Jump to content
Banner by ~ Ice Princess Silky

Randimaxis

Retired Staff
 View Profile  See their content

  • Posts

    3,562

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by Randimaxis

  1. Randimaxis
    Once upon a pawn, there were three people named 'Tiny', but only two of them didn't matter to this story, so that's the last you'll hear of them.
    At any rate, Tiny had a little mansion in the headwinds of the foothills, and he spent his days there pretending to be a rich foreign oil baron, but not a RED one, 'cause then they send Snoopy in to kill you.  Still, Tiny made a living skimming women in linen into cinnamon incense within 'em - and let me tell you, it wasn't easy; he had to live up to a number of standards, and nobody had even told him a number yet!  Why, the guy - no lie - would sigh and sigh, my oh my, and wondered 'why should I not just die?'
    But that's where the story starts getting weird.
    See, the overlord of Galaxy X-19 was on their way with an entire fleet of street feet, sweet on beat and overly-discreet, yet elite and neat - though prone to overheat.  Tiny was going to be their first, second, third AND Home Plate contact, as they miscalculated the angle of approach to his property within the measure of space-time... aaaaaaand ended up in his homemade swimming pool filled with grape Kool-Aid; strangely, not a one of them felt Aid-ed at all, once the smoke cleared, the overlord was wanting to deal with Tiny directly, and possibly disintegrate him... but only if he was a rude ass.
    Tiny, it turned out, charmed the overlord and actually managed to arrange a strange arrangement, mang - the overlord would leave Earf alone, in exchange for Tiny's eternal love and undying loyalty.  Tiny swore it, then after his mama washed his mouth out for swearing, he gave his utmost loyalty and complete affection to the invading overlord.
    It had nothing to do with the overlord just happening to look like a beautiful, busty woman with four arms and with the strength of two yaks, plus nine thousand.  Okay, very little to do with it.  At least, that's what Tiny swears, and he says he's sticking to it.
    So now that the evil weevil of Skreevil was toast, they could begin with the part where they ride off into the sunset in their 1971 Cadillac El Dorado convertible with no top (or steering columnmnmnmn), at which point they burned to little crispy charcoal because they foolishly rode directly INTO the sunset, and it set their little bitty hearts ablaze...
    With pain.  Searing, flesh-melting pain.
    Don't you just love a good dramatic romance?
     
  2. Randimaxis
    Allow me to begin by saying that I am weird; remember that.
    I've been on this site for many a moon, and I have experienced a number of joyous moments, a small hoofull of sad or trying ones, a great amount of fun ones and even one or two angry ones.  All those moments, do understand, will live on in my mind for as long as I can remember to hold down the [RESET] button before I turn my mind off each time I manage to sleep.  There are a surprisingly large number of individuals who have become fun and fine friends during my time here; some have left, and one of two have even ascended to Cloudsdale, so to speak.  There's a number of dopey, silly and just plain embarrassing things that I've contributed to during my time here, and there's even more moments I've shared with folks here that I shall treasure for the rest of my existence.
    But that's not why I'm writing this.
    I have to tell you wonderful folks a few things; I have to get you to see things from my perspective, if you ever want to understand why things are the way they are.  Because with three, you get eggroll.  And this is only a single, passing point on the map before reaching five.  Because five is right out, you see - they said so in the film, and I'll not be one to begrudge them that, since they did it before I did this.  I figure it's a fair cop.
    But that's not why I wanted to write this out for you fine, wonderful folks; that has little to do with it, but it does have some bearing as to what I'm engaging you about.  It doesn't matter one whit about stuff like the above wasted paragraph, because the subject of this particular blog entry is one of the heart.  And possibly of the stomach.  Maybe even in the colon; we don't know - the lab boys say they'll get back to us on it.  And they will, too - as they say in the Main Hall; no work, no eat.  Those bastards got lazy and complacent during their time in college; I say we mow 'em down with 300 things at once on their first day; that way, if they still manage to do it, you know they're a keeper.
    Still, I have to tell you why I had to finally sit down and write out this blog entry; I mean, it's not like I'm just sitting in bed, playing my XBOX One in between Overwatch matches and RP replies, y'know?  Okay, that's the way it was when I didn't have a job, mayhaps... but that's not important at the moment.  Well, semi-important, at best.  Maybe a bit more than I give it credit for, sure, but not as much as folks tend to make such a fuss about... and trust me, people will make a fuss over anything.  LITERALLY.
    But I'm getting off track, here - the idea is that I'm supposed to be telling you about something that's been on my mind for quite some time now.  It's something that affects you, that affects me, that could possibly affect everything... but, most likely, it won't affect a thing, and my personal horror and paranoia is all for nothing.  Still, gotta keep an ear out for such possibilities; hunt them down when they appear, and show up with my rubber TOMY water-gun.  Show 'em all who's Boss then, am I right?

    No, no... I should stay on track.  There's too much to say to not take the opportunity to say it.
    At any rate, I just wanted to make sure to communicate my point here, so that in the future, it can be clearly told that I wasn't any sort of compliant accomplice of anyone else's agenda here.  What I do, I do of my own free will, my own choice, my own pinkie toe, my own liver, my own 5th vertibrae; the actions I take are nobody's but my own, and I will end up owning up to them, as I don't believe in owning down to anyone.  That's just dumb.
    But to be completely honest with you all, I can't ever seem to be able to spell out loud, verbally.  I mean, typing or writing?  Eeyup, I have those down PAT... but verbally?  No way.  It's like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube with your sense of smell alone.  Still, you give me a writing utensil and a dry scrap o' paper, and I can take over the world!  I mean, really, do you have ANY IDEA what folks actually talk about around you?  Listen in on the right convos, and you can even get passwords and pin numbers - and being clever is being quiet as you gather those all up, and send them off to whomever you please... possibly even someone who washes behind their left knee only on every seventh Thursday, back behind the school bleachers, in the middle of the day, because it was hot and she was pretty, okay?  It wasn't MY fault she had a 'wardrobe malfunction'!
    Still, I think it's finally time for me to approach the crux of this blog post, at long last.  I don't think I want to stall any further. *sigh*  Here goes:
    To all of you who have loyally and completely read the drivel above, I say thank you; the title of the blog entry was nothing more than bait to bring you here, so that you would intently read the chaotic ramblings of an old smartass like me, just to see what 'dire' news might have followed.  For those of you who have made it this far, this entry was written; I have no plans to leave this site any time soon, but now I'm amused that you read through all that silliness above just to get to this point.  I say unto you: April Fool's.  Consider yourselves pranked, and you're welcome.
    I warned you at the very beginning, didn't I?  
    Thank you to everyone who ever communicated, reacted or even just passingly waved at me; I love each and every one of you, and will remember many of you for a long, long time.  Keep up the good work, Forums - excelsior!
     
  3. Randimaxis
    Rhenny Blackwater was one of the members of my family who was a zebra; genetics from Star Blackwater herself led to his birth, and he showed sheer brilliance from an early age.  He had a knack for mechanicals, and he always showed interest in such things - even into his troubled adulthood.
    Rhenny (short for Renvolio) also had random seizures, as evidenced from some of the medical reports, diagrams and charts he kept, starting at about the age of seventeen summers.  He also was the only child of his parents (Lystia and Melvin Blackwater), and as such, he was a bit coddled.  So, when they were killed in a carriage collision, Rhenny took it hard.  He also became slowly convinced that he was the target of some unseen assassins.
    To this end, with the entirety of the Blackwater fortune at his hooftips, he began using his knowledge to make himself more self-sufficient... and more 'safe'.
    For what it was worth, Rhenny did some amazing things for the quarry: he's the one who managed to get the plumbing installed, even planning and charting each pipe and putting together the machinery needed to put it into place.  He built the high wall that surrounds the quarry to this very day.  He designed the original mining equipment that was used until Silver's hiring, and he even managed to build the magnificent gem refinery that sits on the quarry lot.
    However, he was EXTREMELY paranoid, and built other things to that end.  Like a war-wagon (his words) that had a spinning blade that would potentially keep the driver safe while removing limbs from whomever might try to harm him.  He created the oil boilers that lie in wait along the quarry walls, that can heat and drop whatever substance is in them over the sides, preventing a breach by ladder.  He invented a portable cannon that could launch powerful explosives at great distances, and a smaller version that could actually be kept inside a jacket or such - the 'cannonballs' were very small, but if launched at the worst possible places, could easily kill a creature.
    THIS side of Rhenny Blackwater was scary.
    He locked himself up inside the quarry at one point, forbidding workers from even coming inside.  Sealing the doors and exclaiming himself to be invincible within the quarry walls he'd constructed, Rhenny stayed there for almost an entire month... but what happened to him is still a mystery to this day.
    When one of the ousted workers came by to see if he had come to his senses, they found the quarry gates wide open - and Rhenny himself was nowhere to be found.  Not a hair, not a drop of blood, not even a corpse... he was just gone, as if he'd been spirited away by some unknown force.  As my ancestors didn't ALL stay at the quarry, his place was taken up by Jameson Blackwater, a nephew to Rhenny's parents, and the Blackwaters continued their legacy within the mighty walls of the Blackwater Quarry.
    However, I've done a little research into things, and here's what I found:
    Rhenny apparently had a strange disease that clouded his mind as he grew older; many of his medical records indicate that he might have had early-onset dementia, and that would be supported by his paranoia towards 'unknown assassins'.  He wasn't very diligent about keeping himself fed or clean towards the end of his life, and those things may have contributed to his passing.
    But the fact that no body was ever recovered?
    Well, it seems as if there WAS another Blackwater who'd been visiting him; Trelaney Blackwater, a pegasus mare who grew up in Appleloosa, and whose parents brought her over to play with him when they were younger.  There were a few letters from her, each asking about how things were going, how he was feeling, and all of that... but in the will leftover from Rhenny, he never mentioned her.  Not once.
    Also, there are records that state she had a semi-regular carriage travelling to and from the quarry, and those dates became a bit more frequent as his paranoia climbed.  Also, there is a painting of her - by Rhenny's hoof - in the southern hall, next to the one of Horace Blackwater.  She looks... suspicious, to put it nicely.  Her muzzle is smiling, but that smile doesn't seem to reach her eyes, for some reason; maybe it was just Rhenny's way of portraying her, but it leaves a funky taste in my proverbial mouth.
    In addition to this, there's also some scant evidence that Rhenny hadn't quite paid off the workers he'd tossed out; their last paychecks were never issued.  It might mean some foul play on their behalf, but I have no other evidence to support this theory.  However, if they had, say, perhaps put poor Rhenny into part of the walls, or the still-drying foundations of the refinery, it would be a fair explanation as to why his body's never turned up.  I'm scared that the day may come when the old foundations are cleared for new ones... and bones will be found among the rubble.
    But Rhenny's inventions still grace the quarry today, albeit with a few changes - the war-wagon was slowly retuned to become 'Benny', and some of the pipes have been replaced over the years, the most recent replacement being Hopper #6's faulty lines after they literally blew up a while back.  But there are a few things of his creation that are interred within the Blackwater Vault, such as his small cannon and its' cannonballs, among a few other rather dastardly devices.
    I hope that no one ever stumbles across them, or Equestria would get a very different view of us; we'd go from ne'er-do-wells to sinister pariahs in a hoofbeat, even if we never used any of those things against anyone.  They're just so... destructive and deadly.  I find it a wake-up call to the possibilities that a Blackwater might have, were they of a wicked enough mindset to use them.
    In conclusion, Rhenny Blackwater was an individual that created much of what the quarry is today, but had a dark and sinister life that came to an abrupt and unknowable end.  Honestly, I hope he managed to find some sort of peace, and left the quarry to seek his future in the world, leaving behind the quarry for others to care for as he explored and shared his kinder inventions with everyone he met.
    However, I'm more afraid that his end wasn't as kind as I hope for.  Whatever the case may be, perhaps someday the mystery will be revealed, and at least there might be something to inter within the hallowed hills of Blackwater Ridge, because I think he still deserves that.  Regardless of his latter days, the quarry wouldn't be the wonder it is without him.
     
     
  4. Randimaxis
    This timeline is a loose interpretation of the Black/Blackwater family timeline; it will likely go through some revisions as time goes by.
     
    -=ORIGINAL DRAFT: 12/18/2016=-

    Legend
    EP = earth pony
    UC = unicorn
    PG = pegasus
    BP = bat pony
    Z = zebra
     
    [ONE YEAR AFTER THE REIGN OF DISCORD (1 AD)]
     
    Serious Black (EP) purchases a deed to some 'profitable land'
    Land turns out to be 'worthless' mountain scrubland, but Serious determined to stay
    Discovers an ENORMOUS deposit of emerald
    Marries and settles on the property
     
    [7 AD]
     
    The area is fully marked off; turns out to be FAR more than Serious believed he had purchased
     
    [25 AD]
     
    Chisel Black (UC) graded as a Master Sculptor at a young age (19 Summers)
    Spends the next thirty years sculpting statues in her Garden
    Dies after finishing her masterpieces, the Celestia and Luna statues
     
    [55 AD]
     
    Serious' original emerald deposit is exhausted
    The Black family begins to branch out into the rest of Equestria
     
    [56 AD]
     
    Pitch Black (EP) detonates a massive amount of explosives; uncovers nine more emerald deposits
    Family begins returning to mine the new findings
     
    [76 AD]
     
    Official first Black Mine established
     
    [95 AD]
     
    Skye Black (BP), who idolizes Luna, joins the Night Watch
    Dies of a broken heart when Luna/Nightmare Moon is banished
     
    [101 AD]
     
    Painted Black (PG) involved in cave-in
    Saves the lives of seven workers, but buried alive as a result
     
    [188 AD]
     
    Lotus Black (EP) is accused of murder (wrongly)
    Grows a wall of her own plant creations (Crimson Flytraps) to 'dissuade' visitors
    Seals off the Black land from Equestria for fifty years
     
    [231 AD]
     
    Sundae Black (UC) breaches the plant barrier with fire
    Begins trade with nearby Canterlot
     
    [418 AD]
     
    Weapon Black (UC), the last of the family line, founds the Black Forge
    Begins crafting masterwork weapons, armor and jewelry
     
    [420 AD]
     
    Weapon Black rescues an escaped zebra slave named Stelo (Z)
    Faces down mercs sent to reclaim her
    Changes both his name and hers to reflect their freedom
    (Wyland Blackwater - Star Blackwater)
    Wyland marries Star
     
    [519 AD]
     
    Jake Blackwater (EP) hires a group of miners to help in the Blackwater Mines
    Discovers Fire Opal deposit, proving the mines hold more than emeralds
     
    [602 AD]
     
    Harland Blackwater (UC) takes over the property, evicts ALL other Blackwaters
    Attempts an embargo on Blackwater Emeralds to drive up their value
    Undermined by disposed family members; run out of Equestria, fate unknown
     
    [644 AD]
     
    Horace Blackwater (UC) turns the Black Forge into the Blackwater Distillery
    The alcohol brewed there is so potent it kills three stallions
    Horace refuses to answer for the deaths; Blackwaters banned from entering Canterlot
    Horace 'accidentally' killed by huge falling boulder - boulder hollowed out, becomes Blackwater Vault
     
    [721 AD]
     
    Rhenny Blackwater (Z), in a paranoid fit, becomes convinced of secret plots to murder him
    Begins construction of ten-story tall outer quarry walls (and other defenses)
    Mysteriously vanishes without a trace; manor reclaimed by family
     
    [808 AD]
     
    Grounds officially titled the Blackwater Industrial Gemstone Quarry
    Lukaz Blackwater (BP) begins construction of Gem Refinery
    Dies during Cutie Pox outbreak before completion; job finished by children
     
    [911 AD]
     
    Natural gas explosion in Blackwater Mines; kills 18 ponies
    Touted as worst disaster in Blackwater history
    Shandara Blackwater (UC) blamed; loses half the amassed family fortune in reparations
     
    [1001 AD]
     
    Blackwater family celebration of 1000 year anniversary
    Party lasts for six months straight
    Princess Celestia forgives past transgressions, lifts Canterlot ban on Blackwater family
    Owner Forrest Blackwater (EP) dies from falling off cliff while drunk, ending celebrations abruptly
     
    [1015 AD]
     
    Benjamin Blackwater (EP) killed in cave-in
    Twin brother Larrimore Blackwater (EP) begins work on "Benny"
     
    Other dangerous quarry 'defenses' made safe and utilitarian
     
    [1044 AD]
     
    Germaine Blackwater (UC) sells 'tonic made from emeralds' to Ponyville ponies
    Tonic causes many ponies problems; Germaine seen as 'wicked and irresponsible'
    Germaine imprisoned; quarry transfers ownership to Erasmus Blackwater (EP)
     
    [1046 AD]
     
    Luther Blackwater (EP) born
     
    [1061 AD]
     
    Erasmus Blackwater begins embezzling from the Blackwater Mines
    Discovered by his son Luther; frames son for embezzlement
    Luther beaten nearly to death by angry miners
     
    [1062 AD]
     
    Luther Blackwater pursues legal rights to Blackwater Quarry
    Wins court case, earns cutie mark; has Erasmus arrested
    Fires entire staff - hires all new workers
    Meets Vylia Silverlet (PG); falls in love
     
    [1063 AD]
     
    Luther Blackwater marries Vylia Silverlet
     
    Chuck List (EP) hired on
     
    [1064 AD]
     
    Harcourt Blackwater (EP) born
     
    [1071 AD]
     
    Knee Slapper (UC) and 'Taps' (PG) hired on
     
    [1077 AD]
     
    Daxter Blackwater (EP) born
     
    [1082]
     
    Redd Handid (UC) hired on
     
    [1085 AD]
     
    Oglevy Blackwater (PG) born
     
    [1087 AD]
     
    Harcourt and Luther argue; ends with Harcourt striking Luther in anger
    Harcourt leaves, Luther forbids his return
     
    [1090 AD]
     
    Silver Studs (UC) hired on
     
    [MODERN-DAY EQUESTRIA (1097 AD)]
     
    Luther Blackwater (EP) runs Blackwater Quarry, sees highest profits in generations
     
     
  5. Randimaxis

    A Shadow Of A Shadow

    By Randimaxis,

    *sigh* 
    Sometimes, nostalgia hits when you least expect it... and makes you wonder 'what if?'  The first MAJOR roleplay I ever got into on this site was so bright... but now, it sits in the archives, lost and faded.  I happened across a post that reminded me of it, and I had to look it up.  But let's start at the beginning...

