My last post on the little turtle reminded me of another recent conversation I had with the wife a few days ago, referring to the “stinky turd” incident.
So often we don’t realise just how courageous the women in our lives are.
Wife: I don’t know what to do anymore to make that little girl feel any sense of shame.
Me: Hmm, yeah that could be a problem, as she has definitely got my genes in that respect.
Wife: (indignant) You think?! She definitely didn’t get that from me! I’ve felt shame all my life!
Me: (speechless, and thinking…) What? And you married me?!?
So Vox did an AMA with the Reddit Gammas, dipping his toes in that murky swamp, as I did a few years ago. I have to say that on a quick scan there really wasn’t much that I thought was even remotely a tough question or any that would have put him in any difficulty to reply to.
This one, however amused me:
Scorpio is right about the login. In fact I couldn’t even find the avatar thing.
For the record, no, I would not be interested in a charity fight.
Aside random events like streetfights or assaults (none of which I started) or stopping some guy doing some violent shit, and willingly sparring inside dojos for years, I don’t think I would ever have been interested in a charity fight at any time.
For me a fight has always been either a necessity for one reason or another, or training (sparring or competitions, neither of which is really a fight as such).
I extended only a couple of formal challenges to braggarts online, offering to pay their way or fly to them depending, and in each instance they backed out, but my motivations for doing so are probably inscrutable to almost everyone, nor do I feel inclined to explain them. Aside that, I did in my youth offer to settle differences by way of a fight a few times, but none were very significant events, which some of the later things were.
Plus at my age, the point of fighting only if it’s a necessity is even more relevant, in which case it would then pretty much preclude there being any rules to it except trying to make sure I walk away from it and the other guy gets carried out of it, and personally I would not care at all if it’s on a gurney to the hospital or a bodybag to the morgue.
The idea of getting into a heavy sparring session with a friend when we are both at age 55 really has no appeal whatsoever.
Injuries heal a lot slower and are far more likely than 30 or even 20 or 10 years ago, and I have enough to do physically on the farm that I really don’t need any more dents.
Now, if there was a 100,000 tax free Euro paid to me for doing the fight, well… I’d consider it then.
Even then I’d prefer it if it would be someone I either don’t know or even disliked.
But since I doubt the gammas would put up that kind of cash even if it meant seeing me and Vox kick the crap out of each other, I’m fairly sure neither he nor I needs to put on Walkmen with Eye of the Tiger playing as we punch speedbags, jog along rural roads, and run up and down the steps of the local council in hoodies.
Beautiful Innocent Host (BIH): Wife of HIH and mother of their 2 boys
Doggie: very friendly black female dog
Exterior Early evening. The adults are having a pleasant round of drinks under a gazebo in the warm evening air in a well kept garden, and having entertaining conversation. The children have all been playing with each other and the dog, while occasionally passing by the table for a drink or snack.
The two older girls naturally playing and being interested in the boys who are their own age. Piglet has mostly been playing fetch with the dog and her and Turtle tend to get the occasional facewash from the enthusiastic dog.
The children also disappear from time to time down a rather steep escarpment on the edge of the property and periodically pop back up.
Suddenly, the peaceful scene is interrupted by a shocking announcement.
Monkey: Piglet is just weeing down there.
Adults… shocked silence for a few seconds.
KF: Did she take her knickers off?
Monkey: Yes.
KF: Okay, well, that’s something.
SG: She pooed.
KF & KM: (Look at each other, aghast)
KF: Pooed, are you sure?
Monkey: Yes, Little Viking and Piglet are just sitting there talking to each other while Piglet poos.
KM: (takes out wet wipes)
KF: (grabs them and places them in front of KM): Your daughter!
KM (With the face of the most long-suffering madonna): Really?
KF (Assess… It’s real pain in her eyes. The migraine she briefly mentioned before must still be ongoing): Alright. (Takes wet wipes and one of the plastic bags for used nappies and heads towards steep escarpment)
KM: I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with her!
HIH and BIH (in unison, talking over each other):
Oh don’t worry about it! It’s all normal and natural. All in nature! We have a dog and chickens, the whole area is covered in poo of some kind, it’s all part of nature!
