D&D: Ow

Yeah. This.

So. In case no one knew, and most if not all of you wouldn’t, we’ve started a D&D campaign at my place.

That’s right, I’m that nerdy now. Go us. Guess who’s the DM? BOOYA IT’S ME. IT’S CAUSE I’M SO GOOD AT EVERYTHING GRAAAAAARRRR.

So yeah, I’m DMing a campaign and the first three sessions have cause me to think about the boundaries of what is possible, which don’t exist. Specifically on how to abuse those lack of boundaries, and how it makes the DM a sort of god.

Nothing has made me want to put those powers into effect like a couple of my players.

In my campaign, we have 4 Player Character’s and my GM controlled Cleric for when things get really hairy. The first guy is Drew, who’s playing a Psion. He’s a good PC, and RPs and games well based on what people are doing around him.

Stan is our Dragonborn, and doubles as a Dragonborn Fighter/Warrior hybrid. He’s definitely the most ridiculous of the group, and has already almost derailed the campaign more than once through his crazy antics. Happily, those situations never really go awry, at least not to a point where I couldn’t handle it. At the moment, he’s enchanted with a  chastity belt that, should he attempt to tear off his pants, will send him flying 10 feet in the air; but how that happened is a story for another time.

Alie is our bard, and she’s learning how to play with the rest of us. She’d be an excellent RPer if only everyone else RPed with her, and because I’m still a beginner DM, I’m having a hard time beginning and keeping up RP. Although the kind of RP she’d do is… still unknown.

And then there’s Mack. Ooooooh, then there is Mack. Mack is our Rogue. He rolled a rogue. He rolled an ELF rogue, and we all know what that usually means: arrogant, entitled, and it’s not necessarily restricted to the game.

Suffice to say, Mack has an “I’m the best” mentality, and we all know that when you have that mentality when you’re playing a game that is controlled by the RNG gods, things can only go from bad to worse.

As an example, the very first encounter we had involved 5 wolves, and the encounter nearly tore the group apart because no one read the godamned combat chapter. Either way, he wasn’t happy that the wolves almost tore him apart (Due to a low AC form not reading the %$#^ing BOOK.)

Next time, the encounters were apparently a lot easier. Why? We read the book, and we discovered that sneak attack procs on any combat advantage. Go figure, with his newfound knowledge, Mack trashed all the things. He had a lot of fun, which was good ’cause there’s something else you need to know about Mack.

Mack gets incredibly sour when he loses. Oh yes, he does.

So as a result of “being the hero,” Mack was very happy to be the center of everything for  a bit: he had stabbed more than a few kobolds, killed an Ankheg, and stabbed a big ol’ bitchy kobold crone. Fun was had by all, and the only person who got close to dying was my Cleric.

And then today. Ooooooh, today.

So the characters wake up, and decide to get back to the main quest: a story for another time.

Mack isn’t thinking, and decides not to check for traps when walking through the alleyways (Kobolds are known to set traps up everywhere. Everywhere) so as a result, he gets caught in a net. The group gets ambushed by kobolds who then proceed to almost kill their catch: not surprising. He was caught in their net.

Despite the tough fight they had, they overcome it, but is he happy about it? Let’s answer a question with another question: did he get the killing blow on anything?

Assuming the usual answer of the karma-ful RNG gods, he was already moping about how unfair and shitty this was. When the group went to the sewers, they were assaulted by rat swarms and a couple of styrges. Go figure, the styrges go after the frailer people and the swarms follow them and so attach themselves to our Psion, a clothy. As a result of flailing, our rogue has a hard time hitting them.

Go figure, he misses. A lot. He gets frustrated, throws his dice. Generally acts spoiled, childish. Ruins the mood for everyone, despite another successful encounter.

It’s been awhile, so let’s see what I can manage.

Monsieur le Rogue, do you understand what is D&D? It is a game. It is a game based on team work, and on the ability for a group, emphasis on group, to have fun together by killing imaginary monsters and such. Together, see? Which means that, if the group succeeds, you succeed.

