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Post by Kaimloim on Jan 22, 2009 4:19:40 GMT -5
In the beginning.... once upon a time... long long ago.. in a galaxy far far away... I got screwed because....
Aw farg it, how many times have we heard those words of wisdom?
Magic has always been around but for magicians it's like the butcher that backed into a meat grinder. He got a little behind in his work.
Old-Man-in-the-Sky created the world. Then he drained all the water off the earth and crowded it into the big salt holes now called the oceans. The land became dry except for the lakes and rivers. Old Man Coyote often became lonely and went up to the Sky World just to talk. One time he was so unhappy that he was crying. Old- Man-in-the-Sky questioned him.
"Why are you so unhappy that you are crying? Have I not made much land for you to run around on? Are not Chief Beaver, Chief Otter, Chief Bear, and Chief Buffalo on the land to keep you company?"
Old Man Coyote sat down and cried more tears. Old-Man-in-the-Sky became cross and began to scold him. "Foolish Old Man Coyote, you must not drop so much water down upon the land. Have I not worked many days to dry it? Soon you will have it all covered with water again. What is the trouble with you? What more do you want to make you happy?"
"I am very lonely because I have no one to talk to," he replied. "Chief Beaver, Chief Otter, Chief Bear, and Chief Buffalo are busy with their families. They do not have time to visit with me. I want people of my own, so that I may watch over them."
"Then stop this shedding of water," said Old-Man-in-the-Sky. "If you will stop annoying me with your visits, I will make people for you. Take this parfleche. It is a bag made of rawhide. Take it some place in the mountain where there is red earth. Fill it and bring it back up to me."
Old Man Coyote took the bag made of the skin of an animal and traveled many days and nights. At last he came to a mountain where there was much red soil. He was very weary after such a long journey but he managed to fill the parfleche. Then he was sleepy. "I will lie down to sleep for a while. When I waken, I will run swiftly back to Old-Man-in-the-Sky." He slept very soundly.
After a while, Mountain Sheep came along with his huge phorn. He saw the bag and looked to see what was in it. "The poor fool has come a long distance to get such a big load of red soil," he said to himself. "I do not know what he wants it for, but I will have fun with him." Mountain Sheep dumped all of the red soil out upon the mountain. He filled the lower part of the parfleche with white solid, and the upper part with red soil. Then laughing heartily at how he had powned, he ran to his hiding place.
Soon Old Man Coyote woke up. He tied the top of the bag and hurried with it to Old-Man-in-the-Sky. When he arrived with it, the sun was going to sleep. It was so dark that the two of them could hardly see the soil in the parfleche. Old-Man-in-the-Sky took the dirt and said, "I will make this soil into the forms of two men and two women."
He did not see that half of the soil was red and the other half white. Then he said to Old Man Coyote, "Take these to the dry land below. They are your people. You can talk with them. So do not come up here to trouble me." Then he finished shaping the two men and two women -- in the darkness.
Old Man Coyote put them in the parfleche and carried them down to dry land. In the morning he took them out and put breath into them. He was surprised to see that one pair was red and the other was white. "H$XD and POWND" he screamed. "Now I know that Mountain Sheep came while I was asleep. I cannot keep these two colors together for who would want a candy cane people with minty freshness?"
He thought a while. Then he carried the white ones to the land by the big salt hole. The red ones he kept in his own land so that he could visit with them. That is how Indians and white people came to the earth.
The moral of this story? There is always a mutton head somewhere that will Fark you over for a laugh.
Thats how I, the Mage Kaimloim, came to Seattle. A farking joke by a mutton head. Sailors like mutton so it stands to reason I'd get powned to. I suppose you want the background? If I must I must.
Botel Tobago is an island in the South Seas which has lately been visited by a party of United Canadian States naval officers. They were surveying a rock east of the South Cape of Formosa, and called at this island. They found a curious race of Malay stock. At least curious to them, I considered myself normal up to that time. Now here I was a tribal shaman on a small island that no one really visited. So how did I end up in Seattle? You are not going to believe this.
