Unwell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Wednesday, June 4, 2003 --  tork

redefining poosae in the 21st century - bow down~

And how totally anti-climatic was the AoE?

I literally laughed with memories of Vyemm-Vulak. The closest thing I can compare this encounter to is like a bad fireworks show where the grande finale goes over like a turd in the punch bowl. So anyhow, you work your ass off on and then own the ring in what's actually a pretty fun bit of coordination - yay! We win! Err... no, actually you get charged with a big gaping pussy, and some where deep in Kael, the Statue is crying someone's stole his gig with such a wuss. I'm not sure what the point is really, but the Evil Empire was more than happy to oblige his request for a beat down after a record setting 2 dramatic weeks sparked by lunch counter sit-ins at the cave to protest any other event and everyone's favorite post-wipe past time - The Blame Game!

Actually it is funny now, in retrospect, but I wouldn' want to go through that shit again. You need massive prep time, not only in-game, but off line, cajoling your guildmates to log in. Then you have to deal with the ganned flag system, first forming up in PoEa, smuggling in your unflagged, having them click into PoEb and then camp.

Mo fish done right

Repeat ad nausem, but throw in a liberal dose of bitching, moaning and boredom. Then you have to en mass zone again to PoEb, reform your, of course, bugged raid, and hope and pray no one gets booted out lest you force EVERYONE back out again to retrieve a person. God, so fucking painful - I play EQ for fun, not to do advanced studies in logistics. Without even killing one mob, we've pissed away an hour, easy - hoo yah, EverQuest, you're in our world now - well thanks, I always wondered what retarded people were looking at through their 1000 yard stare, and now I know. Oh but don't worry, the best part is a head, because once you're in place, you need massive coordination and communication - this part, is fine - MMORPGS *should* require such, that's a least half the fun working in concert with your guildmates. But where it breaks down is with the recent obsession VI's been fostering to swell 'required' raid sizes - I'm not sure what the magic number is, but with the current game, its interface and our means of communication, 72 is doable, but certainly not enjoyable.

...has left the building.

Oh well, I am glad VI's putting new models in the game for armor and equipment in PoTime, thanks to my guild for the new Mecha flight suit!

No Rocket Man jokes, hot dammit

And in other news, Jesus Christ - I've had this rant built up for a while, and I held off as long as I could: do you guys in San Diego listen to nothing in the volumes of feedback you receive? You took the one redeeming quality from the gannfest known as POEA, knowing the status of the rings, and willfully removed it - and not your normal "Oops! I Did It Again" fuck up, which is about as cute as Britney with no make up on. How fucking sadistic are you guys to put a guild through those events only to gyp them on the loot? Again, I'm forced to ask what exactly is the risk of those rings being farmed night after night, because if you haven't noticed, it's not exactly a quick and easy thing to spawn/kill Arbitor... or it was, I should say. Now once the rings are down, any ahole can walk in there, kill a single ring and spawn the Arbitor. And do so every 2 hours. So, like - please explain? The whole point to these ring events - remember all the PR you guys spun about the AC RoF one? - was it would always be up for a guild to try with only a small penalty for failure. Now you can fucking WIN and still lose. I'm here to help though, so let's back up and I'll give a little refresher on basic game design: WIN = LOOT. We spend 90 minutes fighting a non trivial ring and win, we get rewarded. Rat-Leaver-Pellet.

