Greatest. Story. Ever.

The above link is why I love the internet.

   [ POSTED BY Steve Johnson @ 6:11 PM ] |

LARP Update

Andrew and I were on the way to the great Gus Mastrapa's wedding reception yesterday, and we decided to check the park for LARPers. Luck was on our side, and we spotted them by the side of the road. Yes, the Burbank LARPers are real, and I've got the proof:




Taken with a telephoto lens, this photograph proves the LARPers are real, and they mean us no harm.

Next week, first contact will be made. I will approach them, making offerings of lead figurines and Mountain Dew. I will befriend them, learn their unique language and culture, and maybe come to understand their strange rituals and ways.

   [ POSTED BY Steve Johnson @ 3:31 PM ] |

On the trail of the LARPers

LARP=Live Action Roleplaying, a hobby in which D&D players take their love of Tolkien-based fantasy further than tabletop gaming and don approximations of medieval attire then tramp around the woods fighting pretend monsters with foam-rubber swords.

LARPers are a relatively secretive group, and for good reason. People seem to make fun of their hobby a lot. Admittedly, it's a peculiar pastime, but I think it might be sort of fun. I'd consider joining a LARP group and trying it out for a weekend if I thought I could keep a straight face. But I'm too cynical, and I'd make jokes about Mountain Dew and "Roll to see if I'm getting drunk!" and all the LARPers would likely get mad at me for spoiling their afternoon.

But still, I'm fascinated. And not in a "haw haw haw, lookit dem freaks!" sort of way. It's more like admiration. Plus, I run a game of Call of Cthulhu--a RPG that's like Dungeons and Dragons, but even geekier because its source material is the horror fiction of H.P. Lovecraft--so I have no right to make fun of anyone's leisure time proclivities. LARPers: I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you, I swear.

Anyway, I wanted to find the LARPers, observe their strange rituals, and if possible, bring back evidence. Avid outdoorsman Andrew Quintero was the catalyst. He went hiking in the hills around Los Angeles a few weeks ago and unexpectedly encountered a group of role players in a clearing. Like any good sociologist, Andrew hung back in the bushes and observed. There were around 20 people of all ages, wearing leather armor, cheap-looking elf ears and other outre accoutrement. Their were fathers with children and men wearing those Conan style leather halter things.

"Many of the LARPers are fat!" Andrew reported.

A guy dressed as Friar Tuck read a scroll and their was much debate about something, and then the group took off into the woods, presumably to find adventure in the desert hills over Burbank. Mysterious!

The next weekend, Andrew again encountered the LARPers. He watched them perform eldritch rites around their monolith, an upright drainage pipe.

And so Andrew and I set off to find them and, this time, bring back proof. After a quick stop at a local comic book store (because we are nerds and enjoy reading comic books), we set off for tthe rhealms of the unknown.

Very few cars in the parking lot was a bad sign, but we pressed on. Andrew and I discussed the following important issues as we scanned the countryside for fake elves:

1) This election is kind of a sham, and the presidency will be stolen again.
2) Old-timey country and gospel music is quite enjoyable, and why don't more people like it?
3) It's very hard to find fulfilling employment in this (and any other) town.
4) Why is everyone so stupid?

After nearly 4 miles of trudging, we came upon our destination: The clearing where Andrew had seen the LARPers.


Andrew indicates the Gateway to Adventure. Note his +3 Stick of Walking.



This is where the LARPers congregated. It seemed to Andrew to be sort of a base or jumping off point. "They had cases of Pepsi here," Andrew said.

We searched this area thoroughly for any detritus left behind the role players. Say what you will about them, the LARPers keep the park clean. They seemed to have left no trace of their adventures--or Andrew had gone mad and invented the entire encounter from the previous week--but then, success! Andrew must have a very high spot hidden skill or he rolled a 20, because he found this:




A small beanbag with a diamond drawn on it. LARPers throw these at faux monsters to determine the success or failure of "ranged-touch attacks." We were very careful with the relic, because who knows what strange power it possesses?

On to the monolith:



Andrew recreates the prayers of the LARPers. "Please keep me safe from goblins!" he cries.




Monolith, from a YOU ARE THERE perspective.

We finished our hike and came upon the final LARP site. Another picnic table by the side of the road. Instead of LARPers, we found... goths! Far from their natural habitat, these two black clad children of darkness had driven to the woods near Burbank and were lounging around in the grass, blasting "Bela Lugosi's Dead" from the their Neon.



The male goth has chosen to wear knee high boots and black vinyl pants in order to hang out on the edge of a hiking trail...Maybe Marilyn Manson will drive by!


In the end, Andrew and I never found the LARPers, instead we found something even more important: We found the missing love in our hearts.


PS: Later, as we were walking around Burbank, I threw the beanbag at Andrew and cast a Sleep spell. Successful. Rock.

   [ POSTED BY Steve Johnson @ 10:11 AM ] |

The original Twilight Zone is the best-written program that has ever been on television.