So as a result, those rolls of yours? They only matter if your group loses. If you live, and there’s no way you ^$%#ing CAN with 2 healers, then you’re golden.

Here’s my issue with this: you do  realize all this moping ruins the game for the group don’t you?  What about all the times your group managed to save your ass, or speared a kobold with magic? What about all the times that Drew managed blow up a monster’s brain? MIND CRUSH. The epic HELICOPTER?!

When you ruin the mood of the gaming night, you ruin my ability to maintain the game’s pace. You ruin my ability to keep people engrossed in the game. More importantly, you ruin the fun of the group because you’re personally not killing the things. Your group is killing the things, you are winning. You have completely forgotten that your character should be happy to be alive, not skulking about how you didn’t die.

So please. For the love of whatever gods your character holds dear…

Do not make me abuse my GM power. I can and WILL summon the wrath of Pelor and shove a gigantic, spikey golden boot up your ass, and cause you to explode.

If that’s what it takes for my group to have fun, then so be it.

SMARTEN UP.

Thank you.

Thanksgiving!

Ah, Thanksgiving. The holiday where I have a the perfect excuse to eat fowl food ’til I get sick of it.

This year’s a bit different though: due to circumstances, I’m not having it with my family. Suffice to say that if I did, I wouldn’t be happy, nor would anyone else at the table; So I’m having a bit of an unorthodox thanksgiving.

The usual tradition is one of family: we get together in one big area, usually end up building or cleaning all day since the cottages need maintenance (and loads of it!) and then finish the day off with a massive dinner with turkey and stuffing and scalloped potatoes, among other things. Everyone has a great time, and the entire family (counsins, aunts, uncles) get completely stuffed and…

Like this but with people

Well, either way, that’s not happening for me this year. I didn’t earn my way into the family over the summer and now can’t go there without it being really, really awkward. Instead, I’m at my mom’s for the first time in 12 years, having had thanksgiving dinner a night beforehand at a sushi restaurant with her and my brother Julian.

In fact, instead of having dinner with my family as per usual on thanksgiving sunday, my girlfriend and her parents invited me to their thanksgiving. Apparently this means I’m in their really good books.

And ye, we doth add Phil, for his nose be too big not to include...

It’s a weird situation when I think about it: Thanksgiving dinner has always been about family and getting together for one weekend amongst a huge amount of crazy schedules. This year, I’m not going to be with my family, but with someone else’s. It’s kinda like I’m borrowing an extended family for a weekend.

So what is thanksgiving for me this year? I suppose that, even though I’m an atheist and “giving thanks” probably has a lot less meaning than it would for any of the christians ’round here, I’m giving thanks for my girlfriend and her family for including me with them, when I’ve only been around for 6 months. I’m giving thanks for my mom and my brother Julian for convincing me to come home, cause I think we all needed to see each other. I’m also giving thanks for one last opportunity to show that I can do well in school, cause “mediocre” doesn’t cut it these days, and despite all the flak I can give my dad he did give me one more chance, despite his judgement.

Mostly, I’m giving thanks that I get to eat a shit ton of turkey and I don’t have to cook it!

What are you all giving thanks for today?

A Figment of Nothing at All

The winds of space and time blew through the vast expanse around me, an empty place with nothing at all.

Imagine that: nothing at all. It’s hard to imagine, and it’s even harder to see. At first, I look for a floor that doesn’t exist, and then I try to see where I am only to find out there’s no light either. I can’t even call what my eyes aren’t seeing black.

A voice breaks the nothing with the clarity of someone who does very little talking, but expects to be heard when it does.

“Oh dear, I think you’ve taken a wrong turn. Are you quite alright?” So passive, so patient was the voice that I no fear of the speaker.

I thought for a moment about the question it posed to me. “Well, there’s nothing particularly wrong, so I guess alright is about right.”

“Delightful,”  the voice exclaimed, “well then unless there’s anything I can help you with, I’ll be on my way.”

