The Cold Carl Trail

Editor's Note: This transcript was recently delivered to CarlHalla via the time-honored delivery method of brick + note + window = delivered! Unfortunately for some, the brick landed heavily upon Mesmerizing Carl's dainty (and ill-protected) foot, rendering her ability to participate in the Carlish games rather limited. Following her cursing spell, the Carls examined the note, but given their limited capacities of pattern-recognition (particularly with Mesmerizing out of commission), the note was set aside after a series of incoherent grunts and head-scratching. Eventually, Necrotic Carl worked up the wherewithal to transcribe the words for future reference, in case they actually meant something.

[... information evidently continued from a previous page that was not delivered]
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Byron has some odd way of speaking the words I'm always thinking... at least, words I might be thinking if there were a female anywhere in sight! God I hate this place.

[Day 4 of Carl hunt--4:15pm]
I managed to stalk these "Carls" to what appears to be their base of operations. At least, I assume so--in all honesty, the place feels like a ghost town. I've been scoping the place out for two days now and I've only seen them all together once; most of the time, it's just one person wandering about aimlessly muttering about "damned minkeys" being too difficult to work with. I've dubbed this particular Carl "Moe" due to the frequency of her imprecations against her none-too-frequent companions.

In the little time I've had to sniff about the place, I've detected notes of leather, mold, and an overwhelming stench of monkey feces--it seems the Carls have entertained visitors before. In the time I've spent observing her, "Moe" has rearranged and re-rearranged a collection of small figurines scattered everywhere in the hall. I'm beginning to think she has some sort of compulsion. Out of curiousity, I snatched one of the figures when she wasn't looking, just to see if she'd notice. Not only did she notice, she appeared to be unable to function properly until she discovered where she had stashed it. She tore through her pack like a warrior seeking something to smash, after which she moved on to the seemingly bottomless chest in the corner of the room. Realizing that I'd perhaps awakened something better left alone, I slid the figurine onto the floor below its shelf in order to make her think it had simply fallen. When she noticed where it had ended up, she scooped it back into its proper place, muttering under her breath about "minkeys" again. I'll keep an eye out for these creatures--they sound dangerous.

[Day 6 of Carl hunt--2:14am]
Finally, I have some peace! That miniscule armored beast with a penchant for axe-smashing (henceforth dubbed "Larry" due to the fact that he never really seems to know what's going on) apparently has an affinity for all things alcoholic as well--he has a rather impressive stash of various different grogs in the basement of this hall and he is certainly not afraid to use all of them. That said, he's not the problem; it appears I've encountered the creatures that Moe had rambled on about during previous evenings. Unfortunately, this also led me to discover the apparent source of this place's "homey" aroma. The Minkeys appear to have a somewhat regular tradition of raiding Tankarific's stash during the wee hours, generally after the Carls have wandered off. These ill-mannered simians not only consumed a fair portion of the substantial liquor cabinet, but they also "refreshed" what I had previously took to be markings made in mud on the walls. Imagine my dismay when I learned the truth about this "mud"...

I've finished my inspection of this territory for whatever traps or hazards the Carls may have placed about, and aside from a rather ... unusual waste disposal facility, the place appears to be relatively unguarded--a fact I found remarkable given Moe's evident obsession with her decorative figurines. Nevertheless, this obviously bodes well for my mission... whenever I decide exactly what it is.

[Day 9 of Carl hunt--11:54am]
My "intelligence gathering" has encountered a completely unexpected (and quite bewildering) obstacle in the form of a creature that for the life of me, I simply can't understand. I was creating an inventory of all the figurines scattered about when I sensed that someone was approaching. I barely had time to duck behind one of the mossy pillars supporting the hall's excuse for a ceiling before a ... man, I think, wearing the brightest pants I had ever seen appeared. Trust me in this: my words can never even come close to describing just how ostentatious his outfit was. This is due in part to the fact that I couldn't look directly at him (for fear of being blinded, both from the light and from horror), but more so to the fact that there are no words for this ... thing. As he entered, fireworks started going off throughout the hall, and it took a supreme act of will to keep my feline instincts suppressed enough to sit still, lest I be seen. Although to be honest, I doubt my emergence would've made the slightest difference to him; he appeared to pay no heed to anything at all, running about in circles and dropping snowmen behind. To him, I doubt I would've even registered as a novelty, which is largely what I find so inexplicable. At least with the previous two humans, I could sense their overall demeanor: Larry, like any other warrior, can't think beyond the point of his axe, and sees no need to change that; Moe, on the other hand, seemed driven to seek out the most efficient means to whatever end she had at the time, and most of those ends would've led through me. "Curly" (as I've dubbed ... him), however, didn't appear to have any motive for anything. His mindless wanton exuberance left me reeling--in fact, I believe I passed out briefly, and emerged dumber from the encounter. Thankfully, by the time I came to, he had moved on (hopefully to visit those Minkeys; *that* would be an encounter for the ages!), leaving me time to gather what few thoughts I had remaining to me. I'd never encountered a being with such ability to completely obliterate rational thought from himself and all of his surroundings... let us hope I don't encounter him again.

