Forget the Doomers

 

What the fuck is this?

Climate change is unstoppable and will end human civilization. We're in the middle of the sixth mass extinction and every thing is going to die. Authoritarian states are rising, and democracy has already lost. The American Dream is dead and stinking, and no one will ever own their own house or have a spouse and children again. You will be a wage slave your entire life and you will never pay off your college debt. It's irresponsible to have children in this bleak, terrible world. All of us might as well fuck off to Reddit and wallow in our bleak misery until we die.

Jesus, fuck right off, doomers.

Every single one of us is undoubtedly the softest person in our respective lineages. Your ancestors survived bear attacks, childhood diseases, and countless wars so that you can live a life of considerable comfort. We enjoy air conditioning, video games, television, vaccines, antibiotics, grocery stores, and the other miscellaneous comforts of modern life. Ever heard somebody bitch about a layover at the airport? Motherfucker, you just flew through the air at hundreds of miles an hour instead of spending half the year on a boat or on horse and buggy! I know working at Amazon fucking sucks, but your ancestors worked factory jobs until their goddamn hands fell off. Stop being such a bitch and contemplate your incredible fortune for having been born in the twenty-first century.

I know that climate change is a huge problem that the world is ignoring. I am well aware that animals and insects are vanishing at an unprecedented rate. The Republican Party is embracing authoritarianism and making it harder to vote. The middle class is shrinking while corporate power grows. All this stuff sucks, but it's up to us to do our best and try to make the world better. Use less energy, consume less, vote for decent politicians, donate to organizations fighting climate change and habitat loss instead of moaning about how fucked everything is.

As far as not having children goes, that's perfectly fine with me. Remove your pessimism from the genetic pool by all means. And while I certainly don't think everyone should have children, historically speaking, this is a great time to have kids, provided you're not trying to one up Genghis Khan. Does the human species have no value? Do you not think that your children should experience the the multitudinous joys of life from which you have freely imbibed? Do we not owe anything to our ancestors? Should we not at least try to clean up our mess?

Have a little hope, people. Find a little grit. Stop complaining about the comparatively minor speed bumps life's doled out. I know it ain't all sunshine and lollypops, but have a little perspective. And for fuck's sake, get the fuck off of Reddit (I'm speaking to myself here).

D&D Stories: Pigface McRobinson

 

Pigface McRobinson is a half-orc barbarian fighter. He smells like shit and his fists do the talking, most of the time, unless his mouth remembers how to speak. He once kept a unicorn phallus strapped to his skull for "cultural reasons" until Bim-Bim the gnome broke it. His ax is his favorite weapon. His least favorite is a club called Stink Fist.

Pigface once tried to hide from Frog People behind a tree. He stuck out like an ugly orc.

Pigface once got so drunk that he nearly killed several fish people at the docks. He beat the shit out of those fish people, and they now have to live in special homes for fish people who can't think real good.

Pigface used to keep Bim-Bim in a cage because he was a serial murderer who collected phalluses.

Pigface once blew several hundred gold coins on a threesome with a seven foot tall vampire lady and a cat chick. It was totally worth it.

In one of his last combats, he hulk climbed a building and threw a goddamn mage off the top of it like the boss he is.

Pigface has -1 charisma, due to his reek.

Pigface will often purchase bushels of apples from local orchards to keep his colon functional.

I've noticed that the drunker I get, the drunker Pigface becomes.

Pigface was once profiled by guardsmen after eating twenty meat pies. He ran and ran but they caught his ass and roughed him up real good.

Pigface was dishonorably discharged, and he won't talk about why.

His last lover was a cook in Lord Orbus's palace who weighed three bills and broke a table with her clapping ass.

If there's a door, Pigface is kicking that motherfucker down.

When he sleeps, he often dreams of frolicking in the fields of his youth, the sun beating down upon his green shoulders, the voices of his family ringing in his ears. Then he awakes and has himself a good cry because all things must pass.

Pigface once rocked a pair of leather snake skin pants and a Kenny Omega mullet.

Pigface's prized possession is a book of penis lore given to him by a mage named Gump Stumpen. He can't read any of it, but it has nice pictures.

Sometimes Pigface wonders if there's more to life besides fighting, fucking, and drinking himself under. Then he stops wondering, because contemplation is for pussies.

After making a tyrannosaurus rex his mount, Pigface can die a happy half-orc.

Pigface sometimes thinks that he's too stupid for love, but he isn't.

