Word Wizards

Dr. Repose: The site's wanna-be author, professional jerk, monster who's dead on the inside, and semi-proud owner.

The Warden: 2nd in command, because it's all the power with less responsibility. Dispenser of verbal justice and handy with a game controller.

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Chaos in a Bottle - A Critical Look at the Dishonest Press

It’s not hard to see that currently there’s a bit of schism in the media when it comes to political coverage.  For a long time I kinda rolled my eyes at the notion of a ‘liberal media’ and now when I view things through the prism of current events it’s easy to see how conservatives can come believe in it.   That being the case, I don’t really believe in a ‘liberal media.’  What I do believe in, is a corporate media.

This can be no better exemplified than the media’s current jihad against Donald J. Trump and the bullet-shielding they do for Black Lives Matter.  The reporting on these two are like night and day, even though everything they accuse one of the other actually does.

There is so much nonsense floating around in the media about Trump that it’s borderline absurd.  The media has pulled out all the stops to try and derail Trump, and subtlety is not on the menu at this dinner party.  Almost any time they quote the man, they give you edited out-of-context versions of what he’s saying.  Hillary Clinton has been caught blatantly colluding with major news organizations going so far as to have reporters and TV personalities run their transcripts through campaign management for approval.  Google, Twitter, and Facebook kill any pro-trump trending topics and hashtags, ban users who speak against the current leftist ‘progressive’ agenda, and generally disrupt the echo chamber.  Reddit, spare one sub is entirely over-ran with paid Clinton operatives from Correct the The Record to the point where they have been blatantly banning people and mass-deleting posts for talking about any current events that inconvenience the leftist narrative.  Any act of Islamic terrorism or BLM riots gets shut down and silenced, as a matter of fact of all the major sites censorship Reddit is practically the Clinton camp’s Ministry of Truth.

A good example of quotes taken out of context is the constantly belabored, “but he said to knock out protestors.”   Huh, okay then I guess Trump really is teh Hitlers…

Unless you know… you actually see what the man said prior to that, which of course they don’t report.  Here is the full quote, in video format for your pleasure.

In this video, which the poster of even tries to spin but at least has the decency to not edit, you can clearly see he’s telling them that if they see a protestor about to throw things at them … which is assault by the way… to knock them out.  Telling people to defend themselves from triggered snowflakes does not translate to ‘assault every protestor you see plz I’ll pay.’  That’s not, however, what many people believe happened and you can thank a combination of media and personal biases for that.

The more I watch Trump and his speeches, the more I notice the reporting afterwards always seems to be telling a polar opposite tale.  Trump is the fascist for telling people to defend themselves, but the left isn’t fascist for sending people to rallies like in California or Chicago to assault Trump supporters?  Going so far as to bus in these angry mobs of paid agitators and have their allies in the press cover it up under a blanket of deceit and editing tricks.  I hate to break it to you fence sitters and others who are still stuck in the ‘republicans are always more evil than democrats’ mindset, but the right isn’t the violent side.

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~The Promise of a Dream~ - The Rise and Fall of the Cult of Bernie Sanders

Bernie Sanders and his ‘revolution’ is a joke. No true ‘revolution’ can come from the left anymore. They almost entirely control the culture, the media, and academia. The left-wing has also lost it’s damn mind.

It strikes me, with a sort of painful irony, that the left has become so insane and intolerant. This, I feel, is the deep unspoken flaw present within egalitarianism. In the constant struggle to make the unequal, equal, you end up with an imbalance that shakes the foundations of what you believe with the constant shifting between two extremes. What the left, has unfortunately, attempted to do, is correct the imbalances with even more imbalance and the result is what we see today… a movement sliding backwards into puritanical authoritarianism, where you cannot question the narrative or ideological orthodoxy lest you be branded a heretic. Facts don’t matter anymore, what matters most is feelings, and when you shift the debate from logic to emotions you’ve essentially crippled the chances that any progress can be made between to opposing views. Is it any wonder that now most ‘debates’ are just yelling contests?

