@ofgloriouslife - Tumblr Blog

In the Black

“I wondered what it was that pushed us farther into the depths. What put us in the black? Was it standing out from the lot? Or was it illuminating the way for them? Wherever virgin waters awaited, antsy merchants marked the paths ahead, set up tolls, and collected from wandering souls in search of the next big thing. There was a market for new light, and preachers, priests, and good ol’ plutocrats would always be there to capitalize.”

Josephine Gabriella Hassan

“There isn’t a name for what I do. Some have used ‘corporate sabotage,’ but it’s more complicated than that. I’m the sort companies call on when they have inferior products, baggage, or anything bad for business. Want a few drops of cyanide in a top competitor’s cola production? Done. Have a disgruntled ex-employee who’s threatening to blow the whistle? Consider them silenced. Can’t handle a bit of competitive advertising? I’ll burn the firm to the ground. It’s not a glamorous job, but it sure beats working for these bastards. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit they do to one another.”

Basket Accomplishments

“There is solace in the aisles of a superstore. This is the birthplace of basket accomplishments: those little, effortless victories consumers shove into shopping carts and cradle on the way home like a newborn babe. Patrons lay to rest fat and fulfilled, having added to their family of knickknacks and little, pointless nothings. It’s the song of the off-key. It’s the dance of the arrhythmic. And I will not have it any other way.”

Excerpt

"We passed quiet collections of high-stakes gaming tables -- some with dice, some with decks, all with at least one armed guard beside them. Every cold-faced player sat adorned in formal dress with a stick-up-the-ass posture to match. They were the sort to confuse top-dollar cologne with a fart from their immaculate, bleached assholes."

Before and during World War 2, the country embraced Emperor Hirohito as a god-king (much like North Korea and Kim Jong-un today). Every Japanese individual was considered nothing more than a mere subject, duty-bound to carry out the Emperor's will. Subsequently after Japan's surrender in 1945, the U.S. Army established a democratic system and even penned Japan's constitution (academically known as the "MacArthur Constitution"). During its creation, new terms had to be created that did not exist in the Japanese language at the time. One of these terms is "civil liberties." To this day, Japan uses the same constitution, which has not been ratified once since its initial implementation. Since then, the country has seen nearly incomparable growth in an economic sense as well as a cultural sense. The country has embraced women in the workplace so fervently that it suffers a population decline due to the amount of women who want careers more than relationships and families. If America "bombed Japan back to traditional values," they did a piss-poor job of it. I am not the least bit interested in Japanese culture, and even I know this. Facts > Your arrogant assumption that you, by default, know what you're talking about

Open response to "25 Invisible Benefits of Gaming While Male"

It's interesting to find a source of information where known faces and even prominent voices read off predetermined bullet points from a checklist that they played no part in creating.

It's depressing when said checklist was created by one of the most ignorant people in "gaming academia" today -- one who has decided long ago that their statements alone are gospel, needing not any resources or citations backing up their claims.

Academia has a word for such people: flunkies.

Nonetheless, one can still challenge even the most unfounded of claims, whether or not they're based solely on personal conviction and passion.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E47-FMmMLy0

1. Women can choose to "remain oblivious," as well. That's not a male-specific attribute. Also...prove said harassment please.

2. Ironically, several sources (publications) have openly proclaimed that gaming is "not a male space," so this statement essentially has no real merit whatsoever. Even so...prove it. Show evidence of a significant body claiming games "aren't for women."

3. Again, prove it. The burden is on you to show blatant evidence that women and only women must fear their personal information falling into the wrong hands. I'm fairly confident that men have/will have many of the same concerns. (Also, what's this have to do with gaming? This is an internet issue, in general).

4. No real argument here. However, this is a silly idea that is often dismissed in most gaming "circles." If you've ever been a member of an online clan or guild, you would know that gender hardly plays a part in who is allowed to join. Again, prove that this is overwhelming.

5. People have already accused the maker of this very video of this. Again, prove that there is an overwhelming number who believe women only game for attention.

6. This is bullshit. Women have been a part of online (and print) gaming journalism for decades. Nonetheless, this is not a "privilege." Just because Whitey McWhiterson has a platform, he does not speak on my behalf, nor does he by default share my opinions, interests, or beliefs. I know, it's crazy to think white males aren't likeminded, but it's the truth.