    When I first started on this site, I was all sorts of gung-ho about trying to join a roleplay.  I kept checking out other RPs, asking folks on OOC threads, and generally being a total n00b when it came to getting into something.  Still, I searched around for a good, long while until I found one that would let me in - and it hadn't even gotten started yet!  So I took a good look at what the storyline was to be about:
    Sombra hadn't been defeated when the Crystal Empire reappeared; he won.  And afer the public execution of Cadence and Shining Armor, the bastard started to slowly take over city afer city - and what he couldn't have, he destroyed outright.  Little by little, the faith and hope that ponykind held began to dwindle from a sun's worth... all the way down to a single light in the darkness.  Though there were small pockets of refugees, the whole of the Equestrian nation lie inside a shadow...
    Sombra's Shadow
    Our game picked up a number of years later, where we portrayed sneaky refugee ponies who had a beacon of hope for the world.  As the story progressed, we discovered that the Elements of Harmony still existed... and they needed new bearers to wield them.  The first element reborn, as it turned out, was Generosity... and it found a new bearer in my own character.
    Harcourt Blackwater's entire family had been dealing with the villains behind the scenes... but were put down by a rival family, the Darkmanes, to improve their own standing on Sombra's power queue.  Harcourt, who had been travelling abroad for a number of years, came home to find his whole family slaughtered.  With only a single piece of evidence, he knew whom had been responsible... but he was unable to avenge their deaths.  By the time the story started, he was going grey, and was towards the end of his forties.  He was a master thief, and was in the process of teaching his favorite student how to do as he did.
    The story was EPIC, and we spent many hours putting together quite a lovely tapestry of intrigue, action, horror and the occasional tearjerker moment.  It was so good, I even made banners and such to go along with it, and made special ones for each player.  I had my own little possibilities in mind, and made what I feel to STILL be some of my best posts there.  It was glorious.  It was marvelous.
    It wouldn't ever be finished.
    A disagreement between the two co-GMs led to a falling out, and our villain-player dropped out of it.  That started a slow chain reaction of others who fell aside, and soon left only three of us... and, when no replies came from the GM anymore, I knew I had to face the truth... that Sombra's Shadow, one of the best times I ever had doing online RP, was over.
    For about a year afterwards, I had trouble trying to get my head into any other RP; eventually, I managed to move on, and did my utmost best to try to just let go of it.  I got into other roleplays, and with my experiences with the one game, it led me to spread that experience throughout ALL my latter RPs, including ones I ran.  I was reignited, and I then strode forward into the RP world with knowledge that I had done a fine job, and that I was ready to take on all comers.
    That being said, I still never forgot that one incredible roleplay.
    To this day, a part of me wonders if maybe I should try to go back to the original thread and finish it alone.  I believe I'm at least an okay writer, and I've spent countless hours thinking up what could have happened, and how it all would have ended.  Another part of me wants to bug the HELL out of the original folks involved, and BEG for some sort of decent ending to the story we poured so much of ourselves into... even though at least half of that crew no longer comes here.
    But the thought remains.  And still, as early as this morning, I find myself yearning for closure.  Aching for a need that most likely will go unheeded.  Wishing I'd been better, or more active, or even just more supportive to the others... which I hadn't been lacking in, but I could've done MORE...
    Well, for what it's worth, I STILL feel like that story was one of my better attempts at roleplay - especially the nightmare sequences - and my time wasn't wasted there.  I feel like it serves as a reminder that, even if something seems perfect and good, there can always be rain for your picnic.  But even with that thought, there still lies a spark of Harmony's Light that lives on in me.
    And who knows?  Maybe one day, I WILL return to it, and finish it properly.  Only time will tell, I suppose.
    And to the illustrious crew that starred in this incredible roleplay... 
     
    Jonas Darkmane (now Alastor)
    Pucksterv
    Magos Amphrose (now That One Techpriest You Used To Know)
    Count Paradox
    Stardust*
    and ~Octavia~
     
    ... I say unto each and every one of you that it was an honor roleplaying with you all, and I hope that the future brings nothing but good times for each and every one of you.
    For Harmony's Light... excelsior.
     
     
     
  6. Randimaxis

    Forward.

    By Randimaxis,

    Forward.
     
    I am expected to move forward.
    Regardless of whether or not I can handle it.
    Regardless of even if I'm going to make it through.
    Still, the forward momentum is expected.
     
    Alone and weary of my Life's lot,
    I'm apparently to blame for everything that's wrong.
    Statistically speaking, it can't all be me, right?
    Still, the forward momentum is expected.
     
    People I know are dying faster now.
    It feels like everything is winding up to fall down.
    So many faces that I once knew well are gone.
    Still, the forward momentum is expected.
     
    Is this the fate that Life has picked for me?
    If so, I want to make an executive choice, here;
    I don't have to take the abuse from anyone.
    I can move forward without being forced to.
     
    As
    long
    as
    I
    keep
    moving
    Forward.
     
     
  7. Randimaxis
    As a kid, I designed a vehicle, driver and power for the M.A.S.K. line of toys (concept on paper, in pencil AND crayon, because I was a creative kiddo), and sent it in to the Kenner Corporation.  I received a letter back from them, stating that they would keep it on file, and they appreciated my interest - a stock 'thanks' letter, in other words.  Several months later, they released a new toy in the line that was, essentially, my design - right down to the mask's power.  The vehicle was named the Iguana (not my name for it, but time has taken the original name from me), and the Mask was Mudslinger.  I didn't want any money or anything... but it would have been nice to make at least a passing mention, right?  *shrug*  Eh, it was a thing, and it's kinda cool to know I made something that a company actually liked enough to build & put out there.  I don't want compensation at all - the fact I know I did it is enough for me.
     
    I am actually on the cover of a famous magazine.  Check out the December 2006 issue of Thrasher Magazine, the one with the collage of pictures towards the bottom.  Among them, there is a dillhole grinning like a lunatic wearing a Security shirt... that dillhole is yours truly, at my security job when the Toy Machine company came through during one of their King Of The Road challenges.  The parking lot of the offices I guarded had what they called the 'perfect sweet rail', and they were getting pics for the magazine.  Being a long time fan of Tony Hawk's Pro Skater, I let 'em do their thing; they were harming no one (except themselves on occasion, when a trick bailed), and they gave me some cool stuff... including a pair of skater socks.  Those socks were the most exquisite pieces of footwear I have ever had the pleasure of putting on my feet.  I wore them 'til they simply fell apart on me, eighteen years later.
     
    My father was a Folk Musician - more 'Kingston Trio', less 'Bob Dylan'.  My mother was... heh... *sigh* she was a topless waitress at a burlesque club in Atlanta, back in the late 60's.  She insisted they have a topless wedding - NO SHIT.  How did I discover this fact?  They told me, right?  HELL no; my parents were so straight-laced, I didn't get to spend a night at a friend's house until I was 13 years old.  A relative, mayhaps?  Uh-uh; all of 'em, so tight-assed, they'd swallow a dollar and shit pennies.  Nope - I found an old newspaper article from the Atlanta Journal about it, hidden among my mother's clippings and scrapbook stuff, discovered while I was being nosy as a tweenager does.  She had already had my half-brothers and sisters, and two of them had children as well (she had me, her last, at 45)... which is why the article about my mother's topless wedding was titled, and I quote:  "GEE Grandma - What Big BOOBS You Have!"  *chuckling facepalm*
     
    During my fourth grade Arts class, our teacher had brought in a batch of paste buckets; Elmer's School Paste.  There were about eight little pails in all (I think, this was a loooooooooong time back... like, the 80's), and he was so pleased he was finally able to let us glue things, like construction paper projects.  As I grabbed one before everyone else did, I noticed a very light, minty smell coming from it when I opened it up.  Natch, I decided that tasting was believing, so I tried it.  It was... strangely delicious.  So, as a conniving little bastard, I hid my bucket behind the supply cabinet at the back of the classroom.  Over the course of that whole school year, I ate that entire bucket of paste... sneaking back for a quick dip from it, hiding it under my chair during art lectures to snack on, such and so forth.  Consider that for a moment: an ENTIRE.  QUART.  PAIL.  Of PASTE.  *chuckleblush*  Eeyup... I was the weird kid.  Hands down.
     
    I had a bicycle accident at the age of fifteen that ruined my teeth permanently, ground flesh off of both knees and opened a hole in my own chin that was deep enough to see my own jawbone.  The first thing I heard when I came to was the guffawing laughter of the neighborhood bully, who was riding passenger with his mom and just happened to be stopped at the red light.  I dragged the bike (bent front wheel) and my own sorry carcass to the pool supply store owned by a friend of the family (Dad's church friends); the guy took one look at me and blanched.  I told him I wanted to see how bad it was, and he said that was a bad, BAD idea.  I insisted (being a teenager), and so he led me to the bathroom.  He stood behind me to make sure I didn't just faint out from the sight.  I looked... turned my head to both sides... stared at the hole in my chin and carefully, oh so carefully, I opened and closed my mouth, making it move around the bone itself.  It actually didn't hurt at all, honestly.  While the family friend was waiting for me to faint, I simply moved my jaw around a bit and said, "cool".  He looked at me like he thought I was now concussed.  (I wasn't; the doctor confirmed it later.)  Eight stitches - to date of this writing, the only time I have ever required poly-thread inside my flesh.
     
    ... there's more, sure... but I wanna save something to talk about later, y'know?  Still, thanks for your time - I very much appreciate it. 
    - R.                                                               
     
  8. Randimaxis

    Broad Horizons

    By Randimaxis,

    My wife threw me out back in November of 2018.
    The reasons why were irrelevant - I was no longer welcome in the embrace of the woman I'd known since middle school, and my kids were now living somewhere I was not.  Something like that can sandblast the will to live out of someone with the force of a balefire bomb, and at the time, I might not have been suicidal (I've experienced it from the side of losing a dear friend; I won't do that to anyone if I can help it), but I was at the bottom of the proverbial barrel.  I felt that there was nothing left for me, and that I was doomed to spend the remainder of my existence in abject misery.
    So naturally, as I do when I oft get sad, I read.  I read all the books I owned at least twice, and even borrowed a few from good friends... but there's always more to read.  Lately, I'd finished scouring FimFiction, and had enjoyed finishing last year's great find for me - Fallout: Equestria.  LittlePip and co. were wonderful additions to my mental roster of characters and stories, and I had noticed that there had been more stories.  With all that had happened to me, I was more or less just skimming the 'recommended' section... and found Project: Horizons.
    What the hell... with all my pain, what more could it hurt?
    The next few weeks saw me reading the damn thing at every chance I got.  It DEVOURED my attention; I even neglected some of my work here on the forums, my mind eagerly delving into the world of Blackjack and her intrepid allies.  I even began, internally, to draw parallels between BJ and some of my own tribulations.  But the most important part of this introduction is to tell you that one line, like a freaking mantra, kept repeating over and over through the length and breadth of the entire tale...
    Do better.
    And I took that to heart as thoroughly and tightly as I possibly could.  It made a difference.  It made a WORLD of difference, as I started to push to mentally grab my depressed self up off the floor and make steps toward doing better than I had been. 
    I did better by drying my tears of self-pity.  I did better by forcing myself out of bed each and every day, accomplishing even the smallest thing just to prove I wasn't beaten yet.  I did better by fighting my mental demons, and seeking the truth instead of the seductive lies my paranoia was trying to feed me.  I did better by keeping a regular laundry routine, instead of letting it pile up into a living creature of dirt, sweat and loose threads.
    I DID BETTER.
    So, just like that, Project Horizons took an important place in my heart as a story I took HOPE from.  Natch, with this sort of affection for the story, I decided this year that, with the final BronyCon coming up, I was not only going to attend... but I endeavored to find myself a Blackjack plushie, so that I could have a tangible reminder of all the better I'd done because of that checkerboard-maned Security mare.  I even tried to budget out enough for a leniency of $80, just in case.
    Two days into the convention, and an unforseen bill slammed its' way into my account, cleaning me out and leaving me with a negative balance.  I didn't even have enough cash to buy a can of soda, much less a plushie.  So, even though it mentally stung me worse than a bugbear sting to the armpit, I had to let go of the idea that I'd be able to afford one at this convention - hell, I was trying to figure out how I was gonna get home.
    Still, walking through the dealer's hall, I could admire other works that befit my likes.  I saw a number of AWESOME Discords, cool buggos, stupid smexy Nightmare Moon dakimakuras, and adorkable chibi Twilys.  But there was one shelf that had a remarkably detailed and hand-painted vinyl Blackjack on a stand.  I smiled, as it was even complete with that self-confident smirk I could imagine her with, and as I looked it over, I was joined by someone else who admired it.  Natch, I began talking (as I can be a chatty bugger), and he inquired if I liked Fallout: Equestria's Project Horizons.  Of course I said yes.
    He thumbed over his shoulder and said, "Yeah? Well THIS guy wrote it."
    I turned to where he had motioned, and there was just this average, normal-looking fellow there, maybe his mid-thirties, bespectacled and friendly-like.  He lifted his hand in a slight wave and, almost as if narrating while I read it on his badge, "Hi.  I'm Somber.  Nice to meetcha."
    I... *sigh* I totally fanboyed.  I will not lie.
    I gasped, might have even given a squee, and instantly shook his hand before hugging him and shaking his hand again.  I couldn't believe it - the author of the story that had given me the inspiration and strength to carry on in one of my lowest points in life.  I mean, I wasn't fan-sessed, no... I did manage to relate a Cliff Notes version of the above story to let him know how much Blackjack's journey had meant to me.  I wanted to let him know how important it was to me.... aaaaaaaand hopefully not drive him off with my fan-gasming.
    To his credit, he never even looked fazed, and was even pleasantly surprised when I told him what it had meant to me.  He thanked me for reading, and when I mentioned I'd been trying to find a BJ plush, he grinned and said, "I know where they've got 'em - follow me, man."  So, agog and still internally squeeing, I went along with him and his friend (whose name I forgot, please don't be upset, but I mean COME ON), and we traveled through the swarm of Bronies that were there to find their own treasures.
    I was so stunned by meeting him that I didn't even realize he was taking me to buy a plushie I had no money for.
    Arriving at the booth, he gestured to a small pile of Blackjacks that were adorably minky and well-made, complete with removable Security barding and little PipBuck!  They were totes dorbs, as my daughter would say, and Somber asked the guy behind the counter how much they were.  The gentleman replied, "Sixty bucks."
    My heart crashed as the realization came home.
    I kinda... mini-panicked.  Eyes wide, I grabbed one of the booth's business cards, swearing I'd order one online and that it wouldn't take more than a single paycheck to do so, and that I'd really not expected things to go as they had for my budget for this trip, and was very earnestly trying to convince the friend that I was going to do my utmost best to get this plushie...
    Somber?  He just reached over, picked one up, pulled out his wallet and bought one.  Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a black sharpie, removed BJ from her plastic bag enough for him to pull off the back bootie (it gave her legs that cyber-look), and that's where he wrote:
    To Randi
    From Somber
    Hang in there.
    And, with a smile, he handed it to me.  "There," he said, "now you have one."
    I cried.
    I also thanked him about a dozen times, hugged him twice more,and shook his hand with BOTH of my own at least four more times.  Even though I was fangushing at level 11 at this point, he simply smiled and took all my thanks and praise humbly, wishing me a good rest-of-the-con as he and his friend moved off into the crowds again.  I'm pretty sure he was still smiling as he faded into the gathering of Bronies and Pegasisters, all here to celebrate this wonderful show that has spawned so much from so may people.
    There are a lot of folks who'll tell you that meeting a 'hero' is never all it's cracked up to be; they're arrogant, or money-grubbing, or egotistical to the Nth degree.  But sometimes, fillies and gentlecolts... sometimes, meeting a hero is exactly everything you hoped it would be, and then some. 
    To Somber himself, I say excelsior - your greatness is the massive shadow you leave behind the humble, decent man you are stretches farther than you ever imagined.  Thank you for your hard work, your insight, and your story - it's helped me to do better, and I'm sure Blackjack herself would be proud of that.
      
  9. Randimaxis
    Today.  Is.  The.  DAY.
    The Bro.  The Ny.  THE CON.
    Today, I depart for Baltimore on a Greyhound bus, a trip that will last from 2:30 PM 'til 7 AM the next day...
    I couldn't BE more stoked, right now.
    Since 2016, I've been coming to this site.  I've spent time interacting with the folks here, sharing stories or memes or even just goofing around & being chaotic and whatnot... and those things mean a LOT to me.  As someone who's always felt alone in crowds, I have to admit that my upcoming muzzle-to-muzzle meeting of so many of the folks here - on staff as well as the rest of you wonderful folks - is something that, for once, I feel like I'm really looking forward to.  Despite Aspie worries and awkward moments that will undoubtedly lie ahead, I am confident that the folks I'm going to meet here will be incredible, and that when it's all said & done, we'll all have fond memories of this momentous occasion.
    Well... i-it's momentous to me.
    Excelsior, fellow Ponyites... for Randi is bringing his CHAOS  to you. 

