"Just then I realized that Moraine and Ahvienda are both BI. "One minute Matty and we can finish this fuck fest." Next thing I knew I was naked tied to a wooden bed next to Mat with both women carrying whips."AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"TO BE CONTINUED

I...really have no words. Just go here.

Because I'm seeing a lot of this lately...

Little straw man on his little straw knees

wasting my time with mediocrities.

Shot him in the middle of his little straw face, 

got his little straw brains all over the place.

Shoved him in a grave, just a little straw pit,

filled it with six feet of my fucking bullshit.

School Spirit

I was never much for school spirit in high school.  Being firmly on the "geek" side of the social spectrum, back when that wasn't cool, meant that sports and sporting events and pep rallies and GO REBELS FIGHT WIN HURR DURR was more or less an archaic religious ritual wherein we glorified the stupid cocksuckers that made my life difficult every day.  I'm not here to whine, but my high school experiences left me with a sort of low grade PTSD according to my string of court ordered therapists...and I couldn't (and still can't) fathom the brazen idols we made out of these mouth breathing reprobates.  When our high school basketball team went to state, I bet against them in every game despite my lack of interest in gambling, just because fuck those fucking fucks.

The effect stuck around with me through my abortive attempt at college.  My family were all big cradle-to-the-grave IU fans, and me going to IU was a crowning achievement for most of them.  But I wasted it; I was too turned off of school spirit as a concept and I spent the entire time in college avoiding the collective insanity this town suffers during basketball season by cowering in my dorm room.  Oddly enough, this was regarded as kind of cool by the shady characters I was running with at the time, a collection of pseudo intellectuals and limosine liberals who thought I was just the tits. They had pretty well soured me on academia and liberalism by the time I dropped out and I left college without ever having gone to one sporting event.  Oddly, I regret that now-but probably only because I was never smooshed together in a class project with a sports hero.

As an adult, over 30 and disillusioned, I've come to appreciate sports in the tribal sense.  I root for the Colts and for the Hoosiers, for Notre Dame in football even though that has been massively disappointing lately, and I sort of understand what I didn't understand then-that athletics has a sort of primal appeal.  After all, the home team is "Us" and the away team is "Them" and all else being equal, I am much happier if 'We" are beating "Their" asses into a bloody pulp.  I enjoy the collective madness even if my participation is limited, I enjoy the easy pussy flowing like a river across the whole town, and I enjoy especially the fall from grace that comes from sports scandals busting open wide on the internet.

It has taken me a long time to overcome my instinctive loathing towards those who have done nothing to me, who merely share some vague characteristics with the retard monkeys that my high school class was begging to perform abasements for.  I enjoy sports spectatorship and I even enjoy playing sports.  But my favorite position in modern sports is still "Grand Federal Prosector" so maybe my cynicism hasn't retreated too far.

Go Hoosiers.

Get Your Squick On

Some people ask me why I have to bring up my various sexual deviancies on this blog that is, at least ostensibly, a gun blog.  You've heard a lot about it and you'll hear a lot more, especially if things heat up with a charming unicorn in our future sometime.  Part of the reason is that I like making people uncomfortable; I view it as a calling and, let's face it, that is more or less the only thing I'm any good at.

But the real answer of "Why here?  Why on your gun blog?"  That one is generally "Because I'm the libertarian you have to live with."

Do you believe in personal freedom or not?  (And personal freedom in the closet isn't freedom at all.)  I can live with you expressing your aversion to my lifestyle, but can you live with me living that lifestyle and not covering it up?  If not, despite any concurrent views we might have on the gun issue, we are on opposite sides of the culture wars.

In the end, it has become my way to preemptively weed out those that wouldn't be comfortable around me, and get a few cheap shock laughs along the way.  Nothing about that is inconsistent or hypocritical and I have made that point before.  And honestly, no one has ever come here to give me any shit about it-but maybe that is because I've made it clear from the beginning.

I'm not breaking your leg or picking your pocket-so what's the fucking problem?