7. Prove that this is a problem for women in conventions. If you do not have overwhelming evidence that women are groped, harassed, or catcalled at places like E3 (seriously, who would go to E3 to do this?), then the problem is not overwhelming as it's propped up to be.

8. Wait...two points ago, you made the assumption that white males "represent" me in gaming media. Which is it? Do white bloggers speak for my gender/race or don't they?

9. Again...prove it. If I can find female gamers who've never had their gender thrown back at them, you should be able to, as well. My guess is you ignore those ones.

10. Actually, it will. The thing about a competitive environment is that mind games are often played in the attempt to assert oneself over contestants. Any personal quality or trait that a hot-headed player learns of you can and often will be used as a way to get under your skin, break your morale, etc. This is why "prove it" is important with these statements.

11. What about being male makes people unable to dismiss one's argument based solely on their "tone of voice"? This happens all the time, irregardless of gender. Prove that the tonal fallacy is used against women more than men.

12. If your personal taste in games carries the fear that you fit into some sort of stereotypical "non-gamer," many would argue that that's a personal issue of insecurity and in no way relevant to a greater issue. If it is, again, prove it. Nonetheless, if you're more worried about what others will think of you rather than your ability to enjoy the hobby on your own, I'd argue you're doing it wrong.

13. Here's a thought: Prove that Gamestop employees actually assume such a thing. It's tough, I know, but if you're going to negatively generalize an entire element of the gaming market, you better have some shit to back it up. Good luck.

14. How is this a problem? A privilege, sure, but this goes without saying. If a group of male friends and I decide to make a game, chances are it will be of our own interests. Larger studios wouldn't be an exception.

15. And? This statement is based solely off of the misinformation that female characters are not only rare in games (incorrect), they only adhere to a specific list of traits and attributes. All characters do -- some negative, some boringly predictable, some pretty cool.

16. No, you will not ALWAYS have the choice to play as a male. This is where doing your research is important (also not blatantly reciting a statement from someone who does not do their research).

17. Again, this is not a gaming problem. This is an internet problem. Assuming that the former can be addressed before the latter is just plain idiotic.

18. You PROBABLY never think about hiding your identity? What the Christly fuck kind of passive point is that?

19. RELATIVELY sure? This is the oddest method of allowing room for error that I've ever seen. Is this because nothing is being used to back up these claims? Damn...

20. No, other qualities will be used as an insult...because people know they very well might hurt your feelings. That's how insults work. Since it's common knowledge (thanks to you lot) that women are sensitive about...being women, it will be used in an assertive way to jinx their capabilities. This is nothing new.

21. No, people will only speculate on the size of your dick. I'm starting to wonder if these people have ever actually played an online game before. Keywork: online. And is there really an issue of men asking women their cup size? Again, prove it.

22. "Generally..." Come on...

23. "I can be pretty sure..." This is just getting lazy. Are we really excusing these occurrences happening to anyone other than women simply because they don't happen as much? I thought we were talking about privilege here.

24. Eh...wrong. I consider this video VERY self-serving on the part of the one who created it -- considering how this is the only career he's ever known or ever will know (he's certainly not going to be an artist of any kind). And no, none of you are "more credible" just for being men. The skeptical mind would beckon evidence from you in the same way that I have. And considering how there are plenty of skeptics out there...

25. Oh...ohohohaha...HAHAHAHAH!!!! Yeah, obviously.

This video fails miserably to provide any sort of intellectual insight into not only the game industry, but the gaming hobby as well. These are nothing more than commonly recycled statements that have yet seen any hard data backing them up...but they sure do have a lot of emotion attached to them. That can be the basis of their purpose: emotion.

But being upset about something does not make it true, nor does it make it a problem or "privilege." Just because I (or any male) is not upset about something does not make it a privilege. It just means we have thicker skin regarding the subject. Also, we wait for credible evidence.

The problem with "invisible benefits" is that it takes quite the imagination to picture them. I suppose that's another thing we can blame gaming for.

/End

FYI: Before you say "Why don'y YOU prove it," the onus is not on me. It's on the original claim.

