I lived and died in the high desert.
The air here was always thin, you see, but in the last 6 years or so, it seems to have all leaked off into space. You could feel the lack of air, but everyone kept acting like they were breathing. Chests moving in and out, speaking, etc.
Hypothesis: We're dead, and this is some unpleasant form of afterlife.
Supporting this hypothesis is the fact that I watch myself all day, as if I was observing myself from a short distance. This is commonly known as disassociation, but coupled with the fact that I'm not actually breathing real air, yet I'm still walking around, leads me to believe that this is not some form of mental burp.
I am not surprised to find myself in this rather dismal afterlife. I rather expected worse, to be honest. However, I am puzzled as to why my kids are here, and why Jenn is here. They're good people, and don't rate this blasted moonscape, or the horrible flora and fauna that spends all their time trying to sting, bite, or poison us all.
At least our bodies aren't decaying. Thank God for small favors, right? Nor do I have any particular urge to eat brains or anything like that. Speaking of which, we still eat here, but it doesn't give the same satisfaction that I used to get in Chicago, back when I was "quick". You just shovel it down, and return to your labors. Same thing with sleeping. You conk out, and sleep like a log, with no dreams remembered...Not even nightmares.
Everything is the same, day after day. There is no break in the routine, the daily grind in which one day blurs into the next. If the afterlife involved fire and brimstone, at least it would keep your interest. There IS Saturday Night, but even then you're just going through the motions. Why not? What else is there to do?
There is no point in telling the other lost souls (not really "lost", of course...We know exactly where we are) what the score is. Some of them seem to have a clue, but why freak them out? Things are bad enough already.
This explains, of course, why you can't really ever leave Tucson. Maybe the people that leave weren't all the way dead. In a coma or something. Then they wake up – meaning they leave – but when they actually die at some point later on, they come back. The question as to what happens to people who "die" here is really too awful to contemplate.
I'd feel better about all of this if I knew how I died.
To be continued
Maybe that's what's happening here. I've been wondering if the people here are what the old occult guys meant by "etheric revenents", but they seem to eat what passes for food these days.
Great stuff.
Quote from: TEXAS FAIRIES FOR ALL YOU SPAGS on July 09, 2012, 06:02:10 PM
Maybe that's what's happening here. I've been wondering if the people here are what the old occult guys meant by "etheric revenents", but they seem to eat what passes for food these days.
Great stuff.
What the fuck is an etheric revenant?
Apparently the soul of a dead person who remains in the body. Like a vampire.
What an afterlife, Rog.
Quote from: Secret Agent GARBO on July 09, 2012, 09:19:20 PM
Apparently the soul of a dead person who remains in the body. Like a vampire.
What an afterlife, Rog.
Ain't no vampires here. They'd have like 45 minutes to hunt and then POW! Someone would have to sweep them up. There's nothing really occulty about all of this...It's just that we're all dead, here.
And it's not so bad, you know? One less thing to worry about. Now instead of death & taxes, we just have taxes. Sure, you feel a little muted or washed out, but the Greeks DID warn us about that. But could we listen? NOOOOOOO.
And yeah, if I was going to arrange things for the afterlife, there'd be more interesting things happening, for good or for ill.
Depending on what comes next i might riff on it.
I might riff on it tonight actually i got a couple of things bubbling up in my head.
If thats ok of course
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 09, 2012, 10:03:47 PM
I might riff on it tonight actually i got a couple of things bubbling up in my head.
If thats ok of course
Go ahead.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 09, 2012, 09:11:39 PM
Quote from: TEXAS FAIRIES FOR ALL YOU SPAGS on July 09, 2012, 06:02:10 PM
Maybe that's what's happening here. I've been wondering if the people here are what the old occult guys meant by "etheric revenents", but they seem to eat what passes for food these days.
Great stuff.
What the fuck is an etheric revenant?
A bunch of bullshit like Garbo said, but as a metaphor it almost works. :lol:
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
:?
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 10, 2012, 02:38:54 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
:?
http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,32776.0.html
I take a bit, based a little on reality, and start working it. Asshole swipes the bit, turns it into a pun thing.
Fuck this noise. I'll write it for myself and save the fucking thing to disk.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
I'm not feeling nearly so generous.
RWHN is a sack of filth who lives to steal neat ideas and turn into drama bullshit, and I for one hopes he dies a lonely, painful death.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:40:05 AM
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 10, 2012, 02:38:54 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
:?
http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,32776.0.html
I take a bit, based a little on reality, and start working it. Asshole swipes the bit, turns it into a pun thing.
Fuck this noise. I'll write it for myself and save the fucking thing to disk.
Well, I'll still riff, if it's good with you. It's a good thread, and a I like the idea behind it.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:40:05 AM
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 10, 2012, 02:38:54 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
:?
http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,32776.0.html
I take a bit, based a little on reality, and start working it. Asshole swipes the bit, turns it into a pun thing.
Fuck this noise. I'll write it for myself and save the fucking thing to disk.
:x :x :x
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 10, 2012, 02:43:19 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
I'm not feeling nearly so generous.
RWHN is a sack of filth who lives to steal neat ideas and turn into drama bullshit, and I for one hopes he dies a lonely, painful death.
In a fucking fire.
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 10, 2012, 02:43:53 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:40:05 AM
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 10, 2012, 02:38:54 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
:?
http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,32776.0.html
I take a bit, based a little on reality, and start working it. Asshole swipes the bit, turns it into a pun thing.
