So, um

I've taken a look at some of my blog statistics recently, and I've noticed that most of my post hits that aren't directly related to a referring link come from one source.

so I'm creeped out now!

No seriously, I love you all.  Really.  Please back away slowly.

Guide To Being Eaten By The Internet

Hi!  It looks as if you're being EATEN BY THE INTERNET.  Who knew that insulting that customer/stealing from that artist/closing down that charity effort/bad-mouthing that internet celebrity would pay off so quickly?  For your convenience, I have compiled a list of helpful suggestions to improve your EATEN BY THE INTERNET experience.

1)  Apologies?  You don't need no stinkin' apologies.  Remember, admitting that you might have been at fault for any reason is just another way of saying that you are a weak, sad person.  

2)  Make sure to engage in plenty of defensive posturing.  It will cause people to be impressed by your eloquence and wit.

3)  Do people seem offended by you?  That just means it's working.  Call them names for good measure.

4)  Make sure you accuse everyone who is shouting at you of engaging in their own illegal activities.  After all, two illegal activities combine together and either cancel each other out or create the head for Megazord.  Either way, you win.

5)  Definitely use either racial, misogynistic, or homophobic slurs.  Those are the best.

6)  If you have a meltdown, make sure it's posted in a place that anyone can see it.  Then delete it.  Then post another one.  Then delete that and cry a bit.  This will delight your fans and unsettle your enemies.

7)  After throwing a hissy fit and refusing to stop whatever has angered everyone, make sure to congratulate yourself on how mature you're being.  Buy a cake!

8)  Finally, convince yourself that the internet isn't forever.  Eat your cake.  Imagine that you are the internet and the cake is you.

I hope this guide can increase the enjoyment that you get from your BEING EATEN BY THE INTERNET experience.  

The Reichenbach Falls

I'm back.

What, did you think I was dead? Haha, silly! No, the doctor says the scars should eventually heal, provided I don't move or breathe in any discernible way. Antelopes, eh?

Since Tumblr has informed me that a new episode of the hit television series Sherlock is about to air, and I'm nothing if not topical, I thought I'd do yet another post about famed Belgian detective Poirot. He's so funny! And clever! Then I remembered that doing a post about The Final Problem would probably annoy more people, so here we are.

In the interest of providing some back-story, I feel as if I should make mention of a couple things. First off, Sherlock is indeed about to air an episode based off this story. In addition, the film Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (which sounds like a video game, if I'm honest) was also loosely based on this story. The movie adaptation, at least, did a pleasant enough job of rounding out the character that is introduced in this story, certainly better than Sir Doyle did. Which character is that?

“"You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?" said he.”

Dun dun DUUUUUN. It is tempting to compare and contrast the various adaptations of this story to see where one is superior to the other, but I feel as if some basic understanding of the original story is necessary. So let's begin!

It's funnier to separate fact from fiction (ha!) but there's no real way to get around it: the Final Problem was originally written as a way to get rid of Holmes. Sir Arthur, a very competent man who happened to go a little insane as he got older (ask me about the fairies!) decided that he was tired of writing about his most famous creation, and wanted to focus more time on his historical fiction. What? Yes, Sir Arthur wrote historical fiction. He was even knighted for it!

At any rate, The Final Problem was written with little set up, and one end goal—kill off Holmes. The problem that the author faced was a singular one, since Holmes could either die in two ways: through some stupid mishap or by facing a worthy adversary. Except that a worthy adversary had never before been written for Holmes. Well... shit, I guess. Time to break out the banana peels and chemical vats!

Since Sir Arthur wasn't particularly interested in creating the first Batman villain, he decided to go the 'worthy adversary' route without actually setting the adversary up in any way. As a consequence, Moriarty is fairly... well, toothless.

As an example, here is the first introduction to our keen criminal mastermind.

"Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!" he cried. "The man pervades London, and no one has heard of him. That's what puts him on a pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you, Watson, in all seriousness, that if I could beat that man, if I could free society of him, I should feel that my own career had reached its summit, and I should be prepared to turn to some more placid line in life. Between ourselves, the recent cases in which I have been of assistance to the royal family of Scandinavia, and to the French republic, have left me in such a position that I could continue to live in the quiet fashion which is most congenial to me, and to concentrate my attention upon my chemical researches. But I could not rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet in my chair, if I thought that such a man as Professor Moriarty were walking the streets of London unchallenged."

Gosh, that sounds pretty scary! A man so diabolical, so entrenched in criminal culture, that eradicating him from this earth would be the greatest thing that Holmes has ever done?! I bet he eats babies.

