Brasil

Shinji, you are the man! Thanks a lot. Wasn't quite the image I had in mind, but...it'll work beautifully. Thanks again. Manic, if you want to lock this now, it's cool.

OK...I've searched the net through and through, and my queries to find a screenshot of Bart as The Raven have come up with nothing. Mods, I realize this will probably get locked, but that's OK. If anyone has/knows of a place to get the pic, please PM or email me. Thanks.

[quote][center][u]A Poetics For Bullies[/u] by Stanley Elkin[/center] I'm Push the bully, and what I hate are new kids and sissies, dumb kids and smart, rich kids, poor kids, kids who wear glasses, talk funny, show off, patrol boys and wise guys and kids who pass pencils and water the plants- and cripples, especially cripples. I love nobody loved. One time I was pushing this red-haired kid (I'm a pusher, no bitter, no belter; an aggressor of marginal violence, I hate real force) and his mother stuck her head out the window and shouted something I've never forgotten. "Push," she yelled. "You, Push. You pick on him because you wish you had his red hair" It's true; I did wish I had his red hair. I wish I were tall, or fat, or thin. I wish I had different eyes, different hands, a mother in the supermarket. I wish I were a man, a small boy, a girl in the choir. I'm a coveter, a Boston Blackie of the heart, casing the world. Endlessly I covet and case. (Do you know what makes me cry? The Declaration of Independence. "All men are created equal." That's beautiful.) If you're a bully like me, you use your head. Toughness isn't enough. You beat them up, they report you. Then where are you? I'm not even particularly strong. (I used to be strong. I used to do exercise, work out, but strength implicates you, and often isn't an advantage anyway-read the judo ads. Besides, your big bullies aren't bullies at all-they're athletes. With them, beating guys up is a sport.) But what I IQSC in size and strength I make up in courage. I'm very brave. That's a lie about bullies being cowards underneath. If you're a coward, get out of the business. I'm best at torment. A kid has a toy bow, toy arrows. "Let Push look," I tell him. He's suspicious, he knows me. "Go way. Push," he says, this mama-warned Push doubter. "Come on," I say, "come on." "No, Push. I can't. My mother said I can't." I raise my arms, I spread than. I'm a bird-slow, powerful, easy, free. I move my head offering profile like something beaked. I'm the Thunderbird. "In the school where I go I have a teacher who teaches me magic," I say. "Arnold Salamancy, give Push your arrows. Give him one, he gives back two. Push is the God of the Neighborhood." "Go way. Push," the kid says, uncertain. "Right," Push says, himself again. "Right. I'll disappear. First the fingers." My fingers ball into fists. "My forearms next." They jackknife into my upper arms. "The arms," Quick bird blink they snap behind my back, fit between my shoulder blades like a small knapsack. (I am double-jointed, protean.) "My head," I say. "No, Push," the kid says, terrified. I shudder and everything comes back, falls into place from the stem of self like a shaken puppet. "The arrow, the arrow. Two where was one." He hands me an arrow. "Trouble, trouble, double rubble!" I snap it and give back the pieces. Well, sure. There is no magic. If there were I would learn it. I would find out the words, the slow turns and strange passes, drain the bloods and get the herbs, do the fires like a vestal. I would look for the main chants. Then I'd change things. Push would! But there's only casuistical trick. Sleight-of-mouth, the bully's poetics. You know the formulas: "Did you ever see a match burn twice?" you ask. Strike. Extinguish. Jab his flesh with the hot stub. "Play 'Gestapo'? "How do you play?" "What's your name?" "It's Morton." I slap him. "You're lying. Adam and Eve and Pinch Me Hard went down to the lake for a swim. Adam and Eve fell in. Who was left?" "Pinch Me Hard." I do. Physical puns, conundrums. Push the punisher, the conundrummer. But there has to be more than tricks in a bag of tricks. I don't know what it is. Sometimes I think I'm the only new kid. In a room, the school, the playground, the neighborhood, I get the feeling I've just moved in, no one knows me. You know what I like? To stand in crowds. To wait with them at the airport to meet a plane. Someone asks what time it is. I'm the first to answer. Or at the ballpark when the vendor comes. He passes the hot dog down the long row. I want my hands on it, too. On the dollar going up, the change coming down. I am ingenious, I am patient. A kid is going downtown on the elevated train. He's got his little suit on, his shoes are shined, be wears a cap. This is a kid going to the travel bureaus, the foreign tourist offices to get brochures, maps, pictures -of the mountains for a unit at his school a kid looking for extra credit. I follow him. He comes out of the Italian Tourist Information Center. His arms are full I move from my place at the window. I follow for two blocks and bump into him as he steps from a curb. It's a collision The pamphlets fall from his arms. Pretending confusion, I walk on his paper Florence. I grind my heel in his Riviera. I climb Vesuvius and sack his Rome and dance on the Isle of Capri. The Industrial Museum is a good place to find children. I cut somebody's five or six year-old kid brother out of the herd of eleven- and twelve-year-olds he's come with. "Quick" I say. I pull him along the corridors, up the stairs, through the halls, down to a mezzanine landing. Breathless, I pause for a minute. "I've got some gum. Do you want a stick?" He nods; I stick him. I rush him into an auditorium and abandon him. He'll be lost for hours. I sidle up to a kid at the movies. "You smacked my brother," I tell him. "After the show I'll be outside. " I break up games. I hold the ball above my head. "You want it? Take it." I go into barber shops. There's a kid waiting. "I'm next," I tell him, "understand?" One day Eugene Kraft rang my bell. Eugene is afraid of me, so he helps me. He's fifteen and there's something wrong with his saliva glands and he drools. His chin is always chapped. I tell him he has to drink a lot because he loses so much water. "Push? Push," he says. He's wiping his chin with his tissues. "Push, there's this kid" "Better get a glass of water, Eugene." "No, Push, no fooling, there's this new kid he just moved in. You've got to see this kid." "Eugene, get some water, please. You're drying up. I've never seen you so bad. There are deserts in you, Eugene." "All right. Push, but then you've got to see" "Swallow, Eugene. You better swallow." He gulps* hard. "Push, this is a kid and a half. Wait, you'll see." "I'm very concerned about you, Eugene. You're dying of thirst, Eugene. Come into the kitchen with me." I push him through the door. He's very excited. I've never seen him so excited. He talks at me over his shoulder, his mouth flooding, his teeth like the little stone pebbles at the bottom of a fishbowl. "He's got this sport coat, with a patch over the heart. Like a king. Push. No kidding." "Be careful of the carpet, Eugene." I turn on the taps in the sink. I mix in hot water. "Use your tissues, Eugene. Wipe your chin." He wipes himself and puts the Kleenex' in his pocket. All of Eugene's pockets bulge. He looks, with his bulging pockets, like a clumsy smuggler. "Wipe, Eugene. Swallow, you're drowning." "He's got this funny accent-you could die." Excited, hetamps at his mouth like a diner, a tubercular. "Drink some water, Eugene." "No, Push. I'm not thirsty really." "Don't be foolish, kid. That's because your mouth's so wet. Inside where it counts you're drying up. It stands to reason. Drink some water." "He has this crazy haircut." "Drink" I command. I shake him. "Drink "Push, I've got no glass. Give me a glass at least." "I can't do that, Eugene. You've got a terrible sickness. How could I let you use our drinking glasses? Lean under the tap and open your mouth." He knows he'll have to do it, that I won't listen to him until he does. He bends into the sink. "Push, it's hot," he complains. The water splashes into his IMSC, it gets on his glasses and for a moment his eyes are magnified, enormous. He pulls away and scrapes his forehead on the faucet. "Eugene, you touched it. Watch out, please. You're too close to the tap. Lean your head deeper into the sink." "It's hot. Push." "Warm water evaporates better. With your affliction you've got to evaporate fluids before they get into your glands." He feeds again from the tap. "Do you think that's enough?" I ask after a while. "I do. Push, I really do," he says. He is breathless. "Eugene," I say seriously, "I think you'd better get yourself a canteen." "A canteen, Push?" "That's right. Then you'll always have water when you need it. Get one of those Boy Scout models. The two quart kind with a canvas strap." "But you hate the Boy Scouts, Push." "They make very good canteens, Eugene. And wear it I never want to see you without it. Buy it today." "All right, Push." "Promise!" "All right, Push." "Say it out" He made the formal promise that I like to hear. "Well, then," I said, "let's go see this new kid of yours." He took me to the schoolyard. "Wait," he said, "you'll see." He skipped ahead. "Eugene," I said, calling him back. "Let's understand some- thing. No matter what this new kid is like, nothing changes as far as you and I are concerned." "Aw, Push," he said. "Nothing, Eugene. I mean it. You don't get out from under me." "Sure, Push, I know that." There were some kids in the far corner of the yard, sitting on the ground, leaning up against the wire fence. Bats and gloves and balls lay scattered around them. (It was where they told dirty jokes. Sometimes I'd come by during the little kids' recess and tell them all about what their daddies do to their mommies.) "There. See? Do you see him?" Eugene, despite himself, seemed hoarse. "Be quiet," I said, checking him, freezing as a hunter might. I stared. He was & prince, I tell you. He was tall, even sitting down. H is long legs comfortable in expensive wool, the trousers of a boy who had been on ships, jets; who owned a horse, perhaps; who knew Latin what didn't he know? Somebody made up, like a kid in a play with a beautiful mother and a handsome father; who took his breakfast from a sideboard, and picked, even at fourteen and fifteen and sixteen, his mail from a silver plate. He would have hobbies stamps, stars, things lovely dead. He wore a sport coat, brown as wood, thick as heavy bark. The buttons were leather buds. His shoes seemed carved from horses* saddles, gunstocks. His clothes had once grown in nature. What it must feel like inside those clothes, I thought. I looked at his face, his clear skin, and guessed at the bones, white as beached wood. His eyes had skies in than. His yellow hair swirled on his head like a crayoned sun. "Look, look at him," Eugene said. "The sissy. Get him, Push." He was talking to them and I moved closer to hear his voice. It was clear, beautiful, but faintly foreign like herb-seasoned meat. When he saw me he paused, smiling. He waved. The others didn't look at me. "Hello there," he called. "Come over if you'd like. I've been telling the boys about tigers." "Tigers," I said. "Give him the 'match burn twice,' Push," Eugene whispered. 