Citadel -- Main Page

In addition to getting everything ready for the move to our current location here at PlanetFortress, I landed the mother of all interviews. That's right, I got a one-on-one, in-depth interview with THE man, Robin Walker of TFS. Not a joke! This one's for real.

Yeah I know -- but I swear by the rage of the Reichenbach Fall that this is the closest to n*ws I'll ever get. I might have crossed the line, but that's no concern of yours.

But along with this reason to celebrate like rabbits (you know what I mean), there is also reason to mourn. Believe me when I say I feel grief from the bottom of my heart at having to leave you, my beloved readers, stuck in front of your monitors, fingers glued to the keyboard, while I pry my chair-flattened rear end into the family van, thick volume of Doyle in hand, for a trip to sunny ...

Wisconsin. There. I said it. Apparently it's against my family's rules to leave the Midwest for vacation.

But seriously, I love it up there. I have no idea when I'm getting back. More than a week, that I'm sure of. But when I do return, stay away, because I'll probably scan my diary and post it.

I just don't understand it. I'm gone for almost two entire days, and I finally convince my parents to let me on the computer. I boot up ICQ, expecting a resounding chorus of "uh-ohs" (too lazy to change that idiotic sound), and what do I get? Two messages. TWO. (But one was a reply from KINLORD!) I was under the impression that, uh, people talked to me on ICQ. This is obviously not the case. 10 emails but none of them of any interest. Message board died too. Oh well, such is the life of a sporadic updater.

Or maybe some drastic international event took place while I was holed up in my school desk constantly over the entire weekend? Looks like I'll find out tomorrow morning when I have my daily dose of butterbrained flotsam shoved down my throat on the morning news. That is, if there is any (here's hoping the nuke / asteroid / earthquake / invasion took out their broadcasting tower).

My weekend (if you care) was not especially exciting. I did schoolwork about 12 hours on Saturday and all day today. Lots done though, which means I should be finishing up early this week. And that means I'll burn myself out even quicker than usual.

But my crowning glory of the weekend was speaking on the phone with a long-time friend in a thick Scottish accent, and actually convinced them that I was a foreign exchange student from Glasgow. I kept this up for about fifteen minutes, making up the cover story as I went along. If anybody asks, William is a 19-year old squash player that's staying with my friend Mark until this winter, and thinks the Scottish word for "phone" is obscene here in America, but isn't totally sure. I'm proud to say that my Scottish accent has now been perfected, and it's to the point where it's easier to speak in the harsh Caledonian brogue than it is in my native midwestern dialect.

I had a very nice update ready and waiting but it was one of the themed variety and therefore I couldn't have grabbed your interest so effectively as I am doing now. It would've been off topic! So, reload the page 5-6 times per day until you see the next interesting update. By me. Or rather, someone other than Fluffy ...

Because of this, tonight's update is nothing more than a placeholder and I will try to get back on track as soon as possible. Thanks for your patients (they're working quite nicely as guinea pigs for my new experimental drugs) and please accept my most heartfelt apologies over the lack of updates over the weekend. I certainly know how much you treasure spurning my work and not visiting the site after I fill it with pages upon pages of pure literary magnificence.

Oh, and, thanks for pushing us up over 20,000. Couldn't have done it without you.

[Fluffy] Sheesh! Sorry I've been gone so long - I've been quite the busy Fluff ere these past few days, workin' my paws to the bone for The Man. "A job?" I hear you say, "Why Fluff, you're just a simple woodland creature, with no need for the claptrap and geegaws of the materialist workaday world! Go back to the woods where you belong, and enjoy natures bounty to the fullest! Shoo! Shoo!" Yes, well, all this may be true, but lemme tell ya one thing, pal: these P2s ain't exactly made from pine bark & rocks, y'know. And those Gateway people can get really touchy when you ask 'em to swap ya for a really nice twig collection & some feathers. Truly, there's nothing I'd love more than to scamper back to the redwood forests of Northern CA and crawl into a nice cozy burrow, but I gotta find some way to pay for this monster. So here I am, slaving away, working about 12 hours a day, and getting no freakin' overtime, cuz the labor laws apparently don't apply to Fluffae. You tell me what YOU would do in this situation:

Sad to say that this is more or less a true story (or as close as you'll ever get outta me, pal) except that I did not actually call him 'Satan in a cheap suit' - I called him 'Sir' and took the damn job.

So right now you're thinking: "Hmmm, Fluffy's storys sure are fascinating. But I feel I could benefit somehow from his hilarious tales of employment hijinks. Surely there must be some way so that I, Rudy, can glean some wisdom from Fluffy and afford myself some small amount of relief from my beknighted, lackluster existance." Well, Rudy, since you put it so nicely, I present forthwith and without delay:

What with Fluffy and his deadline, and me and my laziness, nothing gets done any more. The hired help just can't cope with everything, so certain things aren't happening.

