Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.

Topics - Bebek Sincap Ratatosk

Pages: 1 2 3 [4] 5 6
This is a thread for sharing Public Keys. Before we go further, I'll provide Ratatosk's Guide to Encryption so those of you who are not crypto geeks will understand and can use these lovely Privacy toys.


There are two kinds of encryption. Symmetric Key encryption and Asymmetric Key Encryption. Symmetric keys are simple, there is a single key, it can encrypt or decrypt data. The security of the key lies in it's secrecy. As long as no one can get the key, no one can decrypt the data. These keys are usually small and fast. They're often used in cash registers, databases and other applications where there is some assurance of the system being secure. The real issue with this system is how we share this key that could be compromised... If Triple Zero and I want to communicate via encrypted messages and we use Symmetric Keys, we have to find some secure method to share the key. That is a problem.

Asymmetric encryption, gets around this problem by creating two keys a Public Key and a Private Key. The Public Key can be shared with the whole Universe and not risk compromising the Private Key. If someone encrypts something with the Public Key, ONLY the Private Key can be used to decrypt the message. Together, these keys are called a 'keypair'.

Obviously, for communication Asymmetric encryption is the way to go. That's what PGP and GPG (GnuPG) do.

How It Works

Triple Zero and Rat want to communicate securely.

They both get GPG and create a keypair. The private key and public key are automatically created and put into their public keyring and private keyring, respectively. They both export their Public Key and post it on this website.

Now, each of them copy their keys and import them into their Public Keyring. So Triple Zero has Rat's Public Key and Rat has Triple Zero's Public Key. At this point we can securely communicate. Secure, yes, trusted... maybe not. After all, if I'm really paranoid, maybe the government has been snooping on us here and maybe they replaced 000's Public Key with their own. So when I send my souper seekret message to 000, they will be able to read it!

The Bastards.

To get around this, PGP utilizes a Web of Trust and Fingerprinting. Fingerprints are unique hashes of the keypair. When I get Triple Zero's key, I can check his fingerprint against the keys fingerprint and BAM, verify the key. He can verify mine as well. Once done, we can sign the key. Anyone who trusts us, can now trust the keys we've signed. Since we're all geographically disparate, this isn't as easy... but you can use a phone or whatever other method of communication you wish to verify the fingerprint. Remember, you can trust the key as far as you can trust the communication channel.

So, I think the best way to work through this is to just start sharing keys and answering questions as we go.

I recommend downloading Gnu Privacy Guard (aka GnuPG or GPG) from the website at:

Install it, its pretty straightforward and you can accept all of the defaults. Once done, create a key pair. If you're using the default command line interface refer to the Cheat Sheet at:

The first command you'll run is: gpg --gen-key

That will ask you some questions, you can take the defaults (except for your name and email address). It will ask you to type randomly on the keyboard and move your mouse to create some random entropy. Once its done, you can export the key, since there is only one key, the export command is:

gpg --export -a

This will output your Public Key in an ASCII format. You can then post your key in this thread, like so:

Version: GnuPG v1.4.9 (GNU/Linux)

Zxhcicom3gvUdmOt9CxNkrG0B9zau0jp6sZbSgnK3PLxAzxSb a8g9KxxwDwZ+/EM
LedNhKuEcyxzGoJJP97BNNAln0SYkNOg5iX9BZh0uZaSlDkiS HjdkH7+kHBt7bbz
04xkfKtqIzdlwxcDVzsIheAAHAM9AhqE4ozXc1W6I9bhUF86m bxFBtvLb2hFqNXW
Hz14vKaUURD88NgZcfP5wRsV5BG8bDa2Lyh7BRvw1UUUYBjUy ZkgW9T1k7TA3xtk

This key is tied to my gmail account "Ratatosk <>".