'Tigers, is it?" I said. "What do you know about tigers?" My voice was high. "The *match burn twice,' Push." "Not so much as a Master Tugjah. I was telling the boys. In India there are men of high caste Tugjahs, they're called. I was apprenticed to one once in the Southern Plains and might perhaps have earned my mastership, but the Red Chinese attacked the northern frontier and . . . well, let's just say I had to leave. At any rate, these Tugjahs are as intimate with the tiger as you are with dogs. I mean they don't keep them as pets. The relationship goes deeper. Your dog is a service animal, as is your elephant." "Did you ever see a match bum twice?" I asked suddenly. "Why no, can you do that? Is it a special match you use?" "No," Eugene said, "it's an ordinary match. He used an ordinary match." "Can you do it with one of mine, do you think?" He took a matchbook from his pocket and handed it to me. The cover was exactly the material of his jacket, and in the center was a patch with a coat-of-arms identical to the one he wore over his heart. I held the matchbook for a moment and then gave it back to him. "I don't feel like it," I said. "Then some other time, perhaps," he said. Eugene whispered to me. "His accent. Push, his funny accent." "Some other time, perhaps," I said. I am a good mimic. I can duplicate a particular kid's lisp, his stutter, a thickness in his throat. There were two or three here whom I had brought close to tears by holding up my mirror to their voices. I can parody their limps, their waddles, their girlish runs, their clumsy jumps. I can throw as they throw, catch as they catch. I looked around. "Some other time, perhaps," I said again. No one would look at me. "I'm so sorry," the new one said, "we don't know each other's names. You are?" "I'm so sorry," I said. "You are?" He seemed puzzled. Then he looked sad, disappointed. No one said anything. "It don't sound the same," Eugene whispered. It was true. I sounded nothing like him. I could imitate only defects, only flaws. A kid giggled. "Shh," the prince said. He put one finger to his lips. "Look at that," Eugene said under his breath. "He's a sissy." He had begun to talk to them again. I squatted, a few feet away. I ran gravel through my loose fists, one bowl in an hourglass feeding another. He spoke of jungles, of deserts. He told of ancient trade routes traveled by strange beasts. He described lost cities and a lake deeper than the deepest level of the sea. There was a story about a boy who had been captured by bandits. A woman in the story, it wasn't clear whether she was the boy's mother, had been tortured. His eyes clouded for a moment when he came to this part and he had to pause before continuing. Then he told how the boy escaped, it was cleverly done, and found help, mountain tribesmen riding elephants. The elephants charged the cave in which the mother woman was still a prisoner. It might have collapsed and killed her, but one old bull rushed in and, shielding her with his body, took the weight of the crashing rocks. Your elephant is a service animal. I let a piece of gravel rest on my thumb and flicked it in a high arc above his head. Some of the others who had seen me stared, but the boy kept on talking. Gradually I reduced the range, allowing the chunks of gravel to come closer to his head. "You see?" Eugene said quietly. "He's afraid. He pretends not to notice." The arcs continued to diminish. The gravel went faster, straighter. No one was listening to him now, but he kept talking. "of magic," he said, "what occidentals call *a witch doctor.' There are spices that induce these effects. The Bogdovii was actually able to stimulate the growth of rocks with the powder. The Dutch traders were ready to go to war for the formula. Well, you can .see what it could mean for the Low Countries. Without accessible quarries they've never been able to construct a permanent system of dikes. But with the Bogdovii's powder" he reached out and casually caught the speeding chip as if it had been a Ping-Pong ball. "They could turn a grain of sand into a pebble, use the pebbles to grow stones, the stones to grow rocks. This little piece of gravel, for example, could be changed into a mountain." He dipped his thumb into his palm as I had and balanced the gravel on his nail. He flicked it; it rose from his nail like a missile, and climbed an impossible arc. It disappeared. "The Bogdovii never revealed how it was done." I stood up. Eugene tried to follow me. "Listen," he said, "you'll get him." "Swallow," I told him. "Swallow, you pig!" I have lived my life in pursuit of the vulnerable: Push the chink seeker, wheeler dealer in the flawed cement of the personality, a collapse maker. But what isn't vulnerable, who isn't? There is that which is unspeakable, so I speak it, that which is unthinkable, which I think. Me and the devil, we do God's dirty work, after all. I went home after I left him. I turned once at the gate, and the boys were around him still. The useless Eugene had moved closer. He made room for him against the fence. I ran into Frank the fat boy. He made a move to cross the street, but I had seen him and he went through a clumsy retractive motion. I could tell he thought I would get him for that, but I moved by, indifferent to a grossness in which I had once delighted. As I passed he seemed puzzled, a little hurt, a little this was astonishing-guilty. Sure guilty. Why not guilty? The forgiven tire of their exemption. Nothing could ever be forgiven, and I forgave nothing. I held them to the mark. Who else cared about the fatties, about the dummies and slobs and clowns, about the gimps and. squares and oafs and fools, the kids with a mouthful of mush, all those shut-ins of the mind and heart, all those losers? Frank the. fat boy knew, and passed me shyly. His wide, fat body, stiffened, forced jokeishly martial when he saw me, had already become flaccid as he moved by, had already made one more forgiven surrender. Who cared? The streets were full of failure. Let them. Let them be. There was a paragon, a paragon loose. What could he be doing here, why had he come, what did he want? It was impossible that this hero from India and everywhere had made his home here; that he lived, as Frank the fat boy did, as Eugene did, as I did, in an apartment; that he shared our lives. In the afternoon I looked for Eugene. He was in the park, in a tree. There was a book in his lap. He leaned against the thick trunk. "Eugene," I called up to him. "Push, they're closed. It's Sunday, Push. The stores are closed. I looked for the canteen. The stores are closed." "Where is he?" "Who, Push? What do you want. Push?" "Him. Your pal. The prince. Where? Tell me, Eugene, or I'll shake you out of that tree. I'll burn you down. I swear it. Where is he?" "No, Push. I was wrong about that guy. He's nice. He's really nice. Push, he told me about a doctor who could help me. Leave him alone. Push." "Where, Eugene? Where? I count to three." Eugene shrugged and came down from the tree. I found the name Eugene gave me-funny, foreign-over the bell in the outer hall. The buzzer sounded and I pushed open the door. I stood inside and looked up the carpeted stairs, the angled banisters. "What is it?" She sounded old, worried. The new kid," I called, "the new kid." "It's for you," I heard her say. "Yes?" His voice, the one I couldn't mimic. I mounted the first stair. I leaned back against the wall and looked up through the high, boxy banister poles. It was like standing inside a pipe organ. "Yes?" From where I stood at the bottom of the stairs I could see only a boot. He was wearing boots. "Yes? What is it, please?" "You." I roared. "Glass of fashion, model of form, it's me! It's Push the bully!" I heard his soft, rapid footsteps coming down the stairs-a springy, spongy urgency. He jingled, the bastard. He had coins I could see them: rough, golden, imperfectly round; raised, massively gowned goddesses, their heads fingered smooth, their arms gone-and keys to strange boxes, thick doors. I saw his boots. I backed away. "I brought you down," I said. "Be quiet, please. There's a woman who's ill. A. boy who must study. There's a man with bad bones. An old man needs sleep." "He'll get it," I said. "We'll go outside," he said. "No. Do you live here? What do you do? Will you be in our school? Were you telling the truth?" "Shh. Please. You're very excited." 'Tell me your name," I said. It could be my campaign, I thought. His name. Scratched in new sidewalk, chalked onto walls, written on papers dropped in the street. To leave it behind like so many clues, to give him a fame, to take it away, to slash and cross out, to erase and to smear-my kid's witchcraft. "Tell me your name." "It's John," he said softly. "What?" "It's John." "John what? Come on now. I'm Push the bully." "John Williams," he said. "John Williams? John Williams? Only that? Only John Williams?" He smiled. "Who's that on the bell? The name on the box?" "She needs me," he said. "Cut it out." "I help her," he said. "You stop that." "There's a man that's in pain. A woman who's old. A husband that's worried. A wife that despairs." "You're the bully," I said. "Your John Williams is a service animal," I yelled in the hall. He turned and began to climb the stairs. His calves bloomed in their leather sheathing. "Lover, " I whispered to him. He turned to me at the landing. He shook his head sadly. "We'll see," I said. "We'll see what we'll see," he said. That night I painted his name on the side of the gymnasium in enormous letters. In the morning it was still there, but it wasn't what I meant. There was nothing incantatory in the huge letters, no scream, no curse. I had never traveled with a gang, there had been no togetherness in my tearing, but this thing on the wall seemed the act of vandals, the low production of ruffians. When you looked at it you were surprised they had gotten the spelling right. Astonishingly, it was allowed to remain. And each day there was something more celebrational in the giant name, something of increased hospitality, lavish welcome. John Williams might have been a football hero, or someone back from the kidnapers. Finally I had to take it off myself. Something had changed. Eugene was not wearing his canteen. Boys didn't break off their conversations when I came up to them. One afternoon a girl winked at me. (Push has never picked on girls. Their submissiveness is part of their nature. They are ornamental. Don't get me wrong, please. There is a way in which they function as part of the landscape, like flowers at a funeral. They have a strange cheerfulness. They are the organizers of pep rallies and dances. They put out the Year Book. They are born Gray Ladies. I can't bully them.) John Williams was in the school, but except for brief glimpses in the hall I never saw him. Teachers would repeat the things he had said in their other classes. They read from his papers. In the gym the coach described plays he had made, set shots he had taken. Everyone talked about him, and girls made a reference to him a sort of love signal. If it was suggested that he had smiled at one of them, the girl referred to would blush or, what was worse, look aloofly mysterious. (Then I could have punished her, then I could.) Gradually his name began to appear on all their notebooks, in the margins of their texts. (It annoyed me to remember what I had done on the wall.) The big canvas books, with their careful, elaborate J's and W*s, took on the appearance of ancient, illuminated fables. It was the unconscious embroidery of love, hope's bright doodle. Even the administration was aware of him. In Assembly the principal announced that John Williams had broken all existing records in the school's charity drives. She had never seen good citizenship like his before, she said. It's one thing to live with a bully, another to live with a hero. Everyone's hatred I understand, no one's love; everyone's grievance, no one's content. I saw Mimmer. Mimmer should have graduated years ago. I saw Mimmer the dummy. "Mimmer," I said, "you're in his class." "He's very smart." "Yes, but is it fair? You work harder. I've seen you study. You spend hours. Nothing comes. He was born knowing. You could have used just a little of what he's got so much of. It's not fair." "He's very clever. It's wonderful," Mimmer says. Slud is crippled. He wears a shoe with a built-up heel to balance himself. "Ah, Slud," I say, "I've seen him run." "He has beaten the horses in the park. It's very beautiful," Slud says. "He's handsome, isn't he, Clob?" Clob looks contagious, radioactive. He has severe acne. He is ugly under his acne. "He gets the girls," Clob says. He gets everything, I think. But I'm alone in my envy, awash in my lust. It's as if I were a prophet to the deaf. Schnooks, schnooks, I want to scream, dopes and settlers. What good does his smite do you, of what use is his good heart? The other day I did something stupid. I went to the cafeteria and shoved a boy out of the way and took his place in the 'line. It was foolish, but their fear is almost all gone and I felt I had to show the flag. The boy only grinned and let me pass. Then someone called my name. It was him. I turned to face him. "Push," he said, "you forgot your silver." He handed it to a girl in front of him and she gave it to the boy in front of her and it came to me down the long line. I plot, I scheme. Snares, I think; tricks and traps. I remember the old days when there were ways to snap fingers, crush toes, ways to pull noses, twist heads and punch arm for the old-timey Flinch Law I used to impose, the gone bully magic of deceit. But nothing works against him, I think. How does he know so much? He is bully-prepared, that one, not to be trusted. It is worse and worse. In the cafeteria he eats with Frank. "You don't want those potatoes," he tells him. "Not the ice cream, Frank. One sandwich, remember. You lost three pounds last week." The fat boy smiles his fat love at him. John Williams puts his arm around him. He seems to squeeze him thin He's helping Mimmer to study. He goes over his lessons and teaches him tricks, short cuts. "I want you up there with me on the Honor Roll, Mimmer." I see him with Slud the cripple. They go to the gyro. I watch from the balcony. "Let's develop those arms, my friend." They work out with weights. Slud's muscles grow, they bloom from his bones. I lean over the rail. I shout down, "He can bend iron bars. Can he pedal a bike? Can he walk on rough ground? Can he climb up a hill? Can he wait on a line? Can he dance with a girl? Can he go up a ladder or jump from a chair?" Beneath me the rapt Slud sits on a bench and