The Diary of Mitch R. Singer

 

At the market in the summer heat

I get there and set up my tent and wait. People move behind me to grab their coffees, clad in their running shorts, the machinations of Sunday morning accelerating their leisurely rush. There are bicycles peddled by middle-aged men wearing bicycle shorts, women moving in form-fitting tights. I get peach fuzz on the insides of my arms, and the itching starts as soon as I begin to sweat. There is a fire station across from me that never seems to be very active. Peaches for you, peaches for me, peaches straight from the country tree. The acoustic entertainment is more accurately defined as murder by aural assault. Every once in a while I must endure the questioning of an idiot, which makes me wonder if we are truly a nation of idiocy. 

At home in the evening in the kitchen

I listen to the humming of the air conditioning window unit and ponder its destructive nature. It's hot outside but it is a natural heat, the type of heat human kind evolved to endure. When we cook ourselves for breakfast will we finally have second thoughts? In a way, we're a man with a stolen credit card assaulting the Vegas strip, burning through hookers and casinos in a suicide dream.

In bed, in the middle of the night.

The true nightmare is considering one's insignificance while lying awake in the dark beneath sweaty sheets. Every time I squash a bug I feel as though I've murdered an entire planet. What a tumultuous cocktail of conflicting emotions a human being is. Is being cliche the most awful human crime or the best thing we can do? I share what you share and therefore I know that I am as you are. 

In the morning

Hello, coffee. Drink me out of me.

 

Additional Thoughts on Red Dead Redemption 2

 

I don't spend eight-five plus hours with many single player games. Red Dead 2 is still occupying my time, and as I make my way through its epilogue, I thought I'd share a few observations and opinions on this amazing Western.

--I absolutely love Arthur Morgan, the character. I keep comparing this game to the Witcher 3, because they are both massive open world experiences, and while Geralt's curmudgeony gruffness is endearing, he is not a particularly interesting character, seeing how he doesn't diverge much from the typical dark fantasy archetype. Arthur isn't original--he's a more relatable Clint Eastwood--but he's fascinating as a man fighting against his lawless upbringing. As a nun tells him in the final chapter, he's always helping people in spite of himself, and although Arthur's help usually takes the form of violence, he isn't essentially a bad man. In many ways the game is a commentary on the aimlessness of life and how we blindly follow a pathway until we discover that it is not the only trail in the woods. Arthur doesn't discover this until he's sick and dying; however, as Rain Falls tells him, it is a gift to know one is dying, because one has the opportunity to find peace. Arthur doesn't find peace, but he musters enough resolve to finally abandon the monster Dutch has become.

--There's never been a world as fully realized as this in gaming. Its depiction of flora and fauna is stunning, and during my time playing it, I've taken one-hundred and fifty-two screenshots. Red Dead 2 is the first game to really make me want to go to a real world place. It's a hell of a technical achievement, and even years after its release, I don't think there's another title out there that rivals it in verisimilitude. This is a game that wants you to take your time, and while I was initially frustrated with Arthur's ambling gait and the long horse rides from town to town, I came to appreciate the opportunity they afford the player to take in the beautiful artistry on display.

--The epilogue with Marston is brilliant. You get to experience what Arthur sacrificed himself for, and you see it through the nascent eyes of John. I didn't mind shoveling horse shit or teaching Jack to ride, and it's hard for me to imagine anyone playing through eighty hours of gameplay only to complain about the end, although I'm sure some dense bastards did.

--Did this game have to be so long? You know, I certainly didn't mind it taking its time. I did wish that Arthur would've confronted Dutch sooner storywise. Hell, every damn time he said he had a plan I knew it was going to fail spectacularly, and so did Arthur. However, Arthur really doesn't abandon Dutch until Dutch abandons him, so strong is his loyalty, and he even states to Marston that loyalty was the only thing he valued, before urging John to be loyal to his family over Dutch. Anyways, I think the length works as an indulgence that is tolerated because of the quality of the material.

--One complaint I do have regarding Red Dead 2 is that the PC controls kind of suck. Fishing is pretty much impossible with a mouse and keyboard, and there are so many context-dependent actions that I sometimes felt like I was playing a flight sim rather than a third person action game. A gamepad played smoother, but I just can't use a gamepad with any game that features shooting. 

I'm going to post a bunch of screenshots, just because I can.

