Genericide Update: Appendages Sprout From My Human Torso

ANNOUNCER: “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for the world’s self-proclaimed most popular game show?!”

*Applause probably!*

ANNOUNCER: “FaaaAAAAaaantastic! Then welcome to The Completely Established and Not at All Slapdash Genericide Super Fun Quuuuiiiiiiiiiiiz Show!”

*Applause once more!*

ANNOUNCER: “I’m your host: Mr. Host! Are you ready to meet our three faaaAAAAaaabulous contestents?!”

*Applause all up ins this business!*

ANNOUNCER: “Then let’s get started! First off: Contest Number One! Why don’t you introduce yourself for these lovely folks?”

Genericide Update: Rocket Surgeons are Useless

There are some men who achieve great deeds in their lifetimes. Some have spent their life toiling the pursuit of charity and goodwill. Some champion political causes for the betterment of mankind. Some sharpen their skills every day so they may become unparalleled masters of their respective crafts. Some journey where no men have gone before, across the reaches of space, time and our own human psyche.

Me? I have a working, up-to-date computer. CLOSE ENOUGH.

Genericide Update: A Cocktail of Slapstick Sorrow

Note: This one goes a little long, and is basically just me whining, so here’s the important bit: No updates yet. Maybe not next week either. Blame computer stuff. kthanxbai

I considered starting this post with a big hulking paragraph of parable all just to set up for my usual joke about inconsistent updates. Then I realized if I were making a metaphor for disappointment, the cleverest thing to do would be disappointing you! Actually, that’s a lie. I just got lazy. Hey, whaddaya know, mission still accomplished! I think I’ve found the perfect excuse, guys. That’s the real reason I don’t update with a full post each week, obviously. It’s not that I can’t be arsed to kick my cerebrum into gear, it’s that the whole thing is a deep artistic statement. An incredibly convenient deep artistic statement.

Oblivion Adventures Part 21: Bow-ing Pains

The sewers of the Imperial City were a bustling, thriving ecosystem. The towering monument of polished stone above was as strait-laced as can be. Things were pristinely maintained, gold flowed freely without concern, and the ratio of guards to actual citizens was near 1 to 1. The biggest threat to the police force was an imaginary man with a gray sack on his head. The closest thing the city had to back alleys were charming little decorative courtyards where you could barely hide from the blind. To put it simply, it was not a place that encouraged crime.

But crime isn’t some household pet that slinks away ashamed when given a good scolding. Like an annoyingly persistent fungus, it’s hard to get rid of and good at spreading itself where you aren’t looking. The Imperial City had a lot of people. More to the point, it had a lot of rich people. It also had an immensely sprawling sewage system, almost as spacious as the city itself. So long as the more unscrupulous members of society didn’t mind the smell or killing the occasional mudcrab (and who could object to that?), it was basically one giant rent-free, law-free living arrangement.