raises a weight. He holds it at arm's length, level with his chest. He moves it high, higher. It rises above his shoulders, his throat, his head. He bends back his neck to see what he's done. If the weight should fall now it would crush his throat. I stare down into his smile. I see Eugene in the halls. I stop him. "Eugene, what's he done for you?" I ask. He smiles-he never did this-and I see his mouth's flood. "High tide," I say with satisfaction. Williams has introduced Clob to a girl. They have double- dated. A week ago John Williams came to my house to see me! I wouldn't let him in. "Please open the door. Push. I'd like to chat with you. Will you open the door? Push? I think we ought to talk. I think I can help you to be happier." I was furious. I didn't know what to say to him. "I don't want to be happier. Go way." It was what little kids used to say to me. "Please let me help you." "Please let me," I begin to echo. "Please let me alone." "We ought to be friends Push." "No deals." I am choking, I am close to tears. What can I do? What? I want to kill him. I double-lock the door and retreat to my room. He is still out there. I have tried to live my life so that I could keep always the lamb from my door. He has gone too far this time; and I think sadly, I will have to fight him, I will have to fight him. Push pushed. I think sadly of the pain. Push pushed. I will have to fight him. Not to preserve honor but its opposite. Each time I see him I will have to fight him. And then I think-of course. And I smile. He has done me a favor. I know it at once. If he fights me he fails. He fails if he fights me. Push pushed pushes! It's physics! Natural law! I know he'll beat me, but I won't prepare, I won't train, I won't use the tricks I know. It's strength against strength, and my strength is as the strength of ten because my jaw is glass! He-doesn't know everything, not everything he doesn't. And I think, I could go out now, he's still there, I could hit him in the hall, but I think. No, I want them to see, I want them to see! The next day I am very excited. I look for Williams. He's not in the halls. I miss him in the cafeteria. Afterward I look for 'him in the schoolyard where I first saw him. (He has them organized now. He teaches them games of Tibet, games of Japan; he gets them to play lost sports of the dead.) He does not disappoint me. He is there in the yard, a circle around him, a ring of the loyal. I join the ring. I shove in between two kids I have known. They try to change places; they murmur and fret. Williams sees me and waves. His smile could grow flowers. "Boys," he says, "boys, make room for Push. Join hands, boys." They welcome me to the circle. One takes my hand, then another. I give to each calmly. I wait. He doesn't know everything. "Boys," he begins, "today we're going to learn a game that the knights of the lords and kings of old France used to play in another century. Now you may not realize it, boys, because today when we think of a knight we think, too, of his fine charger, but the fact is that a horse was a rare animal-not a domestic European animal at all, but Asian. In western Europe, for example, there was no such thing as a workhorse until the eighth century. Your horse was just too expensive to be put to heavy labor in the fields. (This explains, incidentally, the prevalence of famine in western Europe, whereas famine is unrecorded in Asia until the ninth century, when Euro-Asian horse trading was at its height.) It wasn't only expensive to purchase a horse, it was expensive to keep one. A cheap fodder wasn't developed in Europe until the tenth century. Then, of course, when you consider the terrific risks that the warrior horse of a knight naturally had to run, you begin to appreciate how expensive it would have been for the lord-unless be was extremely rich-to provide all his knights with horses. He'd want to make pretty certain that the knights who got them knew how to handle a horse. (Only your knights errant-an elite, crack corps-ever had horses. We don't realize that roost knights were home knights; chevalier chez they were called.) "This game, then, was devised to let the lord, or king, see which of his knights had the skill and strength in his hands to control a horse. Without moving your feet, you must try to jerk the one next to you off balance. Each man has two opponents, so it's very difficult. If a man falls, or if his knee touches the ground, he's out. The circle is diminished but must close up again immediately. Now, once for practice only" "Just a minute," I interrupt. "Yes, Push?" I leave the circle and walk forward and hit him as hard as I can in the face. He stumbles backward. The boys groan. He recovers. He rubs his jaw and smiles. I think he is going to let me hit him again. I am prepared for this. He knows what I'm up to and will use his passivity. Either way I win, but I am determined he shall hit me. I am ready to kick him, but as my foot comes up he grabs my ankle and turns it forcefully. I spin in the air. He lets go and I fall heavily on my back. I am surprised at how easy it was, but am content if they understand. I get Up and am walking away, but there is an arm on my shoulder. He pulls me around roughly. He hits me. "Sic semper tyrannus, " he exults. "Where's your other cheek?" I ask, falling backward. "One cheek for tyrants," he shouts. He pounces on me and raises his fist and I cringe. His anger is terrific. I do not want to be hit again. "You see? You see?" I scream at the kids, but I have lost the train of my former reasoning. I have in no way beaten him. I can't remember now what I had intended. He lowers his fist and gets off my chest and they cheer. "Hurrah," they yell. "Hurrah, hurrah." The word seems funny to me. He offers his hand when I try to rise. It is so difficult to know what to do. Oh God, it is so difficult to know which gesture is the right one. I don't even know this. He knows everything, and I don't even know this. I am a fool on the ground, one hand behind me pushing up, the other not yet extended but itching in the palm where the need is. It is better to give than receive, surely. It is best not to need at all. Appalled, guessing what I miss, I rise alone. "Friends?" he asks. He offers to shake. "Take it. Push." It's Eugene's voice. "Go ahead. Push." Slud limps forward. "Push, hatred's so ugly," Clob says, his face shining. "You'll feel better. Push," Frank, thinner, taller, urges softly. "Push, don't be foolish," Mimmer says. I shake my head. I may be wrong. I am probably wrong. All I know at last is what feels good. "Nothing doing," I growl. "No deals." I begin to talk, to spray my hatred at them. They are not an easy target even now. "Only your knights errant-your crack corps- have horses. Slud may dance and Clob may kiss, but they'll never be good at it. Push is no service animal. No. No. Can you hear that, Williams? There isn't any magic, but your no is still stronger than your yes, and distrust is where I put my faith." I turn to the boys. "What have you settled for? Only your knights errant ever have horses. What have you settled for! Will Mimmer do sums in his head? How do you like your lousy hunger, thin boy? Slud, you can break me but you can't catch me. And clob will never shave without pain, and ugly, let me tell you, is still in the eye of the beholder!" John Williams mourns for me. He grieves his gamy grief. No one has everything-not even John Williams. He doesn't have me. He'll never have me, I think. If my life were only to deny him that, it would almost be enough. I could do his voice now if I wanted. His corruption began when he lost me. "You," I shout, rubbing it in, "indulger, dispense me no dispensations. Push the bully hates your heart!" "Shut him up, somebody," Eugene cries. His saliva spills from his mouth when he speaks. "Swallow! Pig, Swallow!" He rushes toward me. Suddenly I raise my arms and he stops. I feel a power in me. I am Push, Push the bully, God of the Neighborhood, its incarnation of envy and jealousy and need. I vie, strive, emulate, compete, a contender in every event there is. I didn't make myself. I probably can't save myself, but maybe that's the only need I don't have.' I taste my lack and that's how I win-by having nothing to lose. It's not good enough! I want and I want and I will die wanting, but first I will have something. This time I will have something. I say it aloud. "This time I will have something!" I step toward them. The power makes me dizzy. It is enormous. They feel it. They back away. They crouch in the shadow of my outstretched wings. It isn't deceit this time but the real magic at last, the genuine thing: the cabala of my hate, of my irreconcilableness. Logic is nothing. Desire is stronger. I move toward Eugene. "/ will have something," I roar. "Stand back," he shrieks, "I'll spit in your eye." "I will have something. I will have terror. I will have drought. I bring the dearth. Famine's contagious. Also is thirst. Privation, privation, bareness, void. I dry up your glands, I poison your well." He is choking, gasping, chewing furiously. He opens his mouth. It is dry. His throat is parched. There is sand on his tongue. They moan. They are terrified, but they move up to see. We are thrown together. Slud, Frank, Clob, Mimmer, the others, John Williams, myself. I will not be reconciled, or halve my hate. It's what I have, all I can keep. My bully's sour solace. It's enough, I'll make do. I can't stand them near me. I move against them. I shove them away. I force them off. I press them, thrust them aside. I push through.[/quote] I looked at the title of this forum...sure enough, "Poetry, Fan Fiction and Literature." It occured to me; we've never seen any published literature in this forum. A Poetics For Bullies is a short story by Stanley Elkin. You can find it in American Short Story Masterpieces, edited by Raymond Carver and Tom Jenks. A Poetics For Bullies is one of the most phenomenal works I've ever read. It's written in first person narrative, giving us, the reader, a window into the inner workings of a bully's mind. What makes this story so spectacular is the language. The language is not that of a customary schoolyard bully; it is more romantic in form...mystical...enchanting. Push takes on a mythological ideal as the story progresses. We grow to love him, even though he is the scum of the school. But, is he really the scum of the school? There is a very excellent good vs evil dynamic at the end of the story. John Williams is portrayed as a caring nurturer throughout the entire piece. He is popular, loved by all...worshipped, in a sense. In fact, he is portrayed as a Christ of sorts. The children gather around him in the schoolyard as he teaches them lessons they would have otherwise never received. He is by all accounts, the school's savior. Push is vilified when John Williams is present. However, the question I ask you is, is John Williams as positive as he lets on? Is he as positive as Elkins leads us to believe? My answer is no. Throughout John Williams' interactions with the children, he makes them feel better about themselves, but never is able to cure their problems through his actions. In all the time that John Williams works with Eugene, Eugene's drooling problem is still there. John Williams is simply an ineffective placebo. Now, Push. He uses force...coercion...dirty tactics...generally threats to get what he desires. Up until the climax of the story, we look down at Push's behavior. He beats up on children, makes fun of them, generally humiliates whoever he can. This behavior certainly should not be condoned, but look at the end of the story. Push curses Eugene, saying, "I will have something. I will have terror. I will have drought. I bring the dearth. Famine's contagious. Also is thirst. Privation, privation, bareness, void. I dry up your glands, I poison your well." At this curse, Eugene's drooling stops. At this harsh language, Eugene's drooling stops. John Williams was [i]never[/i] able to stop Eugene's drooling, regardless of what he did. But here, Push has become a god. The very language used is that harkening back to Ancient Rome or Elizabethan England. Push is the hero. He is the protagonist. What does that make John Williams? The villain. Satan from John Milton's Paradise Lost. John Williams is suave, composed, and sweet-talks those around him, convincing them to follow him. That's Satan right there. I also detect influences of Joseph Conrad's Kurtz in Heart Of Darkness. Kurtz is a mystical, mysterious, and captivating speaker who corrupts Marlowe to the Dark Side. John Williams does the same thing in Poetics. Why did I post this story? Well, apart from putting Literature in this forum, I wanted to show OB an example of a perfect literary work. It's logical that in order to write well, one must read well, and one becomes more adept at reading through experiencing established literature. So, what do you all think? Agee with my interpretation? Disagree? Why?

