An Eye-OU for an Eye-OU

The readership of this blog is something I hold no illusions about, at least not since I killed the sorcerer who cursed me. The illusion I'm alluding to is that of active readership, which is to say, I have none. But that didn't stop me for 160 posts over the course of a decade, so as ever, I'd like to keep you all updated as though "you all" existed. I'd specifically like to address something I said last year, on my 2023 April Fool's day post. Or more accurately my very short April Fool's day post about why I didn't have an April Fool's day post. The quotes in question are:

 

"Sometime between now and April 1st, 2024, there will be another article on genericide-blog.com"

 

and…

 

"Unless I die. Would be tough to schedule around that one."

 

The good news, unless you're a clan of sorcerers out for revenge, is that I have not died. Nor do I plan to any time soon. Alas, I do need to prevent myself from dying, which it turns out is just as hard to schedule around. Yes, this is another post about why there aren't any posts, a hallmark of creators too lazy to create but too guilty to quit. But I do have a better reason than usual for being busy on April 1st. Specifically: I got cancer and will be in surgery having one of my eyes removed that day.

 

I have prepared an apology greeting card:

 

You would not believe how hard it was to find this card pre-written.

 

As alluded to above, this should prevent me from dying in the near future, the not-so-near future, and with any luck, all futures the distance of a normal human lifespan. I can't guarantee futures beyond a human lifespan until I reach an arrangement with a clan of sorcerers. Rest assured, I'll likely return to posting passable parody pieces and glib gaming grumbles before long. But before short, I have an upcoming crop of cyclopean circumstances to contemplate. I discovered my impending binocular bisection a couple months ago, and it's something I had to keep more than one eye on while I still could. And if there's one silver lining to cancer, it's that everyone feels too awkward to ask what you were doing with the 10 months of the year before you found out you had it.

 

In short: Blah blah cancer blah blah no blog posts for a while blah. If, against all evidence and good taste, you still want to hear more from me, I will point you to my game Small Favors, which has about 40 hours of content and a novel's worth of words. Yes I know I mentioned the same thing last year, but the game didn't go anywhere and it still has a thousand times the words of a blog post. It'll be a bit before I post again, but if it's any consolation, it's highly unlikely I'll have the same scheduling conflict in 2025.

 

If I do I suspect the sorcerers have found me.

No Fooling

Once upon a time, there was a traveler and a jester. Many moons ago, when the traveler was young and hale and hearty, they stumbled upon a most curious festival. It was there they met the jester, a comedian of, it must be said, somewhat limited capacity. Their jokes were a bit plain. Their stories were quite mundane. And they had a nasty tendency to bog down a sentence with so many embellishments and qualifiers that it became altogether harder to follow than if they had offered no clarifying details at all in the first place in addition to the fact that it generally robbed them of any of the sort of comedic punch that they were clearly intended to carry which probably was a result of their lack of brevity, I think. But…there was one thing the jester could offer: Consistency.
 
Every week, the jester came to the festival. Rain or shine, morning or night, funny or dull they came. And thus that festival became a place of comfort to the traveler, and they resolved to return when they could and watch for a time. But as the weeks turned to months and the months turned to years, the festival changed. The patchwork tents and faded banners disappeared, one by one, until only a single stall remained, but once a year: the jester's. The traveler could not hear the creaking bones behind the bells, could not see the wrinkled face behind the mask, but it was then they knew that one day, even the jester would be gone.
 
Sure as the sunrise, the day came. The traveler arrived at the site of the now-yearly event to a festival-shaped hole in the dust. The only color was the weeds poking through the dirt. The only song was the lonely howling of the wind. And not a single joke could be heard.
 
The traveler sighed, and picked up their pack. All things must come to an end eventually. And it seemed this year, they'd have to go elsewhere…to tell people Best 0nline Casin0 Free Sl0tz Click HERE!!
 
 
***
 
 
So yeah, that's all you're getting this year.
 

Genericide Update: Rectangular Realism

Greetings, strange future people of 2018! I'm sure you're busy sipping VR cocktails from your chrome battle cruisers as you escape the Lizardman uprising. But those with a moment to spare between hyperspace jumps may be wondering why I went half the year without content then stopped in the middle of a series. Fear not, my purely hypothetical legion of readers! I have a very good reason why the rest of the Dragon Quest 7 series hasn't been posted:

I didn't finish writing it!

Yeah okay, this was about the reaction I expected.

Now if you'll give me a moment to clean up the soot off my monitor, there was another reason the series hasn't been posted. Probably should've led with that.

I made a free video game!

Dedicated and observant readers* will note that I was working on an RPG at the beginning of this year. This…is not that RPG. Instead, it's something I started a few months back when I was lured by the siren call of a game jam. It's a short comedy RPG with all-original art and music named The Square Who Killed Another Square.

*Correct, just me.

Genericide Update: Chateau de Frog Vomit

Summary: Oblivion post next week.

Being sick sucks. Obvious, but true. Especially if you’re like me, and never seem to do it halfway. I’m either poppin mad hangtime with my crew in total envy of my rad bad attitude, or I’m…wait, hold on a minute. Wrong homonym.