If you download FireGPG or another GUI interface, then use its export features :)

Now you can import other keys in this thread. If you're using the command line, copy the keyblock, paste it into a text file, name the text file something like Rat.key and then import it with the command gpg --import Rat.key

If you're using FireGPG, you just highlight the key block and select import from the menu....UPDATE:  actually, it appears that FireGPG gves you options inline... COOL!!

Once done, we can send encrypted data to each other. For trust, let's discuss what options we can use to trust each others keys :)

Now, get moving and make some keys!!!

Hail Eris!
All Hail Discordia!

Think for Yourself, Schmuck! / The Book of Erisesiastes
« on: June 11, 2009, 05:54:03 pm »
Erisesiastes 1
Everything May Be Meaningless
 1 The words of the Spag, [a] son of humans, Pope in Discordia:

 2 "Absurd! Absurd!"
       says the Spag.
       "Utterly Absurd!
       Everything is Absurd."

 3 What does man gain from all his labor
       at which he toils under the sun?
       Except for sunburn, a bad back and
       a retirement plan that goes away
       when the corporation goes bankrupt?

 4 The generations come and go, children of men
   become beatniks. Children of beatniks
        become hippies. Children of hippies
        become spoiled brats and the earth
        continues onward, unaware of the philosophies
   of the spags that run around on its surface.

 5 The sun rises and the sun sets,
        no matter what view of the solar
   system we might have. It will
   warm the flat earther, just as
   it will warm the one who knows
   the earth to be round. So then
        what value is in the knowing?

 6 The wind blows to the south
       and turns to the north;
       its blowing generates energy for some
       and its blowing destroys property for others.
       No matter how we plan, we can neither
       stop nor start the blowing of the wind.

 7 All streams flow into the sea,
       often carrying garbage, waste
       and pollution; yet the sea is
       never full of water, but it is
       filling with garbage.
       To the place the streams come from,
       there they return again. Leaving the
       old garbage and bringing more next time.
       Such is all philosophy.

 8 All things are strange,
       more than one can say.
       No matter what we see, no matter
       what we hear, there is always more.

 9 In all things do we repeat ourselves;
       That which we argue about has been
       argued before. That which we think about
       has been thought about before.
       There is nothing new under the sun,
       and yet none of us will ever see or
       experience all of it.

 10 Is there anything of which one can say,
       "Look! This is something new"?
       It was here already, long ago;
       it was here before our time.
       At best, we just happen to be
       the first humans to notice it.

 11 Not everyone is remembered; those
       who are remembered are often remembered
       through hyperbole, tall tales, legends and
       myths. What came before us we see darkly
       through the lens of history. What will come
       next, we have no way of knowing.

 12 I, the Spag, was a Pope in Discordia.
 13 I devoted myself to study and to explore by wit all that is done by humans. What a heavy burden Man has laid on men! 14 I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are silly, like chasing after the wind.

 15 What is twisted can be straightened;
       but it will always have a weakness there.
       What is lacking can be counted, but you
       have to use negative numbers.

 16 I thought to myself, "Look, I have grown and increased in ideas as much as anyone in Discordia ever has! I have experienced much and learned much." 17 Then I applied myself to the understanding of nonsense, and also of sense, but I learned that all of this, too, is a chasing after the wind, absurdity upon absurdity, especially if you try to argue over it. And then I met other Spags who had also thought of all these thing which I thought unique to me.

 18 With much freedom comes much sorrow
   but also joy; the more awareness,
   the more grief but also pleasure.
   It's a balancing act and likely to end
   with a pie in the face.


A Discordian who has become disenchanted with the LOL23PINEAL crowd. I posted some links to useful stuff here, but if anyone wants to go have some fun... the Convert Me group is always ready for long and endless debating ;-)

I saw [name deleted] fucking a kid, his age would be about 15 - 18 years. The kid was hurting very bad and they covered all the doors with sheets. Then when I heard the screaming I climbed the door because on top it wasn't covered and I saw [name deleted] who was wearing the military uniform putting his dick in the little kid's ass. I couldn't see the face of the kid because his face wasn't in front of the door. And the female soldier was taking pictures. [name deleted], I think he is [deleted] because of his accent, and he was not skinny or short, and he acted like a homosexual (gay). And that was in cell #23 as best as I remember.