After my mind had cleared, I hastily sketched this portrait of what I experienced. I no longer know how accurate it is.

It seems these Carls could potentially put up more of a fight than I had anticipated, however inadvertent their efforts may be.

[Day 13 of Carl 'hunt'--1:11pm]
Tonight I decided to conduct an experiment and observe these Carls in their natural habitat. After all, thus far I'd only seen them being drunk, acting drunk, and obsessing over minutiae in the protection of their own home. As a result, I packed myself a ration kit from my remaining vending machine spoils and sauntered off after them (at a safe distance, of course) on a trip into a horrible region with water that appeared to be made of stone.

Proper food for any Charr-on-the-go.

Larry appeared to be particularly excited about this foray, as it allowed him the opportunity to bring a small turtle that fired ping-pong balls at his enemies. Although the creature's attack didn't noticeably impair his enemies' abilities, his master derived great joy in the form of drunken giggling fits every time he glanced down and remembered that it was there.

[Day 14 of Carl 'hunt'--9:24am]
Scent carries forever in this lifeless ocean, and yet with all this expanse, the only other Charr I've managed to catch wind of is that vile traitor that follows the armored one around like a pathetic lapdog. I can see why he had to leave his own people, of course: he makes very poor combat decisions, drawing enemies near when his packmates are obviously recouping after a recent fight. After his targets have drawn closer, he runs like a cowardly human with his tail tucked between his legs until all the fire has been drawn to his compatriots, at which time he hails arrows down upon their heads (with no regard for friends or foes) at the rate of approximately one arrow per hour. Just for the hell of it, I decided to throw some of my own arrows into the fray, as my stalking was growing tiresome. As a test of this poor outcast's ineptitude, I decided to see if I could fire an arrow, have a snack, and fire another arrow all in the time it took him to finish applying poison to his quiver.

My last Kit-Kat meets a worthy demise.

I actually managed to finish the entire bar before he had finished firing a single arrow. I'm not entirely sure why the humans keep him around, but Larry appears to dote on him like a den mother, praising his durability all the while ignoring the fact that his cowardice is a direct cause of said longevity.

[Day 16 of Carl 'hunt'--4:03pm]
Several days of observing these creatures in action have dulled my lust for revenge after what they did to my "friends". In fact, my smoldering disdain for them has given way at least in part to a sad sense of pity, at least for Moe. Despite her obvious addiction to miniatures, she appears to be the only competent being of the three. In the instances where the party is divided (which happens far too frequently, mostly due to Curly's unpredictable whims), Larry and Curly inevitably end up dashing about in endless circles; they obviously think they're going somewhere, but neither appears to be able to read a map, so they just continue wandering, oblivious to their surroundings. The drunken one at least has an excuse--after all, that dwarven ale packs quite a kick, and he never seems to put it down--but the other... well, he's simply an idiot. Or an idiot with a death wish. Or a remarkable savant at emulating the actions of an idiot with a death wish. Regardless, I have estimated that the party would've accomplished their goal 90000% faster without his influence. He reminds me Lumpy, in a way, but with less fur (at least prior to the flea egg incident). And, of course, uglier.

[Day 20 of Carl 'hunt'--12:34pm]
It appears the Carls' quest has reached an impasse; they have been instructed to deliver a box from one village into the hands of a grateful recipient across this ocean. In and of itself, this would seem to be a simple task. Any who would expect this to be so for the Carls, however, has never encountered Curly. Showing no regard for the task at hand, as soon as the box was in sight, he snatched it away from his leader and proceeded to begin opening it in hopes of discovering ... well, I don't know what he was looking for. Something shiny, I imagine. Moe, in a vain attempt to get the party back on track, tried to take the package back, resulting in a pathetic tug-of-war over something that was probably worthless to all involved.

Not actual photo of the struggle.