Being sick sucks. Obvious, but true. Especially if you’re like me, and never seem to do it halfway. I’m either so pure surgeons use my spit as a disinfectant or my body is holding together like a realistically portrayed zombie and my mental state is plummeting down a garbage chute into the bile ducts of a demonic toad.  The only upside to illness is it gives you a convenient excuse for not writing blog articles.

Genericide Update: Little Orphan Jimjerroo

The Gist: Bad MMO article coming soon; Oblivion article coming soon+1.

And so, I triumphantly return once more to the noble tradition of filler blog updates! That’s…that’s a thing that can be triumphant, right? And noble? I mean, not that noble, obviously. It’s not like I’m saving any starving orphans with these filler update posts. Although then again, who am I to say? Perhaps poor little orphan Jimjerroo, already driven to depression by his hilariously stupid name, only needed one more obscure filler blog post to keep on living. And that blog post is mine.

If that were the case, which for simplicity sake we’ll just say it definitely is, why then this blog post would be conclusively proved to be the best thing ever. Proved so conclusively that it would require a frankly excessive amount of italic text. Yeah, what can I say? I’m just a natural humanitarian. The Red Cross should really be allocating more of their budget in getting me to write about how JRPG stories are a load of butts. It’s just the most logical way to save mankind.

Cold Smokes and Metaphors, Part 2

11:16 PM, December 24th. South Personificationsburg, Abstractia.

Shifty Simmons was leaning back onto an alley dumpster, entangled in a moth-ridden trench coat three sizes too large for him. He held a stack of bills in his hands, passing them back and forth like a deck of playing cards and taking in the crisp yet crumpled scent of Legitimately Acquired legal tender. Sighing contentedly, he stuffed the bills back in his pocket and smoothed down the dusky patchwork spider web he called hair. As he rose back to his intimidating peak of four foot ten, I decided to speak up.

“Evening, Sim.”

“AH!” Simmons jump earned him more hang time than an 18th century pickpocket. The landing, however, was a mere 3 out of 10.

“D-D-Donny! What a s-surprise!” he wheedled like a clarinet filled with equal parts phlegm and sawdust. “What, ah, eheh, brings you to my neck of the woods?”

I stepped out of the shadows and rolled my eyes, vision glowing with a six pack of cigarettes rubber-banded together.

“Please, Sim. Even you can’t be that dense. Why does anyone come to you?”

Cold Smokes and Metaphors, Part 1

9:42 PM, DECEMBER 24TH. PERSONIFACTIONSBURG, ABSTRACTIA.

The dark enveloped me like a cold, lifeless blanket. Streetlights left stark orange holes in the fabric, casting harsh rays of visual perception on a snow-covered cityscape. Legs stiffly pumping as they seized up in the breeze, I crunched through the weighty white blanket towards the scene of the crime. I already used blanket. Shoot. Well, it fit better for snow anyway. We’ll retcon the darkness into a cardigan or something.

Turning at the corner of 5th and Simile, I came face to face with tonight’s job. It was a grizzly scene, and not the kind you see fishing for salmon. The stiff was sprawled out on the concrete behind that taught tape TP of the local PD. The chief was already there, looking down his wobbly, grim-faced lip-fur at the blood on the snow beneath him. Well, the stuff wasn’t actually on the snow. It was mostly along the curb, mixing with the filthy gutter slush for a sort of spotty dark brown color. I knew that on top of everything else, the killer had a profound disrespect for the conventions of visual symbolism.

Genericide Update: A Payload of Discontent

Words! Unlimited transmitters of information, unparalleled transportation for communication! These supremely significant symbols signify all knowledge that shall ever pass from one human brain to another. Pouring from the mouths of all who live easier than air, they infest the world with ideas equally insidious and ingenious. Thrown to the wind like flowers in the breeze, they ingrain themselves in the hearts of men. Also alternate genders of human, a small subset of clever animals, and theoretical lab experiments where cardiovascular systems gain sentience. Words are tools, to an author as a hammer and nails to a carpenter or confidence and mental insulation are to successful businessmen. But there are not a thousand hammers of varying shapes equally equipped to conquer every nail. For the humble author need not worry about mere execution, but the tools. Before he can concern himself with composition, he must select the instruments. Before he can compose a sentence, he must select the words.

Genericide Update: A Fresh Jug O’ Word Juices

Why hello there! Been a while since we’ve had a chat like this, eh imaginary friend I pretend is an active audience? A few months, as a matter of fact. Though it only spanned two different topics, I’ve spewed out a fair few words lately. Last week I slipped off the metaphorical hook due to Thenksgorbing, but now America is done reminding the world of its enjoyably unhealthy relationship with food and I’m back on said hook. That metaphorical hook has me by the metaphorical jaw, and if I don’t want to end up catch of the day I’ll have to write a blog update or something that fish do I don’t know this was actually a terrible metaphor for my situation.

Since it’s been a while, allow me to acclimate myself to the proper mindset for my uniquely endearing* brand of non-content (nontent, if you will). Ahem:

*Genericide earned a perfect score on a scale of one to endearing, by a panel of five judges that were all me in a delightful assortment of different wigs.

