Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Sunday, October 9th, 11:18 A.M.

Sunday, October 9th, 11:18 A.M.

God damn it.  God damn it.  I thought I had compartmentalized things in my mind.  I'm not even completely sure what compartmentalizing is, but I thought I had done it.  I thought I had separated things in my mind.  Separated my memories from home from what I'm doing now.  Separated it so I didn't have to fucking deal with it.  But Spiker saying freton put those memories right in front of my mind.  Fuck that guy, for real.

I woke up this morning with thoughts of Mom, Dad, Sakoshi, Delany, Sparra, Wanda, Valerie, and the way that those people dies or probably dies racing through my mind.  Why I thought church would help me I don't understand.  The Father's sermon was in no way helpful to me today.  Here is what he said.

"Good morning to you all.  I see a great many people out there today, and I also see a great deal of worry out there today.  I too feel worried.  The talk from people out there, the environment that they are creating, distresses me as well.  At times like this, I find strength, not just in my faith, but also in my family.  I think of my son, working in Trebyer.  Sure he has fallen from the path, but he is a good man, who I hope one day comes back to the fold.  I think of my daughter, my sweet wonderful little girl.  She is such an inspiration to me and my wife.  My wife, my wondrous, beautiful, strong source of optimism in my life.  Whenever I am troubled, whenever I am down, my mind racked with doubt, I just think of my family, and all of that goes away.  Each and every one of you out there can do the exact same thing.  Let us pray."

I took the opportunity of everyone closing their eyes to run out of church.  Think of my family when I am down to pick myself up?  Not being able to forget about my family is what is keeping me down!

No.  I have to compartmentalize.  I have to get away from this.  October 22nd.  October 22nd, that is the day I can continue on my journey to Amcan.  My journey.  Amcan.  I have to do this.

God damn it.  God damn it all to hell.

Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Saturday, October 8th, 11:25 P.M.

Saturday, October 8th, 11:25 P.M.

I noticed something before I went to the Modern Art Museum on Thursday.  The promotional campaign for Spiker Sullivan's Restoration Of The Truth Rally is on in full force.  In addition to the t-shirts I see being worn everywhere in town, the bumper stickers I see on cars driven mainly by verbrechers, and the billboards that have more of a presence in Dha Chathair than badly drawn graffiti.  Spiker Sullivan now has an infomercial.  On TV.  Really.  And this infomercial is not just run on one of those television channels that are viewed more by cats than by people.  The Spiker Sullivan Restoration Of The Truth Rally promotional infomercial is run by fully operational television stations that are watched by many of the millions of people in Dha Chathair.  This fact deeply frightens me.

The person hosting Spiker's infomercial is Kelly Kade.  Miss Kade is one of the many absurdly hot blonde women who Sly 7 hired as an on-camera news reader.  Does she have her own independent thought?  No, but Sly 7 didn't hire her to think.  Can she read, speak clearly, and wear business suits that highlight and accentuate her massive breasts?  You betcha!  If I thought Kelly Kade had any substance, I might find her attractive.  Unfortunately, she doesn't, so I don't.

Most of the infomercial is Kelly Kade delivering realistic but fake news stories of the different politicians, dignitaries, celebrities, and Sly 7 News personalities that will be at The Restoration Of The Truth Rally.  I use the full name of the rally because that's all it was referred to as in the infomercial.  Not the rally, or the event, or TROTTR, no, the full and exact name of The Restoration Of The Truth Rally is the only way Spiker's gathering was referred to as.  There was also a fake news story about how many people had signed up to be at the event on Flight, glossing over the fact that Flight is filled with camwhores, spambots, and spambots for camwhores.  There were also segments where Kelly modeled the The Restoration Of The Truth Rally merchandise.  This consisted of Kelly and her absurdly hot body holding various stickers, buttons, and water bottles at a level that allowed the camera to also focus on Miss Kade's rack.  I guess Sly 7 knows that sex sells.

Near the end of the infomercial, Spiker Sullivan made an appearance.  The contrast in the attractiveness of Spiker and the attractiveness of Kelly is stunning.  Spiker was sitting in his office looking like a villain from a spy movie when he began to speak.