The logical inconsistencies coming from the neo-liberals lately are staggering and telling.

You cannot say you value women’s rights yet see nothing wrong with an ideology that views women as half the value of men. You cannot claim falsely there is a ‘patriarchy’ that is inherently anti-woman and then defend, welcome, and constantly make excuses for an entire culture based upon being anti-woman and patriarchal. You cannot claim to be for homosexuals for that matter either, when the same ideology preaches to commit violence against them. You cannot be against racism if you are for it towards white people, and if you think that giving other races special considerations to make things ‘equal’ isn’t demeaning towards them and unfair towards those that aren’t. You cannot be against violence and hate and then gleefully cheer on groups that attack people with violence and hatred for saying things you disagree with. You cannot be pro-civilization if you believe Islam is anything more than a philosophy of dominance and oppression. You can’t say ‘not all Muslims’ when the damn near hourly worldwide suicide attack happens, and then say ‘yes all Trump supporters’ when one man throws an unwarranted haymaker. Simultaneously you cannot pretend that your preferred camp isn’t violent and racist either, when there’s countless examples of it. Just take a look at BlackLivesMatter and La Raza lately.

Nothing screams ‘leadership’ quite like letting people steal your microphone to call your audience racists. GJ Birdie.

Well actually that’s a lie, you can do all those things if you are a member of the political left wing nowadays and get glowing press coverage for doing so. Not only can you do all those things and get away with it, but you’ll probably also get a very positive writeup in the press about how ~tolerant~ and ~peaceful~ your protest movement is. Even if people can watch live streams of mass looting and assault occurring during it’s execution. There is not truth anymore, just doubling down on the lie. Indeed, that’s the only recourse the left has anymore to stay relevant. They’ve lost the debate and they have created a monster in the Social Justice movement that has gone completely out of control. There’s too much momentum and money behind the insane socio-media machine to throw on the brakes now. The refusal to criticize the ‘regressive’ left – as the few sane liberals left call it – for so long has created a situation where now they cannot do so without massive backlash within the people who prescribe to their ideology. This refusal by the way, has made the regressive left so emboldened that their insanity will cost the democrats the election this time around. That’s all but a certainty at this point.

Tolerance, by the way, is a virtue only if you can extend it towards people you disagree with. Otherwise saying you are tolerant of other viewpoints is a lie. The modern left is not tolerant, and it damn sure isn’t peaceful. When you start calling for violence on a massive scale you’re admitting you can’t win on the facts because the facts do not support fringe groups like BLM or Occupy. Martin Luther King didn’t say ‘lets fry sum bacon *pistol emoji, pig emoji*’ on Twitter to win the civil rights movement. He did it with dignity. Not storming the stage, assaulting people, or burning local businesses to the ground.

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Goodbye, From One Heathen to Another.

Yesterday, Davie Bowie died.  Lots of people are talking about it so the news was unavoidable even for a guy tuned out of the news cycle like myself.  To be honest, I had another article planned to be next and this is more of an impromptu thing, I wish the circumstances were such that the desire to write this was not present.  I won’t pretend to have intimate knowledge of the man, or to know everything about him.  What I knew of David Bowie existed only in what he put out in the public in the form of his art.  Typically I’m not the kind of person to obsess over celebrities personal lives or keep tabs on everything they say and do.  Being a fan doesn’t mean you need to turn that into your identity. To me, what is present in the work a person puts out speaks more volumes than words written down in a magazine interview or a soundbite recorded at an awards show. 

So what I will talk about is what drew me to such strange and atypical music, for me at least, in the first place.

When I was dating my first long-term girlfriend we were at the mall, and I was browsing the rock CDs in some entertainment store that’s no longer there.  Normally I tended to listen to Punk, Metal, and Industrial.  My current friends were into similar music and in those days I wasn’t strong willed enough to do anything but go with the flow of whatever social circle I found myself in.  The only resistance I offered was passive.  So as I was thumbing through the display looking for Bad Religion CDs I ended up glancing at the cover of a Bowie Album.

