Making the Message Last

So often I write things straight from the roiling center of myself on my white board in what is something along the lines of an artistic frenzy. The need to express overtakes me, and I rise and write in giant letters something almost poetic and rarely something that I then adhere to. Still, I feel that my writings are significant to me, especially in that moment, but so often this moment comes when I'm awake in the middle of the night. I rise, write out whatever it is that I need to write out, and then usually turn the light back off, immediately concealing whatever it was that I wrote.

I'm not trying to make a profound image here, I'm just saying that I need glow in the dark dry erase markers.

The Crucial Lack of Firearms

Whoever it is that is outside honking rhythmically is very lucky that I don't own any kind of firearm. I've played a lot of GTA, which as we all know proves that I'm an unbalanced sociopath, and I have to note that shooting people through their windshield is not only a routine in that game, but a particular favorite trick of mine.

A Campaign of Near Violence

I spend a lot of time thinking about the issue of inner fire. I think about this so heavily because it is, when I'm being fully honest, the center point of my recent issues. I'm not going to rant about that again though, I'm frankly sick of talking about that all of the time. It can't be helping and to be honest it's getting kind of pathetic. The reason I bring this up though is that every time I begin thinking about inner fire it inevitably bring it to the forefront, and I find myself coming inches away from assaulting random nearby objects. Walls, refrigerators, doors, etc. They're the almost victims of a campaign of near violence.

Full Chemical

First of all let me apologize for any gross grammatical errors in this entry. I've taken my night medicine already, so I'm not at excatly 100%, but that is the thing I'd like to discuss.

As I said I'm medicated with what is nominally my sleeping meds. I'm still learning more about these, and once thing I'm learning right now is that I've been wrong to think of them as reverse concerta. One of the key tricks concerta can do is cause you to be awake even if you're incredibly groggy, or laying in bed during your snooze period after getting too little sleep, or even if you've already been awake for 24 hours. It's powerfull stuff. I see that my standards were too high when judging the bendryl, because I was thinking of it as "Take two of these and you're gone for 8 hours."

Now I'm swaying gently, and I'm clearly not wakeful, despite being awake, so I can't argue that the pills work, but they can't overcome the fact that I've only been awake for 12 hours. They're sleep augmenters not sleep inducers.

That little side story aside, I'd like to discuss the thing that made me decide I needed to write another entry. It's occurred to me that I've toyed heavily with these meds, but I haven't actually spent a week on what I'm calling "Full Chemical Regulation." Meaning sleeping meds every night, waking meds every morning for a prolonged period. Starting this week, I count weeks as starting on Mondays, I'm going to be trying this, and despite it's frightning implications I hope it does work. Getting back to a state of mind where I can sleep without a bit of chemical help first depends on me doing things that are much more easily done with chemically induced sleep.

The swaying is being accompanied by a kind of lolling of the head. Like what babies do. I'm going to go lay down now. I think it's in all of our best interests.

Misc

-I find the experience of being awoken by sunlight much more satisfying then the traditional method. Something about the natural flow of it, and the naturally slow waking process along with the lack of any sudden shock just makes the experience better. The fact that the sun is sending Wake Up signals straight through my pituitary gland to my suprachiasmic nucleus at Five Thirty In the Damn Morning is another issue altogether.

-My psych classes have a habit of warping me, as all classes do, but the most recent one works in a particularly stark way. I see behavioral traits, personal issues, and all of the things that plague the everyday person and I think about the part of the brain that's responsible for it. A friend with dyslexia is analyzed in terms of Broca area issues, and immediately leads me to an internal discussion on whether or not this is a form of aphasia.

-That's totally not aphasia, Aphasia means difficulty in cognition of spoken language, not difficulty in cognition of language that's being brought in.

-This means that the whole thing about saying "cotion of ponfusion" would be aphasia, so it is.

-Except not.

-A much better example of this is that while laying in bed I did actually discuss with myself whether it would be better to face away from the window or towards it. This sounds like an obvious issue, but if I'm correct the pituitary gland is located above the hypothalamus in the dorsal region of the skull, so back towards the window will expose it to sunlight. However there's direct irritation from having my eyes pointed towards the light, despite the mitigating factor of the eyelids. Also, isn't it light cognition in general? The body's internal regulatory clock is located just above the eyes (hence the name suprachiasmic nucleus, which is itself a reference to the optic chiasm) and I'm fairly sure it monitors light exposure to the eyes as well. It's right there, you'd think it would right?