Before I uncoil with more of the pissing and moaning, let me say I agree with VI's intent: too many guilds are in the Tier IV planes too soon and got there too easily. RZ wasn't the throttling point they'd hoped he would be - at least not in the face of spoilted pathing, 3-4 days respawn (what the fuck were you guys thinking?), 280 member joint raids and other shit that wasn't supposed to happen, but did. The only way to slow down the progression of guilds not intended to be in the upper planes yet and not fuck those who've legitimately earned access was to make it unprofitable and untenable for those not up to the challenge, and, surprisingly, VI did a good job of imposing a bit of self-selection on guilds by increasing the difficulty the mini-bosses in PoFire and PoWater such that farming elemental armor isn't the candy land of before. To this point, things are fine - for a guild 'intended' to be in Tier IV, adding 5 mins more to killing Hydro or losing a few tanks on the suxpheonii really isn't a big deal, but again, let me remind you how uncool it is dilute the value of skill with unnecessarily random unresistable elements - we get it, believe me, you hate MT's. We do, too - but you a better fix. Anyhow, what, however, is rotten lies in the bosses were not buffed up - so now you're in the curiously gay position of having guilds give up on killing fucking PYRONIS and yet go off to ganking Fennin Ro - you know... the GOD OF FUCKING FIRE. Oh hey, let's do Nagafen but I hope Stone Spider isn't up or we're fucked.

Episode IV: A New Hope

With all our thanks to Bzul for kick starting us out of a rut and successfully working very hard to get us back in fighting form, we bid him congratulations and best of luck in his new job.

LoS's last great Troll Gawd has passed the baton and mantle to Razumihin - our new Guildleader!

Actually that heading got me to thinking, and oh how I'd love to rip on SW:G here, but no, not this time. Anyhow, it got me to think of the most recent chapter in the adventurous journey which is Tork's life. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away - specifically, near the tampon area in Wal-Mart - a Rebel spy...

As you all know, I really am a big fan of keeping everything silky smooth below the belt - I mean really, just the aerodynamic savings alone merit significant consideration, not to mention all the hygienic benefits, but if one were to hypothetically flex out in the mirror some mornings after a shower then it's simply more aesthetically pleasing rather than some Pomeranian-esque patch of fur inexplicably erupting from no wear. Once I was all flexed out and hit a Hercules pose and I heard the siren song, and for a split second, for the briefest of instants I considered shaving my arm pits like all the wrestlers do - but I quickly discarded it.

It never happened.

What?

NOT GAY.

But I widely digress - so anyhow, in my personal grooming, I've always used the razor (yes, I have 2, one for my face the other for downstairs needs), but like - well the end result is great but it comes with a host of problems, not the least of which is the fact I'm tooling around an extremely sharp object around the area I could least afford to fuck up - I always imagined I'd sneeze right as I was coming around the horn and wind up with a red racing stripe in the worst kinda way. But assuming everything goes well there, you have to contended with the stubble, which believe me, after 3 days, every time you roll over in bed it feels like millions of hornets have beset your cack, sack literally a prickle pair (tee hee!) swinging low, and you end up curled in the fetal position, clutching a pillow to your groin and rocking yourself in a feeble effort to assuage the firestorm all 50 million nerves are enveloped in.

There has to be a better way - so the clipper incident aside, I am always on the look out and a few days ago I thought I have found my answer while watching a monster truck rally on TV: new Nair Vanilla Smoothie Bikini Cr�me, which claims,

Now, the obvious question aside, that of who exactly was able to sell Nair a spot during a monster truck jam, because that dude is going to go far in this world as a scummy ad executive, I had to try this stuff.

But how to get it discreetly?

I didn't wanna look like a huge perv so I figured I'd go to Wal-Mart after a late night of raiding, and conveniently enough the guild obliged, so while they were doing loot or some shit, I ninja logged and made my way out to the store boldly. Rolling to a stop, I noticed it was 2:40AM or so, and looking around the nearly vacant parking lot I smiled in sly triumph at how incredibly brilliant my plan was. I hopped out and strolled into the store, eschewing any notion of getting a cart or basket and headed straight to the pharmacy area.

After a brief tour down the aisles strew with the detritus and debris of the past day's stampede, I found the Nair, three different varieties none the less. I dunno why but curiosity got the better of me and I popped the top to smell it, gently squeezing it to express a little of its oder - and of course despite my care, it wound up farting some Nair out in a wet gasp. I wiped a few tiny spattered drops off my glasses and drug my cuff by my temple to clean up and headed for the checkout counter eagerly with my bottle of genital joy. I stopped however as I passed the aftershave - hey, I needed some because while I only have to shave a couple times per week, keeping my face moisturized is essential - plus I really love how Gillette aftershave gel (alcohol based of course, I'm no wuss) smells.

