To worry about Governments as the ACTOR in world events is like believing the Police are an independent force, manifesting their own will and policy.

http://www.ribbonfarm.com/2011/06/08/a-brief-history-of-the-corporation-1600-to-2100/

An indirect point, not made in the article: Had the British East India Company not destroyed the balance of its tyrannical Bengali trade concession, there would have likely been no American revolution. The continent would likely have gone on the Canada model.

Addiction

I woke up before her for once. I took a shit... hey, you wanted everything, right? Started the coffee because the robots really suck at making coffee, and got dressed. I was just taking my first sip when the doorbell rang. It was Tammy.

"Hi, uh Destiny invited me for coffee."

"Come in. She's still asleep, I'll get you a cup."

"Thanks."

"Uh," I said, handing her a cup, "Destiny says you're a psychologist and a, uh I forgot. You're not a whore, you're studying them.."

"Did destiny tell you that?"

"She didn't have to. I ain't went to college but I ain't stupid, I can add two and two and get something between three and five. It's obvious."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, I wondered how you got the money for a ticket, but shit, you got two doctorates. You ain't gotta look for work."

"Nope. Want to know about my studies?"

"Huh?"

"Jesus, you're a dumbass. I'm studying drug abuse and prostitution and you have two hundred drug addicted whores on board! Do you want an education, dumbass?"

I felt like a dumbass. "Yeah, I guess it might help."

"Here," she said, giving me a small memory chip.

"What's this?"

"Just read it. Don't worry, anything you don't understand I can explain."

Shit, I hate reading. That's one thing where me and Destiny are different, she loves reading. "Well, you had me fooled when I met you."

She laughed. "I study them, you don't know them at all. Don't let them know they're being studied or the study will be ruined."

"I'm discrete. Guess I have some studying to do."

"It'll save you a whole lot of trouble. I have some studying to do myself," Tammy said. "Tell Destiny to drop by when she wakes up. I'll be in the commons."

I put the chip in the tablet and started reading.

After reading for an hour and a half I had to put the tablet down. I was in trouble. No wonder they was paying me so good.

Most of these girls were abused and sexually molested as children, most of them raised in foster care. Many and maybe most were children of criminal parents; thieves, often very violent. They were the kids society allowed to be ruined for life.

It was sad. Most of them were droppers. There's a chemical name for drops in Tammy's book but I'd have to look it up.

These girls hated sex, having a normal sex life was ruined in their childhoods when they were molested and abused. But drops made the whores enjoy getting fucked. Most of them had never had an enjoyable sexual experience until they put a drop in an eye before work.

There were other psychoaffective (and yeah, I had to look that and lots of other shit up when I read that damned book) stuff. Her book had a lot of other big words like neurotransmitters and I just kind of glossed over them, I ain't went to college or nothing.

I gathered the whores just stayed really fucked up.

And the drug was highly addictive physically as well as in worse ways. It made the user the opposite of pissed off when under the influence. When that was taken away, well... it ain't pretty.

"Damn," I thought, "Addiction must be a bitch" as I got another cup of coffee.

It seemed I was in for serious trouble.

"Whoops!"

Four days after a missing flight, a patent is approved by the Patent Office for maximizing dies on a wafer.

4 of the 5 Patent holders are Chinese employees of Freescale Semiconductor of Austin TX.

Patent is divided up on 20% increments to 5 holders.

1. Peidong Wang, Suzhou, China, (20%)
2. Zhijun Chen, Suzhou, China, (20%)
3. Zhihong Cheng, Suzhou, China, (20%)
4. Li Ying, Suzhou, China, (20%)
5. Freescale Semiconductor (20%)

If a patent holder dies, then the remaining holders equally share the dividends of the deceased if not disputed in a will.

If 4 of the 5 dies, then the remaining 1 Patent holder gets 100% of the wealth of the patent.

That remaining live Patent holder is Freescale Semiconductor.

Who owns Freescale Semiconductor?

Jacob Rothschild through Blackstone who owns Freescale.

Here is your motive for the missing Beijing plane. As all 4 Chinese members of the Patent were passengers on the missing plane. Patent holders can alter the proceeds legally by passing wealth to their heirs. However, they cannot do so until the Patent is approved. So when the plane went missing, the patent had not been approved.

Thus, Rothschild controlled interest gets 100% of Patent once Patent holders declared deceased.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and thirty-second entry

This Lent, learn what soap may do for you and your fast. Lenten trivia for the worldwide paschal season recorded older than Egypt, who exactly was Zechariah? What did he do? When did you personally invent the chainsaw?

Over the years as homeless, this town of rich kids and millionaires began with dinner dresses and darn near tuxedos all day and all evening long. Now the sidewalk parade has degenerated to be staffed with daytime small time midtime idiots, the high class design district looks like north park to gaslamp and college all day long, filling the waitaround oil cannon of idiots seeping and creeping on one homeless fella. The La Jolla plaza has been sold out to refurbishing because nobody was making any money griping about the idiots "just stopping in" as they mill around filling the show running down to and buzzing up on the bottom walkway. The Armani Exchange, usually strategically positioned that such high class trimmed fashion need not deal with riff-raff (the mall cannons pick them off and hustle them on their business and out the door), has decided to pack up shop from midtown and retreat to the mall where they have the protection from morons making up excuses to talk, often loud and idiotic after prepping themselves with super saturday duty to run down and spit stupid at the homeless man. The most stylish heat in this area, without turning to millionaire halloweenism, is the Guess wrapper on one of my totes.

Over the years, this town of rich kids and millionaires had lots of stories, and excuses, and fingers to point, and claims to make, and blame to assign, and maybe not this one but that one, and oh sorry which one was it or the other one, were they really homeless or were they playing a game or pouting a spell, did this happen or that happen, was it here or there, maybe a blue screen and a few extra sound bites from some other time... over the years there have been many stories and lines, many excuses and guesses, heard about one of these or those, worried about this or that. Over the years they've cut down all the trees and put up the floodlights. Not only have they taken away sleeping and sitting spots, but they have worn out their excuses and lies, worn out their stories and blames. Turns out the entire parade, the entire watch, the entire excuses and lies... they're all toilet mobbing faggitts and animal dick whoring freaks. That's what it turns out to be, when the floodlights take away the excuses and the bare walls give up the facade. There's nothing wrong with you, it's all about what's wrong with them.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Did I not tell you man was made from clay? How messed up would you like to get in your monster mash with reanimated sewing parts? Enter the house at gerar, get pounded out, would you like to be cut into twelve pieces all at once or would you like to do this on million dollar deformation plans? Too many amps to the kicker, how's that woofer deformity doin' ya? Get all bent out of shape and call it a job, get all mashed up and call it a lwife.

No sex with eunuchs before marriage. You will never truly know how many bumps from left to right until you have counted them all for hours and hours and hours, which you will do more than even a boy if you've been hit with a hot rock and bothered with a superpackage.