Fuck this noise. I'll write it for myself and save the fucking thing to disk.
Well, I'll still riff, if it's good with you. It's a good thread, and a I like the idea behind it.
Go right ahead. I'm out. And there's nothing in the fucking world that will convince me that this wasn't intentional.
Probably not, but I'll say nonetheless that I didn't read the OP. My thread is just a fun pun thread. I didn't realize only one person at a time could create death-related threads. I'll be sure to check the thread registry more carefully next time.
Quote from: Gen. Disregard on July 10, 2012, 02:50:44 AM
Probably not, but I'll say nonetheless that I didn't read the OP. My thread is just a fun pun thread. I didn't realize only one person at a time could create death-related threads. I'll be sure to check the thread registry more carefully next time.
Just fuck off, RWHN. You've succeeded in your mission, you fucking win. Just fuck off.
Fucker swore straight up that he wasn't gunning for me, and then he starts pulling this shit. Again.
Lying-ass bastard.
Quote from: TEXAS FAIRIES FOR ALL YOU SPAGS on July 10, 2012, 02:44:22 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:40:05 AM
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 10, 2012, 02:38:54 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
:?
http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,32776.0.html
I take a bit, based a little on reality, and start working it. Asshole swipes the bit, turns it into a pun thing.
Fuck this noise. I'll write it for myself and save the fucking thing to disk.
:x :x :x
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 10, 2012, 02:43:19 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
I'm not feeling nearly so generous.
RWHN is a sack of filth who lives to steal neat ideas and turn into drama bullshit, and I for one hopes he dies a lonely, painful death.
In a fucking fire.
Too quick and meme ish for what I was thinking.
Funny thing about Saturday night. Right around Friday, when the tedium of your labors are done, you start to remember where you are. It's not all right away. On a Friday night, sometimes you just want to fuck off in front of the tube. Dead eyes looking at the screen, dead eyes looking back from the screen.
And then the next day it gets to be a bit much, you know?
Then you remember when you first got here. Sort of. You don't really remember how you got to Tucson (truth be told though, The City is whatever city you happened to die in. To a dead New Yorker, Hades is Manhattan with its overwhelming stench and neverending bustle. It's the city that never sleeps because no one is allowed to in that part of the Underworld), but you remember one specific thing. The River Lethe.
Everyone's heard about the River Lethe. You go there, you drink some nasty river water and you forget everything. The myths lied about one thing though. When you drink from the Lethe, you don't forget your life. You forget that you're dead. Just for a little bit.
They omitted the truth about another thing. The Lethe's not really a river.
So it's Saturday night, and you open the door. You take a seat in the lonely establishment, and your good ole' barkeep Vergil is there. Some nights it's Dante. It's a good night when it's Sybil, because she always shows a bit of cleavage. You know she's just doing it for the tips, but you're trying to forget you're dead. Either way, they all know what kind of Lethe you want. You're here every Saturday night, because that's the night everyone remembers that the Great Heartland is called Asphodel, and the President and First Lady are named Dis and Persephone.
There's a reason why those who venerate the dead offer them booze- the Neoceltic types offer them whiskey, the followers of Santa Muerte use rum, the gangsta pours out a 40, even those who don't realize what they're doing raise a glass and say, "here's to [name of the recently deceased]" etc...
They just never figured out why. But it doesn't matter if the living spill a drop on our graves. That's not the rain that actually feeds the Lethe. That's just a token symbol. The Lethe is bottomless, and ever flowing. Always there, even on a Monday, to help you forget that you are dead.
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 10, 2012, 02:52:51 AM
Quote from: TEXAS FAIRIES FOR ALL YOU SPAGS on July 10, 2012, 02:44:22 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:40:05 AM
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 10, 2012, 02:38:54 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
:?
http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php/topic,32776.0.html
I take a bit, based a little on reality, and start working it. Asshole swipes the bit, turns it into a pun thing.
Fuck this noise. I'll write it for myself and save the fucking thing to disk.
:x :x :x
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 10, 2012, 02:43:19 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 02:10:45 AM
I've decided to let RWHN have this bit, since he wants it so much. I'll just give it to him and keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.
I'm not feeling nearly so generous.
RWHN is a sack of filth who lives to steal neat ideas and turn into drama bullshit, and I for one hopes he dies a lonely, painful death.
In a fucking fire.
Too quick and meme ish for what I was thinking.
Slow is only better if you can set it in motion and walk away.
Do not feed the attention whore.
What?
It could be something simple, like colo-rectal cancer.
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 10, 2012, 03:39:48 AM
What?
It could be something simple, like colo-rectal cancer.
The simple solution is often the best. :lol:
The dead often remember their childhood. It's the nostalgia of being alive of course. Childhood wasn't perfect but you remember that wonder, the discovery, that everything was new, and you had an imagination. Surely, a child is always alive. You remember your first crush, every time you see a redhead. She's the reason you like redheads anyway. Ah the 6 year old crush, the beautiful misery of having no idea how to express your puppy love. It helps drown out the voices of the nuns, who bore you to death, or look at you cockeyed because you forgot to return your library book (or is she looking at John? Neil? Shannon? I don't know man, shit, my mother remembers this goddamn nun...)
"Dear God, I am sorry for all my sins. I am sorry for the wrong things I have done. I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do. I will try to do better. Help me to show your love. Amen."