-For the record, this entire discussion took place over the hour that I spent feigning sleep without me ever getting up to simply put the shades down on the window. Granted that occurred to me, but I was trying to sleep, and my extensive research on the subject has taught me that rule one for keeping that state is not getting up.

-I was able to empathize far too well with the kids on that show about mental illness. Granted I don't have schizophrenia, but their symptoms are things I understand far too well, and it's a little bit worrying.

-I'm also slightly concerned that I was able to spell schizophrenia correctly on the first try. Especially because I managed to botch irritation.

-I either ate something bad, or I'm beginning to experience more pronounced physiological effects of my recent issues. Or I'm several weeks pregnant. It started after taking my pills though, so I'm thinking the blame is on my new fish oil pills, or some circumstance of bad chemistry.

-Thinking about whether or not my mental health is causing my physical illness can't be good for my mental health.

-In retrospect I've been thinking far too negatively recently. Obsessing over my problems is only adding to my problems. This is the grand cruelty of mental illnesses, they stack.

-I'm taking a mental health day. I feel much more valid doing this then I normally do.

Re:

I ended my last salient post with "Farewell, Quiet of the night." I got a response to that one, which I'd like to address.

Anonymous said...

It should not be farewell but see you later.

I understand what whoever this may be is trying to say, but they're wrong. It's the idea that I'm not letting go, but simply departing from for a time, and that's a nice thought that appeals to the contrarian faux controversial philosopher in me, but that's simply not how change works. If I was adopting my new positions as a lark, as a game, perhaps as a phase or simply a tool through which I could lubricate my college experience that would be one thing, but those things are all too easy and accomplish far too little. I'm trying, not wholly successfully, to leave it behind. True change always means leaving something behind, saying goodbye to what was in order to make room for what will be.

I've done a lot of things in the vein of severing my ties to that life. Most of them involve a part of my life which is not up for public discussion, but at the most basic level theres the issue of rejecting the opportunity presented by insomnia. I made an honest attempt at it tonight, and I haven't gone back to the old ways, but somewhere around 2:30 when you've gone through the discussion of whether or not my psych T.A.s would be more willing to accept an excuse of "mental illness" and you've spent half an hour trying to remember the name of a comic (it turned out to be Pablo Francisco) and another half hour debating the relative merits of weilding two hatchets versus a large two handed axe in a variety of scenarios, including Zombie Apocalypse, and another half hour discussing how the relative merits of these two fighting styles are played out in various video games and you've gotten to the point where you're quietly singing Sweeny Todd songs into your pillow it's time to simply admit that you're awake.

Still I feel like this is a step of progress. Yes I wasn't able to stop myself from being awake, but I have curtailed what I did with that time. Every night I spend waking and not wrapped in the embrace of my addictions chardonnay lips is a step I take out of the darkened lair, and that, ultimately, is what I have to do.

For Blogging's Sake

There are a lot of times where I'm at my computer and I'm either waiting for something else to finish, or I feel like I should be doing something, and I end up blogging. It's a dumb idea because it leads to dumb posts, but I'm currently copying the majority of my D drive onto Kevin's portable hard drive so I have some time to kill. Todays story of choice concerns Kevin's hard drive.

Since I'm the key "acquirer" of data around here it's been a long standing tradition that I fill up the majority of the portable drive. The portable drive is something that we can all draw from, and since we have similar interests the things that I've "acquired" are usually of interest to my roommates. It is, however, Kevin's drive, so I've made sure to keep my contributions in their own file. This started out as the (at its peak) 180 gig "Maxonian Invasion Territory" file. Now time has passed and I got my current computer which has two hard drives both of which are bigger then the portable, so I felt it was time to get my excess clutter off of Kevin's property. The wreckage of what once once my vast data hoard was therefore renamed to "Maxonian Demilitarized Zone" which was shortly changed to "Maxonian DMZ" because nobody ever actually writes out the phrase "Demilitarized Zone."

Well the latest piling on is somewhat militant, and in keeping with tradition it's been updated again to "Maxonian Occupied Territories." I'm currently thinking of my next war pun.

Letting Go

I'm up at that time that is between very late and very early again, but this time I have a good reason. At 6 a.m. there's going to be the registration rush, and I intend to have my schedule already arranged so that I can register for Autumn 08 at 6:00.000001. It's a ritual that was played out time and time again at Lander, where as with every recurring ritual at Lander I was one of the few taking part of it while sober.