...

Also, the maker of this video is a complete moron. There, I said it. I don't even have to look far to prove it! :D

FYI #2: This dumb video lightly acknowledged that men receive abuse online as well, but it's "not about their gender."

How does that make it any more acceptable? Honestly, how does a racial slur somehow pale in comparison to a gendered insult? Quantify that.

Because, as it stands, that's nothing more than personal bias. Just because someone retains a particular trait, that does not make their abuse any worse or more considerable.

You fail miserably at being the sort of caring individuals you hope to appear as.

The ocean was once a source of great romance. Its soft wake pulled poetry from the lips of young, idyllic dreamers. Vows of matrimony were cooed over the dishonest calm of its serene surface. Men lived and died amid misty seaside breezes, beguiled by its perfidious promises of pure, boundless freedom.

That was until we had nowhere else to go.

The Fengog Encounter

“An academic’s sole aspiration is to better understand the world and what governs it. One could not ask for a more brilliant moment of illumination than our brief encounter with Fengog. It’s what every scholar lives for.”

- from “The Culling of the God-Kings: A Memoir” by Halud of Rambaldu, the Disgrace of Deific Academia

For several miles, the thick forest went on with no sign of change or end. The trail had stopped, forcing the rebels to cut and slice their way into what they hoped was the right direction. Twice they realized that they walked in circles, and twice they grew more discouraged when forced to reorient themselves with nothing to guide them; the canopy above was dense enough to block out the sun.

“If this happens a third time, I’m going back,” the academic groaned.

“I don’t understand it,” Daghast murmured, “I marked our path, but I didn’t notice a single broken branch or carved stump.”

Pebble observed the area where they last embarked. Nothing showed any signs of disturbance, as if it grew back the moment it was reshaped. He was mocked in every direction by an eclectic assortment of pristine plum blossoms and wavering white pines, domineering dragon spruces and demanding dogwoods. “This isn’t right,” he whispered.

“Tell me something we don’t know,” Halud remarked.

Icaro stepped forward and sniffed the hidden path ahead. The infinite barrage of smells that once confused and discomforted him was gone, but a new concern presented itself: He couldn’t smell a thing. He turned to Halud and attempted to act out his newfound anxiety with an exaggerated snort and a shake of his head.

Fortunately, the academic understood clearly. “Nothing?”

“What’s the problem?” Bozui inquired.

“Do you smell that?”

The fool held his nose high and took a deep breath. Then another, and nothing came to him. “I don’t smell a thing.”

“Precisely.”

The brute took a step back from the brush and drew his blade, incurring the alarm of his comrades. They unsheathed theirs as well, not bothering to ask what possible danger loomed.

They stood still, silent, and at the ready. Their backs slowly closed into one another, giving them a complete view of their surroundings -- or at least whatever wasn’t obstructed by the trees. Minutes passed in complete silence, and a word hung at the edge of Daghast’s tongue.

A sudden breeze kept him quiet.

Where is that coming from? he thought.

The heavy foliage would have normally made it impossible for any wind to blow through, but the rules had been consistently broken since they set foot in the Holy Lands. When something was strange enough, they were guaranteed a purpose behind it.

“Those won’t protect you,” a wispy voice said from all around.

The group recoiled as one, holding their blades high and searching frantically.

“You shouldn’t be here!” Pebble shouted.

“And neither should you,” the voice returned.

“Show yourself!”

A soft, winded laugh blew a repeated gust through the spaces between each of them. “You cannot see me, simpleton. I speak without lips. I caress without fingers. I destroy without force. I am energy and I am atrophy.”

“And you are in our way.”

“I am your way! How dare you challenge me! You! I should pick you up with the force of a typhoon and toss you away like the insignificant spec that you are!”

Pebble scoffed defiantly.

Halud dropped his knife, recognizing its futility. “Creation demon,” he announced, “why do you threaten to destroy?”

“Do not pretend to know my position, animal.”

“I would never,” the academic said, stepping into the open with his arms out and his fingers spread. “I am in awe, and I desire only to learn.”

Leaves all around waved and wagged steadily with the pensive calming of the wind. The rest of them lowered their weapons, sensing the contemplation of the amorphous creature. For the first time in two months, they wanted Halud to keep talking.