KM: I think if you step on that nature she left somewhere down the escarpment you’ll feel differently about it!
BIH: Oh don’t worry we don’t go down there.
Meanwhile….
KF (taking careful steps down a steep and dusty incline, so as to avoid sliding into whatever gift of nature his Piglet daughter left in the area. Sees Piglet near a tree): Stay where you are, let’s clean your butt. (Wipes her clean).
Why have you got dust all over your butt? Did you sit down in the dirt to Poo?
Piglet: It’s right there. (Points to a small mound of dirt at the base of a large olive tree)
KF: You buried it?
Piglet (still proudly): Yeth!
KF: All right. (Picks up mound of human shit rolled in dirt with plastic bag and puts used wet wipes in it and ties it up.)
Piglet (knickers and trainers are both covered in pee too, but she remains fiercely proud of her achievement) I did a stinky turd!
KF (Shakes head while dragging Piglet up the steep escarpment): Why didn’t you say you needed the toilet?
Piglet: But dad! I did a stinky turd!
KF (Closes eyes. Contemplates discussing with KM the use of the vernacular “stinky turd” at home)
Go to your mother and find out if she has a change for you.
KM invariably does have a spare change for her. But not for the pissy shoes, so Piglet goes barefoot from then on. Her brother LV never used his slip-ons and was already shoeless.
FIN
We don’t have a lot of friends. But the few we have are the kind who take you child doing a stinky turd in a part of their garden as a small delivery of fertiliser instead of the act of a quasi feral barbarian masquerading as a sweet little girl that it is.
I got the little Viking and Piglet tiny metal crosses as they keep noting my simple steel one.
The little Viking’s is silver and pretty plain and simple on a silver chain.
Piglet’s is a little fancier gold-plated chain and gold plated little cross.
As it turn out the little Viking doesn’t like the feel of something around his neck so he leaves it off, though he is very conscious of it and its symbolic importance. Today he saw it next on the bedside table and asked about it, wondering if I got him a silver one so it looks similar to mine. I replied that was indeed the case.
Piglet (3) who was standing up on the bed near me, says:
“He’s got a silver one and I have a gold one…”
Then she flings her arms up to the sky, her fuzzy curly haired head also looking up at the sky like some miniature pagan and shouts:
“I love gold!”
In case there was any doubt, she’s obviously from Viking raiders stock too.
He wanted watermelon, so we all have some and he, being of noble blood, of course, doesn’t eat the seeds. Which then results in one of his sisters not eating the seeds too. Essentially because she is the drama queen and has to make a spectacle of any/all things as how they relate to her.
So a conversation follows about watermelon seeds and how most people eat them, parrots eat them, and they are generally thought to be just fine. At any rate the conversation moves on and the little Viking is just quietly plucking each seed out and eating his watermelon chunks.
A few minutes later, with the natural innocence of children, he points at the seeds in his plate and says:
“Daddy, we could plant these seeds and grow our own watermelons.”
Pleased with his thought process and farming instincts, I reply:
“That’s right son, we could. That’s good thinking.”
He instantly replies:
“So stop eating the seeds!”
And I see in his eyes… the completely intentional set-up.
After the laughter died down, he added, this time with a professorial half-eyes closed and supercilious serious look on his face, instead of the intense gotcha-face he had on the previous sentence:
“Besides, if we grow our own watermelons, we don’t have to buy them anymore.”
His sense of humour is certainly more along the intellectual side than that of his sisters.
So we went to the beach for the second time and as the sea was a bit rough I had piglet (3) and the little Viking (5) with me, one on each knee as I crouched in the waves and as they broke on us jumped up just enough to “survive” the “tsunamis”.
You forget how much fun you had as a little kid doing stuff like that after half a century of life on this planet, but they reminded me of it and I got into it as much as they were. After a few minutes the boy wanted to do his own thing for a bit with bucket and spade (he likes to build doomed castles right by the waters edge —a sign of his interest in ancient ruins I assume), but piglet would have stayed with me in the water for as long as I could take it.
