Ted Haggard Knows All

Here's my new plan for fame and fortune. Well, fortune. Well, conning people and getting them to give me money no matter what I've caught. Which is the same thing. More or less.

1. Get religion. Starting religious sects and cults is the best way to get the desperate and gullible to give you money hand-over-fist. It's the 20th century success story. Yes, I know it's technically the 21st century now, but really it's just C20v2.0. Same difference.
2. Be as conservative as possible. Find some common practices and denounce them as sins committed only by the sick and depraved.
3. Get caught performing said practices.
4. Claim to be undergoing treatment and that you are now 100% heterosexual, clean, sober, monogamous, whatever.
5. Your followers will forgive you. After all, who's going to tell them what to do if you don't?
6. Ask them to give you more money when you decide to work at a 'halfway house' for drug addicts, pushers and prostitutes.
7. Laugh as you rake in the cash. Think of some more hobbies that the faithful can subsidise for you.

Thanks, Ted. You're a friggin' genius.

Originally posted to Slack 'n' Hash on August 25, 2007.

That is not dead which can eternal lie…

For those of you who don't know, my name is Bluey. I am a violent dipsomaniac with blue skin, goat's hooves and three nipples. I do not believe in self-control and I like shoving things up people's bottoms. The other people who claim to work on this website, Phil and Tabi, are the blind and tenebrous Other Gods and I am their soul and messenger. Think of me as a cut-price Nyarlathotep and you'll get the general idea.

Which in a roundabout way brings me round to today's daily hate. The first link in today's wretched chain is none other than H.P. Lovecraft. Don't get me wrong: I like Lovecraft. He's great. When it comes to workshy bigots who write florid stories ostensibly about things with tentacles but really are just elaborate ways of articulating misanthropic sympathies and distaste with organised religion, he's easily my favourite. Top notch. No, what gets my goat (and bear in mind that I probably am 40% goat, right, so that's a lot of goat to get!) is the legion of sub-Lovecraftian horror writers. The sort who think that all you have to do is drop in a list of unpronounceable names of pre-human alien deities and hey presto! You've got a passable bit of cosmic horror. You know the sort? The sort who took August Derleth and Brian Lumley's stories and decided to do something completely similar, and yet still insist that their pastiches of pastiches are actually scary. Not that I'm going to name names here, of course. Today I'm going to issue you with a few guidelines for writing shitty Cthulhu Mythos fiction. Take notes. There will be a test later.

1. Your story must involve a copy of the Necronomicon. A previously undiscovered copy. Every cult has an unexpurgated copy of this very rare and unobtainable book. It must be bound in human skin, obviously.
2. Your mythos story must involve the Great Old Ones. At least four of them must be referenced by name. If you can include an actual list of names of Mythos beings, this will only increase your Cthulhu-cred.
3. At least three things must be indescribable. Since that means the thing you fail to describe is extra-scary and not at all a reflection on your lack of ability to write.
4. At some point have a creature speak in an inhuman tongue. At some point a creature must yell "Iä!" or "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." This'll show you have read The Call of Cthulhu and thus demonstrate that you're a) literate and b) prepared to rip off show your influences openly.
5. Your story must involve a cult. Not a lone worshipper, or someone with an oblique connection to some event or other, but a cult, complete with robes and KKK-style hoods. They will fight with big sacrificial knives because that's what they do.
6. Your story's protagonist will be just like you. Because that's what HPL did, right? And he will also survive the story and be really heroic.

Just bear that checklist in mind and you too can write your own Cthulhu Mythos story! You may even be published by Nickolaus Pacione! Tell 'em Phil Smith sent you…

Originally posted to Slack 'n' Hash on August 23, 2007.

Give Peace a Chance.

Once again, it's incumbent upon I, your blue-skinned triple-nippled messiah, to solve all your problems. Honestly. Who'd be me? Ah, well. I can't sit around here being great all day. Let's get on with today's problem, and people: it's a doozy. Let's talk about world peace.

Doesn't look good, does it? The Middle East's been messed up good and proper; Russia's pulled out of the CFE treaty and is sending out long-range bomber patrols just for the sake of telling Britain that they can see our houses from over there. Don't even get me started on American foreign policy over the past few years. Africa's little better; just look at the Sudan or Zimbabwe. How are we to fix this problem? Worldwide revolution? A series of political assassinations? Kidnap the world's leaders, brick them up in a cellar and hope their successors take a hint?

Nahhh! The problem here is that old cliché they use to describe international relations: tension. Everyone's rattling sabres because they're tense. If you want the situation to relax, it follows that the leaders have to relax. Question is: how do you do that? Take them out for a round of drinks? I can't see that happening. And I certainly wouldn't want to go out and get pissed with Putin, Bush and Brown. Especially not when we get to the titty bar. No, relaxation's only part of it. Got to relax them and get them to confront their issues. Sounds touchy-feely and new-agey but it's true. Bear with me here, guys; there's method in my madness.

Problem is, it's going to cost. If you want to help, PayPal me some money and I'll see what I can do. Don't worry; all proceeds will go towards the Buy The World Leaders Two Tons of Amyl Nitrite and Get Them Wasted on Absinthe Appeal. Once the fund hits a couple of hundred K we'll be ready to roll. You think Mugabe's going to be quite so belligerent after he's played catcher to Brown's pitcher? Or if he'll feel so persecuted once he's been the stone a couple of times? There's nothing wrong with the world that a few hours of buggery between several elderly men can't put right.

