A Voice From The Basement, Part I of V

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I remember a lot of things about the good old days at PD, before everything went bad and wrong and all sour in the mouth, like we've all been sucking on pennies.  Back when everyone lived in The City, and nobody lived anywhere else.

I remember Payne, who was an inspiration to everyone, saving the world every other week...Until he went after Nigel and her Murder Colonels, and neither he nor Nigel were ever seen again.  I remember LMNO's mustache, which posted via it's host (some guy in Boston), until it was murdered by Mrs LMNO in a fit of jealousy.  I remember Kai, who used to post about science, until the Bureau of Correct Thinking hauled him off to a reeducation camp in Kansas.

Hell, I even remember Curly, and most people today just think of him as one-third of a comedy team.

I remember PILLS HERE, hell, how could I forget?  PILLS HERE is what I use to forget everything else.  they take the jagged metal edge off the rim of the can I keep my mind in, and I don't have to remember that things were very different, not very long ago.

Yep.  I don't need to write about unpleasant things, because I don't need to think about unpleasant things...I can just, you know, PILLS HERE and everything gets fuzzy around the edges, and I relax a lot.  It sure beats all that worrying I used to do, all that caring about the fate of stupid monkeys and the mudball they shit all over.

So I poke around in Apple Talk a bit, here and there, and it reminds me of working nights in the computer lab for extra cash back in college.  Walking around empty halls in the basement, looking through the windows into labs with half-finished experiments on them, and munching on some horrible shit I got out of the vending machine.  It was very easy to think of myself as the last man on Earth, then, just as it is now.

You'd hear noises, down in that basement, you'd hear noises and you could imagine that you weren't alone, that maybe someone was still working on those experiments.  You'd stroll over to the area the noise was coming from, looking maybe to bullshit for a while, and it would just be a rat, or a cavitating heater pipe.  So you'd go back to the lab and read more science fiction, and pretend you weren't so utterly alone that you'd welcome a serial killer or some science fiction monster.

Then you blink, and decades have gone by, and you still kind of feel like you're in that basement, because everyone around you looks like a ghost or a rerun on television and PILLS HERE.  You can say their lines right along with them, you know what they're going to say and how they're going to say it, and it just kind of depresses you to watch them go throught their programmed motions, like watching a rerun of Three's Company, which was a color teevee show made for a black & white audience, back when Carter was president.  There's probably an important thought in there somewhere, but everything is too muddled for me to piece it together.

There's time for muddled things, but no energy for them.  What's the point?  The whole damn movie is already scripted, and people are going to recite their lines as directed, while the monster removes them one by one, and what are you going to do about it?  Holler "DON'T GO IN THE CRAWLSPACE!" at the screen?  Won't change a thing.  Monkeys are going to do what monkeys need to do, which is follow the plot right up until the horrible shit at the end of the final reel.

Or Kill Me.

TGRR,
Grabbin' Pills.

[Adios]

I remember you, TGRR, screaming from the cliffs with enough hatred and anger to bring a little color to an otherwise black and white world. Hell, I remember me hating, albeit not as deeply as you. I think it was called "feeling."

I have to check my prescriptions now to make sure I have enough to get through the week.

[Dysfunctional Cunt]

Damn. This is great. Will get back with more later once I run it thru my brain a bit!

[LMNO]

This is gonna be a rough one.  I can tell.


Appropriate for February, though.

[Adios]

This is gonna be a rough one.  I can tell.


Appropriate for February, though.

Yeah, but it just feels right, doesn't it?

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Maybe it's just me, or maybe it's February, or maybe things really are this bad and it's NOT just my bad attitude.

Any way you slice it, I've been stomaching this crap entirely too long, and it's time to spew.

[Adios]

Maybe it's just me, or maybe it's February, or maybe things really are this bad and it's NOT just my bad attitude.

Any way you slice it, I've been stomaching this crap entirely too long, and it's time to spew.

It's not just you.

[Phox]

Wow. Not sure how I feel about this one. I'll need to ponder it.

[navkat]

Jesus. Is it still February?