More details about Abu Ghraib including US soliders ass raping young boys, ya can't beat that for good old fashioned Christian Values.

Also, OMGZ cell #23!!!!

Literate Chaotic / The Prankster and the Conspiracy
« on: April 10, 2009, 05:28:56 pm »
As a surprise, Sjaantze picked up a copy of 'The Prankster and the Conspiracy" the biography of Kerry Thornley aka Ho Chi Zen aka Omar K. Ravenhurst. Herein are my thoughts:

First, its a great book. I thought it was well written and the material hooked me pretty quickly. The author did tons of research and interviews, documenting the inception and explosion of Discordianism from the Bowling Alley in the late 50's to Thornley's one and only IRC chat before he died. This is not a fluff piece either... the author claims not to be a 'card carrying Discordian' and there is no 'hero worship' in this... All of the good and amazing bits, along with the sad, pathetic and downright troubling bits are here. It also provides a view of how heavily Discordianism influenced the counterculture movement in the 60's, 70's and 80's.

Now to the actual content and my thoughts.

The book covers the founding of Discordianism, mixed liberally with the circumstances surrounding Kerry's life. For those who aren't aware, Kerry was in the navy with a guy named Lee Harvey Oswald (yep, THAT Lee Harvey Oswald). The experiences that they shared led Kerry to write a book titled 'The Idle Warriors' and its main character was based on Oswald. After the events in Dealey Plaza, Kerry became inextricably tied up in all sorts of issues surrounding the death of the president and the subsequent 'conspiracy theories'. While it probably wasn't the sole cause of paranoid delusions (or were they?), Kerry spent much of the rest of his life manically focused on that part of his life, convinced that 'they' were fucking with him. It may be that he was just crazy, but the book covers all of the odd synchronicity surrounding Kerry, Oswald, and Jim Garrison's almost maniacal pursuit of TEH CONSPIRACY. It even includes a guy that wore a wig and eyebrows,  cut from a mohair carpet and glued to his head. If there was not a conspiracy, the Eris certianly had her hands in Thronley's life. Another thing I really liked was that the book doesn't try to polish Kerry as a human, including his rather troubling views on fucking anything and everything... including children and chairs.

The book also does a great job of covering several of the early Discordians, including Mal-2, Camden Benares, Bob Wilson, Lady L, Mama Witch, Dr. Bob and many others. Although it doesn't try to glorify the lives of any of them, it does provide a rather interesting view of these random spags, acting, well not all that differently than we random spags here. Funny how that works. It also seems to indicate that we were drawing the seriously werido crowd way back in the beginning... Mama Witch appears to been able to give AKK and IANAR a run for their money (she would have left Daruko, Wade and DK in the dust).

I think the author does a great job of showing that Kerry lived a life which was free in many ways, but in the end, he died a sick, crazy old man, with 15 cats, few friends and a chaotic legacy. The story was both inspiring and cautionary.

After all the shit had hit the fan, Omar said in a letter, "If I'd known it was all going to come true... I would have picked Venus."

Also, I found it quite interesting that Mal-2 began this silly religion as an Atheistic Joke. However, in the years that followed, Greg Hill (aka Mal-2) dropped his atheism due to his experiences with Eris. Some of the letters that are quoted in the book are simply stunning bits of philosophy and brilliant thinking.

I give it 5 stars, mostly because of the Law of Fives, but also because I think its a great read.

« on: February 18, 2009, 11:31:57 pm »
Ok, I have a basic site up at I'm looking for feedback and people interested in doing graphics etc.

Also, I only have the text of a couple articles in the archive. This is mostly for feature testing etc.

Registering will give you access to submit articles.

UPDATE: Existing Editors get registered and PM me, I'll upgrade your accounts so you can access the back end to get to new articles etc.