Picture this. About three hours of scantly clad girls doing the same pelvic thrust moves and terribly ugly dance routines. Children super heroes, werewolf love stories, super mashups of mythologies Harpies, vampires, etc, and then newscasts where they show terrible images like dead bodies and inside out babies - (DO NOT GOOGLE IMAGE THIS).
Um, there you go. That's the island where I come from.
On most UCAS ships they do have a postman. In this case a female postman. This woman just read about how normal Malaysian postmen keep at least 21,000 pieces of mail undelivered, at home. I guess all that paper makes for a comfortable bed. Anyway she seemed glad to see me with no letters but she had this strange gleam in her one eye. Anyway, she figured I could make an impact in Seattle next year if I just rehabed my ass. anyway I don't put out with one eyed sailors so she decided to tag it, bag it and called me a fag it.
That's how I ended up in Seattle in a male sack. Next time I might tell you what happened next... maybe not.
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Post by Kaimloim on Jan 22, 2009 4:40:58 GMT -5
In case your thinking of visiting my island. Come ahead if you want to become a canoe. I suppose you want me to explain that as well?
Once long ago and far away....
A shipwreck in the South Pacific has only three survivors who wash ashore on an island inhabited by cannibals.
One is Frenchman. One is an Englishman. One is a New Yorker.
They were quickly captured and brought to the village where the tribal elders announce that the foreigners would be eaten for dinner and their skins would be used to build a new canoe for the warriors.
As the Frenchman is dragged away kicking and screaming, he yells, "Viva La France!"
As the Englishman is dragged away scratching and clawing, he screams, "God Save The Queen!"
As the New Yorker is dragged away, he pulls out a switchblade and stabs himself repeatedly... shouting, "Screw Your Canoe!"
So we took his knife away and then we did.
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Post by Mr. Johnson on Jan 25, 2009 10:11:58 GMT -5
LMAO!!! that last one was wrong on so many levels...
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Post by Kaimloim on Jan 29, 2009 4:01:23 GMT -5
Now that I have established some credential and street cred as a badhoop evil magician by taking helpless shipwrecked idiots and making them the joy toy dejure. Let's get to the real bad hoop fraggers.
Imagine the biggest, meanest, most badass evil diabolical puppy-kicking spine-crushing insane-o demon you can possibly think of. Then multiply that by infinity and you get SATAN, the Lord of All Evil and Infernal Ruler of Hell. And presumably nothing could possibly be more badass than Lucifer, the Morning Star, the King of All Evil Unholy Spikey-Headed Pissed-Off Devils and his host of demon spawn. So he should be the Badass of the Week for crying out loud because he's the farking Prince of Eternal Darkness right?
Wrong.
In recent years, the term "Angel" has become more of less synonomous with "girly-boy". It conjures up images of disproportionately huge-breasted ninety-pound lingerie-clad Victoria's Secret models having sweaty pillowfights in the clouds while innocent-looking fat kids play the harp and blow kisses at butterflies and rainbows or fly around on their white wings and shoot love arrows at teenage couples having picnics in the park on sunny summer afternoons or some other such fruity drek.
Well people tend to forget that the most hardcore of all Harley-riding, heavy metal-listening, battle-axe wielding, cocaine-snorting bastiages got his drek farking annihilated by the biggest badass of all the Archangels.
Just to refresh your memory, the story goes like this:
Once upon a time Lucifer was this high-ranking Angel who didn't think he was getting the props he deserved so he decided he was going to start kicking some hoop and try to see if he could run the show himself. He recruited one-third of all the Angels in Heaven to join up with him David Koresh-style and tried to overthrow the big man upstairs.
There they are one day, God and everybody are chilling out and this farking insane-o motherfarking demon busts through the pearly gates ready to kick farking hoops and making the lesser angels (the fat kids and VS models) piss themselves: "Satan: Hey d00dz I'm in charge now!"
Holy DREK, everybody thinks they're totally farked because look at this mother. He's a huge red monster with gleaming talons and spikes covering one-third of his body, with glowing eyes and he looks PISSED!
