It’ll never catch on, part 528,913…

It must have been 5 years ago. I was sat on a bus struggling to get my precious Xperia 1 to let me blog. I had tweeted about my frustrations, venting how hard it was to wrangle a post out of the device because the app WP had released didn’t cover the god-awful Windows 6.5 Sony had crippled their wonderful device with. My thoughts were picked up by a fellow blogger and one of her regular commentors mocked my desire to blog on the go. He found the very idea that someone would actually enjoy blogging on a phone laughable.

And yet here I am, 5 years down the line and with 99% of all my posts are written on my tablet or phone, which goes to prove that the internet is becoming more and more mobile for me all the time. That and what an enormous tit that commentor was, but then of course he always was.

#SL: My but how time flies…

Wow… tomorrow marks exactly a year since my story marathon Steal Head ended. A whole year. Now that has really gone by quickly. To think how much has changed since then – how much of a high I was on. A few more months writing Gang Wars and that would be it for my time in Steelhead and SL, pissed off by a couple of tossers so much that I decided to give another game a try, a little thing called LOTRO… I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I actually have a lot to thank Sheriff Numbnuts and the One-Armed Wanker for 😀

Do you know what… it’ll be my 5th anniversary in SL on the 19th too. Blimey.


SL: It’s not you, it’s me…

Somewhere, god alone knows where or when, I once described my feelings towards SL as a relationship in its final stages where, instead of a clean break, there was a repeating pattern of arguments, splits & reconciliations in which both parties knew the relationship was doomed but didn’t know what to do about it but both damn sure that when the next big argument came along they’d be off. Well that time has come.. except the final argument never happened, rather there was an entirely surprising turn of events that led to the relationship falling apart.

Like a good soap opera storyline, the end for me and SL didn’t come in one of my regular explosions of bad temper and swearing (often caused by lag or crashes or chat channels not working, or photos not going to flickr). No, the end snuck up on me suddenly. It was the equivalent of meeting someone new at work and going home and blurting out to your missus that you were leaving right there and then.

The new woman was LOTRO but she was not the reason I left SL. To be honest, if not her it would have been someone else. I’m sure SL felt the same way about me.

The sad truth is I had not been happy in SL since the end of TSMGO. I looked everywhere for a creative community and found only cliques and barriers. The few chinks of light I did find were too elusive to follow for long and when you throw in someone who really didn’t want you in his house, well lets just say I’m not surprised my eye went a-wandering. After all, how long do you keep head-butting a brick wall before your much admired perseverance becomes your much mocked stupidity?

So I spent a night with my new woman and fell in love. Sure she’s not as flexible as the old one and she doesn’t know my ways yet (or I hers) but in truth there are many similarities… it’s just that this new one is better in bed. Much.

Sorry SL. I didn’t mean this to happen. It’s not you… it’s me.

It’s you, stupid…

Have a look in the mirror. Go on, have a really good look at your face. That face that stares back at you. Those eyes. Those eyes belong to the reason Second Life is shit. You are the reason the Lab employees go home crying at night, you bastard!

I’m not going to link to Uncle Hammy’s Glorious Revelation of The Ultimate Truth (can you guess why?) so you’ll have to google for it, but trust me when I say he proves conclusively that Second Life’s woes (I’m not sure what they are, but if Hammy says we have woes then we bloody well have woes!) are down to you – yes you!

It’s not lag. It’s not the viewer. It’s not high prices. It’s not the fact the Lab is competing with land owners and renters. The shitty customer service. The fucked chat. No. It’s you and me not just shutting the fuck up and sitting quietly like the open wallets we are spunking wonga up the Lab’s leg like a sex-addled ATM. That and the fact you just won’t let him have facebook-humping-SL dream and cruelly insist on keeping your name secret so you can hide behind a made up persona, you cowardly shit!

So listen to Uncle Hammy, keep your miserable whining to yourself and keep paying the bills so the Lab can have more parties Hammy can crash and twat on about.

Fuck me…

Roleplayers of Rank – a post in which I swear. A lot. Seriously.

I’ve never fancied roleplaying in a military or police structure, at least not an authentic sounding one where players take on ranks. Partly it’s my inherent dislike of being told what to do, partly it’s my lack of interest in replicating the intricate structures of organisations I have little (or less) interest in in real life, but mostly it’s because roleplayers seeking rank are almost always insecure, egotistial, elitist, piss-stains of the lowest order and I don’t find being around them to be conducive to my desire to be happy.

Before you get me wrong, I am *NOT* taking a shot at military/police/organisational RP of any era or genre, or the people who take part. Honestly I am not. Many a good WW2 Unit, Roman Legion or Star Fleet Corps exits in SL and I know at least one casual roleplayer in SL who plays as a Navy officer and she is, frankly, lovely. I’m emphatically, totally and definitely NOT talking about these.