Or Kill Me / Dreams in the Foreclosed House
« on: February 13, 2009, 09:25:04 pm »
You're not too late, so welcome to the final blowout sale.
How did we fail?
Isn't it great? The grand finale's right around the bend,
yes, its the end.

Yes, its the end.

And there we had a lovely shop
and there a little store
and there we had a Mom and Pop
but now they've shut the door.
So wake up, the dream is over.
Wake up there's nothing there
Wake up and then roll over;
welcome to the Big Nightmare

Please pick 'em out, whatever little trinkets that you like,
its quite all right.
We've lost our clout, and everything we've got is priced to go.
it's marked so low.

It's marked so low.

And there we had a little home,
and there a factory
but then we got a little loan,
now we're all in bankruptcy.
So wake up, the dream is over.
Wake up, there's nothing there
Wake up and then roll over;
welcome to the Big Nightmare

So here we are, a fire sale we're glad to make a deal
How does it feel?
It's gone too far, America says good bye to her dream,
oh what a scheme.

Oh what a scheme.

And there we had our self-respect
and there an honest face.
And there we had a little power,
its all gone without a trace
So wake up, the dream is over.
Wake up, there's nothing there
Wake up and then roll over;
welcome to the Big Nightmare

It's been a trip, three hundred years is pretty good I'm told.
we're not that old.
So let it RIP, Maybe someday soon we will dream anew.
We'll fall asleep and dream our dreams came true.

Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord

Think for Yourself, Schmuck! / Ratatosk's BiP: A Story in Five Parts
« on: February 09, 2009, 07:53:44 pm »
Yes, Rat is still not getting with the program.  :wink:

After many discussions and metaphor examinations and ideas... I finally put my thoughts on the BiP into a story. Originally I intended this to be spread throughout the GSP or another version of the BiP, but since I haven't gotten either of those completed... I figured I would post it here so I can reference it. There will be five posts one for each part, then you all can ignore it or tear it up at will ;-)

A Story in Five Parts

Part I

Following two loud blasts from the siren, Bob awoke just like he did every day. He opened his eyes to the morning light streaming in from a barred window, which left alternating stripes of light and dark painted across the floor. Above him the flat gray of a featureless ceiling loomed, as though it were a cloud just waiting to dump its load. His cot with its thin layer of padding was by no means plush, and the blanket covering him was scratchy. Yet none of this entered the conscious parts of Bob's brain when he opened his eyes. After all, none of it ever changed. This was his cell, it was his ceiling, his cot, his blanket, and he had become comfortable with those familiar surroundings.

Comfortable and familiar were two words that described almost everything about Bob and his life. It described his cell. It described what he did to occupy his time. It described the thoughts that ran through his brain. It especially described the things that he thought he knew about himself.

The other prisoners began stirring in their cells. There was the loud metallic clunking sound as guards opened the hall door and entered with trays of food to start off the breakfast ritual. Each cellmate was passed a plate, something to drink and their daily assignments. The routine was as well-known and broken-in as a pair of old shoes. Ironically, that's also what the food tasted like. Bob never complained though. It wasn't the best food, but it wasn't bad. He'd grown accustomed to its mediocre quality.

After breakfast and a tall latte, he wandered over to the back corner of his cell. Bob spent much of his day in this corner with its odd beige-colored walls. It's not that he actually accomplished much in this space; usually he just sat there. Sometimes he would shuffle some papers or draw a few pictures, but that was just busy work which kept him from being terribly bored. The desk and chair were neither elegant nor artistic. If form follows function, apparently the entire beige corner was designed to function as an assassin of creative thought.

After a few hours of staring at the walls and shuffling stacks of papers into yet another configuration, the siren sounded again. Bob's mouth began to salivate. "Lunchtime!" he said happily to no one in particular. Of course, the bland food was no better than breakfast, but Bob didn't mind. He expected lunch, he didn't expect high quality food and the Prison never failed to meet an inmates lowered expectations.