Instead of handing over St. Peter's keys like some kind of two-dollar wimp carjacking victim, God takes one look at this thing and is just like, "Mike, show this idiot the door". The Archangel Michael calmly nods his head, slowly takes the cigarette out of his mouth and flicks it onto the floor, cracks his knuckles and confidently strides towards Lucifer. Next second it's; "OMG PWNED!"
Michael doesn't just whip Lucifer's hoop, he completely humiliates him by slamming him face-first to the turf and then stepping on his head for no reason other than to be a jackass. I mean, Michael has huge-hooped wings so he doesn't even need to set foot on the ground for any reason, but he's badass enough to know that when you're jacking the Prince of Darkness's drek up royally for farking with your boss, you might as well get your digs in there and add to the humiliation of his defeat. In case you didn't notice, Michael didn't even break a sweat doing this either. He's just that hardcore.
But maybe it's not enough for you that Mike is the only living entity to ever defeat the living embodiment of Pure Evil in single combat. Well according to Hebrew, Christian and Muslim myth, he's not only credited with kicking Lucifer's hoop but also whipping several other lesser Devils' hoops off as well.
So you're probably asking where do I fit in all this? Well I certainly have no intentions of messing with Mike. Now about Seattle? That's another story entirely.
The UCAS frontier has always been a badass slitch of an unforgiving wilderness that feasted on the hollowed-out husks of cowards and weaklings and laughed demonically every time some jackass who thought he was the toughest drek since over-cooked turkey ended up on the wrong side of a mouth full of grizzly bear teeth.
Between a carnivorous menagerie of miscellaneous flesh-consuming beasts, dense forests dotted with craggy cliffs, Drow-infested caves, and badass indigenous peoples who were more than a little disgruntled about the fact that white men decided to encroach on their ancestral lands, traveling West of the Mississippi was usually about as hazardous to your health as urinating directly into a power outlet.
Well, while the West was pretty much making everybody its joy toy, the man known as Liver-Eating Kaimloim is now making a name for himself by becoming the most hardcore, violently insane mortar forker to ever strap on a Bowie Knife and magically rip a deer in half while simultaneously skinning an unidentified member of the genus Homo Sapiens.
Now I would think it would be pretty safe to say that I am completely farking nuts. Well, first off, I don't look like the sort of guy you invite over for cheese and wine to talk about how much everybody has grown up since college.
I'm six-foot six inches tall, 220-pounds of ripped-hoop farking Malay native wearing buckskin clothing made of human skin, sporting a massive tattoo face, and carrying a twelve-inch Bowie knife, a hand-carved tomahawk, and a Walker Colt pistol of impressive size and caliber.
I've been a professional hunter, trapper, and fur trader, and I was damn good at that. I was even better at hunting men and doing wetwork. I've lived off the land, fought Indians, grizzly bears, and boars and drank enough rotgut booze to burn a hole through a six-inch plate of sheet metal.
I learned the fine art of scalping from the Arapaho Indian tribe. Two years back I married a Salish-elven Indian woman in 2058, built a log cabin out of trees I uprooted with my nutsack, and was basically regarded as the toughest and most badass hoop ripper in town.
Well, apparently the Trolls didn't get the memo – they attacked my home one day while I was out on a job, killed my vastly pregnant wife, scalped her corpse, and burned my house to the ground.
This was not a wise move.
I started killing Trolls wherever I could find them, and then, just to be even more insane, I would cut out the livers of my slain enemies and eat them. Sure, this is pretty disgusting to you civilized folk but you kind of have to appreciate how super ripshit pissed / borderline-psychotic I was to start consuming crazy cannibal Troll-haggis as a symbol of my mad desire for vengeance.
During the course of my blood feud with the entire Troll population, I can so far claim to have killed something on the order of 300 Troll hoop holes, including one time when I took out an entire raiding party of twenty warriors that had been sent to ambush and kill me.