“What troubles you?” he asked.

“You examine,” the demon said, “but I doubt you will understand.”

“Try me. You have nothing to lose.”

The wind picked up again. Plum blossoms blew away form their branches and drifted about the trees and through the bush. The ballet of flowers danced delicately around the group and met together to form a vague shape of human resemblance. It had no face, no feet, and no consistency -- petals cycled randomly through every body part, some sputtering away and dying still on the ground.

It floated forward, inches away from the academic’s face, and whispered with fragrant breath, “Because I have already lost everything.”

“Tell me.”

“I haven’t heard the voices of the gods for generations. They are my way. The wind without direction is like water on a dull, flat surface. Forever I have longed to blow through the hair of a beautiful woman, to breathe summer life into a small, humble home. I once made scenes of righteous grace, and now I roam blindly between the branches of a worthless woodland.” The demon’s fluid flowers congealed into bloody red blossoms and slowed their whimsical twirl into something rigid and stifled. It growled, “And now I see the very face that ruined me. I smell the rot that destroyed my sweet perfumes. Nothing would please me more than to choke you dry. Nothing!”

“Then why don’t you?” Halud challenged, incurring quiet protests from his comrades.

The demon hesitated. “I cannot. It would serve no purpose and provide no reward.”

“Would it still satisfy you greater than how things once were?”

“It would not.”

“Then help us, because we yearn for a common utopia. We are not those who once shut you out; we too were left in the open cold. Our stories are of neglect and subjection. The streets are our homes, and its cracks our windows into the dirt on which all tread. We are the abandoned children. Do not mistake us for the mothers and fathers who cast us -- and you -- aside.”

The collection of petals froze still, propped up by a thick wind that nearly knocked the academic off his feet. The struggle soon died, and each blossom feel to the ground into a pile of dead, grey vegetation.

“Prove me wrong,” the ominous voice echoed, “and I will forever guide your sails to sober shores.”

A gust pushed past them all and opened a path into the forest.

“The gods reside beyond,” it concluded. “Speak softly...they are too frail for words.”

The group quickly embraced the opportunity to leave for fear that it wouldn’t last. They sheathed their weapons, collected what few belongings they still kept, and marched together into the sunshine beyond.

Halud walked slowly behind them all, desiring more to stay and converse than to carry on into an unforeseeable result. Discourse with a divine being would bring an absolute knowledge that he had craved his entire young life, but, alas, his duty remained with his friends.

“I will find you again,” he uttered into the canopy, then turned and stepped through the windswept way.

The Ride Into Woedigon

“You’re a bastard,” the brute said plainly with his head tilted back. Bloody wads of torn linen were stuffed into his nose, which throbbed with every step and sway of his powerful steed.

“Yep,” Daghast uttered with a smile.

The rebels clopped quietly into the last Baldic city of their journey: Woedigon. To their surprise, it welcomed them with a quiet reception -- a mild street scene of a few residents and closed, empty shops. Modest stone structures stood hollow and alone, beckoning visitors of any kind. Even the teahouse remained as silent as a parlor during a funeral. Such a dismal display would have been expected south of the divide, but certainly not in a prominent town so near the capital.

“Well, this is chipper,” Odea murmured from between pressed lips.

The academic struck a flame against his saddle and stuck it up to a pipe he had sticking from his mouth. “Everyone’s gone east,” he said with a whistle through his teeth. After a few smoky puffs, he added, “Good for us. It’s quiet and we won’t have to worry about unwanted attention.”

As a means of agreement, the champion loudly hummed an ancient tune. It added a friendly vim to the atmosphere and drew the attention of a small few city folk.

Unbeknownst to the group, Cutty had pulled her flute from her bag and began playing the same tune. Its usual grace was replaced with the chipper charm of country chords -- happy and peppy as the ear would allow.

With a hefty belly laugh, Daghast glanced at Odea and nodded a mutual idea. They both sang loud and cordially:

Here we are, we come from afar,

Bearing gifts in mason jars,

We have the goods, no need to fret,

Sing the praise of great Fogtet,

But don’t you leave ‘til we’re all done,

Not until we see the sun,

We promise you a grand ol’ night of fun,

Cutty paused and shouted, “Sing me a melody!”

