Ah the noble geek. Copper-clad and wielding a sense of reality where every action can be explained by either a dice roll or lag. Once a year the force wills such creatures to commune, to unite, to share thousands of dollars of illegal content per second while mixing in the odd insult about each other’s mothers/sexual orientation…………and this force can only be called “rAge”.

Of course I myself, being a geek of the oddest calibre, am not outside of this pack….and thus every year I find myself drawn to the event much like a moth to a giant moth orgy of moth sex (admitting though that at rage there are no women whose names do not end in avi or jpg). However this year’s tale begins a little differently…..it begins…..THE NIGHT BEFORE.

The night before rage was spent having a frienddate with my (ex)-girlfriend (she seems to get a tad upset when I capitalize the EX bit so now I’ll now make up for it by even bracketing that ex) that involved the usual string of me confessing to her 15 times in one evening, being rejected 15 times in one evening, hiding behind the couch crying and amazing her with my ability to suck at even the most common of tasks.

By the end of the evening (when my suck meter had maxed) I did however receive MINIMAL FEMALE CONTACT! This……was just a hug….and probably one out of pity/duty but my sexual harassing nature caused it to last for an entire 10 minutes……10 GLORIOUS MINUTES OF….well yes yes you all get the picture.

Now we’ll actually get to the “How is this relevant to Rage?” bit: It isn’t.

Not technically at least but I will admit that the lingering smell of MINIMAL FEMALE CONTACT that I admirably refused to wash from my body did give me some pretty spiteful looks from my comrades the next day……which might explain why fate caused a rather large degree of disasters to befall me.

*murky flashback effect possibly done with baking soda and prescription anti-depressants*

As usual carrying my equipment proved to be the first hurdle. I’m always told of these elusive “Trolley boys” who will aid one in their carrying endeavours for just a six pence and loaf of bread (forgive the lame attempt to sound like an early era British chimney sweep) but as usual they weren’t exactly making their presence known. While investigating their den I DID find a broken metal trolley that a security guard insisted I use when I tried showing him cleavage (I believe his words were muffled by the vomit sounds protruding from his mouth but I got the gist of things)…..and although this worked out fairly well (aside from it levitating halfway in the air every few meters and losing more parts in the process) during the last 1 meter of travel our mysterious helpers actually appeared…..prompting me to give them financial compensation out of undue guilt.

The second hurdle occurred when my the top skin of my toes decided they didn’t really like my sandals anymore and promptly cut themselves. On the positive end I earned back everyone’s respect when I made some toilet paper plasters for them.

Sticking with our bathroom theme we have our third hurdle. Before rage I sat here and in one of the brief moments that I wasn’t masturbating thinking about the previous evening (she actually reads this stuff so……….I suppose shouldn’t be surprised by my failures when I say things like this) I thought to myself “You know……I think I might be constipated at some point in the near future and all that pushing certainly can’t be good for my piles” which then led me to take something clearly mislabelled as a “stool softener”.

Long story short I spent most of rage in the bathroom……..whiiiiiich probably wouldn’t have been so bad if all the toilets didn’t flood leading to re-enactment of Noah’s ark except with somewhat more poo than animals.

Then there was an overly enthusiastic lad who recognised me while I had clearly forgotten his identity….however I used my niceguy-fu to dish out the usual “It’s been a long time! How’ve you been?” rubbish until 7 hours later (OF HIM TALKING) I had some vague understanding of how we were supposed to know each other.

The last of all my challenges was that D-chan and Derick (who attends/hosts most of the lans and that gloriously painful paintball session I had) had decided that this venue would be perfect for them to engage in what could only be termed intergalactic gastric warfare. This meant that even my brief moments outside of the loo still contained the foulest smells you’d find within.

P.S.

Since it lost the poll but still had quite a bit of support I decided to start posting up anime write-ups (not really reviews or summaries – think of them as “thoughts”) in the anime section (under misc for the less “explorative” of you) of the site. This should flesh out the site a little more over time and give you all another thing to pretend you care about. (Also note that updates to that section are random and won’t be announced)

P.P.S.

I actually did that pose at least 20 times before drawing it properly. The worst part is I enjoyed it.