Blog Archives

I Am The Game: part 1: Should of Seen It Coming

4/25/2014

"Excuse me?"

"Sure."

"Do you have the time?"

"You got a watch."

"I do? I do! I er-uh need the -- what's it? -- correct time. To set it. Reset it."

"And you don't have a phone apparently."

"Obviously not, or else I'd, uh, you know use it."

"Yeah, whatever. It's about -- hey! Watch where you're going. Did you see that?"

"He barely touched you."

"Almost tackled me is more like it. Motherfucker, I think he rubbed something on me."

"No, I don't think so."

"Asshole probably wiped a booger on me. If it's a fetish I appreciate the sexual necessity, but fuck all."

"Anyway..."

"Yeah, yeah. It's 2:23."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The stranger with the bad watch headed off, and I examined my coat for any signs of snot rape. Finding none I tried to remember why I was outside. Slush puppy: a 72 oz cup full of ice drowning in strawberry syrup. Maybe a dash of tequila to... my hand started tingling. I looked at it. My hand flickered like images from a fluttering film reel. Then the world around me did the same.

I once got so drunk that walking felt like tumbling head over heels without ever falling down. Teleportation has a similar sensation. Everything around you convulses in a nauseating spin. For a moment there's a peaceful blackness that seems to go on forever then another gut wrenching spasm brings everything back to normal. The effect is a stomach churning blink from one location to another.

So it was I blinked from the city streets to a closet sized room, a cell made of flat metal walls.

"Motherfucker." I said, afraid I recognized the room.

A serene female voice spoke, "Greetings contestant." -- confirming my suspicions.

I collect urban legends, and conspiracy theories. They add a certain spice to life making it seem as if dragons still exist in some secret wildlife preserve, or aliens brought us microwave popcorn to teach us about the origin of the universe; there are Bogeymen, the franchise begun in 1952, preaching bloody morality one dead teenager at a time; Kennedy was shot by Lee Harvey Oswald, but Oswald was possessed by the consciousness of a time traveling assassin sent back by Jackie Onassis to punish her husband for his many infidelities; the list goes on and on. I gather them all because some are true, though the realities aren't quite what the stories would have a person expect.

For instance, when someone tried to drug me and steal my kidney I found out bludgeoning the thief to death with the hotel telephone meant a sweet little girl in Spokane wasn't going to get a new kidney. But I digress. This is about The Game.

The first account of The Game dates to January 19th, 1924. Most people are familiar with it in some form or another: humans hunting humans for sport. There's nothing new about the concept just look at the Roman coliseum. However, the 1924 incident is different from gladiatorial combat because gladiators knew what they were getting into. The whole idea behind The Game is to watch so-called ordinary people being prey.

According to urban mythology, since 1924 The Game has evolved to such a degree of surreal terror I expected to die the minute my cell opened. Or at best shortly thereafter. Considering as much I realized there are a couple of people who would be glad to see me dead. Not wanting to give those cunts any joy, I resolved then and there to survive.

The serene voice spoke, "Please read the rules, and remember: try to have fun."

Words began to glow in one of the metal walls: Exit thru the door in front of you. Stay alive.

I can only imagine the amorphous panic running through a person who blinks into that claustrophobia inducing cell without any idea what's going on. The fear running through me wasn't nebulous. It applied to specific concerns such as the door opening allowing a velociraptor to come screaming in and gut me. There is an odd comfort in specificity.

I felt like I possessed a bit of an advantage. I knew the situation. Kind of.

The wall slid open without a sound. I saw jungle on the other side. Boldly, I slid an inch forward. Then another. As soon as I eventually exited the cell the door shut behind me.

I barely got a chance to glance at the metal cube before it flickered to parts unknown.

The rustle of leaves. I looked up. In a nearby tree a baboon perched, glaring at me. The monkey carried a sawed off double barrel shotgun, and wore a bandolier full of shells. However, the human scalps covering the baboon's loins made me the most worried.

The monkey grinned, a savage smile of vicious teeth, "You're quite lucky sir. I've already had a fuck today."

I replied, "Good to hear."

"Indeed. I intend then only to kill you."

"Oh. Joy."

COMING SOON! PART 2: NAPALM FACE PALM

0 Comments

Prologue: Have Fun

4/20/2014

0 Comments

The instructions are simple. Read them twice if necessary. Most do which is odd considering there are only two sentences:

Exit thru the door in front of you. Stay alive.