So here we are, here we are,

Let’s leave this day with a memorable scar,

And shout to the gods: Hoorah! Hoorah!

The fire in our throats with beckon the thaw

Just so you know, indeed it is so,

You gave us one last treat of a show,

We hope it doesn’t pain you to see us go,

Please just wait for the snow,

An audience gathered along the line of the center street, watching and listening with a mixture of curiosity and appreciation. Some even joined in mouthing the words to the godly harmony that would have otherwise urged silence and distance; to sing such songs was highly illegal.

But nobody seemed to mind, for it rekindled a humble mood that had not been felt for generations. The jolly jingle was sung silently indoors between family members -- mothers and daughters, grandfathers and grandsons. The opportunity brought all out onto the streets, and they shared in the joy of boisterous celebration...all of them.

After its final note, the concert echoed throughout the stone walls of the city, and a joyous applause thundered from road to street. The occasion was a shared blessing, and every individual on the street remembered precisely why they always whistled it with loved ones while hidden away from prying ears: it was a damn fine song, and it was well worth the risk.

Business owners beckoned the patronage of the rebels at discount prices. All in the group were short on ode -- having spent most of it wastefully in Gogtet -- and the offers were more than enticing.

“I don’t remember this place being so hospitable,” the champion said in a low tone. “Certainly not so affectionate.”

The brute wiped moisture from his eyes, unnoticed by anyone else in the group. “I do.”

The rebels reach the capital

“It’s beautiful,” Odea said as the group gazed at the distant jewel of Baldic civilization.

The sun was setting against Gogtet: the City of Creation. Its enormous stone structures shined a golden orange from behind a 30 foot wall of guard towers and strategic openings. Few old-world conventions existed behind its imposing barrier -- testament to the utilization of godly strength and wisdom.

“Beautiful, but dead and unpleasant,” Daghast corrected, reluctant to make any mention of the conspicuous city.

“What makes you say that?” Odea asked, utterly curious about a place she had only dreamed, read, and heard about.

“Experience. Bad experience.”

Halud pointed to the largest tower of all at the far east end. “Guess who that palace belongs to.”

A long, flat courtyard of stone preceded it, dotted with countless blossom trees and rows of fluorescent spirit lamps that glowed against the late-day light. Fifty wide steps climbed up to the base entrance of a red bottom level nearly 100 yards in width. Its grey hip-and-gable roof held up a second smaller level at nearly 80 yards, then a similar roof, higher and higher into five more stories.

It was the largest structure that all in the group had ever seen. The design appeared gaudy and monstrous, impractical and inconsiderable for any other purpose than to boast about one’s own unfounded glory.

“’The gods were given what we can create,’” Halud recited aloud.

Cutty scoffed. “Of course they were, because anyone with any sense would only accept such a thing as a gift.”

Odea dismissed her companions’ negative critique. She had spent her entire life moving from small cities to even smaller towns. The thought of visiting the capital was always out of the question, but always in her thoughts. Her good fortune of finding such a group and noble excuse to see the grand city of Gogtet made the occasion special to her, and the imperial palace fit her expectations perfectly.

“I think it looks fine,” she said. “In fact, I think it’s magnificent.”

The four others turned their heads slowly and skeptically, wondering what possible defense could be provided for such a self-righteous eyesore.

The beauty jeered at the leery expressions of her companions, waving her hand as if a ridiculous claim had just been made. “You all take those belittling scribes to heart,” she said. “It’s equally as dismissive.”

“How so?” Halud asked with an eyebrow raised. “Mind you, I consider myself one of them.”

“I am not a great warrior,” Odea explained. “I do not have many outstanding traits, and I fail to understand the world in such a direct manner. All I have are my wits and my history, which are ripe with...contrast.”

She shared a look with her sister, who shook her head defiantly in return.

Don’t, Cutty thought, hoping the inward statement would transmit from her face alone.

“My mind has never been concluded,” Odea continued, heeding her sister’s favor. “I...we never assumed to know exactly how to con a trader or cheat a traveler. That’s because people are constant surprises. All of your academic derision cannot claim every man turns left when some, with a confident smirk, will gladly turn right.”