"Hello, my friends.  I know that there are those out there who will dismiss what you have seen as just an infomercial, a promotion for The Restoration Of The Truth Rally on October 15th.  Those dismissive types are just who The Restoration Of The Truth Rally is for.  On October 15th, it will become abundantly clear what the one and only truth is.  Also, on that date, a stark contrast will be made between the good, honest, true, faithful people in Dha Chathair, and those who are filthy, impure, unworthy fretons.  I'll see you on October 15th."

Freton!  That's what he just said, freton.  I still feel the sting associated with that word.  Before seeing the infomercial, I was concerned about what was going to happen at the rally.  Now, I am afraid.

Later.

Hato Shurtleff

Obvious Skyrim

Red Review- The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Yes, I know, I'm late to the party.  Shut up.

Perhaps it is the alleged writer in me, but I appreciate a good narrative.  I appreciate a good, well written story that unveils itself with a proper pace.  Narrative is something that most people is lacking in video games, but there are games out there with a good story behind it.

In Fallout 3, you play as a person on the search for their father.  You go out into an unfamiliar environment, encounter many various types of people, and battle seemingly insurmountable odds to accomplish this goal.  In the end, the player finds his father and reconnects with him.... for about five seconds before the person you spent the entirety of the game seeking leaves to go accomplish something more important that the player.  Granted that thing is providing people with clean water, but still, that's not a good example of parenting.

Fallout: New Vegas begins with the player being shot and left for dead in the middle of the Mohave Desert.  Throughout most of the game, you seek to find out who left you for dead, and the role you and they play in a massive conspiracy to do... something.  Actually, I didn't finish Fallout: New Vegas due to persistent bugs.  Fallout: New Vegas is an example of a game with a good narrative, but who's gameplay hinders the experience of the game.  If Fallout: New Vegas hadn't been riddled with bugs, I'm sure the narrative that was being constructed would have paid off in a spectacular fashion.

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim is set in the kind of high fantasy setting that has nothing to do with history, reality, or anything that actually happened.  Such a setting provides ample opportunities to tell many varied complex stories that have illusions to things that actually happened.  Just ask George R.R.RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR Martin.

What the makers of Skyrim, Bethesda, did with this opportunity is truly spectacular.  Skyrim did nothing with this opportunity.  Nothing.  Nothing.  A spectacular display of nothingness only before seen in Congress.

As near as I can tell, there is no overarching story in The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, or, at the very least, not one that I cared about.  Sure the gameplay is flawless, but all that does is allow me to without obstruction experience the vast supply of nothing in front of me.

In the game, you can pick up objects in the environment and carry it with you.  If you pick up too many items, you can reach a point where you are carrying more weight than you character can bear, forcing you to walk very, very slowly.  There were many times in playing Skyrim where I was carrying too many objects.  Rather than shed myself of low value or high weight objects, I choose to walk very, very slowly.  I did this for one reason: I needed to catch up on episodes of The Rachel Maddow Show.

Making this choice should have been a sign for me.  Rather than being eager to experience more of the narrative and the world that Skyrim had to offer, I chose to play Skyrim passively while watching videos on my iPad.  I didn't make this choice because the game I was playing was bad.  I made this choice because the game I was playing was not stimulating me intellectually on any level.  To me, Skyrim wasn't an uncomfortable gaming experience, it was just boring.

While I do have an appreciation for the world that Bethesda created with Skyrim, I wanted a compelling reason to continue adventuring in this world.  In my playing of Skyrim, that reason was never presented to me.  Perhaps others see value in walking through a world with nothing to do but kill endless supplies of skeletons, but I don't.  I want a reason to kill an endless supply of skeletons, other than they are trying to kill me.  I want a story.  I want a purpose.  I want some there there.

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim: B-

I need some help identifying this object.  I am unclear as to what it is and what it represents.  If you know what the object pictured below is, please contact me.

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Friday, October 7th, 4:57 P.M.

Friday, October 7th, 4:57 P.M.

I can see myself.  I am watching myself doing something.  Again.  I know what I am doing.  I know it all too well.  I am in Moenia Prima School #1.  I'm in a classroom.  And I am watching it.  I am watching it again.