So me and her continued to play in the waves until one splash must have happened just as she was breathing in or something and next thing I know, as I rise out of the wave, I get caught by a slightly smaller one but with a lot more force.
She projectile vomited right into my face, neck, shoulder and chest. I could actually feel the chunks of sandwich, from lunch, egg bits from breakfast and possibly last night’s pasta splattering on me. As I stood to make sure she would not get caught by the next wave as she was busy clearing her stomach all over me.
All pretty natural reaction to swallowing some sea water, but as she rook her first breath, spit and snot streaming from her pretty little, curly-haired face, I asked her if she was alright and she nodded enthusiastically, even if she couldn’t speak yet, as the second wave of vomit soon ejected directly onto my face and head too.
I waited patiently, while she finished hurling on me and asked her again if she was okay.
Enthusiastic head nod.
Okay, I said and wiped her nose and mouth, and she spat out a bit then when she could speak I asked her a third time.
Her reply: “Yes daddy, I’m fine!”
So I took a moment to sink myself under the waves and wipe off the puke. The radius of floating chunks around us was about a metre. She always has been an impressive eater, hence the nickname she is very proud of: piglet.
As soon as I was cleaned off we moved a bit to a spot that didn’t look like we released a water smoke bomb for aerial rescue, and carried on.
What I observed a little while after, is that precisely while she was projectile vomiting directly into my face, two things happened.
The first is that my reaction/fighting reflexes kicked in, I kept eyes narrowed enough not to be blinded by the fire hydrant stomach contents, and moved my eyes just out of the direct path, but I kept watching her and my brain just did its observer thing it does when I get into that Zen/fighting mode. It’s kind of just like an autistic, purely objective, very calm, emotionless noticing.
* Ok she’s puking
* Head way above water (as I rise/stand)
* No incoming waves
* She’s secure, just let her finish and see how she is doing, all good
And the second thing that was going on was a relatively mild but hyper-focused concern on her well-being. Even at the instinctive level of the first half second while my brain registered what was happening, there was zero sense of disgust. It was just completely absent, didn’t even feature. Which I found interesting.
On discussing it later with my wife, she said (she had to deal with multiple pukes and worse in bed with pretty much all of them at some point. I generally only once or twice):
“Oh yes, nothing quite as fun as dealing with a bunch of puke in your bed at 3am.”
I agreed with her she obviously had the better experience of it, compared to my mere rinse off in the ocean.
With a wistful, almost melancholic look in her eyes, she said:
“Oh yes… if only all my vomits had happened in the ocean…”
Next time I may suggest she plays in the waves with them too. I’m not sure I should deprive her of experiencing this small joy while they are still small.
Gather your lonely eyes to your bright screen, young-one. Read in your solitary life, how we of the old world used to roam the lands without cell phones or any other means of communicating at a distance, and engaged in rituals you know nothing about.
You associate the acronym RPG with computer generated games you play by yourself, on a screen, perhaps at best talking over the internet with a few other strangers. Political correctness now being s draconian that the mere calling of another player a “faggot” will get you banned from the server in many cases. You have been robbed of your history, because it is always year zero in your dystopian world, and as you stuff more carcinogen-laced, nutrient-free, soy-based, fat-free, but lard-inducing pretend-food into your sickly, inflamed body, you are unaware of the origins of RPGs: Role-Playing Games.
They started all long, long, ago, in a land far, far away. And the grandfather of them all was Dungeons & Dragons. Back then, personal computers did not really exist yet, these were the early 1980s, and neither did mobile telephones. I first heard of these games as if they were some sort of illegal thing that only one kid that was year older than my friend and I had, and that you could not use alone. Nevertheless we went to his home and asked if we could take part, and he said yes.
So we gathered in his lounge, about 5 or six of us, my friend, my brother, the boy we had gone to who owned the books, and a couple of other guys, neither of whom we had met before. We were told to roll some six-sided dice in order to create the “stats” the attributes our characters would have. But even before we did this, we marvelled at the gems before us, because along with normal dice we had all seen before, were a bunch of see-through dice inscribed with numbers, but they were unusually shaped and looked like nothing we had ever seen before.