I was going to make a joke about sluts...

...but it was positively whoreible.  

Nyuk nyuk, cue the drum sting, I have one bloody day off again this week and I have shit to do.

Yeah, yeah, the stoner forgot his google password for awhile...

Sue me; sometimes I typify the worst aspects of my demographic.

Training hard, trying to pimp my book to people who obviously fail at recognizing awesome, and still 100% disgusted with politics.  No news on the unicorn front but God provides when He is ready, not me.

In the meantime, there are always Disney Hookers.

Stay with me Scumfucketeers.

I'll have more for you soon.

Promise.

How To Make A Monster (Excuse)

I promise I haven't fallen off the earth again.  I'm still in publish mode, with my very first submission having been sent and reviews starting to come in from my close friends circle on Codex.  Between that and trying to get my preps squared away further, I'm never able to update this blog.

Both Amanda and I have been working a grisly amount of overtime this season so money is good but time is short.

I did finally buy the glock but I haven't had time to shoot it yet.  I'll let you know a little more about how that kool aid tastes once I have a chance to get it out to the range.  On the whole, from dryfire and general fucking around, I can tell you two things so far: I'm spoiled by that nice short crisp single action 1911 trigger, and holding a glock feels exactly like the lego brick guns I built as a kid.  I think I'll come around simply for capacity's sake, but my anachronistic brain refuses to cooperate for now.

Tomorrow's post will be about Thanksgiving, Parenting, and Contact Drills for 4 Year Olds.  Stay tuned.

Take music, you fucking scum.  I really want to convert this angry atheist bitch to Scumfucktarianism  backstage at a concert, and somehow I think my cock and about ten grams of snow is involved.

"God made me a cannibal to fix problems like you."  Hard vore, anyone?

In Defense of Cock Fighting

Admit it; you clicked the title thinking this was going to be about weiner dueling.

Actually, today's jabberfest is about the actual sport of cock fighting and bull fighting, and how a bunch of scruffy hippies are fucking it up.

Listen you tofu dripping wussbags: that bull, the one whose rights you are so nobly defending, or the fighting cock you are donating 10% of your latest cafe latte purchase to...those animals are fucking warriors, warriors worth 10 of your stinking "progressive" carcass any day of the week.  You take that bull and you turn him out in some field, he's going to get bored and ram the fence down, then go find himself a matador, likely an unwilling matador, and the cock is going to go out and fight himself a hawk.  These animals are bred for violence, and they are proud.  All you have to do is look at one to see the pride; your vaunted "empathy" never told you that, did it?  That animal stands tall and dies honorably, which no one will ever say for you.

No, you're too busy out there trying to save these poor bulls and roosters.  But fuck you.  Those critters are better off than you are, and the absolute worst thing you can do to these proud, beautiful creatures and their centuries old tradition is turn them into a bunch of fucking milksops like yourself.

Fuck you very much, "Progress."

TGIFF

ZOINKS

This week's Femslash Friday is not one of my big ones, but I'm sure Velma + Daphne is good in certain circles.

Grind His Boners to Make My Bread

So in conversation the other night, a fetish came up that I actually had to google.  And I figure "Hey, if you need to google this shit, it's going to be new to a lot of people-why not squeeze a blog post out of it?"  (You have now figured out why 99% of this blog is posted.)

Anyway, the fetish is called "Vore."  That is, V-O-R-E.  It is apparently represents those with the sexual fantasy involving giants eating people.

I'm not kidding.  Go on, google the term, you pussy.

Anyway, Vore specifically specifies a size difference; otherwise it's just plain old cannibalism fetishes.  And I'm not sure if it only involves giants; I wonder if getting eaten by a dragon qualifies?  Or what about a normal sized person eating people that have been shrunk down and kept in a fish tank?

In case you were wondering, the point of this exercise is to make you realize that somewhere, somehow, someone is masturbating furiously while thinking of Shrek devouring their face.  You're welcome, Internet.