psychopathickids

Alcohol (and other recreational drugs): Ever write on it?

Well, drinking and using drugs probably aren't good for anyone, for any reason. On the other hand, I've rarely written anything over the past few years without having first had a drink or two in me, and personally, I like my writing. My conclusion? Do what's natural for you. It's doubtful if you typically drink that your going to be as, "normal," as you would be without drinking a bit, and feeling all together, "well," usually helps people to do most everything better than they would otherwise. On the other hand, should drinking be an occasional or nearly alien activity for you it's best to avoid it altogether when approaching an otherwise natural activity, such as writing might be among text based role players or authors.

Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in

Hello. My warmest welcomes.

http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/26154/posts/ooc

Join this thread, and some day I might bake you cookies.

That is all.

Blood Money

Heading North on the interstate, Upstate:

“Why do I never get to choose the channel?” Damien asked of no one in particular, clearly disappointed with his position along the picking order. An exchanged glance, and Felix and Ken answered synonymously, “because you don’t drive, Andrew,” his name wasn’t Andrew, of course, but a long standing joke at Damien’s expense had been circulated amongst the crew for years originating as a misunderstanding on the part of one of his female friends, and clearly it had stuck. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole… Bitch,” Felix finished, a quote each present had heard more times than they could count. “Shut the fuck up Felix, you still don’t even know where that quote came from,” Ken responded, as a little blue Honda Civic cut them off whilst traversing a particularly sharp turn, causing Felix to swerve wildly to the side to avoid the passing vehicle. “Oh God, we’re gonna die,” Ken shouted, reaching past his fellow passengers to grab ahold of the, ‘Oh Shit,’ bars lining either side of the obnoxiously yellow classic Chevy pickup truck they happened to be taking upstate that particular night.

“You shut the fuck up Ken, we’re fucking fine, as usual,” Felix retorted, clearly pleased with the happenstance turn of events providing him the upper hand in their pointless debate. “And besides, if you die we’ll bury you in a Jew cemetery and you’ll go to purgatory or some shit for kinda believing in the right God,’ ‘Fuck you Felix, if your shit driving gets me killed I’m coming back as a ghost and haunting your Muslim ass,’ ‘Both of you shut the fuck up! We have a job to do, and our chances are dodgy at best if your constant bickering gives me a damn headache,” Damien finished, clearly unhappy with the turn of events. “Always with these two yanks, I swear. You fucking twit this, you bloody twat that, yada yada Jew, yada yada Muslim, Jesus fucking Christ,” the Englishman among them thought to himself, momentarily relieved of the torrential word slinging as the three each drifted into their own thoughts for a time. “Damien, your gay,” Felix uttered nearly beneath his breath before beginning to chuckle half way through his delivery.

“Says you! You’re the one who won’t shut up about people’s dicks! All the time, dicks this, dicks that, you have a complex or something,” Damien retorted angrily, Felix clearly having hit a nerve, which is exactly what he had been aiming for. Damien may have been brilliant, but common sense and an easily obtained understanding of the psychology of his peers was not his strong suit. “Shut the fuck up. Neither of you would have ever gotten laid if it weren’t for me paying women to sleep with you,” Ken not so subtly reminded them. “Well, there was Vio--,’ ‘don’t you even start with the whole Violet thing, Andrew! I tricked her into sleeping with you to, ‘make me jealous,’ because I’m a good person, ‘well, actually that’s not a very nice thing to do,’ ‘shut the fuck up, Damien, you were madly in love with her and I did what it took to get her to willingly give you a taste, be fucking grateful,” this having struck a deeper chord returned the three to embittered, contemplative silence.

“Dude, your girlfriend looks like Carly Rae Jepsen,” Felix reminded Ken after a few quiet moments. “I have a girlfriend?” Ken remarked with mild amusement, before bringing an open bottle of Dos Equis Amber to his lips, simultaneously handing one to Damien, the last two remaining in the six pack they had brought along with them for the ride, before mouthing a silent cheers, clinking the two bottles together, and remarking, “that’s news to me,”. “Yeah, dude,” Felix preached, with absolute conviction, “that twelve year old stripper from Fantasy whatever,”. “You mean Kim? Dude, she’s Asian, and like, twenty three,” Ken responded in between sips of his newly procured drink. “So’s Carly,” Felix retorted, still possessed of the zealous Gnosis of a fanatic religious convert. “She has blue eyes, Felix,” Damien remarked, laughing all the while. “She isn’t Asian, bro. Although I did once know an Asian girl with blue ey--,’ ‘No one wants to hear about the Asian girl with blue eyes you used to know, Ken. We know all about your fucking muse, if you’re so in love with her why don’t you marry her?”.