Tonight on the local news, after running the clip on the new Disney Cruise Boat's maiden voyage, the anchors provided their usual conventional one-liners. Something along these lines (insert applicable words for your city or the topic being covered):

Now, I'm just thinking that in order to make the upcoming plethora of information concerning the TF world easier for everyone to bear, it might be a good idea to package this information in a manner similar to the scenario above. Perhaps a committee of powerful n*ws conglomerates could conglomerate in order to deliberate upon and ratify some sort of default "Mad Lib" so that the burden which is almost certain to triple or quadruple on our beloved spooners can be reduced. A fringe benefit to this is to dumb down the reading public even further so that Citadel readership drops to an all-time low. Just in case my thought-butcher falls asleep on the job.

Obviously just a preliminary rough draft, but I think this idea has potential. Or not. You see, the original inspiration for this story was because the real news anchor on my local station botched things quite nicely, to the great joy of most of the viewers I am sure. This could've been prevented if the guy had merely stuck to the TelePrompTer and read his lines like a good little robot. Instead of making a quick blurb on the subject (something which requires totally abandoning any form of wit in order to pander to the 3-toothed mechanic-type catching the tail end of the news and saying out loud "Oooh look, it's Mickey!"), he tries trying one of those "what-will-they-think-of-next" comments. Not quite bad in itself, but because of this particular anchor's painfully obvious shortage of information pertaining to major national events in the past thirty years, it backfires.

The part in small print was somewhat obscured by the other news anchor shaking her head in disgust and moving on to the next story. Hell, my face turned red after watching that! Good grief. Being over 50 doesn't mean you can't keep up to date on that Disney stuff, just because all those ads tell us that it's OK to go to Disneyland or World just to get away from the hubbub even if you're older than the park itself.

Shame on you, newsie! Glad that the news is live, otherwise I'd never catch one of these royal bungle jobs. Just think how utterly boring the evening news would be if it was edited!

For those of you still interested in Action Quake², go to their homepage and read up on what Cail says the team is planning on doing to tweak gameplay and visuals. This sounds really cool and should boost my interest even further in this truly excellent mod. Things are shaping up nicely and the mod is far from stale if things continue as they have been. Personally I can't wait for the "Assasination" mode. Truly a blast.

Incidentally, Braveheart now has an Action Quake server up, check it out at 128.197.61.112:27900

The latest installment to "The Installation" (that's my TF Patrol series) is ... coming along. Maybe if some of you with unfinished series' can write another chapter, I could draw some inspiration from your dedication and selfless slavery for a cause? By the way, if you haven't read the series by Opiate, do so now. It won an ETF contest a long time ago as the best story submitted. You need to go check it out if you haven't gotten around to it already. (Opiate was a former Brimstone Keep and PlanetQuake updater. But don't let that stop you.)

That looks like all for now. Like I said, things are nuts around here lately so expect some strange stuff in the next few days.

It goes by many a name, is manufactured by countless corporations, and then distributed to what I assume to be the world's civilized countries. They are contained in hundreds of different types of bottles, with various styles of nozzles and triggers. Top of the line models, and then the cheap, 10-second duration setups that are a dime a dozen. While their manifold purposes are conveniently categorized by the manufacturer under the label "dusting your home, auto, and office", it is quite clear to this long-winded bean farmer that the uses of this tool expand far beyond the scope of human understanding.

Don't play stupid. You know exactly what I'm talking about. The aerosol can of compressed air you buy for $2.99 with the long tube so you can squirt air around instead of actually getting a wet rag and dusting the object of your choice that is covered in what once were airborne particles, usually along the lines of upholstery fibers, mite turds and very small rocks.

Like I was saying, the potential manifested in that 10-oz can of aerosol-propelled gas is akin to, say, the unharnessed properties of the massive amounts of unwanted postal refuse ("junk mail") in transit in tens of thousands of post offices worldwide as you read this. Can you IMAGINE the fossil fuels we could save just by lighting this stuff up once a week? It's simply mind-boggling. It's just one of those things where everyone has their own idea about what this gadget is useful for, and what its implications are.

Tim Jentz of Omaha likes to use it to tickle his dog. "It just drives him crazy. He does the funniest things when I hit him in the face with a blast of air. His expressions are priceless." It is no secret that it is invaluable as a torment for those members of the animal world that we hold in a special place in our hearts.

Larry Mullen, Jr. of Belfast, Ireland finds that the current of air produced creates a very unique sound on a snare drum. "I use different brands and lines in order to create different sounds, in addition to containers at various levels of air pressure. The fans love it. Much better than that bloody brush bit." Undoubtedly tools such as this one are giving world-famous drummers a boost in their creative faculties.

Another example is Henry Bentennery, PhD., of Boston University, got written up in several prestigious international literary journals for his Nobel-prize-winning exegesis on A Study on the Application and Metaphysical Instances Involving Recurring Apparitions of Aerosol Spray Cans in Near Death Experiences and Other events of the Paranormal: Why Do They [S]pray? Among other things, Professor Bentenerry points out that of all varieties of spray cans in existence, the overwhelming majority present in daydreams, nightmares, fantasies, etc. are aerosol-propelled air dusters. This was quite a shock to me, as I assumed that since the only people who ever were included in polls were white trash, as a result they were the type that would graffiti in large block letters on an overpass the declaration of love for another. This naturally suggests spray paint cans. My guess was proven wrong, however, by the obvious proof presented therein. Though the good Professor draws no definite conclusions from the data, it is certainly something that we all should ponder.

But, its most valuable use of all is, when applied to the inner ear of a certain webpage owner by his sibling, it allows him to awaken the little man inside his head that is the "auditor" of all the organized, profound, and creative thoughts from the pudgy mass of gray cells belonging to him. This auditor (much like the ones that are employed by the IRS) sees fit to take a cleaver to these model and upstanding thoughts in order to ensure that nothing resembling anything close to a coherent and easily assimilated sentence may ever pass from the mouth or fingers of the being in question.

Why would this be a good thing? Well, you see, if all of the thoughts which grew out of the monumental genius of this certain web author were able to be expressed in the eloquence and didactic magnificence which is certainly an integral part of any Great Mind, then the masses would fall at his feet and kowtow to his beck and call.* Whatever ideas made it in their entirety to the huddled masses would be seen as a five-sentence paragraph not only summarizing the greatest thousand-page philosophies of all time, but tying them together and lending the whole production a very professional image. That sort of thing helps with sales, believe it or not.

Actually, I lied, as you have probably noticed by now. Of course, its most important use of all is enabling me to palm off one behemoth of an update on absolutely nothing whatsoever, in order to stall for time.

The questions I have for no one in particular are, when will I ever get my inspiration back? And to what depths will I stoop?

At this point, frustration buds not from a lack of ideas, but rather from an, shall we say, "inversion" of those thought processes, or lack thereof, dedicated to what I should be doing and what I want to be doing, respectively. In layman's terms, I forget the riotously funny idea that was festering in my skull all afternoon at work, and mysteriously vanishes when I approach within fifteen feet of a computer keyboard. Strangely, the ivory variety also seems to trigger this involuntary wiping of creative memory. Seeing as I don't spend much time on the computer lately, I ought to carry a pad of paper with me so I can jot down whatever pops into my head.

Why do I tell you this? Just to let you know that the prayers and sacrifices are working. I appreciate them all, and I'm sure the muse does too. Nothing like the smell of burning flesh to soften the heart of a god ...

* For just an inkling of such an idea (the little man is
working overtime today), see third paragraph

Right now I want to rip out about fifty different cusswords, directed at my worthless, running-on-two-386s-and-a-56K-modem ISP. This comes nowhere close to revealing how angry I am right now. You know it's bad when you're giving the monitor the finger every few seconds.

Since the antidote was released into the atmosphere yesterday, I have not been feeling much better. Actually, I've been feeling worse, but at least my mind is free of cobwebs ... I can hear the hammers pounding out sheets of steel quite clearly. My eyeballs are no longer glued to one position within their sockets, and my skin has stopped sloughing off, so I suppose that can be regarded as improvement, even though the miniature cockroach farm I had been tending underneath my chair has died from lack of nourishment. Godfrey has been doing a typically English job of cleaning up the mess, now that he's back, and Janice is helping us catch up on all the messages left (I think the landlord in the next county dropped in a few times to see how we were holding out, but not much else) while we weren't taking callers. I expect the n fallout to cease within the next few days, hopefully we can get that unsightly little letter off the premises as soon as possible. It has come to the point where I get severe chest pain every time my gaze passes over a small, grey 'n'.

But thankfully, the ordeal is over and everything will be back to what it once was (whoa, that was close, I almost said "normal").

As I type this update by the sole illumination of the magic desklamp (it spontaneously decides whether it will allow itself to be switched on or off), and Tom Snyder interviewing some yahoo on the television behind me, I am thinking of what my goals are before vamoosing off to an institution of higher learning in order to sink myself into lifelong debt, and secure what many estimate to be a pointless and impractical education. What do I want to do until then?

First of all, finish my TF Patrol series. Even though this section of the Citadel has all but perished in the furious allure of the Herald, I wouldn't feel complete if I didn't finally elaborate what I have been holding in my bloated cranium for months on end. It's kind of interesting how these things work; the Library was created at the peak of interest in TF Fiction, and was one of the main reasons behind changing this site from "Moriarty's Engineer Haven" to what it is now. It has remained relatively unchanged since then. Several bombed campaigns later, as well as another staff member or two, we come to The Present. I think it would be appropriate to finish this series before I leave; lend my departure a sense of ... completion of the cycle. Return to the past, remembrance. In a way.

Second, I need to pick someone to fill my shoes. Fluffy might not be able to continue updating, and most certainly not totally on his own, at least if the current rate of updates is to be maintained (which I would like). I have considered retiring the site, but in my opinion there are some tiptop people out there that would be perfect for this job, and it would be a waste not to let them have a try at brewing their own little cappucino in the cafe we know as the TF World. I would be proud to leave this site in their hands (you know who you are), and if things work out, this goal need not have any additional effort expended on my part towards its fulfillment.

Third, I would like to finish the Canalzone project. I realize it's probably too little too late, but there was a great deal of work on the part of several members (Mythias, most notably) put into this and it would be a shame not to release it to the general public. I will do as much as possible within the next few weeks to complete this project.

That, I believe, is the remaining set of ideas to be implemented before I skedaddle my butt outta here.

Well, it's now Sunday afternoon, and the computer has been off for what seems like days. I've just returned from church, at 3 p.m. -- we went out to eat, tried to grab a quick bite at Denny's, but waited an hour for the food (time went quickly with conversation) and never got it. Drove around to various restaurants, the lines were monstrous, and finally went for barbecue. By that time it was lunch anyway. So, my day is shot, maybe I'll be around a little. But with work and all, I have not been around much lately. My apologies for that.

However, at this point in time, I am feeling utterly uninspired. Fluffy and I had big plans for the 'n' controversy and Deadpool had to go burst our bubble, but what do you expect from those selfish Canadians, eh? Always thinking of how they fit into everything. (I was going to go on a big spiel about this, but again, no inspiration). My muse has forsaken me, hopefully just for the time being. Maybe some other budding web author (Billings?) has caught the eye of one of Zeus' daughters, and being naturally fickle (they are women, anyway) they turned their back on me to grace another with their creative powers.

Come to think of it, who would be my muse? The obvious would be the muse of comedy, but I think that's stretching things a bit. Tragedy? In a way, I'm sure I create pathos in lot of people with my incessant whining. The others don't really apply, except for maybe the muse of the Clinically Insane. But I think the one that best fits is the muse of epic poetry; true, I don't publish any of my tawdry love poems to the public (this, of course, is negotiable), but the "epic" part fits quite nicely. Yes, quite ...

So, erm, say some prayers and burn some chickens in offering to Calliope so she will look with favor upon me once again. Believe me folks, I'm helpless without her.

[Fluffy] Hello? Is someone there? It's so dark ... it's the 'n' ... I can't see very well anymore. As you can see, Moriarty (pronounced Maw'-lee-la'-tee) has completely lost any grasp on reality that he may have had. Fortunately, he hasn't gone crazy like last time, when he became convinced he was King, but frankly, I'm more worried this time ... he seems to be actually ... umm ... actu a l ...
*HACK* *gag* *HACK* *BUUUUURP*
Jeez ... sorry about that ... did I get any on you? ... *sniff* Look, I'll pay to have that cleaned ... sorry ... it's the mutagenic properties of the 'n' ... my fur is getting thicker, and it's texure is changing ... I'm getting hairballs the size of casaba melons lately. Say - I heard they might have an antidote for 'n' poisoning over at ETF - have you heard anything? No, huh? Damn ... y'know, I'm really doing my best to be a professional here and report events as they happen, and not try to get personally involved and everything, but I'm dying, here! Sorry ... that won't happen again. Now where was I ...
Ah, yes - Moriarty (pronounced Muh-roo'-tee) ... We've quarantined him up in the Armory page ... we're afraid of what he might do if he was allowed to run free ... hear him ranting away up there?

Sad, isn't it? He's gone quite utterly mad. The last time I saw him, he was pacing back & forth, muttering to himself with each hand tucked under his armpits scratching madly, his elbows flailing wildly ... I shudder to think what the future holds for him. I seem to be largely unaffected except for my eyes and fur. Plus I can't get my head through the FluffDoor out back any more. Must be all the extra fur. Not that I'd want to get through the back door. The Citadel courtyard is hip-deep in 'n' fallout. I noticed that ETF is trying to cover up this ecological disaster by hiding behind the old 'bad server settings' excuse ... I can't believe people are actually falling for that. We ALL know that they're simply cleaning up the evidence and trying to avoid international censure for operating an 'n'-reactor. Clearly, even after death, the ETF newsies are a wily bunch. The truth will come out, though - that's why we're staying in this hellhole: to bring you the Truth about the ETF incident ... after all, you can't spell 'The real enemy' without E-T-H-E-R-E-A-L, as we've taken to saying around here ha ha. I'm sorry ... I'm feeling a little ... ah ... dizzy. I think maybe if I can just ... lie down on this vacuum cleaner over here my head might clear up and then we'd have a real day at the races, as I used to tell my pals back at the Academy, because when Mrs. Flaherty caught us swiping here fresh-grown laundry there was hell to pay from the local constabulary, a real knockout dame named Lula, lemme tell ya chum, back then I was .. a ... r e a l ... ZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Hello? Is someone there? It's so dark. Someone turn the lights on ... Hello? Are you the policemen who came here yesterday? I told you, we've had no bread for days ... so cold ... so ... cold ....

Of course, that's presuming that the egalitarian point of view is entirely off base in the first place. Sure, there's nothing fundamentally wrong with equality, but hey? Aren't I a fullblooded Lithuanian? That sort of thing just tweaks my melon. Then there's that whole thing with Communism, and that big bearded bloated bifocaled buffoon, Karl Marx. Anyone ever think that if we had a photograph of Moses, it would look 99% similar to Karl Marx? Save, of course, that atheism part, though that thankfully doesn't show in the picture. I bet we could really do some fine graphics work, get rid of the suit, paste a nice sackcloth robe on there, and impose a hefty staff in the background, and we'd be milk money, if you catch my drift.

Come to think of it, Karl Marx really doesn't look like Moses. Face is too wide. Beard is too short. And wide. But why is that similarity there? Marx looks Jewish. His suit looks cheap. Maybe that's just the lighting. I know it wasn't too hot in those days, but I'm sure they could've done better than that. I feel like I'm staring down a cross between Don King and Harry Truman. King because he's got this beard that just frizzes like you wouldn't believe, and Harry Truman because I think, given the chance, Marx would've nuked Japan too. How dare they throw their little war without inviting him?

Personally, I've long held the view that you just can't beat a cherry cheesecake. I mean, good grief! This stuff wakes me up during the night and I have to make an emergency run to the Piggly Wiggly to pick up a couple bricks of that well-chilled Philadelphia goodness. Of course, it has to be cherry. I've never understood the wackos that put stuff like strawberries on a rich, Graham-cracker encrusted glimpse of paradise. Strawberries?! How positively ... droll. Might as well eat your caviar on a Ritz. Or pour that well-aged bottle of Veuve Clicquot into the Mickey Mouse cup (complete with twisting Flexi-Straw) to celebrate winning that sailboat race down in the Great Bear Reef, or wherever it is. Makes about as much sense as saving for fifteen years for a Porsche Boxter, then chopping the shocks, slinging the car even lower to the ground, and putting donut mags on her before you even get it out of the showroom. Or playing Quake with a keyboard. Getting your gasoline, not at Quicktrip, but taking your chances "somewhere else." Having a hearty serving of Egg Beaters along with that freshly ground patty sausage you picked up from the butcher shop just as it opened at 5 a.m. and then washing it down with goat milk. Booking "Herb the Balloon-twisting Cow-tying Bubble-blowing Maniac" for your wedding reception. Not having a wedding reception. Stealing quotes from Matt. Spending $4,000 on your car stereo just so you can play Chumbawanka reeely reeely loud. Generic breakfast cereal.

ARGH! Did I sleep with the Mother of all mosquitoes last night? Some sort of armpit fetish with her?

But I digress. Egalitarianism really does get to me, just because one day I just know someone's coming better up something with. What bunco! You see, that whole equality thing eliminates what I see to be one of the more entertaining aspects of societal relationships -- the rich getting richer, and making the poor feel poorer. I don't know what I could do with myself if I couldn't hop in daddy's car once in a while and drive around town like I own the bloomin' place. I pull up next to the wretch in the 1979 Toyota Supra at the red light, and as it turns green, we take off, I stay just even with him to give the illusion of actually being proficient at using that stinking little gearshift. Then around 55 I floor it and throw some gravel out the window for good measure, and maybe I'll smash up his windshield real good. Sometimes I just wish I lived in 19th century London (only partly due to that whole Sherlock Holmes thing) or or Paris so I could legally beat down the poverty-stricken with my buggy whip. That's what life is all about, folks. Clawing, scratching, backstabbing, and nad-kicking your way to the top just so you can humiliate, degrade, insult, and spit upon those whose heads you used as finely textured combat boot cleaner.

OK, let's just forget the fact that for the other six days of the week, I scream and gnash my teeth at the asshole in the BMW that does the same thing to my barely functioning vehicle. Just because I have only one pair of clothes to my name, and a rotten set at that, doesn't mean I can't hang out with the big boys once in a while. Just as long I get to switch places once in a while, it's fine with me. Plus, I get to admire a very finely made, GERMAN, car.

Dear Lord ... I'm starting to bleed ... kind of feels good, actually. [howls with laughter]

Scene: a dark, foreboding fortress. One solitary window on the topmost tower glows with the refraction of electrons shooting off a 17" cathode (or is it anode? I forget). Camera pans in to slouched figure frantically palpitating a keyboard, you know, one of those eighty dollar outfits that's supposed to make it easier to type? His bloodshot eyes jerk from left to right, scanning for any sign of life. There is none. No insects buzzing, no birds chirping (which isn't out of the ordinary, since it's nighttime), no children frolicking in the once-fertile meadow below (again, not that strange). He is murmuring to himself, over and over again, "n ... n ... n ..." Piles of hair have collected beneath the man's chair. Man opens his parched, cracked lips to speak, then:

Man: You piece of crap, don't give me this "abort, retry, fail?" baloney again.

Camera retreats through window, pans to fill the entire shot with the once-magnificent fortress. Spectacular shot of asteroids streaking down to impact just beyond the horizon.