No, I’m talking about the type of Jonny Big Bollocks who votes himself the top of the, let’s call it, Castle Defence League or Metropolitan Constabulary and sets about strutting around like said Big Bollocks were something all and sundry should get down and pay homage to. These are the actions of a fool. An idiot. An insecure child. A cock.

To them RP is merely a way of encircling themselves with liggers and dolts who constantly feed their voracious and vacuous egos. On top of that they tend to be shockingly dull folks seemingly incapable of friendly chat & banter and instead cursed by the need to be constantly aloof and superior, an act that does not endear them to me and instead fills my mind with the desire to repeatedly punch them square in their wizened, redundant love-pump until their either their pelvis shatters or my fist explodes.

Why so angry Mr Burro? Why so shouty about these (soon-to-be) dickless wonders? Well, I’m glad you asked. It is because it does me good to be shouty. It makes me feel better. I don’t cope well with bottling things up and of late I’ve been doing just that. Not any more. I’ve popped my own cork, so to speak…

You see, when it comes to play I like collaboration. I want collaboration. I desire it as a randy Mr fox desires a pretty lady fox flashing her come-to-bed-eys and flicking her lovely brush at him. I ❤ collaboration. I believe in friendly, open, enthusiastic roleplay. I want to bring folks in to my stories (and visa versa). I want them to run with ideas other than mine. I want the whole to be far, far greater than the whole. I, dear reader, want people to play together and have fun and not complete.

And yet I find myself surrounded and bested by small minded, jealous, parochial, cliquey cunts who need to create ranks in order to feel they have respect when, in fact, they have confused respect with resentment (not an easy mistake to make given their default feeling to any ideas not their own is resentment, but they make it all the same).

So fine. Great. Be the big old General. Pin the shiny badge on your chest. Just as long as you get to dictate just who can play (and, more importantly I suspect, who can’t) with who and where and when, I’m sure you’ll be happy. Except you won’t. It will end the same way these things always do, but you are just too fucking dense to understand that, aren’t you. When it all turns in on itself, when all the resentment (sorry, respect) and bitterness and back-biting that you surround yourself with brings it all crashing down, you’ll down what you always do and will slink away to find somewhere else to infect like the virus you are. There’s always another sim, another group, another community you can insinuate yourself into and poison.

Stay and fight Burro Boy, I hear a lone voice cry. Stay and see your vision through! No, I answer back. Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck the horse they rode in on. I’m not a fighter, I’m a lover. Not a lover of virtual lady gazelles you understand, but rather a lover of fun and open creativity and a million concepts Captain Dipshit and his merry band of uniform wearing, rank-wanking numbnut shitsacks will never be able to understand. Fuck 'em all in the eye.

Besides, they’re not the only ones who can move on.

Kill the Mad Men…

Osprey watches the best stuff (I’ll forgive her not liking Inception 😉 ) and she tweeted a link to this great documentary I’d not heard of called Starsuckers, a film all about how the world of media manipulates our base monkey instincts and wide-open childhood innocence to make us go gaga over celebs so we will buy shit. Any shit. Piles of shit. Mountains of shit. Enough shit to bury us all under again and again and again. Watch this and weep. Then punch an advertising executive or reality TV booker square in the space where their soul used to be, the bastards.

A few things occurred to me through this film. First off, as a child of the 70’s I feel I might be one of the last generation to have escaped the deliberate and cynical targeting of children as consumers. Not completely, but enough. I think you’d have to look at my dad’s generation to see people who don’t see shiny things and start to drool, but all in all I seem to have come through nearly unscathed. Of course I have just bought a netbook I don’t need but merely want, but I didn’t buy it because Scarlett Johansson was draped across a picture of it on telly.

Which neatly brings me to my second point. Monkey arses. If you haven’t watched the film yet, jump to around 42 mins in and have a looksee. Back? Good. So, monkey arses. I couldn’t care less about celebs – their choice of clothes, watches, cars, body odour masks, their desire to eat at gastro pub X and dance at nightclub Y just don’t figure in my life. It’s like watching the news and getting to the sport – my mind switches off and before I know it the weather girl is on and my interest perks up again. Sport boring, weather lady in tight top interesting. Celeb lifestyle duller than dull, beautiful celeb ladies in high heels Hello New York! I am naught but a monkey missing a slurp of my Juicy Juice for a snatch (no pun intended) of monkey bum. I have a vague feeling that this should make me feel bad but it doesn’t. I like monkey bums and that’s all there is to say. Mmmmmm, monkey bums.

