Volume 11: Part 3- Trebyer: Sunday, October 16th, 4:38 P.M.

Sunday, October 16th, 4:38 P.M.
Sam was just stopped at a checkpoint before going into Trebyer.  Rinoa and I were a bit apprehensive as we were approaching it, but Sam told us this was a normal part of business in Trebyer.  This fact didn't seem to calm Rinoa at all.  The checkpoint was staffed by these military types.  I say types because I didn't see any of them carrying guns.  Uniforms, rank insignias, saluting, but no guns.  Weird.  Also, these military types were wearing helmets.  Not camouflage helmets or shiny black helmets, sky blue helmets, the color of which could be easily seem over a mile away.  Weird.
When Sam stopped at the checkpoint, the blue helmeted soldiers ordered everyone out of the truck.  Sam seemed okay with it, but I asked for an explanation.  The low level blue helmeted soldier tasked with manning the checkpoint told me that they had to search the truck and everyone in it for weapons before they're allowed into Trebyer.  The same soldier also told me that this was nothing personal, everyone goes through this screening process.
Everyone got out of the truck and the blue helmeted soldiers went to work.  They swept the truck with mirrors, bomb sniffing dogs, and a intricate visual inspection.  The soldiers took a similar approach to the people that occupied the truck.  This involved everyone getting manually swept by invasive, stone faced military officers.  This inspection made me feel uncomfortable.  I can't imagine how violated Rinoa feels right now.
Finally, we all were cleared and allowed to go into Trebyer.  Once we all got settled back into our places, I asked the person sitting next to me, "Rinoa, are you okay?"
At first she didn't respond, then Rinoa said, "I don't know what that was supposed to prove."
I took a second and said, "I don't think it was supposed to prove anything.  I think those screenings are meant to keep everyone safe."
Rinoa exploded.  "As if those impotent International League motherfuckers can do anything!  Those morons can't protect shit from shit."
The anger and the vitriol that Rinoa expressed caused me to end the conversation and sit silent as Sam began navigating his way through Trebyer.
Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 3- Trebyer: Sunday, October 16th, 6:53 A.M.

Sunday, October 16th, 6:53 A.M.
We have reached the time of year where the temperatures in the country of Dolore start to turn south.  This is the time of year when the fall foliage starts coming in, when birds begin to migrate away from where they spent their summer, and people start wearing jackets when they go outside.  In this temperature it's not terrible comfortable to be outside in light clothing.  Especially when you are in the back of a fast moving truck, where the wind sends a chill throughout your body, and most especially when that body being chilled is injured.  Such is the experience of the many, many people, mostly opfers, riding in the back of Sam's truck on its way to Trebyer.
Sam drove through the night last night, not stopping or slowing down for anything.  Sam looked like he wasn't going to stop, that is untill Rinoa convinced him of doing so by saying that he "probably didn't want his truck to smell like the piss of at least a dozen people."  Sam stopped at a gas station just after dawn.  We didn't have any money to buy anything, but the manager let us use the bathroom anyway.  From what I've heard, that bathroom is more filthy, putrid, and disgusting than the back of the truck would have been had we not stopped.
I haven't gotten out.  I'm still sitting here in the front seat of Sam's truck, trying to comprehend all of what's happening.  I don't want to get out.  Getting out would mean that I would see people.  Injured people.  Injured people that will remind me of Delany, Sparra, Wanda, and Sakoshi.  I can't allow that.  I can't allow myself to have a mental breakdown right now.  I have to get to Amcan.  Getting to Amcan is the only important thing now.
Rinoa looks frazzled.  She's walking around and looking at all the people oddly.  I wonder why she's doing that.  I'll have to find out once we get rolling again.
Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 3- Trebyer: Introduction

