My toxic trait is that no matter what I need three hours to myself at the end of the day to do absolutely nothing.

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@anotherbookwithtornpages
My toxic trait is that no matter what I need three hours to myself at the end of the day to do absolutely nothing.
Happy Pride π | The Golden Girls (1985-1992)
Queequeg got eaten by a crocodile. Sorry.
My mom likes to tell me about how when I was a little kid riding public transport with her I'd always smile and giggle and chat with weird old ladies who smelled like cat pee and homeless folks and strangers dressed in bizarre outfits but any time a tidy and respectable businessman in a suit and tie waved at me I'd immediately clam up, and she takes a great deal of pride in my supposed inherentability to clock personalities but the truth is I do vaguely remember those bus rides, and it was never about the clothes or the hair or the smell, but more because everyone "strange" asked interesting questions and listened to what I had to say and seemed to think about what I said while the neat and tidy and rigid folks only ever acted like they were going through the motions, which was boring as hell and also pretty annoying
Well-to-do finance manager with tidy shoes: "Why hello, sweetheart. Can you say 'hi'? Aren't you cute. Are you on a trip with your mom?"
4 year old me: why must we do this
Fantastic old woman in the leopard print coat: "Why yes, my tooth IS real silver! Nobody ever asks me that. Do you like cats?"
4 year old me, suddenly paying attention: Finally, A Person Of Intellect
Did you play AD&D? I can't remember how old you are, so hopefully that's not too offensive. If so, was a typical game really as hostile as people say it was?
That's one of those question where the answer hovers somewhere between "no, with a couple of massive caveats" and "yes, but not in the way most people think".
A lot of AD&D 1st Edition's GMing practices are pretty hardass by modern standards; however, they need to be understood in the context that the game's authors were writing for a target audience who mainly played the game in college wargaming clubs, where players would frequently transfer between groups and group sizes tended to be very large β six players per GM was considered a bare minimum, and up to a dozen player characters in a single party was by no means unheard of!
In particular, players would often bring their character sheets with them when hopping between groups, and it was considered a faux pas for a GM to reject an incoming player's existing character or request any substantive changes be made, so managing expectations could be quite challenging; even as late as 2nd Edition, the Dungeon Master's Guide contains extensive discussion of how to gracefully handle players bringing existing characters with them who aren't necessarily a good fit for the present game's tone or resource economy.
The upshot is that the culture of play these iterations of Dungeons & Dragons are targeting inherently obliges the GM to take a much firmer hand to keep things on track than a pickup game that draws players exclusively from within the GM's established friend group might β and to be sure, some GMs abused these expectations to act like petty tyrants, but some contemporary GMs do that, too.
A big part of the modern perception that 1E and 2E were extraordinarily player hostile, meanwhile, has nothing to do with the previously discussed GMing practices; rather, it emerges from the transition away from that culture of play in a slightly unexpected way.
In brief, back when D&D was mainly played by wargaming clubs, it was fashionable to run pre-written adventure modules competitively at conventions; the competition wasn't between players, but between parties, with multiple groups running the same adventure in parallel to contend for prizes. Tournament play sometimes chose its winners based on the fastest real-time completion of the module in question, or set specific objectives within the module which would award points when completed, a bit like speed-running or achievement-hunting in a video game (though neither practice existed yet at the time).
It was the survival module, however, that quickly emerged as the most popular tournament format. In a survival tournament, each player would provide or was furnished with a binder containing a fixed number of pre-generated character sheets, switching to the next character sheet in the set as each preceding character died; the winning group was the one whose last surviving character's corpse hit the dirt furthest from the dungeon entrance.
Many of 1E's most popular adventure modules, including the infamous Tomb of Horrors, were originally written as survival modules to be run at tournaments in conventions. As such, they were designed to kill off player characters both quickly and efficiently, so as to reduce the likelihood that the tournament would run overtime and get kicked out of the convention venue. When they were later cleanup and repackaged as commercial adventure modules, their text rarely bothered to explain any of this β who doesn't recognise a survival module when they see one?
The answer to that question, of course, is kids who didn't come up through the mentorship system of the college wargaming clubs, but taught themselves how to play D&D from first principles using books they bought at their local hobby stores β and when D&D's popularity unexpectedly exploded in the early 1980s, there were suddenly rather a lot of them!
These kids purchased the repackaged survival modules along with all their other D&D books; having no frame of reference, they assumed that these represented what a "standard" D&D adventure was supposed to look like β and since they weren't experienced players with whole binders full of pre-generated backup characters at their fingertips, the result was a lot of seemingly unfair total party kills, and a lot of kids concluding that the previous generation's GMs must have been objectively insane.
There is an additional amusing point of order here, which is the answer to the following two questions. I once had a discussion with someone in Gary Gygax's gaming group, who was involved in early TSR work a bit. Allow me to paraphrase my questions and his answers.
Why publish survival modules as your primary format of published adventure?
"Because that's what we had -- they were already laid out for publication. Why not publish them and make some money off it?"
Did it ever occur to you at the time that publishing adventures like these would shape the larger D&D culture's expectations of what play was supposed to look like?
"No, why would it?"
One of my favorite anecdotes about early D&D, from Blog of Holding:
"Itβs hard to get that context just from reading the original Dungeons and Dragons books. If nine groups learned D&D from the books, theyβd end up playing nine different games.
"Mornard told us about an early D&D tournament game β possibly in the first Gen Con in Parkside in 1978? Gary Gygax was DMing nine tournament teams successively through the same module, and whoever got the furthest in the dungeon would win. Youβd expect this to take all day, and so Mike was surprised to see Gary, looking shaken, wandering through the hallways at about 2 PM. Mike bought Gary a beer and asked him what had happened β wasnβt he supposed to be DMing right now?
βItβs over!β replied a stunned Gary Gygax.
"Gary described how the first group had fared. Walking down the first staircase into the dungeon, the first rank of fighters suddenly disappeared through a black wall. There was a quiet whoosh, and a quiet thud. The players conferred, and then they sent the second rank forward, who disappeared too. The rest of the players followed.
"The same thing happened to the next tournament team, and the next. Players filed into the unknown, one after another. And they were all killed. The wall was an illusion, and behind it was a pit. Eight out of the nine groups had thrown themselves like lemmings over a cliff; only one group had thought to tap around with a ten foot pole. That group passed the first obstacle, so they won the tournament.
"Gary and his players couldnβt believe that the tournament players had been so incautious. But, to be fair, none of those tournament groups had played in Gary Gygaxβs game. They had learned the rules of D&D, but they had no experience of the milieu in which the book was written. Of those nine groups that had learned D&D from a book, only one played sufficiently like Garyβs group to survive thirty seconds in his dungeon."
#ngl survival module sounds fun as fuck. maybe i gotta torture my current group a bit (via @nadaismus)
It's worth bearing in mind that tournament-style survival mode developed in the context of a version of D&D where you can create a new character and hit the ground knowing everything you need to know to effectively play them in just a couple of minutes. 5E isn't structurally terribly well-suited for the binder-full-of-backup-PCs approach, and it's definitely a recipe for disaster in 3E or Pathfinder unless your entire group consists of a very particular flavour of high-effort masochists.
9th doctor era was simply The Best One im sorry. shaved head leather jacket doc martins telling people to kill themselves. sweetie pea retail worker universal union organizer who became god for him. their stray cat horny little boytoy bottom who becomes an unkillable eldritch horror because of their love. did i mention the first guys a dilf and the other two have daddy issues.
happy pride month everyone!!
Rocky: Grace say Hail Mary archives have all Human media yet Rocky still cannot find classic film GoncharovΒ for movie night statment.
Grace: ....What?
Rocky: Grace not know own earth greatest mafia movie ever made question?
Grace: .......
Grace: What?
beam me up scotty (beam me up inside) canβt beam up (beam me up inside)
method actor this method actor that. toshiro mifune played a guy getting shot at by arrows by getting shot at by arrows
and yeah i believe it. ^ this is the face of a guy getting shot at by arrows
i can't cope
Post TLG Shane and Ilya have to stay with Yuna and David for a few days because the repairs to the cottage werenβt finished by the time the season ended. The first night, Shane tries to initiate sex but Ilya shuts him down. Shane is worried that something is wrong but Ilya is like βYouβre too loud, theyβll hearβ and Shane spends the next 10 minutes trying to convince Ilya heβll be quiet (βIβll be quiet. Iβll suck on your fingers to keep quiet, Ilya.β). Meanwhile, down the hall, Yuna and David are having the exact same argument (βNo, David. Youβve been so loud since Shane moved out. The boys will hear.β ββ¦I canβt make noise if you sit on my face.β)
"Do you think you weren't loved enough?"
"Somewhere between 'not enough' and 'not at all'. I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it - to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once. But they never gave that to me. Never, not once.
Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami (via tempsduverite)
I need you guys to walk with me and understand that Ilya and Shane's first fuck as a married couple takes place on the edge of Ilya's bed ("Our bed, Hollander, our marital bed--" "Jesus fucking Christ Ilya--") while Usher Yeah! plays at bone-melting volume from the backyard and guys from three different hockey teams yell the lyrics even louder. Shane realizes that Ilya is inadvertently thrusting to the beat and for one very brilliant second it is the hottest thing ever. The mood is genuinely almost ruined when the song switches to Sweet Caroline. Harris should never be allowed to DJ again.
"SWEET CAROLINE. BUM BUM BUM." - Eleven highly inebriated hockey players and David Hollander, who's having great memories of his own wedding where they played the same song.
"Good times never seemed so good..." - Ilya Rozanov, whisper-singing to himself and completely unaware of it as he rails his husband into next Tuesday.
"Why is this hot. Oh my god why is this hot." - Shane Hollander, who at the age of thirty is still discovering things about himself.
Scully's birthday The X-Files (1993-2018) | 4.17: "Tempus Fugit"
Finally. Gay weather.
Wettervorhersage: Es wird schwul
I used to do cross country in high school, and there was this guy on the team that was wonderful. Great guy. But his advice to everyone that asked how to get good was to run 20k a day.
If you don't run, I'll just tell you, most people's bodies cannot take that kind of abuse. No matter how much you train, you will not be able to run 20k a day. It's like how you can't train to make your cuts heal faster. You recover as fast as you recover. So while a big part of what made this guy so succesful was the dedication and mental toughness needed to actually run 20k a day, an equally big part was that he healed like fucking Wolverine. And that's fine, but it would've been nice if he knew that and stopped telling new guys to commit suicide by jogging.
Different guy on the team ran like, 5-6k a day, which actually isn't all that much. His problem when he gave advice was that he didn't really get that 5-6k a day doesn't generally produce elite results for most people. He was lucky in the sense that he didn't have to work all that hard to get great results, and unlucky in the sense that if he pushed himself much further than that, he fell apart.
I think about those two whenever I get advice from succesful people. The very things that make them outliers also make their advice useless to most people. Worse, they're often outliers on totally separate ends of the same spectrum, so their advice will be contradictory.
@creamsoda-slut no, this was a thing on our team too. The 20k guy had a cast iron stomach and he loved hotdogs. I eat hotdogs as a like, a nostalgia thing, but he just truly genuinely loved them. So some runs, he'd duck into a gas station and buy some. Pair it with the fact that this guy also had a major league pot belly, and it was a sort of accidental psychological warfare tactic. I'd be running along, panting, sweating, dying of heastroke by the AZ canals, and then Mr. 20k would blitz past, potbelly jutting 3 inches past his nose, a greasy gas station hotdog in both hands, and then he'd yell HEY BABS YER DOINGF FERFIFIC and I'd realize in the kind of sluggish way you realize everything when it's over 100 degrees that he had a third hotdog in his mouth and wasn't even out of breath. And then he'd slap my ass and chortle through his hotdog in this sort of huffy HEUHEUHEUHEUHEU and just rocket over the horizon. It was incredible. Like running with Dionysus.
Another time, we had a girl who wore a tankini on a run to the pool. Some of the other girls were Scandalized, so the coach made a thing about it and she was super embarrassed to be called out and then for the next pool run he showed up in a yellow speedo, gave himself a wedgie up to his nips and just slow jogged in front of the complainers the whole way to the pool. There was nothing they could do. If they tried to go fast, he could just pick up speed indefinitely, he was impossibly fast, and if they went slow, he, he had no issue just taking a mozy with his buns out.
Nobody complained about the tankini after that.
At another race, him and a few other varsity were having a contest to see who could pee up a tree the highest. He won when he ran up to the tree, still pissing, and did a sort of half-backflip that resulted in him falling straight on his head while also whipping piss like 12 feet up the tree. Everyone cheered him on so fucking hard, and he was ecstatic, I distinctly remember doing one of thus chest bump things with him and getting pushed back like 8 feet, but immediately afterwards he had his race and he kept getting lost because it turned out that the whole landing directly on his head thing gave him a concussion. And despite going on like, 3 wrong turns, he still won that race.
I was never friends with him personally, I just kind of watched him in awe from a distance. An incredible human being. One of my favorite people of all time. Only flaw that he had is that he casually would tell new guys to join him for workouts, and then the rest of us poor saps who had actually tried it once would go over and have to tell the new guy to Actually Please Don't Do That.
Dude, that was fucking Wario. You met Wario.
I'm not much of an artist, but this was my best attempt.
This sick bleach shirt I made. Something to showcase my undying love for prehistoric cave art.
Some of the bleach burned thru the shirt bc this was my first time bleaching anything ever, but it kinda adds to it.