May I introduce you to the ritz closet? The spongeblob alcove? Walk into our church, turn for the ladies chapel. At one time I am telling you it looked like a voodoo shrunken head. Now it really looks like spongeblob ritz, father Abram's blind eye (lots of money in that one, about the level of a... anyway), and Zechariah's other hand (the sewing cross of Christ and the soap pokies along side), in modern times remote control hell on wheels.

No sex with eunuchs before marriage. There is absolutely no way to compress that entire process leading up to Adam, create and perfect the technology, staff the world with Mary models, and hit that dead center. If you still "make it" and flip inside out then she'll be slightly imbalanced just every bit as imbalanced to tell (shriek) you about it. "Look at me! All imbalanced like Zebulun and Napthali! Just couldn't wait, could you?!!! You better run and tighten up your abs for me to get the right combination to fill this!" Then yesterday's book of Jonah. The queen of the south, your real ass is the tip of your tongue, which you would know if you thought about flipping inside out, and similarly your brain, if you are doing it right and working on it, gets around to anchoring itself to the bottom of the other side of the inside out. Then the choirs of angels, --funroll-loops. There's the greek fable of all the guys that hit the ground and could have been a perfect race if they hadn't turned on each other and killed each other in a knock down drag out fight. That's not actually --funroll-loops, that's the prophet walking into Ninevah to sack the town, but they've been going downhill for a few thousand years, so all he's able to do is knock the king out and Jehu the immediately surrounding rooms flat... he doesn't actually kick out the full plague for the whole town, because he himself is too boogered up to make it. The big enormous horde of guys rising up and getting killed in the fight is the surrounding Ninevah town sacking the prophet's newly formed temple, or, in larger scale and older times, the surrounding network of Ninevah towns retaking the prophet's town if he did manage to kick up something so big as the plague. Real humans actually get along quite well together.

This Lent, learn what soap may do for you and your fast, learn what fasting is, learn where your frontal lobes are, learn how long the world has been around since before you were born, learn what happened before then.

Where does glue come from? Okay, now where do those come from (father Abram had no camels)? "I am going to sew you into horses and poke you into soap!" That's Elmer, on the bottle of Elmer's glue, a modern day Melchizedek (Mel usually had the big hat with the side horns and all). He is going to sew you into horses and poke you into soap.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and thirty-first entry

I suppose, somewhere around this time of year, is time to change to eighth year. Maybe next time. I leave in March, begin in SD in April, I think PM HPB has the date saved somewhere.

Today's scripture provides a scene for the usefulness of the technique demonstrated in Template Timeline. Jonah enters the city preaching doom and gloom, walks straight up to the king sittin' on the crapper and decks him. The Lord repents. Uh, okay, now that we're in the season of Lent (worldwide, in all of the Christian empire observing it, and the concept of the paschal season not being new either), perhaps you could tell to me the meaning of "fast"ing. Are there any milestones in this practice of fasting (yes, some of them quite pretty)? Is there any way to tell if the fasting is being performed correctly (yes, quite clearly)? According to the practice of fasting, what is repentence? Why would the Lord need to repent? Maybe relent... but here we see the difference between the Lord creator of the sun, trees, and food chain and God, the committee formed thousands of years after a lineage of kings to replace Gad that woke up and eventually got sick and tired of the show and walked through the door to hell. Ninevah is not at that time destroyed. We are working with a worldwide history of development of a network of Ninevahs, up to the time when each individual Ninevah was large enough to require three days to walk through. Ninevah itself is the remnants of the monasteries which began the practice of polymorphs and mummifications, remnants of monasteries which would turn dogs away "If you weren't part of the community of witches stripping the trees then you will don your ritz again and twist back up. If you're part of the community of witches stripping the trees then you probably deserved it and you're all going to hell anyway." In the earliest stages of Ninevah the population could be sacked, all of them now being trained steam pressed eunuchs-by-birth. Steam pressed and table trained. Boxes of cereal in the grocery store. The brand of cereal, the amount of sugar you have, how large was your group and how many extra rumplstilskins were available in the bug screening session. The USDA RDA list of vitamins and minerals, your possible training routes for three or four weeks on the table of the nations. Bite your tongue here with these teeth and get ready for the staple gun. Sure, there are a billion possible routes, but in modern day the kingdom of heaven has standardized on more or less basic lines of training to augment the architectural, social, and lingual methods of walking the steam pressed witches through life.

There were the ones inside the model, developing laryngitis (lair-n-get us), being picked up by the phaeries and shipped to hell in the depths of the basements, and the drunks (of Lillith's descent, chasing Adam's leftovers and demanding death on every one because she and her husband are too perptually drunk to remember each other's names, let alone find each other), and the last of the true "prophets" or descendants of the real ones. At a time when Jonah could walk into town preaching doom and gloom his voice was not only supra voce, but he could knock them out like Jehu, tell them all to go to sleep with one big boom, ship them to hell like always, clear the set and stage.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

By the time Jonah could no longer do that then the network of Ninevahs was so large, and each Ninevah was so large, that even if someone did pull of a magic miracle and hit the right note for a town, the remainder of the network keeps shipping all to hell.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and thirtieth entry

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Crystal Scripture Dot Pattern

How is the dot pattern of healing similar to interpretation of NMR spectroscopy? Reading the spectrograph may be simplified to three primary functions: peaks, noise, and significant moments. Conventions of thresholds and pattern books of play exist within the NMR community but, primarily, they are figuring out noise, looking for peaks, and arguing over (defining) significant moments. The gospels may be analogued similarly. The tree of Ham shows everything since Ham began reliably going to hell with all the rest, all of the methods and variations which became hard coded primary structure, a walking centerpiece in the middle of the community of witches going to hell. The entire world hangs on Ham's left arm (because, going to hell unless he happens to be the _one_ in the Etruscan tomb, he will never achieve the healing fast and show the dot pattern), asking Jesus what's wrong with his hand, and chases him down accusing him over his own dick. This is the culmination of slugging down Abel's nose and then sending forty idiots running forty different stories (which have been designed over thousands of years to abstractly culminate together during significant decision making situations)j blaming him for whatever situation could have possibly resulted in such an injury. Those people descended from cocktail party rainbowtard lineages rarely squeeze out enough alcohol to bother reading scripture, Hebrews similarly wonder why they would bother recounting the bottoms of their toes, but if you're under father Abram's line then the gospel of Matthew should result in,"Well, yeah, that's about the way that it runs. Get in the car, old chap, everybody does it. SEE YA!" If you would like to make some pleasant conversation over which way this or that could have gone if he had decided to balk at getting in the car at this or that time, we have the gospel of Mark for you. If you're working for much much much smaller money than all of that then perhaps you need a little more explanation in each scene, a few more words to help bring your understanding of the whole matter together, and Luke may be more appealing to you. If you feel scholarly and think you're going to go back and look at the references, perhaps not completely understand how the Talmud under a thouand is compressed to Moses around three hundred and then chopped down to Noah around one-fifty about the time Ninevah finally rolls up in all the corners and then Sodom and Gomorrah keeps working the sizes of the steps and the hidden push button controls with the chlorine pool cue shuffling to ratchet people to seventy or eighty, and then Tyre and Sidon's tricks and magic shows add special effects and knockouts to the earliest of years up to that, perhaps you don't feel like understanding the history of the world, but maybe you want to cross reference the earlier mentioned gospels and study how they correlate to the Jewish customs, Levitic teachings, and laws of Moses from which it is descended... we have the big long artistic gospel of John to show each and every scene to you in lng beatiful sweeping motions which demonstrate how many possible different ways it is to be "the one" in each and every scene.