Part 3

Established in 1835, Trebyer is the capital city of Dolore, as well as its first and longest lasting settlement.  Once a center for business, Trebyer is now a center for culture and education in Dolore.  The city's three and a half million people also make Trebyer Dolore's largest city.
Dolore University, established in 1869, is the oldest and most revered university in Dolore.  Many of Dolore's most prominent businessmen went to the Dolore University Business School.  Dolore University also has a well regarded liberal arts program, churning out some of the most influential people in the Dolorian art scene.  Despite its high academic acclaim, Dolore University has also received criticism for its lack of racial diversity.  Of its nearly 43,000 students, only 18% are opfer.  While there are many prominent alumni and faculty that are opfer, most prominently Professor Laurence Butler, Dr. Andrew Furcal, and Professor Steven Raynola, the lack of diversity among Dolore University students is seen as a chronic problem that is not being addressed.
Among the people in Trebyers's art scene, one of the most well known and highly regarded is Fray Ortiz.  Art aficionados have identified three distinct phases of Ortiz's artistic career.  The first phase consisted of oil based paintings depicting the evens of the 2002 Northland Opfer Massacre.  These paintings are described as grotesque and haunting while accurately capturing the horror of that massacre.  Ortiz's second phase consists of photographs showing the presence of International League troops inside Trebyer.  These pictures, originally taken as a part of Ortiz's day job as a journalist, showed the true influence the International League troops.  Insisted of having the desired effect of solving racial problems, Ortiz's work showed the problems were being pushed underground but were nonetheless present.  The third phase of Fray Ortiz's career is still ongoing and is still being discussed and analyzed inside academia.  The wise discussion about this phase of Ortiz's career is perpetuated by the fact that Ortiz is no longer doing interviews where he discusses his pieces.  The current status of this phase and of Fray Ortiz himself is unknown in light of the situation currently going on in Dolore.
Being the capital of Dolore, Trebyer is host to the Dolorian Congress.  The part time bicameral legislature meets beginning in January with its sessions wrapping up in March.  There are occasional special sessions of the legislature held at different points in the year, but the last special session was held in August 2003.  That special session dealt with the Northland Opfer Massacre that has occurred the previous year, as well as the incoming peacekeepers from the International League.
Vince Fielding, reporter VNBS

Athletic Bribery

On Tuesday, a story started circulating about Microsoft being investigated for bribery.  According to the Wall Street Journal, Microsoft stands accused of paying off officials to facilitate software contracts in China, Italy, and Romania.
In reporting this story, the question arises of why the government is aggressively going after Microsoft in this case when a similar case involving Sheldon Addleson, or others suspected of financial or corporate crime, is not being aggressively pursued.  The answer may lie at who is at the center of the bribery case on Microsoft's end.
Darin Ruf, pictured above, is the current Microsoft International Software Business Representative.  According to documents leaked late Monday by Anonmyous, Mr. Ruf is responsible for the bribery allegations Microsoft finds itself in.  Mr. Ruf is also an athlete.  Darin Ruf is a baseball player who spent time in the Phillies organization before accepting his current position with Microsoft. 
It is Darin's background as an athlete that explains why the government is aggressively going after Microsoft in relation to these bribery allegations.  Much like the case of Roger Clemens and Lance Armstrong, the United States Department Of Justice is aggressively going after malfeasance committed by athletes, as opposed to malfeasance committed by corporations and financial organizations.  It just so happens that, in this case, both the corporate world and the athletic world overlap.
When reached for comment, Department Of Justice spokesman Bryan Anthony Sierra refused comment on the particulars of this story.  However, in the past couple of days, a military-style drone aircraft with the Department Of Justice logo on it has been seen hovering over my office.

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Saturday, October 15th, 9:37 P.M.