There is a sound.  A sound that is faint, almost inaudible, a sound that can only be picked up because it is being made over and over and over and over and over.  It is the sound of the stick, the pointing stick.  It is the sound of the pointing stick passing through the air at high velocity.  It is passing through the air.  Over and over and over and over and over.

The hand is reaching out toward me again.  Valerie's hand.  The hand is getting closer and closer and closer as the sound is heard over and over and over.  This time the hand touches me and I turn away.  I turn away from the window and look.  I look at Valerie.

There is not much there for me to look at.  Nothing much there for my eyes to see.  All that is there is Valerie.  Valerie.  Valerie dressed only in a black bra, black panties, and black silk stockings.  Valerie is there.  She is standing right there clad in her sexual attire.  Valerie.  Valerie.

Valerie says something.  I can see her lips moving as if she is trying to make noise.  I cannot hear Valerie's voice.  Valerie's voice is not heard by my ears.  All I can hear is the sound.  The faint, almost inaudible sound, only picked up because it is being made over and over and over and over and over.

I turn back toward the sound.  There is not enough time to see what lies beyond the window before I am turned back.  Turned back by the hand that had reached out to me before.  Valerie.  Valerie.

I see Valerie again.  She is different.  Valerie is as she was the last time I saw here.  Valerie is as she was the last time anyone saw here.  Valerie, covered in welts, face dripping with blood, sundress barely hanging on her ravaged body.  Valerie.  Valerie.

Valerie says something.  This time I can hear her.  I know from the motion her lips make that what she said is something she had just tried to say to me.

Why didn't you do anything?

This is what woke me up today.

Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Thursday, October 6th, 6:25 P.M.

Thursday, October 6th, 6:25 P.M.

Today was another day where I just didn't feel like working.  It's not that I'm stressed out or overwhelmed or anything like that.  When I woke up this morning I didn't feel like following the usual routine.  As a result, I went to go get breakfast as a diner, then my day just unfolded from there.  Sure Sam will be pissed that I bailed on my work, again, but, really, I don't care.  October 22nd, then done.

After I got breakfast and skipped out on the bill, I made my way to the Modern Art Museum.  Admission was free, it wasn't raining in there, and I could spend several hours just milling around without anyone hassling me.  Also, because it was modern art, I was fairly confident I would see some naked boobs.  I didn't, but I did see something that held my attention almost as well as naked boobs.  Almost.

As I was making my way from the impressionistic wing toward the portrait alley, I saw someone standing in front of the Morrison piece in the conceptual art space.  It was Rinoa.  I didn't want to yell out "Hello Rinoa!" because she didn't know who I was, and I know I would find it really strange if someone I didn't know just out of the blue shouted out my name.  I walked up and stood next to Rinoa.  Not too close to where I was invading her personal space, but close enough so that, if she wanted to, Rinoa could talk to me.

For what felt like a long time, borderline eternity, neither of us said anything to each other.  Not a word.  There were occasional glances, fleeting ones not meant to let the other one know we were glancing at each other.  Then there was the glance where our eyes met them immediately went back to the piece.  Finally, something both monumental and epic happened.  Rinoa said something to me.

"So, what do you think this piece looks like?"

"Well...Um...I think...Maybe it's...It could be...Ahh..."  I had something on the tip of my tongue, but I did not want to say that I thought the piece looked like a giant penis.

"I think the piece looks like a giant penis."  Instead it was Rinoa who said exactly what I was thinking, which we both got a laugh out of.  "I believe I recognize you from somewhere.  Do you work the fields of Nongbu Farm?"

I could barely contain my elation at Rinoa recognizing me.  "Yes, Sam's got me working pretty hard."

"I thought so.  I'm Rinoa."  Rinoa extended her hand toward me.

"I'm Hato."  Shaking Rinoa's hands put me on a plane of existence I had never visited before.  As I shook her hand, I should have known Rinoa was going to do something when she looked over her shoulder behind her.

"You wanna see something cool," and with that Rinoa darted off, with me unknowingly along for the ride.  Not that I didn't enjoy following along behind her.  The sight of Rinoa's hair bouncing and swaying as she gleefully ran in playing over and over in my mind as I craft this entry.