To this Ken and Damien exchanged mildly bewildered looks once again before responding in unison, “You know what, ‘muse,’ means, Felix?” both now chuckling a bit amongst themselves. “I hate you guys,” the three spoke together, each with a dramatically contrasting tone, before returning once more to the quiet which had marked the majority of their trip, broken up only by arguments about nothing important lasting minutes at a time. “This is my last time, guys. I’m out,” Damien broke the silence, before breaking into an obviously pre-prepared speech; “we’re out of Sudo. This is the last batch, and you both know it. I only planned to spend a year abroad, and it’s time for me to go back home and get a real job--,’ ‘fuck you, Andrew,” his clearly well planned and meticulously calculated speech blown to bits with a simple phrase, courtesy of Ken. “Do what you want dude, pirates are free, but you really think you can go back to working a desk job after all this?’ ‘well, it would be in a lab,--‘ ‘I’m well aware of what you went to school for Damien. You gonna stop sleeping with hookers, doing blow off stripper’s tits, making a million plus a year to go be a lab assistant for people who make better boner pills for fat old fucks?”.

Defeated, possessed of a headache, and in no mood to play along with Ken’s verbal swashbuckler’s dream, Damien looked out the window of the passenger side, the truck itself having no back seat and Ken, easily being the smallest of the three always having been regulated to the middle seat, allowing him to hide his face away in a childish, “you can’t see me,” sense of the term. “Dude, that Asian chick’s twelve,’ ‘fuck you Felix, she has tits,’ ‘so does my twelve year old cousin,’ ‘then she’s fucking old enough,’ ‘dude, gross,’ Felix and Ken rambled on amongst themselves, stopping only as their exit came into view on the left side of an irregularly traveled rural highway thirty miles from the nearest gas station, a hundred from any settlement large enough to consider a town. Eight miles of forest, “road,” if you could call it that, and there it was, a seemingly ancient Winnebago abandoned in the middle of nowhere, complete with interior booby traps, shenanigans Felix had insisted upon, and a functioning meth lab. Exiting the three began stripping off their civilian clothes, dressing in stark white painter’s garb before strapping on gas masks and plastic hair nets. “Let’s get started then,” Damien moaned, painfully.

Blood Money

My apologies for the tardy IC post, I've had a bit of a weekend myself, hospitals, car trouble, some morally ambiguous decision making ~ regardless, I'm posting now.

Mother Goose: The Retelling

Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posies. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
Ring around the rosie, what do you suppose we can do to stop the darkness in which we drown?
Ring around the rosie, this evil thing it knows me. Lost Ones surround me, I can't fall down...

Mother Goose: The Retelling

Once upon a time there were three little pigs and the time came for them to leave home and seek their fortunes. Before they left, their mother told them " Whatever you do, do it the best that you can because that's the way to get along in the world,". The first little pig built his house out of straw because it was the easiest thing to do. The second little pig built his house out of sticks. This was a little bit stronger than a straw house. One night the big bad wolf, who dearly loved to eat fat little piggies, came along and saw the first little pig in his house of straw. He said "Let me in, let me in, little pig or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!' 'Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin,'" said the little pig., but of course the wolf did blow the house in and ate the first little pig. The wolf then came to the house of sticks. "Let me in, let me in little pig or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!' 'Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin,", said the little pig. But the wolf blew that house in too, and ate the second little pig. Then the wolf came to the third house. The third little pig, having taken heed of his mother's advice, had constructed his home out of a far more costly material -- wolf. In horror the wolf screamed, "yo fuck that," and went to bother the old grandmother the next hill over.

Eh, whatever.

As a rule, I try to avoid joining clubs that make me feel old. ;) Couldn't it be renamed, I dunno, the Boiled Owls Culture Club or something like that (and just leave it the unspoken rule that 10+ years of text based role playing experience is a prerequisite for membership)? :D We can sip brandy in recliners and talk about them kids these days with their smart phones and how when we were their age vampires weren't sparkly.

Character Death Rules

I really love seeing different perspectives on the concept of true character death between role play sites. The first site I was big into was primarily combat based role play, but no one could die. That got silly fast. The second was far more politically driven, sure we were all at war, but it wasn't as if we could do much about it ourselves, two or three of the admins at a time would play Gods and throw NPC armies at one another while the normal characters just tried to keep their little slice of the pie out of things, form alliances with one another for mutual protection, or get involved with one of the dominant sides if they were feeling bold. Even though there was little actual combat within the context of the role players ourselves (the world was at war, but most PCs weren't involved as soldiers on either side) people's characters died constantly. Wrong place at the wrong time? The city of Eastmarch was devoured by the Destroyer, along with everyone in it. Wrong side? The N'havi Fhart'i declare martial law over Stros M'kai, and all non believers are burned at the stake. Brutal, constant death, for no more reason than being the wrong religion at the wrong time, or in a city which happens to be demolished overnight by unstoppable demon armies. But it made things incredibly tense, very urgent. Any day you might not wake up, err, your character might not wake up, anyway. Was actually quite fun, gave a certain weight to your every decision, your every chosen path. Myself, I think it's better to decide for yourself as a GM. Tell your players what to expect from the get go, this is a combat oriented role play, or this is supposed to be a light comedy/romance with hints of action, not Kill Bill. If players don't like it, they won't sign up, and no one's going to be complaining about not being able to kill someone or, conversely, everyone constantly killing everyone.

Eh, whatever.

Guess I better start carrying a bazooka. :/

Eh, whatever.

Are they, like, friendly? Both out to eat me together, I mean? Or could I just run away and wait for them to invariably turn upon one another while I made my dashing escape?