So anyhow, I see ONE register open (funny that at nearly 3AM) and I head to it, only to wait while this woman in front of me plods along at an infuriating slow pace transferring her goods from the cart to the cashier. 'Hurry the FUCK UP,' I silently thought as I calmly lied the delay was, 'no problem.' The lady and the cashier then both noticed I had placed the Nair and Gillette up on the conveyor belt behind the smiling yellow face of a plastic divider. Again I calmly lied while kicking my feet to and fro a bit, 'oh it's for my wife.' And then my oh-so-surreptitious plans, scant yards from the sweet smell of freedom outside the double doors, collapsed under the weight of one small indiscretion in word choice, et tu diction?

Somehow someone had sidled up behind me unawares, and a too-familiar voice raised up to ask, 'You're married now? Congratulations!' I blanched and turned slowly on my heel to face one of the sweetest elderly ladies in the world who attends my church. FUCK... MOTHERFUCK I cried out inside as the world spun in sicken hues of a punctured hubris. I never answered one way or the other, fumbling with half assed word fragments and completely unconvincing back peddling that reduced me to a fit of babbling and blushing. God, cocky fool that I am, if only I had picked up the basket or cart I could have played it off or abandoned the Nair as clearly, 'not mine - dunno how that got in there.' If only... if only I hadn't been so distracted by the varied array of female grooming products, and WHY WHY WHY did I stop and get Gillette??

I dropped my shoulders and signed in capitulated resignation as the cashier pursed her lips at me, tilted her head and sounded out, 'ummmm hum' in knowing tones though a sick smile of enforced congeniality that passes for customer service. I paid up, turned and stammered a good bye, though I'm certain the back pew in church will be abuzz with activity next time I walk in.

After all that fiasco, I must say I wasn't expecting anything less than a complete bout of self injury resulting from use of the Nair, but remarkably the stuff *works* - after marinating (thx e.) an eternity of 5 minutes or so, I began to wipe things down, and yes, admittedly, after the initial shock of coming back with a wad of hairs on each pass, I got into it. Next time I'm going to try a pattern I think. Anyhow, I was left - as the bottle claimed! - silky smooth, and that's even more impressive on the sack, arguably the most painstaking area to shave on the entire human body. It sure beat stretching it out like a tri-corner wind sail and dragging a razor over it - at times I felt like I was an old time barber with one foot up on the toilet and scrotum pulled out well past my knee, stropping my blade on a leather strap. I finished up wiping things down and gave a quick rinse as no matter what the product indications say, I'm not leaving something that can burn hair off the body on my cack all night. All was wonderful as I proceeded to check out my handiwork in the mirror, but as I looked up to give myself a self-congratulatory nod I noticed I was missing a quarter of my eye brow, a thin sheen of Nair still gracing my brow. Do you realize how fucking slow eyebrows go back? And just try explaining that one at work, go ahead, if you do better than a mysterious gas grill incident which leaves you looking like a cross between Boy George and MC Hammer with a silky soft forehead, let me know.

Anyhow - I'm completely sold and if Nair wants to hire me as a spokesman, I'm game~ email me! Really the only hard part of the whole process is standing there legs spread, all lubed up down there with a vanilla and coconut scented lotion and but yet having to resist the temptation to unleash a flurry of spankage as you sqat sumo style. But don't say I've never done anything for you people, because while it might be too late for me, the fine folks at Nair are giving away free samples via the glorious anonymity of the internet! So what are you waiting for? Go, my hairy little flying monkeys, go! It has been pointed out to me the bottle specifically warns against using on the junks, so remember kids, leave the experimentation to the professionals and use only as directed!

Stalkers, Wanna-be's and Unoriginal Bastards

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