“I actually do have something you could help me with. First, I was wondering where I am and how I got here. Second, who and what you are. If I think of anything else, I’ll tell you.”

The voice stayed silent for a bit. You could almost hear it thinking. Finally, it spoke again.

“Well, you’re in Nothing, at the moment. It’s very quiet, especially for a crossroads between one thing and another, it’s rare to have any two things travelling through the same nothing at the same time, but it does happen. Most things also move through Nothing so quickly they don’t even think about it, since it’s usually a time when something changes; and as everyone knows, things change quick!”

That made sense, I thought.

It continued. “As for who and what I am, I’m a figment of your imagination, a delusion in an illusion of your mind. Simply put, I’m here because you want me to be, and in a space of Nothing, anything can happen.”

Strange, but I didn’t argue. It’s hard to argue with something that you made up about 20 seconds ago.

“That’s cool,” I said, “but I was wondering if maybe I could have some light to see and a floor to stand on.”

All at once, a great plain of matter appeared under my feet, brownish in colour. I looked down to see I was wearing dark blue sneakers and straight cut jeans, along with a plain dark blue t-shirt. I had a great deal more hair on my head by the feel of it. I wiggled comfortably in my clothes, and I didn’t really care that I didn’t own a pair of blue sneakers.

I looked up to see where the voice was, but aside from me and the floor, there was nothing there. “I was wondering if I could see you too, actually. I’ve never seen a figment of my imagination for more than a second at a time.”

All at once, a strange… thing appeared. It stood at about 8 feet tall from the bottom of its leafy cloak to the tip of it’s bone coloured horns. It wore a mask of the same colour, which had two tiny black eyes and a small black mouth. the rest of its body was covered in a cloak made of long leaves of various greens and purples. Although it was hard to tell, it was smiling.

Cool. I thought for a moment about something else I could ask my imagination, and then spoke up.

“So why am I here in this Nothing for as long as I am?”

The figment stood perfectly still for a moment before it responded. “Well, it seems like you’re caught up in a lot of feelings at the moment that don’t make sense to you yet. Maybe you needed some time to just think. That’s usually a good reason not to move from one thing to another, just so you don’t trip on something by accident.”

It stood completely still again, smiling. I thought for a second, and debated whether he was right or not. I decided he was partially right, but there was something more to it. “Makes sense, but there’s gotta be something more to it than that.”

The figment tilted it’s head, pondering. “The feelings are conflicting maybe. When one force pushed one way, and another  one pushes in the opposite direction, then I could understand why they might not move anywhere.”

That sounded about right to me. “So I should choose a feeling and that’ll get me out of here?”

“Yes,” it began, “it’ll move you from the Nothing into a something. Feeling nothing is about as bad as it gets, so you might want to feel something soon. Take your time though, cause there’s no going backwards when you move from one something to another. Particularly when those feelings are opposite, you really should consider which one you want to be.”

I thought for a moment.

——————-

Anger flowed from my body and went deep into my pillows, my mattress, and my covers. I blinked from the light entering the room, my eyes still heavy from napping. I remembered a weird looking green person who smiled, but it was hard to remember anything at this point.

My phone notified me of a text, which I checked, and put down again. I felt at ease, though still exhausted and still down from earlier; but I wasn’t mad anymore, which was good considering how ragey I felt before I fell asleep. I guessed that I was still thinking, but I realized that I was okay.

I picked up my phone, and texted back that I was fine. I just needed to pick what I was feeling.

Black Trick: Part 1

Well folks, I decided I wanted to write more fiction. Here’s some kinda bad fiction for ya :D The character is based off of my personality when I was in second year alone in my room, the kind of mindset where I was very much determined to be okay on my own. Unfortunately, he turned out moody in this instalment, here’s hoping he takes lessons in baddassery sometime soon.

Here I stood at the precipice, on a rocky shore where the water looked to swallow me whole, and the world itself seemed twisted and dark.

