A fuzzy friend posted this pic on Taps today :
Now that is clever. A smart set of observations present in a fun and powerful way.
It’s the intersection of D&D and BDSM that intrigues me. Makes me want to see if I can get together with some groovy people and invent BD&DSM.
Dungeon Master (me) : Now roll to see how many times you’re flogged….
I’m not into that kind of kink myself, so I could be wrong, but I would think that would add an element of chance and danger to one’s playtime.
Plus I have this great idea for a geek product : a malt liquor called Nat 20.
The ad would feature a nerd animatedly retelling a tale of his adventures in a D&D game he played recently.
YN : So there I was, facing the biggest, meanest hobgoblin I had ever seen, and he was screaming for my blood, so I thought for sure I was one dead paladin. But then… just when I needed it the most… I got a Nat 20!
As he describes the action, we see it on the screen, and when he gets to the Nat 20 part, we see a big studly barbarian hand him the product, which he drinks and then kills the fuck out of the hobgoblin.
Voiceover : For those times in life when what you need the most is to get a Nat 20.
Alright, now we can do the deep stuff.
The Eternal Neverchild
It really feels like I was never really a kid.
Not even in my preschool years. Important developmental stages sailed right past me without anyone noticing because I was so goddamned brighs
But looking back, I think someone should have noticed my lack of interest in toys and the absence of imaginary friends (and real ones) and wondered what the heck is up with that Bertrand kid.
Is he OK? Is he developing right? Should we be concerned?
Um, yeah. Probably. Especially after the rape.
Plus I was such a serious and self-contained child. I didn’t run around and holler. I didn’t play make believe. I didn’t relate to other kids my age at all.
And all through my childhood and adolescence, I just kept blowing past developmental milestones at warp speed.
No peer group in high school. No friends, no dates, no fumbling attempts at sex and/or romance, no crazy hormones making me butt heads with people.
Well if you were never really a child, how can you be a teen? Let alone grow into an actual functional adult?
And that’s why I am fifty pathetic years old and still as helpless as a child before even the most basic of life’s challenges.
I keep telling myself that I am just taking an unusual path through life and that this will all lead to something amazing some day, but that is asinine bullshit.
I ain’t going anywhere. The only thing in front of me is the grave. I will keep ignoring reality and hiding from life until I land in the hospital for good, and there I will languish until someone finally feels strongly enough about me to be bothered to pull the plug.
That’s my trajectory right now. And only serious change in my life will alter it.
Might as well get my loser’s gravesite picked out as soon as possible.
I’m sure there’s a landfill somewhere that will take me.
More after the break.
What went wrong with me?
Or, to be more politically correct, what went “different”?
I wish I had a better memory of what I was like before I was raped when I was four. Because I think I was a fairly weird kid even before then, but I can’t be sure.
I know for sure that I was not nearly as fragile or painfully shy as I would become. I remember being very friendly and charming and, of course, precocious as all get-out.
Basically, I was the freckle-faced redheaded precocious little brother straight from Central Casting. I remember kind of taking being the center of attention for brief moments wherever I went for granted.
It’s possible the moments were more brief for me than they were for those cooing over me given my very short attention span.
And I know for certain that it was the rape that drove me so deep into my own mind. Like a lot of victims of sexual assault, I escaped to the only place available to me by tunneling deep into my own soul and making a cozy little burrow for myself in there.
But living life without leaving that cozy little burrow is very hard. I often imagine myself as some kind of amorphous sea creature sending out pseudopods into the world while remaining very firmly attached to the ocean floor, like a barnacle.
And you can get by that way but it’s very clumsy and awkward compared to actually being emotionally present and dealing with life directly. I would be much better off if I could let go of the ocean floor and evolve myself some actual legs and go out there and experience the god damned world already.
But in the real, non-metaphorical world, my legs stopped working.
That’s no excuse for not living, though. I could be getting a lot more out of life if I was just willing to put more of myself into it. To really invest in life instead of eking out a meager existence doing only high yield low investment things.
Like playing goddamned video games.
I could be having a lot more fun than video games could ever bring me if I could just put the video games down for long enough to try new stuff.
And all from the comfort of this computer chair of mine.
The internet is an entire world unto itself these days. I could be doing so much more with it. There’s all kinds of stuff happening here that I could be a part of.
But I will have to let go of the video games first. Not forever. Just for a couple of hours here and there. And with the games always there and ready for me if I get too freaked out by the bigger world and need to retreat to safety.
Time to progress from my sessile larval stage to my active adult stage.
And start looking for a mate.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.