Originally posted to Slack 'n' Hash on August 21, 2007.

4E… meh.

It's official: D&D 4th edition is out next year. Now, what difference does this make to me? Does it mean I'm going to stop buying splatbooks since they'll be obsolete in eight months' time? Nah! I stopped buying them more than a year ago. Am I going to get all excited about the forthcoming changes? Nope! Did that when 3E was coming out. I'm actually fairly indifferent about the whole thing. It's this realisation that has led me to a pretty shocking conclusion. Readers: your uncle Bluey is getting old.

So, what's the solution to this early mid-life crisis? Get a motorbike? Start dating girls young enough to be my daughters? Nah. It's time to transfer all that nerdy energy to other pursuits, or at least other games. It's time to find an RPG that's more relevant to my interests. Perhaps GURPS: Withnail and I, a cheeky little RPG where you have to drink lighter fluid while your acting career stalls and your friendship with your flatmate disintegrates. Or maybe Deviant: The Masquerade, where your character goes from newsagent to newsagent, purchasing jazz mags and trying not to let anyone know your kinks, even though the magazines are up there on the top shelf for all to see? Either of them will do. Right now, though, I'm off for a swift round of Old Rope: The Exchange for Money. It's very easy to play. You just look at the bookshelf crammed with hundreds of pounds' worth of 3E books and try not to have a bit of a cry. I'd rather you didn't join me for that, though. It's a bit embarrassing.

Originally posted to Slack 'n' Hash on August 17, 2007.

… has left the building.

Elvis Presley died thirty years ago. Even now there are fans holding a candlelight vigil at Graceland. I don't know how many of them are dressed as Elvis, but I don't think I'm in too much danger of exaggeration if I say there's a hell of a lot of Elvis impersonators hanging around. I dunno about you lot, but I think that's a bit cruel. Some of those Elvis fans are getting on a bit now, some might even have started to get a bit forgetful, maybe even senile. Think about what it must be like for them. There you are, just paying your respects to the King, and suddenly there he is! No, wait a minute, it's just it's Bob Hoogenburg, age 38, a tribute act. But you got your hopes up all the same, and to be yanked back down to Earth like that's gotta hurt. But wait! There he is! No, it's Dave Saxton, age 29, only been at it a year and hasn't got the lip-curl right yet. Even now there's a 90-year-old fan who's well into her fifth hour on this emotional roller-coaster. Keep your distance: her bladder control's not what it used to be. Off she goes again! "Elvis? Elvis?" Alas! It's only Cindy Friedman, age 22…

All I can say is it's lucky you don't get that sort of thing at other memorials. Can you imagine that sort of thing happening in three years' time when it's John Lennon's anniversary? I feel sorry for missing out on Albert Einstein's golden anniversary, I'm tellin' ya. I had my scruffy wig, jumper and moustache all ready for that. Still, never mind. The 20th anniversary of John Holmes's death comes up next year. Now, where did I put that strap-on?

Originally posted to Slack 'n' Hash on August 16, 2007.

RIAAid

The worst thing about being me is people always expect things. They want me to appear in a cartoon, provide regular front-page updates, and I agree to it out of the goodness of my heart — 'cause, y'know, I'm just that kind of guy — and what happens if I miss an update or fifteen? Honestly. I keep this place going, I'm the talent, I'm the main draw, and all I get for my trouble is whine whine whine. Thanks, guys.

Oh, dear me, but the RIAA aren't having a good time of things lately, are they? They were ordered to pay Deborah Foster's legal fees (no less than $68,585.23!) but haven't coughed up the money yet. They've not even contacted her lawyers. Well, you know how it is when the bill comes through the front door. For the first week you daren't open the envelope. There's just something about brown envelopes with plastic windows gives people the willies. The RIAA are human too, probably. Naturally they're going to get a bit anxious.

Maybe we should do what they haven't done with their chosen victims, though, and give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps… they don't actually have the money. After all, those lawsuits don't pay for themselves, and the stress of putting single mothers and 10-year-old girls through all that suffering must be frankly immense. In their position I'd need a few three-martini lunches just to get me through the day. Do you think all that booze is tax-deductable? I wish! Expecting them to actually pay out when they lose a case is adding insult to injury.

I think it's up to right-thinking people like you and me to do something about it. I think it's time to organise a fundraiser for them. How about a benefit concert? Come on, Bob Geldof! Forget those poor starving bastards! There's a load of rich replete bastards who are far more needy! We need RIAAid now! Round up your Metallicas (Metallicae?), your Eminems and all the other musicians who care deeply about the plight of those poor embattled victims of anti-industry prejudice. Let's all come together, speak with one voice, and have a concert to raise money for this impoverished organisation of wealthy professionals.

My God, it'd be beautiful. You could have an anthem for the charity; one with a really chorus which the audience could sing, and then they could fork over a dollar each in royalties for performing the song in public. Well, a dollar now; a dollar fifty next year; two bucks in 2009… just to bring rates into line with the standard, you know.

Originally posted to Slack 'n' Hash on August 15, 2007.