But wait a moment.

"Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!" he cried. "The man pervades London, and no one has heard of him.”

Huh. That's a good point, Holmes. Why have you never mentioned him? Well, I mean obviously, he must have just recently discovered who Moriarty was. The spider that tweaks the web, hidden behind the scenes! How cunning, how masterful, how...

“For years I have endeavored to break through the veil which shrouded it, and at last the time came when I seized my thread and followed it, until it led me, after a thousand cunning windings, to ex-Professor Moriarty of mathematical celebrity.”

Well, I guess that's sort of what I just...

“You know my powers, my dear Watson, and yet at the end of three months I was forced to confess that I had at last met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal.”

Huh.

It sounds like a really slight thing to complain about because, well, why would he have mentioned this odious presence to his most trusted friend and compa... okay, well, why would Watson have bothered to share the ramblings of a cocaine addicted genius with the world? Holmes makes a good point at the opening to both denigrate Moriarty while at the same time lamenting the futility of going after Moriarty; in fact, he mentions a direct encounter with the man that was immediately followed by several attempts on his life. Shocking! Harrowing! And if this were the first in a series of a stories where Holmes and Watson track down this genius to his lair, then the feeling of dread that so permeates this passage would really work. Holmes describes all the secret, cunning things that Moriarty does and then Watson—and by extension, the reader—get to see with their own eyes exactly what sort of secret cunning things they are.

Instead they decide to take a vacation to Switzerland because that's where Moriarty is going. Quick, Watson! Pack a muffler!

It is here, in the spaces where they begin to travel, where the reader is given an opportunity to really get a sense of what sort of danger these two beloved men are in. Or, you know, Holmes could make Watson travel in several different carriages and then show up dressed as a priest.

"Every precaution is still necessary," he whispered. "I have reason to think that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there is Moriarty himself."The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. Glancing back, I saw a tall man pushing his way furiously through the crowd, and waving his hand as if he desired to have the train stopped. It was too late, however, for we were rapidly gathering momentum, and an instant later had shot clear of the station.”

Look Watson! It is the dude I have mentioned once, but you have never seen! Right there! No, I swear that's him. Oh hey, did you read the paper? No? Good. I-I mean!

"Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?""No.""You haven't' seen about Baker Street, then?""Baker Street?""They set fire to our rooms last night. No great harm was done.""Good heavens, Holmes! this is intolerable."

Oh my gaaaaawd they totally set fire to our old apartment. No, really! Are you buying this?

At this point, I'm ready to nominate Holmes for the title Best Troll of All. And then we get to hear about their vacation!

“It was on the 3d of May that we reached the little village of Meiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by Peter Steiler the elder.”

Oh my gaaaaaawd.

So Holmes informs Watson that apparently—no, really, I promise—the police managed to arrest everybody in Moriarty's gang besides, you know, Moriarty. So Holmes very astutely suggests that Moriarty has little left to live for beside attempting to kill Holmes, and that maybe Watson could just go back to London. Come on, help a bro out. Watson refuses because duh, and so they take a merry jaunt through the mountains of Switzerland.

I am not joking, okay? The rest of the story is a description of the Reichenbach Falls, where they end up—a swirling vortex of death!—and commentary on the establishment. WHERE ARE ALL THE BITS WHERE MORIARTY IS SCARY?

It doesn't happen. Holmes sees Moriarty (Watson is graced only with the sight of his retreating back) and heads off to meet him and never returns. And that's it. Watson discovers, some time later, the evidence of a struggle and concludes that both Holmes and Moriarty plunged off a cliff into the falls.

The end?

Well no, because Holmes isn't really dead. Sir Arthur got such a backlash from his fans that he eventually decided to bring Holmes back to life. Trust me: it's dumb too. Just like Moriarty.

Skyrim Has Eaten My Brain Part 2

Picking up where our stalwart hero and mistress of burning things down left off, I am currently standing at the edge of a desolate, frozen lake, having just barely escaped the sinking mines after successfully killing the former guild-master.  I have been tasked by one of the other Nightingales to take the key--It is a Special Key--back to where it belongs.  It's some sort of god thing.  She can't do it because she 'is afraid to'.  "Also you're the protagonist, duh" she didn't say, but I can read between the lines.

Mount up Shadowmere!  We must sally forth and-- yes, I'll wait.

Sorry, everyone.  We have to wait for my horse to hunt down and murder every single fucking fox in the entire forest.

I don't know, he has a thing against foxes.

And we're off!

