lhommeabsurde started following you

I’m tired of everyone talking about the number of fucks that a given person gives out on a daily basis. It’s always none. Nobody ever gives any fucks. If this is supposed to be a valid system of rating how much someone cares about something, there has to be a standard. Of course, zero is not caring at all. What’s a good amount of caring, though? I would like to stay away from a scale of one to ten. That doesn’t give you enough room to maneuver. Everyone ends up going on about 5.5 and such. This makes me want to do a percentage system. 100 is the most amount of fucks that you can give. Don’t give me any of this bullshit about 110%. That is literally not possible. So 100 fucks is you care about this particular thing more than you have cared about anything in your life. 50 fucks is you kinda care, but it really doesn’t matter. You can guess about it from there. So, I don’t want to hear about someone giving no fucks at all times. You can say “she gives, like, 8 fucks” that’s still a really low amount. That’s still less than 10% caring.

Now, onto friendzone levels. I have been seeing a bunch of pictures of stupid guys doing things for girls and it seems that they are not going to get laid despite their efforts. This is a basic friendzone dynamic, and seeing it happen to other people is kinda funny sometimes. These captions also make a mistake, but they go the other way. Every friendzone guy is way over leveled. It’s always like level 9000 or level 120. There needs to be a standard here again. I can only assume that the 9000 one is a reference to DragonBallZ, which is fine, I guess, but it’s unrealistic again. In the history of RPGs, I can say with some confidence that nobody has ever reached level 9000. The way that levels work in most RPGs is that the next level requires an exponential raise in experience from the last level. The first 10 or so levels go by pretty quickly, but then you have to really work to get to the next. Usually, levels cap out at about 80 or 100. Somewhere in here is a good place to call it good. If you really want to be a dick about it, we can say that the level cap is 100. Now, it would be ridiculous to think that anyone could actually reach friendzone level 100. That is a crazy amount of work and even the most tenacious friendzoner would give up after a certain point. “Man I just got to level 82. I just don’t think that putting the time and energy into level 83 is even worth it.” Seriously though, after a while, the jump in experience from one level to the next would just get stupid and there would be no possible way to get enough experience. You would have to complete every side quest in friendzoning and probably defeat every foe on the face of the planet to get enough experience. That would take too long to defeat 7 billion other people, and by that point, some younger, more lonely guy would come along and defeat you. It’s just not realistic to think anyone could reach level 9000 in anything. And we’re not even considering different classes in friendzoning… What about the archer/thief? What about the barbarian? I mean, every RPG is at least a little diverse. We can’t just lump everyone into a single category and say “Friendzone level:38” that’s stupid. What if he specialized in picking her up from parties and bars. He’d be a level 38 Driver, rather than a level 38 Emotion Sponge, or a level 38 Courier. We must diversify this bullshit about friendzone levels, and we can’t use hyperbole in every situation, or it loses it’s impact. If everyone is at level 87, then level 87 doesn’t mean shit. Some guys won’t advance very far before calling it quits, and they are essential to any higher levels meaning a damn thing. So, not everyone will reach the max level. Only a select few will and we need to illustrate that.

          -Erik The Destroyer

Friendzone Level: 26 (and I worked pretty damn hard to get there)

# of fucks given? About 80. Yeah, I care about this shit, or I wouldn’t create a post about it.

friedmoonpies replied to your post: A Few Caffienated Wonders

When I read what you write, I hear your voice in my head, and I laugh because you make me laugh all the time. You write like you speak, and it’s cool.

Are you somebody I know maybe? You make it sound like someone I know, but your Tumblr is, like, way too skimpy on the biography part, and your thumbnail picture is too small for me to recognize you.

-I wonder if my ex still reads my blog. She used to, and when I would talk shit about her, or mention her in any way, I would hear about it. I saw her just last night. Words weren’t really exchanged. A friend of mine said that she’s just the first and only person that I’ve slept with, so there’s naturally going to be weird feelings there. I guess I just needed to hear that from someone again. The last time we talked, she was being all weird trying to have a relationship again and I was all, “OMG did you forget you dumped me?” and she was all like, “Like, can’t we forget abt all that?” I was like, “lol no”. She knows who won that one. I haven’t talked to her since.