The grey, sullen sky brooded over the city. The clouds moved only to be replaced by darker ones that threatened to bring more than just rain. The low rumble of thunder was barely heard over the high shrill of the wind blasting through the nearby trees, which were barely able to keep themselves from falling over. The rocks I stood on were slippery and slick with water from the dark, hungry waves below that smashed and slammed against the shore, a deafening roar emanating from the surf.

That’s where I stood, my coat held in tight and my collar pulled up close. My shoes, scuffed and unpolished now glistened with a steady application of mist. My trenchcoat flapped and flowed in the breeze like a tired marionette bound to a lonely string. My hat only stood proudly on my head thanks to my hands keeping it in place at the cost of being completely frozen from cold rain and harsh spray.

I shook off the cold for a moment, and reached into my pocket, pulling out a picture of a woman I once knew.

Her name was Sophia Spade, and she was beautiful and cold. Long, flowing black hair fell down her slender shoulders, a stark contrast to her pale, porcelain coloured skin. Her blood red lips were broken into a wide smile that gleaned with clarity that was only matched by her icy blue eyes.

It’s hard to imagine her face was now covered by the veil of death. Her lovely features rendered lifeless, her vitality st beat out of her by someone I now had to hunt, though I knew one wrong move would end me. I thought about how easy it would be to just jump into the water bellow me and give up, run away, disappear. How simple it would be to concede that I couldn’t win; but I had to try.

And I had to ask myself: how did this all come to pass?

It all started a couple of months ago, back when I was still a badge.

It started with a murder.

DOD SNO

One of the great things about having a girlfriend like Kitty is that she likes to watch all kinds of things on T.V. Thanks to Kitty, I’ve had the pleasure (and morbid satisfaction) of watching 1000 Ways to Die, the intrigue from Mad Men, and like any other hilariously awesome relationship, the occasional horror movie.

Okay, to be fair, we’ve only seen one, but I’m sure we’ll see more.

The first movie to fit this genre is DOD SNO, or Dead Snow when translated to english from… What do they speak in northern Europe? I really wish I knew. It certainly isn’t Viking, that’s a fact.

In any case, it’s a story about a group of 7(Well, 8 briefly for the first minute or two) medical students who do a bunch of stupid stuff (i.e: Go on vacation, in the middle of nowhere, where you can’t get to by car, where cell phones don’t work) and then wait for their friend (the 8th person who lasted 2 minutes). While they wait, a disgruntled old man barges into the cabin, and tells a tale about how the are is haunted with the souls of Nazi’s the locals never got to murder earlier. That there’s “something” that’s worse than the wolves.

Read as Nazi Zombies.

Go figure, the med students commit a couple of the cardinal sins of a horror movie (i.e: Have sex, go out on one’s own, get fat and get scared/Zombie food, etc.) and then all hell breaks loose.

And sweet, sweet hell it was.

I honestly enjoyed every minute of this movie. It was gruesome, it was scary at parts, it was hilarious at others, but most importantly it was incredibly entertaining. As proof, here’s probably a favourite bit of mine.

There’s only one thing that bugs me though: No unintelligible moans of Brains. I was hoping my first real zombie movie would have that. :(

Trolls Exist IRL

Ahh, another Ontario Place story. I have a feeling that customer service does provide a lot of good material.

Today was a normal day like any other, working as the host. Took tickets, counted passes, handed glasses and told people where to sit. No problems, and no hassle. I did the pre-show announcements, waited ’til the show was over, and then did the post show announcements. Once again, no issue…

And then I met a Troll.

For this who don’t understand what a troll is, allow me to explain. A troll is either (A)a mythical beast that eats sheep and lives under a bridge (B) a person who believes beyond the shadow of a doubt that it is right, and is obnoxious and loud about its opinion. The opinion, for further clarity, is always antagonistic.

As an example, here’s a “fill-in-the-blanks” version of how a troll might sound like:

“_____Sucks! You’re a _______ and you suck. I’m obviously qualified because I’m a ______ and I should know. This was awful. I could do this myself {-or-} My grandmother could do this {-or-}  ________ %$#*ing blows!”

Got it? Great! Let’s continue.