After running up two flights of stairs, down three hallways, and past half a dozen security guards who thought nothing of two opfers tearing their way through a museum, Rinoa came to a stop in front of one of the landscape paintings.  I came to a stop too, but only after nearly running into Rinoa.  Rinoa pointed at the painting and said, "What do you think that looks like?"

I looked at the painting for a moment and nothing profound came to mind.  So, I just started rambling.  "It looks like a peaceful meadow with people having a picnic, people climbing on trees, and kids playing on two gently sloping kills."

Rinoa looked at me imploringly.  "Yeah, but what do you really think that looks like?"

I looked at the painting again and tried to find something profound.  "The leaves on that tree kind of look like marijuana."  I failed.  Rinoa looked at me slightly annoyed, then clasped her hands on her chest.  "Um, hands," I asked meekly.

"Breasts.  Breasts!  Those hills represent breasts.  Conservatives won't tell you this, but any art geek, like me, will tell you Fray Ortiz adored the female form, and incorporated it into all of his paintings.  This painting, Playground Meadow, breasts.  The one over there, Twilight Forest, long slender legs.  Across the way, Silent Churchbells, ample, curvy hips.  And that one, Section Of A Vibrant River, cleavage."

I was stunned.  Not just by the subtle use of feminine imagery in art, but also by the forward way Rinoa was talking about it.  "No shit?"

"No shit."

"Hmmm.  I hesitate to ask if Ortiz ever tried to use the, um, vagina in his art."

"Well, it's not on display here, but Ortiz's Blackened Bush does exactly that."

Before I was stunned, now I was shocked.  "Really."

Rinoa let out a sigh, and said. "Yeah, Fray's puns started to break down late in his life.  There's a portrait of him downstairs with the woman considered to be his muse.  You wanna see it?"

"Do I want to see the Silent Churchbells?  As long as you don't yank my arm out its socket, sure," and with that we were off.  Rinoa and I spent the rest of the afternoon going from art exhibit to art exhibit, Rinoa explaining all of the pieces in full detail, and I delighting in hearing her speak.  This is an experience that I hope to replicate far into the future.

Oh, damn!  I forgot to ask Rinoa if she wanted to go to the Dramatica show.  I'll have to ask her when I see her tomorrow.

Later,

Hato Shurtleff

Breaking Douches

Breaking Undertaker

Fan have been waiting with baited breath for the upcoming conclusion to the popular AMC series Breaking Bad.  Fan's anticipation was barely satiated with the eight episode half-fifth season released last summer.  Producers of Breaking Bad have been very tight lipped about what will happen during the upcoming final episodes.  During appearances on various talk shows, as well as parodies done in coordination with DowntonAbbey, not much have been given away, leading to rampant fan speculation.

This week an image was leaked that may provide clues as to what the final episodes of Breaking Bad may hold.  This image, leaked to this publication by Hect Dogg Industries, shows a very different Walter White than we have seen before.  Rather than speculate any further, let's let the image speak for itself.

Esquire Brand Feminine Hygiene Products

Last Monday saw the formal announcement of something that people following this situation have long since known about.  Comcast owned G4, the alleged game network that aired mainly infomercials and Cops, is going to be undergoing a transformation.  G4 will become the Esquire Network.  The Esquire Network, according to the announcement, will "feature a blend of unscripted and scripted series, and movies and specials that appeal to today’s man".

It appears that Comcast is already making formal arrangements for content for this network.  Comcast has not green light any original programming for the Esquire Network.  Rather, Comcast has already begun selling ad space for this channel.  Ad space is already being sold despite not having a show during which these ads would air.  However, the entities buying ad time may provide a more definite clue as to the direction of this network.

Besides the usual ad buys from soda companies, organizations running public service announcements, and other cable networks, a large block of ad time has been bought by C.B. Fleet Company.  C.B. Fleet Company is the manufacturer of Summer's Eve, one of the largest vaginal douche products on the market today.  In a statement, C.B. Fleet Company  spokesman Spencer Pratt said the following:

"We at C.B. Fleet Company are always looking for an opportunity to enter new markets and reach consumers in innovative and dynamic ways.  With the Esquire Network, C.B. Fleet Company saw an opportunity to reach a new class of consumer already familiar with douches, as well as douchebags."