-I wonder why it is that we think that the opposite sex has intimate knowledge of every other member of that same sex, just by association. I mean, I think of women as knowing things about every other woman. That’s just ridiculous, Goddamn it. Ridiculous.

-I wonder why naps are better than sleeping at night. I feel that there is something about the fatality of the nap. The fact that it will end at some point. Sure, when we sleep for the night, we know it will end, but it’s at a set time and it happens every night. Naps happen sporadically and the doomed nature of them make them so much sweeter. Isn’t that the same thing with life? The fact that it has some unknown endpoint makes it that much more important than if it conformed to a rigid schedule.

-I wonder if I’m actually a terrible writer and nobody has the cajones to tell me. I guess I won’t be satisfied until someone comes along and tears me down and shows me exactly what is shit about my writing. I guess I feel that the only way to get good at things is to have the shit stomped out of you. That’s how I got to be a kickass Halo player. People killed the ever loving piss out of me and, I learned. Just last night my friend Casey and I stomped some kids and won $40. I wish someone would just tell me my writing sucks and why, rather than saying “good job”, “No, it’s great”, and “You’re amazing”. Don’t worry about offending me. In fact, offend me. Tell me every nitpicky little detail that you didn’t like about any story I pen. Tell me; I want to improve.

In closing, I will introduce this piece. How deliciously absurd. Anyway, I drank a mug and a half of coffee this morning, and it must have been, like, extra powerful or something. Did any of you ever see that Hidalgo movie? Well, there’s this line that Viggo Mortenson says when referring to strong coffee that I always think of “Back home, we’d throw a horseshoe in the pot. If it stays standing, the coffee’s done”. That must be the sludge I ingested this morn. Hmm.

           -Erik The Destroyer

I sit in my parent’s house in Bailey. There is some large party I threw and a lot of the Americorps girls are there. My parents had hired a guy to come over and renovate the south wall of the house while they were gone. I think he was contracted to put in a sliding glass door. He shows up drunk at midnight on a bright, moonlit evening with 3 elephants. He attaches ropes to a wall in my room and I watch this spectacle through my window. The elephants are ordered to pull and the wall rips clean off. A jagged hole is left behind. Apparently, this man is some wacky construction worker that uses zoo animals to do his work. I half expect a woodpecker to be drilling holes in 2-by-4s. The zoo carpenter apologizes, saying he was unaware there were people in the room. I smell cheap whiskey on his breath. I look over and recognize a cute girl I saw at the local coffee shop yesterday. She is apparently my parents neighbor now. She is naked, skinny dipping in her hot tub. I look away, embarrassed. I find myself reading David Sedaris on a stool outside and it is now morning. I finish a story and decide to move back inside. I walk through the giant ragged hole in my parent’s house and glance back toward the ‘neighbor’. She is fully nude and walking around. I looked away again and walked back inside. One of the Americorps girls was doing Tai Chi on a yoga mat, and the others were bustling around the house making coffee, cooking eggs, and heading for the shower, but they were all topless… Then Dave fucking called me and woke me up. Dick.

I fell back asleep and I was at a different party setting. The girls were there again and there were a bunch of my friends from high school. One guy in particular has forever had a reputation of being a total hound doggie. I felt responsible for all these girls and it was my duty to cockblock the hell out of this guy. Then I woke up again and told Dave he’s an asshole for taking away boobs. It’s been so long since I’ve seen boobs.

Anyway, that’s how my day has been. Weird, I know. Don’t psychoanalyze me, by the way. I’ll destroy you.

         -Erik The .. Come on, you should know by now…

I’ve heard rumors of bandits kidnapping locals and whisking them away, never to be seen again. The only abandoned tower that would be practical is Mistwatch Keep. It sits at the southern end of the Eastmarch. I break camp just north of Eldergleam Sanctuary.It has taken a day’s walk east from Whiterun, and I expect half a day to make it the rest of the way.