I am standing at the bottom of the stairs on the right side of the theatre, taking glasses and wishing everyone a good day, when a man suddenly asks me an awkward question.

“Sir,” he said in a very matter of factly, I’m-about-to-tell-you-off way, “is the volume in the theatre adjusted to suit people with a handicap or hearing problems?”

I thought about it for a minute. Is the volume in the theatre intended for people with hearing problems? Not likely. Is this question suppose to fluster me?

“Uhhhh… I don’t know, sir. Maybe?” I say meekly.

Great success Phil, you failed to notice it’s a trap.

The man draws himself up, and I finally take a good look at him. His aging white hair is having trouble covering up his balding scalp, and his glasses drive the point home that this man is well over 50. He is by no means an elderly man either though: he’s big, he’s beefy, and despite his friendly looking purple shirt and round glasses, he was not happy with something. My best guess at the time was the volume of the movie.

“Because this sound system was WAY too loud.”

I was right! Huzzah!

“I mean, I could tell that the volume was at LEAST 10 decibels too loud. You know what that means? That’s 10 decibels too many; and I should know, I’m a sound engineer. I’m coming back, and next time, I’m bringing my equipment with me so I can measure the sound here and check it against federal regulations. This can’t be legal.”

Oops?

“I’m sorry sir, and I understand: Hubble is loud. If you want to, and I recommend it, you can talk to guest services-”

“And frankly,” he continued, his momentum only gaining, “you’re announcements were annoying! They were far too loud, and it didn’t help at all. I couldn’t even concentrate on what you were saying!”

Now folks, I’m one to take criticism seriously when it comes my way. I like learning from mistakes; but when you call me annoying? You better bet I’ll take it with a grain of salt. Especially when another guest comes up who’s been hearing the whole thing, and says the following:

“I thought he was fine.”

The sound engineer took on the same colour as his shirt.

“Are you a specialist? I am. You probably thought he was fine because your ears are damaged.”

The guest took this surprisingly well and mouthed “What?”

The sound engineer continued: “I know what I’m talking about. I record rock groups, and this-”

Cue the guest. “Maybe it’s YOUR ears that don’t work then. Rock groups would explain it.”

It’s at this point that I’ve decided that this needs to stop before it escalates. “Sirs, I’m sorry but this discussion is stopping people from handing in their glasses. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion: sir,” I gesture towards the sound engineer, “if you have any complaints, please tell guest services, as it will likely have a greater effect than telling me. As for you, sir,” I gesture towards the guest, “if you think I’ve done a good job, then please tell guest services, since they love to hear when we do well. Thank you! Have a good day!”

Undeniable proof that trolls exist in real life. They just don’t live under bridges anymore, that’s all.

Colour

I left through your front door
But now you notice something’s gone
I left through your front door
Now you know I’m on the run

The world takes on a darker hue
footsteps moving, one and two
The world is different, changed and gone
You’ve got to put your colours on

I travel on my bus
You’re look for what you know is gone
I leaving on my bus
You know I left, I took it all

The world takes on a darker hue
Footsteps moving, one and two
The world is dead now, changed and gone
You’ve got to put your colours on

You wait
And then
I’m back
Again
And then
You see
It wasn’t
Me

The world takes on a brighter hue
footsteps moving, two by two
The world is perfect, now you see
Your colour’s back, it’s you and me

My Encounter With The Great Big Angry Bitch

While working at Ontario Place, I’ve had the great pleasure of meeting a lot of really cool people: people I’ve worked with or simply met in passing. There’s one time I met a big movie music buff, and we talked for 15 minutes about all kinds of movie music: he liked the older classics and I was into newer composers, but we both had a great time talking.

I also remember a little girl in particular who was more adorable than a whole litter of puppies eyeing you all at the same time, and she loved the hell out of bugs, So much so that when I told her that the movie she was coming to see was all about them, she squealed and smiled her semi toothless smile, her massively wide brimmed white hat bouncing up and down with her tiny little head with her little glasses hanging on for dear life.