    Personally.
  10. Randimaxis

    Story Time: FIVE

    By Randimaxis,

    [STORY TIME]
    "YOU'RE HERE, YOU RIBITTY ASSHOLE!  I CAN SMELLLLLLLLL YOUUUUUUUU..!"
    Argyle Fox looked like poop.  He smelled like it too; he'd not changed his pants since finding Myrna Mole and the message across her apron.  The message that had led to Argyle's slow, deliberate mental breakdown - and boy, had it been a doozy!
    First was the crying, followed by the enraged screaming, a little vomiting, then much throwing and smashing of things around the room (where both Rocky and Stevie took their silent leave of the situation), leading to the crying jag again, followed by the very LOUD swearing, then back to the screaming once more, another round of puking...
    This had gone on for some time; the fox had lost track of such things as minutes, and had no interest in how much time as passing while he raved on and on.  When he stopped to take a breath, however... he noticed it wasn't just pouring rain and booming the occasional thunderclap; it was night outside.  How long had he pitched his little temper-tantrum?  Too long to save himself?  To get away?  To set up a trap or several?  To arm himself with some sort of weapon?
    He now also noticed how... alone... he was.
    So he'd began talking to himself.  At first.  But slowly, the words he spoke went from self-reminders and grumbles, to complaints and creeping paranoia, to all-out lunatic screaming at his imagined (?) opponent.  His coat was matted and disheveled, his face lined and haggard, his limbs trembly-wembly and his tail all floofy-fluffed and quivering like nummy grape jelly cubes.  He was even beginning to nervously shed his limp red fur in small clumps, leaving little patches of pink on his sorry hide.
    "DO YOU HEEEEEEEAR MEEEEEEEEE, FUCKAAAAAAAAAA!?  I'm gonna EAT... YER... BAAAAAAAAWLS!"
    He grabbed a nearby chair and, with a grand stomp, smashed a leg off of it, brandishing it like a little club, his crazed, jittery eyes seeking a target that wasn't currently there... unless it was, then Argyle was screwed.  But the adrenaline that surged through the fox's brain was now granting him as much bravado as it could - though, to outside witnesses, the stench of his soiled garments threw off the whole intimidation factor; made him look more desperate than dangerous.
    "You couldn't kill me BEFOOOOOORRRRRRRRE, you HOPPY GREEN FUCK!  And you knowWHAT!?  Do YOU wanna know WHY I tried to EEEEEEEEAT YOUUUUUUU???  Why would good ol', handsome, charming, elegant old Argyle the Fancy Fox... want to ever EEEEEEEAT YOUUUUU!?!?"
    The look on his muzzle was one that only a mind stretched to the breaking point and snapped could conceive of making the horror of a maniacal expression on his slightly mouth-foaming mug.
    "BECAAAUUUUUSE... I'M A FUCKIN' CAAAAAAR-NI-VOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRE!!!!!"
    Argyle Fox had lost his little mind.
    Suddenly, there was a clatter from the back of the room, and Argyle swiveled to look.  Though there was nothing, the paranoid fox decided there was, and with an incomprehensible scream of inarticulate rage, he charged for that end of the room.  Reaching what he thought was... well, who knew?... he began to swing wildly, each solid thump of the chair leg driving the fox more and more to swat harder and harder.  He continued to swing until the chair leg broke, and he collapsed onto the floor, panting.
    It's over it's over hes dead hes fuckin dead no more toad no more toad no more toa-
    He looked up at his unfortunate target.  It had been the body of Mean Myrna Mole, set up in a chair against the wall.  She was now an unrecognizable mess, so much gooey-blooey jelly all over the floor, the wall, Argyle, the chair, even the ceiling!
    The fox's breathing became even more ragged, more frantic as he tottered up from the floor and began stalking his (possibly imaginary) foe.
    "Myrna... poor Myrna... YOUUUUUU did that, didn't you!?  DID NOT YOUUUU!?!?  You clever... fucking... TADPOLE!"
    Something slammed into the back of Argyle's head HARD, and he reeled as he fell to the floor... however, he was far from crippled, as pure fear drove the neurotic fox to spin and twist to face his attacker directly, ready to destroy who or whatever was there.
    On the floor was Shiny's brain; it had been pulled down from above, and was now sitting there on the floor after having struck the fox.  Argyle could almost hear the robot's mechanical laughter, mocking him as he sat there and shook like a leaf in a hurricane.
    "DON"T YOU LAUGH AT MEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"
    He gave the brain a vicious kick, sending it careening into the kitchen... and making Argyle howl in pain, as the two longest toes on that foot snapped like twigs.  Shiny's brain, after all, was still metal - the fox's toes, however, were most certainly NOT.
    He sat down and screamed in pain while grabbing his injured foot, mentally assuring himself that there was no way, shape, or form that the situation could get much worse.
    Then the lights went out.
    Argyle Fox may have had some pretty nifty night-sight, but he was still as loopy as a bowl of Cheerios - and this new development only further nudged him toward the edge of his sanity, where he already had a feeble grasp, at best.  He rose and, favoring his hurt foot, began to hobble his way back to his shiny throne.
    The throne MY throne I am king here YES I AM king here NO fucking FROG is gonna MAKE a FOOL outta MEEEEEEE...
    But the throne was occupied.  Dinah Squirrel sat in the throne, her eyes wide, cradling her threadbare tail and staring, non-blinking, at Argyle.
    "You earned this."
    There was no expression on her face; her vacant stare almost seemed to belie that she wasn't even really here, in a consciousness sense.  But that stare was directed FULLY at the haggard-looking fox, and the lack of her blinking threatened to send him over the edge into Gibbering Crazy Town.
    "Reckoning has come to you, you foxy bastard..."
    It wasn't angry, nor yelling, nor even pouty - the squirrel's words sounded flat, emotionless... and DEADLY CERTAIN.
    "... and that reckoning has green skin."
    "SHUT UUUUUUUUUP!"
    "You can say you're a big shot... that you're the 'king' around here... but we both know that's a damned lie..."
    "SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUUUUUUUUP!!!!!"
    "... we both know what you are, don't we?"
    He spun on Dinah, murder in his eyes and foam dripping from his muzzle.
    "I'LL FUCKING END YOUUUUUU!"
    Dinah smiled sadly.  "You ain't shi-"
    The fox gave a thunderous howl, and jumped at the poor squirrel - but he was struck right in the middle of his tummy by what felt like a miniature Mack truck.  He flew backwards at an alarming rate of speed, slamming full-tilt into the wall and feeling (and hearing) his left arm give a sharp snap.  Hitting the ground, he wailed in misery and frustration.
    Looking down at his midsection, he saw a long, wet and webbed footprint, right in the center of his mass.
    ... webbed...
    He looked up, and as soon as his eyes locked on the figure standing in front of Dinah and the shiny throne, his ears drooped and his bladder released once more.
    Big Joe Toad was standing there - big as life and twice as sassy.  No longer clad in just a hankerchief and a satchel, Mr. Toad was now wearing a little leather jacket, tiny little froggy shades, little froggy bluejeans and little froggy brass knuckles.  All this was topped off with a little froggy eyepatch, sitting neatly over the eye that Argyle himself had popped with a crowbar.
    His face bore no expression; there would be no negotiation, no pleading, no mercy.  No cutesy little plan to bail him out.  No lackeys to place between himself and his inevitable end.
    "MOTHAFUCKAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!" screamed Argyle, flying straight at Big Joe Toad with insanity in his eyes.
    The toad, moving fluidly as if he were underwater, simply sidestepped the charge, planting a very powerful knee into the fox's ribs.  The effort was rewarded with a muffled crack, and Argyle's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he gave only the slightest squeak, unable to scream any more than that.  Flopping over, Big Joe Toad then brought up his webby foot, placed it on the fox's belly button, and pushed as if he were leaping with all his little might!
    Argyle FLEW through the room and out the window, coming to a rolling stop on the cold, wet ground.  The rain felt like it was made of stones, and seemed to pound down on the fox as he lie there, panting and gasping for air.  Slowly, Big Joe Toad opened the door and walked calmly towards the prone fox.  His gait even.  His expression fathomless.  Upon reaching Argyle, he stood over him and stared down, a severe frown creasing his froggy face.
    "Get up."
    The anger redoubled on itself, and Argyle launched himself off the ground, headed straight for that froggy bastard's nec-
    Big Joe Toad brought both fists down on Argyle's shoulders, and the fox felt bones in both sides give way under the hard metal of the toad's brass knuckles.  The headbutt simply sent the fox back to the ground, moaning in pain as he tried to wish his world to stop spinning.  Big Joe Toad looked down at the waterlogged fox.
    "Get up."
    Argyle gave a wet-sounding sob.
    "Get up."
    "FFFFFFFFFFFFUCK YOUUUUUUU!!!!!"
    Argyle leapt up once more, though with his arms hanging limply by his sides, he wasn't exactly certain what he was going to do... but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try.  However, his efforts were completely in vain, as a large green foot slapped him in the muzzle, then held on with a surprisingly firm grip as Argyle's face was shoved down into the mud sideways, the fox feeling mud filling his ear and nostril while the frog's freakishly strong leg pressed down just enough to make the fox's skull bend a bit.  Finally, the toad stepped back, taking the weight off his foot.
    "Get up."
    Argyle began to cry, great racking sobs that seemed to radiate throughout his entire furry body.
    "I can't I CAN'T I CANNNNN'T!!!!!  You won't FUCKING LET ME!"
    Argyle covered his muzzle with his paws and cried like the pathetic coward he truly was, and as he sat there in his own urine sobbing like a baby, Dinah came to the doorway and looked out at the two of them.  Her stare was still vacant and blank... but now, she wore a small smile.  Her gaze came to rest on Argyle, and as the fox looked up, she made sure she had eye contact with him before she spoke.
    "We all just wanted to live our lives in peace and quiet.  In harmony.  We didn't want to hurt anyone... anyone at all..."
    She stepped outside, the rain slicking her fur down.  She slowly made her way to where she could stare down at the bastard fox.
    "... but you had to fuck that up, didn't you shitlips?"
    Her words had no power in them; she called him the name as if she were reciting poetry from memory for a class.  Argyle looked between them both, his breathing now had a reedy, whistling sound to it.
    "B-but I'm... I-I-I'm a... c-c-carn... I... vore..."
    Big Joe Toad stepped up and looked down at Argyle once more, the big green face filling the fox's vision.
    "Get.  Up."
    Argyle, shivering and near-catatonic, let his eyes widen as he stared into the face of his nemesis.
    "I... c-can't... anym-more..."
    Big Joe Toad stood up straight, and now his expression changed - a look of hard disappointment settled into the toad's features, and he reached into his jacket's inner pocket.  Argyle gave the tiniest of whimpers as he saw the Chrome .44 Revolver slide it's way out, swing though the rainy night, and come to a stop with the barrel pointed directly at the fox's face.  Around them both, the other remaining animals had gathered in a circle, watching and waiting for the promise of sweet vengeance to be fulfilled.
    Taki Turtle had his shell back on, and the smoudlering look he was giving Argyle could have curdled lava.  Sherrie Badger was worrying at a patch of Mange as she watched with rapt glee.  Stevie The Stork was rubbing his feathered palms together in anticipation, while Rocky The Rabbit held Shiny' brain in his little paws.  He didn't want their robot friend to miss out, after all.  And Dinah Squirrel now had a wisp of a smile on her lips, watching with anticipation as the fox finally got his comeuppance.
    Big Joe Toad stood there, staring down at the beaten, bloody and broken form of Argyle The Fancy Fox.  He looked right into the fox's eyes and the gaze bore down into his furry soul with that chilling reaper's glare.
    "Ain't shit."
    Five shots.
    Right in his motherfucking face.
     
    [THE END]
     
    {Da Moral}:
    Don't fuck with Big Joe Toad.
     
  11. Randimaxis
    Abortion:
    Death Penalty/Prison:
    Freedom Of Speech:
    Guns:
    Economy:
    Gay Marriage:
    Immigration:
    Religious Liberty:
    Transgenderism:
     
    ... y'know those little packets of silica gel that come in shoeboxes?  The ones that say 'Do Not Eat' all over them?  WHY does it always feel like it's a personal challenge?
    I mean, with the current vibe I've gotten from this generation, it almost feels as if I'm kindly being MOCKED for my own stupidity - like the whole 'Caution: Coffee Will Be HOT' thing; do I really need some fancy-pants corporate big-wig telling me that the HOT coffee that was ordered HOT, when handed to me HOT, will STILL BE HOT if I splash it lightly across my face and chest to wake myself up in the morning?  I mean, seriously... I never DRINK the stuff, but it most certainly CAN wake a person the hell up on a cold, crisp morning.
    It's kinda like that with the silica gel; I mean, seriously - this stuff came in a box of factory-manufactured footwear, which has been sitting in a porous little baggie on a store shelf for NO TELLING how long... and they HAVE to tell me not to EAT it?  Really?  I mean, okay, sure - there are times I should probably be told not to put things in my mouth (cigarettes, floor gum, that one guy's left big toe), but there are standards, y'all!  I seriously doubt that the world's levels of common sense are THAT far gone.
    WHY do thy put those warnings on there?  Well... because the world has become SO litigious, that anything CAN and WILL be misinterpreted to be taken advantage of... so in response, us folks who actually aren't looking to make a fast buck off of anyone we can have to suffer with THIS cockamamie crapola.  Seriously, is there anyone out there who DOESN'T feel a little dumber every time they read those little warnings?
    Well, all I know is... next time I see one of those little packets?  I'mma EAT that bastard.
    ...
    ...
    ... *facepalm* Sometimes, I'm too weird even for ME.
     
  12. Randimaxis
    ...
    ...
    ... I HATE this feeling.
    As many times as I've seen others here wallow in sadness & misery, I think it might be okay to vent here for a bit; not like I'm saying or doing anything original with this, after all.
    And, before I begin, this is NOT a cry for attention, a self-harm warning OR any kind of declaration of 'leaving' these wonderful forums... so no worries, fellow Ponyites - I just need me some good ol' fashioned whine-time.
     
    *ahem*
     
    USELESS.  WORTHLESS.  SHAME.  ANGER.  DESPAIR.  LOSS.  AGONY.  TEARS.  PAIN.
    PAIN.
    PAIN.
    PAIN.
    PAIN.
    ...
    ...
    ... suffering daily has become more of a norm for me this past month than I'm comfortable with. 
    Sure, I have my moments - we all do - but this moment has stretched out for over a month now, and I am SO sick & tired of it.  I feel it creep up on me in the morning, sideswipe me in the afternoon, and unexpectedly slap me across the face in the evening; that's not even mentioning the occasional sucker-punch that comes at random during the course of my waking hours.
    WHY am I so upset?  I won't relate that publicly; those who I've told know, those who I haven't... well, they probably shouldn't know, and it's not something I'd find appropriate to mention during this holiday season.  I do believe in merriment for the holidays... which is why I'm just not going to say it here.
    But the sheer weight of my hurting has reached the level where I have actually found it necessary to blog about it - and speaking about your pain without naming it... well, it's HARD.
    WHY do I keep finding all these rocks of pain in the shoes of my existence?  Can't I simply forge ahead & pretend it doesn't even exist?  I mean, you see folks do it all the time on TV, in movies and books, in those crappy little self-help books - so why is it so fucking difficult for ME to actually accomplish?
    Not only that, but my music... my sweet, sweet music...
    Even THAT hurts me now, with certain tunes I used to tell myself I'd never truly understand.  Music has been an ENORMOUS part of my life for such a long, long time - since I was old enough to remember - and now it feels as though even my fantasy-escape into music can't help me for long; it always comes back to THOSE songs... and I now understand & feel them more than I ever thought possible.
    And it SUCKS ASS.
    Every moment, I have been blasted with my sorrow... which occasionally becomes anger, or hate, or spite, or even outright rage... and it feels as though it will NEVER end.
    Now, I know I won't feel like this forever.  I am well aware that I'm simply hurting, and with time & patience, the pain will lessen, become more manageable, and be just another thing I sigh over when I'm by myself.  I'm not going to end my life just because I feel bad right now - that's not only a foolish thing to do, but it also snuffs out any hope, or change, or growth that I might gain from it all. 
    And far be it for me to gush on & on about how 'no one understands' or 'nobody loves me' - I KNOW folks DO care, and to say those things makes a mockery of the affection & concern they've shown me... so there's no reason for me to claim that I'm unloved.  I know folks care - it just doesn't stop the pain, sometimes.
    Maybe THAT is why I'm venting here: I feel PAIN, and even after talking with others, it just needs to be somewhere besides my own noggin... so, my thought?  If I pour it out onto something else, I can lessen its' impact on my brain, heart & soul - which, in turn, will allow me to heal just a bit more, a bit further, a bit quicker than if I didn't say a single word.
    PAIN SUCKS.  I have always disliked pain; pain of loved ones, pain of others, pain of self.  Pain, though a necessary part of living, takes so many forms, it would be ludicrous to attempt to list out every example, and stupid of me to think of trying to... there's not enough space on the Internet to hold a list of every pain that can possibly be; it's too much.
    BUT...
    As human beings, we have a number of options as to how to not only deal with pain, but LIVE with it.  Distractions such as zombifying medications, topical books written by smug-looking 'gurus', errant shock comedy, illicit substances and the ever-spinning train of alcoholism are just a few of the ways folks can make the pain lessen... but the grand idea of making pain obsolete is a lie, a sham and an outright fib, all rolled into one.
    DEALING WITH YOUR OWN PAIN IS NECESSARY TO GROW.
    I feel like I have to tell folks this fact all the damned time... and a number of them not only don't get it, but they REFUSE to; they would rather fall back into the habit of seeking attention than to face their pain & understand it.  And when people understand their pain better, they don't suffer as much & learn to get through the brunt of it more efficiently & quickly.  It's not a catch-all cure - it's just a part of being mature enough to accept that there WILL be pain... but you don't have to FALL to it.
    Pain hurts.  Hurts so bad I sometimes wonder if it will EVER end.  But I know that it won't be this difficult everyday... and someday, hopefully soon, I'll get through the worst of it, and it will simply be a scar on my heart.  An UGLY scar, perhaps...
    But a scar is a mass of healing... and it means my soul won't bleed forever.
    I'll be okay... eventually... so don't cry for me; I'm doing enough of that on my own.  And each tear I shed washes away at least a tiny portion of pain from me, so tears are okay.
    ...
    ...
    ... thank you, one and all, for your time, your concern, and your love. 
    Excelsior, friends.
     
     
  13. Randimaxis

    Discord's Wish List

    By Randimaxis,

    A glass of water, if you please
    An Applejack, for me to tease
    A metric ton of orange snow
    Another season of my show
    A song to start a fire by
    Dilithium crystals (don't ask why)
    A house-sized chunk of cheddar cheese
    A mangy dog, complete with fleas
    A big ol' mug of apple cider
    A Purple Smart, with Spike beside her
    A tambourine that's made of taffy
    A small black duck who goes by 'Daffy'
    Another round of hedge-maze games
    A stuffy Princess (no names, no names)
    A flowering field of Poison Joke
    A Doctor Whooves (one interesting bloke)
    Ten barrels of indigo whipped cream
    A punk, who's simply full of steam
    A Rainbow Dash in such a hurry
    A Rarity, who's fun to worry
    Chocolate milk - an entire sea
    A Fluttershy, complete with tea
    A thousand strands of thread, unspooled
    A million Pinkies, Mirror Pooled
    A giant color-changing lizard
    A better drawing for The Squizard
    A single piece of Celestia's cake
    (bet THAT'LL keep her Highness awake!)
    One schoolhouse full of Zap Apple Jam
    Another appearance for Flim & Flam
    Starlight's cutie-mark switching spell
    (who's the target?  I'll NEVER tell...)
    A coat of arms & legs, so fancy
    An autograph from John DeLancie
     
    ... and all these gifts, I hope you'll bring...
     
    Forget the bells;
    LET CHAOS RING!

    Ha ha ha HAAAAAAAAAAA hahahahahahahahahahahaaa!
     
     
     
     
     
     
  14. Randimaxis
    By and far, as well as sell and close, there is a momentous moment of fortuitous foresight for sights unknowable... unshowable... UNGROWABLE... to the rest of the thrice-blessed mess, I confess.  And yes, my success in besting the chest and picking the noselock free of its booger of confinement is one to be trifled - I mean, it wasn't a very good one, was it?  Don't you remember?
    Regardless of the vested interest, I still managed to find myself in the phone book - and let me tell you, it's a LOT harder to let your fingers do the walking than they ever warned me it would be!  Have you ever had to drag your entire body weight with only two fingers?  DOS DEIDOS, MI AMIGOS!  Aside from really, reeeeeeeeeeally getting some nasty paper cuts, I managed to survive long enough for the buff stuff in my duff to start playing it rough; Hell hath no fury like a sandpaper-blasted hobo with a nailgun and a flaming pickle in his beard.
    He didn't even HAVE a beard - quite a feat, but he still pulled it off.
    And it STUNG... SO... BAD to pull that beard off, especially whisker by whisker; Bucky Shoo told me it felt like a tiny little guy with a posthole-digger, walking across your face and stomping holes out of it.  If I could get him to pay attention to the blackheads, I'd settle for allowing it to continue... but the miniature man might make much more mystery moving mentally, so I taught him telepathy...
    ... well... I meant to teach him telepathy... but I taught him homeopathy instead, and now he insists that I need more mustard every day.  I told him to call the colonel and get a Clue, but he was far too busy Plumbing the professor with the lead rope in the observabrary to even pay attention.  Cheapskate - won't pay attention, homage OR it forward!  Can you believe such a persnickety person provides palatial port-a-potties?  No?  WELL GO SOAK YOUR FEET, THEY PROBABLY HURT!
    Eventually though, all things must come to an end - good or otherwise - and when it reaches that point in the current crazed narrative that I am supposed to stop
     
  15. Randimaxis
    If EVERYONE has their own opinion, then why do we make such a big deal of having a BETTER one?
    Granted, nobody's perfect - there are faiths that have outrageous rules, societies who exclude all but a few, and clubs who focus on specific groups of people... but still, it seems to have become a national pasttime to tell others how wrong they are, then to parade one's ego up & down the block for all to see.  It's a game to the current generation, to destroy someone's beliefs and then laugh about it.
    What the living Hell, folks?
    Seriously, just because you don't like or believe in something, it doesn't give you the right to tear it down & mock them for it - and it's certainly NOT okay to do.
    Now, with people that are misinformed or are ignorant, those are cases to debate... but there IS such a thing as 'Respectful Debate', and I've seen it make a heckuva difference when presented fairly and kindly.  People listen better when you aren't blasting their thoughts to shreds, and they'll consider your words much more carefully if you approach the subject with respect and Kindness.  
    The idea of communication is to COMMUNICATE - not yell your ideas and stop listening.  After all, YOUR opinion may be flawed, and anyone worth their salt will attempt to fix those possible flaws, because intelligent, mature people would be far more willing to admit a wrong and correct it.  All those people who rant & rave when confronted with the thought that they might be wrong?  Yeah, they ain't changing... not for ANYONE... and it's a waste of time trying to talk reason to them.
    They don't WANT reason; they want to be RIGHT... and getting caught up in being RIGHT is how The Crusades got started, and we know what happened during that.
    Honestly?  I don't mind when folks come to me & tell me they don't believe in what I believe in - variety, after all, is the spice of Life - and there have even been times I've had my own eyes opened to things I never considered.  I choose to remain open to these thoughts, as I'm a work in progress until the day I die; never let it be said that I'm inflexible to change, growth or improvement.
    And that's what I'm getting at here, folks - you can huster & bluster all day & night about how THIS person is wrong and THAT person is stupid...
    But, in the end, you get what you give - and that goes for the Internet, too.  You put out excellent reasoning and heartfelt thought?  Chances are, you'll have a large percentage of friends who are like-minded, and can share opinions and beliefs freely... but if you put out anger, hate and intolerance?
    You are what you type, my fellow Ponyites.
    Endeavor to become a listener.  Choose to question your own beliefs, on occasion.  Use respect when debating a point, especially when it comes to faith or politics.
    For those who want to make the world a BETTER place, I challenge you to strive to become a better PERSON.
    Excelsior, fellow communicators!
  16. Randimaxis

    The Curator

    By Randimaxis,

    There is a place, within the center of any given mind
    where we keep our innermost hopes and dreams
    like a museum of wishes, within the city of the soul.
     