In response, Comcast President Jack Donaghy said the following:

"The Italians have a saying, Ginger.  'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer'  And, although they've never won a war or mass-produced a decent car, in this area they are correct."

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Wednesday, October 5th, 4:37 P.M.

Wednesday, October 5th, 4:37 P.M.

As soon as Spiker Sullivan's TV show was done yesterday, I resolved to watch him more closely.  I want to listen to his show everyday, watch his show everyday, and read everything that he writes.  I will do this because I want to hear every vile, venomous, despicable thing that comes out of that verbrecher's mouth.

Wow.  Writing that right now, it seems kind of stupid.  I'm listening to a person because I don't like him and I want to see how he will offend me.  It's not going to stop me from doing this, but at least I'm aware of how stupid I'm being, which isn't much better.

So, I was listening to Spiker's radio show while I was working in the field today.  As I was working and listening, I was growing more and more angry.  I couldn't yell or scream or anything because the people around me would think I was insane.  Instead, I expressed my anger through the rake I was using.  Every time I wished I could scream, yell, or throttle Spiker, I slammed my rake down and thrust it harder against the dirt.

I broke three rakes today.  Is that bad?

Later.

Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Tuesday, October 4th, 8:03 P.M.

Tuesday, October 4th, 8:03 P.M.

For the past couple of days, Spiker has been pointing this great work of vigilantism and government whistleblowing that he, and only he, was going to tell the world about.  Spiker also said that the people responsible for this work were dutiful and faithful patriots, who were only concerned with restoring and maintaining the one and only truth.  Finally, today, Spiker revealed this work.

Spiker opened his show sitting behind his desk, with the image of the Dolore national flag behind him.  "Hello, my friends.  For a couple of days, I and my friends here at Sly 7 have been telling you of this work.  A work that we, and only we here at Sly 7 and the Spiker Sullivan Show, have been made aware of.  However, before we reveal this great work to you, my friends, there is something I feel motivated to address.

"Ever since I informed people of the existence of this work, and my intentions to make it know to the good people of Dha Chathair, myself and many various people at Sly 7 have received messages about it.  Most of these messages have been positive, but a small number have been negative.  These negative messages accuse of sensationalizing this work, and that this work will amount to nothing but a publicity stunt.  That assertion is false.  The reason we waited to reveal this great work to you, our fine outstanding viewers, is that we needed time to verify.  We here at the Spiker Sullivan Show and Sly 7 needed to verify that the information contained in this great work was accurate and true.  It's not that we don't trust the brave patriots who did this great work, it's that we know there are people who would do the  good, honest patriots who did this great work harm.  These people seek to embarrass and silence those who know of and proudly proclaim that which is true.  We know who these people are, just like all of the faithful know who these people are, and we need to be vigilant untill they day comes when they realize the awesome scope of their failure to recognize that which is true.

"Now, my friends, the work."  With that phrase the image behind Spiker changed from the Dolore national flag to text.  Black text on a white background.  It was hard for me to real all of the text because of how much was there and the size at which it was displayed, but I could tell the text contained names, ages, and addresses.  "This, my friends, is a list compiled by two workers at the office of the Dolore Division of Employment Services in Dha Chathair.  This list was compiled by comparing residents who self identify as members of the Church of the Holy God on the social network Flight with people who have sought the services of the Division of Employment Services.  These are the people that I've been talking about for nearly all the time I have been talking to you, my friends.  These are the people who are deceived by the false truth.  These are the people who lead an aberrant and repugnant lifestyle.  And, now we know, thanks to the efforts of these brave, patriotic public servants, that these people are leeches.  These people are leeches, not just on the constant moral construct of our society, but also on the government paid for by you, my friends.

"Now we, the good upstanding moral majority in this city, thanks to the great work of a pair of patriotic public servants, know who exactly these leeches are.  We know who they are, where they work, and where they live.  We know who they are, and now we can bring the one and only truth to their very doorstep.  Praise be to the Lord, the one and only son of God.

"We'll be back after these messages."