Unbelievable. To quote Game Informer, I believe, "this review writes itself." Midway Arcade Treasures is the most recent retro gaming compilation/anthology to be released. While previous anthologies have featured some nifty Namco games, gamers have looong since been missing some good old-fashioned Midway, Atari, and Williams action. I can't begin to count just how many of my friends have retro arcade games on Emulators or other...devious gaming methods (*cough*Dreamcast*cough*), and I had a feeling we would get these precious arcade classics released in a compilation, but I just wasn't sure how, when, or on what system. You can understand my elation and joy when I read of the announcement of M.A.T. back in June or July of this year. My jaw literally dropped after I read what games were going in. Gauntlet. Smash TV. Rampage. Paperboy. Marble Madness. Joust 1&2. Sinistar. Robotron 2084. Spy Hunter. Defender 1&2. [url]http://ps2.ign.com/articles/440/440843p1.html?fromint=1[/url] Now, IGN's review essentially says, the collection is good but it sucks. They have a problem with the menus...stuff like that. But really, IGN's negative points seem nothing more than nitpicking...harping on the "quarter button" for Gauntlet that allows players to pump up their health whenever they want. They accuse it of making Gauntlet "boring." Now, I ask you...can Gauntlet ever be boring? I mean, running around in a maze, with hundreds upon hundreds of beasties trying to gore you through the head, regardless of a quarter button or not. Criticizing that addition is ill-advised, in my opinion. The addition simply gives players the option to give themselves a boost of 2000 hit points (in my case, 99,999 :D). Nowhere does it require players to use the button, and if IGN has a problem with it, they don't need to use it, right? But in the recent months, IGN has taken on an air of "true gamer" in various reviews, so I question even their motives in criticizing an added assistance feature. I found their crit of the menu itself to be a bit overly harsh. I mean, it's a menu...a menu to a compilation/emulation. I really see no fault with the menu. The disc loads, and we are at the entrance to a giant Egyptian ruin, then zoom down winding passageways to find our treasure. I don't see how anyone can fault a game simply for that. OK, enough beef with IGN, lol. I love this compilation. I've longed so long to play Rampage or Smash TV on a big screen, and with this, I have/can. Smash TV is just as mind-blowingly electric as I remember it to be, and is a perfect port of the arcade version (READ: ALL THE GORE). The dual joystick works great, but you can also use the directional buttons. There's some slowdown here and there, but it doesn't detract from it; it actually pumps you up even more to see slowdown as bosses explode. I have exclaimed numerous times, "Holy ****! Check out the slowdown we're causing! YES!" I am one who enjoys slowdown on older games. It grounds me more in the experience, and grounding a gamer in retroland is [i]very[/i] important. Gauntlet is just as spectacular as 15 years ago. It was auditory bliss to hear, "Warrior needs food...badly." Simply, this is an instant buy, and at 20 bucks, you simply [i]can't go wrong[/i]. If the weather wasn't so crappy right now, I'd go and rent it again...then again, Viewtiful Joe is sitting there, begging to be played.