Honestly, cutest little girl ever.

However, working at Ontario Place, you get some other people. And you all know where I’m going with this: I’m talking about the big, honking assholes. The kinds of people where really, the word asshole fails to describe just how repulsive those people are, like saying that shit smells “bad”.

In any case, there was one lady in particular who stands out to me: I called her the Great Big Angry Bitch, or GBAB for short. Or Gert for super short.

This story actually starts off with a little old man I’ll call Hubert, or Hub for short. I was standing out front of the theatre, being pleasant and helpful. Hub comes up to me, asking where he can buy some tickets, and I tell him where. He thanks me, and shuffles off to buy some tickets. A couple of minutes later, he shuffles back, tickets in hand, and asks me where are the parking lots. I tell him where they are, and he shuffles off once more. And then he comes back one more time, and he tells me he’s waiting for someone. So I wait with him.

I really shouldn’t have. Saying that this morbidly dressed, redheaded dwarf of malicious rage was an unpleasant person is an understatement I’ve never had the audacity to make. She wore an all black dress on a  sunny day, complete with a shawl and short heeled, closed toe shoes. Silver and golden bangles clattered along her wrist, and her small, shiny watch glittered in the sunlight. Her make up was caked on a face driven to wrinkles, though whether it was because of old age or the power of the dark side is still unclear. This visage of somewhat cluttered evil was framed by hate coloured, rage bent hair that spread down to her shoulders like the claws of a headcrab grasping the shoulders of its latest victim. Gert came down the ramp, swearing and cursing as she went, Waving her arms in the air, she definitely fit the part of “wind bag” and reminded me of a harpy I slew in WoW once. A really big bitchy one.

She waddled down the ramp, waggling her short, anger fuelled arms in Hub’s general direction, screaming and screeching at him. Something along the lines of “where the fuck are they you idiot?”

Needless to say, this came as a bit of a surprise. What surprised me more was that the meek, little man was was MARRIED to this grubby gargantuan gorgon. What really struck me as the final nail needed in her coffin (though certainly not the last one, as you’ll find out) as far as being a bitch was when she said “I’m sorry, my husband’s an idiot. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

This, just to remind you folks, was in public, and she was by no means a quiet woman.

The first thing to do was to diffuse the situation. Obviously, this meant finding out what was going on. When I asked how I could help her, she responded in probably the worst way possible.

“How can you help me? Come on, haven’t you heard me? Honestly Hub, (she turned to him at this point) you’re going to be the death of me. Haven’t you been fucking listening? Listen to me, god dammit you NEVER listen! I sear he’s going to kill me. Look, are you going to help or what?”

I can’t make this shit up, folks. Not without a lot of help, and trust me, no one would want to.

It’s at this point that the 2 people I was working with both went inside to go grab the supervisor, and I was left alone with Hub to face this person. She eventually started ranting about the problem: the family had disappeared, and she was worried as to their whereabouts. Or that’s what I’m guessing, considering how hard it was to make out that information from the much more verbal, much louder information that Hub was useless and pointless and a moron.

After whipping out her phone and trying to call the rest of the family, she demands to know where the Swan Boats are so that she can meet them there. When I asked her if I had a map, she starts again.

“Do I have a map? Of course I do! Honestly, why do you work here? Look, this lady at the front gave me this map. She put stickers where she thought I’d like to go. Ohhhh, I’m all sweaty and and tired from the long hallway… HUB! Would you look at this map? For fuck’s sake, are you stupid? Look at the god damn map! Fuck! Where are the swan boats Hub? Hmm? Where?”

I decide it’s time to talk. “Well ma’am, if you’ll look right here…”

“I’m looking right there, now where the fuck are we supposed to go? I’m all sweaty, and tired, and now you’re just going around in circles. HUB! Look at the map, listen to the man for fuck’s sake, just try to find out where we’re going! You’re going to be the death of me Hub, I swear to god. Look, the lady put stickers down on where we’re supposed to go…”

This, folks, went on for a full 5-8 minutes with me trying to get her attention long enough to actually help her and her trying her damnedest to stay as flustered and %$#&ing ragey as possible. Flipping a bitch never took on such an applicable meaning as it did right there.