You can be the one, playing with your tongue.
You can be the one, dancing by the door.
You can be the one, givin' them that look.
You can be the one, that doesn't do that (*psst* anymore)
You can be the one, to make a million bucks
You can be the one, to lost it maybe two
You can be the one, sent straight to the box
You can be the one, that everybody is lookin' to!
But PLEASE
OH PLEASE
Don't be the one
Don't be the one
Don't be the one, the one, goin' to hell.
Water is wet
Gravity does weigh
The dome is on the top
and the sun goes that way every day
Please learn how to breathe
How to open up and breathe
How to squeeze through all the fats and work the cells
PLEASE
OH PLEASE
Don't be the one, don't be the one.
Don't be the one, the one, goin' to hell.
In every scene you could be the one
The one to strike it rich!
You could be the one
The one, goin' to hell.

In the gospels Moses and Elijah arrive and counsel Jesus. Moses tells him to keep stretching out his hand (have you seen my plagues, my boy?) and Elijah tells him,"Kid, if I would have gone for a walk longer than forty days, then maybe I woudn't have gotten in the car and come back as Elisha with a jar of aromatic nard." Jesus was positive that his religion had him scheduled to be a prophet on Monday right after he comes back. Jesus, all the DInah's starting investing in entire housing communities the day you walked out. How do they know Schechem is looking at Dinah? While Shechem is out in the field, she is the only one they keep marching in front of him. Nowadays it's all remote control.

Crystal Scripture Dot Pattern. If you could have a time delay lapse map of the dot healing pattern, along with my record of the days and the crystals I have picked up (and the entire record, if you could), and the daily scripture readings from that time, then you could probably figure it out yourself. Take the daily reading, with the daily healing dot pattern, and whatever artistic cut above crystal of the day (if applicable), maybe the weather report, and if you read that as a book (or perhaps in some compiled form), you could probably figure everything out on your own. Count by twelves along with it, even if you don't manage to put all the syllables in place (establish the Dr. Seuss rhythm in your brain). Every day's scripture gives you a set of syallables to be stuck with, similar to the "In which scene?" consideration for the gospel, every day's dot pattern gives a different area to have a distinct awareness of, especially if you're stuck in public all day long, and every crystla may have a different size shape color and setting, and sometimes the Dr. Seuss rhythm just makes you think of a different joke. The only question is... are you still going to hell?

Humankind's degradation. Lord, Lord, I am trapped in this terrarium with the dome above and hell down below. The lettuce is boxing me and the salad is stalking me trying to twist me into a dog and the phairies are chasing me like mad. So I ate the salad and the lettuce to keep it back, then I had to poop it out. By that time we had firepits with soap pokies, miracles, anvils, and blacksmiths with wires, and plenty of old soap pokies without hands, still poking soap, looking for magnetic north, and with plenty of incandescence, enough to fill a mine full of Christmas lights and pack even more lights into even old skins stuffed in the back of poorly located warehouses. So I tried to dry the poop on the wires, maybe churn it with the dirt and fertilize the soil and grow some of the trees back, but then it began to take on a life of its own! Did I not tell you that I made man from clay? AND THEY DID THE MASH! It got into all sorts of wars and arguments with itself (we were trying to train it to tighten up and achieve real humanity) and keeps shipping itself to hell, floating down in d'Nile and getting resewn together by devotedly blind eunuchs. Now it stays further away, but it is noisier, and it looks more like me. The problem is the same. Lord, Lord, I am stuck in this terrarium, under the dome, with hell down below. The lettuce (less than us) is boxing me and the salad (seven layers of human algae salad floating in d'Nile) is stalking me, trying to roll me into a dog, and the fairies are chasing me around like idiots all the time.

On the way... The humans were sticking their butts to the dome. They wanted to flip inside out and get something to play with. Because even they weren't the first ones squeezed out by life and espoused from the trees. They were the ones _trying_ to flip inside out and get something to play with, because Adam remembered that you need to get really really really hot (but forgot the importance of with soap, by working on it). So all he wanted to do was sit on the dome. Get more dry paper. He'll ge the methanol poisoning, what does he care? Sun's hot enough, he'll resurrect in place up the wa-zoo. The really really ancient ones (but not the first ones) were blind crazy all the time, from the methanol poisoning, descendants of that particular template of Adam's lineage, inside that frame of time of the history of this terrarium. They were devoted to getting hot, but with the excuse of "all I want to do is... get hot", they dreaded actually walking around and working on it, because that's what the leaf pickers do, and we know how long they've been doing it, long enough that we're lucky to have wings when we pass out and fall in our beds, and they still don't make it. By that time the leaf pickers had been on the job so long that they'd lost their parachute with the alcoholics more than once, and they were never working on it, really, enough to roll that back up, they'd rather have another drink at the end of the day and chase the griffon down to the dodo bird with the know-how drunks, 'cuz they're jealous of the ones that get to do nothing but sit and suck their ass to the roof all day long. The drunks chasing the griffons down to dodo birds (real life have feathers, fur is for polymorphs) are already getting lured down to hell where the phairies are waiting with the earliest of dogs. The methanol sickness is a bad turn for the humans when the trees (do talk when you let them grow up past three or four stories: when you landed on this planet, did you bring the chainsaws with you or was it all cut down by the people that magically died out and left it to you set up this way? Doesn't really matter, the phairies are waiting down below, Davey Jones' locker, the hollow-deck, the great grand glorious excavation, the butt-end of you) begin demanding that the humans figure out some way to end the madness... the judges sitting on the roof (yet hotter than the ones leakin' it from the blown parachute on the routes) never actually saw the event, and they cannot bear testimony against their breathren claiming to not have been the one to be stripping the trees. Levites similarly didn't actually see it, similary wish they could just go ahead and put the three thousand to the sword, but in modern days the (really) good Levites will thank you for the coffee compliment, ask if you would like hotcakes, the syrup is over there, would you like the butter with or without the salt?

Adam could still win, at that time, because he could resurrect in place. He wouldn't boil in place. He was accumulating boogers, not really working on it, not working on the left from the right (phairies are straightforward people, they don't breathe left from right very well, you top of the food chain supposedly intergalactic overlord stuck in a box, should keep working on it, instead you instellar son-of-a-bitch wrapped up in your own design pattern ready to unwind decided to give up your universal reputation for a chance to play with a stuffed conglomerate of four fishing poles with an old couch cushion and your own steam pressed clay primed with a few pieces)... so Adam could continue resurrect in place and shout down anybody that would question his judgment about the dogs. Adam was himself big on his own excuses, a junkie for sittin' in place and doin' nothin' because nobody ever makes it anyway and we're all stuck in this stupid dome and we all go to hell anyway and why can't he have something to play with wah wah wah... so if the people began cuttin' down more trees in retribution for the dogs, no big deal to him, keeps more other people sittin' on the dome so that he can hide in the crowd and sit there and brood. When the people sittin' on the dome wore out, then they went through a mental block, and became the people stayin' in the boxes, creating the first monastic unit structure, developing into the first monasteries attempting to help the communities of dwindling original ones, with more runtling offspring with voices which never drop, please, take in our odd son, put him on the numbers, try to get his voice to drop, our lines are running out, we'll pay our workers to move the stones from our lawn and garden and farm to your walls and improve your monastery. That's a good cvsupdate type cap to the running journal material on top of the URL linked book material at the top.

John is here at the library today. He has a class to assist many of the retirement community members (and other community members, but most grow up with cellular telephones with digital operating systems) working their way onto the internet and managing e-mail contact with family and friends long since moved to other cities and married to other people. John is a valuable asset in the computer lab.

I've been busy working on "Mars, Ho!" lately. There should be a new chapter posted in a week or two. So for now, here's some crap from the last century, this month fifteen years ago. It tells a tale of how to decimate a popular site: be a web gypsy.

There is mention of a weekly column I wrote for Kneel over at Katalystic called "The Weak End Hell hole", but the wayback machine has no clue it ever existed. Those columns are gone, lost in time, like tears in the rain...

Host gibs Fragfest
        I was about to write, "It appears that gameplex is gone, as in 'won't be back'", when I recieved an ICQ informing me that ugn3d (gameplex's host) got a new, unnamed owner. The new owner dumped gameplex and all sites that gameplex hosted. Gameplex will be moving to a new server and will get their own server later.
        So, I don't think the Fragfest will be moving from this address unless I die or change ISPs. I've too much of being hosted; the short URL isn't worth it. 3/1/1999

Fragfest joins the game
        My apologies to all the folks who have been trying to access the archives (Old Strogg's Home earlier than mid January), and who have run across dead links and broken graphics in the other Fragfest pages.
        I apologize also to my link buddies for putting up with a site change to gameplex and back.
        I also want to apologize to Neil, who is still waiting for that "Silicone Drive" banner I promised. Considering how long it's taking, I'd better make it extra pretty. Guess I'd need to have the Quake Guy wear a little lipstick.
        Speaking of Kneel, he really wants the Fragfest over at katalystic.com, so http://www.katalystic.com/fragfest will soon get you here. The "url from hell" will remain working from now on, though.
        And thanks to Flamethrower, for changing the link back to the "URL from hell" before I even knew gameplex was shitbombed! 3/2/1999

FamVid got squished
        If you found that the Fragfest was missing again today, it was because my ISP was down for a few hours to put in a couple of T1 lines. It's all your fault, too, and I want to thank you! Now, call some friends and tell 'em about us and see if we can clog their bandwidth enough to make 'em install a couple more. 3/3/1999

Shinola frags Steve
        "Psst, buddy, wanna shoeshine?"
        "Uh, I'm wearing tennis shoes." He flashed a goneplex logo.
        I put my tennis shoe on the, uh, whatever you call that thing you put your shoe on to get it shined. I slipped him a five. "Whaddya know?"
        He looked at the five. "Not Much. You're not going to like it."
        I slipped him a ten.
        Twenty dollars later I was still wondering whether or not to believe it.
        It seems that someone had planned some sort of party for later this month, and had so much alcohol and explosives for the fireworks display, most of it had to be stored somewhere else.
        A spark from a stray smoker caused the demise of an entire city block.
        "So where does gameplex fit it?"
        "Gameplex? Who's gameplex?"
        If you know anyone who would like a nice, shiny pair of sneakers, I'm giving these away.
        UPDATE: Two emails from two guys, the first reading "Don't jump to conclusions", and the second saying "that shoeshine guy is lying, and btw he gives you a crappy shine." 3/6/1999

Slipgate died
        One year ago today, the "haste does not bring success" sign went up. In honor of the occasion, I am not going to post today. Huh? I did? Oh, never mind. BTW, you missed the fireworks. Oh, and I think there's a new Weak End Hell Hole posted at Arcadia. 3/9/1999

Jazz Jackrabbit can't escape Dad's shotgun
        "Hey Dad, did you know you were famous?"
        Daughter Patty ran across some of you guys playing Jazz Jackrabbit 2 yesterday. Talk was about her Quake-crazy dad, and the fellows asked for a name. When she said "Steve" they said "McGrew? From the Springfield Fragfest? No wonder you're so good!"
        Actually, Patty's butt-kicking sk1llz are her own, and if I ever played that rabbit game I'd probably get my sorry old butt stomped pdq. My own Quake sk1llz are waning, what with all the work, having the flu, getting used to the new config, campers, bots... let's see, what other lame excuse can I come up with for sucking...
        Yesterday, in addition to being the one year down day for Slipgate, was Patty's birthday. So, thanks for giving her a cheap thrill.
        Hey, thanks for coming by! Now, where'd I put that shotgun? 3/10/1999

Counter sank
        I'm sure you don't mind a bit, but yesterday was this year's record low visitor count (so far... shudder). Not even half a gross (and I hate days when the Fragfest isn't totally grossed out).
        I sent an email to Old Man Murray asking him if he's seen my missing visitors. No response from the Postal Terror, so I think he's got 'em. I'll have to send Nacho over there with a few sticks of dynamite.
        When I went to GamePlex, a few of you got lost. When gameplex suddenly disappeared from the face of the net, the counter dropped like a rock. It was up to half normal earlier in the week when Planet Quake and Yello gave a link (thanx, guys!), but it's just me and you loyalists now. Do me a favor, write Blue asking "hey, whatever happened to the Springfield Fragfest?"
        I'm about ready to put your picture on a milk carton. 3/11/1999

Nacho joined the game
        Nacho, fellow victim of the evil IGN and their destruction of gameplex, told me last night that Nacho Extreme is almost ready to post. Gameplex has a server, but still doesn't have their domain, so Nacho is posting at his old Arsonist haunts.
        I'll give you the URL as soon as he has it up. 3/11/1999

Quake 2 mod sank like a rock
        The newest Quake 2 mod, "Unpronounceable Sword Thang" as Yello puts it, weighing in at 35 megs (Canadians are laughing and thumbing their noses at Yanks and Brits) was released last night, and soundly trashed by the reviewers at Planet Crap.
        To quote my daughter, "Nya Nya Nya Nya Nya, I know what the logo means in Japanese and you don't". Actually, I'd tell you, but "I can't post because it's not perfect yet" Nacho went to a lot of effort to figure it out, and he'll need a few visitors when he opens.
        A big thank you to Neil for the p1mpage on yesterday's Yello page (which is where the "sword thang" link takes you). Judging from the counter, quite a few folks said "hey! A real link!"
        UPDATE: Nacho Extreme is open! 3/13/1999

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and twenty-ninth(a) entry

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Following up on the dome treatment, and along the lines of the development of the revolver...

Shro is hot suctioning your butt to the dome. Pick up a few leaves and press some. Humans, then, began to deserve the steam cleaning, the newer and younger ones wanted the same priveleges as the older ones. Begin at a time when falling asleep meant falling more or less into your bower in front of you, then progress to a time when you're lucky you have wings. Along that timeline the trees become upset and twist some into dogs, some begin the modelling project, and some begin finding juice pits. Juice pits become appealing to humans. The older, more experienced, humans have routes watching trees, knowing when their trees are going to leaf, and planning ahead for steam baths. Younger impetuous humans, or less experienced, or simply more of the idiot type, begin stripping trees and, in their steam bath, develop chlorophyll sickness. Experienced herbage growers know of chlorophyll sickness and proper curing techniques. Experienced humans watching trees expecting to leaf would have proper curing techniques for the leaves and, if they suction to the dome hard enough, maybe a small inoculation of methanol, wood alcohol from the leaf fiber, to assist in the chlorophyll sickness. The more impetuous humans, wishing to attain more or less the same effect, develop a friendship with the Lillith type humans hanging out in the juice pits all the time. The humans in the modelling project begin developing their own forms of "lair-n-get-us" as their dens and towers and labyrinths come in contact with things down below. Humans hanging off of the dome also begin playing massive synchronized swimming games, especially once the trees are low enough that falling asleep tests your frame of mind with the wings, and playing games whipping up whirlwinds under the dome. Please don't stir up the insects. Whoops, too late, in combination with the massive modelling project leading to "lair-n-get-us". Bugs come up from below on both sides of the wall and, although lower on food chain IQ, have far larger numbers and orders as high as phairies are quite capable at counting to IQ pushing forty or fifty, and that's quite useful to a population with those sorts of numbers. The Lillith type humans in the juice pits also develop the habit of chasing the real wildlife (has feathers, fur is for polymorphs, modern birds are all remote control and the other side of the result of fishing pole polymorphs). The true wild humans, the "prophets" (before mummy baby type prophet fully inside the model), are stuck with dwindling numbers and choosing friends. No leaves really left to press, all the workers have the routes covered, hacking their way down and stripping the trees, making excuses for the dogs running rampant everywhere. The ones inside the model are hardly much more help, but at least you get to sing with them. The prophets are so well trained that, inside the model, they often fall for the joke of "laugh at this and then walk down that ramp", facing the model's stand-in for them, chuckling a bit, and then walking through the door where the dumbwaiter phairie is waiting with an overlord dog. Later, as the evil of the world racks up, the prophets become --funroll-loops choirs of angels, stacking up underneath (we're not coming out until something is done about this idiocy in the world). They have the same problem as the prophets before them, who to spend time iwth, drunk animal idiots or lair-n-get-us stiffs. The choirs of angels like to sing and, by that time, the technology in the model world for the revolver is point and shoot. No need to walk the angels down the ramps, we'll ship 'em in boxes after we line 'em up in the loft and knock 'em down with the pellet gun.

The world goes to hell.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and twenty-ninth entry

I recall, some over seven years ago, I was in the library here in 92037 planning my next report of peanut butter and jelly lunches. One of the library staff approached and asked of my name, if I was, and noticed that my older brother was on the telephone wishing to speak with me. I gave to her the most horrified possible look in the world and flattened myself to the ground, prostrate supplicant, unworthy of anything near to be personally addressed as any more than another dustball collecting in a crack in the basement of the library. I have no idea what course of action was taken with the telephone call after she affirmed with a microsecond smile that it would be improper for me to receive a personal telephone call, even from my older brother, at a random unscheduled point in time in the library.

Henry Wilshire won the fishing contest at the lodge again this year. Another trophy of dried out kelp for him, and that will mean that he will have a big voice in choosing the location of the Christmas party, again. Some things never change. As he tells the story he will likely attribute the win to his fish finder. I have a fish finder, I consider it to be decoration, because I have doubts that it actually works for anything and have been unable to prove it one way or another. His BBQ celebration for the tourny win always includes live speeches to laud and advertise his brand new fish finder (near every year). He is always kind enough to drop by some point before or after and secretly drop two very nice cutlets of fish for me. One of these years I will remember to save them and wait for some bread. Usually I toss them in with a bag of hot chips. Henry Wilshire, seabass extraordinaire. He really knows how to cook fish.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and twenty-eighth entry

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

1.

It shro is hot stickin' yo ass to the dome. Pick up some leaves and press a few. Don't take any off the trees. Why not? You could get a steam bath. The trees will grab you and twist you into a dog, see how you like being laid bare in front of your fellows. Trees don't fly.

It sho' is cold sittin' on the wall. The wall in the babylonian furnace, from personal experience. Use a cloth pad. What's on the other side of that wall? If you are upstairs in a millionaire district then it is a dog wash drag race with eggo race track, and on the other side of that wall are little children with living eyes and reanimated sewn together carnival props with dead ones. If you are downstairs, on the other side of that wall, then the children have no eyes and the dogs have living ones. Hey Noah, look up. Hey Noah, look down. Hey Noah, keep looking left and right while they talk you through the excuses to go to hell.

I choose to remain up here and go for the dome, maybe poke some soap on the way and get a really good steam cleaning when I make it there. Smoking, right next to whistling, is better than speech for prayer. Maybe it will take eight thousand years either way, but I am not going to hell.

2.

Waking up in hell. Listen to "Hell Awaits". That is your new overlord (wolfman jack with living eyes) and your new doctor (a phairie) waking you up in hell. The dog will be under your shoulder and the phairie will be tickling your navel. The whispering in the tune is your regaining consciousness, slowly coming back to life, the dog running his fur over your quail (ribs) and the phairie digging in your belly button. Your tongue will be shoved up your nose, but you won't quite know it yet, because that is how we ship you between areas in power saving mode. When you open your eyes you will have a reaction similar to "WHAT THE FUCK?!". If you would like to practice, go ahead and stick your tongue to the roof of your mouth and act like you are waking up looking at a (real) dog and a phairie digging in your navel, and draw back (like Neo being bugged) screaming "WHAT THE FUCK?" Notice how that sounds very similar to the tune. Then the overlord and the doctor will begin explaining to you things about hell, mostly in eggo, without five second pauses between syllables. I have come up with some entertaining lines to fit the lyrical pattern in the tune, ending with phrases like,"You have never even met a real dog before me" "And now it's one hundred million dollars a day" "Jesus said your soul cannot even be saved", among others. The remote control chicken (spongeblob ritz, a fishing pole is a power-arm sewn together with the hamster wheel, fish are the result of polymorph after not quite drowning) witch (half-dead already, going to hell) division, underneath the paschal lamb kingdom of heaven accounting branch, for the great grand glorious corporation known as hell. What happened to all of the other divisions? Sam-I-Am received an enormous tax break for chicken glove techniques and bought everything else out, subcontracted, poorly imitated, all for show.

3.

Doing it the right way. In what scene. In what scene is Jesus arguably: having sex, making a million dollars, masturbating with or without friends present. We teach little children (not millionaire born to be farm shit eating faggitt ones) about "doing it the right way", and their perception of the arguably, in various interpretations, begins close to 0-0-0. Over life they learn jokes, and various words in various settings cause them to think of various things or remember their own experiences. My perception of arguably, in various interpretations, according to my written work, is about 3-5-9. Millionaires, down to their smallest ones, quickly ramp up to ALL-ALL-ALL. Try counting by twelves and squeezing the farm sh*t out of your brain if you wish to reclaim your right to do it the right way.

4.

Your brother on the field of battle. Your enemy is an evil muthafucka. He does not want to simply shoot you and body bag you. Worse than that, life is more resilient than you think, and you don't just die that easily. You break down like amoeba and keep moving and making noise on the way. Your enemy does not want to kill you. Your enemy wants to ship you to hell, reliably, with as little fight as possible. You ate with your brother, you drank with your brother, you partied with your brother and laughed and cried with him. You went to boot camp with your brother, trained with him, went out to bars with him. When it came to the field of battle, though, your brother ended up with three hands, poo for brains, ozzy filter, a set of treacherous zippos, spongeblob ritz, multiple personality disorder, mood swings every five seconds, placated with a heroin pad, sipping on bioreactor beer from the surgery, and on remote control. Now just what can you do for your brother?

5.

Did you even listen to it with DNR? The attorney wants to know. You have the tape. It's not class A chain of custody evidence material, just cheap tape from a class B electronic device, but maybe it could be useful to build an argument or shed some light. The attorney wants to know. Did you even listen to it with DNR? No reason, really. Just a little question and comment verse response pattern that is common to the legal industry. When he goes out golfing next week he'll make it to hole six or seven, and that will be the time when all the other verse response comments and jokes and greetings have rolled around, and somebody will prompt him "what about that case you have with the people that think they have a tape". Then, as he tees, he will answer either,"*bah* They didn't even bother to listen to it with Dolby Noise Reduction." or "I finally found one that listened to it with DNR". All involved will chuckle and laugh and move on down the fairway. Later on, at the left handed tee, your attorney will have forgotten his wallet. The DNR joke saves his ass when one of his golfing buddies assures him that the tab is paid, no need to go running out to the car. That saves your attorney enormous amounts of grief over the next four or five months in the office and around the golf course. DNR, useful for finding open spaces where "audio bonkers" used to be. DNR, a method to ensure that none of your class B electronic media is capable to record the background audio bonkers in the remote control carnival. Did you even listen to it with DNR? Whether you are the person with the tape, the attorney, the guys on the golf course, the people in the office, or any of the supporting staff anywhere in the middle of that situation, whether or not you eat the million dollar malt-o-meal, somewhere in that loop will be involved all three levels of nation:corporation:tax shelter in the three stage structure of financial modelling necessary to continue shipping everybody reliably to hell.

6.

How do you cross Margaret Thatcher in and around Winston Churchill? Smokin' thwippin' cigarettes (hand-rolled, rough tobacco) and being surrounded by dog faggitt heroin whore church bells. Church bells. They're all remote control heroin whore church bells. The entire town. Every mass. They ring like church bells. Three different car horns in five different directions talk back and forth in a firestorm of environmental noise. They "ring", they do their "thing". Today's weather forecast: intermittant doggie faggitt hailing and scatterbrained doggie faggitt flurries. Yell at the ear, make a noise, use the cell phone, make the child scream, run for your backpack, accost or assault, beg or query... each one rings, one by one. If today is their first day working on you then maybe they need to figure out what's important to you to ring on. They begin with toilets, wash basins, drinking fountains, and "portals" (doors, passageways, narrowed sidewalk areas from trees or parked cars), and move from there. In the practice of staffing the entire f*cking church with nothing but remote control heroin whore ringing bells, I have happily outlined the entire cue by cue observance of the mass. Around town is so obvious when the bird (fifty yards that way) backs up the car horn (three blocks that way) backing up the cell phone call (from down the sidewalk the other way) following the dogsex innuendo scene (across the corner).

7.

So just what is a "dog"? Four fishing poles (not drowned and turned to fish) and an old couch cushion with one of wolfman jack's skulls from the bottom of hell. Phairies have the old bones exchange program for a long time before the formalized kingdom of heaven. Torsos in the closet (honey, call the plumber, is your torso left, right, center, or full justified?) continue making noise, even when stuffed with junk (they'll cough it out). So maybe we try couch cushions, sit on you, keep you compressed. Still doesn't work, need whoopie cushions as excuses (are you those people that still have the old fashioned couch cushions? *gasp of shock and awe* OH! NO NO NO! It's just this whoopie cushion, hahahahah!) The whoopie cushion is a developed excuse, old couch cushions crumple down like boiling seahorses, and original whoopie cushions had a slightly different acrylate content in the poly balloon. Modern homes do not have torso closets or couch cushions, or even whoopie cushions. Modern homes have water meters to count the multiplier on the level of sin debt already leveraged on that structure. Just how old are these jokes?

From the dome to the floor. Shro is hot stickin' yo' ass to the dome, sho' is cold stickin' yo' butt to the wall. Just how old are these jokes?

Ten years ago K5 was thriving, and my diaries got popular there. Folks wanted me to make a book out of them, and I promised I would.

I never got around to it, despite people periodically nagging me to. I finally did put together a PDF. I'd excised much of it, thinking it was too long, and emailed copies to those who asked.

Last Fall when I released the hardcover of Nobots I was again chided to get The Paxil Diaries on cellulose.

I'd discovered that no, it wasn't too long at all, and the abridged version was too short. So I redid the whole thing. I've been working on it almost exclusively for months and neglecting Mars, Ho! which I haven't done anything to since fall.

All that's left before publication is making a cover. The cover is the sticking point. It's going to be a photo of downtown Springfield with Betty Boop photoshopped in, and I'm waiting for Springtime to take the photo.

So if you're one of those who have been urging me to release a physical book, I'm projecting sometime in April.

https://scontent-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-frc1/t1/1891258_10152618358089325_546343374_n.jpg

Get it here!

So why did I move the release date up? Readers! Or rather, a reader. A fellow commented "Damn you! I went to see what your book was about and before I knew it I'm on chapter 7 and feel the urge to finish it tonight (otherwise I wont sleep). I've had plans for tonight..."

I'd just gotten my first check for books that had been sold the day before, but comments like that are even better than the check. I mean, I didn't write it to make money, I wrote it to be enjoyed. I walked around with a smile on my face all day and thought "gee, I need to let that poor fellow finish the book." So now you can!

If you're using FireFox to read it, PDF isn't the version to choose since FireFox sucks at rendering PDFs. It is, however, faithful to the printed version. Actually it was used to produce the printed version, and there may be some words in the HTML versions that should be italicized but aren't, I've found and fixed one or two but I'm sure I've missed some. Also, the PDF and printed versions are Gentium Book Basic while the HTML versions are Times New Roman. There is one passage that is Aral and renders funky in the HTML, and later in the book there's a Venusian nursery rhyme that is Comic Sans Serif in the printed and PDF versions.

I haven't posted the e-book version yet because I'm not satisfied with it.

If you select single file HTML (which you can download, of course) the screen will change only slightly, with links to PDF and e-book missing. Links to chapters are internal links.

I hope you folks enjoy it, that's why I wrote it.

Online now.

"Let's go back fifteen years and play some Quake!"

I groaned. "Fifteen years ago this month? NO! Hell, no, dammit Rority. That was a hell of a time. I'd been hosted for two months and lost half my visitors in the move, then my host got hacked and the place kept crashing and just disappeared in a black hole..."

"Oh, sorry," he said. "My bad; GamePlex was a mistake Gumal and I had to fix. But you recovered!"

"Yeah, after being kidnapped and tortured. I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition. No, I'm not going!"

"Your So You Want To Be a Webmaster, too article is gone, but we had nothing to do with that."

"Where did it go?"

"The Vogons destroyed Planet Quake to make way for a new interplanetary bypass. Let's go!"

"No!!!"

"We're going, and that's that."

Desatio frags 100
        Spew #100 came out last night, a live show with people there. Hear Desiato sing for the last time!
        He posts news of his and Yello's new "Arcadia" project- with a live link.
        Of the occasion, Sgt. Hulka said, "Holy giant butt zits Batman!"
        In other web nooze, Evil Avatar redesigned the Weakly Web - again. It has an "Illinois weather" theme; if you don't like it, wait a few minutes and it will change. 2/16/1999

Games can't escape GameSpy's BFG
        Version 2.08 is out- and I can't get it yet; all the ftp servers are full. When I finally do snag the sucker, you can get it here, where the server is never full.
        The GamePlex problem still isn't solved, so until I can access the Get Quake page again I'll have the new GameSpy on the main page... at least, when this REGISTERED USER actually gets a copy!
        UPDATE: It's downloaded, and is uploading as I type. Get the new GameSpy here. 2/17/1999

Yello frags Kneel
        In addition to Grannies, Yello admitted today to kidnapping Kneel Katalystic, and says he may release him. He has also kidnapped YOUR T-shirt, and demands that a ransom of (I think) $25 U.S. for delivery of your shirt be sent to:
Gimme Back my Yello shirt!
26 Claverham Park
Claverham
N.Somerset
BS49 4LR
UK
Yello plans to buy out Planet Quake with the proceeds.
        He also accurately misquotes PQ's "So you wanna be a web guy, huh??? Well think again loser boy!!" article (twice), has some quack 3 screen shots you don't want to miss, and has a GIANT interview. 2/17/1999

Fragfest should have used a smaller gun
        *sigh* I still can't log on; sounds like Flamethrower's troubles with Planet Quake last November. Again, I apologize; but I've at least mirrored the OldStuff page on FamVid's server so I could shorten this one.
        There are new links on the Links page, and a new command on the Commands page, but you'll have to wait until I can access gameperplexed again for the update. 2/19/1999

Kneel frags Yello
        In a stunning move, Kneel escaped from Yello's clutches, wrestled his weapon (a banana, I think) away, and kidnapped Yello. Yello had a backup weapon (a moldy dish rag), and each is keeping the other at bay, argueing about who is kidnapping who (or is that "whom"? Whom cares, anyway?)
        At any rate, the new Kat page may be back as soon as this weekend. Regular contributors are Yello, Kneel, Tron (3D Gamer's Edge), Morgan Parry (TenFour), Desiato (Spew), and Tom Cooney (I think "the Grin Reaper", but I'm not sure). I may contribute something once in a while if I can get my muse to stand still. Kat's new page is big and unfinished, and I have no idea how they're going to pull it off by this weekend. Maybe they'll use Yello's overcooked Puntyum 3 timewarp processor and force hundreds of alternate Ben Siskos to do the work.
        The new page will have, among other stuff: Editorials, Articles, Interviews, Game Reviews, Girl Gamers, Top Ten, Audiocadia (real audio? dunno, the link led to "AOL, er, 404 file not found". I said it wasn't done), Mod Reviews, Cheat Codes (blood 2 was up), Files, free Advertising for us po' folk that can't afford Planet Quake, Links, Give-aways, Stumble Throughs, and a weekly column by the captive Yello, who Kneel now has trapped in a bottle. 2/19/1999

Nacho Extreme joins the game
Nacho Extreme died
        Mail from Nacho- Nacho Extreme ain't gonna happen. Bummer too; it was a good page. He interviewed me, too. 2/18/1999 Update- Nacho Extreme will be here sooner or later; ok, later. Nacho is playing some game and helping to fix Gameplex. 2/19/1999

Hacker frags Gamesmania
        I finally got ICQ working again, and boy, are there a lot of messages! This one was among them: "okay, logins work for sure now. they've been up constantly since i last reset ownership. one of the reasons they were down is because gamesmania got hacked. and i also have heard of other instances of attempted hacks into the gameplex network. so you guys watch your backs. take care." 2/20/1999

Kat frags you
        Update to yesterday's post- The Grin Reaper's page is up, but not yet public. The Grin Reaper is a young Canadian named Brian Griffith who has "a bad habit of designing levels", so I guess when the Kat page is opened to the public, his link will be in the "mods, levels, etc" part.
        They're making great headway on the Kat page, they may just get it done after all! 2/20/1999
        UPDATE: It's finished! I hope they get all those Ben Siskos back to whatever weird dimensions they came from. I also hope he has a use for the ten million copies of Shakespeare's Hamlet all those monkeys wrote.
        See the new Kat page here 2/20/1999 (later)

Fragfest Disconnected
        I got access to Gameplex today, but don't know for how long. There are a few new links, and if you want to witness the Borg assimilating Quake, check out the Humor page (give the .wav a minute to load when you get there). 2/20/1999

Flamethrower joins the game
        Flamethrower, in danger of starting another "ticket to nowhere" contest, updated today, saying "There simply hasn't been ANYTHING that I could give a rats chuff about going on." He also says, "MIDWAY vs GT" - "If anyone (ANYONE) at Midway or GT would PLEASE write in about the spat I'd LOVE to hear from you. SHIT, if *anyone* has *any* rumors or interesting news, please let me [Flamethrower] know!!!"
        He also has a cool new link button. 2/20/1999

PQ Frags Webmasters
        Last week, Planet Quake published "So you want to be a webmaster", an editorial discussed widely over the net. I wrote a rebuttal, and rather than post it, I sent it to Planet Quake, who posted it here. 2/20/1999

Illinois State Government frags Y2K problem
        It seems the State of Illinois has reached Y2K compliance. This email reached my desk this morning:
        "Y2K Date Change Project Status
        "Our staff has completed the 18 months of work on time and on budget. We have gone through every line of code in every program in every system. We have analyzed all databases, all data files, including backups and historic archives, and modified all data to reflect the change. We are proud to report that we have completed the "Y2K" date change mission, and have now implemented all changes to all programs and all data to reflect your new standards:
        "Januark, Februark, March, April, Mak, June, Julk, August, September, October, November, December
        "As well as: Sundak, Mondak, Tuesdak, Wednesdak, Thursdak, Fridak, Saturdak
        "I trust that this is satisfactory, because to be honest, none of this Y to K problem has made any sense to me. But I understand it is a global problem, and our team is glad to help in any way possible. And what does the year 2000 have to do with it? Speaking of which, what do you think we ought to do later this year when the two digit year rolls over from 99 to 00? We'll await your direction." 2/24/1999

Steve frags Arcadia
        When I got home from work last night, a rather large blanket was thrown over my head and I found myself in a large burlap bag, bouncing around as if in a truck. I could hear a pair of giggling, cackling old women, but couldn't make out what they were saying. I feared the bag was on fire, as I smelled something similar to burning burlap, only sweeter. Eventually the jostling stopped, the bag was removed, and there was a blinding light in my eyes. An obviously fake German accent (actually it sounded like a Brit impersonating a Spanard) spoke. I feared it was Todd Porter looking for Flamethrower. "Nya ha ha, we have you now, Meester Frogfast.......... There is no escape............. you WEEEELL tell us what you know..........."
        I tried to tell the voice that I didn't know who Flamethrower really was, but was silenced. I hadn't expected the Spanish Inquisition.
        "Nobody expects the SSSSSSpanish inquisitionnnnn................"
        After being being shown the torture chamber with its devious devices, including a "soft pillow" and a "comfy chair", I relented. And tried to think up some convincing lies, since I didn't have a clue as to the truth.
        It wasn't Porter after all, and he couldn't care less who Flamethrower really was. It was actually Kneel on a "recruiting" mission. Since I have a low tolerance for soft pillows and couldn't bear the thought of the comfy chair, I agreed to his "request". Especially since he was armed with a bowl of raspberries.
        So now you'll see me in a weekly column titled "The Electric Gamer's Weak End Hell Hole" at Arcadia. The first edition of the column may be up by Thursdak (which would be about four days early). 2/24/1999

Asylum frags Old Man Murray
        You might not have noticed this newish site buried in the links section. Maybe it would be more prominant in the Quake Asylum where it probably belongs (still too clean- cuss a little, Marvin).
        Murray claims his site to be the "official game site of the US Postal Service" and says, "Think about it: gun toting maniacs navigating the same tired route over and over again picking up and dropping off items. Have I just described quake players or mailmen?"
        Right now (but maybe not tomorrow, this is the internet) he has a comparison between John Romero and Oscar Romero.
        BTW, Murray says, "How do you like us now that we're pretty much in charge of the post office, Blues? Ignore us now and you get no mail, baby. You and your little friend Redwood."
        I know I'm scared! Uh, wait a minute, I have direct deposit and the bills and junk mail come by... HEY, MURRAY! Ya know what yer momma told me? 2/23/1999
Update: Murray says via email, "We're working to increase the amount of swearing." Since he also says he's working on a links page, he won't have to, since he'll have a button. 2/24/1999
'nother Update: That boy's fast. In his news section today, he not only used every cussword in existance, he even made up a new one! You will now find the old fart in the Quake Asylum, complete with straitjcket. And when he finishes his links page, he gets a front page button. 2/25/1999

Steve frags Webmasters
        I want to again thank all you folks that sent mail about that "webmaster too" article on Planet Quake. It seems I have one more regular visitor, who appears to be replacing a dropout. The rest must be Fragfest regulars, as my visitor count is actually down a bit this week (except Sunday and Monday).
        Of course, Planet Quake is being boycotted again by some of the regulars at Planet Crap.
        Nice timing, guys.
        At the last count, the boycott has made Planet Quake's 100,000 hits per day drop steeply to, oh, about 99,994 per day. Give or take half a dozen.
        Meanwhile, the boycotters' pages counts have risen to an average of a phenominal 9.5 hits per week.
        The boycott stems from Planet Quake's "stealing" a domain they paid for from a site they hosted. It does sound like they aren't being exactly nice to the guy, but wtf, I don't have a domain; why should he? Unless he can afford to blow the price of a Voodoo, in which case he would have had it before PQ hosted him anyway.
        Some people can't stand to see anybody make a buck. Commie bastards. 2/25/1999

Steve can't escape Kneel's... comfy chair?
        The (ouch) interrogation has been (ooh that hurts) completed, and I was allowed to go about my "business". Why anyone would want to read an interview with me is beyond my comprehension, but if you do, there's one over at Arcadia (or will be very soon).
        Also, if you can't get enough of my drivel here, Kneel has posted the first of my weekly "Weak End Gamer's Hell Hole" columns (also at Arcadia), where I actually get to write about something besides Quake and Quake people, places, and things, and don't quite manage to. 2/26/1999

Saved games can't escape Id's shotgun
        A reader has been gently chiding me to provide Quake 2 level cheats, and he's right; I should. Especially since I haven't found anywhere else that does, aside from the sketchy info in the manual. I just want you all to know I'm working on it, but I'm also working on making a living, raising my family, writing articles (see last week's Planet Quake article So you want to be a webmaster, too, and the new weekly column at Arcadia mentioned yesterday), scribbling out some art for Kat Media's Silicone Drive, and perfecting the "left hand mouse, right hand joystick" configuration so I can quit sucking at deathmatch (I've sucked ever since I tried the new config).
        Apologies; please be patient with me! 2/27/1999

Gameplex died
        !!!!! Also when I got home, I found Gameplex completely gone! And so was the page! Until I rebuild the structure over here, the internal links at the top of the page won't work.
        I haven't got a single email from anyone at Gameplex, and everyone on my ICQ list connected with Gameplex is offline. 2/28/1999

Levelord Frags Flamethrower
        Last week Levelord had a rash; actually, (to quote him completely out of context), he said in his Bitchslap page, "There seems to be a rash, yes, a rash"
        He had a bit of a rant against... I couldn't tell who he was bitching about, except it wasn't Old Man Murray or BitchX, since he said, "I love Old Man Murray and Bitch X.". (Hear that, Murray? Your threat of withholding his mail worked!).
        Who was it? Planet Crap? Planet Ho Slap? He refused to say.
        Almost at the end, he says "The absolute depths, though, were reached by publicizing a company's internal email." O.k., He must be talking about Flamethrower.
        I got home tonight from visiting relatives in Missouri, and saw that Flamethrower's column started, "Ooops. Looks like the trippy Levelord has..." and you'll have to surf over to his page to see the rest. 2/28/1999