[Fluffy, or, if you're in a hurry, Fluf] I'm making this update quickly ... I'm not sure how much time we have left. As you may know, the ETF compound was recently destroyed, and all ETF personnel were killed (no matter what they may say to the contrary. We all know they're dead. It's printed in black & white, right down there. Dead.) by the meltdown and subsequent core breach of an experimental 'n' reactor. While we all mourn their loss, there is a silent threat to those left living: deadly 'n' fallout, carried by the explosion far up into the atmosphere, is now beginning to drift gently to earth, a poisonous rain spelling certain doom to all those unfortunate enough to be caught under it. As you can see, the fallout has already arrived here, and no doubt the Citadel will soon be covered in it - and with more fallout comes a slow, painful process of mutation whose final results we can only guess at.
Moriarty (pronounced More - tee') is already starting to exhibit the first signs of 'n' poisoning: irritability, dementia, intestinal ...er ... well, let's just say he can't stay too far away from the bathroom. We can only guess at what may come next. We have sent away the rest of the Citadel staff, our lovely secretary Janice and our loyal butler Godfrey, but we shall remain behind, as it is our sworn duty as TF journalists to document the horror that is the aftermath of a catastrophe of this magnitude. Besides, we've both already recives lethal doses of 'n' radiation. We only pray that somehow, modern science can somehow find a cure for the fatal 'n' coursing through our veins. We ask you, loyal readers, to remember us in your prayers as we sit, patiently waiting for the end (and glowing a lovely green).

The more and more I read Fluffy's update, the more and more I believe in my heart that it is by far the greatest update ever to grace these pages. Not only was it priceless for its pure humor value, but for its literary as well, in the sense that captured the personalities of each of the ETF staff in that short drama. Who can deny that his Yellow Duck impression was EXACTLY what that little pseudo-character would've done in that situation? His catalogued speech is just as Fluffy portrayed it. Deadpool's leadership ... Belgand's, uh, bravery (?) ... SailorScout's annoyance at non-anime characters ... it's all there.

In short, I don't mean to give lip service to The Man, but hell I have never been able to come up with something of that scope. Should I create a separate page for "best update ever"? That might be a good idea, Fluffy and I could try and outdo each other.

In site news, for those of you interested in the files section, the links to the files have been fixed and everything has been uploaded. The Gatehouse has been revised as well. And if you're interested in any more of Fluffy's work, check out the Library. He has an old poem up there that needs reading.

Oh God ... I'm feeling woozy ... oh, man ... what is happening ... I think I'm going to be sick ... sorry, I've got to go NOW --

You know, no one ever did start up a topic on The Truman Show. I'd like to see your ideas on what the theme of the movie really was. A $50 million dollar ad for materialism, or an entreaty to step out of manufactured reality and a plug for absolute truth? I never did hear anyone's ideas but my own family's, and you know how that sort of thing goes over. Your parents aren't really right until someone else says the same thing they've been trying to drill into you all along, but you still give the stranger the credit.

For some reason I am unable to load my page normally. I cannot connect to FTP to update, I am forced to email Mythias this file as an attachment to get things uploaded. Because of some twisted convention of fate, everyone else seems to load up just fine. I'm not lazy, I just can't do jack with my site.

Pointless Audio is back up ... and it looks like I wasn't that far off with my off-the-wall prediction. I haven't listened to any of the new shows yet, so I'm sure an explanation is therein.

Updates will be sparse the next few days, because I'm working on something big. Expect it soon.

Though I don't know what could be bigger than that story Fluffy landed -- closest we have ever come to news. I mean, we're talking rifts in space here? Memories erased? History changed? Kind of reminds me of that conversation Calvin and his father had, when Calvin asked why old pictures were black and white. You see, the world was black and white until about the 1930s. Slowly, the world turned color. Old photographs, were, in essence, color photographs of a black and white world. When Calvin inquires as to why paintings turned color, Father explains that most early painters were insane, and anyways, the paintings turned color along with everything else in the 30s. "But why didn't the photographs turn color too?" Well, remember, they were color photographs of black and white.

Off the point, but I had to bring that up. One of my all-time favorite comics, ever. Bill Watterson is my hero!

But back to Fluffy's landmark story -- I honestly cannot believe how incredible this is. Fluffy has done a great job to date and I am sincerely glad he is here.

May 66th, AD 1998

Oh, the humanity!

Editors note: This transmission from Fluffy was recieved at the Citadel today, May 66. The date on the actual update was, however, three days ago. The usually gleaming stainless-steel material of the Citadel Emergency Update Case, which was designed to withstand the most brutal conditions, was scarred and dented. The fine Corinthian leather accents were charred and the mechanism was nearly fused. It bore all the telltale signs of severe chrono-distortion, a shift in temporality caused by a rift in space-time. Such a rift could only be caused by ... well, I'll let the story infold by itself...

[Fluffy] The unthinkable has finally happened. Making my morning rounds of the various TF-related sites, I saw a sight that made my blood run cold: the ETF message board was empty. With no sign of life, and with none of the ETF guys answering my frenzied pages on the big red NewsiePhone, we can only assume they are all dead. With no hard evidence, I have conglomerated all available data into this scenario, which I believe is the only rational explanation.

Terror at ETF Island!

Fade in: A frenzied DeadPool, Belgand, SailorScout and YellowDuck are working at the control panels of the plush, high tech nerve center of ETF. Sirens wail and emergency lights are strobing menacingly.
SailorScout: Dammit! The auxilliary pumps are overheating!
DeadPool: Well, spit on 'em! They've gotta hold!
Belgand: My God! We were fools!! We should have listened to Fluffy when he told us it wouldn't work, that it was too unstable!
SailorScout: It's too late for regrets now, Bel ... JESUS!! The n core just dumped coolant into levels 7 through 9! Seal off the Maps page! Jeez, at least no-one'll notice that...
DeadPool: The 'n' Reactor is coming apart at the seams! That last post put it up over critical mass! We have high levels of n-active coolant throughout the plant!! We GOTTA shut it down!! YD!! Call it!
YellowDuck:

I see no reason to panic.
While we may be experiencing a temporary surge in core temperatures, I can assure you that it will return to normal soon.
The day after tommorrow will be yesterday in just three short days.