This experience has proven something that has been between a theory and a fear of mine for some time now. Over the last few years I've built up a kind of life for myself that takes place in the darkness of the night. So much of who I am was invested in these activities, and I'm forced to accept that in order to end my own self destructive behavior I'm going to have to let them go. It's troubling because I worry that I'll lose some part of myself, and this bitter revelation is what I've been overlooking. Improving oneself means changing oneself, which inherently means letting go of some of things that used to identify that self.

Once again I find myself coming to a point where I feel like I should have so much more to say, but it would either be me restating my point over and over in a pointless attempt to convey it's gravity, or it would details that shall remain undiscussed in a blog that my parents have access to. What words can describe the literal tremors that run through my body as I lift the axe to sever the ties to what once defined me?

Farewell, quiet of the night.

Little Costs

The term may not make any sense to you, but there's a lot of little costs that I think of as low percentage procs.

A proc, for those of you who haven't gotten to the max level in more then 5 MMOs, and hence don't have to deal with whether that's something to be proud or ashamed of, is a percentage chance trigger effect. A great example of this is the fiery enchant from WoW, which gives you a 25% -ish chance to do a fire burst effect each time your attack hits something. A proc is anything that works that way.

There's my phone's"Minutes" proc, there's the printers two different ink cartridge procs, and because I don't keep a careful track of when they charge me there's the monthly procs of netflix, gamefly, and whatever MMO I'm subscribing to at the time.

I imagine that everyone has these things, but it's only the poor who get critted by them. I'm also fairly sure it's only the poor who think about money this much. People think about the things that are effecting them, but I'll spare you the overwhelming volume of my rants about poverty, the fact that I have them is proof enough of my standing. I just wish I could say that it wasn't my fault, but I've gotten better at this with every bit of financial turmoil that I've gotten though.

Difficult Questions

Cognitive Psychological therapy, what most of us would just call therapy or counseling, is at its roots about difficult questions. I sit here, awake, again, because of one very important one.

Am I clinging to this?

I've been thinking a lot about baseline self image. It's an exercise that has been complicated time and time again by all of my thoughts about higher self, true self, etc. I have vast experience thinking about the self that I aspire to bring out of myself, but I haven't spent nearly enough time contemplating what I'd call my honest self. That is to say the person I can see myself to be with an honest, not overly negative or positive, evaluation.

One issue that comes up here is that because I've spent so much time in this meta-escapist conception of potential idealized self, and because the exact nature of that image is fluid, the honest self has gone largely undefined, and has actually be made actively nebulous by my mental exercises of identifying with any number of things. The one thing I keep coming back to though is the idea that I am a deviant. It's core enough, fundamental enough, that it's one of the few points that I can get a hold on when trying to think about how I think about myself.

I'm generally pro-deviance. Am, was, and will continue to be. However the change of lifestyle that I'm making is unquestionably a step towards normality, and I've begun to think that a major part of the problem is that I like being a deviant, and so much of what defined me as one is embedded in the problematic behaviors I'm trying to avoid. Who I am as a person hasn't changed but it's hard to be crazy when you wake up every day at 6. It's hard to keep your edge when you're getting regular diet and exercise, and it's quite near impossible to have a good "Darkened Lair" vibe going at 6 in the evening.

This leads to the real question. Is it time to discard those? Do I have to? The short answer is no, but that doesn't mean I can keep doing what I'm doing now, because what I'm doing now is being done at 3:18 a.m. and that's just too destructive. I'm not sure how yet but I'm going to have to come to some kind of compromise between my deviance and my fledgling maturity. Both of them are too important to let go.

My ongoing adventures with drugs

I think I may be on a scary trend here, because once again I have a story to tell which is, by and large, about drugs.

I started using Benedryl as a sleep aid recently, and while a single pill does nothing to me, literally 0, I found that two will help me sleep in a fairly passive way. I'd prefer that they functioned as controlled duration knockout drops, but my irrational desires to fix everything with pills isn't anything new. It's basically just a step down from my much greater, and two notches crazier, desire to fix everything with supernatural powers, and all of this wraps around my desire to be able to make my intent into reality without all of the fuss of action, reaction, development etc.