Hanging with the Goon

 

I googled peaches an I guess dis is a peach from tikcytalk

Well folks, its been many long moons and stars since teh Goon as walked upon teh mortal coil. Anothr season is upon us all; an taht means pickin' peaches, since I has notin' else in my life. An man oh man, does we has teh peaches! Sam has me out in teh orchard wit a backpack an a front pak to fill wit all teh peaches nature has given us. Sometimes I has to stop an eat a peach or two cuz utterwise I woundn't be able to pick any more--Sam's got me on a round teh clock schedule. Where I sleep is wehre I lay! Somtimes its teh barn and uttertimes its in teh deer stand so teh coyotes don't drag me off to tehir lair. I also has to watch out fer bigfoot cuz summer is his mad time an he's liable to make you his girlfriend even if you ain't willin' or quick enough. Anyways, this veritiable wealth of peaches has gone to Sams head an he's acting even crazier tehn usual.  He wanna hire some high schooler to dance an prance in teh yard before teh highway taht run in front of teh orchard, an he wanna make um dress liek a giant peach. This is Goon work, you understand. I cant have any uneducated kid taeking my jobs. Its just liek Uncle Tom an teh illegals. As he recollects, if they didnt let so many illegals in, Tom would still be workin an teh booger king makin' woopers fer King Drump an his merry band of monsters. Honestly i dont know where I was goin' wit that; I guess I was trying to make an analalogy. We all has a right to work, dont we? May I should make a peach pickers Union, but teh only udder picker I know is Hernando, an I aint seen him fer many moons. Tis a lonely life, being a Goon. You got teh woods an teh crystal meth, an Slack, an tehre aint much else but teh pale white moon an teh ligh pullution blottin out teh stars. Somtimes I see my future an it aint no differnt from anyone elses, cuz we all gotta die, and dying is something we all gotta do by ourselves.What Melancohly words for such a stupendus time! I dunno, I has been in tehse moods lately where all I do is reflect on what can an shall never bes. When I get all teh big bucks from pickin' peaches I'll go off to Mexico an find Hernando an maybe live wit him in teh desert next to tehy beach an watch all teh plastic lap against teh shore. Somebody give teh Goon a little light in teh darkness of existance. I needs to finds a God.

Weightlifting: My Current Routine

 

Before I workout, I put on my jabroni-approved Muscle and Fitness shirt, and then I try to do my routine while making a face like I'm shitting bricks.

 Working out is a chore when you're thirty-five with a physical job and two kids who demand watching, lest they burn the house down or horrifically maim themselves. Lately, I've been doing a three day split, utilizing an upper body push/pull day with just two exercises on Tuesday (push-press/pullups), a box squat/upper body assistance/stone lifting day on Thursday, and a deadlift/bench press/curl day on Saturday. These workouts usually take about an hour, and I try to not have much down time between sets. I can't really afford to lazily lift weights like the good old days--I have to cram as much volume into the time I have as possible. I think it's working out pretty well. I did a high box squat with 400 lbs for 3 reps a couple weeks ago, and I box squatted 425 today. I pulled 455 two weeks ago with no warm up because my friend thought I couldn't do it. My upper body lifts are nothing to brag about, but I did an easy 270 bench press last week, and my pullup routine consists of 10 sets of 10. Anyway, here's exactly what I'm doing, which can vary considerably. This is just a loose format. I often adjust the reps and sets depending on what I have time for. Thirty reps is the goal for bench/press/squat, while ten to fifteen is what I shoot for with the deadlift.

Tuseday

Push press 5 sets of 5 in a pyramid format (for example, 135*5, 145*5, 150*5, 160*5, 160*5), then do five heavy singles, increasing the weight each time. Superset with 10 sets of 10 pullups or 10 sets of 10 rows.

Thursday

Box squat 5 sets of 5 in a pyramid scheme (hah), then do five heavy singles. Perform an upper body circuit in between sets of curls, pressdowns, and laterals for 3 to 5 sets of 10 to 15 reps. Lift an atlas stone as many times as possible in a few minutes (picked up my 145 pounds stone 12 times in a couple minutes today, for example).

Saturday

Bench press 5 sets of 5 in a pyramid format, followed by five heavy singles. Deadlift either ten singles, increasing the weight with each set, or do five to ten doubles. Perform barbell curls between sets for as many sets and reps as you like.

Nothing fancy, but I'm keeping in good shape at 195 during the summer despite sweating buckets while picking peaches all day.

New Video: I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry

 

The year of covers continues with the Hank Williams' classic. One of the first songs I learned to play and sing, this tune has been in my repertoire for a good fifteen years. A simple three chord ballad, Williams' understated poetry is the perfect example of tear-in-your-beer music. I used to sing this to my second child before putting him to bed.