I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do
I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do
I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do
There's one thing the Catholics got right, and it was their afterlife model. Mostly. I mean they did crib it from the Romans, who in turn cribbed it from the Greeks. See, you got three places. In modern parlance, Heaven, Hell and Purgatory (if you want to be a classical snoot about it, Elysium, Tartarus, and Asphodel). What the Catholics got right is that most motherfuckers go to Purgatory. What they got wrong is that most people get out of Purgatory.
I am sorry for all of my sins.
That's easy. No one wants to be an asshole. Most people aren't intentionally assholes. You can always appeal to a sense of remorse in most people.
I am sorry for all the wrong things I have done.
No one wants to make the world a worse place. Everyone has good intentions. Good intentions....
I am sorry for the good things I have failed to do.
Ahhhhhh Aha! This is how we all got here, my friend. Slainte by the way. My Lethe tastes like Old Thompson right now. I have some penance to do, and those above forgot about extending plenary indulgences to the dead. October 31st is only four months away though! What does yours taste like oh nevermind when I'm forgetting that I'm dead you can't shut me up.
Here's the thing with Asphodel. It's insidious. We're here because of the good things we've failed to do. It's easy not to be an asshole. It's also easy to sit back and say not my problem. Well, shit, we're all here at the same bar trying to forget, aren't we? We all got here for the same reasons.
We sat back. We watched. We thought Heaven was unattainable (I'm not talking about God's country club. No, I'm talking about something more glorious that a glorified bathroom stall with a glory hole with a new angel to take over when the previous one's mouth gets sore. No. I'm talking about something else.) Brothers and sisters, Tir na n'Og is ours for the taking, and we can storm Valhalla and make it ours! These are places of personal glory!
But it's important to sit and talk about this storming Valhalla thing. We can never have enough sitting and talking and planning, yes Sybil, we'll have another round. Here ya go beautiful. :wink:
Thoughts?
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 10, 2012, 04:15:27 AM
Thoughts?
I'll read & respond tomorrow, if you don't mind. My head is no longer in the right space for this.
Catch me in the AM.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on July 10, 2012, 04:16:13 AM
Quote from: Bruce Twiddleton on July 10, 2012, 04:15:27 AM
Thoughts?
I'll read & respond tomorrow, if you don't mind. My head is no longer in the right space for this.
Catch me in the AM.
Will do.
There was this one time when I realized that there was more to the city than my own little boring section.
I hoped onto a bus and took it as far as it would go.
I got on the train and I took it to the center. The center of the world, the center of the galaxy, the center of the universe, I don't fucking know man. Just the center. Tartarus.
I looked around. It was brighter. Noisier. Smellier. Just -er. More of everything. I could get the same Lethe here than back home. It had different flavors though. I went into a bar. I was a little scared to. The people here look different than me. That's not the reason I'm scared though. People look that way around my part of Asphodel too. That's the problem though. This ain't Asphodel. This is Tartarus.
I come up to the bar. The barkeep has an eyepatch.
"Hey, what's your name, my good man?"
"Pauly Famous"
"Double shot of Jameson"
"Double shot of Jameson"
"Double shot of Jameson"
"You doin' alright there kid?"
"Your voice is real raspy dude."
"I'm dead. You're dead too."
"Listen Polyphemus," I slur Pauly's name, "what's your favorite song?"
Pauly smirks. I get the sense he hasn't heard his favorite song in a while.
I put the money in the juke box and...
Very nice.
This wasn't where I was going with it, but very nice.
I may have been a little hasty last night. I have one more story to tell. Perhaps a little later.
Once upon a time in an era of really bad music, I was a child. During this time period, I was fascinated by the way the world worked. Very early on, I decided that I would be a physicist, so that I could understand how the world worked. This was a naïve game plan, but what can you do? I wasn't yet 10 years old.
Time passed.
When I was a young man, I took as many courses as my army service would allow, given the usual time constraints, etc, that are placed on an infantryman. I learned the basics of how the universe operates, but my questions were not answered.
Shortly thereafter, I paid a visit to a doll factory. I think I've told that story enough...Suffice it to say, I learned a little of the way the world actually worked that day. But my questions were still not answered.
Sometime in the very early 90s, though, I found myself surrounded by fiends in officer's uniforms, with human faces stapled to whatever it was they had for their own faces. Being who they were, they had plans. Nothing Earth-shattering, just another "experiment" they decided to conduct on the people they were sworn to serve, in case they needed to use whatever it was – and what it was is immaterial for this story – on an "enemy".
They say that all that is required for evil men to succeed is that good men do nothing. But listen. Listen. Just listen: Most decisions you make aren't actually dichotomies...There are usually other possible decisions you can make. But as you do so, mourn that kid wearing corporals rank...For when I looked inside myself, I saw no good; only mirth and mischief. I laughed and laughed until my throat was raw; in a way, I was, perhaps, trying to laugh the wickedness out. I'm still laughing, though it may in fact sound like something else.
Needless to say, I now understood how the world worked. My questions having been answered, I left university and never saw a reason to go back.
So it was no great surprise to find myself here after I died. As I've said before, I actually expected worse. And all that nonsense about not being able to leave Tucson? Rubbish. The highway is a quarter mile away, and leads to El Paso in the East, and Los Angeles in the West. I can get on the highway whenever I want.
No, you see, the reason I stay on this airless rock, scoured by the sun and infested with awful critters isn't so much that I am trapped here for my sins...No, there's a much different reason:
I belong here.