Just the start, so far, looking for feedback. This is for a presentation later this week concerning enhancing school curriculums in an effort to connect with students and in connecting with them, enable a more successful teaching/learning experience. [img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?s=&postid=529593[/img]

In keeping with the GeeksGotGame idea, I just had some fun with Photoshop, creating this nifty banner. The filters, renders, and lighting effects in Photoshop can create some very cool stuff. [img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?s=&postid=529073[/img]

Did some more tweaking...explored filtering and rendering in Photoshop...resized some stuff. Looks a lot better already, in my opinion. [img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?s=&postid=528633[/img]

?Can You Tell Me? Now another one is lost, Youngsters leaving at what cost? Can you tell me? Why?s youth in such a rush To get that final push? Can you tell me? They?re all dropping off like flies, But we all keep spinning lies, Why?s that happen? Can you tell me? Young lights are going dim, But this isn?t V.R. sim, They?re really going. Our youth is disappearing, But none are re-appearing, They?re really going. It?s a destructive epidemic, Death?s pattern is systemic, They?re really going. We can?t stop what we can?t see, Can?t tell them ?stay with me,? Oh no, it?s not possible. Such a daunting task it is, Shutting down a deathly biz, But we?ve got to. Our future is at stake, Right choices we must make Or else they?re going. Chorus: Young lights are going dim, But this isn?t V.R. sim, They?re really going. Our youth is disappearing, But none are re-appearing, They?re really going. It?s a destructive epidemic, Death?s pattern is systemic, They?re really going. The time to act is now, But some are asking how, The answer?s understanding. Death no longer will continue, If you seek the power in you, The answer?s understanding. Now we?ve almost won, This horror?s nearly done, Just be strong now. The choice is up to you, Continue like you do, Or change for the better. You?re flirting with disaster, Death will become your master, If you don?t stop this behavior? Do you understand me? You?ll add one to the count, See the bodies on the mount. Please understand what I?m saying, Don?t throw your life away, You?ll regret it soon one day, As on your back you lay, Wishing back to yesterday, A time when you could play. Chorus: Young lights are going dim, But this isn?t V.R. sim, They?re really going. Our youth is disappearing, But none are re-appearing, They?re really going. It?s a destructive epidemic, Death?s pattern is systemic, They?re really going. Why?d you go so soon, Leaving for the moon? Can you tell me? You were added to the count, A body on the mount, You dropped your silver spoon, But why?d you go so soon? Can you tell me? That isn?t your time to go, That?s not the curtain for your show, The roses, they aren?t thrown, They?re placed neatly on your home. Tears are running, falling to the earth, Can you hear the sobs of sadness? We want you to return, But you?re gone now, Never to say another word, Never loud enough to be heard In the world of the living. Now another one is lost, Youngsters leaving at what cost? Can you tell me? Why?s youth in such a rush To get that final push? Can you tell me? They?re all dropping off like flies, But we all keep spinning lies, Why?s that happen? Can you tell me? Young lights are going dim, But this isn?t V.R. sim, They?re really going. Our youth is disappearing, But none are re-appearing, They?re really going. It?s a destructive epidemic, Death?s pattern is systemic, They?re really going. --- Pink Floyd does wond'rous things. I think if you play "Hey You" as you read this, it will speak to you.

I trust this is an acceptable submission? :) [img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?postid=528500[/img]

?OK, Mike, what are we getting?? ?Oreos.? ?Oreos?? ?Oreos.? ?Regular?? ?Doublestuff.? ?I don?t see them, Mike.? ?What the hell?? ?What?? ?Dude, I saw them here yesterday.? ?Well, they?re not here now.? ?Dude, that pisses me off.? ?Pick something else, Mike.? ?I want to talk to the manager.? ?Mike, shut-up, dude.? ?Up yours.? ?Look, chocolate chip cookies.? ?Where?? ?There.? ?Mmm?sweet chocolate chips?? ?Mike?do you want to pay for that, or are you just gonna keep feeling it up?? ?Heh. Here.? ?Anything else we want?? ?Pop-Tarts.? ?Need more description, Mike, I?m not a mind reader.? ?Frosted cherry. Hehe??cherry,?? ?Sick?you?re fucked up, you know that?? ?Yep.? ?Stop grinning. You look like a schmuck.? ?I love you, too.? ?Dude! Get off me.? ?Oh, Pete, why do you push me away?!? ?Mike!? ?Please, open up to me!? ?Get off!? ?Haha! That?s the idea! Now give me a kiss, asshole.? ?Mike, you need help.? ?Maybe.? ?You?re nuts. Screwloose. A few cans short of a sixpack.? ?Yeah, I finished that Heineken yesterday.? ?What Heineken?? ?The ones by the sink.? ??that was piss, dude?you were supposed to clean them out.? ?Oh well. Didn?t taste a difference.? ?Crazy. Totally wacko.? ?I?m not the crazy one.? ?What?? ?Nothing?? ?Okay?I?m going to pay for these. You wait over there.? ?Do I have to?? ?Yes.? ?Darn. I wanted to play with the cashier.? ?No. Go over there.? ?Fine. I?m going to get you back.? ?Sure.? ?When you?re asleep.? ?Go stand by the cookies.? ?Mmm?cookies.? --- It's mindboggling just how long it takes to get the dialogue right. End of the semester chaos doesn't help, either, I suppose. lol.