Later, the siren bleated twice and the guard shouted "Lights Out!" as the filaments went dark. Bob crawled under the blanket, masturbated to no fantasy in particular and, just like every night he could remember, fell asleep in his cell.

Bring and Brag / Cthulhu's On My Voicemail
« on: January 26, 2009, 07:23:24 pm »
Thought I had posted this here in the past, but apparently not

In preparing for some musical hijinks including a number of strange instruments, I've been digging through old stuff I've written and came across one that I'd forgotten about:

Cthulhu's On My Voicemail
(played on mandolin and stumpf fiddle... if our practice this past weekend counts for anything ;-) )

Cthulhu’s On My Voicemail
I took a job near Boston, in a quaint New England town.
The people seemed a little odd; the preacher wore a strange gold crown.
I thought something was fishy, I wondered what was going on,
then I found an old book in the den, called The Necronomicon.

Now Cthulhu's on my voicemail, Azatoth’s at the door.
Yog Sothoth’s in the basement and Brown Jenkin’s crawling 'cross the floor.
I’ve got rats in the walls, Keziah’s in the attic; I wish they’d go away.
And Cthulhu's on my voicemail, its gonna be that kind of day.

I heard a whisper in the dark, and a scuttle on the lawn.
I went out to investigate but the noises all were gone.
There are colors leaking out of the well and the trees all glow at night.
I’ve got a funny feeling that something isn’t right.

Because Cthulhu's on my voicemail, Azatoth’s at the door.
Yog Sothoth’s in the basement and Brown Jenkin’s sneaking 'cross the floor.
I’ve got rats in the walls, Keziah’s in the attic; why won’t they go away?
And Cthulhu's on my voicemail for the second time today.

Father Dagon took me to a baseball game; we had a pretty good time.
He caught a fly ball with his pesudopod, I’d keep it but it’s covered in slime.
Mother Hydra took me out to lunch, and I just had to laugh.
They served us calamari stew, so she ate the kitchen staff.

And Cthulhu's on my voicemail, Azatoth’s at the door.
Yog Sothoth’s in the basement and Brown Jenkin’s sitting on the floor.
I’ve got rats in the walls, Keziah’s in the attic; it seems they’re here to stay.
And Cthulhu's on my voicemail, it’s his third message today.

“That is not dead which can eternal lie”, so that old book said.
“And with strange eons even death may die.” I guess I shouldn’t read in bed.
I thought it was a bad dream, from that crazy book I found.
Until I checked my voicemail, and heard that slurping sound.

Yes, Cthulhu's on my voicemail, Azatoth’s at the door.
Yog Sothoth’s in the basement and Brown Jenkin’s dancing on the floor.
I’ve got rats in the walls, Keziah’s in the attic; I don’t know what to say.
Cause Cthulhu's on my voicemail, and he wants to come and play!


A: Organic Farming Subculture

B: Sado-Masochistic Subculture

C: Biotech Company Subculture

Place: Woodstock, New York, USA

Our hired hands, also codified as ‘domestic animals’, are often faux-kidnapped from the reservoir of New York City’s excess of submissive professionals. We have joined The Society of Janus. We invite the potent forces of of any and all professional or lifestyle Dominas to help rule our pFARM. We sponsor fetish monomania themed weekends and advertise in some of New York City’s skuzziest smut rags (e.g., Screw Magazine). The submissives are forced to till the earth, aid in mulching compost and care for the plants and animals. They are kept in pens or sleep with the chickens. They are philosophically retrained to access their inner ‘becoming animal’ abilities.


 :lulz: :lulz: :lulz: :lulz: :lulz:

Principia Discussion / Solving America's Problems... Obama and Arcosanti
« on: December 09, 2008, 09:02:31 pm »
So Obama is talking about how to create jobs... and it appears he's gonna try Public Works projects.So, my question is "Why not kill multiple issues at once?" We have problems with wasteful city designs, wasted resources for urban environments etc... Why not start dumping money into build Archology sites across the US?