I was soon known as "Deepak Shakur" ("Troll-Killer") by the Trolls, "Liver-Eating Kaimloim" by my fellow nutcases, and "That Farking Insane Cannibal Malay Man" by pretty much everybody else.
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Post by Kaimloin on Mar 2, 2009 7:33:08 GMT -5
Next issue:
Business is booming for mafia loansharks as banks tighten lending. That's change you can .... OW. MY KNEECAP!
Wait for IT!
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Post by Mr. Johnson on Mar 4, 2009 7:19:42 GMT -5
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Post by Kaimloin on Mar 11, 2009 0:44:12 GMT -5
The weather in the bar was drunk but not rowdy.
Today I look like your typical street hooker. About 5' 4" with violet eyes and a body that just won't quit but dressed to show it, or at least most of it.
Wait a fragging minute you say? What's all this drek about you being a mountain man and eating troll hagis one week and the next you're some slut pimping it out. Not another fragging shapechanger!
OK I checked out room 6 on this site and that Gobwit dude made a pretty good scientific theory about how shape changers work. As he pointed out though, there is much more than one explanation based on the type of person you are in SR. Now me? I'm a mage with all that implies. My so-called ability to shapechange is a fragging world of difference from the dwarf.
So to forestall all the lack of knowledge and imagination I suppose I have to spell it out for you. In many so-called primitive cultures, or at least primitive according to a bunch of pale white bastiages that have farked the world for too fragging long. There is myths and rumors about a race of men that can shed their skins. Do I see a 25 watt refrigerator light come on or is it a candle?
Yep, that's me. You see this race of men are immortals, at least to hoop fraggers like you. Sort of like Vampires. We can be killed but I'll be fragged if I tell you bunch HOW!
When not in somebodies or somethings skin we are spirit forms. The bad thing is, as a spirit form, we can't manifest on the normal world unless we have a sort of remote linking device. This is called the magic of similarity. One of the basic rules of magic.
Hence the race that sheds it's skins.
So for guys like me it's pretty darn necessary to maintain several prime human pelts, specially prepared. You can move from one to the other pretty much at need. See I told you bunch I was a trapper and a skinner, but if you asked the above question you obviously didn't use your brain. Just the kind of idiots I like to skin. If you're a mage in SR you're a double hoop fragged idiot if you asked the above question. I'll be glad to allow mages like you a first hand look at the procedure but you won't be around afterward to appreciate the lesson. That follows another magical law, the law of uniqueness. I may explain that one later for non mages.
Now how we tan and condition our skins is another story but I think I already spelled out in previous versions of this tale that skins can be used on canoes. They have other uses as well, like book bindings for magical tomes if you can't think of the obvious for yourself.
Now can I get back to the fragging story?
NO?
Then I'll do it some other time. I told you I was a bastiage.
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Post by Kaimliom on Mar 16, 2009 3:54:12 GMT -5
Now back to the bar.
I was propositioned four times before I even made it to the bar. I almost laughed but managed to stay in character.
Have you ever been standing at a bar waiting to order a drink when someone approaches you and throws a chat up line your way? It's got to be more outrageous and funnier when you're a guy in girl's clothing, so to speak. That's OK, we're all sisters under the skin, right?
Do you turn your back on them, openly laugh in their face or secretly praise the fact they have the confidence to approach a complete stranger and put themselves out there to be shot down?
From what I've seen of the Retro's many of them seem to be very good at making up or coming up with either the proper Chat Up or Put Down, lines. Call it a talent or experience I guess. You can learn from people like that.
Let’s face it, it tends to come down to one of two facts- are you completely plastered and willing to be chatted up for the sake of another FREE drink, or are they drop dead gorgeous. The question that begs to be asked is why if they are drop dead gorgeous would they need to use a cheesy chat up line?
They’re probably some sort of social outcast who just happens to have, through a strange mutation of different gene pools, sparkly eyes, a nice ass and/or dimples to die for.
Anyway, there I am at the bar looking for my next target/client when some greasy looking weasel slides up next to me and cops a free feel. "Nice legs. When do they open?", he says with a lear.