That is all. One would think the instructions are clear enough. Yet time and again contestants are observed rereading them over and over as if expecting to find some hidden meaning. One competitor even went so far as to assume an anagram lay hidden in the text. When the door opened, well, it’s unlikely anyone will ever have as short a game. Poor fellow never saw it coming, though that might’ve been for the best.

One day a nondescript individual will say to you, “Excuse me.”

If you stop, this forgettable person will say something seemingly irrelevant – do you have the time, what’s today’s date, pardon me I thought you were someone else. The exchange, in all likelihood, won’t even stick in your memory. This is all part of the plan. The whole conversation is more a distraction than a dialogue. You’ve already been selected for participation. We’ve been watching you for some time, so there’s nothing more we need to know, and little we don’t. The whole point of our forgettable friend is to keep your attention while another individual surreptitiously applies a micro tab somewhere on your person.

The tab links with a supercomputer at an undisclosed mobile location. This supercomputer takes complete account of your atomic structure in a mere thirteen minutes. Several scientists are working tirelessly to get away from this number as many attach superstitious meaning to it; however, some feel given the nature of the game perhaps a little superstition isn’t so bad. In any event, once a rough estimate of your overall structure is calculated teleportation ensues. Granted, this isn’t always a spot on process, but there is a certain degree of assumption involved in mapping a living being’s structure down to the electrons.

That said it is only in the rarest of instances when something goes completely awry. Few people notice let alone complain about the loss of a mole or appendix, and it has been some time since whole limbs were lost, about 18 months or so. These days a finger might go missing, or get relocated.

Contestants are sent to the start of the game. There you will be given two minutes to read the instructions, and prepare. One contestant spent the entire time repeating, “OHGODOHGODOHGOD…” leaving many curious as to why more prayers aren’t as concise. Another contestant, a young lady from Kansas, slapped her face red, screamed at the door then took off running. She lasted 18 days which is better than most.

The door will open on a jungle setting. Research has found this locale is the best for staging the game. It provides myriad opportunities for every kind of game play. Contestants can hide, fashion primitive weapons, and above all else get lost in the shortest amount of time possible. Additionally, thanks to some clever work on the part of marketing several major motion pictures as well as video games have featured this type of setting creating an instant mental connection between horrifying action packed events and jungles. In other words, contestants are culturally primed to expect the worst at the sight of the jungle.

There are various entities one may encounter while in the game. These hostiles range from the mundane – starving panthers, angry anacondas, and clouds of bees – to remarkable terrors – robots, aliens, dinosaurs. Not all of these creatures get along with one another which is good not only for the strategic player but for entertainment value as well. Nothing is quite as captivating as watching a zombie Communist try to choke an anaconda with Marxist pamphlets.

Still, many of the jungle’s inhabitants aren’t hostile. These tend to be refugees relocated from already war torn countries. Their own homelands have sold them to the game in order to pay off debts owed to the World Bank, a branch of General Global Consumption – we make what you didn’t know you need. These friendlies provide aid whenever possible as they continue to be unaware their subjugation is the overall goal of the game.

Though players are given no indication on how to complete the game, those who survive long enough tend to begin consolidating power by taking control of the various jungle pirate factions. Raiding the villages occupied by friendlies tends to be the most expedient means of procuring food. While it is true some have tried more diplomatic measures other more sadistic competitors tend to view such actions as a sign to start murder stomping around the jungle. The blood crazed tend to last longer than the peaceful.

At present there are 18 factions in control of various amounts of the playing field, 57 year old Thelma Winston of St. Louis, Missouri being the most dangerous. She is known for her love of pit traps as well as being one of only two players to ever last more than three years. She still enjoys making pies, though her preferred fillings have gotten far grimmer than raspberries.

In four weeks the game will have been in action for 90 years. So be excited. Players are chosen at random. It may already be on your turn... have fun.

0 Comments

Books and Shit ep.4: Kafka -- The Trial and Limiting the View

4/9/2014

0 Comments

At long last another episode of BOOKS AND SHIT. This time around we explore why delving too deep into symbolism can be detrimental.

0 Comments

Say What?

4/5/2014

0 Comments

It's easy to mock people for a slip of the tongue. So let's do that. Why? Because fuck 'em that's why.