There was a third point, but the images of Miss Johansson’s lovely curves in my mind forced it out for a while. It was something to do with God. God and SL. Oh, that was it! At 40 mins into the film, some fella talks about para-social relationships and I got to thinking about how my life & friends in SL fitted into what he was saying. After all, do I just choose my SL friends based on their looks or perceived influence? After much thought, I can say with a high level of confidence that no, no I don’t. I don’t do that in RL so it’s no surprise I don’t do it in SL. I think I have a very healthy, balanced approach in that I have several levels of interaction that seems to come naturally:

  • Upon meeting new people who aren’t in character I tend to be friendly and naturally not in character myself. If there is time and a connection, and if real life information is shared, then here’s a good possibility these folks will slowly become my friends and even my mates. If not, then they will stay an acquaintance before more than likely drifting off and being forgotten.
  • If a connection has been made and real life chat is shared, these guys become my mates both in SL and out of SL in emails, IMs, tweets, etc. I’m not going to name names but you guys know who you are 🙂
  • If folks are entirely in-character and nice then we may well become friends in SL but the connection doesn’t go beyond that really – I mean, how can it? Real life is rarely mentioned and without that, well I can’t talk about a made-up world forever. This is fine, this is normal and healthy – not everyone you meet in RL is your friend, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t friendly. Think of that lass from sales you see in the kitchen, one repeating conversation about the latest phones or last night’s telly once a day and a brief nod & smile in the corridor is the top and bottom of it.
  • With the folks who are in- or out-of-character but are just plain unfriendly, well I keep away from them and almost never engage them. Why would I? That aggressive bully from accounting, you don’t seek him out for a chat about last night’s match do you? No, you stay the fuck away from the dickhead. Same in SL.

Out of all my friends I haven’t linked to any of them because of their look or position in whatever eco-system they inhabit, I became friends with them because I asked myself “are they nice?” and “do they share more than their avatar?”. If both answers were yes, they’ve more than likely become a mate, if it was a yes & no then they’re a friend or acquaintance. I’m simple fella (as I think can be deduced from the monkey bums paragraph above) but a happy one.

Where I am…

Where am I? That’s a good question you didn’t ask there and therefore you deserve an answer. Aren’t you glad you came? Don’t bother about trying to leave, I’ve locked the door. And the windows. And that chimney has been blocked off for years. Now sit down and let your Uncle HB tell you all about it. It all started with a couple of dickheads…


~~~~ wavey fade dissolve ~~~~


… And that’s how it went down. What do you mean you nodded off? Look, I’m not going through it again, I’ll recap the end part but that’s your lot, jeez!

  • HBA is staying in Steelhead St Helens but selling three of his five plots (contact me if you’d like one – mate’s rates of course).
  • HBA is also keeping his place in Cowell – it would take Sal burning the village to ground to get me out of there!
  • Ryne is staying in Steelhead Shanghai renting from Krystine.
  • Ya Yiwama I have yet to decide about – he’s either going to rent from Gia in Shanghai or move to Bay City and rent from Marianne McCann.
  • Alt No 4… Whilst there *is* no fourth alt yet, I *may* just create one to RP in Bay City instead of Ya Yiwama (who was only ever created to be a monster after all, hence the name).

What this means for my writing is that once “Gang Wars” has finished (it’ll be over very soon, at least my part in it will be) I’ll not be doing another one in Steelhead for a bit. I’ve done more than 18 months of writing there and whilst I’ve got more ideas, I don’t have the same drive. I refer you back to the starting point of this wee fireside chat. Let the babies have their milk and all that.

No, I’m going to be writing some stuff set in and around Bay City. Noir stuff. Horror noir. Think “Steal Head” mixed with “Goodunnit” but with Primouth motors instead of airships.

Emerald Shemerald!

Will everyone (except Adric and Osprey) please stop talking about Emerald as it’s fucking dull. Cheers.


So, good old Wally Linden wants to yak about linking our SL & RL IDs. True enough he says he wouldn’t want it to be compulsory, but rather he wants people to think about it.

I’ve thought about. My answer is very simple.

Get to fuck.

If this *was* forced on us then I’d leave. I don’t give a shit if it’s voluntary – I just wouldn’t do it. But if LL tries to make us do it, that’s me gone.

Christ! With the sheer number of grade-A, pure-filtered window-licking loons, nut-jobs and through-&-through bastards in SL (and on line generally) there is no fucking way I want them pissing over my RL. The same way you don’t walk into a nightclub and hand out your photo with your address & phone number, you don’t give them to every stalker, griefer and twat online either.

Wally, start talking about things worth talking about and earn that pay packet. Here’s one for you – Web on a prim: Why do you want it and when? Get on with that one and stop with the dumbs.

Another cock not coming back? Good.

Same old tired hack bullshit. Not coming back? Hold on while I Waaaaa into my cuppa. All other hacks should also feel free to fuck off, just try not to make any noise on the way out as you’re boring my fillings numb.

Edit: I should have said, I got the heads up to this latest piece of badly researched and heavily biased shit from Dio here.