"Nice mouth. When does it shut?" I reply turning away. He's not my type. I'm not in the market for weasel pelt today. The weasel doesn't give up though. He's almost begging me to skin him.
He moves back in front of me and smiles, "I like a babe with a mind. You look like you've never done it in a water bed."
I look at him up and down deliberately stopping at his crotch, "Funny, if you find a babe with a mind let me know, she's got to be more fun than you. Besides, you look like you've never done it."
"It's not how big it is, it's what you can do with it that counts." He glares starting to get the picture that maybe this wouldn't be as easy as he thought.
"It to me appears that you CAN certainly do something amazing: you can make IT almost invisible to the naked eye." I replied and then walked away. He looked like he was ready to kill. Big Deal.
Are you beginning to get the picture? Some guys are complete hoopholes.
You see I'm not in the bar to SELL my hoop or anything else.
Then why be here? I'm in the bar to APPEAR like I'm ready to sell my hoop. I'm the bait in a trap. Think about it. When I got bagged and brought to Seattle onboard a smugglers ship, it was with the clothes I was wearing at the time and little else. You getting the picture? I'm wardrobe shopping.
Most of my really fine, prime pelts were left behind. To far away to really be useful in this situation. Of course once I escaped, I had to make do with acquiring a few 'quickie' things. Sort of a change of clothes if you catch my meaning. Now that I had some basic items I was out shopping for some really FINE outfits.
Like any girl, I have to be real picky about what I want.
First, no cyber tech. Implanted gear messes up the magic to much. Don't want it, can't use it.
Next, the pelt has to be REALLY fine. It has to have style, flash, and all the extras. It's my ticket to the good life.
Finally, and this is a big factor, it has to be useable over a long period of time. Someone like the old Howard Hughes would have been perfect. So I have to go to a name place to do my shopping. I'm looking for a sugar daddy.
As should be obvious by now, I'm in an upscale bar. How will I know the guy that's trying to chat me up is the Mr. Right?
He won't approach me himself. He'll send some flunky to scope out the talent. Why should a rich dude take the chance of running afoul a Lone Star sting operation? He'll be thinking of his position and reputation. He'll pay someone else to take the risks.
The hunt goes both ways. Whoever is going to be watching is sure I'm out for BIG YEN and that's his lever. That suits my purpose because my intent as we all know, is more insideous and I wouldn't want him to get spooked to soon.
His main intent is to hunt me and bring me back to add to his sexual trophy case.
So he won't want someone that's too easy. I have to look good and appear approachable, but I shouldn't run to the first bathroom I see with some slug just for the money. I have to make the chase worthwhile and show some class. Appearence is all.
Being a class hooker requires a bit more finesse if you're going to make the big scratch. The same thing goes for being a professional trapper.
Thus approaches the next idiot. "Hey gorgeous, Can you help me? I had sex with someone last night, and I think it might have been you."
It's going to be a long night. I'm going to have to go through a lot of frogs before I find my prince. I reply, "No, I think it was with yourself." I walk right on by him.
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Post by Kaimliom on Mar 18, 2009 0:51:20 GMT -5
Why is a Drassel like a restless sleeper?
He lies first on one side and then on the other.
Everybody Lies.
Especially about sex.
It's like a law of the universe.
Another Major Law is, never catch snowflakes with your tongue until ALL the birds have gone North for the winter.
Seattle is a very bad place — a Spirits-forsaken country.
Some people would disagree with this and say that all it lacks is fresh air and good society.
I'll take the liberty of pointing out that that's all hell lacks.
As an adult I’ve come to accept what is and learned to get on with my life! I try not to let the inferior feelings of my adolescence creep into this eccentric mind of mine.
It’s hotter ‘en hades here in UCAS Seattle this year. Hell has come to breakfast. You ladies out there can probably sympathize with me on this one in the summertime; you gotta start shaving those legs again! But what the heck for? I often wonder why. Is it entirely for vanity? I should say not! I think we shave our legs so they will be silky smooth for when we… oh never mind!