She pointed to the palace, its looming stature hiding away the sun at the edge of the horizon. Spirit lights hummed up seven stories of astonishing aspiration -- an achievement owed solely to human achievement and nothing else.

“That is the moment we decide to change direction,” she said. “While you cynical bastards presume to know just how moot and insignificant we all are, you stand blind to the most amazing things in front of you...and to the better men who bled, sweat, and died to make them.”

“I...” The academic stumbled on his own words, a thing that had not happened since his first day at the college. He looked to his other companions for some form of reinforcement, but they all appeared as dumfounded as he was.

Could this silly, vagrant woman have shaken the very foundation of his collegial claims? Was there any merit to a gargantuan work of haughty celebration? No, it was not built as a tribute to the skills of all, but rather as a tribute to the existence of one...a dead one, at that.

“Piffle!” Halud yelled, ticking at his horse and trotting toward the vulgar city. “Of course the common folk want to feel like kings. Erecting a temple does not make you a god.”

“But pissing on one does make you a dog,” she retorted through her teeth.

Halud pretended not to hear the insult. Everyone else clearly did, and they made sure to let Odea know with whispers of hidden laughter.

They all followed the academic toward the gates of Gogtet. No matter their thoughts on its value, it grew over them with every step closer, barking down at their insignificance, beating its concrete chest at their assumptions that it cared at all about what they thought.

Thanks, Shadow of Mordor, for reminding me why I don't game so much anymore

Shadow of Mordor is precisely why I don't buy/play games as much anymore. Most of them are just boring and pointless now.

People don't seem to understand what's important to game design, which blows my fuckin' mind because it should be obvious.

For instance: What's the most important thing to the culinary arts? It's not presentation. It's not ideas. It's taste/flavor, and the skill required to effectively deliver specific types. Taste may be subjective, but the ability to understand what commonly works is not.

There's a right and wrong way to cook fish, so there's a right and wrong way to design combat.

Now, what's the most important thing to game design? It's not presentation. It's not ideas. And it's certainly not story or subject matter. It's the mechanics and how they give the player the means of interacting/manipulating the game's systems.

The wrong way to do this in a game about SWORD FIGHTING is to relegate the combat to ONE FUCKING BUTTON. Combat is about moves, and "moves" have already been perfected for decades in the form of alternative and simultaneous button combinations.

The flavor of a game seems to commonly be a second thought now, which makes me wonder why these people would bother making a game in the first place. And when flavor IS considered, the goal is often to provide something so bland, unchallenging, and inoffensive that there's almost nothing to taste.

Shadow of Mordor is "accessible." That's so neat. So is tic-tac-toe, but that doesn't make it a great game to play.

This is depressing. I love games, but they seem to be embracing ideas that undermine their idiosyncrasies. If you care more about the colors involved in your meal, paint a goddamn portrait. Don't wast our time with a bland, gagworthy dish.

“No, we are not insane, though we walk a path that few others would take. Yes, we will step into old blood and new, past human indecency to find ourselves on worse ground. The stars, lovely as they are, will guide us through the eight cold hells and, with any luck, back with our lives. The heartless desert sands will scorch our soles to the bone, and the great beasts that await us beyond will gnash their teeth at the scent of our seared flesh. It will seem like madness, but it will all be perfectly reasonable. It will be reasonable because only fools would settle with the current ways. Only madmen would not seek redemption. And only the insane would deny the order that once was, when we could roam free like children at play -- the gods watching over us, ready to comfort us when we fell.”

Kudelai and his accomplice approached leisurely with mixed expressions of frustration and arrogance. The demigod’s broken arm had healed within mere minutes, which he tauntingly swung back and forth beyond the length of his casual gate. His fingertips flicked flakes of jagged ice around the abandoned area, dotting the ground with small patches of frost.

“You challenge a god,” he rasped, his eyes glowing a fierce, focused blue.

Pebble chuckled discretely. Ironic, he thought, turning his head and addressing Cutty’s doubtful face with a look of encouragement. Without a single word spoken, he assured her that no fight was inevitably lost, no matter unfair odds or unjust debilitations. Failure favored no small size. Empires had fallen to armies of few, exposed and vulnerable from their foregone conclusions of simple victory. A common Baldic axiom came to mind: A steeled scorpion defeats a certain snake with but a single strike.