Saturday, October 15th, 9:37 P.M.
There are things that happen in your life that you know will never happen again.  Not things you are sure will never happen again, not things you are confident will never happen again, things that you know will never happen again.  Things that happen because of a combination of environments, situations, circumstances, and persons that you know will never, ever, combine in just the same way ever again.  One of the things I saw in Moenia Prima fell into that category for me.  The sight of a mob of verbrechers converging on me to do me harm is something I thought I knew would never happen again.  This was something I knew.  Not something I know, something I knew.
Once I heard Spiker finish his speech and the crowd begin to chant "Freton!  Freton!  Freton!" I ran straight for the barn.  There I found Sam, who had previously been working on the truck, staring at his radio with a stunned looking on his face.  I yelled at him, "Sam!  We gotta get everyone out of here."  Sam didn't respond.  "Sam!"
Slowly Sam turned to me, stunned look still on his face, and said, "This is how it begins, isn't it?"
Finding Sam useless, I stepped out of the barn and started speaking so that everyone could hear me.  "Everyone.  Everyone, listen up!  There are people coming for us.  The Church of the Lord has turned violent toward us."
One of my fellow workers responded, "Why would they do that?"
I angrily shot back, "Because they've been convinced it's a good idea.  Look, everyone, we need to cram everyone we can into the delivery truck and get the fuck out of here!"
Knocked out of his daze and now taking a leadership role, Sam emerged from the barn and said, "No.  Everyone get in the barracks.  Once everyone's inside, lock and barricade the doors, windows, and any other way you people can think to get in."
Looking at Sam, I said, "Why can't we take the truck?"
"Because I can't get the damn thing to start.  Everyone, get in the barracks.  Hato, come with me."  Sam grabbed me around the shoulder as a way to gesture me toward the main house.  Once inside, Sam said to me, "Hato, go upstairs to one of the bedrooms with a window facing the city and act as a lookout.  I'm going to call The Father and see if he's okay."
I ran upstairs to the first bedroom at the top of the stairs, threw open the window, and started scanning the area for the verbrecher mob I knew was coming.  In my rush to act as lookout, I didn't notice the person sleeping in the bed who I woke up.
"Hey, what's going on?"
It's weird seeing someone you're into just after they've woken up.  Weirder still when it's the middle of the day.  "Rinoa?  What are you doing up here?"
"I wanted to ditch work today."
"So you came up here?"
"Yeah.  You can't catch an afternoon nap in the barracks, too many people."
"Well, there's certainly too many people in there now."
"How come?"
It was then that I saw the thing I thought would never happen again.  I, joined by Rinoa, looked out through the window and saw them.  "The verbrechers are coming."  I tore back downstairs, Rinoa following closely behind me, and found Sam sitting at the kitchen table in front of a moderately sized arsenal.
When he heard us enter the kitchen, Sam looked up from the revolver me was loading and said, "Got something to report, Hato?"
The sight of all those guns on Sam's table stunned me, so I couldn't speak.  Thankfully the guns did not have the same effect on Rinoa.  "There's a mob of verbrechers heading this way."
Sam put the last of the bullets into place, slid the chambers back into alignment, and said, "I thought we'd have more time.  Shit."
My stunned state was broken by a voice coming from Sam's phone.  "You shouldn't use that kind of language, my son."  The voice was The Father's.
"Father," I said sounding slightly desperate, "you're all right?"
"Yes, my son, I am, although I get the impression the people pounding on the doors of the church wish I wasn't."
Rinoa, in a more steady emotional state, said, "Do you have a car or a truck, so that you can get out of there?"
In a stern tone of voice, The Father said, "I'm not leaving this church.  I am sure that God will protect me and this building from harm."
I didn't want to tell The Father that I didn't believe what he had just said.  However, I did want to save my ass.  "Do you have a truck we could swing by and get so we can get as many people from the farm to safety?"
There was a short pause, a pause made longer by the situation we were in, then the voice from Sam's phone spoke.  "Don't you have a truck at the farm?"
As he was continuing to load bullets into clips for the pistols that sat in front of him, Sam, said, "The goddamn thing won't start."
The Father scolded Sam, "Language, my son.  Now, what is it that is wrong with your truck, Sam?"
As if to rebel against his scolding, Sam shot back, "The damn thing won't start.  The piece of shit stopped working yesterday for God knows what reason.  I've checked the battery, spark plugs, oil, alternator, radiator, every goddamn part of that fucking truck I could think to check."
Nobody said anything for a moment, then The Father said something basic and profound.  "Did you check to see if the truck had any gas?"
A really dumb look came over Sam's face in response to The Father's question.  "Damn it."
Rinoa looked at Sam and asked, "Isn't there cans of gasoline in the barn?"
Upset, probably because he was just embarrassed by a member of the clergy and a young woman, Sam got up from the table and said, "Hato, go to the barracks and tell everyone we're taking the truck and leaving.  I'll bring the truck around, assuming my dumbass can find one of the many gas cans in the barn."
Sam went off to the barn while Rinoa and I went to the barracks.  It took Sam some time to come around with the truck, which was good seeing as it took some time to dismantle the hastily constructed barricades in the barracks.  In that time, I got to take a good look at Dha Chathair as it was being torn to pieces by mobs of verbrechers in t-shirts from The Restoration Of The Truth rally.  To their credit, the Dha Chathair Police Department was attempting to put up a fight against the mob, it's just hard to do so when you're outnumbered three to one.
At long last, Sam showed up with the truck.  We started piling people into the back of the truck, cramming people just as tight as they could get, just as the mob of verbrechers reached the farm.  The mob fanned out across the farm.  Some were slashing and setting fire to crops we had put so much effort into growing.  Others were tearing apart the fences that we had put up, not caring that the fences were made of pressure treated wood and sharp barbed wire.  However, most of the mob was marching up the road that ran straight down the middle of the farm property, right toward the barracks.  Some of them had machetes, some had baseball bats, most had guns, guns that some members of the mob were firing at us as the marched.  Once we crammed as many of us as we could into the truck and Rinoa and I took a seat up front next to Sam, a thought came to my mind.
"Yes, Hato."
"How are we going to get out of here?"
"We're going through them."
"The mob."
Then Sam gunned the engine and the truck started blazing forward.  As the truck got closer to the mob, the people who had been marching toward the barracks stopped and wondered about the truck heading their way.  It suddenly dawned on the mob that the truck that was barreling toward them wasn't stopping.  Some got out of the way.  Some didn't.  I'd like to say that the fact that Sam hit some verbrechers with his truck didn't make me slightly happy, but I sincerely can't say that.
As we pulled away from the farm, the members of the mob who had guns started firing on the cargo of the truck.  Most missed their target, some hit the metal parts of the truck, however a few people in the mob hit their target.  The sound of people getting injured is distressful to me, but seemed to be devastation to Rinoa.  Rinoa kept on asking, pleading, begging Sam to stop and get some help for the injured, but Sam did not stop, slow down, or even change his route.  He was going to the freeway, he was going to Trebyer, he was doing this no matter who or what he had to go through to accomplish this.
Once we hit the freeway, everything seemed to calm down.  The ride got smoother, we encountered less people, and the people in the back of the truck quieted down.  I don't know why they quieted down and I'm not looking forward to finding out.
I don't like having to leave a place under these circumstances.  I dare say no one does.  I can only hope that getting to Trebyer means that I will be getting to Amcan sooner.  Hope, because at this point I sincerely do not know.
Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Saturday, October 15th, 1:35 P.M.

Saturday, October 15th, 1:35 P.M.
We're a week away from the shipment that will take me to Trebyer, and hopefully Amcan after that.  In preparation for that trip, several of my fellow workers and me were tasked with rounding up all the wooden crates that are used to haul the harvest.  This ended up being quite a chore as these crates  as these crates were scattered all throughout the farm and were being used to hold tools, water bottles, clothes, cleansers, electronics, rags, books, trash, shoes, and other assorted bullshit.  We had to find the crates, dump out the contents of the crates, then tell the people who owned the contents of the crates that we had dumped out their things, all while hoping that no one reacts violently.
As my fellow workers and I went around gathering crates, we listened to the radio.  At first we listened to a radio station that was covering the Restoration Of The Truth Rally, which I was actively avoiding.  The only reason I was at the farm was that I didn't want to go downtown and run right into the rally.  So, I asked one of the guys to change the station, which he did.  Unfortunately, he changed it to the pop station, which at the time was playing one of the songs I heard when the solitary opfer woman was murdered.  I could hardly stand to hear that song.  I don't think I'll ever disassociate that song with that murder.  I asked the guy who changed that station to turn it back, playing it off as me not liking pop music.
The rally started with some musical acts, pundits, politicians, and other people I could give a rat's ass about.  A grand speech to be delivered by Spiker Sullivan was to serve as the culmination, the climax, the main event.  As if all the t-shirts, banners, signs, chants, and declaration adoration didn't feed Spiker's ego enough, he had to be the star of the rally that he created.  When the time came for Spiker to speak, this is what he said.
"Hello, my friends."  There was a long pause while the applause from the crowd swelled then went back down.  "First of all, I need to thank the people at Sly 7 and Untitled Corporation for helping put this thing together.  Before I begin, I feel I must address something.  Something that the detractors, the deceivers, have been beating their drum about lately.  These deceivers lashed out at me over what they wrongly called an infomercial, in particular they focused on one word that was used in that message.  Freton."  Another pause for the swelling applause to die down.  "Allow me to teach you something about that word.
"Freton is an old Dolorian word, first used by those who settled this country, as a way to describe someone who is willfully ignorant to the point you mistake their ignorance for stupidity.  At first the people who settled Dolore used freton sparingly, but as they encountered more and more people, the word freton started getting used more and more.
"Eventually the word freton became to be closely associated with the people who call themselves opfers.  This association wasn't an insult, it was a statement of fact.  Opfers, as a group, became so unbelievably ignorant, that it angered the people who settled this country, who the opfers insisted on calling verbrechers.  The opfers angered the verbrechers, so the verbrechers insisted on calling the opfers fretons, which angered them.  Not the most ideal of circumstances, but it is what it is."  A pause while the crowd lightly chattered amongst themselves.
"My friends, what I just engaged in is something that needs to be done more in our good, righteous, pure, patriotic society.  I, and the others before me who spoke from this stage, are actively engaging in this thing, but we need more.  We need more people engaging in this thing.  We need you, the good, faithful people in the crowd today and listening in other locations, we need you all to start teaching.  We need you all to start teaching the truth.  The truth.  The one truth.  The only truth.  The truth that is, was, and forever shall be the truth, despite the lies the deceivers claim with their biased view of history."  A long pause while a large cheer erupted from the audience in response to that line.
"My friends, we need to teach the truth about the work of the Lord, the one and only son of God.  We need to teach about the laws set forth by the Lord, the one and only son of God.  We also need to teach of the consequences of not following the words, the works, and the laws that reflect the one and only truth given to us by the Lord, the one and only son of God."  A short pause while the cheers of the crowd reaches a crescendo.  "And what better way to teach these people, these fretons, the consequences of living in a way that runs in conflict with the truth from the Lord, the one and only son of God, than to bring those consequences to their doorsteps.  We need to teach consequences by being the people who meter out justice and bring those consequences down upon those fretons.  We need to become the boot of the Lord, the one and only son of God.  We need to become the fist of the Lord, the one and only son of God.  We need to become the sword of the Lord, the one and only son of God."  The cheers of the crowd swelled to a fervor.  "My friends, we need to wipe the world of the fretons, and we need to start doing so today."
Oh shit.
Hato Shurtleff

Reexamining The Appeal Of The Damning Of Denial

The following is a statement I made in front of the Utah House Environmental Affairs Committee in favor of House Bill 8675309.  Don't believe me?  LOOK IT UP!
For many years, I have been a fan of Victoria's Secret.  More specifically, I have been a fan of their ads.  Victoria's Secret ads are always guaranteed to make me stop and intently watch.
Most men, and several women, are fans of the advertisements put out by Victoria's Secret.  Most people attribute the appeal of these ads to the very fact that they feature some of the most beautiful women in the world in some of the most revealing clothing in the world.  Some people attribute the appeal to people's love of fashion.  They are wrong.
For years, I attributed my liking of Victoria's Secret ads to the same reasons that everyone else does.  Recently I've been reexamining why Victoria's Secret ads appeal to me.  This is due to this commercial.
This is an advertisement for Electronic Art's alleged video game Sim City.  This ad features Adam Devine in the role of the mayor... in his underwear.  You can see quite prominently Adam Devine's tighty-whities when he's sitting on the desk in front of the camera.
What struck me about this ad is the effect it had on me.  When I am skipping through commercials, as I always do and have done for years, and I fall upon a fragment of any of the new Sim City ads, I stop skipping.  I stop and intently watch, just like I do with the Victoria's Secret television ads.
The similar response I have to both of these ads have caused me to reexamine my behavior as it relates to these ads.  After some thorough soul searching, which is quite hard since I am a Ginger, I have discovered my true reasons for my intent watching of Victoria's Secret ads.  Denial.
Denial is a major north-flowing river in northeastern Africa, generally regarded as the longest river in the world.  It is 6,650 km long. Denial is an "international" river as its water resources are shared by eleven countries, namely, TanzaniaUgandaRwandaBurundiDemocratic Republic of the CongoKenyaEthiopiaEritreaSouth SudanSudan and Egypt.  In particular, Denial provides the primary water resource and so it is the life artery for its downstream countries such as Egypt and Sudan. 
Denial is something that I suspect will continue to have a great effect on my life.  Untill such point that we construct a dam to more adequately control the flow of denial, this mighty force will continue to have a great effect on me and the people around me.  The construction of such a dam will be costly, but will also have a great benefit to the community.  The hydrological power that can be generated with the damning of denial can fuel our community's further growth.  Also, the great reservoir that will come with the damning of denial will provide a recreation opportunity for our residents, as well as possible tourism income.  All these reasons and more are why I urge you to vote for the construction of the dam of denial.  Thank you.

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Wednesday, October 12th, 2:10 A.M.

Wednesday, October 12th, 2:10 A.M.
It was well past midnight when I got back to the farm.  People don't tell you this, but a field of corn looks spooky late at night.  About every ten feet or so, I would whip my head around, looking for a verbrecher in a Spiker Sullivan shirt.  When I got to the barracks, I saw a flickering light inside the main house.  Paranoia does weird things to you.  For instance, paranoia makes you investigate unknown flickering lights instead of going the fuck to sleep.
Following the flickering lights into the house caused me to pick up on some sound.  Two sounds to be specific.  One was the voice of a calm, sedate, reasonable person.  The other was of a loud, drunken, way totally pissed off person.  As I entered the room where the flickering lights were coming from, I saw the reasonable one was Spiker, and the pissed off one was Sam.  Sam was watching the 1AM replay of the Spiker Sullivan Show, and, given the many bottles of Ayah Beer on the floor, was drunk.
Spiker was delivering a long winded speech about how he is good, the other side is bad, and you should buy his merchandise.  Meanwhile, Sam was responding to Spiker by yelling.  I couldn't tell you what Sam was saying because I could only make out his swearing.  I must have made a noise, because Sam noticed one standing in the doorway watching him.
"Hello Hato!"  The way Sam said that was more boisterous and slurred than I can convey.
"You just getting back from the Damnrodic show?"
"Dramatica, and yes."
"Did you and Rinoa get all lovey dovey during one of those pussy slow jams?"  At this point Sam was getting on my nerves.
"Actually, I forgot to ask Rinoa to the show."
"Damn!"  This time when Sam swore he shook his beer, spilling most of what was left in the bottle.  "Shit, I just dropped a beer."
"From the looks of things, you've dropped several."  I don't know if Sam didn't hear me or if he blacked out, but he suddenly switched topics and began to talk about what he was watching.
"This is a disgrace.  This Spiker.  The kind of values this guy espouses.  This is the same kind of shit that brought you here to Dha Chathair, that drove you from Moenia Prima, that drove the verbrechers of that city to try and wipe out the opfers.  It astonishes me, because this has happened before.  This exact same thing.  You'd think that people would think for a moment and realize what this guy is actually saying to his audience."
Responding to Sam with skepticism at that moment would have been unproductive.  So, I didn't express my thoughts.  "My grandfather, even to his dying day, said that people will find their minds, and that peace will be restored."
"I'd like to believe that.  I'd also like it if the environment was right for you to pursue a romantic life, but that may be out of the question."
With a heavy heart I nodded and said, "Yep.  I mean, I want to pursue Rinoa, or Delany, or anyone else, but I can't.  I need to get to Amcan.  I need to get what's going on to people outside of Dolore."
"Maybe once this whole thing dies down, you and Rinoa can start being young again."
Hato Shurtleff

This Is Big Butts And You Cannot Jump Around

The end of things is something that is dealt with a lot in music.  In fact there is a musical term for the end of a song: Coda, which is taken from the name of the last Led Zeppelin studio album.
Other examples of the end being articulated in music is This Is The End by The Doors, The Ends by Everlast, and the well renowned classic Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-a-lot.  Music seems to provide a way that people can deal with the end in ways that, rather than wrenching, can be quite enjoyable.  The Doors deal with the end in a way that speaks from the perspective of a person that is constantly questioning themselves.  Everlast articulates a feeling of the end as something that we scarcely understand.  Sir Mix-a-lot deals with the end in a way that speaks to people of all persuasions.
However you choose to deal with it, the end is something that people must deal with, sometimes in a most unexpected fashion.  Such is the case with the former employees of the Montreal office of Visceral Games.  This week, Electronic Arts chose to close the studio behind Dead Space, Dante's Inferno, and The Simpsons Game, eliminating an untold number of jobs in the process.  This move was attributed to the poor marketplace performance of Dead Space 3, although Electronic Arts has yet to confirm that.
The former employees of Visceral Entertainment must now deal with the end, and how they deal with the end will speak to their character and the very foundation of their humanity.  As Everlast once said, "I came to get down.  I came to get down.  So, get out your seats and jump around.  Jump around.  Jump around.  Jump around. Jump up, jump up, and get down.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump.  Jump."  Such a deep statement on the human condition.

Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Tuesday, October 11th, 11:16 P.M.