Self-Sustaining cities seem like a smart move to me... and if we're looking for ways to get people employed, why not teach them how to build the future?

Bring and Brag / A Duel With My Lady
« on: December 04, 2008, 07:52:57 pm »
This was based on a real event... the first official SCA fencing tournament that Sjaantze s.k.a. Lady Lucrezia ever participated in. Also the first "Masque of Courtly Love" event that we went to together. I recalled this old poem due to the thread Telarus started on Zenarchy swordsmen.

Your favor on my wrist
and your beauty in my heart.
I prepare to face my foe,
as  the tournament doth start.

I practice my DiGrassi,
Morazzo with a flair.
I check through all my parries
and test my voids with care.

"A slope, good sir. Do not retreat,
when the thrust is on its way."
I practice wards both high and low,
prepared to face the fight that day.

I look at all the gentle lords
standing next to me.
Marco, Rameriz or Wolfgang,
I wonder who first will be.

I think about the last I played
'gainst Luthor in the list.
And try to focus on that
one parry that I missed.

I touch your favor once again,
assured of victory.
But then alas, the first bout today
Is announced: You vs. Me!

I step in the list,
pay honors where their due.
I hate to see you with an early loss,
but now it's Me vs. You!

Everyone thinks its cute
when we bow and bow again,
for while we both inspire,
only one of us can win.

I hear lay on and see your form,
lithe and lovely, and so small.
But I've got your reach by 11 inches,
it's not my fault that I'm tall.

I prepare to take you out
with a quick thrust to the head
But, suddenly I feel your tip
and I'm saying "Err, Good! Dead!"

- Lewes ap Deykin to his Lady Lucrezia A.S. XXXVII

Bring and Brag / Steampunk Corset - Prototype B
« on: November 03, 2008, 09:18:11 pm »
This is the first actual working prototype we've made of a brass corset, this one we also included some clockwork in (see the end).

Note the notches along the upper left side (they are also like that under the leather). This allowed the brass to bed around the nice curvy bits of Sjaantze's chest, rather than creating a strange boxlike container around her chest.

Sjaantze, lining up leather straps and punching holes.

The notches for the matching piece.

Note the rivets. Those are copper rivets and Sjaantze hand-peen'd all of them. The look great, but were a serious PITA.

The top and bottom are trimmed in a long folded piece of leather, sewn onto the brass through pre-punched holes. This was also a PITA.


And the back...

Now with working ticking bits!

From the inside.

So we took away a lot of useful information on this sort of thing.

1. Copper rivets look awesome, however they suck and are expensive. Next time we may try the quick rivets.

2. The clockwork came from a vintage Big Bird clock. it is ok for this, but I think we'll look for a skeleton clock for the next time... the moving gears in this design are off to the side and while the ticking is great, you have to be very close to see the gears move.

3. Thicker brass. This stuff was very soft and the slightest error showed. We'll need to go up to the next gauge for future projects.

All in all, a success!

Literate Chaotic / RataWriMo
« on: November 01, 2008, 11:45:13 pm »
Doughnutus Illuminatus: The Bavarian Cream Seers


A cool fall breeze slowly ambled its way down Sandusky St., occasionally picking up a leaf that caught its interest. The brown and yellow, crimson and orange, any color other than green it seemed, took on a moment of life as it was picked up, discarded or carried along. So occupied was this young zeypher that it didn't notice the small group of nearly adult humans walking down the grassy knoll that separated the street from campus. So occupied were those young humans, that they didn't notice the amazing display of areal flotsam, which by any description of 'art' should have been in the Louvre, rather than a side street of a tiny college town in Ohio.

“But I'm telling you, this stuff works!” he said with an exasperated look on his face.

