Saturday, June 18, 2005

The Kingdom of Loathing


Computergames make me sick. Literally. They're like drugs. I shouldn't touch them, go near them. Still, I can't help it. I'm an addict.
A few days ago, I discovered the Kingdom of Loathing. It's a MMORPG (yes, I do know what that is, no, I'm not going to explain it.). KOL is like Everquest or World of Warhammer, only better. For, not only is it free, the whole game revolves around MEAT! And who doesn't love meat?
I am playing as a disco-bandit, (It was a hard choice between disco-bandit, seal-clubber and turtle-tamer.), appropriately named "bulbousgrowth". Armed with my "spooky meat stick", I now venture daily in such dangerous places as "the dungeon full of dungeons", "the barrel full of barrels", "the innconspicuous inn", and "the enchanted closet". My armor consists of a "the slug kings pants", (which seems to leave a nice slimy trail wherever I go) and a "frilly wig", (which I stole from a knoll transcrossdresser). I am also the proud owner of a "bitchin' meat car", which I made myself from meat, and some other stuff.

So, if you're into that kind of thing, (If you're not, what the hell are you doing reading my blog anyway), make an account and meat me there.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

On kissing Fred

Steadily my blog seems to be transforming into the kind of page I wouldn't want my future ex-wife to see. Maybe I need to clean up my act. Start writing about flowers and butterflies and shit.
But before I do that, I just have to tell the story of my friend Fred.

About a decade or two ago, I had a friend called Fred. His name wasn't really "Fred". It might have been "Eugene", or "Oliver", who cares. But Fred walked like a Fred and talked like a Fred, so everybody called him Fred, and nobody seemed to remember his real name. Now Fred was built like a wall. He had eyes that could stop the advance of the Islamic hordes. Must have come in handy, since he played in our national rugby team. Originally Fred was from South Africa, and he had the faintest trace of an upperclass foreign accent. In short, he was every college girls wet dream.

With this magnificent introduction of our protagonist, we now come to the main story which is surprisingly short.

One night I was on a drinking bout with Fred. Both of us, sitting at the bar, were piss-drunk. So, as drunkards do, I put my arm on his shoulder, and said: "Fred, my man, I love you." Fred, either more sober or more drunk than I gave him credit for, put his arms around me, pressed his lips on mine and tried to force his tongue way deep into my throat. Then in one of those immortal magical moments, Fred looked at me with cloudy eyes and said: "Ever since I've known you, I have loved you."
It took me about three seconds to sober up, leave the bar (on all fours), run home and bolt the door.
The next time I met Fred was about three years later when he introduced me to his fiance, a small dude from Algeria. (Not half as cute as me.)

From this we can learn two things.
1) Shit happens in Amsterdam.
2) Fred had great taste.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

In defence of Polytheism

There is, on yahoo, a chatroom called "self-realization and awareness", that I get invariably thrown out of after 20 minutes of chat. I'm a great self-realization guy. I'm really into awareness and shit. But who the hell figured that self-realization starts above the waist?
You want self-realization? You want awareness? First make peace with your dick. (Or feminine unmentionables, if that's what is growing between your legs.) You wanna find gold? It wont work if you put on your nicest dress, have a cup of tea and chat about what a wonderful person your latest "guru" is. Any treasure worth it's weight will hide in a pile of crap. So start there.
I remember, when I lived in India, everyday I would be confronted by hughe penises (penii?) being worshipped. Without me ever asking a question, people felt obliged to explain to me that what I was obviously seeing, wasn't what was really going on. Some of the weirdest explanations I got where:
1. It's the cosmic life-giving finger. (The Gods flipping us the finger? I could live with that.)
2. It's the cosmic pillar, that extends into infinity. (I like to think of my penis that way too.)
3. It's the post that the sacrificial horse used to be tied to during Vedic times. (Ah.... You guys sacrifice horses?)
That all begs the question: What's with the vagina shape on the base of the sacrificial post? Come on guys, why not just come out and say it: "We worship a fucking penis!" Earn some respect here.
Any polytheistic religion, will, in one form or another, worship the penis. (That last sentence will be quoted often if ever I become famous.) And with damn good reason. One of my American friends on explaining why she wasn't gay referred to it as "the Power of the Penis". Hell Yeah! (She also wrote a great article about it here.) And then monotheism comes along. One of my Jewish patients told me that ultra orthodox Jews have a special blanket with a little hole in the middle. The woman is supposed to lie under it, completely covered when the man enters her. I would pay good money for a blanket like that. (What woman could resist my blanket?)
Orthodox Christianity is a little less fucked up. You can do it, as long as you're married, the lights go out and you do it missionary style.
Islam is the worse of all. On the surface anything sexual is banned, but dig a little deeper and you will find that women are nothing more than extensions of their vagina.
Freud was right. Read "Totem und Taboo". There is one archfather, (God), with a hughe penis who is allowed to impregnate the women, and the rest of the guys are only allowed to watch. Monotheism fucked up where sex is concerned.
I'm a polytheist. Every morning I stare in awe at the undeniable proof that I cannot only take life, I can create it.