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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: My Girl Friday
« on: Today at 07:18:43 pm »
Yeah I could see that being fun as hell for everyone involved.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: My Girl Friday
« on: Today at 06:18:19 pm »
Oh fucking nice.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: Open Bar: Funnier Than White People Practicing Voodoo
« on: Today at 01:04:26 pm »
FUCK YOU MY MOM DIED OF DRUNK TAUTOLOGY
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: ITT: Best Posts of the Day
« on: Yesterday at 10:56:05 am »While I'm not sure what it was that you appear to be so upset about
HELLO my fellow ape!!!
GREETINGS and SALUTATIONS!
I wish to capture your attention for the moment, to tell you a story. The story of trix (with pictures!):
-
-
-
Once upon a time in the jungle, there was a monkey.
Much like many other monkeys before him, this monkey enjoyed monkey things, like crawling around on four limbs, flinging his own shit at other monkeys, and most of all, getting up on his hind legs and HOLLERIN his monkey holler.
One day, this monkey started to realize he was different from the other monkeys. He looked around and many of the other monkeys seemed to be content simply flinging shit and crawling around and hollerin, but this monkey was no longer so satisfied. This monkey wanted to see if there wasn't more out there than shit-flinging and hollerin. In fact, having realized that shit-flinging and hollerin weren't as great as he used to think, he started to look down on the other monkeys that hadn't come to his conclusion. After all, didn't this realization make him smarter than the other monkeys? Isn't it better to be smarter?
So this monkey started to believe himself better than other monkeys, and set off to find out if there wasn't a better place for him than the jungle.
Now, let me interrupt this story to point out two things this monkey had missed, in his assumptions.
1: His part of the jungle contained few monkeys, so it's not a good indication of the intelligence of monkeys in general. The smartest monkey in one group could easily be the dumbest in another.
2: It's entirely possible other monkeys had already thought out his train of thought long before, and decided in the end that shit-flinging and hollerin were, after all, worthwhile life choices. And those hypothetical monkeys are not wrong.
Anyway back to the story.
So this monkey left his tiny jungle and entered the World-At-Large. Leaving behind his monkey name, he dubbed the nickname "trix", and set off to find some meaning in a suddenly much larger world. Now, the monkey understood that the world he had just entered was much larger and much more diverse than anything he had previously encountered, but he did not follow that train of thought to the point where he'd have realized this meant he was no longer the Smartest Gorilla In The Room (SGITR).
One day while wandering, this monkey came across a very unusual tribe of monkeys he did not recognize. These monkeys were unlike anything he had ever seen. Not only did they have a very different take on shit-flinging and hollerin that he found refreshing, but these monkeys appeared to be much more intelligent than his old tribe, and thus, in his mind, finally a tribe worth joining!
There were things the monkey did not understand about this new tribe, however. For one, they preferred to stand on their hind legs, even when not hollerin!! Another thing, they had shaved off most of their monkey fur and developed a rather clever set of ways they communicate with each other. A standard that was very effective in their particular community at allowing intelligent discussion with minimal derailment into monkey noises and shit flinging. The monkey also discovered that this new tribe set a higher standard for monkeys, and wouldn't be likely to accept him just based on his word that he wasn't like those lesser monkeys.
At this point, our monkey friend could have simply introduced himself, said hello, and began to absorb the culture and social cues of this new tribe, so that his inclusion could happen with maximum smoothness and minimal whacking with the stick. But this particular monkey had already discovered he was smarter than other monkeys, goddamnit, and these new monkeys were going to LEARN IT. So he did the only thing you can really expect a monkey to do, when faced with a challenge like this.
He took a big, smelly, huge shit, targeted one the most vocal, active, respected members of the tribe, and flung it with all his might.
Then, as the tribe charged, he dug his heels in deep and flung shit after shit at everyone in sight, because he was smarter than other monkeys and was going to WIN DAMNIT.
...
Years later, we have this same monkey. He really hasn't changed all that much. He still loves to fling shit sometimes, loves to holler when he thinks he should holler, and every now and then will drop down on all fours and crawl around in the dirt because he wants to. However, the tribe is far less hostile to him, and he can effectively communicate and learn from them now. What changed? Well, first and foremost, the monkey finally figured out he was in a different room than the one he started in, and he was no longer the smartest ape. In fact, he wasn't even in the top ten percent. Hell, he probably wasn't even above average.