Of course, I can hear you dear reader. You want to know who 'He' is, don't you? Well, I suppose it's expected since authors seem to have set a tradition of describing their characters. 'He' is a human, male and has existed outside the womb for 19 years, 6 months, 5 days, 23 minutes and 16 seconds. Well, at least he was when I wrote this, descriptions can be tricky like that. Perhaps I should start again and try for something less subjective than age. 'He' is a Neo-Pagan, that is, he follows a belief system that existed before Jesus. Although, that's not exactly true either because complete belief systems didn't really survive the ravages of “Jesus' Love” as implemented by humans. Of course, if you were to ask other neo-pagans, they may say 'He' is a fluffy bunny, mostly because he's a bit sketchy on historical facts about these deities and much more interested in talking about his experiences with whatever given deity he happens to have a crush on at the moment, or at least so it seemed to them. Well, there I go again, still not a very static description... ah! 'He' is named Sam, 'He' has green piercing eyes, short  red hair, freckles and the build of someone that got the short end of the Gaelic genome.

“Sam, there's no way. You can't even provide me a single physical theory on what sort of energy you're talking about.” she retorted, looking at Sam like he might suggest handling rattlesnakes in another minute or two. “How is meditation and focus going to create energy or suck it out of the ground with your feet, or, I mean, what the hell does that even mean 'sucking energy out of the earth'... with your feet? You sound like a uneducated redneck!”

'She', dear readers, also has a number of dynamic descriptions. Suffice to say that most people called her 'Lanna', except for her grandmother (who called her 'Alanna, darling'). Oh, and her Dad (who called her 'My Little Lantana'). Ah, also the girls that stayed in her dorm (most names they used are not very complimentary and say more about the psychological impact of putting a bunch of hormonal girls together in a high stress environment) and the guys that happened to see her in class, on campus, walking down the street or at work in the bakery (most names they used are very complimentary but still say more about the psychological impact of putting a bunch of hormonal guys together in a high stress environment than much about Lanna herself).

Sam paused, then bravely pushed the conversation forward. “I don't care what you think Lanna, I know what I experienced. Horus and Hermes came to me while I was meditating and I could feel this transfer of energy. I can still feel it inside me right now.”

“I supposed you're gonna show me what you can do with it then, right? Maybe you can make a fireball, or 'magic missile'. Or, maybe you can go get some X-Rays and see if you accidentally swallowed your d20, rather than some energy from Horus and Hermes... I mean, those two gods aren't even from the same mythology!”

“Aguh! You just don't get it do you? It doesn't matter if they're from the same specific mythology. All of the gods are the same, they were just taken from the previous culture and called different things by different people. That's why...” he was interrupted by the third member of this small cluster of [Humans/Americans/College Kids/Elitists/Nerds/Philosophers/Future of Our Planet...] (take your pick, I'm not gonna tell you what to call them).

“That's why all those people on Live Journal call you a Fluffy Bunny. Do you really think that all of these different myths are all about the same gods? So the Egyptians and the Romans and all of them, they all followed the same gods? Maybe the Aztecs too? I don't remember reading about Shamanic Rain Dances in Odysseus.” Christopher said in a somewhat patronizing tone. “Believe whatever bullshit you want man, just do some research and quit making shit up.”

Christopher was here on a big scholarship, because Christopher was very smart. Christopher even had a paper published in a peer reviewed journal which documented how a bunch of frogs had died due to a toxin in a new fertilizer his father had started using on their huge farm in Idaho. Christopher also got to live in the 'Tree House', a small-living unit on campus. It was still communal housing, but it was a heck of a lot better than a dorm. Everyone who lived in the 'Tree House' were environmentalists. No matter what major they were focused on, their purpose was clear, they were to be the future defenders of our earth, our forests, our wildlife, our habitat. The war was on, the lines were clear and the battle needed a new generation of soldiers. Christopher was very serious when it came to the Environment. The 'Environment' always started with a capital 'E' when he said the word.