Tuesday, October 11th, 11:16 P.M.
I didn't sleep well last night.  It's obvious who from my last entry.  After I realized I wasn't going back to bed, I got up and took a shower to kind of wash the nightmare off me.  It wasn't untill I was breathing in the steam coming from the showerhead that I realized something.  I had failed to ask Rinoa to the Dramatica show, and the concert was today.  Once I was done beating myself up over my failure, I put it in front of my mind to ask Rinoa to the show when I saw her today.  I didn't run into Rinoa today before I left for the concert.  Damn.
The Dramatica show was awesome.  Vanessa Killjoy was in top form.  I bet Sparra would have enjoyed the show.  Oh damn, Sparra.
After the show let out, there were police officers directing traffic.  Police officers, mainly verbrechers, in uniforms with high powered assault rifles.  I went out of my way to avoid these people.  I know that the police aren't a threat to me and that I can trust them, but I don't trust them for a reason that is not rational.  I just don't.
I took a back alley to avoid the police officers on the main streets.  On the buildings that lined the alley, there were a number of windows leading to apartments.  Most of them were closed, but as I passed one of the open ones I heard some music I liked.  It was one of those pop songs that I wouldn't admit to liking, but I do like nonetheless.  As I stopped by the window to listen to the song, I heard some voices hooting and hollering like frat boys.  So, I peeked inside the window to see what was going on.
There were four men, four young verbrecher men, not much older than I am.  Two of the men were kind of athletic, one was pudgy, and one was just plain fat.  Their physical appearances gave me the impression that they all came from different backgrounds, except for one thing.  Each of the four men was wearing one of several t-shirts promoting Spiker Sullivan's rally.
There also was a woman, an opfer woman.  One, lone, solitary opfer woman, who looked an awful lot like Delany.  There was one main difference between this woman and Delany.  I don't remember Delany ever wearing clothes that made her look as trashy as this woman looked.
The four guys were sitting on couches, hooting and hollering and drinking various beverages, while the solitary woman was dancing along with the song in a way that was clumsy yet erotic.  Once one pop songs started blending into another, the four guys started chanting "Take it off!  Take it off!  Take it off!"  The solitary woman turned her back to the guys and continued her dancing, attempting to ignore her audience.  Ignoring the audience was made impossible when one of the guys threw a beer bottle at the solitary woman, nearly striking her, shattering in the wall she was facing.
The solitary woman turned back toward her audience, still chanting for her to take it off, with a complete look of horror on her face.  You could see written on her face and conveyed through her eyes that if she didn't do what the men wanted she knew they would hurt her.  The solitary woman started doing what the four threatening, intimidating, and possibly drunk man wanted.
She reached down for the hem of her shirt and started peeling it upward.  This caused the four guys to hoot and catcall, especially when the solitary woman's expensive white satin bra was revealed.  The catcalls got only louder when the solitary woman reached behind her, causing her breasts to become more pronounced.  Once the zipper she was reaching for was down all the way, the solitary woman held the waist of her skirt just for a moment before allowing it to drop to the floor.  Given the volume the four guys reached upon seeing the panties of the solitary woman, I'm surprised a police officer didn't come by to see what was going on.
While the hoots, hollers, and catcalls were being delivered, the solitary woman began to do her clumsy erotic dance again.  This was not what the four guys wanted.  The chants started up again, "Take it off!  Take it off!", but this time the chants had a tinge of anger in them.  After a short amount of time being ignored, one of the athletic verbrechers said, "Hey freton!"  The solitary woman turned to face the athletic verbrecher.  When she did so, she was met with a pistol pointed right at her.  The athletic verbrecher continued talking, but from where the solitary woman was looking, it was as if the gun was doing the talking.  "You, you freton bitch, are going to take off the rest of your clothes, and you will do it now."
The gaze of the lone, solitary woman was transfixed on the gun.  No guys, no music, just the gun.  As the solitary woman continued staring at the gun, her face became sadder and darker.  Slowly the solitary woman reached behind her, and just as slowly a tear started trickling down her face.  Just as the clasp on the bra released, and just as one tear was joined by another, the solitary woman's face exploded.  The solitary woman's face tore apart at the point on her cheek where the tear had momentarily stopped.
When I saw the solitary woman's face explode, I ducked down underneath the window, fearing the four verbrecher men would spot me looking in on their evening time debauchery.  I strained to hear what was going on in the room.  For what felt like a long time I heard nothing, save the music still playing in the background.  Then the verbrecher men started talking.
"Oh my Lord, the one and only son of God."
"What did you do that for?"
"You fucking shot her!  I thought you were joking, but you fucking shot her."
"Oh my Lord, the one and only son of God."
"What if a cop heard that gunshot?"
"Now there's brain matter on my carpet!"
"Oh my Lord, the one and only son of God."
"Dude, you shot her, what do you propose we do with her?"
Then the voice of someone who had yet to speak was heard.  "Do you know how much people pay to fuck a dead girl?  I know she's a dirty, unworthy, heathonistic freton, but this is one of the things they're good for.  Hell, she's freshly dead.  That's worth more.  More bang for your buck, if you catch my drift."
Oh my God.  I couldn't believe what I had just heard, much less what I heard next.
They were all going along with it!  One guy does something aberrant, proposes something worse, and the other three are going along with it!  I didn't believe what I was hearing.  I couldn't believe what I was hearing, untill I saw something.  I saw something land in front of me, presumably coming from out of the window I was ducking under.  It was white.  It looked to be satin.  It looked to be stained with blood.  It was the panties of the lone, solitary opfer woman.
That is when I booked it.  That is when I got the hell out of the area as fast as my legs could take me.  Now I know where the real problem lies.  Now I know what I should really fear, what means the most harm.  I can't quite put a name on it, but I know it's not the cops.  Oh most certainly not.
Hato Shurtleff