A tiny three-sided pyramid was a D-Four, a four-sided dice! A dodecahedron shaped one with pentagonal faces was a twelve-sided dice, a pointed one onto ends was a D-8 and there were a pair of D-10s of different colours, which when rolled together could generate a D-100; one die being the tens, and the other the units. And then of course, the one die that ruled them all: The D-Twenty. Where a result of 1 was a critical failure, and a result of 20 a critical success. And if you rolled two twenties in a row you then got to roll on the special critical success table with a D-100 and some of the results were awesome, like a decapitation of the master you were fighting instantly.
You needed to calculate what your armour class was, and depending on that, you would be more or less difficult to hit by the monsters, the referee, who presented the scenario and acted for all the monsters and NPCs (non-player characters) would recount the story and present you with situations the group had to deal with. The various classes were fighters, which could also have sub-classes like knights, paladins, and Rangers, and later, also the evil Anti-Paladin, you could be a magic user, who were weak and could not wear armour nor wield anything other than a staff or a dagger or maybe one other weak weapon, but if they survived long enough would eventually gain powerful spells like invisibility and fireball and so on, or be a cleric who could wear armour and use quite decent weapons, as well as cast spells granted to them by their deities, that were usually of a healing nature. No one wanted to be a druid because aside the no armour they also had crappy nature-spells and no one wanted to be a bard, because who wants to be some long-haired prancing faggot in tights who plays a banjo and sings when you could wield a bastard sword, be an expert dagger thrower and wear chain mail and a +2 shield that was also +4 protection versus Dragon breath? Thieves and assassins were untrustworthy but sometimes needed and Rangers were the coolest of all, because we had all read the Lord of the Rings. Paladins were supposed to be cool, but really were seen by most of us as real puritanical pains in the ass that wouldn’t let you flirt with the hot princess you just rescued before you delivered her, a bit disheveled, back to the king; though we did all take exception to the dwarf raping her dead body when the rescue didn’t go as well, and without even discussing it, every player attacked the now naked dwarf while he was molesting the corpse of the princess.
Yes, such were the things that sometimes happened between surviving pit traps and many other types of traps once that infamous book to traps came out, or the new monsters that were in the fiend folio and so on.
Then Traveller came out and now your character could die while you were generating him, even before he had started playing at all. If he did survive, he then had to contend with aliens, space pirates, crappy laser guns that needed a backpack if you were not from a high enough tech level, faulty hyperspace drives that would deposit you into unchartered space with no way back, leaky space suits, absolutely deadly space battles that would wreck your space-ship, and imperial customs searches that would tend to end up with your crew becoming fugitives or prisoners on some god-forsaken asteroid mining radioactive isotopes while you tried to find a way to escape.
And after that Top Secret was out, and you tried your best to take part in some secret agent stuff, though in our case that usually resulted in massive mayhem in downtown LA or whatever city we were supposed to be in, with police sirens, the military and the mafia all having running gun battles with disgustingly high civilian body counts, through shopping centres. Unless we were playing out The Thing in Antarctica with a few twists.
Some of us even played Killer, the very first Live Action Role Playing Game, that’s right, the real LARP. This was a game where each player got a dossier at random, which would be his or her “target” they would have to assassinate, and you could do this by say taping a little note to the bottom of their cup in school that said “poison” and if they drank from it without noticing the note, they were then “dead”. None of us had phones with cameras because they didn’t exist, but if you could take an actual photograph of them and have it developed, and you put a cross-hair which had to be strictly in the middle of the picture both vertically and horizontally, and the cross was on a vital area of the body, then you had successfully “sniped” them. Or you could shoot them with a water pistol and so on. Of course, doing this during class times could easily get you detention, but that just added a certain “frisson” to the game.
The point is that when you played these games, sometimes for days with little sleep between at your friends homes or your own home, especially during the school holidays, you would come across, or invent, scenarios that were sometimes frustrating, but more often than not hilarious, fun and which would make you all laugh. The action all took place in each other’s imaginations, and today when I tried to play such games with people in their twenties even, very often I could see the atrophied brain cells struggling to image the scenes described to them. They would draw a weapon and fire it in the middle of a shopping mall like some kind of psychopath, without any thought of realism. Our running gun battles in downtown San Francisco were the culmination of large bank robberies gone disastrously bad, they weren’t how we started out when some NPC questioned us!