Genericide Update: Illegal Ear Lending

Friends! Countrymen! Lend me your ears! Or, y’know, don’t. I have nothing important to say. Also, readers need not be citizens of the US to lend me your ears. Out-of-countrymen are also welcome to lend me your ears. But in interest of stimulating my local economy, only countrymen are permitted to lend me the full ear. Foreigners will be limited to lending me their outer ear, no further into the canal than the ear drum. If I catch any illegal immigrants trying to lend me their Cochlea we’re going to have to get the authorities involved.

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.

Genericide Update: Shambling Piñata Golems

Once more into the breach we go. Buckle up and simmer down, because you’ve got another week of no Genericide slamming straight in front of your headlights like the world’s most disappointing dead deer. I mean granted, I can’t think of a situation where a dead deer would be welcome, at least for the mentally sound. Perhaps it’s a deer filled not with grotesque deer guts, but instead delicious candy? Though at that point it isn’t so much a deer as a deer-filled piñata. I don’t know at what point we want to draw the line between deer and abomination of science, this isn’t a blog debating the philosophy of transdeerism. Besides, piñatamancy has been banned in these parts for centuries, so the point is moot.

Back in the realm of coherent lines of thought that are worth wasting brain space on: we have news on the next post!  Front and center amongst these interesting tidbits of knowledge is the following: Next post is not this week. You are not, in fact, reading it. Though Oblivion does in fact contain deer, I’m reasonably certain none of them are shambling piñata golems. Though I’ll grant you that should probably be a mod.

Genericide Update: Flawlessly Executed Yeti Surgery

So here we are, back to the comparatively insubstantial wisps of update posts. After three solid weeks of content, this was pretty much inevitable. Some of you may retort by pointing out there were four solid weeks of update posts before that, but as the words leave your mouth I’ve already dived out the window and left the attack helicopter to cover my escape. By the time you’ve alternated between taking cover behind chest high walls and firing the conveniently located RPG into the cockpit, I’ll be lounging on a scenic beachfront far from any consequences. It is at this point I will remember that my blog is entirely digital, making it impossible to flee from by moving to a different physical location. Also, I am like 90% sure I don’t own an attack helicopter.

Yet.

Genericide Update: Connect Four, I Won!

I know I know, believe me I know. The first Child of Light post is almost done, at about 4k words. I could scramble to post it now if I rushed through the editing process. However, the whole point of these update posts is so that I can keep myself in practice while also giving articles proper care and attention. Giving myself time now will make a better product later, as well as more time to build up a buffer for subsequent weeks. Please don’t quote me on that in the likely scenario that I fail to deliver a couple weeks in the future. Uh, don’t quote that following line either. Y’know what, it’s probably for the best that you instantly forget any words from my mouth as soon as they pass through your skulls.

Genericide Update: Yeah I Just Talk About Zelda

“I’m not sure if I’ll have the article ready for next week.”

-Grand Admiral Genericide of the USS Disappointment,

June 10, 2016...and seemingly every week after

What more explanation do you need? If you answered “the kind that actually explains something”? First of all, how’s the weather down there in Snarkansas? Enjoying a cool, refreshing sassparilla? Second of all, yeah okay fine. The short explanation is e3. The medium explanation is e3 and Zelda. The longest explanation is that I may have replaced my computer with a giant monitor that just plays the Breath of the Wild trailer until I get bored of it or the heat death of the universe, whichever comes first. Close race, place your bets. If you’re wondering how I’m typing this article without a computer, let’s just sidestep that query and hope my neighbor doesn’t come home anytime soon.

Genericide Update: Technically Considered Success

Another week, another update. I hope you’re ready to have that week-old disappointment dug out from the back of the fridge and re-heated! On the downside, it’s another seven days with naught but a rambling diatribe on nothing of significance. On the upside, at least it’s on time. Low standards baby! The path to what is technically considered success!

Genericide Update: The Winged Unicycle of Adventure

It’s Friday, and that means it’s Me-Putting-Words-On-A-Screen-And-Then-Sending-Them-Through-The-Internet-So-You-Can-Read-Them Day. I tried to get that on calendars but they rejected my proposal. I argued that it would be quite easy to include a magnifying glass with each calendar sold, but they claimed I was missing the point.

Last Friday was a momentous occasion. It was the first Friday since starting weekly updates on a deadline that I completely failed to update weekly on a deadline!

HUZZAH!

Genericide Update: Starting Strong

Well here we are again. I sure am glad I one-hundred percent committed to absolutely bringing home heaps of fresh content every week. Imagine, if I hadn’t decided I was gripping punctuality by the horns and breaking my pelvis riding it, I would’ve been disappointed by this lack of content all alone. Now we can all be disappointed in me together! It will be a beautiful bonding experience. We can all hit a piñata of me until it breaks open, revealing nothing because I am very subtle at metaphor. Then I’ll realize no one actually came to the get-together because like three people read these things and I never sent out invites to the impromptu metaphorical pity party beforehand. After this realization I’ll sob softly to myself in the corner. So you know, an average week but now I’m writing it down!