    I once roamed these halls as if I lived here,
    wondering at the bright and shiny could-bes
    while taking in little of the curator's lessons.
     
    Then I grew to question some of the lessons
    and to outright reject and rebel against others
    as I graffiti'd the walls with my angst and pride.
     
    Once I regained my head, I realized the damage
    I'd done to these fine works I'd once admired so greatly
    and so, I set about to reframe them, to make them real again.
     
    Now, I carefully place them back into their regal places
    but some are faded and tarnished from neglect
    though others shine brighter than ever before my eyes.
     
    And now, the young ones come to this place where
    these hopes and dreams grace the halls;
    between them, they begin to wonder and take in little.
     
    And I find myself as the curator here,
    telling the youth of what each means to the world
    and knowing they hear only what they wish to.
     
    One day, I shall watch them question as well,
    they will also reject, rebel and refuse what works these be,
    yet one day, in their own galleries, they shall be me.
     
  17. Randimaxis

    Cages

    By Randimaxis,

    All of us have a cage.
    It's a cage we build for ourselves, over time.  We build it originally as a safeguard to contain our inner beasts, and the bars are forged from the lessons we learn about acceptability and fitting into the world around us.  This is when the cage contains things like stealing, killing, harming and such; they're things we're taught not to do, so we cage them up using the bars forged from the earliest lessons impressed upon us.
    However, as we grow older, we begin to learn more about the world around us... and, because of such, we have to learn more ways we should curtail our thoughts and behaviors.  This is when we add things to the cage like lying, cheating, greed, bullying and the like; we grow from children into adulthood while assimilating all this data about behavior and what is expected of us.
    This is also where we begin to have things placed in that cage that we don't want to be in it; we can't party all night, because we have school; we can't talk back to our authority figures, because they control everything; we can't live on junk food & video games, because it isn't healthy for us.  Granted, some of us indulge in these things anyway - but we're taught NOT to by the rest of the world.  So, into the cage they go.
    Then, as we trek through adulthood, we begin to discover that society is much more than we ever realized as kids, and we now want to be a part of it in some way, whether to go into it in person or bring it to us via the Internet.  So, we feel we have to adopt certain ways of acting and speaking, in order to "belong" where we've found a place to fit in.  That's when we add labels to our cages, and choose things to put inside like Liberal, Democrat or Republican, and we add other things like gay, straight, lesbian, transgender, bisexual or asexual to the cage, and even trivial things like skin color or author preferences to signify that we cannot even THINK that way, else we get found out and thrown out of this place we've found to "belong".
    By this point, our cages have grown large and complex... effectively making them self-contained labyrinths within our souls, keeping us penned in and preventing us from seeing anything but the view from between the bars.
    Because we also begin to lock ourselves in there, as well.
    When it reaches a point, you begin to feel tired.  Tired of trying, tired of talking, tired of waiting for change, tired of being stuck in the same routine, day after day.  And as you wear down, it just becomes easier to just run on auto-pilot and make it through another Tuesday at the grindstone.  Or it just becomes easier to give up.  Or it just becomes easier to not care anymore.  Whatever the reason, you begin to find more and more reasons to cage up your own words because you feel they might offend... and you no longer have the will nor strength to fight back.  Because you're so damned tired of doing it again and again.
    Those are the moments to remain vigilant of, my friends; they're the things that cage up who you are.
    It is vitally important to keep a steady guard up against falling victim to apathy and becoming jaded, because that's when you lose the key, and wrap yourself in angst and misery because you've grown bitter at all the bars in your cage, unable to see more than a pinprick of light at any given time.  At best.
    Don't try to claim you have no cage; you do, whether you like it or not.  It's there, and YOU built it from whatever you picked up from school, friends and family.  It may be huge, small, thin, thick, anything - but you have one, regardless.
    Self-reflection and self-acceptance can do well here, as they aren't exactly cages as much as they are concepts of ways to monitor & learn oneself with minimal restrictions.  After all, if you know yourself well, you should understand why you react as you do and work towards reaching an understanding of who you truly are within your own mind.  From there, you don't break the cage - NEVER break it - but you learn to allow the bars to soften, with work and patience, into strips of cloth you may then use to stitch together a suitable outcome that has you neither denying your flaws OR your strengths.
    Make the cage into a cloak of personal harmony; work with challenges, not restrictions.  Don't see failure, see chances to learn.  Don't lock yourself away because you feel as though you're stifled from all directions...
    Be your own key.
    You'll always have a cage... you just don't always have to be in it.
  18. Randimaxis

    Story Time: FOUR

    By Randimaxis,

    [STORY TIME]
     
    Rain poured down over The Doodleybob Forest, and lightning flashed through the skies above.
    For three long weeks now, all the little critters had found themselves at the mercy of Argyle Fox, who had loudly and violently taken over as the one in charge around here.  With his second-in-command, Mean Myrna Mole, out gathering the "taxes" he'd been charging them all, it was little wonder that the collective animals of the once-lovely forest were now nothing more than pawns, toys... or even food... for the wicked duo.
    Taki Turtle's pretty shell had been yanked clean off of him, and was now a fancy bathtub for Argyle to bathe in.  Taki was left, shivering and homeless, to fend for himself.  He'd tried to do what he could to get by, but Mean Myrna had been gleefully making sure that wherever he tried to find a place to sleep, he didn't get anything but a few minutes, at best.
    Poor Dinah Squirrel had seen Argyle's cruelty first-paw, and had nearly lost her mind from shock.  However, it had taken Argyle only a few moments to convince her that, if she didn't bring him as many of her stashed-away acorns as she could, he'd beat down her door and eat her all up!  So, with her threadbare tail, she'd given him nut after nut until she not only had NO stored food for the winter... but her tree no longer had any nuts on it at all.
    Sherrie Badger hadn't been as lucky as the others - Mean Myrna had it in for her from the very get-go.  Sherrie was now Myrna's personal servant... and Myrna was unbearably spiteful to her.  Sherrie's once-proud coat had dulled and thinned to where she looked as though she had the Mange... and that horrid mole loved every moment she could inflict more suffering as she constantly commanded her to clean, cook, and anything else she could find to keep the poor badger busy.
    Shiny the Toy Robot had been seen by both Argyle and Myrna as a possible problem in the future, so they dismantled him faster than a Jackrabbit with his tail on fire.  They then used the parts of poor Shiny to make a throne fit for a king... yet was sat upon only by that nasty fox and his chump companion.  As for Shiny's robotic brain, they had hung it from the ceiling as an ornament... and a warning to any others who might get the foolish idea to rebel.
    Stevie The Stork hadn't spoken a single word since the night of the infamous sleepover.  In fact, he'd hardly slept a wink since then.  He had been 'recruited' by that blasted fox as the one to pull the wagon that Argyle preferred to travel in - and it was a HEAVY wagon.  Still, Stevie did his very best to make his superiors happy... though, sadly enough, the only thing that made them happy seemed to be making the nerve-racked stork make as many trips across the forest as possible... even if it was for no reason at all.
    Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie had been eaten by Argyle Fox, mere moments after his bloody victory over his rival - and THAT was what finally broke the spirits of every single critter down in The Doodleybob Forest.  Dinah had made him a makeshift grave, where his broken and gnawed skull sat on a rock in the fork of a branch near the top of her tree.  Nothing else had been left of him, not even his clothes; Argyle had burped loudly afterwards, and laughed at all the tears the others had shed.
    Now, as Argyle sat on his shiny throne, he delighted in making his new fool, Rocky The Rabbit, dance for him.  The bells on Rocky's cap jangled merrily... but there was no joy in Rocky's eyes.  He might have been all grumbly-wumbly before all this happened, but he swore if he got out of this situation, he would NEVER grouse at his friends again...
    If they survived, that was.
    The fox languished in his grand chair, smiling to himself as he grabbed another acorn and, smashing it against the arm of his throne, he began to chew idly on it and think about how good life was for him now.  He always knew he'd be the one in charge someday... all it took was growing a pair, he thought.
    He still relished the look on the faces of all the local critters when he proclaimed himself The Doodleybob King; the hate, disbelief and sorrow had led to many, many wonderful dreams of conquest, victory, and eating his opponents with a nice cherry-pepper sauce.  Mousie had been kind of scrawny, but the effect it had on the other critters made it SO worthwhile!
    Now that Myrna was out collecting his 'taxes', she'd be back with their bounty and they would be eating soon.  Though, in all honesty, Rocky was looking more and more delicious by the second... and his jokes and dances were wearing thin.  The wily fox considered perhaps some hasenpfeffer might be a good meal to end such a lovely day with, and he licked his lips in anticipation.
    However, that was when the door opened, and Stevie The Stork came in, dragging the wagon behind him as he did.
    Argyle Fox shouted, "IMBECILE!  You'll soil the rug!  You also know that you are NOT allowed indoors for ANY reason!  I already said I didn't like feathers molting in my home, and I never wi-..."
    It was at that point, with a stare that bored into Argyle's muzzle, Stevie flipped the wagon on its' side, and out rolled the limp form of Mean Myrna Mole.  She landed facedown on the floor, and didn't move a single twitch.  Argyle, still trying to figure out what was happening, simply assumed Myrna had gotten into Miss Avery's garden again, and had gorged herself with sweet, juicy grapes.
    "Myrna!" he huffed, "get up, you lazy louse!  Where is the dinner you were supposed to gather from the Doodleybob Forest!?  I'm starving, and you were supposed to be here an... a-an hour... ago..."
    Argyle's words ground to a halt as he saw the blood pooling beneath Myrna's form.  Slowly, as if he expected he to jump at him, he turned her over with a paw.
    Myrna's face was a pulpy mess.  There were five large holes there, and all done from an upward angle, so they went down into her body, probably making a royal mess of her insides.  Argyle hadn't really done more than taken Myrna as his second-in-command, but he had NOT been prepared for this at all... but when he looked down at her belly, his eyes grew as wide as saucers.
    There, on her moley apron that she always wore, were two words, written in the mole's own blood...

    Rocky The Rabbit began to howl with laughter, and Stevie's beak - for the first time since the incident - grinned.
    And Argyle Fox stood there, trying not to shit himself.
    ... and failing miserably.
     
    [TO BE CONTINUED...]
     
     
  19. Randimaxis

    Story Time: THREE

    By Randimaxis,

    [STORY TIME]
     
    It was a chilly evening in the Doodleybob Forest, and a number of critters were just getting ready for bed... but not Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie.  He was getting ready for the slumber party he had been planning all week, and his little whiskers twitched with excitement as he busily prepared for his guests.
    There was a lettuce leaf he'd been keeping nice and crisp in the river water, and a stray gumdrop he had rescued from the sidewalk, and a big ol' chunk of oozy, gooey apple dropped from a pie, and a whole thimbleful of cheese cracker crumbs.  All of these were laid out carefully, ready for Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie's guests to arrive.
    The first one to arrive at the slumber party was Shiny The Toy Robot, with his oversized gym sock as his sleeping bag.  He had also brought some screws to nibble on - but Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie politely declined, as he couldn't eat metal like Shiny could. 
    Next was Dinah Squirrel, and she didn't bring a sleeping bag.  "When I lie down, I cover myself with my big, bushy-wushy tail," she explained.  She had also brought some acorn cookies, which Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie knew she would share with him.
    Soon after, Stevie The Stork knocked at the door, with his long and lanky leg.  He had a school backpack with him, and he said it was his favorite sleeping bed, so he just brought it along.  He had also brought along some fresh cherries from Miss Avery's garden, across the way.  They were as big as Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie's whole head!
    Last, but not least, Big Joe Toad showed up.  He had brought an old oven mitt, which fit him perfectly and looked funny, as his big ribbity eyes were all that peeked out of it when he put it on!  He hadn't brought any food, but he did bring a big bottle of grape juice.  Even picky ol' Rocky The Rabbit, who usually grumbled about everyone, had to admit - Big Joe Toad always had some mighty fine grape juice.
    Once everyone was there, they all settled around and began to tell ghost stories. 
    Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie told the tale of the big, black snake that lived near the forest, and the others laughed and huddled in their sleeping stuff. 
    Shiny told them a story about a mad scientist, and they squealed in fearful glee. 
    Dinah told a story about the ghost under the Cobble Street Bridge, and she made scary sounds and faces to go with them.  
    But when Stevie started on his own story about a mysterious knocking at the door, they all jumped and shrieked when there really WAS a knock at the door!
    "I-i-is it a gh-gh-gh-gh-ghost?"  Stevie asked as he shivered in fright.
    "Is i-i-it a m-m-mad scientist?"  Dinah squeaked from behind her tail, where she was hiding.
    "IS IT A BLACK SNAKE?"  Shiny said - he didn't shiver because robots don't shiver when they're scared.
    And Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie was absolutely petrified; he couldn't move a single inch, and his little whiskers jittered and shook with fear.
    But Big Joe Toad wasn't afraid - not even a little bitty bit!  He got up out of his oven mitt and went right to the door, opening it juuuuuuuuust a peek to see who was outside.
    But that was some dumb shit to do.
    Into the home of Mr. Puff-Puff barged none other than Mean Myrna Mole and Argyle Fox!  They slammed through the doorway, and both of them grabbed Big Joe Toad by his froggy neck.
    "PAYBACK'S A BITCH, MUTHAFUCKA!" yelled Argyle as he slammed his steel crowbar across the top of Joe's head, smashing his left eye into a pulp.  Myrna was busily and rapidly shanking Joe's right side with a long, sharp shard of glass.
    The other critters screamed as they watched bloody vengeance being served in the most fucked up way possible - by ambushing a toad at a slumber party.  Myrna howled with laughter as she twisted the glass shard in his side, and Argyle began to curbstomp his amphibious ass.
    Stevie The Stork collapsed into a heap in the corner, pissing himself thoroughly.  Dinah Squirrel began slowly yanking out the fur in her tail as she watched, and kept muttering gibberish as she watched the carnage unfurl.  Shiny simply shut down - but it would take years of corrective programming to fix his roboty soul.
    And Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie just screamed and screamed and screamed.
     
    {Da Moral}:
    Ain't shit.
     
  20. Randimaxis
    (Warning: LONG - GRAB POPCORN)
    [PROLOGUE]
    Widdershins is awesome.  I just wanted to start there.
    There is always a part of each and every one of us that longs to gain approval; whether it be by hook, by crook or by charm; there are rather surprising lengths that someone will go to in order to receive praise, including place oneself in some form of harm, be it physical, social, mental or spiritual.  Doing so is a risk, yes - but the reward of a word or two of kind praise or attention is a siren's call that's sweeter than wine when finally given.
    However... for those with fragile hearts or quick tempers, the risk is the greatest for they are less prepared for something that isn't completely flawless.  That... heh, well... that's where I fit in, unfortunately  Because there are few things I really have true, heart-felt pride in... but the short list of things I DO swell my ego with?  They're like candied poison  to me, because each time I hear something good about an accomplishment of mine, I savor it... and inevitably hunger for more.
    My family of OCs, the Blackwaters, are HIGH on that list of ego-boosting pride treats.
    Though I try not to brag, I'm afraid I sometimes come off as... weeeeeeell, a bit manic?... about them?  Which, I know I know I KNOW just drives folks away, adding what would be considered a negative social score to these characters who I've really worked hard at, and want so badly to share with as many folks as I possibly can.  So, in an attempt to perhaps gain a nibblet or two of praise, I decided that I would put them up for a critique from one of the threads made as such; threads where other fellow Ponyites look over your OCs and tell you what they liked and didn't like.
    And I saw the very thread I was looking for... which happened to be from one of my favorite lurking targets folks here on the forums - Widdershins.
    I happen to be a wooled-in-the-dye weirdo - I even have cards to prove it.  I've been that way for a LONG time, and of almost anyone I've ever interacted with, Widdy-Shinny is one of the few who not only GETS IT... but throws it back with a side order of blueberry turnip fries, hold the motor oil, add anti-freeze.  Or, in other words, WS has gone even beyond what I can (at first) comprehend... and that's a heckuva feat.
    So, when I saw they had a critique thread, I decided to offer them up in all their Blackwater glory, and simply sit back and enjoy what Widdershins would have to say.  Eventually, the response came... and, well... the short version is, I didn't take it very well.
    THE LONG VERSION:  
     
    I had been rather crushed, spirit-wise, because of how I took it.  I didn't even post for the next few days on ANYTHING, because I felt as though I had embarrassed myself.  However, eventually I managed to pick myself up out of the self-pity wallow I'd been in, and actually address the problem directly with Widder.  Mostly because I KNEW I wasn't exactly angry... but I felt that I had to come clean about how I felt - otherwise, I probably would have simply started ignoring WS altogether, even avoiding them.
    Which, as I said before, Widdershins is awesome; I HATED the idea of avoiding them at all... much less for good.
    So, I started a string of PMs with Widdershins, intent at first to simply vent my self-loathing and be done with it.  What it turned into was something FAR more than I had expected.  It turned into an EXCELLENT way for both of our characters to better explain themselves to those who had no idea who any of them were.  I felt that it was a wonderful and highly entertaining moment... and it not only brought me out of my funk, but it taught me some humility, as well as how to look through things to see what are obvious layers - again, because I once knew how.  
    It turned into something I felt I had to share.  So, fillies and gentlecolts... here is the entirety of those PMs, starting with the one I sent first, after the critique and the spiritual pouting were done.
    I dedicate this entire blog entry to Widdershins - a thing among kings.
     