I have yet to find the perfect razor; one that will remove EVERY hair on the knees. I have to be eSpEcIaLlY careful when I shave my legs. I’ve tried the tic, tac, toe method. I’ve gone backwards, sideways and shaved them criss/cross and STILL cannot get all of that fuzz off of my knees!
Years ago I even bought one of those TORTURE shavers; I’m sure some of you got sucked into buying one too. You know, the one with the coil on it that literally rIPpEd the hairs out in groups of ten? I was too ashamed of my purchase to take it back to the store, so I just packed it away in my razor archives along with all of the other shavers and razors that missed the mark. I keep hanging in there, every day, religiously! You’d think by shaving EVERY day I’d manage to eventually shave the one’s I missed the day before.
And furthermore, don’t you just hate it when you’re shaving UP your shins and the razor slips and you shave OFF the skin too? And of course, those are the type of cuts that don’t bleed right away. The absolute WORSE kind! I hate it when that happens!
Anyway, I'm still in the skin of a woman named Grace. The upkeep for the clothes is a bit high maintenance but acceptable. I've made contact with a guy who seems to fit most of the requirements I'm looking for. He's an ambasador from out of Sprawl and fairly wealthy with no real ties in Seattle. Tonight I'll meet with him and give him a shave.
You know how that will turn out of course?
Once you're shaved by Grace, you're always shaved.
Next story, what's the difference between and ambasador and a lawyer.....
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Post by Kaimliom on Apr 24, 2009 9:37:39 GMT -5
It's been a while. If you're complaining? I don't give a devil rats hoop. I'm royally fragged off.
The diplomat thing didn't work out. It was a cherry opportunity and then I find out the slug was married and had three wives in different locations and several stashes of tropical birds in remote areas. My chance of pulling off a successful exchange would have been null. Why are all the politicians Devlin Krass in disguise?
Well, no use crying about the one that got away. On with the hunt. So today I'm roaming the corridors of Westlake Mall hoping to accessorize 'Grace' a little bit. At least I did get a nice little bonus from the last 'client' and so flush with a decent amount of NuYen after my romp I decided to upgrade my dress and style a bit more.
Today I'm wearing a Zoe business suit and enough bling to dazzle the sun. Another words I'm dressed like a high level corp. I'm also being followed by a couple of retards. Not by my choice.
How to I know? Their fashion statement is 'street drek'. Their ability to do a decent tail is certainly in question because they're following about ten feet behind me leering at my hoop in the tight dress. Finally, they smell like drek. When is the last time your runner took a bath?
Now imagine this, the brain dead genius's are totally unaware they are being followed by the slightly smarter trolls fifteen feet behind them! How do I know the trolls are smarter? Well that's because dumb and dumber haven't even noticed the trolls in their dorky looking Zorro hats, shock gloves and capes with fragging tights pacing them. Imagine that, outsmarted by trolls. The trolls are waiting for the idiots to make a wrong move and then with great glee they'll pound the idiots into snail snot.
That will not do at all. Sure it would be great fun. I like to watch a good professional beat-down as well as the next person and I can do helpless so well. Think of the possibilities. If Gobwit was around he would have probably made it looked like the idiots attacked him and gotten some kind of NuYen out of the mall afterward for being attacked on their property.
I can't afford to be so straightforward and simplistic. I'm much smarter than a fragging dwarf. Besides with his cyber enhancements he is not a good pelt. Neither is Mao. However I have been checking out the Matrix database and I am looking for possible targets. I'll let you know when you're a target after I start the skinning process.
Now getting back to the situation. Why would the above be such a BAD idea? Think it through you brain dead zombies! Why am I being followed? If it was just a couple of guys looking to score they would have made a move already. So they are not just; knock the lady down, grab her purse, and run like hell! Now given how professional they are that should be about the extent of their strategy. So someone has paid them to follow me. Why again?
Perhaps it is someone wanting to meet? Like my future sugar daddy pelt in the form of some ancient perv? Or is it more sinister? Perhaps a mage has become aware that their is a new animus free spirit in down and wants to add that to his collection?