Something about that cover made me pause.  Being indecisive about my other options there was something appealing about the cover itself, like it told it’s own mini-story.  Was he supposed to be a preacher on the pulpit being possessed, or was he a guy in the pew so fed up that his eyes were starting to glaze over and roll back into his skull?  Call me superficial if you want, but what originally made me listen to David Bowie was finding the cover art of a random of his aesthetically appealing.  You’re not supposed to judge anything based on it’s cover, but there I was at a record store spending damn near twenty dollars, got to love mall pricing, on an album by a guy I’ve never once listened to for that very reason.  You’d think after sinking down that money I’d have ran home to listen to my brand new mystery CD.  You’d be wrong.  I put it down and forgot about it.

I was nineteen at the time.

Some things happened, my relationship fell apart with my then ex-girlfriend after four years, the depression led to me purposefully getting myself fired from my current job.  I had started to turn into a hermit and all but isolated myself to my apartment.  She left me with a boxes full of her stuff, a wounded ego, and her cat Pepper.  It’s okay though, after a while I decided I liked the cat more than her anyway. One day, whilst doing my zombie-like aimless shuffle around the apartment, I wandered into the back bedroom.  It was bright outside that day and the light beyond the windows trailed into the room like long wispy fingers highlighting the dust particles dancing without sound.

I was twenty-one at the time.

Something about the room, the way the darkness was so absolute and the light from the outside was so bright reminded me of my days going to church groups.  Of not quite feeling right about the whole thing.  Just going with the flow.  The major difference to me was that in that room I felt I actually belonged there.  Like I was right where I was supposed to be.  The cat was resting on the window, a little puffball with light gleaming off the tips of her fur giving the illusion she was glowing.  Below the window was a wooden chest that I rested my old school 6 CD stereo on, for the true early 2000s experience.

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The Tub of Shit Chronicles: Brent Langley

I’ve dealt with a lot of really dumb and crazy people on the internet.  Everything from the most hardcore conspiracy nut (the man in question was convinced we live in the Matrix) to people who think that jacking off their dog is a normal and sane thing to do.  Rarely; however, do I find a target so delusional, masochistic, and pathetic as this ‘gentleman’ by the name of Brent Langley. 

2 edgy 4 me. This picture was taken prior to Mr. Langley falling back on the hostess bandwagon. RIP skinny Brent 2010-2013, nvr 4 get.

I’m sure you’ve heard the name before, right?  International radio star?  Twitter sensation?  YouTube celebrity?  Heralded indie circuit wrestler?  Well that’s probably because this guy is so far underground apparently even the dreaded hipster menace couldn’t find him.  Since his non-existent celebrity status ensures that unless you have intimate knowledge of his existence you would be able to go through life blissfully unaware of the grade-a poser douchebag that is this sad excuse for a man, it falls on me to give you a synopsis.  Brent is an amorphous blob who backstabs anyone he knows, throws emotional hissy fits when he doesn’t get his way, cries for rape and other horrible things to befall any woman who rejects his attempts to devour them, and makes really poor choices in who to piss off.  Brent is the quintessential forum punching bag.  He’s so pathetic that people only tolerate his prolonged presence out of sheer pity, which he uses as a shield to get away with the most ridiculous statements and actions.

However, Brent’s failures at celebrity aren’t the defining characteristic that makes him such a collosal tub of shit of sufficient enough magnitude to warrant my wrath.  I was somewhat content to leave the man alone to flounder in obscurity and doughnuts till his heart seized for good under the constant influx of delicious Hostess cream filling.  That was until Mr. Langley decided to disparage the truthiness of one of our fine pieces of Nonperson’s journalism, namely the Flametown Adventures series.  If there’s one thing I will not abide, it’s someone attempting to discredit our journalistic integrity with baseless slander and accusations of lying.   Mr. Langley claims the article in question has lies in it,  six of them no less!  So I have decided to vet the truths that were posted about Brent in our previous article.