What Spiker Sullivan had been promoting for several days was a list.  A list of every member of the Church of the Holy God who had publicly acknowledged themselves as being so.  This is a list of their names, addresses, workplaces, and much more of their private personal information.  Finally, this list was compiled by people in a position in the government, in a position of trust.  That is outrageous!  That is fucking outrageous!  For this list to exist and for Spiker, and presumably the people behind the news organization he works for, to promote this list as a good thing offends me in a way that makes me physically ill.  I can only hope that someone in that community that has influence over them stands up and tells them that what they are doing is wrong.  It will take someone in their community saying this for it to stick, because clearly they do not give a rat's ass about anybody outside of it.  If they did, the list would not exist.

Goodnight.

Hato Shurtleff

The Redertainment Valentine's Day Spectacular!!!

Images Of Her

by Hunter Red

When I close my eyes I am taunted

Taunted with images

Images of her

Her

I can see her

I can see her walking around

I can see her talking

I can see her laughing

I can see her being

Being exactly what she wants to be

Being exactly where she wants to be

Being with me

When I close my eyes I am taunted

Taunted with images

Images of her

Images of her that only exist when my eyes are closed

Beer x72

by Hunter Red

Beer

Beer

Beer beer beer

Beer

Beer

Beer

Beer!

It is time to get away

Beer

Beer

Beer beer beer

Beer

Beer

Beer

Beer!

To a place where there is bliss

Beer

Beer

Beer beer beer

Beer

Beer

Beer

Beer!

Far away from all of this

Beer

Beer

Beer beer beer

Beer

Beer

Beer

Beer!

Somewhere where there's no one near

Beer

Beer

Beer beer beer

Beer

Beer

Beer

Beer!

No one point out no one's near

Beer

Beer

Beer beer beer

Beer

Beer

Beer

Beer!

Time machine engage

Beer

Beer

Beer beer beer

Beer

Beer

Beer

Beer!

Time machine energize!

Beer

Beer

Beer beer beer

Beer

Beer

Beer

Beer!

Oh wait, I'm still here.

Red Review- Klown

Two years ago, I received I Spit On Your Grave via Netflix.  It was about Valentine's Day and I found it fitting to be watching a horrible, deplorable piece of cinema on that day.  The movie seemed to fit my mood.  Thereafter I set out to make a tradition of seeing horrible, deplorable pieces of cinema in time for Valentine's Day.

Last year I intended to watch A Serbian Film in order to maintain this tradition.  My plan was to go online and illegally download it through means that are highly illegal and could get me prosecuted and beaten by Chris Dodd.

This plan hit a snag when A Serbian Film was legitimately released on a legitimate Blu-Ray legitimately.  So, I legitimately bought it and posted a picture of myself holding the legitimate Blu-Ray copy of A Serbian Film that I bought legitimately.

Due to the legitimate release of A Serbian Film, my tradition of seeing horrible, deplorable pieces of cinema hit a snag.  Undaunted by snags, I wanted to continue this tradition the next year, meaning this year, and kept my ear to the ground for a movie of suitable deplorableness.

Last year I heard about a Swedish film entitled "Klown".  Quoting from a review of Klown "Think of all the gags you think might go too far, and then watch as Nørgaard takes them even further."  When I heard this description I thought I had found a movie of suitable deplorableness to continue my tradition with.  To this end, I had Klown sent to me via Netflix.

I turned Klown on and watched it.  I watched it and watched it... for about twenty minutes.  Throughout this twenty minute period there was one question that kept coming back to me: When are they going to do anything?  I understand the concept of character development, as well as the need to set up the plot that the characters are going to be following.  However, as this process is going on, the characters need to be doing something.  Preferably, something interesting.  Sure I could see where this film was going, and who might be the principal characters in the thing that was going to happen, but I sincerely didn't care about it.  I didn't even care about the pearl necklace joke that the filmmakers took care to setup, then executed in a way that was wholly uncomfortable yet wholly uninteresting.

After about twenty minutes of watching Klown, I turned it off and started watching Ted instead.

In my opinion, Ted is a far more entertaining movie, and starts getting entertaining very, very quickly.  Ted gets entertaining much more quickly than Klown.

I also appreciated the parts with Joel McHale in it.  I've watched Mr. McHale for years, and have always appreciated the way he can bring out the unapologetic jackass out of any role.

Ted might have been more entertaining if I was inebriated at the time I watched it.  I'll have to watch it again when I'm not about to go to work, because showing up to work high is just an uncomfortable experience.