Geothermal pools sit between me and my destination. They aren’t more than waist deep, and they feel like a warm bath. Despite their temperature, the water meets the cold, northern air and a thick haze hangs in the air. Across the closest lake, I can see tall pine trees. A half submerged mammoth carcass lies in the middle of the mineral water. Skin and rancid meat hanging off the ribcage. I kick dirt on the fire and set out to find a path around this lake.

Thousands of years of volcanic activity have formed these pools in a terraced manner. As I climb to the top of this “hill” I hear a low, guttural, almost musical tone. A wide shadow moves in the distance. The dragon spots me and I feel his gaze upon me as if the creature sees through my physical body and recognizes my dragon soul. There is no cover. He catches me in the open and I can’t outrun it.  I pull my bow off of my back and take out an arrow. I balance it on my left hand and fit the notch in the bowstring. My fingers slide over the raven feather fletching and I pull the string back to my cheek. The ebony, obsidian-tipped projectile flies from my hands. I let the nerves get the best of me and the arrow flies about ten feet wide to the left.

The dragon flattens its wings to its back. A small blizzard shoots at me from the beast’s mouth. I put my forearm up to protect my face. A large, circular area is covered with a thin layer of ice a moment later, with me at the center. The dragon spreads its wings and pulls up at the last second, but still whips me with its tail. I break free from the ice and tumble to the right into the pool. I shake the slush off of my black leather armor and fit another arrow. The dragon banks hard right to come back around for another pass. I can’t afford to make another mistake with the dragon bearing down on me for the second time. The great creature opens its maw to release another barrage of ice and I fire. The arrow is sent into the dragon’s right shoulder, and the beast wails in pain. The unexpected strike interrupts the dragon’s flight and it falls toward me. I dive back into the water to avoid being pummeled by the horned brute.  

As I stand, my hood falls from my head and I drop my bow. The cold air meets me with a bite, but the adrenaline keeps it in check. I draw Brannsverd. Fiery orange runes light up along it as I unsling my shield. I set off at a dead run through the small valley of knee high mud and water the dragon left as it crashed.  It recovers and whips around sending another barrage of ice and wind. I raise the enchanted buckler. A thick layer of ice forms on it, but the rest of the dragon’s breath flows around me. I close the rest of the distance as the creature inhales, but I am blindsided by its tail again.

Before I can stand, it places a claw tipped wing on my shield, pinning me underneath. Struggling and splashing in the shallow water, I feel a rib crack. I can barely make out the beast’s mouth open to a maw of teeth and flesh. I strike out with my sword and catch it right below the eye. A smoking wound is left behind and the creature recoils. I stand, steam rising from my body and drop my shield. With both hands, I plunge the fire-sword into the creature’s chest. Thick, half-cauterized blood flows from the wound and over my hands. The dragon stumbles and moans. I step back and it looks through me again.

I raise my sword for the killing blow, but for a moment I recognize fear and remorse. Lowering Brannsverd, I place my hand on its forehead in comfort, but I cannot finish it. The great beast becomes drowsy and weak. I fall back with the dragon’s head in my lap. I watch the life leave its great eye, and I sit for a moment. I unwedge myself from under the creature’s head and whisper a prayer to the Nine.

A moment later a hot wind blows from the hole in the dragon’s chest. It whirls around me, semi-transparent. I inhale and feel the dragon soul flow into my body. Reinvigorated, I sheath my sword and find my shield nearby. I hike back to where I abandoned my bow and find it floating idly, bumping against a fallen tree in the water. Soaked with mineral water and oily dragons blood, I trudge on toward Mistwatch Keep.