Is this the way death works? I find myself slipping in and out of an eight-hour limbo. After passing beneath the arch of the doomed, my "being-ness" slips from my body and the robot stumbles forward under the well-lit fluorescents. Orderly rows and cubes stretch out and offer what comfort they can, the comfort of company. The body is not alone, there are hundreds of other husks drifting by. We are assigned tasks by other shells with masks on, and we collectively bend our heads and toil, without feeling, without hope, without any emotion which might be considered unproductive.
This is the penance that is paid for living in a world built on the backs of the oppressed; we sacrifice ourselves in the illusion that doing so will make us free. We live for the instant the soul returns to our bodies as we cross the threshold into the sun. But that instant passes far too quickly, and we are left with nothing but our petty complaints.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 10, 2012, 03:05:27 PM
Is this the way death works? I find myself slipping in and out of an eight-hour limbo. After passing beneath the arch of the doomed, my "being-ness" slips from my body and the robot stumbles forward under the well-lit fluorescents. Orderly rows and cubes stretch out and offer what comfort they can, the comfort of company. The body is not alone, there are hundreds of other husks drifting by. We are assigned tasks by other shells with masks on, and we collectively bend our heads and toil, without feeling, without hope, without any emotion which might be considered unproductive.
This is the penance that is paid for living in a world built on the backs of the oppressed; we sacrifice ourselves in the illusion that doing so will make us free. We live for the instant the soul returns to our bodies as we cross the threshold into the sun. But that instant passes far too quickly, and we are left with nothing but our petty complaints.
I do not know whether or not that is "death". In fact, I'm sure it isn't.
But it isn't "living", either.
:cluephone:
Phone's ringing, Roger.
It occurs to me that I'm married to a necrophiliac.
Doesn't work that way if everybody's dead. Unless she has some kind of immunity?
Quote from: TEXAS FAIRIES FOR ALL YOU SPAGS on July 11, 2012, 01:03:37 AM
Doesn't work that way if everybody's dead. Unless she has some kind of immunity?
By the strict definition of the word, it doesn't mean that one person has to be alive.
Shit. That makes me a necrophiliac, too.
TDRR,
Doesn't give a FUUUUUUUCK!
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 11, 2012, 01:05:19 AM
Quote from: TEXAS FAIRIES FOR ALL YOU SPAGS on July 11, 2012, 01:03:37 AM
Doesn't work that way if everybody's dead. Unless she has some kind of immunity?
By the strict definition of the word, it doesn't mean that one person has to be alive.
Shit. That makes me a necrophiliac, too.
TDRR,
Doesn't give a FUUUUUUUCK!
:lulz:
I am genuinely surprised by my ability to find humor in all of this.
That is a lucky ( happy?) cacident. :)
The Ant and the Grasshopper
Once there lived an ant and a grasshopper in a grassy meadow.
All day long the ant would work hard, stealing grains of wheat from the farmer's field far away. She would hurry to the field every morning, as soon as it was light enough to see by, and toil back with a heavy grain of wheat balanced on her head. She would put the grain of wheat carefully away in her larder, and then hurry back to the field for another one. All day long she would work, without stop or rest, scurrying back and forth from the field, collecting the grains of wheat and storing them carefully in her larder.
The grasshopper would look at her and laugh. "Why do you work so hard, dear ant?" he would say. "Come, rest awhile, listen to my song. Summer is here, the days are long and bright. Why waste the sunshine in labour and toil?"
The ant would ignore him, and head bent, would just hurry to the field a little faster. This would make the grasshopper laugh even louder. "What a silly little ant you are!" he would call after her. "'Come, come and dance with me! Forget about work! Enjoy the summer! Live a little!" And the grasshopper would hop away across the meadow, singing and dancing merrily.
Summer faded into autumn, and autumn turned into winter. The sun was hardly seen, and the days were short and grey, the nights long and dark. It became freezing cold, and snow began to fall.
The grasshopper didn't feel like singing any more. He was cold and hungry. He had nowhere to shelter from the snow, and nothing to eat. The meadow and the farmer's field were covered in snow, and there was no food to be had. "Oh what shall I do? Where shall I go?" wailed the grasshopper. Suddenly he remembered the ant. "Ah - I shall go to the ant and ask her for food and shelter!" declared the grasshopper, perking up. So off he went to the ant's house and knocked at her door. "Hello ant!", he cried cheerfully. "Here I am, to sing for you, as I warm myself by your fire, while you get me some food from that larder of yours!"
The ant looked at the grasshopper and said, "All summer long I worked hard while you made fun of me, and sang and danced. You should have thought of winter then! Find somewhere else to sing, grasshopper! There is no warmth or food for you here!"
The grasshopper thought about this for a moment, and reflected that A) The ant's food was stolen from the farmer, and B) Insects don't have police.
So he bit the ant's head off and took her shit.
Moral: Don't be anyone's insect. It sucks, and then you get eaten.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 11, 2012, 08:38:28 PM
The Ant and the Grasshopper
Once there lived an ant and a grasshopper in a grassy meadow.
All day long the ant would work hard, stealing grains of wheat from the farmer's field far away. She would hurry to the field every morning, as soon as it was light enough to see by, and toil back with a heavy grain of wheat balanced on her head. She would put the grain of wheat carefully away in her larder, and then hurry back to the field for another one. All day long she would work, without stop or rest, scurrying back and forth from the field, collecting the grains of wheat and storing them carefully in her larder.
The grasshopper would look at her and laugh. "Why do you work so hard, dear ant?" he would say. "Come, rest awhile, listen to my song. Summer is here, the days are long and bright. Why waste the sunshine in labour and toil?"