Overall, I could not suggest people watch Klown.  Perhaps if you have more patience and can wait a good long time for something to pay off, you might like Klown.  However, if you sincerely like engaging in that kind of behavior, I might suggest going through the ungodly torture that is properly saving for a house.  Klown and saving for a house seem like great activities to engage in if you are a masochist.

Klown: Not recommended

My Ruby

by Hunter Red

My Ruby is always there for me

My Ruby is with me when I need her and when I do not

My Ruby keeps me warm when the outside world tries to cool me

My Ruby carries me throughout this world

My Ruby takes me ass to town

My Ruby is the one

My Ruby is my all

My Ruby is my love

My Ruby is the one that I treasure above any other

My Ruby is a car.

It Is Coming

by Hunter Red

It is coming

It is coming

I can feel it getting closer everyday

It's presence is becoming more evident

There are messages delivered to me

Messages of all kind, in all forms, from nearly all people

These messages are not personal

But they feel like they are personal to me

There are signs all around

Replacing other signs that sat for months

The people around me are preparing

Preparing for the thing that they look forward to

Preparing for the thing that I dread

Preparing themselves

Preparing those around them

Preparing

Preparing

The time is drawing nearer

And nearer

And nearer

Before you know it

It's here

It's here and I have to deal with it's presence

Not because I want to deal with it's presence

But because others obligate me to do so

The day is coming

The day of joyous celebration for most

And dreadful torture for others

It is coming

It is coming

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Monday, October 3rd, 1:04 P.M.

Monday, October 3rd, 1:04 P.M.

There are people in this world that can put in long exhaustive work for days upon weeks upon months at a time and not feel the need to break free, even if it's only for one day.  I am not one of them.  The urge to break free strikes me not just on a monthly basis, not just on a weekly basis, but practically on a daily basis.  Today I gave in to that feeling, and I feel kind of conflicted about it.  Sure I liked not having to work today, but not working left me with nothing to do, which makes me feel kind of lazy.  I wonder if Rinoa experiences this.

So I ditched work today and went climbing on the different buildings in downtown Dha Chathair.  I got a couple of odd looks from the people inside the buildings I was climbing on, especially from those people in that office having hot monkey sex.  With every odd look I received I'd say I gave an equal number of odd looks back, and not because I was looking at people willingly subjecting themselves to office life.

Lately the promotional campaign for Spiker Sullivan's Restoration Of Truth Rally has been ramping up.  There are billboards, TV spots, radio commercials, newspaper advertisements, bumper stickers, regular stickers, buttons, belt buckles, and t-shirts.  White t-shirts with the logo of Spiker's rally on the front, and a slogan on the back that reads "Restore The One Truth / Saturday, October 15th".  There were people wearing these t-shirts in the office I peered into.  Lots of people.  I have a bad feeling about this.

Later.

Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Sunday, October 2nd, 12:02 P.M.

Sunday, October 2nd, 12:02 P.M.

When my family and I went to church in Moenia Prima, we would often see the oddest people there.  There was the Behnke family, who even the tallest among them was no taller than Sakoshi.  There were the Dinos who, for a reason I never bothered to understand, felt it was appropriate to wear sports jerseys and facepaint to church.  Finally there were the Ramseyers who's dad was a verbrecher.  Apparently the parade of oddities extends to the third branch of the Church of the Holy God in Dha Chathair.  This morning at church I saw the girl with the dark energy.

After the service was over, I talked a bit with Sam.  Considering how hard he's been pushing on the harvest, the first thing we talked about was not what I expected to be pressing on his mind.

"Hey Hato."

"Sam, what's up."

"You know anyone who's into Dramatica?"

I should have replied that I had only been there for a week and a half, so I don't know that many people.  However, the adoration I have for Dramatica made me say, "Yes, I am into Dramatica."

"Great.  One of the shopkeepers we provide lettuce to also runs a concert venue.  She gave me tickets for the Dramatica show next Tuesday.  You want them?"

I could hardly contain my excitement.  "Yes!  I do, please."

Sam got a chuckle from my reaction.  "Allright then, they're yours.  Maybe you can take that girl you've had your eye on all today."