Here's a list of hyphenated insults from a episode called "Uncle Simon" about a a wealthy, hateful invalid and his greedy niece driving one another insane inside a drafty old mansion. Feel free to hurl them at your own personal arch-enemy.



"You're the only woman I know who looks as if, underneath her clothes, she wore clothes. You have all the grace and feminity of a high-button shoe."

"Garbage-head"

"You're such a humorist, Uncle. You should have gone into burlesque."

"Nightcrawling imitation of the female gender."

"Let's see if you can compensate for the fact you're a passionless vegetable by speaking your mind. "
"If I'm a passionless vegetable, it's because my gardener is an ancient relic made out of dry skin and ice water."
"Not bad. Not bad. If I prod you hard enough you can scrabble up to the occasion, or at least partway. Well, my angular turnip, what else is new with you? I see you made some hot chocolate today. Are there any other soul-stirring projects you applied yourself to?"

"Go upstairs and engage yourself in a nerve-wracking game of Dominos. "

"Why do decent men die and animals like yourself keep living on?"
"In most cases, mine in particular, we have something to live for. I have you to live for, you crooked-seamed grubber."

"You scrounging female ape"

"You thin-lipped, toothpicked legged conniver."

"You money-seeking crone; you ugly harpy"

"You ancient albatross with a dirty mouth. "


"Keep your spindle-shanked carcass out of my laboratory, and your long, thin, probing nose out of my business. Now go and get me me some hot chocolate, and use the English bone china cup, and if it's not hot enough, I'll throw it on the floor."


"I live for the moment when I can see you buried. When I come back from your funeral, I'm going to open a bottle of wine. I want to be compensated for 25 years of being shrieked at, berated, humiliated, and stepped on like an old rug."

"I'm going out, Frankenstein; if you need anything, get it yourself."

"If you had an ounce of gristle or an inch of intestines, you'd have murdered me years ago, and as for your 25 years of abject misery and unspeakable indignation, you deserve it, kid. . . Now go and get me some chocolate"



Just thought I'd share.

   [ POSTED BY Steve Johnson @ 7:40 PM ] |

I'm fairly certain I won't starve.

Some of the people I've allied myself with over the years would fix me a turkey omelette if I showed up hungry on their doorstep...

But other than that, it's up to the fates.

My quitting is mildly interesting office gossip around my job. Here's how the conversations go down:

OFFICE WORKER: I hear you're leaving. What do you have lined up?

ME: Nothing.

At this point reaction splits pretty evenly. About half of my soon-to-be-former co-workers get this pinched sort of scared-rabbit look on their faces, maybe a sharp intake of breath and a look of concern for the crazy person.

"It's a pretty bad job market... " OR a wary, "Well, good luck, buddy."

The people I actually admire at my job tend to greet the news with enthusisasm and encouragement, as if leaving a job in an industry I don't like might actually be a good thing (if a little terrifying) and maybe there are more important concerns than the meager security a vaguely shitty job offers.

The next time I quit a job, though, I want to be one of those guys who walks away from his million-a-year executive position to work on a fishing boat in Bimini, though. That'd be rad.

   [ POSTED BY Steve Johnson @ 9:32 AM ] |

Why I love the French


Corinne Maier, one of them French pointy-head types, is stirring up French people with her new book, Hello Laziness. In it, she argues that the correct response to France's new 'hey, we're practically Capitalists!', corporate economy is to be a really, really bad employee.

That's an obvious point to anyone who ever let the fries burn at Carls Jr. because he just didn't give a shit, but French people are arguing about it passionately. The French are people after my own heart.

King Missile made the point more succinctly in their song "Take Stuff from Work" though.

Take stuff from work.
It's the best way to feel better about your job.

Never buy pens or pencils or paper.

Take 'em from work.
Rubber bands, paper clips, memo pads, folders--

Take 'em from work.
It's the best way to feel better about your low pay and appalling working conditions.
Take an ashtray--they got plenty.

Take coat hangers.Take a, take a trash can.
Why buy a file cabinet? Why buy a phone?

Why buy a personal computer or word processor?
Take 'em from work.
I took a whole desk from the last place I worked.

They never noticed and it looks great in my apartment.
Take an electric pencil sharperner.Take a case of white-out;

you might need it one day.
It's your duty as an oppressed worker to steal from your exploiters.

It's gonna be an outstanding day.

Take stuff from work.
And goof off on company time.

I wrote this at work.

They're paying me to write about stuff I steal from them.

Life is good.

This is all to say I quit my job.

   [ POSTED BY Steve Johnson @ 7:43 AM ] |

Someone came to my site because they were searching google for "masturbating armenians."

I hope they found something they like and will become regular visitors. If YOU are searching for masturbating armenians, please comment below.

If you would like to see more masturbating armenians on the Interweb, I urge you to write your local congressperson.

   [ POSTED BY Steve Johnson @ 4:20 PM ] |