1. Gib Lewis and the Disabled

The name might not be familiar to some. Gib Lewis is a politician from Fort Worth, Texas. He was the first person to ever be elected as Speaker of the Texas House of Representatives five times in a row. Quite a feat for a democrat in state known for its rightward inclination. Old Gib hung up his hate in 1993, deciding that he wouldn't seek reelection... after getting caught taking bribes. But back before his political career came to an end Gib Lewis was somewhat known in Texas for his odd remarks. Such as the time he said, "I cannot tell you how grateful I am -- I am filled with humidity."

Now in all fairness that may have been a simple slip up. Happens to a lot of people every day. However, not many of us would have the unmitigated brass balled buffoonery to look at a group of people in wheelchairs then say, "And now, will y'all stand and be recognized."

Gib Lewis did. Of course, how was he supposed to know the group of people he was addressing on Disability Day might not be able to stand?

2. Alan Minter Doesn't Fear Death Apparently.

Mr. Minter was a professional boxer. Before going pro, however, he took the bronze medal at the 1972 Olympics in Munich. He would later go on to become the World Middleweight Champion for a time. His record speaks for itself: 39 wins, 9 losses -- 23 of those wins by knockout.

At one point Alan Minter is quoted as having said, "Sure, there have been injuries and death in boxing -- but none of them serious."

It's tempting to assume he meant none of the injuries have been serious, though one has only to glance at Muhammed Ali to think otherwise. Or perhaps Mr. Minter's brain shouldn't be held up to average standards considering the pummeling it undoubtedly endured over the years. But I take neither stance. I think that in the tradition of all stout hearted macho men Alan Minter thinks anyone who dies is a pussy.

3. GAN4

Mandarin is the kind of language most people are made to learn as a punishment. It's a nightmarish slew of homophones that only gets more agonizing in the written form. So in order to simplify things a system known as Pinyin was developed. In Pinyin all words with a similar sound are lumped in a category wherein they're represented by a single character as opposed to traditional Mandarin where every word has its own. More simply put, instead of having a dozen characters that sound similar there is one character for them all.

However, this simplification becomes problematic when trying to translate something. See, the distinction between homophones is largely contextual. Suppose you were to say the desert is blank, and you had two words to choose from: dry or fuck. Most people would choose fuck, giggle, then say dry. The context informs the choice. Unfortunately, computers aren't very good at context. So we have all kinds of delightful mistranslations like these. But I choose GAN4 specifically because it allows wondrous quotes such as:

"Spread to fuck the fruit."

"Fuck vegetables."

"The shrimp fucks the cabbage."

"Fuck to fry the cow river."

Call me childish if you like. I can't get enough "Fuck the Ginger Water."

4. ...if mankind is still alive...

Some people play the short game. Live for today because that's all that matters. Others think in the long term. Life gets planned for the miles ahead, the years to come. But every so often there are those who think in the galactically distant beyond. Peter Snow is one such individual.

Peter is an anchor for the BBC, who one day reported, "The FA are still optimistic about England's bid to stage the World Cup in twenty thousand and six." I'll admit I didn't entirely catch the fault at first glance. Mr. Snow has just reported that England wants to host the World Cup in 20,006.

Granted, the World Cup will be played that year, but everyone knows the Mars colony is going to get it. What an idiot.

5. Didn't See This Coming.

Keisha, also known as Kei$ha, soon to be known as Who?, was one of the seemingly infinite flash in the pan celebrities who take up space in the cultural zeitgeist; those whose celebrity is meant to remind us that the spirit of the times isn't as great as we think/thought. To her credit, Keisha appeared to be aware of her status, a one hit wonder the public uses to kill time till someone truly talented comes along. Or maybe I'm just getting more forgiving as I get older.

In any event, Ms. Dollar Sign-Ha had this to say: "My favorite keepsake is my placenta. My mom found it in the basement, crushed it up, and made it into a necklace that I wear everyday to improve my psychic ablities."

This quote is fabulous as it raises so many questions. Was Keisha's placenta slithering around the basement of her childhood home, and her mother just happened across it one day then went on the hunt? If Keisha has psychic powers why is she wasting her time on pop music, shouldn't she be out solving crimes? If I steal said necklace will I gain the ability to look like a truck stop hooker?

0 Comments

I Am The Game: part 1: Should of Seen It Coming

Prologue: Have Fun

Books and Shit ep.4: Kafka -- The Trial and Limiting the View

Say What?

Author

Archives

Categories