A mixture of shock and shame went through my body when Sam said that.  I had no idea that my attraction to the girl with the dark energy was that blatant.  "Oh.  Um.  I guess- I mean-"

Sam got another chuckle from my reaction.  "Ha ha ha.  Don't stress about it.  You're young, it's natural to be entranced by the opposite sex."

I took a deep breath, laughed along with Sam, and said, "By the way, you don't happen to know her name, do you?"

Sam looked at me oddly in reaction to this question.  "You don't know her name?  Have you not talked to this girl?"

"No, I haven't."

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head in shame.  "Rinoa.  Rinoa Ann."

Rinoa Ann.  That sounds nice.  Now I just have to talk to her.  Damn it.

Later.

Hato Shurtleff

Award It Or Don't

Damn It

There was a time when I sincerely loved snow.  I would look out the window, saw all of the randomly shaped pieces of frozen precipitation fall outside, and experience a sense of glee.  Not that ripoff Jonathon Coulton kind of glee, the kind of glee that you usually only see in children.

Looking out the window, I could see all the fun I could have out there.  Building things that look vaguely like obese people, hurling clumps of ice at people in a way that is socially acceptable, jumping into open fields without fearing that I would throw out my back, all sorts of unabashed, freeform, endless fun.  This fun was enhanced when Ruby came into my life.

Nothing could stop me and Ruby.  With Ruby, my love, I could conquer everything, and I did.  I remember one time Ruby and I were traveling home after a long day at work.  The snow was coming down like something that comes down very, very hard.  Off in the distance I could see the taillights of another car.  Even though I could not see the car clearly, I knew that this car was wedged into a snowbank.  When I got closer to the car I saw what it was.  A Ford Mustang.  The snow had turned somebody's three hundred horsepower toy into a three hundred horsepower sled, while I, and Ruby, were driving comfortably and securely in the driving snow.

However, my perspective on snow has changed this season.  It's not the snow's fault, nothing the snow can do can ever be wrong.  It's other people.  People.

Recently I've developed myself into a responsible adult.  This took a lot of effort on my part, and is something that I feel I still need to work on.  Being a responsible adult has allowed me to be more self-reliant, and less reliant on other people's help.  It would be nice if the people I interact with in the real world would see this as a positive development for me.  That is not the case.  Instead the people I interact with in the real world has seen me becoming more self-reliant and said, "Oh great!  He can do shit for us!"

It's not that doing things for people is a bad thing.  It's just that the balance feels a little unbalanced to me.  It's gotten to the point where the people I interact with in the real world have started to ask me do to things for them assuming that I'll do them and that I won't ask for anything in return.  It's not that I need anyone to do things for me, but it would be nice to be asked.

One of the people I interact with in the real world asking me to do things for them are my parents.  Specifically, my parents have been asking me to shovel the sidewalks out in front of their house when it snows.  They live on a corner lot and have an abnormally large driveway and the snow has been heavy and plentiful in since the start of the year.  This has resulted in me having to go out to my parent's house multiple times a week to shovel large amounts of heavy snow, usually taking me about an hour to clear each time.  Also, I've been doing this alone.  All alone.  Sure, my Dad could help me shovel the walks, but apparently doing shit around the house is apparently an unreasonable proposition for my father.

For me, shoveling large amounts of snow sucks.  What sucks more is having to do this alone.  This experience has caused me to change the perspective that I have about certain things.  Specifically, my perspective on snow.  Now when I look out the window and see the randomly shaped pieces of frozen precipitation fall outside, I dread seeing it.  I dread it because it means I have to go out there and endure something I sincerely don't like doing alone.  Again.

Damn it.

So yeah, I said that I was going to do The Fifth Annual The Four Star Awards today.  However, voting for this years awards was low.  By low I mean the only people who bothered to vote was me and some random person on Facebook who only voted for one category.  This is not the first time this has happened, but it will be the last.  There will be no The Fifth Annual The Four Star Awards ceremony, and the future of the awards is in doubt.  I'd apologize but, it seems, the only person this cancellation disappoints is myself.

Remember The Sleeping House?  Volume 11.  Buy it or continue not doing so and read the syndicated version on redertainment.com, or don't.  Whatever.