    [THREAD BEGINS]
     
     
    Right.
    First off, I wanna let you know that shortly after your critique on the Blackwaters, I removed their profiles from the EvE database.  Why?  Because you pointed out a number of things that left me quite disheartened, and I simply couldn't even LOOK at them anymore without feeling shame at how absolutely HORRIBLE you said they were.
    Now, I DID copy/paste their profiles for saving in my own personal archives, so I wasn't THAT rash, no... yet I still find myself wholly embarrassed by your observations.  In fact, it was a bit longer than I'd planned to even reply to The Blackwater Quarry RP simply because I'd felt that they weren't GOOD enough.
    It was also the reason I never gave any feedback to YOUR feedback - I was mortified.  I mean, the response I DID give?  THAT was as real as could be; I was so stunned by your words that I simply couldn't reply in a satisfactory manner... so I did what I could, and hoped that would be the end of it.
    But it isn't.
    Okay, before I continue, I want you to know that I am, in no way, shape or form angry at you - not a bit.  I still follow you, and I've been reading some of your posts as well... and I have no plans to stop following you, as you're STILL one of my Forum favorites.  However, I felt the need to actually SPEAK to you (well, message you) about the whole thing personally, and long after my feelings on the matter were calm enough to do so.
    Truth Time: I actually CRIED after reading the second part of your review; not bawling and sobbing, no, but tears had to be wiped away to finish reading it.
    I know, I know... I asked for it.  I had it coming.  And yeah, I suppose my characters WERE rather bad...
    But that kinda crushed my spirit for a minute - something that hasn't been done to me since my school years.  Do understand, I HAVE bounced back from that by now, and I most certainly AM still playing the Blackwaters in their RP; it's a LOT harder to knock me down than it used to be when I was a kid.
    WHY am I saying all of this now?
    Well... it took a bit for me to come to grips with it, and it took another bit of a bit to try to focus my thoughts into words... and, frankly, I kinda had the notion that you would either laugh at me for pouring my heart out like this... or simply hate me for it.  Honestly, BOTH possibilities scare me, as you DO have my respect; yet, after much consideration, I decided that you were most certainly better than that.
    Hence, this message.
    Now, I am NOT asking for you to change ANYTHING; truth, no matter the sting, is truth.  I am also NOT asking for an apology... because, as far as I see it, you simply did what I asked of you.  I suppose you could simply consider this to be my much-belated response in light of your critique... and perhaps, a bit of closure as well.
    Thank you once again for your insight into what I had made... even if I took it hard.
     
    Widdershins 
      Honey. I'm a bleeding heart as well.
      In fact, I've bled out so much that I no longer have a heart. Why do you think my draconequusona is hollow inside?
     
        Go. Go right now, read the Original Post I made in that critique thread. Close down this PM right now, and go read it. Or come back to it after, alt-tab, wossnames it called, ya know?
     
       ...You back now? Or just got impatient and continued reading anyway? Either way, you're adorable.
     That's what I say. I never want anybeing to feel like what they feel is wrong. I spent a huge portion of my life under the thumb of somebody who gaslit & told me that what I thought took a backseat to their opinions. I assure you, what's important is that it's first & foremost your ideas, efforts & feelings. I don't expect my views to change what you do, in fact, I don't want them to. I am only happy to be your audience. That's what an audience is. We put ourselves in your hands and you guide us along, we entrust our minds & souls to you. Sure, we can balk if we don't like the direction things are going like any pet is at bathtime. You know those two cranky old man muppets that always talked trash about the show the Muppets were putting their heart & souls into? Clearly, they don't mean any harm. After all, if they hated it truly as much as they joke about... they could just easily leave or stop paying attention to the show. But they don't, that trash talk is just how they show their love of what's going on, their love of the actors themselves.
       If I say that I don't like what you do, that is merely a reflection of how it feels to me. An opinion is not fact, it's merely just how your world becomes distorted as it is viewed through the reality bubble formed around another.
       Your silence had me concerned. I didn't want you walking away wounded & leaving me with no recompense to assuage whatever conceptions you had come away with. There's things I would consider changing, aspects that have room to grow & become better, but moreso than anything else, I can tell how much time & energy & yourself you put into this.
       There is no "Bad", alternatively, there is no "Good." How many times have we seen some villain deluded by his own depression to where he can only see one path ahead of him, that what he thinks as the only route is the only way to better not only his life, but the world? How many times have seen a "Hero" fall from grace or do evil in the pursuit of good? Take that Superman movie before last where, in his desperate attempts to prevail, winds up doing just as much collateral damage as the villains.
         It's your intentions, your feelings that cannot ever be wrong. It is a product of you, the you that has come from a series of events that could have only unraveled the way it has so far. Another author can come after another to do the same story word-for-word, and yet, it would still have its own inflections, tone & feelings. In fact, the same author can come along after to rewrite the same story and have it be like a whole nother being made it while still carrying the same ideas & world. Because it is, a you several years down the road has grown into a whole separate being with its own dreams & wants.
       You are only ever "wrong" in comparison to other things, which in and of themselves are their own worlds. It is my belief that judging anything, by any extent, is folly.
      I believe the worst thing I could have said is that they are perhaps a bit too... stereotypical. A trope, I suppose you could call it. But that doesn't mean they are bland. I can see what you've done. The way they came out is a way that only you could ever have done it.
      What you create & experience is an extension & reflection of yourself. And yes, that is a good thing. Your characters are like your children, they have their own flaws, but extend from you. They, like so very much else in the world can, and always will, have more room to grow. What a horrible lot it would be to not have room to grow & change.
       Don't censor yourself. Censorship implies shame, shame implies a measurement & judgement in comparison to something else. Do I feel shame for the fact that I cannot literally do anything with my unruly hair? Does that change the millions of years of this world going the way it did to wind up creating something as myself? Or yourself?
      That hurt me. You deleted your works. I cannot think of anything more sad than an idea having died off or forgotten. Like how much knowledge was lost in the burning of the first Library. Treasure your thoughts, your stories, ideas & feelings, for who can tell when they will be thought again?
      I don't mind if you hate me. If anything, I would prefer that. I would never tell anybeing their feelings are wrong. What I don't want... is for you to hurt.
       Can you stand to grow a bit more in certain aspects? Sure, there isn't any shame in growing. And growth, along with living itself, comes with pain.
      Feeling is the only way you can tell things are real to you, I believe. You have to accept things through your emotions to allow it to happen to you. Denying your capacity to feel for something & refusing to react to it stagnates yourself & prevents growth, prevents you from living & being the you that only you can be. Claiming what you have or feel is "wrong" is denying your reality. Denying your reality is you causing yourself pain and I don't want anyone to hurt. Ever.
      
       ...Here... give me your hoof...
    *picks up your hoof and gently waps you in your face with it*
      ...Stop hurting yourself, Stop hurting yourself, Stop hurting yourself, Stop hurting....
     
    Randimaxis  
    *chuckle* Okay, okay... I get it.
    I... actually DID go look it up again.  And it took me FAR longer to find it than I'm comfortable admitting to.  Reading it over again, after the initial burn was healed (mostly), it stung a lot less than before - of course, there's a lot to be said for the resilience of the human soul - or is it desensitization?  
    Either way, I re-read the entire thing... and I think that perhaps you were a bit less scathing as I first surmised.  Of course, there's still a bit of a bite... but it's nothing worse than what I used to get in school.  In fact, stuff like this ALWAYS used to happen in school - any given grade - and I had to learn to make myself into a duck's back to let the waterfall of strife roll off of it.
    But this was different; I really DID put a lot of myself into them... I always do whenever I make a character.  I have actually always, ALWAYS been an entertainer at heart, and I suppose when I saw your critique, it... well...
    Damn it, it just brought much of that ol' hurt tumbling back into my brain-pan.  I felt like I'd just stood up in front of the class and gave my report, only to have the TEACHER laugh uproariously in my face... which, yes, HAS happened to me before.  (School life was... let's go with 'not fun' for me.)
    However, though it took me some time to deal with my personal butthurt, I most certainly did.  As I said, I'm still running the quarry RP, and I've really started taking a good, LONG look at the family's profiles... mostly because it occurred to me that I kinda sorta left a LOT out.
    No, I won't harass you about trying to "reaffirm myself by justifying my characters"... even though I really want to, but I don't wanna sound petulant.
    Oh, by the way, I didn't have to look up maudlin; I know what it means, thanks to M.A.S.H., especially Hawkeye.
    Unfortunately, I actually tend to have GOBS of shame hanging off of me in fat, bloated ribbons of invisible misery... but that's MY albatross to bear.  I'm also one who does their best to keep rampant censorship in check - you'd be stunned by the amount of rather innocuous pictures were censored by staff for something as simple as anthros in bikinis (and THAT picture really had nothing salacious about it; they were just on a beach cavorting happily).  Those of sound mind and capable brainpower should really ALL remain vigilant... mostly because people (not persons, people) can be easily misled and herded like... well, you know the analogy, I'm certain.
    But SELF-censorship?  That's always been a difficult arena for me to fight in.  Mostly due to being such an entertainer, I really, REALLY get down on myself when I feel I've done a sub-par job of it.  My characters are simply another arm of the Cthulhu of Imagination in my skull... and I suppose I'd felt like I'd... well... regardless of your words, I felt like I'd kinda let you down.  And to someone who wears their heart on their sleeve, it can mean more than a simple shrug-and-move-along that much of the world seems to be afflicted with today.
    I'm rambling - forgive me.
    As to the family's profiles, they aren't completely gone - I've erased so much in anger over my younger years that I regret, I find myself hard-pressed to even let go of characters I KNEW were bollocks on toast. I simply have to work them over a bit more, I suppose; I had originally thought they were fine enough the way they were (changes due to developments in roleplay notwithstanding), so as you pointed out each issue, it was like a shot to the solar plexus.  Every time.
    But Life is a bastard; it beats you mercilessly, then expects you to smile and forge ahead even as it plans MORE for your sorry butt.  However, those moments when the light breaks through the clouds... that single, sweet kiss of sunlight on your cheek... well, in my own opinion, those moments are what all of Humanity strive for, whether in vain or not, and they can potentially make it ALL worth the struggle.
    And the human soul is a persistent, persnickety thing - for me, it has never ALLOWED me to give up, even when I wanted to.  Which, I suppose, led me back to you - which is when I sent the first message.
    Oh, and by the way... YOU may buy that bit about being heartless... but this message you've sent back to me tells me the EXACT OPPOSITE; if you truly were heartless, you wouldn't have cared enough to bother sending it, nor would you have put so much of the healing balm of care and concern in it as you have.
    For that, I thank you most deeply.
    And no, as I said, I do not hate you... nor, after this message, could I ever.  You talk MILES of tough, but I can see the wounded, yet gentle eye of soulful substance in that much-projected statue of draconequus stone; don't worry, I won't tell anyone.
    Honestly, I had NO idea what to expect in your response... which, I get the distinct feeling is how you'd prefer it.  But the words above have a melody all their own, and the song they sing to me wraps me in the brightest of colors, a song for my soul to echo throughout my personal solar system...
    I'm... doing it again.  Sorry.
    THANK YOU.  Thank you for your initial critique, as it has led to this conversation - I thought you were wild, wacky and exceedingly brilliant before... and now, I feel as though this convo has confirmed it.
    (My apologies if I'm a bit all over the place; this missive took a few hours to write, due to having two frantically active children and a number of chores to do, amidst the various other things that cast themselves at me on a daily basis.)
    Ummmm... we... can keep chatting, yes?
     
     
    Widdershins  2649
    Replied: July 12 · Report
     Nyoh. We can never, ever speak ever again! You hath offended with all this talk of Albatros abuse and now I just don't think I can deal with an Albatross Abuser!
      Honey! You got kids?! One would think you'd be used to whining, whether or not its inside or out of you!
    Honestly, had you pegged like a fourteen year old. Because, let us be honest here, the whole hatred of yourself & finding your place is a hallmark of teenagerdom. You don't know just how relieved to know I'm not the only one who hasn't grown out of that!
    I kind of consider a Spirit & a Soul entirely two separate things. One wouldn't refer to Willpower & Free Will as quite the same thing. There's having heart and then there's having heart. I want the best for others, I don't want to see anyone hurt... but I know too well how literally anything can happen, so I tend not to do anything of my own. Still, like to think that as cowardly a pacifist as I may be, I would stand up if anybeing was to get bullied in public in front of me.
       I've seen too much pain to allow others to invite it into their lives.
    ...Well, unless we're talking dysfunctional relationships in Rom-Com, then that's just hilarious!
       Guess I'm a Pacifist Sadist! Ooh, like that one, I'm gonna have to remember that!
     
      But back to the topic at claw. I frankly don't remember what I said there. That's how & why I critique. It's my first impressions, me talking about the experience you gave me. And every experience provides more life, I say. Like I was some sort of special, giant changeling leeching off of you. ...Must work on my analogies.
       Who said they were flawed or bad? That's what I was saying earlier about growth. Take your children. I'm no parent but no doubt you've had your moments where you've thought to yourself if you could just duct tape them down to a chair for once so you could get a bloody minute without having to tend to them...
       And I know, because I was one of those kids who wanted to see what Car Cigarette Lighters did or what Magnets did to Computor screens to make that funny rainbow or how fun it was to climb on the easily dented car or threw knives at my sister or...
       If what you do is bad, does not make you less of a person for it. In fact, some thrive on that. (Seriously, go look at some of the first things to come up over on the character lists! Some beautiful examples of clearly intentionally bad!) How many shows are on the television that exist because of some schlubs that are intentionally doing things that give us the sweet release of pointing, laughing & thanking our lucky stars we're not that stupid or unlucky! Comedy since the Three Stooges is built on suffering after all!
      Pain shouldn't be something you ignore or just let go of. It has every right to be apart of you like every other emotion & experience. It's what added to you to allow you to become what you are today. I like to paraphrase: "Harness your pain, make it useful." I would quote Star Trek too, but I can't remember it now. Like some Ship Captain who's seen his shipmates fall, or befall some tragedy like recovering from Borg brainwashing, you take that into account, it allows you to risk assess, learn to care more for others, treasure life.
       That's one thing I always bring up. That one Torchwood episode. (Doctor Who spinoff show... not... what I would say as too spectacular but...eh.) Guy gets some alien device lodged in him & becomes a zombie essentially. He talks down a jumper at some point and gives her advice from a guy who's been forced to give up everything, including literally feeling. That when you can wake up to smell coffee or see a new day dawn, that alone is something beautiful to give you something to live on for. Can we even imagine what its like to be completely disconnected? To see yourself stab yourself in the hand, not feel a thing or suffer any consequences other than needing to push the hole closed. It's experiences that let you live.
       It's something Buddism touches on. Welcome the challenges in your life, they gave you something to live through & become stronger from.
       Was I hurtful to you? Gosh, I hope not, but I'm not you seeing me do that, I won't deny your feelings. Are there things to fix about those things you've spent a good deal of time into, that you thought whole? Maybe, but that still is just me spouting off.
      I don't mean to be mean, but I mean to mean to mean it.
      That's the thing, you can have two people come up to your work of art. It can absolutely exceed the expectations of one who just gushes praise and another can just tell you its garbage and to scrap the whole thing. Really, the only difference between them could be the day they had! (...and, maybe any review is going to get a bit snarkier & critical the longer it goes on...)
       I try to balance out positives & negatives. That's what I said about Harcourt. I don't like his design or his personality... but if he was in front of me, talking to me, I would hand him my wallet as I swooned like a schoolgirl!
       No, really! Honestly! Truly! Do justify your characters to me! Defend yourself! I welcome a new experience! ...that I don't have to leave the house for.. *cough* I want to hear how you see the world you made! If nothing else, even if you get mad, I've been yelled at enough times when I'm being a blockhead to where It's gotten kind of funny!
       I like to think that really, besides me getting to myself about things, the only real way to genuinely insult me, is to say my ideas are dumb & pointless.
      I've played MMORPGs, its kind of hilarious how quick some may Ignore you to just completely cut you off.
      I'd like to see you try and keep me from talking to you!
     
    Randimaxis  
     
    Your ideas are dum-... naaaaah.  I just can't pull that off the same way YOU can.  *chuckle*
    I was always led to believe that the journey of life was constant; the self-loathing and place-finding aren't steps folks ever REALLY get through - in fact, there's not much that actually ENDS in Life, except for drooling and pooping yourself... which, given enough years, we get back to eventually.
    ... Pacifadist?  Sadifist?  There's GOT to be a decent combo-word for that...
    Children are... well, y'know that tired old saying that it's always "different when they're yours"?  Yeah, it's actually true - though I concur, the duct tape thing HAS occurred to me.  MULTIPLE times.  But as I've come to discover over the years, twine covered in Krazy Glue works just as well...
    Sorry; parent humor.
    Yup: Burned a permanent scar into my right first fingerprint with a Car Ciggie Lighter, I didn't kill a monitor - I killed one o' those BIG TV sets that sat on the floor, also due to 'pretty pretty', and I kinda knocked the last two things off that list simultaneously, believe it or not, by throwing the SAME steak knife at the car again and again...
    ... I'm beginning to think ONE of us is from an alternate dimension, and that we seem to be similar enough to count as distant, only-see-you-at-reunions cousins.
    Mel Brooks said it best, as far as suffering and comedy go:  "Tragedy is when I stub my toe; Comedy is when YOU fall down an open manhole and die."  It's all subjective - which, yeah, I should've kept in mind when I read the critique.  But then, we never would've had this conversation, so in its' own way, I suppose it was a good thing after all. *grin*
    And I have to say, I've always been one of those folks who, when asked if there was anything I'd change about my past, I say "nope"; experiences, whether sweet or sour, are the building blocks that help shape the manor house that each one of us is - and to remove even the HARSHEST of these things changes the entire structure.
    I've dealt with a great deal of sexual abuse (from family 'friends'), bullying (remember that whole school thing?), and I have even... well, let's say that one of my (former) best friends did something to me that NO ONE should do to anybody... but each and every moment of shame and pain is like a reforging of the mettle of one's being.  I treasure the fact that I SURVIVED this stuff; there's no way I'd ever trade those victories - and I call them victories because I HAVE survived them.
    (And I know Torchwood too; been watching The Doctor since Tom Baker held the reins.)
    You... actually don't mind if I defend them?  I mean, I was hesitant to do so simply because I didn't want to seem like I was whining over them, but... well, I can if you feel like you can stand to hear me go on about them for a bit, then mayhaps I could-
    YOUUUUUUUU!!!!!
    ...uh-oh.
    YOU!  YOU SLIMY LITTLE DISGRACE TO EQUESTRIA!
    Mother!  NO!
    Oh, I KNOW your kind!  Such a HIGH AND MIGHTY ATTITUDE... how DARE you!  You're nothing more than a BIG WORM in the apple of Celestia's EYE, you SNAKE!
    Get him, Mother!
    OGLEVY!
    YOUUUUUU... sitting behind a screen and CARRYING ON as if my fine family were nothing more than BAUBLESfor you to play with!  I have seen more intellect in the dirt my servants SCRAPE FROM MY HOOVES!  You FOUL, EVILLITTLE TROLL!
    Mother... honestly, that's quite enough of a display, don't you think?
    UNFORGIVABLE!  INEXCUSABLE!  ABSOLUTELY REPREHENSIBLE!
    ... Vylia.
    *huff huff*  Yes, dear?
    Enough.
    But he-... I... OOH!  You CAD!
    ENOUGH.
    *glowers*  I'm not done with you yet, you just keep that in MIND!
    Uh... well, I suppose they want to defend themselves; you up for that?  I mean, if anyone could do so, it'd be the subjects themselves, right?
    LEMME AT 'EM!
    DOWN, Oglevy!
    (I suppose they're literally chomping at the bit to do so...)
     