Cash Rules Everything Around Sim City

On Tuesday, the newest version of Electronic Arts's Sim City franchise was scheduled for release.  Millions of fans of city planning simulations waited patiently online for the game to finally be made available.  At midnight, Sim City was released, and almost immediately people started bitching on the world's favorite place to bitch, Twitter.  Rather than complaining about the game, as most gamers do when anything is released, consumers were complaining about not being able to get the game.
These complaints about availability are of a different nature than the complaints made about most games.  Electronic Arts made the decision to distribute the latest Sim City game digitally.  Even physical copies of the new Sim City did not contain the game, rather the physical copies contained a program for the user to download EA's digital distribution service, Origin.  Other companies have utilized a digital distribution method to disseminate major video game releases, and on paper it works.  However, it appears that digital distribution of a major video game release is a concept that resembles communism, supply-side economics, and politics: It looks good on paper, but problems arise when it is actually applied to people.
On Midnight of the game release, a flood of people tried to download Sim City at once.  The resultant overload of the game's digital servers caused the servers to become unavailable to consumers.  Unavailability of the game that they paid good money for caused many consumers to rage out against the game's publishers, the distribution method utilized by the game's publishers, the consumer's ISPs, random people on the street, and, for some unknown reason, President Obama.
Some users took their outrage a bit too far.  On Day 1 of the GODDAMMNSIMCITYBEINGOFFLINESONOFABITCH Crisis, otherwise known as Tuesday, a fire broke out at a grail silo on property owned by the FLDS Church in Custer County, South Dakota.  Although first reported by members of the community to be the working of "An apostate who means harm to our way of life", Custer County Sheriffs later identified thirty-one year old Watford resident Hal Abell as being responsible for the fire.  When asked for a reason for setting the fire, Mr. Abell was only heard to say, "I paid good money to be mayor of Simville, I want what I paid for goddamnit!"
It is unknown when normal stable will be restored to the players of Sim City.  We can only hope that a further outage doesn't cause an outburst like the one seen when the Fox series Traffic Light was cancelled.  We don't need to see another revolution in Libya.

As was mentioned earlier, when Electronic Arts's latest version of Sim City was released, the physical release included a physical disc.  The physical disc, rather than including the game, included a program to download EA's digital distribution platform, Origin.  It is through Origin, and only through Origin, that the latest Sim City game is to be distributed.  So why include a physical disc at all?
This question was asked to Electronic Arts's public relations department.  Rather than suppling us with a less than adequate response, our question was given to EA's Green Initiative Director, Gabriel Nelson, pictured above.  When asked about why a physical disc was included in the physical edition of Sim City, even though the need for one is not really necessary, Mr. Nelson said:

We included a physical disc with the physical edition of Sim City as an aid to our consumers.  Many of the people who play Sim City are not as technologically adept as the typical hardcore gamer.  It is to those consumer's benefit that we include a physical disc with the physical edition of Sim City.

When it was pointed out that many of these consumers could easily follow clearly written instructions as to how to obtain the game digitally, Mr. Green said:

I understand your concern, but my job is not to eliminate avenues for consumers to obtain our products.  My job is to increase the amount of green that our company con obtain.

When asked what he meant by "green", Mr. Nelson said:

Green.  You know, the colour money is?  Yes, money is of paramount important to us.  Cash rules everything around Electronic Arts.

This Guy Claims To Represent Me
On Tuesday, it was announced that first term Utah Republican Representative Christopher Stewart was tabbed to be the chairman of the House Environmental Subcommittee.  In a statement, Representative Stewart said this about the appointment:



Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Tuesday, October 11th, 2:08 A.M.

Tuesday, October 11th, 2:08 A.M.
It was a Sunday evening.  We were all the house.  Mom, Dad, Sakoshi, and me.  Grandpa wasn't there.  I don't know why.  We were all at the house.  I was Sunday evening.  This was Sunday dinner.
Mom had made a splendid meal, a fine roast with potatoes, corn, and zucchini.  Dad had carved the roast so that each individual slice of meat was hefty yet bite size.  Sakoshi was Sakoshi and he didn't need to be anything else.  I was just sitting at the kitchen table watching my family as the spoke to one another.  I didn't join in on the conversation, or say anything at all.  I just listened to everything, and, for a long time, everything I heard I liked.
Then I heard something I didn't like.  It was soft at first.  Far off in the distance, a sound could barely be heard by the rest of my family, but, to me, it stood out.  Slowly the noises of the conversation went away as the sound became louder, and louder, and closer.  The sound was bootsteps.  Many bootsteps.  Many bootsteps thumping in unison.  This thumping didn't come from only one direction.  The thumping from the bootsteps, the sound of which was becoming slowly deafening, was coming from all directions.
Then the thumping stopped and everything became silent.  The conversations had continues unabated, but I wasn't listening for it.  I was listening for what was going to happen next.  Then it happened.  The bootsteps started thumping again.  This time against doors, windows, breaking, shattering, destroying.  They were here.  The verbrechers were here.
The verbrechers poured into the house and accosted my family.  The verbrechers were brutal to my family, very brutal to them all.  Ripping, tearing, breaking, shooting, slashing, defiling, murdering, I saw and heard all of it.  Then one of the verbrechers brought down the butt of his gun on my head.
That is when I woke up.  That is when I was able to escape.  God.  What is going in my head?  Why can't I stop this, even for a moment, like I did before?  Why?  Why?  Why?
Hato Shurtleff