SailorScout: AIEEE!!! He's still talking in lists!!
Belgand (panicking): That's it, man! Game over, man, Game over!
DeadPool: Dammit, man, pull yourself together! We need you to get the West sector n feed lines closed off!! Snap out of it!
Belgand straightens up and composes himself
Belgand: West sector...
DeadPool: Right! If we can get the 'n' feed lines shut down, we can pull the core offline, and maybe save our asses! I need you to shut off the valves at grid point West-D19.
Belgand: D19?!? That sector's waist deep in heavy transuranic salts and contaminated 'n' coolant!
DeadPool: Look, soldier, I never said the life of a newsie was easy. This'll be tough, but someone's gotta do it. Since we've got seniority, that someone is you. So put on the damn suit and get out there!
Belgand, resigned to his fate, dons the environment suit and heads out for Sector West-D19
SailorScout(flush with admiration): That's one brave newsie ...
DeadPool(grimly): That's gonna be one dead newsie if we don't get that core temperature down, but FAST!
SailorScout: Ok, the 'n' shields on levels three through six are holding, but they're about as strong as YD's grasp on reality ... one more heat spike and the Polls, Staff and Files pages'll be flooded with hot 'n'...
DeadPool: All right! Let's hit the halon systems in the core and the adjacent levels. That should buy us some time. Halon ... Discharged! I need a core temp status report!
SailorScout: Temperatures still rising!!
DeadPool: How can that be?!? Belgand should have shut off the ... hideous screaming from offstage, cut short by loud hissing noises
YellowDuck:

That must have been Belgand being charred by the superheated 'n'.
He is doubtlessly quite dead by now.
As we shall be shortly. He was right: we should have listened to Fluffy.
Sometimes, I think cats are actually little old men in furry suits.

SailorScout: Goddammit, if I'm goin' out, I'm taking YOU with me, you list-talking-son-of-a...
With those words, the entire ETF Message Board site explodes in a shimmering, white-hot ball of 'n', visible from miles around. All Newsies are, of course, dead as dead can be. The chrono-distortion rends the very fabric of space time, causing the automatic ejection of a Citadel Emergency News beacon, containing gritty, hard-hitting live footage of the inferno that we can use on the news at 11. As space-time folds back on itself, history and memory is rewritten, causing all present to have no recollection of the events. Life goes on normally. Then the Emergency Udate Case crashes to earth on the Citadel driveway ... Fade to black.

Truly, a tradgey. Y'see, friends, the secret of the 'n' wasn't mind control at all - it was power, and lots of it. The ETF message board was actually a sophisticated, but still experimental, 'n' reactor. The 'n', once posted, was fed into a magnetically sealed chamber where it was superheated to several tens of thousands of degrees Kelvin by patented ETF Methane microlaser technology. The more 'n's that were posted, the more heat; the more heat, the more steam to drive the massive ETF turbines. I warned them that n was entirely too unstable to use as a power source, that even the slightest imbalance can start a massive chain reaction, but did they listen to me? Well, I think it's quite apparent that they didn't. So watch out, loyal readers: don't be lured by the promises of free, abundant 'n' energy. Moriarty's (pronounced Moo-ray-arrr-tray) plan of buying a safe, time-tested traditional nuclear plant is far wiser, and soon, we shall all bask in the comfort of free power, hefty profits and all-you-can-eat radiated food buffets.

ps - no actual newsies were harmed in the making of this feature.

That time of year has come yet again; 'tis the day when little children are handed dangerous rolls of paper stuffed with explosives and told to "go have fun", when adults (and sometimes the big children too) consume large amounts of grain distillates in order to make those big lights in the sky look kinda like mushrooms. It is the one time of the year when being a pyromaniac is socially acceptable. Too bad der Fluffinbaërgher is migrating for a few days. I would've liked to hear his holiday report, surely being caught on fire by a stray bottle rocket would be in there somewhere.

However, in my city, it is illegal to set off fireworks. It is not illegal to sell them; strange how this time of year, most of those outdoor tents and indoor air conditioned superstores have been cleaned out. Radio ads take over the airwaves. Pops, crackles, whistles, and smoke fill the air. Cedar shingle roofs catch fire spontaneously. I prefer to sit inside and fry my eyeballs on the computer, and wait for my sunburned skin to stop bubbling and getting pus all over my shorts. We put two or three sprinklers on the roof so the efforts of the neighbor kids to get a sparkler wedged in under the shakes doesn't provide them any entertainment.

But isn't it ironic how this holiday which is supposed to celebrate America's independence is also the cause of the largest amount of trade with one of America's greatest enemies, Communist China? Ironic, if you ask me.