    Widdershins 
    Sadfist: I could totally punch you, but the thought of hurting you makes me so depressed that I give up halfway through every punch.
       Sadfist totally needs to be an RPG boss! "Ugh... Me really don't wan' tah have to beat you up... I am... dis just not me day to-day..."
      Huh... Pointer finger?... Same hand too...    Well, If I haaad any wibbly, weird fing-things that is!
    Honey Boo-Boo-Pants! This is the Internet! You'd be the oddball-out if you weren't whining like a gigantic man-child!
       Now, now Backwater Treatment Facility Family, Don't rush into assumptions! I'm only part snake & one fourth slimy! You even know how hard it is to moisturize a tentacle? But you is totes right in wormhood. Though that is totes pronounced more like "Wyrm" or "Wiirm" and not like "Worm" or "Wurm" which are ENTIRELY separate things! Here, move your lips like so!  *starts squishing around Vylia's face before catching sight of the youngest and dropping her onto the carpet*
      OOOOEEWH! And aren't you the cutest little runt that hasn't been remembered fully enough by my author in order to give a better description than this!   Mama's pride n' prized piglet, ain'tche?
       *pickys up Oglevy like a large pillow while he keeps talking*
      Just like Lil' Ol' OogieLoves here, you're all just totes adorable lil' filly-willies! Of course your shiny, precious, fun-fun baubledy-baubs to me! Why wouldn't we all be just as such!? If you'ses's mad as all that about it then I don't mind if you pick up that coatrack over there n' run me through a few times! We're all playthings & the world a great big toy chest!
       Haven't the faintest why you'd be against me!  *starts dribbling Oglevy like a large rubber ball before tossing him "lightly" into a nearby wastebasket*  Hah! Five Points! You know, think I've literally been dirt before! Funny, that!
       ...What's the look for? Hurm? Oh, the kid's fiiine! Greenstick Fractures, yadda yadda, they got bones like rubber cement or something.
      So what'd Richy-Rich poney-wones wanna do today? Yelly Game or a round of Hooficuffs? I'm open for anything! If you wanna let offa little steam do with me whatcha will! I'm game for anything
     
    Randimaxis 
    LISTEN YOU SICK LITTLE LIZARD...
    Oh boy.
    ... I believe you vent this needless (and VERY uncouth) vitriol on us because YOU have an INSANE amount of jealousy towards us!  Why?  Well, we just so happen to be PONIES, with many, MANY examples of our own kind everywhere we turn!  And you..?  HA!  
    You are a pointless little tremor of a belch made in the bowels of loneliness, as the ONLY relative I can even consider to be ANY sort of "family" for you is that JOKE of a dragon horse who claims to be the 'Lord of Chaos' - who, in fact, is nothing more than a pompous and sad little mishmash of everything left over from creating all the other, more PLENTIFUL races in this fair land!  
    In fact, I'm fairly certain that you probably fancy yourself ABOVE that walking, talking foal's drawing, don't you?  WELL, you sorry excuse for extra-large fishing bait, I happen to think the fact of the matter is PLAIN for everypony to see; at least that... that... WASTE OF SPACE can turn to the Guardians of Equestria in times of crisis, even if he SURELY doesn't deserve to!  But you?
    You.  Have.  NOTHING... and since I, a fine wife and a wonderful mother, have it ALL, you simply feel so very inadequate - so you verbally tear into those who are BETTER than you, just to ease the burden of being the LEAST CARED ABOUT dracona... drago... WHATEVER... in ALL of existence!
    My proof?  Well, I'm certain you'll simply laugh it off, then proceed to try to refute my statements... or attempt to make light of such... which will do nothing more than PROVE you to be the useless, unloved, unwanted THING you always have been, trying to make light of something you will NEVER have the pleasure of knowing in your entire sad, fruitless and MISERABLE life!
    So go ahead, DEARIE - prove me CORRECT!
    I do believe what was needed here was an explanation, NOT a yelling match, Mother.
    DO NOT CORRECT ME!
    Oh, dear...
    Vylia?  Maaaaaaybe you should try to explain yourself... at least a bit?  Hmmmm?
    And why should I justify myself to IT?
    ... because I asked you to.  Nicely.  Please?
    ... fine.  FINE.  
    I happen to be rather PROUD of my Zebrican heritage, THANK YOU VERY MUCH; only one foal in three generations evergets their stripes in my family, and I was the cream of the crop - the favorite, of course.  And being the favorite, I naturally got PLENTY of attention - enough attention to understand the importance of being a PROPER lady, which I most certainly am, you overgrown leech.
    C'mon, now...
    FINE.
    As for my bow?  It was a present from a DEAR family friend when I was young; it means quite a lot to me, and I wear it better than YOU would - in fact, better than MOST ponies!  But, why am I angry about THAT?  I'm sure you simply despair because you cannot accessorize something as GAUDY and CHEAP as yourself!
    Mother...
    YES, YES... FINE!
    And you dare to call me Bipolar?  Why, one would almost think that you feel a mare such as myself can't have different thoughts and feelings of their own without being 'psychotic', hmmmmm?  If they have more than a single side to their personalities, then they MUST have some sort of mental issue, eh?  Is THAT what you're espousing here?
    *salty laugh* Wake up, noodle lizard; females can have ANY NUMBER of sides to themselves.  It's called "being diverse" and "having a personality", and it would probably do you QUITE a bit of good to research that fact - in a library, of course; I'm fairly certain you would utterly HORRIFY and filly who you might approach with your nasty, vile self!
    And as for my darling husband, LUTHER... well, you could say that tired old line of "opposites attract", but the truth of the matter is that I saw PASSION in him!  Passion for his work, and passion for his quarry, and passion for NOT being so easy to roll over to someone who gets in their muzzle about their business!  There is, in MY opinion, SUCH a short supply of stallions who even KNOW that sort of passion exists - and my LUTHER has that passion in SPADES; far more than I'm certain ANY being has ever even postulated on the idea of you having an iota of!
    And a string of abacus beads is QUITE a compliment for a cutie mark, considering I could calculate circles around you on even my WORST day!  And the pearls... what EXACTLY are you implying?  That I'm not WORTHY of expensive tastes?  That I cannot be as RARE or PERFECT as a quality pearl?  Or a string of them, even?  Truly, dearie - don't whine because you can't have nice things; it makes you seem even MORE pathetic than you truly are... and I find that to be QUITE a feat to pull off!
    And the details of our courtship are, quite frankly, none of YOUR business!  I will state that my LUTHER was a true gentlecolt... and that he and I are QUITE happy together, regardless of whatever nonsense YOU may think of... IF you can rub those two dying brain cells together long enough to spark an idea, you numbwit!
    Okay, ummm... I think we should allow a chance for a re-rebuttal here... as the post is getting lengthy...
    Oh, I AM JUST GETTING STARTED!
    Vylia.  Control your temper.
    I JUST wanted to make sure IT knows I'm FAR mor-
    VYLIA.
    FINE!  FINE.  *ahem*  Fine.
    ... o-kaaaaaaaaay... well, that's, uh... that's Vylia, I suppose...
    Don't hem and haw like that, dearie - you'll seem ignorant.
     
    Widdershins  
     Oh, I think the ignorant & cute part was when she intoned I could "filly" beings. That's quite a fun spell I really must try to work on sometimes! You're adorable when you're angry, you know that? Most everybeing is!
     Hoh, Honey Booples! I never called into question your commitment to each other! I simply wanted to know more and that's plain to see! Why...  Hold on a moment here...
      *some rustling & clattering as it appears Widdershins is grabbing a portion of thin air & holding in front of his muzzle*
      Here... zoom... zoom in on my lips as I say this... there... good..
    Your relationship has been clearly....    Passionate, Fertile & Frrruitful~~*
    Daaang, giiiirrl! Three colts in rapid succession and you can still keep a body that toned? I simply MUUUST know your secrets! Ta-Hoo-Hoo-hooo~!
      Noodle Lizard?! Leech!??! Heavens to Murgatroid, honey,  you say the sweetest things! It's no wonder your husband, Lufa, can't keep his hooves off you! I say, I do, Looter is a very lucky stallion!
        Oh, Lightly-Seasoned Cheese Nips! You can honestly look at the mess I am and honestly think that I think being crazy is a bad thing? One should always have options! I accessorize with my limbs!
       *pulls his tentacle limb out in one full motion to toss it over his back while another one immediately pops right back into place, then uses that new limb to playfully bat Vylia vaguely around the area her muzzle is in*
      Honey Crunches of Stoats! That's what I am after all!
      A useless, unwanted, unloved mess of a being born as a living drawing & concept from a self-tormented Artist's Mind! It was loneliness & hatred that spawned me! Just look at the stuff that makes me up!
      *ripping open his chest with his front limbs in a motion too fluid to intone any resistance or pain the draconequus pulls himself apart like a pair of curtains. The inside appears far deeper than it has any right to be as a dense violet mist, peppered with graphite dust slowly seeps out of the formless, endless void inside his body. The room is immediately drained of color as if the sun was shut off outside and replaced with a sudden, horrific thunderstorm.
       Then, just as sudden, he snaps his body back shut and everything returns to normal.*
       But that's what makes me, and most of what is living, the living contradictions we all are! What we once had but have no more is still as much of us as that which we have not or have yet to be!
      After all, what is you all got, eh what? Riches & Status can be gone in an instant. Say, the stock market shuts down, the mine runs dry... some other enterprising businesspony somehow manages to pull one over on Looker here... you can lose everything in your life so... very... very fast.
       Even your family... *Widershins's constant grin fades just a little bit* Like, who's to know what the future will bring? Every mortal will eventually crumble into dust. Or even before that... Say the beloved child disagrees with his parents, decides to live apart, live a life pretending that he doesn't even have a family.
      ...What do any of us have, but the joy of the present moment?
     That's all I have... you'll wither into dust like everything else that time still listens to, and I'll keep on living on because I have no choice in the matter, because I never was alive. And all you'll ever be is a memory...
      *The draconequus pauses from where he's leaned into Vylia's face a little too closely as his emphasis has gotten progressively more intense.
       ...Then he leans back to his original position to have his face immediately spring back into his usual inane, giddy grin.*
       In that way, Everybeing's Immortal! So play all day, everyday!
                                                ...Wanna pancake?
     
    Randimaxis  
    YOU... I... IT... OOOOOOH!!!!!
    Now, now... you had your shot; back off.
    BUT THAT-
    Mother?  Perhaps I should take this opportunity to make my OWN statement?
    RRRRRGH!
    ... I think that's the closest you'll get to a 'yes', Harcourt.  Go ahead.
    Splendid!
    Now, allow me to address the factoids as you've presented them about myself, hmmm?
    I notice you've simply assumed that when it comes to my thievery, I leave my fellow ponies without a clue, nor a bit left to their names?  I'm somewhat appalled, but such is the way of rumours and the like, I suppose...
    You see, I am NOT in my chosen profession for monetary profit - well, no longer, at any rate.  Those were my younger, more foolish years - I won't deny them, but I endeavor to move past them, all the same.  You see, I never took from anypone who couldn't afford to lose a pretty trinket or two... and for the past number of years, I've simply been doing what I do for the sheer THRILL of such!  
    The more difficult the prize is to obtain, the higher interest I have in it, you see; if I truly wish to become the greatest thief in all of Equestria, I have my work cut out for me!  And so, I test my mettle on each and every "impregnable" vault, fortress and safe that I possibly can... oh, and since my younger days ended?  I merely return the item in question within a day or two - usually in a rather easy-to-notice place.
    Yes, yes... I'm certain that simply sounds as if I'm trying to backpedal... but there's more truth to the tale than anypone dares to realize.  Gully Fluff, my old teacher, instilled a pride in me of my abilities that I find unshakable... and where one has pride, why one simply HAS to exhibit the source of such, do you not agree?  In fact, your own brand of... erm, "uniqueness"... is something you seem quite ready and willing to pour over the heads of those around you and watch as they sputter and wipe the weirdness from their eyes.
    I simply enjoy the chase and the thrill; I haven't needed bits for quite a while - and I see no reason to KEEP the things I take, so I merely return them - leaving the victim a tad wiser for the wear, as well.  Now, I ask you, is that TRULY so terrible?
    Your analogy with assassins is somewhat right, actually - except, of course, in cases where the victim... well, shall we say they've EARNED enough ire to justify such?  Remind me sometime to tell you the tale of how I managed to take a well-guarded pair of golden horseshoes from Prince Blueblood himself - and managed to deface every portrait within his household whilst I was at it!  Ah, good times.
    It almost wounds me physically to call me... what were the words?  *looks at the critique again*  ..."irredeemably villainous", yes.  Why, I have nothing but respect for my fellow creatures - I simply find it impossible to pass up a WORTHY challenge to my skills.  Do I take from those who cannot afford it?  
    NEVER - not even as a young stallion under Gully's tutelage.  I've experienced the good life, and I am quite astute when it comes to scouting my targets; if they seem to be barely able to rub two bits together, I steer clear.  After all, to do such makes one no better than a commonplace thug - something I am most certainly NOT.
    And my coats colors?  I appreciate the compliment - though I assure you, there is not a scrap of aquatic genetics in my entire being... though it IS quite humorous to think of myself as a seahorse... *chuckle*  But my Stealth Suit more than makes up for my coats rather UN-stealthy colorization... not to mention how it shows off my rather trim and fit frame, of course.  The mares DO enjoy my looks quite a bit in that outfit, and who am I to deprive them of such a treat?  *grin*
    And this... 'Lupin The Third' character?  He doesn't sound very effective to me; where are the first two, I ask you?  Then again, perhaps he learned from the mistakes of his predecessors, and therefore has more ability than I've considered - sounds as though he'd be quite a challenge to show up.  Perhaps you could introduce me to-
    Um, Harcourt?  He's... he's a cartoon character.
    Truly?  I may have to see these cartoons for myself, then...
    But as you see, my dear draconequus - I am FAR from the brutish lout you seem to have mistaken me as; do you not think that perhaps, after explaining myself a bit more thoroughly, that this Master Thief is quite a bit more than your initial estimate painted me as?
     
    Widdershins 
      Oh, don't get me wrong Mistress! The rich have a zeal for life, and I wouldn't ever put that down!
    It's like... how do you put it?...
      You still are negatively impacting other's lives though, Half-Court. Am I just as much evil by my constant appeal to engage others? Why, yes! Tis evil that prospers by the detriment of other beings! But who said evil was always a bad? Merely an acceptable level is much more often found! Like any schoolyard bully like that... Demon Tiara lass!
        What is it called? Chaotic Neutral? Still is the fact there that there is still consequences to all the poor embarrassed guards & security companies that got fired from your stunt or the walls you blew up to get in there. Such is the fate when go around constantly impregnating  such tight, personal, well-guarded areas!
     ...What? I'm just returning the phrase!
      Say you steal from a Mob Boss who could easily stand to lose that treasure & didn't really earn it himself anyway. Still, that firefight could have been avoided. But I don't deny you your skill! And, above all else, it's still creative & fun!
     Lupin the Third was, after all, quite a relatable & adventerous ladies' man. Like Bond, but a lot less stuffy & serious! I think Equestria's version might have gone by the codename of... what was it? Oh, yes... Bon.... Bon-Bon.
     
    Randimaxis 
    *sigh*  Well, it was a better reception than Mother's, at least...
    Okay, uh... Luther?
    Very well.
    *levels a look at you*
    You speak of my dark patches; they spot my entire body.  There is more than what is on my muzzle.
    Our family history is only what is known currently, due to... Ex-Management and previous generations.  They have sullied our name; I am trying to redeem it.  It is hard, but I work harder.
    I have not blackmailed.  I have not extorted.  I... may have intimidated, but only to get the job done.  And NEVER threatened violence.  That is not my way.
    I have learned my lesson; I do not care for "friends" among my workers.  I learned that lesson well.  Management had retained pay from others, which boiled their blood - it was a flash of mob temper that led to my... lesson.  One I learned well.  One I did NOT want passed to my son the HARD way - which is why I bade him to fire workers that had a chance to harm him.
    I will NOT watch that happen again.  EVER.
    Management was... crafty.  Management did not CARE about the quarry; I did.  I made that clear when I took it.  It is now MYquarry.
    MY quarry.  MY rules.  NO exceptions.
    *narrows eyes*  Do NOT accuse me of becoming Management.  What was done was to ensure workers knew to stay clear of my son; nothing more.  The lesson was learned.
    There has already been a... "horror"... there.  *glares pointedly*  It was a draconequus.  A vigilant ally disposed of it; it was NOT an easy battle.  But we won.
    Vylia is my wife.  She understands me; that is all I ever wanted, and she gives that to me.  There is love - do not doubt that.  What would be "courtship" was Vylia doing her job, then staying to talk with me afterward.  Feelings and emotions grew until love blossomed.  Then, we were married.
    No.  I am not "fun"; I do not want to be "fun".  I have too much work to do.  Also, I do not care what you think - I do this for my creator.  NOT you.
    Heh heh... um, well - I suppose that covers Luther... sorry he's so... uh, 'brusque'?
     
    Widdershins 
      OOOOOH! You're ADORABLE! Isn't he though, Vylia Dear? I can totally see where Ogglevy gets it from! And I haven't even SEEN Ogleby yet!
      Whosa fun lil' filly! You are! Yes you are! You need some teensy little miser glasses! You know, those antique ones? What do you think, Vylia-Dear? Hornrim? Pearl? I'd go with Ammolite myself, but you know how gaudy Aunty Widdy can get! Tee-hehehehehehe!
      Hee! Harumph for me a couple times, Larry! ...or Laurent... Liverwurst, whatever your name was.
     Oh, wait! You actually talked didn't you!??!
      Wow! You can extort, bully, threaten, coerce & blackmail without violence?! Gosh! I never knew that! Learn something new every day, I always say! BywhichImeanthisisthefirsttimeIeveractuallyhave! (That... would probably have sounded more sincere had I been saying that, but...yeah. Kind of hard for me to imagine, but I see you.)
     Gosh Oh Mighty! Didn't know being a beloved boss also involved an iron grip over your underlings to the point where you could fire them off at any momentary whim to suit your own mood! (I... I can't read him any better than you can. How is my character better at sarcasm than I am...? You're adorable, you know that! ...Oh shaddup...) Oh Poopidoo! Makes me want to have my own business now! I'll call it.... Trump Towers! No Idea why!
      Gods help us all... he's getting topical...
     
      There already was a corruption-dug-up-in-the-mine-that-slowly-spread-outwards-Lovecraftian-Idea? Ack-Ack! My idea's been done before!?! I feel faint!...   Well, maybe that was also me. I have a hard time keeping up all my continuities & storylines. Even if my author hasn't exactly written most of them yet.
      Oooh, I say you are fun, boopy! Everybeing loves a bossy-boss! Harumphing like some Trottingham stuffed shirt & wing! I say!
       Besides, I would say... you don't crank out three colts like ya did if you don't know how to be a bit fun with the Missus every now n' again, eh eh? Nudge, nudge, Wink, wink? A nod's as good as a wave to a blind bat, eh what, eh what?
       You two are so totes my favorite Pairing! Eh, the kids I could take or leave, (In fact, might take a few with me as souvenirs before I go, but I digress!) but that's easily solved ain't it? I say! Do me a favor you two lovebirds and pop out another one or four fillies! I do love little ponies! They just have the bestest, most magical Imaginations!
     
        I am... so not comfortable with you being around young children... Imma Imaginary Friiiiend! Oh, drop dead, Fred...
     
    Randimaxis 
    Drop Dead Fred... that was a FUN mo-
    *Luther glares*
    ... um, right.  Well, I-
    HEY, BOZOFACE!
    Oy vey...
    I don't even know who - or WHAT - you are, but I'll bet you're just as idiotic as the REST of those draconequui can be... OH WAIT!  I guess it's just whatever number manages to find their way out of their outhouse hole!  HA!
    Yes, meet Oglevy.
    Yeah, buck-brain!  I'M Oglevy, and you'd better REMEMBER that... of course, if you're too stupid to remember Father's name, then I might be asking too much of your miniscule pea-brain, huh?
    *sticks tongue out*
    Too bad there's no profile on me yet - guess I just get to tell you whatever the heck I want!!!  Yeah, that works for me!
    Okay, turdskull, listen up:
    I've ALWAYS been a great flyer, and ever since I was a foal, I've had wingspan to beat out any other foal my age!  Not to mention that I learned to speak early, learned to trot early, learned to use the commode early - why?  'Cause I've got BRAINPOWER, while YOU have nothing but mush up there!  *flies up, knocks on your head*  HA!  With THAT kinda hollow coconutty, you could play percussion in the Canterlot Orchestra!  You'd be the "Butt-Over-Tea-Kettle Drum!"  *uproarious laughter*
    But seriously, Future Boots, I'm the PINNACLE of my Parent's efforts!  I'm better than Daxie-Waxie-
    ... hey...
    And a WHOLE lot better than Huckster Deluxe over there!
    You little rat!
    NYAH!
    I oughtta make good on that promise to ship your unseemly flank to Yakyakistan!
    HARCOURT BLACKWATER!  You will NOT talk to your brother like that!
    He's INSUFFERABLE, Mother!  How do you expect our family name to ever rise above such a foul little demon!
    Yeah, COME AT ME, Bro - I'll smack ya right in your ugly kisser and SHOW ya what "rising above" means when you go sailing!
    You brat!
    Degenerate!
    Louse!
    Incompetent!
    IDIOT!
    Ooooooh, lookit me, I'm HAR-BORE!  Blah blah blee blah de dah de dah!
    CUT THAT OUT, YOU NASTY LITTLE PIMPLE!
    MAKE ME!
    STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!
    I can easily handle this runaway, Mother, don't worry!
    Mother, don't let this tick continue to hang from my ear; let me deal with this!
    THAT'S QUITE ENOUGH!
    ASININE PILE OF GRIFFON DROPPINGS!
    JEALOUS CRIMINAL FAILURE!
    Oh no... *cowers*
    E... NOUGH!
    *silence for a beat*
    Dipwad.
    Jerk.
    ... yeaaaah, that happens every time those two get near each other.  My apologies.
    Don't apologize to that waste of wordspace!
    *groan*
    Widdershins 
    Futureboots? Bozoface? Turdskull? BuckBrain?
       *whistling inhale*
     He pet names too!             ...I don't think that's quite what's...
       Know what I always say! The quicker the wit & the faster you talk then clearly you have all that much more to say! Just look at how quick he caught on to me! Really got me Life to Rights!
      I'll never know how you caught on that I spent some time living in the Sewage Main Dimension!  
       ...pretty sure that was just a piping system you portaled into...
    And the Mush-For-Brains comment! How did you know I kept spoiled milk inside my skull to ferment into cheese?!!?
    *grabs his head off by the snout & empties it like knocking out a shoe*
      Least I think that's what's supposed to be cheese! Wouldn't know! Haven't had a brain in YEARS!
     Did that too! Granted, that was using the Canterlot Orchestra AS percussion instruments... and I got arrested for that, but still! Believe that song is pronounced as Butthooven's Fifth! 
      But my point still stands! Glad to see the younger generation feeling free to speak their mind & emotions! That kind of courage to grab a body by the face sockets n' really tell 'im what for! A good go-getter! YONG MAN! YEH GO FAR!
     A fine prospect to lead this family company, I say, I say! Turn the reigns over to him! Now! Literally, right now as I'm typ- saying this! This young spawn deserves the attention he so screechingly demands! Tell you what! 
      A growing buoy needs a treat! Kids like treats, so I'll do what I do best!
    *slowly coughs up a missile*
       This here's the Ballistic Pancake Missile! It explodes into enough pancakes for everybeing!
    Put... pu-... p-put that away, Now!
       Nonsense! No worries! I'm at least thirty percent sure it actually has pastries in it this time!
     BLAM!
                       Aww, don't worry. That was me just loudly saying the word Blam! Note how there weren't any asterisks around it!
     
    Randimaxis 
    *peeks out from cover*
    Hey... words can sting too, y'know.  *rueful chuckle*
    Well, now that you've seen ALL of the... wait.
    Dax?
    ... yes, sir?
    I think it's YOUR turn, buddy.
    Oh, no; that's okay... I... kinda get the feeling that he'd just poke more fun at me.  I'm... I-I-I'm good.
    Daxter!  I'm surprised at you!  I would've thought, with how you're always going on about wanting to make friends, YOU would have been far more willing to speak to... that THING.
    Yes, Dax; if ANYPONY could make sense of things, I'd like to think 'twould be you.
    YOU!?  Not wanting to TALK?!?  Are you sick or something..?
    But... b-b-but I-
    Daxter.
    ... y-yes, Father?
    Speak your mind; it needs to be said.
    ...
    C'mon, Stripes - you've got it in you.
    ... well...
    Yes, dearie... SAY something, for Luna's sake!
    ... I guess you can't talk it any UGLIER, that's for sure.
    *deep breath*  O-okay.  May I, Mister Randi?
    The floor is yours, Dax.
    Okay.
    I want to start by apologizing for how... brusque the rest of my family can be; they've been at it all my life, in one way or another.  It's just... how we interact with each other.  We might not be perfect, no - but we're kinda... perfect for each other.  We just... FIT together, y'know?  But that's certainly no call for all that venom to splash onto you OR your colleague.  So... I apologize profusely.
    Now, that seems counter-intuitive to the Blackwater family history, but hear me out - my family's lineage goes all the way back to right after the... um... *gulps* ...the Defeat of Discord by the Two Sisters.  It wasn't so much grand as it was fortunate - in our beginnings, we were a humble, honorable clan - if a bit, uhm... eccentric.
    But we haven't always been bad, is the point I'm wanting to say.  I'm an AVID reader, and I've done quite a bit of delving into my family's records AND tree; in over a thousand years, ALL of the different equine races have been a part of the Blackwater family tree... and even zebras... though no alicorns; at least, not that I know of, anyway.  But I'm PROUD of my heritage - proud enough to realize that the 'bad egg' history we have is only the past number of generations... and NOT the nasty ponies we always get characterized as.  It's simply the current opinion - current, though, being the last few hundred... uhm, years... yeah.
    *clears throat*
    Anyway, I know we aren't bad pones; we're just... well, diamonds - or maybe emeralds? - in the rough.  We're a perfect family because we're IMperfect; flaws and all, we each represent an archetype of what CAN be found in a family unit.  And though we have our different... quirks... we also have our own, strange kind of love for each other, too.
    I know Father only wants to protect me from experiencing what HE went through at Grandfather Erasmus' hooves; he can't even speak his name - he simply calls him Management.  Tell me THAT isn't an unresolved issue... but it's something that toughened him up, as well.  Made him the capable and hard-working stallion he is today, along with the shock of it all making him that much more determined to do what he had to do.  There's something real and everyday about that, and that makes him a deeper soul than just the surface stone might portray.
    And Mother?  She's GOING to tell you she was the favorite because, to her, she WAS.  She ended up succeeding in life on HER terms, marrying the stallion SHE could stand hoof-to-hoof with and STILL find both deeply honest and genuinely caring.  SHE can see through Father's stone muzzle to what he's thinking; that's why the two of them fought - she almost seemed to be second-guessing him, and HE had just gotten the quarry under his control.  He lost his temper - which, because of how love can sometimes be, made her even MORE attractive to him.  
    Daxter... I n-never TOLD you abou-
    Sometimes, there are folks out there who get along WELL like this; functionally DISfunctional, so to speak.  But we really AREN'T bad - we leave that to the other players and their characters to discover for themselves, through expressive storytelling and diverse setting characters, or NPCs, as Mister Randi calls 'em.
    Oglevy?  He's the brat because there really ARE a lot of kids who go through a bratty phase out there; it's identifiable because many folks have dealt with, in some manner or form, at least ONE brat - even if it was themselves.  But he's also a genius, indicative of the same thing that tends to happen as generations pass; the new batch is smarter than the last one.  Now, sometimes they still seem to have to learn things the hard way, of course.  But he's young and resilient enough to bounce back from a lot; something he'll doubtlessly take advantage of often.
    My older brother is also a stereotype; college.  The School of Hard Knocks, yeah... but it's still just as valid a learning institution as any ivy-league university or country-town schoolhouse.  And he's off doing that, along with the pain of what happened between himself and Father slowly healing... heck, I'm SURE he'll make a grand comeback to the quarry someday.  As soon as he's ready to.
    He may bury the hatchet with Father... or he may not... but the animosity between Harcourt and Oglevy is the stuff of siblings around the world.  It plays out well between them, and makes for an interesting moment when the two of them, in separate stories, mention each other - especially for those who might read both storylines.
    It's all a full and rich tapestry of love and conflict - just like any healthy family usually truly is at its' heart.
    And me?  Well, uhm...
    *soft sigh*  I know I was kinda hesitant at the beginning of all this - and truthfully, I still am.. but they're right.  My family, that is.  They know me better than I know myself sometimes, and they do for me what I do for them, in their own flawed, yet loving way.
    But yeah.  Uhm.  I...
    I don't want to yell at you, or say mean things to you - though it seems like you're more the type to do that out of affection more than actual intent to hurt - but that's... that's not me.  I'm the kind who WILL come up to you and ask you if you would... would rather be friends instead.
    Truth is, I do have a few friends - but my young teen point of view is fully evident in how I feel about myself; which is unsure and outcast.  In my case, I'm also the awkward one - so that means I have a chance to turn out to be the one to TRULYchange the general opinion of all of Equestria, if for no other reason than my actions in trying to be friendly despite my natural proclivities to be alone and... well, yeah - kinda mopey.
    But I try to work hard to be something more than a stereotype... I take actions that are outside of my comfort zone... and theseare my actions...
    *walks up to you, looks up and gulps, then speaks shakily as he nervously extends a hoof*
    ... w-would you like to be my friend?  I'd much rather have a friend than a name-calling match, honest.
     
     
    Widdershins 
     See? The one that sticks themself out to be a friend to a Great Mess like me! 
    *limply clasps Dax's hoof with both his tentacle & claw*
      The reaching Olive Branch! The meek that step forth to bridge gaps! TRULY such is the spirit of ponykind and an admirable, and enviable trait in all! 
      *firmer, and genuine, compassionate grasp while his eyes get all big and doe-like*
      But I still hate you most of all, scarecrow! Mostly because your a wishy-washy reader-by-proxy, BUT! I truly only mean that hate in a loving sort of way, I assure you! Just like the family you just described! A little of everything! That's what "realistic" means, in that there's a wide array of what those characters can be, not just confined to the lists of likes, dislikes, traits & tropes! After all, that's why my author has a huge crush on your mother!
      Oh shaddup, you. I just like the color green is all. And red. Among various other options too.
      But that's the reason Young Adult Novels get the bad rep they known for! Teenagers are, almost without exclusion, shallow, angsty & self-centered. A character like that gives off an aura of being a transparent ploy for reader attention, but that doesn't make them any less real! In fact, its my own standpoint that everything is real, while being simultaneously a lie. There is nothing that is fully without merit or worth in and of itself. Every thing big enough to have its own existence impacts lives one way or another and literally adds to every life & existence it rubs up against!
      That's what critics are. When you come to see the negative of things, the biggest thing, and first, that you start looking for worth in is yourself. Take a look around at any critic you find, there is always some modicum of fear & doubt, even the most pompous ones who believe they can end whole careers & establishments that believe that only their opinion matters. That bluster is built so steadfastly as to show they can't live without that. Every critic hates themself. Everybeing can only start from themself as a starting point, and from there compare it to everything else & in turn come to see themself as lacking. ...Some are closer than you'd think.
      Humph...
       It's in learning to laugh at yourself, and KNOW that you're an inexcusable great mess, is what makes you Real.
     And that's what I see in you all! You're all Beautiful, Hot Garbage! You should have your flaws! I wouldn't want it any other way! Perfection is boring! Boredom is stagnation of creativity! If you can't create, you can't grow! Growth is an important factor of life! Living is an Art! ART IS EXPLOSION!!!
    HIT THE DECK, HE'S GONNA BLOW!!!
     
        Well, I mean he always blows, but...          Oy!
     
    Randimaxis 
    Well?  Satisfied?
    Yes, well - I suppose if that's the BEST to expect...
    I have nothing else to say.
    Certainly have to admit, the conversation was NOT dull.  A pleasure, to be sure.
    FLUFFNOGGIN!
    ... I-I'll just... be over h-h-here...
    ... then I suppose they've said their piece.
    In case you couldn't tell, I actually have a great deal of fun portraying them.  They're part of the reason I'm still HERE in the first place - though the folks I've met here are the biggest one, hooves down.
    Or claws.  Or pincers.  Or noodle-like cilia.  Or bacon.  
    ... mmmmmmm...
    Among them, unique little you.  (Or big; I honestly have no real context; use whatever works for you.)
    Thank you.  I truly do appreciate the way you've worked this through with me; sometimes, my head isn't exactly turned the right way, so I see things from a BADLY skewed perspective, instead of a GOODLY skewed one.  Times like that, all you can do is work it out - which this has really been cathartic to me, and apparently I needed that more than I realized.
    Yeah, I know I can come across as sappy and naive... but truly, that's just who I am.  Not saying I don't want to change - I dislike the idea of justifying the retention of my flaws - but it's more like I recognize my flaws, and try not to let them get me too far down.
    The Blackwaters' profiles?  I think I'll leave them down, for now anyway... if I ever gather enough interest in them for folks to ask, I can repost them then... after a slight revision, here and there.  But rest assured, I'm no longer leaving them down out of shame... more like 'laziness', but meh...
     
    Widdershins 
    Of course you don't! The whole point of me is to not have any context!
      I feel I've said that before. You should have flaws, you should be this emotionally invested in what you do. I don't want you to hide, second-guess yourself and refuse to grow. That's a painful road to travel down.
      And, hey... I'm asking. What, do I not count?
     
        ...bacon appendages? I need an example of that. No way you can out-original me!
      Randimaxis 
    I... actually have a question, now that we're through the above stuff...
    I was looking it over and seeing how well-written much of it was, and I was wondering:  
    Would you be willing to allow me to copy/paste the conversation into a blog?
    If the answer is no, that's perfectly fine - we did say a number of things above that were quite personal; I'd be willing to edit out whatever you feel doesn't belong in the public eye, of course.
    I won't do anything like this without your okay, since this was a personal convo between us... all eight of us... and I don't want it to seem tawdry and cheap by publicizing it - but, at the same time, it's so very expressive and fun that I feel like it would be an excellent read for others, as well as being insightful toward not only the Blackwaters, but your own rather fascinating creation as well.
    However, as said, I will NOT do so unless you approve - I'd rather have you as a friend than showboat at your expense.
    What say you?  *winces*  BOTH of you?
     
    Widdershins 
    How could showboating ever be bad?!!?
    Well, let's see, a few things.
     One: You don't know me well enough by now to figure out that I don't bloody well know what I've said already? I ain't gonna go do the extra work of scrolling through all that to edit! 
      Two: I don't really care what impact my previous words could have. I ain't gonna be ashamed of it, and if you post it up I ain't gonna balk at what's already done. Besides, I have a habit of babbling. I often spout off embarrassing details about myself frequently in desperate bids for attention. Nothing I say here can't be any worse or less then what I've undoubtedly done several times before. That's what I say: If I stop to think about what I need to say, I'll never get to say anything at all!
     Three: REALLY? AAAAALL OF IT? YOU MAD, BRUH? (It's okay if you're mad, I'll feel for you, bro!) That's, like, WEEKS of work we done did! All that even gonna fit all on one page?!!?
     Sure! I could I resist potential more attention?!!?
       Sure, go ahead. I don't mind. This is the internets after all, a place to express opinions and shout where it makes the least impact.
        What's the worst that could happen?
     
     
     
    [EPILOGUE]
     
    I really, really just need to remind myself to stop taking me so seriously, and just do what I do - and when I find someone awesome to do that with, enjoy that too.  I have to let go of my ego, so that I can just be weird for a while.  
    Most of all - I gotta hang out more with good folks... because, as they say, friendship is magic.
    Crazy is a bonus.  
     
  21. Randimaxis

    No Exceptions

    By Randimaxis,

    [Roughly about a decade before the return of Nightmare Moon...]
     