Anyway. This was going fairly well, the only really annoying part was the blister pack that the Benedryl came in. So I pulled a bunch of them out, and put them in an old concerta bottle. It was because of this, and because I had delegated this simple motor task to my lower cortexes that I grabbed a pill bottle, and took a pill. Luckily, I didn't complete the program of taking two, because I realized shortly after swallowing that I had just taken the wrong pill. Concerta does what it does very well, and what it does is give the person taking a slow release low dose of speed, so that they're more awake and more focused. It may sound crazy, but if you watch someone who is on speed (which is either hilarious or tragic depending on whether or not you care about that person) you'll inevitably realize that they are way too awake, and more focused then any human being without psychic powers ever should be. My meds give me just enough to be precise, and not enough to be stabbing people in the back allies for wearing shirts with lizards on them without the common courtesy to get the lizards to Stop judging me!!!!

ahem

So now I'm awake in an entirely different form of insomnia. I'm actually highly awake. It's a shame because on the surface this is exactly what my insane old dream of breaking my sleep dependence was, but I know from my own experiment that when I come down I'm going to lose more time then I gained. In the meantime I've moved my concerta to the medicine cabinet, and I'm thinking of getting my laundry out of the way early this week, since doing laundry late at night is something I've done for a long time, both as tradition, and as vocation.

If I'm unreachable by phone tomorrow you know why.

Route 2 In Weekapog

I used to do something with my old custom CDs that I really enjoyed, and I was recently reminded of it and I'm working on putting it back together.

If you can go through TV shows and the soundtracks of certain video games with the fairly basic tools that have been made available to me you can find a whole collection of parody commercials. Only a few of those are made as radio commercials, namely those I've extracted from the soundtracks of various Grand Theft Auto games, but lots of the fake commercials from Family Guy and a few other shows (mostly family guy) can also work quite well as just audio.

It's incredibly nerdy, something I only realized in retrospect after Kevin pointed it out, but I like having little breaks between the music. All of my play lists are slowly becoming seeded with commercial breaks for Kobe Bryant Jewelers, Peep Delta Airlines, and of course wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube men.

The Ease of Madness

I'm glad that I got my white board. It makes being crazier so much easier. The falling is an exert from my wall of inflammatory symbols. You were warned.

Who Am I?
With one hand I bring death & with the other I grant life.
With one hand you are damned & with the other you are redeemed.
I am the light in the darkness
I am the deepest night just before the dawn.
I am the one who stands in both worlds, master of both for I am master of myself.
I am both sides of the coin.
I am both edges of the sword.
I am at once the infinite wellspring of potential and the never ending void of despair.
I am the morning star. A servant of the lord with a fist raised to heaven.
I am מאיך

See, without my white board I would've had to write a simple post about how once again the resolution to my divisions of self is to simply accept both, but with the advent of test anxiety based sleep deprivation I can write bad poetry on my wall. Just like the homeless.

Smooth Grooves

Someone is playing light jazz outside my window. I think they're actually playing it by hand, and even knowing that I find myself sorely tempted to turn to my industrial/metal play list, point my speakers out the window, and return fire.

Signs

There are certain little outward signs of when I'm having an off day. The biggest ones are that I'm wearing glasses, not contacts, and that I haven't shaven.

I sat here in the dark for a while, reflecting on the fact that my unintended facial hair is now almost as long as my beard, and that I almost have my glasses marks back, and contemplating when exactly a string of bad days turns into a bad week.

It's a bitch because I know that this is the road to getting better, I can say in full honesty now that I've taken a big step towards resolving my psychological problems, but cutting that bit away has inflamed the rest of it.

Why does it always seem like my attempts to make things better are the key cause of my problems?

I really hope the someday I keep talking about gets here before I wreck things too much. Especially because I have so many things planned for that quasi-mystical point.

And yes I know, someday is a fabrication that will be reached over time. Life works on a system of progressively spent experience points, like shadowrun or the WoD games, not on sharply defined levels like D&D and WoW.

Part of me really really really wishes I wasn't always using games as metaphors, but I find it so damn useful. There's a really really long rant here about life as a game, the nature of a game, the concept of victory conditions, the painful consequences of having improperly placed victory conditions, the nature of achievement, the nature of satisfaction, the nature of contentment, those natures in reference to any scenario which involves victory conditions, competitiveness, unequal definition of victory conditions, and a host of other things including a deep analysis of the fact that my aspiration since childhood has been to be a wizard, but I simply don't have time for those now. The sun seems to have gone and risen on me.