You can see the lack of interest or curiosity when you describe a zombie attacking them or a dragon poking its head out of a cave. They don’t even ask if it’s fast or slow zombies. No curiosity about how decomposed and mechanically viable the zombies are (because it matters, is it a realistic zombie, or is it more a magical type of zombie?) No question about the colour of the dragon’s head (red ones breathe fire, but black ones acid, and so on). It’s sad really.
But aside the laughter and friendship, which are both very important, you learnt so many other things, how to have some kind of team-work going, how to figure out ways to solve problems, and have a ‘there must be a way” attitude no matter what the problem facing you was. We got so good at this that my brother and I even derailed official adventure models that had been professionally produced to result in the players ending up arrested and captured because the fight they faced would otherwise be too impossible to win. Except, using the pre-generated characters from those same modules, so without any special or indeed any change to them, we would defeat the small army of enemies placed against us.
That attitude, with the camaraderie has actually served us all well in real life. When some intractable problem comes up on the farm, my first thought is not “Aw, I need to purchase something, or get a professional here, or…” My first thought is “right, there has to be a way around this”. It’s just instinctive. And sure, maybe some of it comes from growing up in Africa and being a hunter from young age, or in the case of my friend who helped e adapt a part of the tractor, it was because as a farmer’s son, with little money, he too had to invent his own entertainment and make his own go-carts, and little weird wooden toys, not to mention small but functional bombs using fire-crackers and match-heads.
But the point is that your being glued to that phone or PC or TV, and not interacting with other humans in real life of more or less your own age, regardless of if you are 13 or 23 or 33, or even, sadly, 43, is just not good for you. It really isn’t.
And I have no way of making you experience the reality of what I am telling you other than writing it here, far away from you, so you can read it, alone, on your little screen, far away from me, but please believe me, it’s worth doing. it’s worth the embarrassing, scary idea of asking a couple of your friends if they want to try playing a few games to see if it’s fine enough.
And you need to convince them to stick with it for a few games because none of you know how to do it and you may be so socially awkward at first you will be too shy to play properly and spell out well how your characters act, or if you are the referee you will be scared to sound foolish when you describe a weird scenario. But that’s all part of it. And trust me, it doesn’t make you a nerd to play such games with a few friends. Just ask Vin Diesel. Or me, or the friends I had growing up. In fact, if anything, exercising our imaginations made us better at talking to people, coming up with funny things to say on the spur of the moment, or realise that man, as anxious as you might be, if you don’t get off your ass and go ask that pretty girl if she’ll go out with you, nothing is gonna happen, so you do get up and you do go and ask. And usually they turn out to say yes, but even if they say no… ah well… in real life you would have faced off against a red dragon, and probably got your face melted off you even if you survived; so what’s a little rejection. Eh. There are plenty of prettier girls to ask out for coffee. Or maybe she’ll change her mind if you quickly change tack and say: “Oh good! Phew! You’re really pretty, but I can’t STAND coffee drinkers. Awful people. I’m glad we got that out of the way, so, how about a tea instead? glass of water? Sparkling maybe? What’s that? with a slice of lemon? Still no, how about a fruit juice, because I’d really rather not involve any alcohol in our first date, I mean, sorry, but I just want to be safe, girls who make me drink alcohol invariably want to take advantage of me and I just can’t even!” She might still say no, but she’s almost guaranteed to smile a little, and if she really doesn’t, and still says no, and maybe is even rude about it… hey, at least you uncovered her true nature and made your saving through against illusion/charm spell that her appearance was trying to foster on you. Good riddance!
Anyway, you don’t HAVE to play in the flesh, pen and paper role-playing games with real people, and no one can make you, but I really, truly, hope you do. You really don’t know what you are missing out on if you don’t.