I will shorten the original version to save space, if you want to read the whole thing please check out The Warden’s excellent article on the subject in question.

Here is basically what he accused Brent of, and I’m going to elaborate how every one of these things is true or false to confirm if Brent’s accusation has merit (spoiler: it doesn’t.)

1.) He challenged the Warden to an insult contest and deleted his posts when he got mad for being insulted “too hard”.

Absolutely, unequivocally true.  I watched this happen on The Warden’s old website called Antidope.us.  Brent got massacred verbally and when he couldn’t take the heat, after he requested the damn thing to begin with, he deleted all of his posts and pretty much quit posting on the forum altogether.  Brent has a nasty habit of deleting posts when he has any power to do so to cover his tracks so he can deny the facts later when he thinks nobody will clearly remember or reference it.  Apparently Brent has never heard of the concept of human memory.

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Social Justice Warriors - Assemble!

In my incredible torpor over the past few years I seem to have somehow took my finger off the pulse of internets happenings, as it were.  So it was with some surprise when I heard of the latest in far-left extremism… the Tumblrina filled reactionary blogger community that is collectively maligned and known by the acronym SJW.  I have heard passing rumors of their hateful, stupid, hive-minded ways.  Therefore; I have figured that they would make a good case study for how good intentions combined with shaky logic and scapegoating has managed to somehow turn a whole collective group of people against the very ideals that they seem to want to believe they have been advocating. 

Generally it’s my policy to ignore attention whores because when you engage them it rewards them for their dumb ideas with publicity and engagement which can give them the false impression that the crazy bullshit they spew is somehow worthy of being taken seriously at all.  So let me make this clear, I don’t take SJWs seriously.  To me, they borderline on parody, good for a laugh, a quick wink of the eye, and a ‘god you must be joking.’  According to these wondrous advocates of internet justice they are the sole curator for who is truly oppressed in this world, and spoiler alert, it’s apparently fat suburban womyn.

“Good Dr.,  WTF is a SJW?”

Good question!  It’s hard to define what makes an SJW exactly as – much like the dreaded hipsters that sometimes fill their ranks – they strive as hard as they can to come off as non-conformist as humanly possible all while saying the same things thus making them indistinguishable from one another. I do know one thing; however, and that is white males are not allowed into the kool kids klub this time around.  It seems, much like Stalin’s Soviet ‘Socialist’ state, the term SJW doesn’t match the people labeled with it.   When I think of a real life example of what I would imagine a social justice warrior to be my mind immediately summons images of people who actually fought – and, in some cases – died for freedom and equal rights for all.  People like Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, William Wallace, Nelson Mandela, Rosa Parks, Helen Keller, you get the idea.  Yet, somewhere between that high moral standard and the keyboard we end up with statements like the following quote which invokes the exact opposite reaction and in turn drums up images in my mind akin to jack-booted storm troopers kicking in the door to Anne Frank’s family’s attic hideaway and dragging them off kicking and screaming to the death camps.

“New Policy: any dude who masturbates to lesbian porn will be burned at the stake” – Some Idiot on LiveJournal Some Tolerant Defender of Equality on Live Journal

The SJW, isn’t for justice, social or otherwise.  An SJW – as I have observed – is a neo-liberal fascist with delusions of grandeur that peppers their tenuous logic with enough newspeak-esque lingo that even Orwell himself would step back and say, ‘oh snap!’ Don’t know what POC, cisgendered (this one means that you recognize yourself by your birth gender, and they tend to inexplicably use it exclusively as a slur), ablism, liquidgendered, intersectionality, heteronormative, kyriarchy, microagressions, patriarchy, and *-shaming (* is a wildcard), means?  Then congratulations… you’re probably a white male reeking of privilege, you shitlord.  Don’t ask me why, but apparently that’s the go-to insult for this barely cognizant pack of suburban hipsters with a massive overdose of white guilt and access to a thesaurus.

The term used to describe these people should not be SJW, that merely mucks up the definition of what it is they are truly about.  A better word would be fascist, but minus all the threatening elements of a real fascist.  Instead of a blitzkrieg of steel tanks over your border you’ll just hear the furious clacking of a hundred keyboards as your inbox and comment section is overran with a flood of poorly concocted rebuttals that all start to sound like it was written by a single terrible stupid hive mind.  A hive mind comprised of people who have apparently been able to survive in this evil cisgendered white privileged world long enough to be able to work, afford a computer, electricity, and a place to type their angst-ridden tomes of sputtering excuses for why they are so totes oppressed.

we do not need men / once they have been destroyed we / shall rise up and feast ʘ‿ʘ

#misandry #kill all men #i would like to cook all the men and eat them #and when we are done we will repopulate the earth since nOT ALL WOMEN HAVE UTERUSES #and if anyone grows up to identify as a man #we eat him too #ʘ‿ʘ -MisandryHaiku via Tumblr

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The Power of the Bison - Or How to Fail Art Class

Back in High School I was forced by the powers that be in the Seminole County Public School system to take an elective art class for a credit.  For some reason the bureaucracy that was the School Board deemed this a necessary course and thus thrust people like me, with zero artistic talent, to take it.  I can tell you this, never in my adult life when at an interview or applying for a job did the recruiter demand I draw a perfect 3-d table or sketch a pineapple.  I’m not saying that learning how to draw is pointless, but in the pool of life skills one needs to survive this modern world it’s about as useful as a shark is as a floatation device.

So, reluctantly, I took this course.   It did not go well,  it did not go well at all.

The first assignment was to draw a table, sounds simple enough right?  Well not for me, I suffer from a particular retardation that seems to make me incapable of drawing anything properly, straight lines, even basic shapes like circles come out looking like spaghetti noodles.  There was one thing I could draw though, and that was the majestic beast of the western United States… the mighty Bison. 

So floofy…

I do not know where I discovered this intense burning talent I possessed to draw the Bison.  Perhaps I was imbued with the spirits of all the Bisons slain by western settlers who cried for one man to make people remember their proud majestic existence upon birth, it could be that I was born under the long lost Bison constellation, or maybe the Bison is my spirit animal eternally watching over me.  All I know is that my Bison-drawing skills were my only chance at passing this class.  Sure I couldn’t draw a bike, or a person’s face… the actual assignments the teacher gave us, but damn it I could draw all sorts of Bisons.

Draw a table?  I drew a Bison playing poker.  Draw the weather?  Bison in the rain.  Draw an abstract concept?  The regression of man as witnessed by a bison.  To explain that last one, I drew man… well as good of a facsimile of man as I could muster slowly turning back into an ape while on a hill in the background a lone bison watches over it.  Draw a still life?  Stuffed Bison.  Draw a 3-D shape?  I drew a bison inside a shaky retarded looking sphere.  I dubbed that one, by the way, ‘the trapped Bison.’  Each time I did this my grade got progressively worse, not better.  The teacher said I wasn’t taking the class seriously on my report card.  I never thought I’d see the day that an art teacher would discourage one student’s talent because it was unconventional.  I felt hurt, betrayed, and angry.  I cursed my Bison-drawing skills, if only I could have translated it into other drawings… but alas, Bison was all I knew.  I felt like… a lone Bison in the rain.

The true face of sorrow.

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The Most Emotional Moments in Gaming

When I first discovered video games at the dawn of the 80’s on a tiny black and white television set, I had no concept of the great range of human emotions that could exist in this budding medium; Pac-Man was merely a soulless killing machine, striving endlessly to sate himself on empty calories, a fitting characterization of America’s sad food addiction.  Defender was the first game with a scrolling screen, but it only brought to attention the fitful manner in which we all rush back and forth in life, blind aggression driving our primitive urges to outdo our previous accomplishments.  Even Donkey Kong showed those willing to see the truth that we are slaves to the beast within us all and that you can never have what you want because just at that moment when you think you’ve won, you start all over again.  

It’s my opinion that early video games and their tortuous, mocking themes were no doubt partially responsible for the massive occurrences of mental disorders like depression and anxiety.  How could we not feel hopeless in a world where our entertainment was teaching us that there was nothing to live for but consumption and chaos?  I remember staring up coldly at a poster of Pac-Man I’d had on the wall of my room since I first became enthralled with gaming.  I’ll never forget the rage that writhed like a hurricane in my soul as I slashed at it with my pocket knife in the dusky moonlight, scraping the wall behind, and standing on my bed to draw a Hitler moustache on the horrible yellow face of humanity’s greatest enemy.  The very fact that Pac-Man and Satan have never been seen together in the same room is a fact not lost on me and I swore that the yellow demon bastard wouldn’t corrupt my young heart.

packler

Years passed, and I played other games.  Of course I had to try.  I didn’t want to give up on hope, love, and honor.  I wanted to imagine that Mario stomped on those koopas because there always had to be a sacrifice for the greater good, that Samus shot and killed those harmless beetles crawling along the ground because they carried dangerous pathogens.  The 80’s were a rough time for me.  As I slept at night, I would oftentimes imagine the hood of my Nintendo Entertainment System opening, emitting an eerie red glow and laughing.

Then…… then the most miraculous things started to happen.  Sometime during the 90’s, God must have sent his angels to change the video game scene, because truly beautiful and heart wrenching moments started to spring up as if accompanied by a chorus from the heavens, as I held on tight to my joystick and my morals.  Here are some of the greatest achievements in human story telling, no doubt crafted by saints in disguise:

 

Solid Snake: What is Love?

As I reluctantly… nay, painfully waded through copious amounts of blood and guts in the PS1 classic Metal Gear Solid, numb to the trauma caused to me over the years of digital sadness, I came upon something that shocked me to my hardened, blackened core.  The neck-snapping protagonist of the title in question opened up to a nerdy, effeminate man named Otacon who just wanted to know what it meant to love somebody… to love somebody… the way Snake loved snapping necks.  

 

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Pretentious Motherfuckers!

With all of the things on the internet that annoy us, it’s hard to make a list of all of them in one article.  That’s why we have lots of separate lists of things that annoy us.  Thank the powers that be for context and categorization.  This list contains some of the things that we hear or read from people who believe their tastes and opinions are far and away superior to everyone else’s for many reasons, not the least of which is that there simply exist others who happen to agree with them, or as I like to call them… ‘pretentious motherfuckers’.  Deep, I know.  It’s me, after all.  But try and not allow my boundless philosophical genius to reduce you to a weeping wretch lest you are incapable of reading the article through the tears.

Pretentious
 
adjective
  1. attempting to impress by affecting greater importance, talent, culture, etc., than is actually possessed.

Then again, perhaps it’s just us.  Perhaps you are so thoroughly educated in some college course that no one else takes seriously that your opinion, for example, that any form of consensual heterosexual sex between a man and a woman constitutes rape, is right on the money.  With that said, let’s begin.

1.) If you think all heterosexual sex is rape, you’re an idiot.

Feminists like Andrea Dworkin (1946 – 2005) attempted to popularize the idea that all heterosexual sex between a man and a woman “in our patriarchal society is coercive and degrading to women, and sexual penetration may by its very nature doom women to inferiority and submission, and “may be immune to reform””.

No, you fat dead bitch, it’s called procreation and without it you wouldn’t have been born and your message would never have been heard by other vengeful harpies looking to blame everything on men.  Would you prefer instead that your great ancestors sprouted from the cosmic butthole of the Almighty Unicorn of Happiness, Equality and Rainbow Cupcakes?  Biology is what it is.  Sometimes it smells, sometimes it makes you want to vomit, but your own personality flaws aside, it’s not purposely out to get you and tear down your pretentious, bullshit ideals.  It’s kind of necessary for our continued survival, in fact.