It took a long time for this to sink in for this particular monkey, having always been praised and expected to be the smartest, back in his own jungle. It still causes friction and shit-flinging at times... But again, the major difference is that the monkey can communicate with this tribe that he respects and admires, and is able to put aside his own ego to adopt some humility (which, amazingly, is actually a virtue here) and learn from all the resources, knowledge, experience, and intelligence present in this community.
I hope you learn quicker than this monkey, as it was not a fun road to go down. Read up on the SGiTR for more.
Also I'm very stoned right now so this might have been worded terribly.
Anyway I guess my point is, if the story wasn't clear, that much of what you write has the smell of an elitist SGiTR syndrome. This rubs many people the wrong way. Then you throw in some random pinealism, which this board is particularly sensitive to, and which does not help anything.
In short,
-
This has been another PNWR (post-not-worth-reading) by the trix.
(Edited to fix typos and wording a bit)
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: Duty calls.
« on: July 26, 2014, 02:10:57 pm »
we simply cannot allow the prairie sharks to prowl unchecked. You are doing god's work. Which god, well, let's leave that open.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: A new currency.
« on: July 25, 2014, 11:48:03 am »Mmmm. So good. I daresay, your ability to write dialog is pretty damn good.
Thank you! Someone else on PD told me that a while back and I really appreciate it.
I'm trying to get Lara's word choice just a little off, in a non-native English speaker way. Luckily from being in a Colombian family for half my life I have some experience with how it sounds.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: A new currency.
« on: July 24, 2014, 11:10:17 pm »
I collapsed back down on the bench, the burst of energy likely some of my last.
“I said ‘You look awful’,” Lara tried again.
“And now you know why.” I looked at her, entreating, “you aren’t afraid of the Debt Collector.”
She nodded.
“So you’ve never seen him.”
She nodded again.
“So you left me down there by choice,” I said flatly. I realized I was looking through her and I turned away.
“J-”
“What, did you, did you just hope I would die down there? Problem solved? No more idiot gringo to look after?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I expected you to leave your Necronomicoin behind, just like you did, and to find me gone and decide to go back to your family. Like any sane person would! To get back home, a little changed maybe, but to get home and to forget about that horrible place and what you left there and,” she swallowed, “who left you there.”
“I might have,” I said. “Yeah, maybe I would have if that was all there was to it. But Lara, you have to believe me. This Debt Collector is dangerous. It was the worst thing I saw down there and, trust me, I saw some pretty bad things. They weren’t evil, though, not like him, they were cruel, maybe and dangerous and powerful, but not evil.” I looked at her again. “You should be afraid. I was. I am. That’s why I’m here.”
Lara leaned forward and rested her hand lightly on my own. “You look awful,” she said for the third time. I said nothing. “We have to get you cleaned up.” She looked up at the sky, toward the sun. “And soon. There isn’t much time and you’re going to need clothes, and,” looking at my head, “a haircut.”
“I just had a haircut before I-”
“A real haircut.”
She was in a dress, I realized, and jewelry and makeup and, “what for,” I said slowly.
“For the Museo del Oro, idiot gringo, like I told you,” she chided.
“It’s closed.” I pointed across the plaza.
“It’s closed to them,” she swept her hand at the people around us, “it’s closed to you,” she pointed at me, “but it is, or it will be, open for me.” She nudged me, “for us. When the gala starts, anyway.” She stood and held her hand down to me, flicking her wrist up. “Up up. We have work to do. We have to make you presentable.”
I groaned and eased forward, pressed down on my palms to lift myself and groaned again and sat heavily. I glared at her.
Lara smiled and exaggeratedly tapped her foot. It clicked softly on the ground.
“I said ‘You look awful’,” Lara tried again.
“And now you know why.” I looked at her, entreating, “you aren’t afraid of the Debt Collector.”
She nodded.
“So you’ve never seen him.”
She nodded again.
“So you left me down there by choice,” I said flatly. I realized I was looking through her and I turned away.
“J-”
“What, did you, did you just hope I would die down there? Problem solved? No more idiot gringo to look after?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I expected you to leave your Necronomicoin behind, just like you did, and to find me gone and decide to go back to your family. Like any sane person would! To get back home, a little changed maybe, but to get home and to forget about that horrible place and what you left there and,” she swallowed, “who left you there.”
“I might have,” I said. “Yeah, maybe I would have if that was all there was to it. But Lara, you have to believe me. This Debt Collector is dangerous. It was the worst thing I saw down there and, trust me, I saw some pretty bad things. They weren’t evil, though, not like him, they were cruel, maybe and dangerous and powerful, but not evil.” I looked at her again. “You should be afraid. I was. I am. That’s why I’m here.”