“We have this,” the brute said. “This is already ours.”

“What makes you so sure?” Cutty returned.

“They assume we can’t take it.”

The Sot's Prayer

Rejoice! Prepare your spirits for this freshly poured drink, for life is not as horrid as you seem to think. Put your lips to your glass and forget about your troubled past, or whatever misfortunes that happened last. These juices granted by the Greater Beings shall help you forget about negative things, misgivings, and everything unfortunate under the shimmering rings of the ever-present night sky. Dark, dank, grim, gritty, and plentiful with overpowering self-pity, your day has ended, your drink is blended, your mood shall be splendid, and your life will be suspended by this bottomless mug. Don’t look so glum! Once this drink is done, treat yourself to another one. Sing and hum your long tale of wrong to the bang and bong of fate’s war drum song. Your ballade shall be buried in the brew of your choice, drowned by the sound of your own, humble voice. As we all sing the songs of the book of our ages, we shall drink to those hard-earned pages, and pound our mugs onto the table, screaming, “Serve me another, never mind my wages!”

The Harvesting of the Gods

"This is not a boast, and if it reads as such, I implore you to close this and dismiss it. I do not write of me or any one man, but of you and every man. This is about what any could have done with the right capability, and would have done with the proper impetus.

We stood alone in the bitter cold while others basked in the warmth of a godly sun, and we could stand no more. But before we would fall, we summoned every ounce of strength to drag our bloodied knees across the height of Baldigog, Our hands slew demigods, the privileged few who perversely consumed the Great Ones. Our wits seduced the Greyskins -- noble savages and faithful fanatics. Our eyes beheld the majestic and colossal creation beasts, and our feet fled from their brethren of destruction. And our will, seemingly frail and fragile, carried us through the great halls of the gods to finally free them from their human bonds and restore order to the world of men.

Thank you, good readers, for the strength, senses, speed, wits, and will to succeed. The world owes you all great debt."

- from “The Culling of the God-Kings: A Memoir” by Halud of Rambaldu, the Disgrace of Deific Academia

This is what I don't get about the whole "yay Milo" thing

It's all about the inconsistencies:

(Mind you, this does not apply to everyone's line of reasoning. You do not need to respond if this does not apply to you. Yeah?)

- Common argument 1: "Anita is opportunistic. She's only doing it for the money."

K, but so is Milo. You'd have to be a fool not to see that, esp. considering his views toward games in the past (much like Anita's).

- Common argument 2: "Anita doesn't play games. That hinders the validity of her work."

I agree, but neither does Milo. And he's already had opinions (positive ones, oddly) about the "gaming community." This is no different.

- Common argument 3: "Anita is a feminist. Ew."

Really? And the fact that Milo has an obvious political leaning is OK? I agree, ew, but BOTH of them are ew, not just the one I predominantly disagree with.

Excuse 1: "Yeah, but he's helping #GamerGate."

So? Anita "helps" her side as well. This is a terrible reason. Someone who collects severed clits could help GG; it means nothing.

Excuse 2: "He's honest."

Hah...OK. No, he's not, but OK.

Excuse 3: "He's doing research/uncovering information."

So is Anita...kind of. Very poorly, but it is info no less.

And...I guess he is? I'd hardly call a lot of what he's provided "hard evidence." He finds a bit of peculiar/damning info on journalists (how hard is it NOT to find that these days?), and people have been treating it as resolute.

Also, the fact that he's blasting insignificant info and treating it like BIG NEWS is indicative of why he (even as a journalist, rather than a "culture critic") should be a gamer first. Knowing what you're reporting on does matter, folks.

Example: That "mailing list." It's a few douche reporters touching dicks and suggesting collaborative efforts (this is NOT new in journalism). They hardly make up the majority of game journalism, nor are they indicative of a larger problem.

Remember that I was in journalism for several years. I wrote for publications like GamePro, Bitmob, and Destructoid. Everyone has a mailing list, and yes, we collaborate from time to time. Believe it or not, journalists are people too, and they can be likeminded.

The "let's shut down dissent" part, on the other hand, is another story.