I’m prefacing my next post with this one. So, a while ago, my dear friend, Joe York told me that I should play videogames and write about my experience to keep myself writing and keep my brain sharp. He read it somewhere or somebody told him of this strategy. I’m left to wonder if my brain being sharp is a good thing, but the point is this: look out for my Skyrim chronicles episode 1 soon. I jotted them down when I was at work today and I feel like it went pretty well. Ok, well I’ll probably type it up when I get home, so be excited.

          -Erik The Destroyer

Ok, well this one is probably long overdue. This bullshit meme has been running amok on the “internetz” for far too long.

Let me start with a history lesson. This attacking of validity of arguments started with ad hominem attacks. Terrible logicians have been using this to try and win arguments for a long time. As early as 2008 someone found a weird picture and posted a caption on it in all caps, plain white. Nobody actually knows what the first one was, but it has been a plague ever since. I think that these lame captions started with the demotivational posters. They were a rip on the motivational posters that are oh so popular with office managers. Of course, it blew up and everyone found pictures to put captions to and all the jokes were used up in seconds. This didn’t stop the semi-educated teens from posting every combination of letters they could get their grubby little brains onto every picture that grazed their optic nerves.

Now, I want to say that I appreciate strange pictures. I see a picture of a grenade that has a red “#1” ticket attached to the pin. There is a sign above it that reads “COMPLAINT DEPARTMENT: Please take a number”. I chuckle to myself and move on, having experienced something that I normally wouldn’t have if someone hadn’t had the foresight to post this picture to the internet. The picture itself tells a story. It tells many, in fact. It could be a cranky, Vietnam veteran that has taken to running an office, and doesn’t take criticism well. Who knows, the possibilities are nigh infinite. Someone else finds it extremely appropriate to post a caption that ruins the subtle balance of the picture. “Take a number… and run like hell!!1!” Some pockmarked, pre-pubescent fool found this quite titillating and thought this needed to be seen by any and everyone that finds themselves looking at a computer screen. They ruined the implications, and ruined the joke by explaining it.

With that out of the way, I will continue on to my main point, and, oddly enough, the title of this post. Your wacky picture does nothing to detract from validity of any argument. It just doesn’t. I can think of no situation where a picture destroys the logical progression of premises to a necessary conclusion. Nicolas Cage’s hair shaped like a bird does nothing. It’s misdirection at best, mindless, shitty photoshop at worst. Whenever you post some picture of a velociraptor holding an RPG riding a shark that is shooting lasers out of it’s eyes, and think that this picture, crudely slapped together as it is, detracts from an argument, you are taking away from the sum of all mankind’s intelligence. This mayn’t seem like anything large, but it cannot be taken lightly. Your puny brain may not comprehend it, but it is something that must be fixed. You are the sum of millions of years of evolution. Start acting like it.

                      -Erik The Destroyer

I have been absolutely terrible at updating this little blog of mine. I almost feel that this tumblr bullshit isn’t really a blog site, but just glorified facebook, but that’s another conversation for another time. Or another insight. There’s no conversations to be had on tumblr. Anyway, I received a few messages in my absence, and I guess I can answer them all together. They’re all anonymously submitted. I felt that was important to note because, well no reason really. I felt that way. Deal with it.

Ok, so the first was submitted on March 25th. It asked if I was for or against Bioshock: Infinite. I guess I’m apathetic. I bet that’s a huge surprise. For anyone that’s just joining us here, I’m pretty much apathetic about everything. I played the first Bioshock and it was pretty rad. I feel to fully experience it, I should have played it more than once, but, alas, I never got the chance.The second one never found it’s way into my xbox (if you know what I mean) and, so I never played it. The third looks cool, but I don’t care. “Eh” is how I feel about it.