Lara leaned forward and rested her hand lightly on my own. “You look awful,” she said for the third time. I said nothing. “We have to get you cleaned up.” She looked up at the sky, toward the sun. “And soon. There isn’t much time and you’re going to need clothes, and,” looking at my head, “a haircut.”
“I just had a haircut before I-”
“A real haircut.”
She was in a dress, I realized, and jewelry and makeup and, “what for,” I said slowly.
“For the Museo del Oro, idiot gringo, like I told you,” she chided.
“It’s closed.” I pointed across the plaza.
“It’s closed to them,” she swept her hand at the people around us, “it’s closed to you,” she pointed at me, “but it is, or it will be, open for me.” She nudged me, “for us. When the gala starts, anyway.” She stood and held her hand down to me, flicking her wrist up. “Up up. We have work to do. We have to make you presentable.”
I groaned and eased forward, pressed down on my palms to lift myself and groaned again and sat heavily. I glared at her.
Lara smiled and exaggeratedly tapped her foot. It clicked softly on the ground.
8
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: A new currency.
« on: July 24, 2014, 10:31:59 pm »
I opened my eyes to the voice, or I tried, but my palms stuck them closed. Lifting my head I tried again and a blurry vision stood before me in pearls and a tight little red dress and tumbling golden brown curls. I blinked, against disbelief and the sun and the angel standing there.
“You look…” was all I managed.
She tilted her head back and laughed like she had at the brewery, that overly flirtatious laugh that worked despite its obviousness, and I laughed with her in relief and exhaustion. A hero would have swept her up in his arms then but I leaned backward and when I hit the back of the bench I went sideways and lay down on the stone. Gracefully, in heels, she moved just beyond my head and sat down there. She stroked her hand against my head gently.
“You made it out of the Catedral,” she said. And I was silent for the angel abomination guardian and the godhood bestowing guardian and the grotesque slug guardian and the -
“DEBT COLLECTOR!” I yelled, sitting up, eyes wide. “Lara, the Debt Collector! It’s after you, you have to run.” Lara sat there. “There were three guardians, like you said, but there was something else, Lara, something that was waiting for us there. It called itself the Debt Collector. I was warned about it in the bathroom.” She looked at me apprehensively. “On the wall of the bathroom, in 1492 over at -”
“The T, yes, I know Bogota,” she said.
“It said ‘Befriend The Thief. Pity The Ledgerman. Beware The Debt Collector.’” I pointed at her, “You’re The Thief.” She looked affronted for a moment, then nodded. “He,” and I mimicked the thick set of him and the squirming hair and the segmented skin, “was the Debt Collector. He trapped me in some kind of rock and then he went after you. I got out, I made it to the, and by the way I’m still upset you didn’t tell me about this, the Necronomicoin ATM, and when I got back you were gone. I rented a motorcycle and rushed here after I remembered what you said about the Museo del Oro.”
She sat back and rested on her palms, looking at me and then away. She took in a breath as though to speak, then stopped.
“You rode a motorcycle in Bogota?” she asked.
I nodded. She smirked, then her face turned stern. “Rushing after me was foolish, J. I do not know if you think you are some knight in shining armor but I am not your damsel and I do not need any rescuing,” she rolled her eyes, “American men! Always have to save me,” her eyebrows perked up, “but it does make them easier to rob.”
“You look…” was all I managed.
She tilted her head back and laughed like she had at the brewery, that overly flirtatious laugh that worked despite its obviousness, and I laughed with her in relief and exhaustion. A hero would have swept her up in his arms then but I leaned backward and when I hit the back of the bench I went sideways and lay down on the stone. Gracefully, in heels, she moved just beyond my head and sat down there. She stroked her hand against my head gently.
“You made it out of the Catedral,” she said. And I was silent for the angel abomination guardian and the godhood bestowing guardian and the grotesque slug guardian and the -
“DEBT COLLECTOR!” I yelled, sitting up, eyes wide. “Lara, the Debt Collector! It’s after you, you have to run.” Lara sat there. “There were three guardians, like you said, but there was something else, Lara, something that was waiting for us there. It called itself the Debt Collector. I was warned about it in the bathroom.” She looked at me apprehensively. “On the wall of the bathroom, in 1492 over at -”
“The T, yes, I know Bogota,” she said.