The ant would ignore him, and head bent, would just hurry to the field a little faster. This would make the grasshopper laugh even louder. "What a silly little ant you are!" he would call after her. "'Come, come and dance with me! Forget about work! Enjoy the summer! Live a little!" And the grasshopper would hop away across the meadow, singing and dancing merrily.
Summer faded into autumn, and autumn turned into winter. The sun was hardly seen, and the days were short and grey, the nights long and dark. It became freezing cold, and snow began to fall.
The grasshopper didn't feel like singing any more. He was cold and hungry. He had nowhere to shelter from the snow, and nothing to eat. The meadow and the farmer's field were covered in snow, and there was no food to be had. "Oh what shall I do? Where shall I go?" wailed the grasshopper. Suddenly he remembered the ant. "Ah - I shall go to the ant and ask her for food and shelter!" declared the grasshopper, perking up. So off he went to the ant's house and knocked at her door. "Hello ant!", he cried cheerfully. "Here I am, to sing for you, as I warm myself by your fire, while you get me some food from that larder of yours!"
The ant looked at the grasshopper and said, "All summer long I worked hard while you made fun of me, and sang and danced. You should have thought of winter then! Find somewhere else to sing, grasshopper! There is no warmth or food for you here!"
The grasshopper thought about this for a moment, and reflected that A) The ant's food was stolen from the farmer, and B) Insects don't have police.
So he bit the ant's head off and took her shit.
Moral: Don't be anyone's insect. It sucks, and then you get eaten.
Fuckin' A. :lulz: :lulz: :lulz:
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 11, 2012, 08:38:28 PM
The Ant and the Grasshopper
Once there lived an ant and a grasshopper in a grassy meadow.
All day long the ant would work hard, stealing grains of wheat from the farmer's field far away. She would hurry to the field every morning, as soon as it was light enough to see by, and toil back with a heavy grain of wheat balanced on her head. She would put the grain of wheat carefully away in her larder, and then hurry back to the field for another one. All day long she would work, without stop or rest, scurrying back and forth from the field, collecting the grains of wheat and storing them carefully in her larder.
The grasshopper would look at her and laugh. "Why do you work so hard, dear ant?" he would say. "Come, rest awhile, listen to my song. Summer is here, the days are long and bright. Why waste the sunshine in labour and toil?"
The ant would ignore him, and head bent, would just hurry to the field a little faster. This would make the grasshopper laugh even louder. "What a silly little ant you are!" he would call after her. "'Come, come and dance with me! Forget about work! Enjoy the summer! Live a little!" And the grasshopper would hop away across the meadow, singing and dancing merrily.
Summer faded into autumn, and autumn turned into winter. The sun was hardly seen, and the days were short and grey, the nights long and dark. It became freezing cold, and snow began to fall.
The grasshopper didn't feel like singing any more. He was cold and hungry. He had nowhere to shelter from the snow, and nothing to eat. The meadow and the farmer's field were covered in snow, and there was no food to be had. "Oh what shall I do? Where shall I go?" wailed the grasshopper. Suddenly he remembered the ant. "Ah - I shall go to the ant and ask her for food and shelter!" declared the grasshopper, perking up. So off he went to the ant's house and knocked at her door. "Hello ant!", he cried cheerfully. "Here I am, to sing for you, as I warm myself by your fire, while you get me some food from that larder of yours!"
The ant looked at the grasshopper and said, "All summer long I worked hard while you made fun of me, and sang and danced. You should have thought of winter then! Find somewhere else to sing, grasshopper! There is no warmth or food for you here!"
The grasshopper thought about this for a moment, and reflected that A) The ant's food was stolen from the farmer, and B) Insects don't have police.
So he bit the ant's head off and took her shit.
Moral: Don't be anyone's insect. It sucks, and then you get eaten.
Heh. Nice.
TDRR - permission to repost, with due credit?
My boss has now insisted that I go to "Anger Management" classes, on the company dime. The bastard accused me of having "mood swings", if you can believe it. I stated that I am not angry, but that everyone else around me is.
"Because you make them that way."
"I can't MAKE anyone do anything, boss."
"Still, you need to go."
"So when do I report to my reeducation camp?"
"DAMMIT, ROGER!"
"Oh, are you coming with me?"
"GET OOOOOOUUUUUT!"
Well, anyway, it seems that my behavior is not in what is considered to be the socially acceptable range. This puzzles me, because the "socially acceptable range" seems to be "Door mat". I am not pissed off about this, because it occurred to me last time he "suggested" this, that when I go to these classes, I will be surrounded by loads of easily-angered people.
Obviously, this is the working of a higher power. I am being sent by Eris - by proxy, IE, my boss - to go minister to the needy. These people need my help, and as a Holy Man™, I can see no alternative but to go forth and fill them with Holy Wrath™.
You have to have a laugh, right?
I did have a laugh at that while walking down the hall which caused someone to smile at me.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 12, 2012, 01:58:30 PM
Quote from: TEXAS FAIRIES FOR ALL YOU SPAGS on July 12, 2012, 03:29:18 AM
TDRR - permission to repost, with due credit?
Go ahead.
Thanks!
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 12, 2012, 03:08:30 PM
My boss has now insisted that I go to "Anger Management" classes, on the company dime. The bastard accused me of having "mood swings", if you can believe it. I stated that I am not angry, but that everyone else around me is.
"Because you make them that way."
"I can't MAKE anyone do anything, boss."
"Still, you need to go."
"So when do I report to my reeducation camp?"
"DAMMIT, ROGER!"
"Oh, are you coming with me?"
"GET OOOOOOUUUUUT!"
Well, anyway, it seems that my behavior is not in what is considered to be the socially acceptable range. This puzzles me, because the "socially acceptable range" seems to be "Door mat". I am not pissed off about this, because it occurred to me last time he "suggested" this, that when I go to these classes, I will be surrounded by loads of easily-angered people.
Obviously, this is the working of a higher power. I am being sent by Eris - by proxy, IE, my boss - to go minister to the needy. These people need my help, and as a Holy Man™, I can see no alternative but to go forth and fill them with Holy Wrath™.
You have to have a laugh, right?
Yep.
Make the most of it, it could turn out to be a one-time thing. :lulz: :lulz: :lulz:
I really, really want to be in the room when they ask Roger to discuss his "feelings" with the group.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 12, 2012, 05:17:37 PM
I really, really want to be in the room when they ask Roger to discuss his "feelings" with the group.
MOTHER OF JEBUS THAT NEEDS TO BE YOUTUBED
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 12, 2012, 05:17:37 PM
I really, really want to be in the room when they ask Roger to discuss his "feelings" with the group.
Looking forward to it myself.
The glory of this Holy Venture will be passed down through generations.
It's too bright outside; too hot. Bad weather for a dead guy...If I venture outside, I'll be nothing but maggots and confused palo verde beetles in a matter of seconds. Buzz buzz buzz, and I'd be stripped clean to the bone in minutes.
This isn't a particularly hospitable place for a walking corpse, I'll have you know.
But it's even less hospitable for outsiders. Truck drivers tell me that it's like driving into the shadow of the valley of death. One has permanent scarring on his hand, from gripping a rosary so hard it sliced his hand like a tuna. He didn't seem to care..."I got home to my family, that's all that matters."
He asked me how I take it, living here. I told him that I used drugs, but he was unimpressed..."I gobble pills like they was going out of style, and this stuff place still fucks my head up.
"Have you seen the gift shop, just outside of the diner?"
"No."
"They sell - or at least did - a Baby Jesus buttplug."
His face went sort of purplish with rage, and he stormed away. Weird bastard. He should have known where he was. This is no place for the faint of heart...And no place for religious people. I mean, think about it...If you're already DEAD, of how much use is religion?
Because
Jesus saves for somebody's sins, but not mine.
Jesus saves for somebody's sins, but not mine.
Jesus saves for somebody's sins, but not mine.
Oh, I love the last bit of that!
Then you'd really like this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxygqSTO1lQ).
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 19, 2012, 04:10:39 PM
Then you'd really like this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxygqSTO1lQ).
Can't see. Billy Idol? :lulz:
And then the 8' ball mill lube system failed, and the interlock didn't work.
The 6" wide, 8' diameter ring gear has chewed itself to copper filings. Yeah, that's gonna cost about a week of frantic downtime, and about a quarter million dollars.
But that's how things go in Heck. Everything works...Kinda.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 19, 2012, 04:25:38 PM
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 19, 2012, 04:10:39 PM
Then you'd really like this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxygqSTO1lQ).
Can't see. Billy Idol? :lulz:
Patti Smith.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 19, 2012, 04:30:31 PM
And then the 8' ball mill lube system failed, and the interlock didn't work.
The 6" wide, 8' diameter ring gear has chewed itself to copper filings. Yeah, that's gonna cost about a week of frantic downtime, and about a quarter million dollars.
But that's how things go in Heck. Everything works...Kinda.
Holy Hell.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 19, 2012, 04:35:57 PM
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 19, 2012, 04:25:38 PM
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 19, 2012, 04:10:39 PM
Then you'd really like this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxygqSTO1lQ).
Can't see. Billy Idol? :lulz:
Patti Smith.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 19, 2012, 04:30:31 PM
And then the 8' ball mill lube system failed, and the interlock didn't work.
The 6" wide, 8' diameter ring gear has chewed itself to copper filings. Yeah, that's gonna cost about a week of frantic downtime, and about a quarter million dollars.
But that's how things go in Heck. Everything works...Kinda.
Holy Hell.
Heck, actually. Hell is 100 miles North.
And some people get the impression that where I work, shit is always blowing up or otherwise failing catastrophically.
Those people are correct.
This thread is magnificent.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 19, 2012, 04:37:11 PM
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 19, 2012, 04:35:57 PM
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 19, 2012, 04:25:38 PM
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on July 19, 2012, 04:10:39 PM
Then you'd really like this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxygqSTO1lQ).
Can't see. Billy Idol? :lulz:
Patti Smith.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 19, 2012, 04:30:31 PM
And then the 8' ball mill lube system failed, and the interlock didn't work.
The 6" wide, 8' diameter ring gear has chewed itself to copper filings. Yeah, that's gonna cost about a week of frantic downtime, and about a quarter million dollars.
But that's how things go in Heck. Everything works...Kinda.
Holy Hell.
Heck, actually. Hell is 100 miles North.
And some people get the impression that where I work, shit is always blowing up or otherwise failing catastrophically.
Those people are correct.
This almost makes me happy, that the only thing I can actually cause to explode I my line of work is the skull of another person, if their paycheck is fucked up. I am not sure that I could resist leveling a city block or more, on a day like today.
Funerals are more than just showing respect to the dead. They are really for the living...It provides "closure" (I hate that term for very good reasons, but it fits in this case.). It helps the living acknowledge that the deceased is really gone. Without the funeral, the deceased merely fades away in memory, like a friend with which you have merely lost contact, but is never really gone.
In short, they go to Tucson. And once you've gone to Tucson, you've gone so far West, so far up into the mountains, that people forget you. It's sort of like a reversed version of the river Lethe of legend. The people that drink from it don't forget; they themselves are forgotten.
So they come to Tucson, to live with the rest of the dead...A horde of golems come to haunt you all, with phone calls from the afterlife, Facebook updates, etc. And if those Facebook notes look a little flat, don't hold it against them. It's not their fault that you haven't accepted their passing.
This refinery is like modern life: There's a million things wrong, and nowhere to start. If I could get one thing nailed down, all the rest would fall into place. But my crew is so busy trying to keep the whole thing from flying apart, so there's no time to nail one thing down.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 02:08:26 PM
Funerals are more than just showing respect to the dead. They are really for the living...It provides "closure" (I hate that term for very good reasons, but it fits in this case.). It helps the living acknowledge that the deceased is really gone. Without the funeral, the deceased merely fades away in memory, like a friend with which you have merely lost contact, but is never really gone.
In short, they go to Tucson. And once you've gone to Tucson, you've gone so far West, so far up into the mountains, that people forget you. It's sort of like a reversed version of the river Lethe of legend. The people that drink from it don't forget; they themselves are forgotten.
So they come to Tucson, to live with the rest of the dead...A horde of golems come to haunt you all, with phone calls from the afterlife, Facebook updates, etc. And if those Facebook notes look a little flat, don't hold it against them. It's not their fault that you haven't accepted their passing.
Evidence of this: All posts by Tucsonans are invisible. All phone calls made by Tucsonans go to voice mail. All letters are returned with "SHUT UP" written across the envelope. There are no DJs. It's all vanilla "hip-hop" and bubble gum country music on every radio channel. Everyone looks the same. Oh, their FACES may be different, but the EXPRESSION is the same. It says "Everything is JUST FINE! I LOVE IT HERE! I'm NOT crying. Please excuse my occasional outbursts of screaming, I have a condition."
Yeah, you have a condition. You're dead.
So shut up.
I guess that's enough of this shit.
Fucking drones.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 02:08:26 PM
Funerals are more than just showing respect to the dead. They are really for the living...It provides "closure" (I hate that term for very good reasons, but it fits in this case.). It helps the living acknowledge that the deceased is really gone. Without the funeral, the deceased merely fades away in memory, like a friend with which you have merely lost contact, but is never really gone.
In short, they go to Tucson. And once you've gone to Tucson, you've gone so far West, so far up into the mountains, that people forget you. It's sort of like a reversed version of the river Lethe of legend. The people that drink from it don't forget; they themselves are forgotten.
So they come to Tucson, to live with the rest of the dead...A horde of golems come to haunt you all, with phone calls from the afterlife, Facebook updates, etc. And if those Facebook notes look a little flat, don't hold it against them. It's not their fault that you haven't accepted their passing.
The dead remember their living friends, but the living always forget. The dead have nothing to distract themselves from memories, because there's nothing to do if you can't make your own fun. The city of the dead is a pensive one, and everything in and about it is designed to keep memories solid and intact, even if the colors have faded.
The living, though, they always forget. They always do.
I wonder what happens to the good people who end up in Tucson. The ones who never quite got a funeral or wake or other closure-providing tradition.
Tell me, Roger, do they acquire the Tucson grime? Do they fade and flatten out, too, despite who they were in life?
Quote from: Secret Agent GARBO on July 23, 2012, 07:38:54 PM
I wonder what happens to the good people who end up in Tucson.
This is making a rather large assumption. :lulz:
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 08:07:24 PM
Quote from: Secret Agent GARBO on July 23, 2012, 07:38:54 PM
I wonder what happens to the good people who end up in Tucson.
This is making a rather large assumption. :lulz:
They are a rarity, I'll grant you that. :lol:
:lulz: Okay, okay, point taken. But the rare few?
Quote from: Secret Agent GARBO on July 23, 2012, 08:12:05 PM
:lulz: Okay, okay, point taken. But the rare few?
I don't know. You come here if you're KINDA bad. That's why it's "heck". "Hell" is up North, and is where most bad people go.
Good people probably go to Norway or some shit.
Suicides go to Portland. Apostates go to California.
And nobody goes to Dubuque.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 08:17:53 PM
Quote from: Secret Agent GARBO on July 23, 2012, 08:12:05 PM
:lulz: Okay, okay, point taken. But the rare few?
I don't know. You come here if you're KINDA bad. That's why it's "heck".
Who decides on this good/bad system? I don't want to know, nevermind.
All I know is, yeah, people here are, by and large, stained. I wouldn't say they're all BAD, mind you, though we have more than our fair share of shitnecks (maybe), but one thing we all are is Marked. It's hard to describe.
There's this understanding, see. Everyone here is damaged in some way, or they were brought here by damaged people in one way or another. Physically, mentally, emotionally, doesn't matter. Nobody here is whole. So that's a thing we have in common with each other. I mean, other than being dead.
Even if we were bad before we died, some people do end up repenting or something, or the good/bad system is so arbitrary and shallow that people who don't really deserve being here end up here anyway, because it seems to me like the best people here are the ones who have the biggest stains.
The Tucson Doctrine of Unoriginal Sin?
Possibly. I'll have to flesh this out more when I'm not feeling so colorless.