Quotes Dump

My facebook quotes list is now longer then my screen. I'm going to empty it, and as always I'm saving them here for my amusement.

Be warned, the following content is highly likely to be NSFW.

"What? You always say I should have faith, well that's me having faith. Random anonymous blackmail."
-Huey Freeman, The Boondocks

"That's not a mega ramp! That's buttsex"
-Mike

"Catholicism, as a fantasy setting, is just so Rich."
-Tycho

"You could learn Sanskirt. Bitches love sanskrit."
-Penny-Arcade

"Look I know you don't support the Scourge, or Lich King 08, but you're either pro-scourge or your pro-life."
-Max Willson

"Ann Coulter, a woman who keeps herself in excellent shape by dining only on her own bile..."
-Peter Sagal

"We're here in Sumata, a nation built on Coffee. The Sumatrans known as a nervous, edgy and dehydrated people..."
-Metalocalypse

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Both ways involve me shooting you in the ass with this dart gun."
-Least I could Do

"My problems with WoW, and my problems with U.S. politics are remarkably similar"
-Max Willson

"Americans have a long tradition of turning outlaws into legends after their death. Billy the Kid, Bonny and Clyde, Jesus Christ..."
-The Simpsons

"No one can slay Argos Rex!"
-said in a tiny voice, while pantomiming a pull string doll by Mike in what I consider the most hilarious tribute to my character possible.

"I'm not like normal people. I don't have super powers, but I'm working on it. In my spare time I also enjoy stuffing animals, usually with other animals. For instance a badger will hold 5 squirrels, a squirrel will hold most of a cat, a mouse will hold a shrew And a vole. You get the idea, circle of life. I have broken the sound barrier but you must never ask me how. I don't believe in the moon, I think it's just the back of the sun. Furthermore... "
-Janitor, from Scrubs

Show me on this doll where the murloc touched you.
-David Morgan

"You're a disgrace to Tauren culture," said the shaman Lolhamburger.
-Erin

"She looked down at her armor and said, "i'm cold.""
-Unknown

"Seattle PD is good at two things, catching criminals and gassing crowds."
-Bart, CSPC Ambassador

"The makers of Shin Chan do not endorse the message they've put on the screen."
-Shin Chan

"Something occurs to me about that post-op transsexual getting pregnant... is this grounds for a refund?"
-DannyboyO1

"Game Over. Please insert Disk 4 to view the hour long FMV detailing the gruesome deaths of every one of the main characters."
-Gamers commentary on Lost Odyssey

Insane 4-ish A.M. blogging

So lets go back to the same overarching subject that I was discussing last time I did an insane post. Medicine, of almost any kind, is something that I'm always a little suspicious of unless I'm genuinely sick. There are little recurring illnesses that I understand and know how to get around without any kind of chemical aid, and there are a few key chemicals that I know the function of and have an established trust of, but any time I'm introducing a new one into my rotation it's a shaky process. Tentative steps, hesitance to first acquire, general hesitance to use, all without a particularly good reason.

The recent addition is that of Benadryl. I purchased it a few days after my father finally convinced me to, and I tried it a week or so after that. I'm not taking it regularly yet, but I plan to starting Sunday.

This illustrates so well how much timid squirrel style poking it takes to get to the point of actually using the meds, and shows the breadth of my distrust. Benedryl is an uncontrolled anti-histamine medicine, the majority of my peers, with the key exception of Kevin, would take this without any real thought.

Anyway, I found it generally effective, when taken as advised, but I also underestimated its potency. Last night sometime around 3 I took a dose and set my alarm intent on getting some sleep. My alarm went off a few hours later, and was thoroughly trumped by the sleep deprivation and the meds.

Insane Midnight Blogging

I've been thinking recently about drugs.

I'm not referring to the illegal recreational kind, but rather the mind altering substances that many first worlders are dependent upon simply to keep themselves functional in first world society. I've been thinking about them for a number of reasons, each stemming from the one before it, but ultimately the story starts with Penny-Arcade.

Gabe, the artist of the site, recently went on anti-anxiety medication because he's had serious issues for some time now. The issue of anxiety still feels like a new one to me, but it's really an issue of being aware of it. One of the biggest issues I've had in battling depression is that I had a label for the problem, and from that point on it was a large amorphous monster in my psyche, and I wasn't really examining it in the ways that I needed to be. The issue, as I now know, goes deeper then that, and while I have my theories as to what the core problem is I can't really say for certain.