So far, around here, I haven't seen any mage worthy enough of the name to even realize I'm around! Besides my aura is well masked. It's doubtful but not impossible. For a mage to control me though and place me in bondage he has to KNOW my true name and speak it in the binding. No one living knows that name. Like Beetleguise, saying my name, my real name three times in a binding is a charm.
It could be a random encounter and maybe 'Grace' looks good enough to them for the slave trade but it's easier to kidnap a less flashy target without the 'heat' that would be raised in the middle of the mall.
So it becomes obvious. I want to know who paid these idiots, so very cheaply to so obviously follow me. It's obvious either that person is also brain dead or he hopes I'll give something away. As for leaving them to the Trolls and later Lonestar? That will not answer my questions because they won't be ASKED the right questions. If you can't figure out what that means you're no runner. Go become a garbage collector.
Which is what I plan to do next. If you're so smart? You figure it out. I'll give you a hint. How do you catch the imbeciles without anyone knowing you did it? Get the idiot behind them? Then ask some pointed questions without revealing what you are?
As for me, I'm headed for a sauna. Let's see the idiots follow me in there.
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Post by Kaimloim on May 7, 2009 0:52:15 GMT -5
It's all the rage you know.
Being ECO friendly.
Especially here in Seattle.
That's an important consideration when you are dealing with morons. Especially like the pair of weed-like plants that have been following Grace, of late.
Kaimloim's Rule?
Don’t believe the propaganda.
Plants continue to be our enemies. No mercy to plants. Don’t dispose of such noxious weeds in a landfill. Recycle them as compost. Makes it harder for Lone Star to find you and helps the environment. Remember fans: Unmarked graveyards help your garden grow.
Of course that brings us back to the fact that I'm not supposed to kill them, right? How can I question them if they are completing the circle of life?
If you're thinking that, you lack imagination or a brain and the will to use it. Make room for more weeds in human form.
I'm a mage. I 'could' raise them as ZOMBIES or Spirits and question them. Consider this though:
That brings me to my next Eco friendly rule of thumb.
Don’t raise the dead as zombies.
That directly removes precious nitrates from the soil. For the earth bodies like this are like... Beef… it’s what’s for dinner… even when it’s green beef.
I recently heard that in an extended interview, ex-mayor Devlin Krass was a major proponent of the carbon footprint. Sort of you know, following the the footsteps of that shyster ALgore. Being a good citizen, I heartily support Devlin's latest initiative.
You haven't heard his latest interview? Where have you been the moon?
Devlin: "I propose that we create the “One Less Carbon Offset Company". For the price of a single bullet or baseball bat, we will return one useless, SIN-less idiot to the arms of Mother Gaia. This action will provide a lifetime carbon offset for one SIN person whilst, and at the same time, reducing the surplus population. It’s a win win for everyone.
We should immediately stop funding the fight against malaria and other third world diseases. We need to start funding countries that will go to war against each other. Obviously, the more people killed, the less carbon footprints there are. The added benefit of these wars is that while they are fighting each other, they leave the rest of us alone to pillage our fellow man in peace. As most can plainly see, I'm doing my bit to contribute to Eco friendly ideas by taking peoples hard earned NuYen away from them."
Now that's change you can believe in. The guy's got my vote. If he ever decides to run again.
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Post by Mr. Johnson on May 10, 2009 1:57:47 GMT -5
keep em commin mate.. im enjoying them
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Post by krondax on May 10, 2009 23:55:37 GMT -5
ahhh these cheer up my day.
I really do miss reading about krass and the gang.
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Post by Kaimloim on May 12, 2009 1:19:21 GMT -5
You want more of Krass?
Go kiss his hoop.
I've got better things to do than play politics these days. Politics is just a place for REALLY UGLY Actors to hang out and try to look smart. I'm not a fragging news service either. I'm in this for myself.
Let's make a point here.
Ronilion has recently published an academic paper where he demonstrates, by virtue of geometric progression, that vampires or Spirits such as I could not exist, since they would almost immediately deplete their entire food supply, namely you helpless, braindead, humanoid morons.