Personally, I'm tired of trying to interpret those directions which come with the foreign products. I'm almost positive they're being done by test subjects in the new Mandarin-to-English program. Probably the worst I have ever come across went something like this (from the manual to a model kit):

That sort of thing is an unnecessary frustration. You tell me just to put up with it? I say, "nonsense, poopy pants!"

Top Ten Real Life Events I would've Liked to have Seen
in Various TF Players' Lives

And the Number One Real Life Event I would've Liked to have Seen in any TF Player's Life:

If you don't know by know that Immortal's Pointless Audio show is down (temporarily or permanently, no one knows), you're hopeless. However, in the tradition of the long legacy of "bad boy" shows, I'm going to call Immortal's bluff. I think it's just a big publicity stunt. Sure, the guy had a lot of publicity already, but you know how those types are. They get in the public eye, and they demand more and more attention. He got mentioned on sCary's, I predict that will satiate his temporary craving for more fame. He'll be back soon.

Wipe those tears away, buckaroos ... The Professor hops onto his brightly colored, 1894 yellow bicycle and pedals away into the London fog. He coughs, hacks, and chokes on the thick, toxic air, but manages to lean up against a wall in a dark alley. He gets mugged. But don't worry, he'll be back tomorrow ...

* I do not, and never will, know French. However, I believe les femmes
translates into "tjskjeijfkjsljjkkjk" in the Icelandic tongue.

I have some very serious, and promising news for the TF community. In a recent ICQ conversation with Matt, I was made aware that the Maine Yankee Nuclear Power Facility is up for bid until July 31st. He brought up one of the best ideas I have ever come out of his big mouth, including that stuff about building all those class-specific maps. His idea is to have the entire TF community chip in and make a bid on the power plant. What's incredible is, within five minutes he had over forty dollars in contributions. He and his mother both donated $20 ... just think of the implications! If everyone in the TF community donated some money, we could own our own power plant! Never pay an electric bill again! Once we get the facility back up and running, we'll start drawing a profit. You know what that means! A round of T1s for everyone! Huge LAN parties (attendees numbered in the millions), run solely off the energy generated by little atoms fusing or breaking up, I'm not sure which.

Based on my extensive knowledge of nuclear reactors, I can personally vouch that this model is of the highest professional quality. It would suit our needs perfectly; however, it is not a beginner reactor by any means. Not the sort of thing the budding power conglomerate would start out with; this is something that only a genuinely knowledgeable and highly experienced owner with a vested interest in success of nuclear facilities would ever consider buying. That describes us pretty well, doesn't it? But for this reason I think it would be best for all if I took on preliminary administration to begin distribution of funds as well as determining which divisions within the facility need upgrading. I will nominate the board of directors (I will not be on it, this is just to secure the rights of all shareholders) in order to get things running.

Note the three loop, combustion engineering pressurized water reactor system. This is widely acknowledged among the nuclear community as the most efficient of all reactors; the two-loop system is used in lesser developed countries such as Australia and Scotland (or do they have a plant? probably just mooch a bunch of power off England). The single loop depressurized tritium reactor was the model installed at Chernobyl and Three Mile Island, and is currently banned for construction in all countries except Ethiopia. If no one minds, I might just snatch up one of those low-pressure turbines and make a few modifications to the sentry gun ... can you say "levitating turret of perforation and mass gibbitude"? Howzat sound, Crono? "Don't Harass the Levitating Turret of Perforation and Mass Gibbitude, Kiddies!"

If you aren't willing to take my word for it, please register and request some catalogs and inventory lists for the bidding. I have seen the catalog, and let me tell you, it's really offering some bargain prices. My eyeballs almost collapsed after I noticed the feed water heaters and switch gear going for a mere $1.6 million. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Like I said, we have $40 from Matt's family, and let's say, $50 from my own to start the bidding. Those of you interested on going through with this venture, please post on the Town Hall your name, address, social security number (sorry, no foreign bankrollers allowed), and amount pledged. Please be honest or we'll mail you a bucket of "heavy water". mwahhaha

Again, fellow Team Fortress connoisseurs, this is the chance of a lifetime. Make a sacrifice for the future. It's in your hands.

At any rate, sorry everyone for the delay in posting. Yesterday was absolutely nutso -- I started with a summer job since that ad thing is obviously a fraud at this point. I have not received my check. Accordingly, that fake little banner has been ripped down like the Nazi flag after Hitler did his little brain-aerating operation. Otherwise, back to your regularly scheduled program.

By the way -- I have uploaded all sections for the site. However, I have not uploaded the files for the files section, I will have to trim that before I make it complete again. Otherwise, everything now works. As far as these other sections go -- do you realize how ugly my engineering strategy pages are? I have considered going back and polishing them up but I figured, a) no one reads them any more, and b) I could spend my time doing much better things. So, yes, I realize how poorly done those sections are, and want to fix them badly, but it wouldn't be practical. Sorry.

Top Ten Real Life Events I would've Liked to have Seenin Various TF Players' Lives

Top Ten Real Life Events I would've Liked to have Seen
in Various TF Players' Lives