The second question came in on the 6th day of this 4th month of the year. It asked, “In your own personal view of the term, what’s the most badass thing you’ve done?” Maybe it’s just my recent dry spell talking (although, if you’ve been paying attention, my whole life has been set in a sexual desert. I mean, I found an oasis once, but the water turned out to be sour. I’m not exactly sure what an involuntary sexual hiatus has to do with anything, but I liked the metaphor) but I don’t do badass shit all that often. I’ve been shooting with my friends (yes, guns) a few times, but I’ve never really put in the time to be very good, or kill anything. I don’t think I’ve killed anything more than a fish, or something. No squirrels with a BB gun. I say that because I feel that it’s a staple of most males to do so. Uh, I feel that I must cop-out and say my writing. That’s my most badass feat. That’s where I can create shit and whatever. I’m not going to get all cliche here and talk about playing God and creating worlds and people and shit. You get the point. I mean, I don’t go limping away from explosions, or powerslide around corners while shooting a fully automatic pistol, or fly spaceships, or anything. I drive a manual transmission. That’s pretty badass. Well, (to steal a line from Weird Al, here) I guess it’s kind of a roundabout way of saying it, but you need to be more specific with your questions. Ask things that are easier to answer next time.

Which brings us to ‘next time’ (I’m also unsure what the hell protocol is with quotes or just apostrophes. I mean, is it cool to use apostrophes as quotes sometimes? I do it a lot, but I don’t think it’s quite “proper” or something. I see it as less emphasis than actual quotes, but it needs more emphasis than the regular words in a sentence. Anyway,) This one came in just today. Tax Day, as it were. Or is. For another 15 or so minutes it is. Ok, “What’s the deal with you hanging out with all these Americorps bitches all the time now?” There’s a few things I must address with this question. Now? I have been hanging out with these so called “bitches” for approximately 8 months now. I can only assume this was a crass way of saying “females that work in the Americorps program”. There are a couple dudes as well. But, then again, I suppose they’re bitches, so, this question is accurate. I don’t really see those guys all that often, though. It’s not “all the time”. I mean, we made some elk steak this one time, and that was sweet. Then that other time, Matty and I stayed by the fire and I dug a hole. Someone tripped in that hole. If anyone from Murphy House is reading this, I’m not going to fill that shit in. How else am I to be immortalized over there? The legend of the 2 foot hole must live on! Ok, so I guess I could actually answer the intended question now. Let me get my smart-ass gloves on. Uh, I’m a 22-year-old guy. What the hell do you think I’m doing hanging around a bunch of pretty girls? Huh? I mean, sure it’s been like 8 months, and I’ve banged none of them, but who are we talking about here? I don’t hook up with girls. Not that I do with guys, it’s just that it never works out. I don’t make a move or something. I don’t know. Countless hours have been spent analyzing this situation with no conclusion. I guess the potential is there. It’s infinitely more possible that I kiss a girl when there are girls around. Follow? Also, it’s not as shallow as that. This situation, as most, is much more complex as that. I like meeting new people. Having friends is great, but being put in the friend-zone sucks. You know what, everyone just disregard those last few sentences. It’s largely unimportant. I’m hanging around girls. What’s not to understand? (Disclaimer: if any of you “Americorps bitches” [Anonymous’s words, not mine] are reading this, and there is confusion, ask me. I don’t want to deal with any sour feelings because nobody wants to communicate. Whatever.)

So, that’s the questions portion. I’m not sure what else you need updates on. I’ve been 2 months Brenda sober. That’s something that I’m pretty proud of. If you’re a loyal reader, you’ll know she’s the only girl I’ve ever had sexual relations with. I get the feeling that cutting myself off from her cold turkey (if you know what I… well, you see where this is going) is something significant. I’ve used too many filler words, and this post is muy gigante, but you’re going to have to get over it. If you’re reading these words all the way down here, you’ve surely stuck with it until now. I thank you for your loyalty and I encourage you to drop me more messages. Anonymous, if you please. Nonymous is also accepted. I assume that’s the opposite. I was going to write about more shit, but my mom called about a half hour ago and I forgot. So now you’re left with a disappointing ending. Life ain’t fair, closure doesn’t always come, acceptance is a luxury we are not all able to partake in. There’s your wisdom for the day. Imagine it’s coming from a seasoned redneck and filtered through a large dip of chewing tobacco and a thick drawl. ‘Till next time,

                   -Erik The Destroyer