“It said ‘Befriend The Thief. Pity The Ledgerman. Beware The Debt Collector.’” I pointed at her, “You’re The Thief.” She looked affronted for a moment, then nodded. “He,” and I mimicked the thick set of him and the squirming hair and the segmented skin, “was the Debt Collector. He trapped me in some kind of rock and then he went after you. I got out, I made it to the, and by the way I’m still upset you didn’t tell me about this, the Necronomicoin ATM, and when I got back you were gone. I rented a motorcycle and rushed here after I remembered what you said about the Museo del Oro.”
She sat back and rested on her palms, looking at me and then away. She took in a breath as though to speak, then stopped.
“You rode a motorcycle in Bogota?” she asked.
I nodded. She smirked, then her face turned stern. “Rushing after me was foolish, J. I do not know if you think you are some knight in shining armor but I am not your damsel and I do not need any rescuing,” she rolled her eyes, “American men! Always have to save me,” her eyebrows perked up, “but it does make them easier to rob.”
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: Open Bar: Funnier Than White People Practicing Voodoo
« on: July 24, 2014, 12:26:10 pm »So, the match was...
It was shite. Entirely B-team, so much so that they rubbed it in our faces when the stars walked out to midfield during halftime. It was a meaningless friendly, so there was nothing at stake, and it was essentially a scrimmage. None of the fans knew the chants or songs (for fuck's sake, it was on a goddamn Pink Floyd album, and you still don't know it?), and there wasn't even a hint of violence.
On the other hand, there was plenty of beer, and Roma's winning goal went directly through Liverpool's legs in a classic "what the WHAT?" moment.
Basically, it was the entire reason soccer hasn't really caught on in the US, in that if the players don't care, neither will the crowd. At least the tickets were cheap.
Lame.
At least when the NFL makes half assed attempts to break into Britain, they send Tom fucking Brady over there to draw in the crowds.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: I don't know where the random links thread is
« on: July 23, 2014, 10:17:13 am »That was seriously annoying.
Really? I liked it. It was actually pretty relaxing.
But I have to say, the trend of people thinking it's their responsibility to disconnect others from social media is starting to piss me off. There was that one video a few months ago with a guy reading a poem he wrote, and it said we're creating smart phones and dumb people. At least two of the people I saw share it are the ones at parties that keep pulling out their phones.
It's a bunch of you're-doin-it-wrong even though everyone's doing the same fucking thing.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: My Girl Friday
« on: July 21, 2014, 02:45:58 pm »Certainly no blood came out, which is the normal state of affairs when you shoot someone.
This line in particular caught me.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: What kind of skyrim (or any rpg) character are you?
« on: July 20, 2014, 08:40:22 pm »Depends on the character I'm playing. If I'm in heavy RP mode, I may be more likely to play as a sentimentalist. If I'm playing someone whose focus is getting rich, I'll use a formula based on how rich I am to determine which items I pick up. Early days, items need to be worth at least ten times their weight in resale value and that goes up as I accumulate wealth.
I'm currently playing as a soul collector who pickpockets weapons from her victims, soul traps them, kills them with their own blade and then enchants the weapon and names it after the deceased. I have a house full of iron daggers named after each and every villager in the game. That's kind of a sentimentalist.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: EoC's World of Dispatching
« on: July 17, 2014, 11:11:40 pm »
Our Sheriff took off to Texas to witness the border crisis in person.
He is quoted as saying he would send the busloads of children away in a heartbeat, and that what we have isn't a humanitarian crisis, but a "crisis of leadership." He thinks some of them will end up in Massachusetts and we'll end up housing them at our jail.
He is quoted as saying he would send the busloads of children away in a heartbeat, and that what we have isn't a humanitarian crisis, but a "crisis of leadership." He thinks some of them will end up in Massachusetts and we'll end up housing them at our jail.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: Open Bar: Funnier Than White People Practicing Voodoo
« on: July 17, 2014, 06:49:23 pm »
Shitty coffee is a godsend.
Give me that dirty mud from a greasy spoon any day, a million degrees and tarnishing stainless steel spoons, burning holes in my stomach and leaving pockmarks on the floor below. I'll take free refills, thank you very much.
Give me that dirty mud from a greasy spoon any day, a million degrees and tarnishing stainless steel spoons, burning holes in my stomach and leaving pockmarks on the floor below. I'll take free refills, thank you very much.
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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: Tell me about my sex life...
« on: July 17, 2014, 05:07:38 pm »
Squish.
Squish.
Squish squish squish.
Squish.
squishsquishsquishsquishsquishsquish
AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHH H
Squish.
Squish squish squish.
Squish.
squishsquishsquishsquishsquishsquish
AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHH H