The Game that Nobody Understands Game

A reminder to myself....

Do describe:

... The unusual meeting with Lopojinski in that music saloon & the car.

... the deal with James H reeve, Tommy Boyd, the fraud, the framing & how I'm involved.

Why did I come here when I knew that I couldn't stay for long? Rather than getting all wrapped up in word games and such, I think that I'm just going to leave now. But, I'll be back in a couple hours or so...

And dròm, do describe those!

All right. I'll be here.

Man will neuer truly be independent; since his birth, his self-image depends on the punishment and approval of others, so that he is dependent on others.

They chase amity not for amity's sake, but for the approval of theirself, and the disapproval of those who undermine this. In their friends, they see themselves. They are chained.

I've just changed the strings of my guitar from
x-lite to medium and my fingers are killing me.

(O, I'm sad to hear that it hurt them! Why? Repetitive strain?)

DON PEDRO
Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.

BEATRICE
Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it.

DON PEDRO
You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.

I'm here, just dealing with a blister that I thought was long gone.

Which reminds me of Gooseberry season. There is someone out there with a stolen picture of me. I don't know what their application for it is. The offending picture was nearly A3 in size. It portrayed forever the ultra-chic look of being caught off guard by a mad Yorkshireman getting overexcited with a big camera. -- The paragon of fashion.

So there I was, immortalized while clutching L'Etranger and looking like a bewildered camel. It was once hung up in the pitiful school hall of fame, which only includes a picture of a guy who was on Big Brother for four weeks, and my own glossy glare, under which the badly-justified title, 'Ana ____: writer' barely clutched onto the mauve walls. That someone wished to take this particular picture home, bewilders me. For all I know, they could be playing darts against it, or tucking it up in bed. Knowing the alma mater, though, a new picture of my looking like some sort of deranged possum will be loosely stuck to the walls with light-blue tack within a few weeks. The circle of creativity lives on.

(I liked that a lot, dròm.)

An example of a post from another forum in which I am somewhat active:

"i cant stop drinking and uhm also fdont wanna stop posting"

And now you can see why I fell in love with A2K.

(Thanks, Smog; I'm glad that you liked my frivolity! It has nothing to do with what I said that I would explain... I'll do those later.)

(Ouch. Posting without using one's mental facilities should be kept to a minimum. On A2K, that minimum is political threads.)

The text of something that I idly drew earlier to-day:

ANTHRAX:

EVERYBODY WANTS IT THIS CHRISTMAS!!

A toy's there to be played with and then forgotten, right? Wrong! You got another thing coming, buddy. Every kid wants to destroy something, so let him release his fury with Anthrax, the toy that Doesn't go discarded! (If the little brats eat the paste, well then murder is for the courts to decide!) Anthrax is versatile and never tiresome. Just read our kids' reviews!!

The best thing was when I put it in Daddy's coffee. That was really fun. -- James, 6.

'I never thought a human could turn that many shades of purple. Anthrax sure showed me up!' -- Dr. IC Chestes, age indeterminate.

'I love anthrax when we were playin' dead with the kidduns. The fact some of us were dead just goes to show the Anthrax company's attention to detail!' - Ally, a babysitter, 14.

So how much persuading you need, dumbo? Buy one of the following prodects and knock your kids out-- literally!

Daisy-Mae's handy dandy anthrax doll abortion kits. Oopsy tablets. Anthraxed insulin (for keeping the agèd happy in mind,)

and many more! Check out our site: icantbelieveimnotdeadyet.os.

(You better!)

( Yeah, the political threads here are just plain silly.)

Another example:

"I know english quite well just because i dont make sure all my posts are gramatically correct like you doenst mean i dont this is a gay ******* forum about [a game] why in gods ******* name would i type formally (like you, obviously something to prove)"

Ok, I know that's a lot of swearing, but it was too funny not to copy and paste the whole thing. I guess I'll get to see what kind of word filter this forum has....

(I'm going to watch some TV. Perhaps I'll be back soon, or during commercials, or something.)

Go to Windows Media Player, search on "Ted Nugent Crave", and play the result.

Had a very strange night....

I'm going to bed.

Weird night? I'm interested...

And these people are idiots, like my mother, who thinks that I think that I am superior because I use words in which there are more than two syllables .

(Ehh, it wouldn't be too interesting to explain, and I wouldn't know where to start. But, people were behaving rather oddly.)

"i cant believe how people act
its a game lol"

Jesus, I wish to go over to that site and give them a good seeing to. Yet, I will probably give up, from frustration, within ten minutes.

O, but we'd be interested to read!

It's funny how people from my past pop up around the place. Perhaps it is because I have always gone from town to town. When I was younger, due to reasons I'll explain some other time, I was travelling Europe with a different name every week. I stole the names primarily from heroines in Shakespeare, hoping that no one would notice. One time, I slept in the Métro eight hours a day and stayed in oakened rafter-pubs or walked the streets at night. On other times, I would blag my way into conventions by having an ID tag faked, and would spend the night looking pensive and drinking complimentary apple juice. It was somewhere warm.

To-day, I met a girl with severe psychological problems whom I had helped once before, in my days of visiting schools. She is quite the sight, going around Budapest with a black corset and a funereal veil tussling against the cobbled ground. She expresses herself in questionable poetry and by talking to 'tragic rabbit' these days, and still believes that the clown 'is haunting' her, among other things. She was meeting with her reclusive boyfriend. I listened to her tales, which she creates for attention. The usual fare; an alcoholic at fifteen.

What are you a-sayin' 'bout clowns? Lord...so plushie tragic rabbit chick is back? I feel for you. Oh yes, I remember the tale.