And Milo would know this if he knew even the basics of game journalism. But he doesn't...because he cares fuck all about gaming...which does matter.

To conclude: This is merely my way of pointing out that people are jumping at the occasion to champion Milo for the SAME EXACT REASONS people did Anita.

Do you dislike Anita? Do you think she's full of shit, opportunistic, etc.? Why?

Now ask those same questions of Milo.

P.S. I still think he's a bit of a cunt.

I'm no longer using #GamerGate

I said I'd clarify why I'm no longer using the #GamerGate tag (other than now), so here it is:

I've known Devi Ever for a while now -- more of an acquaintance than anything, seen but not really heard. At the time, I was also acquaintances with a particular group of people and would regularly associate with them via Skype, games, etc.

Devi made her way into the group, and so knowledge of her little exploits became a regular thing.

The group as a whole was a little rowdy, stirring up trouble with certain vocal people (of a liberal nature), a lot of shit talking...so I got bored of it quickly. Devi, though, not only joined in the festivities, she also had a penchant for doxxing people. And that's ANY people.

At this time, mind you, she was trying desperately to gain some attention as an indie developer. Self-promotion was a regular thing for her -- at times, ad nauseam.

Well, her rowdy attitude wasn't benefiting her, so, shortly after I disassociated with the group, she distanced herself and did a clean wipe of her Twitter account (by "wipe," I mean she remade it. Fresh start.).

This time, she put on the "I'm a reasonable person" face and attempted to promote herself via that image. It too didn't work, and she quickly resorted to her old ways of picking fights with those more successful than her, and even stooped to some pretty lewd shit; the last I remember of her (before I blocked her) was her posting images of her dick in order to show how she'd been castrated.

Indie development, yo.

Well, that didn't work for her (shocking), so she did yet ANOTHER wipe and started fresh with a new account. How do I know this? Because I blocked her, and, lo and behold, she's RTed by someone and shows up on my feed (with followers only in the double-digits).

Then #GamerGate starts, and this is probably where most of her "supporters" got wind of her. At first, as many know, she was vehemently against it, while simultaneously apologizing to nearly everyone the tag showed issues with (do keep this in mind).

Then, when literally none of them even blink an eye at her, she straight flips a 180 and decides GamerGate is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Resultantly, her follower count booms, and she solidifies herself as some diehard proponent for journalistic ethics.

Yeah...

Now, the problem with this is that she's doing the same exact shit she's done for the year+ that I've known her, puckers up to the biggest potential audience, then pitches herself for financial gain.

In yet ANOTHER explanation/apology (this time a live podcast), she explains how she was again "influenced" by others to act the way that she did, yadda yadda, same story...but wait! Do keep in mind that she has a Patreon account. She mentions this at the end of said podcast.

Yes, because that's all this is EVER about with her -- trying to make money.

Every turn she's taken in the past was done so specifically with the aspiration of gaining the financial support of others, constantly promoting herself and her donation accounts to anyone who would listen. And when it didn't work too well, she's hit the reset button and tried again.

This is a person whose history is beyond ripe with this nonsense, particularly the large one where she spent thousands of dollars in Kickstarter donations on surgery (yes, this is a thing, and she's hypocritically worked around it ever since).

This all said, she has capitalized on GamerGate in the worst way possible, manipulating people into believing she's some poor outcast from Zoe Quinn, Leigh Alexander, and their ilk, when SHE INSULTED AND HARASSED THEM FIRST. Just yesterday, she posted a hilarious photo of her crying because of it. How tragic.

While myself and others are using/expanding GamerGate to spread awareness of unprofessionalism, immaturity, and lack of ethics in game journalism, she's using it to grow her audience and potential cash well.

I am not going to perpetuate something that someone such as her is going to exploit for her own perverse gain. The more people I get interested in the information pipeline that is GamerGate, the more people she can potentially convince that her views are resolute, genuine...and, oh, by the way, did you know I have a Patreon?

I will still have many things to say about the game industry, but they will be among my own space, not one shared with the likes of her.

-R

P.S. Her response when I vaguely mentioned all this to someone who supported her: "Fuck off, Ryan."

Then claiming that it's "personal."

Nah...not really. I just don't like shysters.

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