This is why people hate feminists.  Much like religious extremists, you contort what could very well be a viable lesson for living with other people on this god-forsaken planet and turn it into some kind of venomous, self-satisfying manifesto for whiny cunts who’ve had a hard life and blame everyone but the person who made them that way.  I don’t know what she was complaining about anyway.  Bitch looked like Hagrid; she was lucky to get any play at all.  No, that’s not a sexist comment, that’s an “Oh god my eyes are bleeding you’re so unattractive comment.”  It’s ok.  I’m reasonably sure you were a good person deep down through the layers of Twinkies and blind hatred of anything with a penis.

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OC Do Not Steal: The Bizzare Cult of Sonic the Hedgehog

Of all the things on the interbutts that I’ve ever encountered in my years, I find that there’s one particular fandom that stands out.  Sure there’s otaku, cosplayers, furries, and role-players who all bring their own unique form of drama and cult like fervor for the target of their obsessions; however, it’s rare to find a fan base that combines so many to create a Frankensteinian horror to lurch it’s way through the internet like one of the great old ones breaking the bindings that hold them deep in the heart of the city of R’lyeh.   A twisted amalgamation of sheer awkward stupidity that would put even the most ridiculous AOL roleplay profile to shame.  I of course speak of that dreaded dreamless cult that sleeps deep in the bowels of the net.  The cult of… and forgive me dear reader for some mild trepidation in calling for it’s name for fear they may be listening… Sonic the Hedgehog.

You heard me, Sonic the fucking Hedgehog.  You see, the Sonic games themselves took a bizarre design turn somewhere between Sonic 3 and Sonic Heroes for the Dreamcast creating a huge number of furry-tastic side characters!  For those of you who never grew up in the 90s or ever owned a Sega console, allow me to fill you in before we continue, Sonic was Sega’s answer to Nintendo’s Mario.  Basically he was their mascot character, and from a gameplay perspective they were nothing alike.  Mario games tend to be more focused on exploration, platforming, and occasional puzzle solving.  Whereas Sonic games involved you basically trying to control a blue spinning ball as it rockets around like a small child that has been given a coffee enema.  The levels were on rails and you’d just watch as your little blue ball rolled it’s way to the finish line.  Exciting!

For some reason… reasons I have yet to determine the source of, Sonic has become extremely popular with furries.  I found several pages that go on for extreme lengths about the history of the Sonic Fandom and how it’s apparently like the snake eating it’s tail or something like that, and aside from boring me to tears it never seemed to get into the part where it turned into the AOL Roleplay of this generation.  Something needs to be done to stem the tide.  Don’t believe me? Do me a favor.  Navigate your way to Google/Bing and type your first name followed by ‘The Hedgehog.’  Go on, I’ll wait.

*elevator music*

Oh, you’re back!  Now you see exactly what I’m talking about.  The furry community has latched on to this video game mascot with a bizarre fervor that I have yet to fully understand.  All I know is that somewhere in the world someone is possibly erotic roleplaying with my name as a furry Sonic the Hedgehog ripoff character, and this disturbs me to the core.  That ever elusive ‘why,’ chasing it has led me down a trail of fail that would put even the worst ex-Flame Town poster to shame.  There are hundreds of characters, who their creators all claim are original, which are basically re-colors of Sonic the Hedgehog.  Many of them are his ‘children’ or lovers, in some cases both.  There’s immortal Hedgehogs, evil Hedgehogs, vampire Hedgehogs, and of course sexy erotic roleplay hedgehogs.    Well, actually, sometimes you don’t need to be a hedgehog, they just seem to make up different combinations.  Bunny hedgehogs, dog hedgehogs, walrus hedgehogs, the possibilities are endless!

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Nonpersons Comics Presents: Based on a True Story

This week we bravely forayed once again into the ruins of Flame Town to harass an old quarry of ours for no real reason at all.  Little did we know the glorious fruits this endeavor would bear in lulz alone.

Without further ado the Warden presents the things very, very strange people will say on the internet these days….

 

reposecomic1

 

 

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Consider This

Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man does with what happens to him.

— Aldous Huxley, Texts and Pretexts (1932)

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