    "I FORBID IT."
    Of course you do.
    Harcourt's muzzle wrinkled in disgust, but he said not a word - not yet.
    His eyes were locked on those of his Father, the strong and imposing Luther Blackwater; the stare was returned, in spades.  He had always had a bit of a rebel in his blood, but this was a first for the young stallion - he'd never right out stared his Father down... well, he hadn't ever succeeded, anyway.  Luther always managed to make his gaze crumple like so much waste paper.  No matter the argument, the elder Blackwater always seemed to be the one who came out on top, and though he only used that fact when necessary - such as a young Harcourt wanting to follow the pegasi over the side of the Wall - it STILL never sat well with him.
    Well, he thought, tonight, that changes.
    "I... don't... CARE."
    Though Luther didn't budge one inch, the look in his eyes was plain to see - there was no hiding his Father's emotions; he was simultaneously shocked, saddened and outraged.  The veins in the proud workhorse's neck throbbed warningly, and his jaw clenched ever-so-slightly... which, though tame-looking to others, was just short of a full-blown tantrum for the stallion himself.  His emotions always seemed to range between annoyed and angry - and Luther Blackwater looked absolutely LIVID.
    "I've already explained that I have given you EVERY opportunity to change my mind about this - and you've said NOTHING.  And it has not the first thing to do with work, because you've ALWAYS come to me when you saw I was upset... always took time away when I wanted to talk to you... so I'm afraid I will NOT buy any sort of excuse about not having the time to exp-"
    Luther stomped.  Once.  The stone under Harcourt's hooves shuddered, and at once he was afraid.  
    NO!  Not THIS time, nor EVER again!
    "I did not SAY I had no time - I felt it was not needed.  There was no reason to talk you out of your 'wander', because I had thought you would be smart enough to see the folly in it and STAY.  I believed you would-"
    "Simply BOW to your whimsy yet again!?  I don't THINK so!"
    Harcourt decided to stomp as well... but, though it was a sturdy stomp (to the point of actually hurting a bit), it was nowhere near the same power level as his Father.  
    Luther had been a rock-kicker for quite some time, from all he'd gathered, anyway.  The foreponies there had only been employed since his Father had taken over - not a single pony here had been from before, when Grandfather Erasmus had been in charge; none of the current staff could even answer Harcourt's questions, because none of them had been employed here before that.
    Regardless, even if his show of force had been less than his opponent's, the deed had been done.
    Luther, surprisingly, blinked.  And when his eyes opened, Harcourt could swear the look of stern admonishment that the elder Blackwater had always worn... faltered.  For a second, it almost looked as though Luther was genuinely dismayed at the sight of his eldest colt making such a display.  It was a look that Harcourt had never seen before cross his Father's face; he didn't like it at all.
    Fortunately (so to speak), the look didn't last long; within seconds, Luther hadn't just recovered - he redoubled, standing at his full height, his powerful barrel swelling with indignant fury, his eyes narrowing to slits, and a huff of a snort to round out a very intimidating sight.
    "This is a FOOLISH thing to stand up for!  You do not understand the things that are being planned!  You cannot leave at such a crucial time as this!"
    Luther had never used contractions; can't, won't and don't had never crossed the powerful stallion's lips during Harcourt's entire youth.  He used to wonder why it was so, but once he got older he began to understand that his Father simply preferred his own methods of doing things.  Far be it for ANYpony to tell Luther Blackwater what was what; the stallion did things HIS way, because it was just how HE had always been.
    Which, in turn, had led to the current situation.
    Ever since he'd learned from his tutors about the entire world around him, Harcourt had wanted to travel.  His Mother, Vylia, had always simply laughed over the idea - but secretly, she'd always managed to buy him picture books of places he'd heard about.  Places like Griffonstone, Las Pegasus, Baltimare and the Everfree Forest.  Places he had dreamed about, going to so many exotic locales in nothing more than his own mind.
    Though he'd threatened to run away after his baby brother had been born, he hadn't done it.  He'd given the squirt the business - and the little tyke didn't just take it on the chin, but he'd STILL want to be around his 'Big Bruvva'.  How could you keep hating something as friggin' adorable as that?  So, he'd ended up getting along with him in the end... but still, the itch to journey the world continued to poke at him mentally.
    So, once he'd finally reached his twenty-third Summer, Harcourt Blackwater had decided he was no longer going to remain here in this grand but lonely mansion.  He was destined to see everything!  He would travel abroad and study all sorts of cultures, living in the nicest of places, eating the most exotic cuisine... living the life he KNEW would be perfect for an active and capable stallion like himself.  
    His Father?  He'd been born in this cockamamie emerald quarry; he'd been on business trips, but that seemed to legitimately be what they were - simple business trips.  Luther even knew a few foreign languages... a curiosity, as he could have easily hired any number of translators to tell him every nuance of what was being said.  Other than work, he could never recall seeing Luther Blackwater even leave the quarry for so much as a trip to Canterlot with Mother.  He seemed quite fine being here, among his shiny rocks and his big-fish-little-pond mentality... but Harcourt wanted something else.  
    And he was willing to fight for it.
    "Well, I've had ENOUGH of your plans for me!  It's like you don't even trust me to do what I WANT to do in life!  What, are you planning on keeping me locked inside these walls forever!?  Keep me as a STOOGE to you, letting you control my every waking moment!?  WELL, TO TARTARUS WITH THAT MANURE!"
    Luther's eyes widened as Harcourt swore at his Father for the first time ever - and the look on Luther's muzzle said it had both disappointed and angered him.
    "LANGUAGE!"
    "SEE!?!  You even want to control every word I say!!!!!"
    A nearby rumble of thunder made an aural exclamation point for Harcourt's words, making the young stallion feel empowered and giving him some confidence in this time of his rebellion against the one that had raised him.  He dared his Father to say a word, anything, that would jar him from his high-and-mighty perch NOW!
    The elder Blackwater shut his eyes, took and released a deeeeeeep breath, then re-opened them - and they were no longer angry... but soulful and almost pleading.  "Harcourt... I want to train you to run the quarry, and you cannot learn how to run it if you are not here."
    With those words from his Father, he was jostled from his high-and-mighty perch.
    Luther's face evened out - a rare sight to see - and he sighed again.
    "I... I have been reviewing my employees' records and work charts, and none of them have the things required to be able to effectively take my place here.  They are smart, yes - but they are not the kind of smart that YOU are, Harcourt.  You are the one who will be the BEST choice for such a position... because you already KNOW what is necessary for the quarry to continue on after... after I am no longer able to run it."
    Harcourt stood there, his face almost blank, save for a look of incredulous disbelief.  Honestly, nothing else Luther had said had gotten through; the young stallion was stuck on the first sentence his father had spoken, and his mind was a fire that was building and raging unchecked in his head.  
    Luther continued, not at all aware of the level of his son's rage.
    "I have had many problems with trust over these many years, due to Management."  Luther had always called Grandpa Erasmus 'Management'.  "But if there are ponies anywhere that I feel I can trust, it would be my own family.  A family that I am CERTAIN are worthy ponies to succeed me.  And it is YOU, Harcourt, whom I have chosen to inherit the entire quarry when I... step down."
    "This... was a difficult decision ONLY because I am not yet ready to step aside... but after much thinking, I have realized that I should begin showing you how to maintain the quarry while I am still able to do so.  As well, I would like to show you many things here that I feel are impor-"
    "YOU WANT ME TO STAY HERE FOREVER, DON'T YOU!?"
    The yell was almost Royal Canterlot Voice level, and at this Luther actually backed up three steps, staring open-jawed at his belligerent son.  This shock was only momentary, as Luther recovered with an angry huff and more words.
    "UNGRATEFUL!  I OFFER YOU MY ENTIRE WORLD-"
    "I DON'T WANT YOUR WORLD!  I WANT MY OWN!"
    More thunder from outside, and as if it had been the bell signaling the beginning of a boxing match, Harcourt and Luther's heads came together - they were now directly eye-to-eye with each other... and they were BOTH mad enough to spit flames.
    "AND WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF WHAT YOU WANT!?"
    "NOTHING, BECAUSE YOU WON'T... LET... ME... FIND... OUT!"
    "I AM TRYING TO GIVE YOU A FUTURE!"
    "NO, YOU'RE TRYING TO FOIST YOUR PAST OFF ONTO ME!"
    "I HAVE BORNE BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS HERE - THIS IS OUR ANCESTRAL HOME!  OUR LEGACY!  OUR ENTIRE LIVELIHOOD!"
    "IT'S A HOLE IN THE GROUND, AND YOU'RE AN ANGRY COLT PLAYING WITH WHAT HE BELIEVES ARE HIS 'TOYS', MAKING THEM DO WHATEVER HE WANTS THEM TO DO!"
    "THAT IS FALSE!  I AM NOT MANAGEMENT!"
    "NO - YOU'RE WORSE!"
    At that, Luther's face didn't just twitch... it fell.  His normally cold blue eyes glistened, and the look on his muzzle was one of pained surprise.  Uncharacteristically, he spoke softly and with the sound of a bereaved question in his voice.
    "... but... but he never loved me... and... and I lov-"
    "YOU'RE WORSE BY FAR!"
     
    >WHAP!<
     
    The sound was sharp and quick.  There was a soft gasp from behind the office door... but otherwise, you could hear a Breezie blink.
    Harcourt had finally lost his temper.  
    All those years he'd been working with tutors and even his own little brother to keep himself and his errant tongue in check - gone in an instant, as the young Blackwater stallion had just struck Luther in the face.
    To his credit, Harcourt had the good sense to be surprised that he'd gone that far; he stared at his hoof for a moment, then back at Luther.  The elder stallion had taken it directly on the right cheek, and had turned his head and closed his eyes, his silver-framed spectacles knocked to the floor.  That was all.  He simply stood there, and Harcourt could see the moist spots on the carpet where his Father's tears had been literally slapped from his face.
    I have to get OUT of this place...
    Harcourt turned and bolted for the door, and dashed outside into what was apparently a driving, pouring rain - everywhere except within the walls of the Blackwater Quarry - a weirdness he could neither explain, nor did he currently wish to consider.  He took off down the path that led to the quarry yard, ultimately seeking the front gates.  His heart was hammering in his ears as he reached the bottom in record time.
    Is he-
    Out of the manor came Luther Blackwater, charging like a bull and roaring in a wordless, inarticulate yell as he bore down the path, his eyes almost aflame with rage.  Harcourt had never, ever, EVER seen his Father in such a state, and all the bravado went out of him in a rush.  There was no WAY he'd want even a moment in the grip of the enraged stallion - and he knew he'd have to really RUN to get outside of the gates.  Lucky for him, he'd already asked the gatekeep to raise the portcullis and open the large doors... he'd been expecting to pass through quickly, but the current situation called for more expediency than he'd thought he'd need.
    But he was no slouch, and as soon as he passed the threshhold of the massive gate, he was deluged with rain, and soaked clean to the bone in short order.
    Luther Blackwater skidded to a halt just on the quarry side of the gate, and bucked the stone and steel wall next to him.  A chunk of the mostly invincible wall went sailing backwards, and Luther raised his deep bass voice to levels that rivaled the princesses themselves as he called after Harcourt; they would be the last words that the young stallion would hear from his own Father:
     
    "NEVER RETURN HERE!
    MY QUARRY!
    MY RULES!
    NO EXCEPTIONS!"
     
    He stood there for a moment, trying in vain to track Harcourt's movement in the harsh downpour... but he'd lost sight of the young stallion almost as soon as he'd gone out into the weather.  After another moment or two, Luther stepped back, and the massive gates closed with a deep thump, sealing off the outside world from the quarry once more - and sealing Harcourt Blackwater from ever coming back inside.
    Water ran freely down Luther Blackwater's muzzle - yet he'd never even gotten into the rain.
     
  22. Randimaxis
    For those of you here for a Spike fanfic, I am sorry to disappoint.
    Last night, as I sat at my computer and... uhm, computed... I was distracted by the sight of my childrens' sleeping bag, its shape swollen and wriggling, scooting its' way down the hall, headed right for me.  A small blond head poked out, and a different voice from inside the mound said, "No!  Which wayyyyyy!?", followed by the head looking right at me and the blond saying, "He's over here; c'mon!", and the mass of cloth and children slouching toward me.
    At this point, allow me to explain simply that my children are 10 and 12.
    The bloated camping bed stopped before me, and a voice from within called out to me, addressing me as the "Head of the Dragon Council", and presenting their issue.  Apparently, according to the blond one (the 10 year old girl), the dragon body that she was sharing with her brother (the sleeping bag) had become absolutely foul, due to the boy's supposed "HUGE farts" - and the offended party wanted retribution from the Dragon Council on this matter.
    At this point, the other child poked HIS head out and informed me that they had chosen "Dragon Names" for my wife and I (at the time, my wife was at work), and that they were to be our titles for being the heads of this ubiquitous Dragon Council.  I was told by the boy that they had, quote, "respectfully decided" on the Dragon name of FartBreath for me... and PoopHead for their mother.
    How regal.
    And so, to recap, the two-headed dragon/sleeping bag had crawled down the hall to me, wherein the girl-dragon head demanded justice from Lord FartBreath of the Dragon Council for having to suffer the presence of the boy-dragon's brutal flatulence.  I was speechless, honestly - it took me so very much by surprise that I said nothing; I merely laughed and shook my head, returning to the screen from where I had been roused from.  To this, they simply laughed loudly and crawled their way back to their room.
    But of course, the Council HAD to take action.
    I waited for about three minutes, then I slowly crept down the hallway to the outside of the door leading to my erstwhile children, still amidst the joys of make-believe and complete in their total innocence.  I c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y slid my hand onto the doorknob and, silent as a mouse fart, I turned the handle until the mechanism holding it shut was clear.  I then proceeded to await the right moment...
    It came when the two of them, still playing, had gotten into a (fake) argument, and the boy said, aloud, "... and there is NO ONE who can defeat meeeeee!"
    Picture it:
    Suddenly, the door FLIES open, and I burst into the room and yell, in a gravelly voice:
    "FARTBREATH ATTAAAAAAAAAAAAACKS!!!!!"
    ... and proceeded to tickle the living HELL out of my son.  He was the target because of the earlier request, you see; the Dragon Council sometimes takes a moment to respond... but oh, the response was WELL worth the wait.
    The boy almost seemed to instantly dissolve into a writhing, giggling ball of putty, while the girl screamed in fear - which quickly became loud, bright laughter.  It all ended with the three of us in a happy, laughing pile on the floor.  So many times, I hear folks ask me if being a father is worth all the worry, stress, pain and suffering you can go through...
    In my experience, it is COMPLETELY worthwhile; moments like these are things I'll cherish for as long as the Save Game battery in my noggin lasts.
    So says Lord FartBreath of the Dragon Council.
     
  23. Randimaxis

    Story Time: TWO

    By Randimaxis,

    [STORY TIME]
     
     
    It was summer, and Sherrie Badger was in the mood for a fine swim on such a hot day.  So, she gathered up her beach stuff and filled her little orange backpack all up with so many fun things.
    There was a bottle of sunscreen, two pairs of sunglasses, a thick and fluffy beach towel, a little pail and shovel for the sand, a nifty sunhat with petunias on it, and a nice lunch of grape soda (her favorite!) and a yummy watercress sandwich... with TWO pickles!
    Sherrie Badger then began the trek from her humble abode unter the Tum-Tum tree, deep in the Doodleybob Forest, headed toward the fine sand, sun and air of the little beach that every critter in the entire forest knew about.
    On her way there, she made occasional stops at her friends' homes, asking them all if they wanted to accompany her on such a fine, sunny day.  Though Dinah Squirrel was organizing her nut collection, and Rocky the Rabbit was digging a new room for his hutch, and Shiny the Toy Robot and Mr. Puff-Puff Mousie were far too busy, Stevie the Stork and Big Joe Toad were MORE than happy to go with their dear friend to have a day of fun and relaxation.
    As they traveled, they sang happy little songs and skipped merrily, bringing a light and jovial mood to anyone who would see them passing...
    ... anyone, that was, except for Mean Myrna Mole.
    Myrna Mole had always been grumbly-wumbly, but today she was in QUITE a snit.  Her foul temperment was in high gear, and she had been waiting ALL DAY LONG for someone to yell at - particularly, foolish, fluffheaded animals who thought the entire world was just hunky-dory all the time.
    As the trio drew closer, Myrna could hear their singing voices... and knew she simply COULDN'T let them pass her home without a decent tongue-thrashing!  So, as they rounded the bend, Myrna prepared herself for what she knew would be QUITE a fun time for her... even if it would be miserable for everyone else.
    When Sherrie Badger came around the bend, Myrna huffed at her.
    "Well, now - and what have we here?  Another head stuffed with fluff, I expect.  Don't you have ANY idea of what you could be accomplishing if you weren't so busy being your usual dippy self?  You should be ashamed, acting as though you've not a care in the world... do you not realize that your very existence is nothing more than skittering to and fro, doing NOT A SINGLE THING of import?  From the looks of you, you must be headed to that DROLL little strip of sand the others have the nerve to call a 'beach', aren't you?  LAZY!  SHIFTLESS!  FOOLISH LITTLE MOPPET!"
    Sherrie Badger wasn't used to such talk, and her big blue eyes began to water, tears forming as she thought of how silly her idea might actually be...
    When Stevie the Stork came around the bend, Myrna huffed at him.
    "Oh, look - the silly little stork has come to be a fool, too!  Why in the entire Doodleybob Forest would you be willing to WALK to that miserable swatch of sand?  You have two perfectly good wings; why aren't you busy flying... after all, that's what you're meant for, isn't it?  Yet here you are, ground-bound, thanks to the supposed sense of 'friendship' you claim to share with these other fools!  Don't you realize they're simply JEALOUS of your wings, and they want to keep you on the ground as much as possible, restricting you to the same drudgery as they have to endure down here?"
    Stevie the Stork wasn't used to such talk, and the bottom of his beak began to quiver, his throat tightening with tears...
    When Big Joe Toad came around the corner, Myrna huffed at him.
    "And YOU!"
    But Big Joe Toad simply pulled out his chrome .44 caliber pistol and shot the mole right in her motherfucking face.  Five times.
    "Ain't SHIT!", said the toad.
    The three freinds then went merrily along on their way to the beach, leaving that bitch-ass mole facedown in the dirt, her hoarse and blood-soaked death rattle being the last thing they heard from her as they went on to enjoy their day.
     
    {Da Moral}:
    Don't fuck with Big Joe Toad.
     
  24. Randimaxis

    Story Time : ONE

    By Randimaxis,

    [STORY TIME]

    Taki Turtle, Dinah Squirrel and Big Joe Toad were all heading down the lovely little path through the Doodleybob Forest. They were all headed to Shiny the Toy Robot's place for their usual cookies and fruit punch - Shiny threw the BESTEST picnics!
    As they came round the bend, who should they see but Argyle Fox, looking all sneaky-weaky, and he had a box in his paws. As soon as they saw him, the trio of friendly friends slowed from their traipsing gait to a slow walk. That old fox could NOT be trusted, and they knew it - he would try to take them to his den and gobble them up... even Taki!
    "Well hellOOOOooooo, my fine friends! Say, the three of you wouldn't mind helping me out here, would you? I seem to have gotten a lot of cupcakes in this box here, yet it's FAR too many for my little self to eat ALONE... but I'll share them with you!"
    Argyle opened the box juuuuuuuuuust a bit, and motioned to the opening. "Well? Who wants to come over here, riiiiiiiight next to the box, and take a peek, hmmmmmmm?"
    Taki was curious, but was wise enough to know better. "Not I," said the turtle.
    Dinah REEEEEEALLY wanted a cupcake... but she knew that wily old fox was just strong enough to be able to shove any one of them in that box... so she flicked her tail at him instead. "Not I," said the squirrel.
    Big Joe Toad pulled out his chrome .44 caliber pistol and shot the fox right in his motherfucking face. Five times.
    "Ain't SHIT!", said the toad.
    The three friends then continued along the path to Shiny's, leaving that bastard fox bleeding out in the gutter, shitting himself as he died in the most excruciating pain he'd ever known.
     
     
    {Da Moral}:
    Don't fuck with Big Joe Toad.
     
  25. Randimaxis

    Future Unsure

    By Randimaxis,

    I'll be moving soon.
     
    The biggest problem with this is the fact that, as of this writing, I have NO idea where we'll be moving to.
     
    You see, my family and I have until December the 31st to find another place to live, secure it, and move our stuff into it - including ourselves. This came on somewhat short notice, and there's no butthurt or anger involved; it's simply one of those kinds of situations where nobody's really at fault.
     
    Frankly, it sucks - I kinda wish I DID have someone to point all my frustration at and unload... but the fact remains that I don't. Oh, and we still have to move. Of course, it would help if we could find a place first.
     
    *sigh*
     
    One of the things that's weighing on my mind aside from moving (and its' foibles) is the fact that we have NO working computer, and there's no telling when we'll be Internet capable again... which, of course, means that I won't be able to visit the forums until we do.
     
    That gives me quite a nasty knock; I've stayed on this forum for longer than I have any other online social gathering, and you folks are like my extended family... how will I get by without you all?
     
    Well, I mean... I could find a library nearby wherever we'll be and keep touch in one-hour stints. Granted, not ideal by far... but still a possibility.
     
    The computer we DO have is currently DOWN... and, as much as my wife claims she's going to get it fixed, I know she's a bit of a procrastinator. It could be QUITE a while until we're able to even AFFORD to do so, never mind that we'll have plenty of expenses pop up between now and then.
     
    I could go through friends... but honestly, doesn't it bug YOU when you've got a friend who's constantly asking to use your stuff? Yeah - I do NOT wanna be THAT guy.
     
    Begging for help or money? No, thank you - I don't like the idea of folks avoiding me because they think I'll ask 'em for stuff; I'd rather have friends than money, anyway.
     
    That leaves me in a nebulous spot, a place where I have NO idea if I'll be back to these wonderful forums anytime soon...
     
    Anyway, the last day I will have any sort of access to the Net of Inters will be December the 31st; after that day, I'll be communicating from elsewhere than where I am at this very moment... if I can get access, that is.
     
    If not, well...
     
    ...
     
    ... no. I'm not gonna say good bye HERE; it'd feel cheap to me. If it comes to that point, I'll make a post about it and give my 'So Long And Thanks For All The Ponies' speech there.
     
    This blog is more-or-less just me venting my fears and frustrations.
     
    I do hope we manage to get Net set up before we leave, so it'll be as if I never left here - that'd be grand, I know it.
     
    But wish, crap, hands, fill, dot dot dot.
     
    *sigh*
     
    Anyway, I suppose I'll just quietly bide out my remaining time here. I might be missed for a moment, maybe a week... then, it'll be just like I was never here. That's not me crying or whining or being depressive - it's a simple fact of life for almost everyone.
     
    See, people pass in and out of one's life like busboys at a restaurant; maybe there's a connection, but when they walk away, they're quickly forgotten to make room for the next restaurant, the next busboys.
     
    It just happens - we can try to keep up appearances, or act as though we're still as buddy-buddy as we used to be... but time progresses forward, not reverse.
     
    Still, that leaves absolutely NO reason why we can't have fun together while I'm still here.
     
    So, until the end of the year, I'll still be here, doing the thing.
     
    Granted, if I end up getting re-connected almost instantly, then all this huster and bluster will be worth absolutely ZILCH, and I'll be the one with egg on my face over this blog. Still, it does feel at least a little better, now that I've gotten it out.
     
    Stop by and say hi, sometime. At least, while you still can, that is.
×
×
  • Create New...