Ronilion is a drunken idiot. Can you see the flaws in his case as fast as I did?
If you've ever read Salem's Lot, then you know that after a vampire decides to settle in your town, the undead begin to multiply at an alarming rate. Like unlimited virus potential they multiply in an out of the box David Koresh or a Mormon perv fashion.
You know the routine. You get the bite put on you, you bite that chick that wouldn't put out, she bites some super stud who didn't stick around after the big bribe. Then there are the revenge bites where you just drain the hoophole without making him a vampire.
Soon you got nothing but Vampires and drained bodies everywhere. Bye-Bye Homo-idiotcus.
That's Ronilions current THEORY. Theory is a way of trying to convince someone you are right without having to think or provide proof. Theory is for suckers and Ronilion has been sucking down to much grain alcohol lately.
Putting aside for a moment the issue of how that would impact neighborhood property values, this phenomenon raises an even more pressing question: If vampires are indeed living/unliving among us, then shouldn't we have seen an undead population explosion by now? Somewhere? Not even a hint with the slightest proof?
Assume that the first vampire appeared on January 1, 1600. At that time, according to data available at the U.S. Census website, the global population was 536,870,911. Calculate that. Once the Nosferatu feeding frenzy began, the entire human race would have been wiped out by June 1602 thus forever changing the course of history by preventing the invention of the slide rule eighteen years later. That would have made it much harder to do this calculation using geometric progression. So it's an aborted timeline. A false premise.
Ronilion seems to have not "accounted for the birth-rate of non-vampires and death-rate of vampires. Or is it the actual death-death-rate since they are already dead? See how hard you can make simple economics? Who would be so stupid as to let people like Krass handle this? He's only An ugly, out of work, braindead, leacher of an actor who some people admire for his whatever's?
When the blood drinkers die again they should stay dead and stop being semi-living due to close encounters with stakes, garlic, crosses, sunlight, running water and holy water. Moreover, vampires are presented exclusively as greedy consumers: a rational strategy of managing their human resources is not even considered. That theory has to be really moronic considering how smart and cunning the fraggers are SUPPOSED to be.
Eon and the Fatman argue that vampires would never be stupid enough to deplete their entire food supply, and by applying the Hopf-Bifurcation Theorem (don't ask it's more elite snobbery on their part), they demonstrate how vampires can adopt an optimal "cyclical bloodsucking strategy."
Patterson and Drassel had an immediate problem with this view. Their counter-counter-counter point is:
"One wonders what conceivable interest Eon or the Fatman could have had in helping vampires solve their intertemporal consumption problem. The implicit assumption of the Invisible Hand (or Fang)-whereby vampires, in pursuing their own interests, pursue those of human beings as well, is of questionable validity. The study by Fatman and Eon is not concerned with the macroeconomic implications of blood-sucking behavior modes. Nor does it consider the policy instruments whereby human beings can protect themselves from vampires.
Instead, humans are modeled as passive receptacles of blood whose cultivation and harvest are left to vampire discretion."
The Laurel and Hardy pair of Eon and Fatman do admit that there is a serious flaw in the Hartl and Mehlmann model: The assumption that human beings would be docile prey.
Van Helsing is alive and well and considering his kill rate in the movies it would seem that even '733T' predators do not have it all their own way.
In fact, all of these Retro-models rest upon the assumption that vampires are at the top of the undead food chain. Who says that the blood-sucking population is not kept in check by something that preys on vampires? Of course the Retro's may be smarter than the average runner but they are still idiots. They do not take into account the fact that there are other competing predators.
Like men who shed their skins?
Think of the possibilities.
Anyone else think I might have a Rahvin skin suit planned for the future?
Now are you still wanting Krass to save you from boredom?
Get a life.
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Post by ALANON on May 12, 2009 1:31:07 GMT -5
"A president of the old US of A called his wife to him, begged her not to grieve, then said, “I have always done my duty. I am ready to die. My only regret is for the FRIENDS I leave behind me.”
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