Just to round it all off, I have met the spirit of the dead guy who started this whole thing.  He was thrilled to see that I had The Key so that everything could be returned to normal.

That's so sweet!  Well, take it then!

Hahahahaha.

I keep forgetting that I'm the protagonist, which means that I do everything.

Some people would just hire help for this shit, but NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Okay, fine.  I'll walk the bloody Pilgrim's Path and return The Key.  But I won't like it!

Oh, good.  Riddles.  This gets more and more like Baldur's Gate.

Anyone who has played Baldur's Gate will know that I am giving Skyrim the highest praise possible.

I am searching through ruins that have not been disturbed in 25 years, and I have found a tomato.  That's... okay, then.

I mean, I guess ghosts can store their fruit wherever they like.

I have over 22,000 gold and still I will stop and pick up three individual gold pieces off the ground.  Skyrim has taught me that I'm a Scrooge.

So this part of the riddle tells me that I have to give something to this giant statue.  Huh.  Well, I have lots of things.  I wonder what happens if I choose incorrectly?

Nothing happens.  Disappointing.

IT IS MY DARK GODDESS!

I BOW BEFORE YOU, OH MISTRESS OF TWILIGHT!

YOU SURE SEEM TO BE PRETTY NUDE THOUGH.

NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING,YOU CAN BE AS NUDE AS YOU LIKE.

And that's it for me, the thieves guild is taken care of.  What next?

While scrolling through my quest list, I noticed that I have a quest given to me by a madman.  Uh, excuse me?  Why haven't I started this one yet?

Onward!

A crazy old man wants me to break into the Imperial Palace to beg his master to come back from vacation.  To help me, he has given me the hip bones of a dead guy.  I'm excited!

Okay, I have broken into the unused section of the castle.  Easy enough.

OH JEEZE IT'S BASKET HEAVEN.

Now I know where absolutely everyone in Skyrim stores their unused baskets.

What, wait.  What?  Who did the what, now?

I was standing in the middle of a dust old corridor, and now I'm standing in the middle of a forest clearing.  There is a guy sitting at a table covered in food that... can I steal it?

I can.

Hold on, just one moment.

*burp*

This guy is ranting and raving and almost certainly a god of some kind.

Also his accent keeps changing between Irish and Scottish.  A true mark of the mad!

He informed me that I am currently standing in the mental landscape of a dead, insane king.

Or an insane, dead king.  I suppose it depends on which part you want to focus on.

Um.

Crazy god suggested that I use a Wabbajack to get out.  While I was laughing at his joke he handed me a, well, a Wabbajack.

I am getting a really heavy Alice in Wonderland suggestion, here.  If I run into a talking rabbit then I will kill it and eat it.

A test of wits, with my Wabbajack!

I want that to go on my gravestone, for the record.

The voice actor's line was 'harrumph' and he was going to be damned if he didn't say that exact word.

Have you ever heard a person SAY harrumph?  Try it.

Hehehehe, it's a tiny little man.

Hehehehe, but he has a grown man's voice!

Hahahaha shut up crazy god, I'm busy talking to the little man.

There's no way to make that sequence any stranger.  I am not totally convinced that it wasn't an after-affect of my new medication.

Side effects may include headache, drowsiness, and hallucinating that a man dressed like the Joker will ask you whether his beard is ready for travel.

Since I'm already in the Imperial City, I think I'll take the time to go and crash a party.

I got a guy drunk and convinced him to make a scene for me.  Just like a real party.

"Sneak by all those guards" fuck you, I'll sneak when I wanna.

Besides, I haven't reached my quota of burning things yet today.

BACKSTAB BONUS MULTIPLYER, BITCHES!

Okay, so maybe I was sneaking a LITTLE.

What a supremely pointless quest.  I snuck into a party, murdered some guards and looted a bunch of files just to learn that nobody has any clearer idea of what's going on than I do.

In fact, the notes I found were just the words "OH GOD A DRAGON" written over and over.

Now I have to go and find a crazy old man.  My life is just filled with crazy old men right now.

These tunnels are simply crawling with evil elves who, by the way, do little to endear themselves to people.

They're trying to find the old man too.  I have one thing they don't--a quest marker.

I convinced the man that I am the Dragonborn by telling him that I am the Dragonborn.  These people are too trusting by half.

"After you, Dragonborn.  You should have the honor of being the first to step into the temple."  It's good to be the protagonist.

I'm going to stop this writeup here, since I'm doing a main story quest.  I'll return when I'm setting up to be the leader of the bard's college.