And yes I will recommend the game I created, and the ready made adventure module for it in case you are not sure where to start, because it’s funny, easy to learn on and still relatively “realistic” and you can use it to play almost any kind of scenario, and you would benefit from my years of playing RPGs in it because the design of it is both simple yet can be as nuanced or complex as you are comfortable with if you want to get a bit deeper with it. And you can get the digital version then in the best old-style tradition, print the PDF at home, or pay a bit more and get the full colour paperback from Amazon (link to the Amazon version is in the description at the links above). But you don’t have to play this game specifically. I just hope you play one, Any one.
Without Glitter
Dramatis Personae
Kurgan Father (KF): Me
Kurgan Mother (KM): Wife
Piglet: 3 girl
Little Viking (LV): 5 boy
Monkey: 9 girl
Scorpio Girl (SG): 12 girl
Turtle: 1 girl
Handsome Innocent Host (HIH): Father of 2
Beautiful Innocent Host (BIH): Wife of HIH and mother of their 2 boys
Doggie: very friendly black female dog
Exterior Early evening. The adults are having a pleasant round of drinks under a gazebo in the warm evening air in a well kept garden, and having entertaining conversation. The children have all been playing with each other and the dog, while occasionally passing by the table for a drink or snack.
The two older girls naturally playing and being interested in the boys who are their own age. Piglet has mostly been playing fetch with the dog and her and Turtle tend to get the occasional facewash from the enthusiastic dog.
The children also disappear from time to time down a rather steep escarpment on the edge of the property and periodically pop back up.
Suddenly, the peaceful scene is interrupted by a shocking announcement.
Monkey: Piglet is just weeing down there.
Adults… shocked silence for a few seconds.
KF: Did she take her knickers off?
Monkey: Yes.
KF: Okay, well, that’s something.
SG: She pooed.
KF & KM: (Look at each other, aghast)
KF: Pooed, are you sure?
Monkey: Yes, Little Viking and Piglet are just sitting there talking to each other while Piglet poos.
KM: (takes out wet wipes)
KF: (grabs them and places them in front of KM): Your daughter!
KM (With the face of the most long-suffering madonna): Really?
KF (Assess… It’s real pain in her eyes. The migraine she briefly mentioned before must still be ongoing): Alright. (Takes wet wipes and one of the plastic bags for used nappies and heads towards steep escarpment)
KM: I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with her!
HIH and BIH (in unison, talking over each other):
Oh don’t worry about it! It’s all normal and natural. All in nature! We have a dog and chickens, the whole area is covered in poo of some kind, it’s all part of nature!
KM: I think if you step on that nature she left somewhere down the escarpment you’ll feel differently about it!
BIH: Oh don’t worry we don’t go down there.
Meanwhile….
KF (taking careful steps down a steep and dusty incline, so as to avoid sliding into whatever gift of nature his Piglet daughter left in the area. Sees Piglet near a tree): Stay where you are, let’s clean your butt. (Wipes her clean).
Why have you got dust all over your butt? Did you sit down in the dirt to Poo?
Piglet (proudly): Yeth (she has a slight lisp)
KF: But… why? How? Never mind, don’t tell me. (Looks around).
Piglet: It’s right there. (Points to a small mound of dirt at the base of a large olive tree)
KF: You buried it?
Piglet (still proudly): Yeth!
KF: All right. (Picks up mound of human shit rolled in dirt with plastic bag and puts used wet wipes in it and ties it up.)
Piglet (knickers and trainers are both covered in pee too, but she remains fiercely proud of her achievement) I did a stinky turd!
KF (Shakes head while dragging Piglet up the steep escarpment): Why didn’t you say you needed the toilet?
Piglet: But dad! I did a stinky turd!
KF (Closes eyes. Contemplates discussing with KM the use of the vernacular “stinky turd” at home)
Go to your mother and find out if she has a change for you.
KM invariably does have a spare change for her. But not for the pissy shoes, so Piglet goes barefoot from then on. Her brother LV never used his slip-ons and was already shoeless.
FIN
We don’t have a lot of friends. But the few we have are the kind who take you child doing a stinky turd in a part of their garden as a small delivery of fertiliser instead of the act of a quasi feral barbarian masquerading as a sweet little girl that it is.
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By G | 5 August 2024 | Posted in Farming Life, Humour, Social Commentary