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 08:40:36 PM
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 08:17:53 PM
Quote from: Secret Agent GARBO on July 23, 2012, 08:12:05 PM
:lulz: Okay, okay, point taken. But the rare few?
I don't know. You come here if you're KINDA bad. That's why it's "heck".
Who decides on this good/bad system? I don't want to know, nevermind.
All I know is, yeah, people here are, by and large, stained. I wouldn't say they're all BAD, mind you, though we have more than our fair share of shitnecks (maybe), but one thing we all are is Marked. It's hard to describe.
There's this understanding, see. Everyone here is damaged in some way, or they were brought here by damaged people in one way or another. Physically, mentally, emotionally, doesn't matter. Nobody here is whole. So that's a thing we have in common with each other. I mean, other than being dead.
Even if we were bad before we died, some people do end up repenting or something, or the good/bad system is so arbitrary and shallow that people who don't really deserve being here end up here anyway, because it seems to me like the best people here are the ones who have the biggest stains.
What we HAVE is po'buckers. They weren't good people, but they lacked the imagination to be truly BAD. And, yes, everyone here is a damage case in one way or another. It's like the kingdom of PTSD.
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 08:44:36 PM
Possibly. I'll have to flesh this out more when I'm not feeling so colorless.
I'LL START MY DIET TOMORROW!
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 08:57:03 PM
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 08:44:36 PM
Possibly. I'll have to flesh this out more when I'm not feeling so colorless.
I'LL START MY DIET TOMORROW!
Was that necessary? I had been making an effort at posting every thread I visited, some of it even worth noting, and when I read this I had no desire at all to continue doing so.
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 09:49:47 PM
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 08:57:03 PM
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 08:44:36 PM
Possibly. I'll have to flesh this out more when I'm not feeling so colorless.
I'LL START MY DIET TOMORROW!
Was that necessary? I had been making an effort at posting every thread I visited, some of it even worth noting, and when I read this I had no desire at all to continue doing so.
Arguably, I can't help myself.
I am the cancer that is killing PD™.
Also, waiting for more color means waiting forever. It doesn't just appear, you have to grab it and choke it until it does what you tell it to do.
Dr Seuss had something to say about that, at some point. Something about The Waiting Place.
But if you like, I can just say things people want to hear.
I can tell you everything's gonna be alright, and that it's okay to procrastinate because we're all special. I can tell you that Tomorrow is only a day away, instead of being the ENEMY, as it is.
I can tell you all of this and more.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 09:52:28 PM
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 09:49:47 PM
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 08:57:03 PM
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 08:44:36 PM
Possibly. I'll have to flesh this out more when I'm not feeling so colorless.
I'LL START MY DIET TOMORROW!
Was that necessary? I had been making an effort at posting every thread I visited, some of it even worth noting, and when I read this I had no desire at all to continue doing so.
Arguably, I can't help myself.
I am the cancer that is killing PD™.
I didn't say that, and don't agree at all with that, in fact you and Nigel and recently Alty annd some others don't make me name you all are pretty much PD's last defence against the hollow howling of wind, but I did feel like even making myself say something period when I don't feel like saying anything anymore isn't good enough, and so I'm not good enough, and it was frustrating. That's all.
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 09:59:23 PM
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 09:52:28 PM
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 09:49:47 PM
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 08:57:03 PM
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 08:44:36 PM
Possibly. I'll have to flesh this out more when I'm not feeling so colorless.
I'LL START MY DIET TOMORROW!
Was that necessary? I had been making an effort at posting every thread I visited, some of it even worth noting, and when I read this I had no desire at all to continue doing so.
Arguably, I can't help myself.
I am the cancer that is killing PD™.
I didn't say that, and don't agree at all with that, in fact you and Nigel and recently Alty annd some others don't make me name you all are pretty much PD's last defence against the hollow howling of empty and silent wind, but I did feel like even making myself say something period when I don't feel like saying anything anymore isn't good enough, and so I'm not good enough, and it was frustrating. That's all.
I never said anyone wasn't good enough.
Wait. There's that hippie poet. But other than that, I never said anyone wasn't good enough. What I DID say was that being a mutant is WORK, and Holiness™ doesn't wait for tomorrow.
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 10:00:59 PM
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 09:59:23 PM
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 09:52:28 PM
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 09:49:47 PM
Quote from: The Dead Reverend Roger on July 23, 2012, 08:57:03 PM
Quote from: The Freeky of SCIENCE! on July 23, 2012, 08:44:36 PM
Possibly. I'll have to flesh this out more when I'm not feeling so colorless.
I'LL START MY DIET TOMORROW!
Was that necessary? I had been making an effort at posting every thread I visited, some of it even worth noting, and when I read this I had no desire at all to continue doing so.
Arguably, I can't help myself.
I am the cancer that is killing PD™.
I didn't say that, and don't agree at all with that, in fact you and Nigel and recently Alty annd some others don't make me name you all are pretty much PD's last defence against the hollow howling of empty and silent wind, but I did feel like even making myself say something period when I don't feel like saying anything anymore isn't good enough, and so I'm not good enough, and it was frustrating. That's all.
I never said anyone wasn't good enough.
I know.
QuoteWait. There's that hippie poet.
:lol: Her poetry could use some tightening.
The thing about this church is, the road to salvation is much shorter. It's also up hill on about a 45 degree slope. "Think for yourself" and "Don't be the label" and "Don't eat the menu" may be easy to SAY, but is in fact very, very difficult to DO.