Believe it or not, my most frustrating gaming moments did not come from singleplayer mode...for as long as I can remember, my most frustrating gaming moments came from deathmatching and general video gaming parties. Of course, the Potty Break Backstab pissed me off. PBB is when your friends unpause the game while you're in the potty and essentially beat the living **** out of you in the game, often dropping you down by 2 lives or giving you one health block left and training their KF7 Soviet's at your head. That was pretty annoying, but there was an artistic quality to it, so I'm not too pissed, because...well, I do the same exact thing. We're all evil little buggers. I recall one time during Mario Party 4. I was in the lead, had some 13 coins, a Genie Lamp, and we were in free-for-all mode, so no "game-endorsed" alliances. The Mini-Game comes up: it was the Thwomp Balloon Stomp one. Scott and I are put on one team, Jenn and Chris on the other. The Mini-Game starts, and I find that Scott is not jumping with me. I ask him, "Scott?! What are you doing?!?" He calmly and very nonchalantly turns, "Alex, if you win, you'll have enough for a Star." Jenn and Chris had three more combined jumps to win when Scott started jumping. Little bugger. Other frustrating moments in gaming actually happened to my friends instead of to me. Case in point. During a very heated Smash Melee match between Yours Truly and Chris, Chris was quoted as saying, "I still haven't hit the floor yet, Alex." He had approximately 80% damage in the span of 1 minute. None of my friends enjoy me playing as Shiek. So, yeah, Chris found that pretty frustrating. He doesn't enjoy losing, either, lol. Many a time has he squeezed my hand as I offer my handshake after giving him a jolly good rodgering in Smash. :) EDIT INSERT: Mustn't forget Matt's little, "STOP THROWING THINGS AT ME, ALEX!" I had pretty good accuracy with a beam sword. Matt yelled at me after a beam sword came spinning in the air from the other side of the arena and smacked into him. Muahehehee. Guess who threw it. Jenn screams quite often when we're in the basement--er...playing video games, of course. ^_^;;; So, I really haven't had terribly frustrating experiences in singleplayer modes; most of my tough times are experienced in the presence of others. Though, I do recall some of GoldenEye's cheat times were a *****-and-a-half to obtain...Facility on 00 Agent in 2:05 or better...Water Caverns on 00 Agent in 9:00 or better...grrr, lol. EDIT: OOH OH OH!!! Back To The Future 3 for...I think Sega Genesis. Um...yeah. It was incredibly stupid. The opening level was [spoiler]saving Clara from falling into the ravine[/spoiler], only it's a hyperkinetic sidescrolling stage with the horse speeding at what seems to be 300 mph. And I don't know who had the genius idea of just having the player duck or jump to avoid obstacles, but the controls were so bad and the game moved so fast that you continually died, but there was never a game over. Since there was no game over, a screenshot just came up with Doc and Marty saying, "Oh no, there she goes again," and then the level started over...just an endless loop. I don't know if it was frustrating, per se, because after a while, the idiotic nature and design of the level became hilarious. I was literally laughing to the point of tears as I kept getting hit off the horse, then seeing "Oh no! There she goes again!" then back on the horse again, only to get hit off a millisecond later. It was so stupid but if you need a laugh, try to find the game, lol.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Drix D'Zanth [/i] [B]We play "Beer Pong" at my college. Basically each team of one or two has about 8 or so cups of beer (plastic cups, less breakage) arranged in a bowling-pin style. One team tries to throw his pingpong ball into another team's cup. Depending on the rules, the person must then drink the beer or the ponger does.. it depends. Basically, the more you lose, the more you drink, the more you're schnogged, and the more you drink. It's a cycle until one team empties their cups and loses by default, or passes out.[/B][/QUOTE] :D Beer Pong is great, whether or not you're participating or just observing. It's insanely fun watching four totally drunken college persons swaying as they attempt to concentrate on getting a little, tiny pingpong ball into a cup set-up on the other end of a pool table. Good times. I should post some pics... The greatest boardgame ever made is Fireball Island, from Milton Bradley or Parker Bros, I believe. The premise is simple: get the gem and get to the boat. The execution is pure lunacy, as getting a 1 on a roll means you have to send a Fireball (marble) down one of the many winding paths, often smashing into your little figurine adventurer avatars that have no way of escape. To further complicate things, you have cards. The cards are shuffled randomly (or sometimes not, depending on the treachery of the shuffler), then distributed to the players, 5 each. Doesn't sound too bad, yes, but the magic happens when the cards are being played. While the customary "Double The Next Roll" to "Move Ahead 5 Spaces" cards are present, there are also evil ones, namely "Fireball," "Magic Talisman," "Fake Jewel," and "Cancel Last Card." The Fireball card is obvious; a player can automatically launch any fireball he chooses. The Magic Talisman can prevent the Fireball from a rolled 1; no other card can prevent it. The Fake Jewel prevents players from stealing the jewel. One rule of the game is when a player gets passed, the jewel gets stolen. Fake Jewel is a very nice strategic play, especially near the end in the mad rush to get to the boat with the exact roll. Cancel Last Card is simply that. If someone has just played a Fake Jewel card to screw you out of gaining the lead, slap that Cancel card down and they're screwed. Hah! But, of course, they could slap down their own Cancel card and **** you over, lol. That's happened many, many times in my parties. My friends (yes, the gamer geeks) are devious little bastards. :D Fireball Island is a bit slow while you're getting the hang of it, but oh, dude...once the players realize what they can do...sheer madness. Plus, you're not limited to the figurines that come with the game. We've used Star Wars and James Bond Micro Machines figurines for the past 3 years. OddJob rules. I'm not sure if anyone could find Fireball Island in a conventional gameshop...you might have to go to a store that specializes in unique boardgames.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Drix D'Zanth [/i] [B]Do I hate preps? No. Do I hate some people that may fit someone else's definition of prep? unfortunately sometimes I do hate people. Why would I hate them? Not because I'd be so idiotic to generalize them by their clothing, social status, or monitary value. Probably because of a more personal or individual thing. [/B][/QUOTE] I quote R. Lee Ermey from Full Metal Jacket: (Naughty language follows) [spoiler][quote]Because I am hard, you will not like me. But the more you hate me, the more you will learn. I am hard, but I am fair! There is no racial bigotry here! I do not look down on niggers, kikes, wops or greasers. Here you are all equally worthless![/quote][/spoiler] As...mean as that passage sounds, it makes total sense. We should not discriminate or hate based upon superficial ideals and values. We should hate someone out of meaningful emotion. If one despises preps simply because they "look different," then one becomes no better than the KKK. If one despises preps simply because they "act different," then one becomes no better than the Nazi Regime. I hate everyone equally. Well, no. I despise certain individuals out of purely individual and personal reasons. I couldn't care less what nationality someone is, or how they dress, or what kind of socioeconomic status they come from. If someone is acting like a little brat, or being falsely pretentious, or just acting in a manner unbecoming of a frigging human being, I will call them on it, and I will become their worst enemy. We as a society [i]absolutely cannot[/i] tolerate hatred toward a group simply because that group is different from another. I'm reading the Burlington County Times right now. I've got the Outlook section right here, front page. It's a full-page article about a teacher at a local high school who is currently teaching a class about historical values and pop culture. It's one of the best articles I've ever read. At the top, there's a 4 panel image display of Frank Sinatra, David Cassidy, Kurt Cobain, and Britney Spears. Now, yes, Spears pales in comparison to Cobain and Sinatra, and looks like a wax doll in the picture, lol, but to hate her simply because she's bubblegummer pop is ridiculous. To hate her simply because she has mindless droves of teenage girls screaming at her is lacking perspective. Now, what is appropriate in despising Britney Spears? Disliking her because of her musical ability or lack thereof. Disliking her for inane and uninformed messages in her songs. Disliking her for how she degrades women by dressing in skimpy attire. That is a personal and/or individual reason for disliking someone. That is support material in a thesis. And simply, there is no difference between hating Spears for superficial reasons and hating preps for superficial reasons. And, come to think of it, hating preps for treating you like **** shouldn't bother anyone, because you need to realize that those preps--or anyone who treats others like ****, for that matter, is just immature and unknowledgeable about the world and how it works. I was picked on constantly in high school, up until my Senior year when I showed people just how much I didn't care how far their heads were up their *****. We have the power to control ourselves, and it's extremely difficult to nigh-impossible to change others. We are we, and they are they. Get that through your heads and you'll sleep better. Some may accuse me of trying to change people here. The way I see it, I'm suggesting a change that will benefit the individual to cope more appropriately with stressful and/or negative situations. I actually quote Death To Smoochy (which is a great comedy, I suggest you check it out): [quote]You can't change the world, but you can make a dent.[/quote] That "dent" starts with the individual.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Anime Otaku [/i] [B]im not talking about stuff like that thread title, that is obviously bad, what im talking about is the way people keep watch about grammer stuff have you ever been in the forums DBZ Warriors?, they dont have rules about how you want to write, wheather(sp?) its ppl or people. u or you ect.... and they are one of the best m-boards i have ever seen, everyone there are friendly, always joking about stuff and everyone are friends, if they have problems their staff handles it quickly and efficiantly(and by problems i mean real spammin or cursing, not grammer issues) but like i said i will try to respect your rules(but i aint making any promises!:p ) so excuse me if i wont finish and start a centence at the right place or whatever [/B][/QUOTE] Let me ask you, did you even check out The Vestibule and IGN boards? Or did you just highlight the spoiler text and that's it? When I suggested you click on over to The Vesti, I was dead serious. Go there. Now. And ah... ::wonders if Anime Otaku realizes just how dedicated PT is to proper English:: I sense you're eager to contribute to OB, and we all appreciate that. We welcome new members who strive to add to the warm and pleasant nature of OB. One way that OB maintains a pleasant atmosphere is through post quality and proper grammar. If you want, I'll help you out with developing proper usage and syntax. I'm on AIM a lot, so, yeah. If you want my help, IM me.

I had the idea for this yesterday. It's still in the formulative stages, but the fundamental design is pretty much set. It's an homage to the Alien posters, but also an advertisement for a new club I founded here on OB, the G3 Force (GeekGotGame). [img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?s=&postid=527862[/img]

If one desires anarchy in post quality, check out the IGN boards, namely The Vestibule. I can guarantee that you'll look at OB's structure a hell of a lot differently after spending a few hours in The Vestibule. The Vesti has threads with titles like [spoiler]I just masturbated! Review inside![/spoiler] OB is too strict? Bah. Go take a trip on the wild side, then your attitude will change. OB is a haven of net forums. It's one of the only remaining strongholds of positive post quality I've ever seen. Grammar is your friend. Proper spelling is your friend. The OB rules are your friends.

First and foremost, too many acronyms. Way too many. See if you can trim them down to a more manageable number. You've got 15 now. Do the ships [i]really[/i] have to have their own designation? Cardinal rule in writing: never swamp your reader with 15 similar-sounding abbreviations. You'll lose them in the blink of an eye. Second, I'd suggest doing a bit of research concerning the fossil fuel consumption, because as it stands now, Earth is not totally dependent on oil. We're actually using natural gas more and more, here in the early 21st century. From what I've read/heard, our natural resources (oil, coal, gas, etc) aren't going to last too much longer. But again, you might want to fully research the fossil fuel rates and such before writing a situation about them. Another cardinal rule about writing: research it. As the timeline stands now, it's unfocused. I understand the epic idea you have, but I'd strongly suggest fully developing one..."chapter" before providing synopsis of the next. One thing that keeps ringing in the back of my head is that all of this is background information. Backstory. How are you going to be able to convey all of this? There's yet another golden rule in writing: "show don't tell." My fiction workshop professor has ingrained this in our heads. Bluntly, backstory means jackshit if you just tell what happened. You as the author will know all of this backstory, but the reader won't know a damn thing going into it, especially if you have no intention of including the backstory in the proposed work. [quote]The following is a timeline for a sci-fi epic I'm working on, Last Earth. The timeline leads up to the story itself.[/quote] And that leads me to believe none of what you just posted, the timeline, will make it into the story. Bad idea. Also, Moon colonization. It was a fresh idea back in 1964. A bit dated now, though. Considering, too, that man has not been back to the Moon since the Moon landing, does Moon colonization seem all that...exciting or worthwhile? The way I see it, here you have this hyperadvanced space travel technology in a hyperadvanced technological age...and they go to the Moon. Why not just straight to Mars? Trim down the story and tighten it a lot by going straight to Mars. I mean, you're basing this story on Earth, presumably with Earthen history, meaning the Moon landing and Mars probes did take place, meaning we've been to the Moon already, and now we're off to bigger and better things. Does it really make sense for us to...essentially take a step back? I mean, after eating a steak and lobster dinner, would you go back to McDonalds? Perhaps once in a passing fancy, in a craving for fast food, yes, but with something like space travel, which is not a passing fancy, as our desire to "go where no man has gone before" still drives us, going back to the "McDonalds" of space travel after knowing what the "steak and lobster" is like is...foolish. The colonial outpost part...if they're Rebels, why in the hell would they care if the Imps destroyed a colonial outpost? They're Rebels. The term "colonial" stems from colonialism, which is synonymous with Imperialism. Call me crazy, but a Rebellion would love the idea of forcing Imp commanders to destroy their own equipment. The use of a nuke is...iffy. There's a pretty bad nuclear fall-out associated with nuclear weapons, and the Imps would not be able to re-build their structure until that radiation subsides. If I'm not mistaken, radiation half-life is like, some 50 years? That kinda screws up the timeline a bit. I've got a few more points of crit, but I'm kinda tired, so...last thing for now. "Secession," [i]not[/i] "Succession." Mainly, I think researching is a good idea, here. Get a grasp on the ideas, on the techniques, "show not tell," focus and tighten, and I'd suggest ditching the pre-structured form, because in a short story, novel, epic, whatever--anything with a narrative structure, we don't create plot outlines. The narrative structure is a flowing entity, and the best stuff comes when you're not limiting your writing by conforming to "oh, this comes next, how do I get there from here." Screenplays work that way; everything is meticulously planned out from start to end. Here, however, you're going for a narrative, and really...the timeline [i]is[/i] your story. It has a beginning, middle, and end. It sets up conflict and achieves a resolution of sorts, with trouble brewing at the end as to perhaps springboard into the actual "story" portion you speak of, which I get the sense isn't even planned yet, apart from the vague notion of "WAR." So, yeah...I kind of rambled a bit, but PM me or reply with questions.

The Hebrew Hammer on Comedy Central. It is by far, one of the most hilarious movies I've ever seen, and everyone knows I don't throw that term around lightly, nor do I take comedy lightly, either. For me to say a movie is one of the most hilarious I've ever seen, it has to be impeccable; it has to have sharp, witty writing, intelligent comedy, intelligent satire, and a biting sense of humor. The acting has to support the writing, and the music must support the acting. In short, for a movie to impress me, it must run like frigging clockwork. And that is precisely what The Hebrew Hammer does. If you can picture a white, Jewish Shaft, with all the witty wisecracks from the best Looney Toons cartoons, and a sneer like Denis Leary, sporting a Yamaka and clad in tight leather...that is The Hebrew Hammer. The jokes run a mile a minute, unrelentless in religious and political satire, and Andy Dick stars as Damien, who [spoiler]is unpleased with his father, Santa Claus, then has reindeer slaughter him, usurping the Santa throne, whereupon he begins hunting down the Jewish faith, destroying Channukah and also becoming a threat to Kwanzaa.[/spoiler] It is an excellent premise, brilliantly executed, and shows just how much strength Comedy Central has.

Tony (or George, not sure which name you go by, lol), I do agree that Block Fort in DD could have been improved upon. However, I was recently playing against/with RPCrazy yesterday, and found a very diabolical Block Fort situation with Bomb-omb Blast. I think Block Fort's essence relies heavily on what mode you're playing in, who you're playing with, and the relative skill levels of the participants. Bomb-omb Blast, as I recently found out, lends itself to pure insanity, as each player gets two riders, and each rider is able to carry up to 5 bomb-ombs. Doing the math, 5 bomb-ombs x 2 riders = 10 bomb-ombs per kart, then if we figure a non-LAN mode party, 10 bomb-ombs per player x 4 players = 40 bomb-ombs, all going at the same time. :devil: Now, as we re-evaluate Block Fort with these newly realized parameters, BF becomes a haven for an electric orgy of explosive excitement. BF doesn't seem very exciting at first, granted, but once the players notice the strategical ("strategical" is that a word?) differences of the individual blocks, noting: How the red block lends itself for the player being able to launch bomb-ombs over it, into the cross-way in the center, which is often frequented by players attempting to short-cut through the arena The yellow block possessing a devious little short-cut in which a player can shave off precious seconds in their escape from a bomb-omb, or use it to get the drop on campers in the corner Or noticing a cut-off point after a player drops down off of the corner ledge, and being able to trap that player there for a few seconds in order to bomb-omb them back to the stone age, or to steal back a kill count. Bomb-omb Blast also is insane in Pipe Maze; the sheer explosive potential of the arena is multiplied ten-fold. There are traps, rebound shot capabilities...I tell ya, not many things more satisfying than launching a bomb-omb from one of the ramps, bouncing it off of the main wall, and have it careening into the opposite side's ramp area, then watching your opponent fly into the sky from the resulting Watermelon Red explosion...tis very sweet. Combine that potential with the pipe strategy, as knowing which pipe to drive into as to escape a bomb-omb blast, re-appearing on the ledge and launching a bomb-omb down onto your opponent, turning a would-be killer into a potential kill. And Luigi's Mansion actually becomes exciting in Bomb-omb Blast. I couldn't believe it at first, but yeah. Actually became exciting. The Cookie arena is awesome with bomb-ombs, too. Total excitement playing chicken with bomb-ombs. :D The arenas that pretty much suck no matter what mode, though, the totally open arenas. Bomb-omb Blast isn't great in it, as all you're doing is powersliding in giant circles...that's about it. With the right players, it would probably rock, as the players might be...ah...[i]vocal[/i]. But, yeah, kind of lost my train of thought here. I agree with you that the racing aspect is the highlight of the game, as Mario Kart is about racing, and the deathmatching aspect is brought in as supplementary material. Not to say the deathmatching sucks, of course, but Double Dash would have benefitted from a longer multiplayer development time, methinks. Working out the kinks in LAN mode set-up and some more arenas (Hell yeah, I know where you're coming from. Give us 8 next time, Nintendo. :)). DK Mountain is pretty cool, I'm a Bowser's Castle kinda guy. There's something endearing about Baby Park, too...can't quite put my finger on it, though. Rainbow Road is a game in itself, in my opinion. It's massive, and Wario Stadium is like buttah. I'm very, very impressed with Double Dash. The racing aspect is top-notch, and the racing levels are intelligently designed. Though, I would have liked to see some more original short-cuts. The dirt path thing in Mushroom Highway...Toadstool Bridge...the bridge track...name escapes me...just doesn't feel right. I really would have loved some insane but dangerous short-cuts in Double Dash, the kind that boost you ahead a lot, but will screw you over should you miss. It's that kind of danger that's missing, I think. There's no risk involved in many of Double Dash's short-cuts. They're like, guaranteed time-shavers. I dunno, that just seems "eh" in my gaming tendencies.

Taking Baron's suggestion, I added some space between the letters, and also some nice blockage on the right. However, I'm still at a loss as to if I should add anything to the center, and if I do, what. [img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?s=&postid=526568[/img]

I couldn't believe it, either, but lookie what I found! EDIT: Okay, um, the "Home" text...stuff [i]is[/i] shifted a bit to the left. I can see it in the file on my comp, and in the upload image menu. OB doesn't seem to want to display it correctly, though... [img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?s=&postid=526236[/img]

In the following section, please answer each statement with one of five answers: A) Strongly Agree B) Agree C) Somewhat Agree D) Disagree E) Strongly Disagree 1) I find OtakuBoards rules easy to understand and follow. [b]A. They're common sense, for crying out loud, lol![/b] 2) I feel that the staff at OtakuBoards understand their job and are capable of performing it appropriately. [b]B.[/b] 3) OtakuBoards is easy to navigate. [b]A. There's a reason I zip around OB. Seriously, someone stay on Who's Online for 5 minutes when I'm online. Refresh the page every 30 seconds. PoisonTongue [i]will[/i] be viewing something different with each refresh. :p[/b] 4) OtakuBoards has a friendly atmosphere. [b]B. HC put it best. :)[/b] SECTION B Please try to keep your answers relatively short in this section. 5) How often do you visit OtakuBoards? [b]Though the rank eludes me, "I live here."[/b] 6) Do you feel that the rules are too strict/not strict enough/fine as they are? [b]Honestly? I'd like to see stricter rules concerning some things. I feel there are special cases where even though a poster isn't "breaking the rules," according to how they're laid out, OB needs to consider objectives outside the customary scope of the ruleset as to deal with the poster(s) effectively and in a timely manner.[/b] 7) Should we continue to uncensor the creative writing areas on OtakuBoards? [b]I see no problem with the Uncensor around there. If the cursing becomes a rampant problem, then I feel a re-evaluation of the Uncensor is called for. The re-evaluation might not necessarily mean re-instating the Censor, but becoming very strict with...those that exploit the Uncensor.[/b] 8) Would you rather a decentralized forum system on OB (more forums, less activity per forum) or a centralized forum system (less forums, more activity per forum)? [b]It really depends on what forum we're looking at. I see no reason to collapse Otaku Public, because the individual forums there are pretty active. I don't see a problem with collapsing the gaming forums into one, as I haven't seen substantial action on the Xbox forum for a good while. And the Nintendo forum has had a few cross-platform threads, recently, too. The Holiday Gaming thread has potential to go cross-platform. So, in effect, the gaming forums have already been collapsed into one, just by the posts themselves. A centralized gaming forum would neither hurt nor help, I think.[/b] 9) Would you like to see a closer integration of myOtaku and OtakuBoards? [b]Looks great to me as it is.[/b] 10) Are you signed up to myOtaku.com? [b]Yep. And I updated recently, too. GO RED LINK!!!1!!!11[/b] 11) If you are not signed up to myOtaku.com, do you plan to sign up in the near future? [b]N/A.[/b] 12) Do you read Announcements at OtakuBoards? [b]When there are new ones, yep, though I have been known to go perusing through old Announcements from Jan 03.[/b] 13) Which single Category (Category, as opposed to individual Forum) do you spend most of your time visiting? [b]Public. Gaming is a close second.[/b] 14) Do you think that OtakuBoards should offer an in-built chat system as part of our service? If we included a chat, would you use it? [b]Technically, OB does already have a massive chat system. AIM. There are 8/14 signed on right now. :)[/b] 15) If we offered an "OtakuBoards Wireless" service that would be accessible via Internet-capable cellphones, would you use it? [b]My cell phone is used to call people, check the time, and play Breakout during Sociology Of Education, so...I wouldn't use OB Wireless.[/b] 16) When we offer a next generation version of OtakuBoards, should we continue to provide semi-regular community events in our Event Arena or a similar forum? [b]YES! Otaku Idol #2 needs to get underway, and I need to be in it as a contestant.[/b] 17) If you could add one new Category (Category, not Forum) to OtakuBoards, what would it be? [b]Drawing a blank here.[/b] 18) If you could remove one Category from OtakuBoards, what would it be? [b]I think Otaku Series; Zelda and Pokemon can go into Nintendo, as they don't look too busy at the moment, and isn't Square-Enix totally Sony anyway?[/b] 19) If you could add anything to OtakuBoards (in terms of a new forum, a technical tool/feature, etc), what would it be? [b]Blank.[/b] 20) On a scale of 1-10 (1 being the lowest and 10 being the highest), how would you rate your experience at OtakuBoards since you registered? [b]10. Definitely 10.[/b]

::is obsessive compulsive:: ::should easily get the true ending in Metroid Prime, then:: :p Upon hearing that, Shin, word of wisdom to [i]all[/i] Metroid Prime players, get a scan of the Ice Shriekbat ASAP. They're only in one area of Phendrana Drifts, and never re-appear after a certain point in the game...[spoiler]I believe after you defeat Thardus[/spoiler]. I applaud Retro not only for making a brilliant game, but for also punishing gamers who go through haphazardly...one misstep, one swarm of Ice Shriekbats careening into you, and the true ending becomes unattainable. Now that is hardcore, which is a very nice feature because Prime indeed feels like old school, hardcore gaming, with a perfect difficulty level (that is to say, very difficult in many spots), tight controls, and unbelievably intense gameplay.

Yeah, Des, I'm going to have to try to test that lightning bolt thing again. Haha, but what are the chances of being able to test it in a controlled environment, with the insanely random item selection? :) So, looks like I'm just chalking it up to me not paying attention, hehe. Oh, dude, Spiny Shells...the blue ones, right? I was racing against my friends at the last party on Rainbow Road. I was in the lead...got hit by [i]three[/i] Spiny Shells in a row. My friends each got one within 2 minutes of each other. That pissed me off so much, lol. About Battle Mode, Yeah, the arenas are kinda small, but Block Fort doesn't bother me anymore. The 64 BF was too huge, and it was too easy for someone to camp up on top...plus, I found my friends and I would run into eachother purely by chance, as we were always moving. I actually prefer the new Block Fort, simply because it lends itself to better playability. I think my favorite arena in DD is Pipe Maze (jeeze, the precise names escape me again, lol). It's got so many neat little spots to set devious traps...traps that can help you or injure you. :D And the Cookie stage is surprisingly fun, especially powersliding all the way around it, loaded up with 3 red shells and a star. Very cool stuff. The only arena I'm kind of disappointed with is Luigi's Mansion...it's just so basic and bland compared to the other arenas. Even the Tilt-A-Kart arena is exciting, because you can drive on Mario's crotch, lol. The Cube arena is OK, but is more exciting than Luigi's Mansion, at least. The shell accuracy pissed me off at first, but I don't think it's a matter of auto-aim in battle mode. Seems more like the shells are just bigger than before, kind of like a baseball to a bowling ball--ooh...a Mario Dodgeball game...that'd be fun. I've been itching to peg Toad in the head, lately, muahehe. About the LAN mode, it's limited. Needed a bit more development time, IMO. The physical set-up is uber-easy, but the in-game set-up is...time-consuming. You need to have a very patient group of gamers to enjoy LAN mode fully. From how it looked on Saturday, you can't get co-op in battle mode, but I'm not sure. I need to explore it a bit more. But yeah, LAN mode leaves a bit to be desired, which is really disappointing, because it had [i]so much[/i] potential to totally rock Cube gaming during the Holiday season, the season that you figure many gamers will be picking up Double Dash. EDIT: Oh, yeah, lol. LAN mode cost me and my friend around 90 bucks total just for the LAN equipment...two broadband adapters at 40 bucks a pop, a special link cable that ran around 10 (CompUSA...don't go to Best Buy...cable was like, 30 bucks at Best Buy...best prices my ***, lol). On top of that, the necessary amount of controllers, luckily we had overkill on them. I have 8 (4 Wavebirds, 4 corded...I know, I know...geekboy :D), Matt brought two. It's best to go into the LAN stuff with someone...lessens the burden.

Des, I'm not sure, but isn't the percentage complete only reliant on items collected? Like, the 51 missile upgrades, the beam weapons and upgrades, Morph Ball, Spider Ball, etc. I thought the scanning was just for obsessive compulsives who needed to have that entire menu full? I totally agree with you about the items found part, too. It helped me a lot in Metroid Fusion when I was searching for the last remaining missile upgrades. But, I don't know, though... One of the greatest differences between Prime and Fusion was that Prime was totally immersive. It never separated you from itself. For some reason, an incorporation of XX/XX Energy Tanks found seems like it would pull the player out of Prime, rather than draw them in. I suppose, since Fusion is side-scrolling, you're automatically put outside the character, and having the XX/XX doesn't detract from the gameplay. ::shrugs:: I don't know. Hopefully I made some semblance of sense, lol. Lots of people here in the Campus Center computer lab.