In a perfect world I would have overcome the problem when I got to the point where I felt I understood the root causes of depression, and I was fighting them, and this was briefly true, but what really happened in the end is that overcoming that problem revealed the fact that it wasn't really the entire problem, and that when the symptoms of the root issue aren't being expressed in the way I'm used to they're expressed in horrifying new ways. I'm trying to fight these as well, but I'm finding this ultimately fruitless ongoing struggle much harder then my old one. I think I had gotten used to the depressive behavior, I had learned ways to mitigate how bad it felt, and in some ways to get around how destructive it was. Fighting this new one is harder, and it's managed to shake the previously rock solid foundations of my bias against mind altering drugs.

I'm fully aware that this bias is hypocritical given that I'm already taking concerta, but concerta and I have an interesting relationship. I understand that one, I know it, and I've experimented with it a lot so I feel that I can trust it. I also know that, when taken properly, it can be helpful.

My views on mind affecting drugs haven't changed that much either. I was, for the most part, opposed to them because I saw them as being a cover up to an actual problem. The basic summary of this is that you won't need anti-depressants if you just address what it is that's making you depressed. However, as I continue learning more about my own psychology and psychology in general I'm coming to understand that some of these things won't be solved by simple cognitive theory methods, but rather would be better addressed by medical and sometimes chemical needs. There are, of course, the extreme cases where someone is just wired wrong, and I've never been opposed to their use, but the majority of these issues arise in everyday people who aren't necessarily broken, but aren't quite what they want to be. Which brings me back to my theory.

Self definition is something I've been thinking a lot about the past several months. The idea of higher self, of true self, and of being in a state of mind wherein you are most the person that you have the capacity to be, and aspire to be. This pursuit is a strange one, but it's fundamental to the issue at hand. At the times where anxiety holds me back I feel a kind of confused outrage at myself. Why am I pathologically unable to do things that I want to do? The short answer, and the much more simple answer, is that I'm chickenshit, a slang term that was never really all that popular, but I feel is quite apt in this circumstance. The much more correct answer is that I have self destructive issues with self imposed unreasonable guilt/shame, and those have lead me to develop unreasonable inhibitions upon everyday activities.

This is what touches back to my theory. At the times when I feel I am most in tune with myself I am quite nearly completely uninhibited. It's a freedom derived of a kind of confidence high, and a casual disregard for the approval and disapproval of my peers.

I apologize, my train of thought has completely derailed. In all honesty I'm actually feel rather anxious about this post itself. I feel like I have some kind of bigger picture lecture that I should be giving, when the salient parts of the post can be summarized as "I'm considering anti-anxiety meds." If I regain a hold on what it is that felt I needed to say I'll try and update this.

Primal Warfare

The topic of Mauri war dances came up the other day. I knew, from my travels, that they had competitive leagues for them in New Zealand High Schools, but what I didn't know is that the spectator teams followed in full tradition.

For those of you not familiar with Mauri war dances, they were basically the foreplay to the orgy of violence that was Mauri vs Mauri Island warfare. One of the key components of this was the exchange of dances. The home team, if you will, would dance back at the invaders, meeting their display of ego and violence with an equal display of ego and violence. That carries on to this day, with the other teams performing their own dances in the stands of the other teams performance.

That on it's own is an interesting bit of information, but what's more important is that this practice was deeply invested into their culture when the Western world began documenting them somewhere in the colonial era. I can't say for certain how far back it goes, but I can say with some degree of certainty that this shows the ancient and if you will classical roots of dance fighting. We're all aware of the modern variations, where team after team is mercilessly served as those with the flow rock the house, but how far back does this actually go? It could easily pre-date the printing press. It may predate democracy. We know that there has been dancing back into human pre-history. We also know there has been warfare. Isn't it only reasonable to assume that dance fighting goes back to the roots of civilization itself?

New Rule

"Popping a Mentos" is not a colloquialism for killing a hostage.

Character Player

I saw something, moments ago, in World of Warcraft that made me stop. It was a guy sitting outside of the bank on his mount just kind of shifting back and forth.

I looked at him, and every single item he was wearing, including his tabard, was epic. All of this epic gear was sitting atop and Epic Nether Drake. He was the best equipped person I've ever seen. I saw all of this, and I only had one thought.

I hope he's happy.