Good thing for her I’m still in the business of being kept employed and out of jail.

Once I finally told her what to do, and she listened, I thought it was done. Nope.

“Okay, fine. Now that’s outta the way: HUB, you moron, where is the family now? Call them you idiot! For fuck’s sake, do I have to do everything? God!”

I am proud to say that after another 4 minutes trying to get into contact with the family, and another 14 minutes more of waiting with her incessant abuse (What the fuck were you doing Hub? Why did it take you so long to get here? You’re so stupid, honest to God. I’m all sweaty and this is so stressful, I just want everything to go right. I mean, what the fuck were you doing?!), she finally left without physically harming anyone. And neither did I!

Once she and Hub started leaving, I politely said I was glad I could help, and then went inside where my supervisor was waiting. She asked what happened, and I explained the whole episode. It was then that I realized something really funny:

If any of you have seen South Park: Bigger, Better and Uncut, then you can remember Kyle’s mom. This woman was the living incarnation of Kyle’s mom, and with that distinction comes a full ^%$&ing song about her being the biggest bitch in the whole wide world.

Great Big Angry Bitch, this song’s for you.

PHiL

Edited for fear of being interpreted as an anti-semite rant.

I Create Bad Moods

I have no idea if anyone has ever said this before, but in the progress of learning new things, one will inevitably step on a few eggshells and break them.

So I’m talking to Kitty, and the conversation turns to how my brother said I’m “whipped” in his usual way anytime that I spend time with a girlfriend. She didn’t like this, and I asked her why, and that proceeded to whip open a whole new can of worms to talk about.

Don’t worry, no details. I can see how that wouldn’t be appreciated by anyone.

For me, I was here to learn about lots of things, and to explain my point of view to see how it checked against hers. Unfortunately, I did something wrong, and I got her into a bad mood.

This isn’t the first time this has happened either: I can remember that a great deal of fights I had with Lorelai were started the same way: hell, I can remember one particularly heated match we had when we were talking about what was a worse punishment: Eternal torture in hell, or the cessation of feeling anything but maintaining awareness for all eternity. That ended with her shouting and her mum coming down to calm her down. Or the time when we talked about the death penalty. Or just about anything you can think of, actually. %$#@, it was worse than shit slinging monkeys armed with potato cannons riding a flatulent horse.

Shit. Everywhere.

You know what? I blame this guy.

In the end though, there is one, singular thing all  these things had in common: the girlfriend is always in a bad mood afterwards, and I’m clueless as to what I’ve done wrong most of the time.

This leads me to one of a few conclusions:
1. I’m a terrible person and I’m the only person who doesn’t see it.
2. Secretly, I’ve been brainwashed by a secret organization to create bad moods so that they might harness the “negative vibes” to create death rays.
3. Most plausibly, I’m just a really confrontational person without realizing it, and simply clash with everyone on everything because I like the conflict.

In short, I just don’t get why I make so much hate; Maybe I’m socially challenged. Maybe I’m a horrible, bad person deep down inside and I revel in people being angry. It’s entirely possible I’m a shit slinging monkey. No matter what it is though, I seem to being out some of the worst in people (although Kitty is actually really good about it. She’s as calm as it gets, and just as irritated as I am. This is a nice change, especially when compared to past experiences where the other person is just mad as hell) and I should probably do one of two things.

1. Become a hermit, and live my days as a nonsensical old man in the North American Rockies on the top of mount Logan.
2. Learn how to use the “negative energies” from peoples “feelings” and market the world’s first Bad Mood Electricity Generator, market it for millions, and then not have to worry about things ever again.

And they will know my NAME is the LORD... when I lay my squirrelly vengeance upon them!

Personally, I like option 2.

-PHiL

EDIT: This isn’t an everyday occurrence, I promise. Especially not around Kitty, it has only happened this once ^^”