Any mention of LJ often upset Sam to an extreme degree. He'd been banned on three forums about serious magick and pagynism and the forums that did like his posts, were full of n00bs that made him want to pull his hair out. His sudden sullen appearance, hunched shoulders and increased speed indicated that this time was, indeed, one of those times.

As he stalked away, Lanna smirked, “They probably picked up one of his sock puppet accounts on “serious_pagans_only” or something stupid like that. Can you believe that shit he was saying about 'energy' inside of him. Useless waste of desk space!”

Well, maybe some of the words other girls used to describe Lanna were pretty accurate.

Christopher shrugged, by that point they had arrived at “Yumee Dounuts”, which was their destination and coffee seemed much more interesting than Lanna's self righteous lack of belief. Coffee, a fresh apple fritter and then 4 hours of standing in front of a cash register.

Chapter One: Yumee, Yumee, Yumee, I Got God in My Tummy

'Yumee Dounuts' had spent quite a bit of grant money the year before and was now one of the nations first organic, completely green bakeries. In fact, most of the campus had 'gone green' and the bits that hadn't, were to be converted over the next two years. From Christopher's point of view, that was the reason he was here. The tour had left him practically in tears, even though the Methodist foundations of the University were a bit tough to swallow on occasion. Work, was unfortunately, one of those occasions. 'Kerri With An I' was the assistant manager and 'Kerri With An I' loved 'Jesus With A J', and everyone who met Kerri knew it. Immediately. He remembered watching college movies where a cute girl came up and asked “What's your sign?' (It was 'Cancer', he looked it up before he came to college). Kerri was probably the prettiest girl he'd ever seen so when she approached and sweetly asked “Have you been Saved?” it threw him entirely off. Kerri didn't really dress like a Christian (aren't they supposed to wear hats or something?), and she had great taste in music, but when it came to anything about religion, she was a walking, talking Jesus Freak.

Of course, that's only how other kids saw her. Kerri never thought she was all that pretty and she really didn't consider herself a Jesus Freak. She just couldn't understand why so many people didn't get as excited about the Lord as she did. Everyone back home had loved Jesus for their whole lives and they either went to her church or the Nazarene one, or the well, the Catholics ... but she'd always been a bit suspicious of them. Kerri's parents, on the other hand, thought that she was a gift from God and the delight of their lives. Her decision to attend Wesleyan, over a more secular college made them very proud. Her work in Campus Ministries, since she got to college, just showed them how well their Godly Training had rooted and grown to the praise of His Name.

Obviously, they didn't know about her new clothes.

The campus bakery was the center of student life. Coffee, light music, delicious pastries and wireless Internet made the bakery a great place to write your paper, check your email or furiously type away at a blog entry or yet another lame on-line writing competition. It was decent money for a campus job, especially if you had grants and scholarships and most of the time, the crew of the 'three pm shift' got along just fine. Sam, Lanna, Christopher and Kerri With an I did anyway. Josh, on the other hand, the guy that ran the deep fryer, didn't talk much at all. Josh was older than the rest of them and had apparently just sort of stayed in college rather than graduating. His course list looked like someone had rolled dice to pick out which courses to enroll in. Philosophy, Chemistry, Liberal Arts, Physics, Psychology, Journalism, one class in entomology and nothing that looked anywhere close to actually qualifying him for a degree. Everyone on Campus had heard the rumors; that he had been top of his class and had some ungodly IQ. “What a waste of talent”, everyone thought.

“Information Wants To Be Free”, “Truth Will Out”, “The Light Gets Brighter and Brighter”, all of these are correct in some sense. In our story, Information was flying fast and furiously. Knowledge from an college education, plus the different life experiences of each student were coming together to create Information. Inside this tiny donut shop, Information is about to come bursting through the sides, like a overfilled Long John with maple icing.

Or Kill Me / Are Americans Stupid?
« on: July 18, 2008, 10:23:21 pm »   :eek: :roll: :eek: :sad:

Just Kill Me. Kill Me Now. Please?

Pages: 1 2 3 [4] 5 6