This process lasted for the better part of an hour, at which point the miniature turtle vomited forth another ping-pong ball, which distracted Curly long enough for Moe to secure the cargo once again. Larry remained oblivious to all around him as he gulped down another tankard and waved his axe about menacingly at the rocky waves (coming dangerously close to decapitating Curly, I might add--I'm not entirely sure he would've regretted it if he had). At this point, I decided that I had little else to gain from further observation, and as my supplies were running low anyway, it seemed a good time to return to the hall and consider my next move. Just for fun, I fired a few arrows into a pack of irukandji that were drifting nearby (surprising the Charr with the Carls, who was about to do the same thing) and began to make the journey back. I do not know that this experience has clarified my future plans regarding the Carls at all; however, I do know I can't handle any more insanity for the time being. Perhaps next time I follow them, I'll wait until Moe is going out alone. She seems to be the most tolerable of the bunch. Plus, she doesn't appear to be as modest when picking out her clothes...

The Ruination of the Flame Temple

Editor's Note: This transcript was recently delivered to CarlHalla via an arrow shot through our stained glass portrait of Prince. It is evidently in response to a recent vanquish in which the Carls stormed the Charr's beloved Flame Temple. During said foray, the Carls destroyed all cat-related bests discovered therein with scathing verbal taunts and imprecations against the Charrs' respective mothers. While the party was frequently sent packing (leaving trails of shame and urine in their wake), they eventually emerged triumphant. ... Or so they thought. This column was evidently sent by a survivor--one who didn't take kindly to the Carls' interruption of his daily activities.

Pages originally torn from Gulbozz "Snuggles" Nastywhisker's personal journal, as transcribed by Necrotic Carl.

...hate that guy so much. He thought that damn nickname was so clever; now everyone in the Temple is calling me 'Snuggles'! Every single day I think about shoving an arrow into the back of his skull... no one would even notice it was me; they'd just blame it on one of those damn rangers that seem to have the range of a small cannon. One of these days, I swear I'm going to do it. Even the shamans that coward always hangs out with won't be able to bring him back then...


[Day 4 of temple guard duty--8:43am]
I can't believe it's only been four days since I was sent to this worthless excuse for guard duty. We're not even really guarding anything; we haven't heard reports of any of those Ascalonian "heroes" for weeks, and yet here I am, standing watch over this pile of dirt we've crowned as holy. Stupid shamans. I bet they just named this a temple to see how long they could get us to stand guard over it before we finally got tired of the game and went back home. They probably have a royal outhouse at the top of this thing.


[Day 6 of 'temple' guard duty--3:42pm]
That idiot in charge of us just called me "Snuggles" again and fell over himself in a fit of hysterical giggles at his own cleverness. Yeah, way to go buddy--oh, wait, your actual name is Lumps Ruinator! What the hell were your parents thinking, dumbass? ... I totally should've said that to him. I'll note it down for next time, in case I forget. Hate that guy.

On an unrelated note, I saw what looked like gigantic three-headed squirrels prowling about the perimeter today. Here's hoping they find Lumps and "Ruinate" his business.


[Day 9 of 'temple' guard duty--11:34am]
A little over a week out here now, and I can hardly tell; every day is exactly the same. Seeing as how this stint comes straight on the heels of my last deployment to the north, it's been months since I've seen a female of any species, let alone a feline one. I gotta admit, after a while in the field, some of these guys get pretty desperate; I think I saw one of my fellow rangers getting awfully frisky with those gargoyles yesterday. Poor bastard... I don't even want to know how long he's been away from home; all's I know is that won't be turning my back on him, if you know what I mean. At what point in history did our priests sit down and decide that women don't belong in the field? Did our religion develop overnight at a gay slumber party? How can these idiots not see the distraction this can eventually cause? Hell, even those human vermin allow their females to fight alongside them--and in armor that amounts to little more than gauze and floss, at that! I think the other day I saw this little tiny creature running around the outskirts of the temple in nothing but underwear and tattoos! She *must* have divine protection, not to mention some bitchin' sunblock.

Speaking of lotion, the other day I found Lumps' shampoo and mixed some flea eggs I got from eBay into it; no signs of hatching yet, but the next week or so should be interesting. Thank god we can still get mail out here--although oddly enough, the only porn you can get is dolyak stuff, and that's not quite to my tastes. Still, they start to look nice after a while...


[Day 14 of 'temple' guard duty--10:15am]
If I ever catch the rat-bastard who told Lumpy that I was responsible for the shampoo prank, he'll have a fresh arrow hole where his brain used to be. The day after the outbreak started, I found myself "reassigned" to this desolate patch of the Diessa Lowlands at the entrance to the temple. This, of course, means I only get to socialize with the axe-wielder troglodytes that we basically plant here as mindless roadblocks to prevent stupid humans from waltzing on in. Officially, I am to watch out and hail arrows upon unsuspecting travelers, but everyone knows I've been placed here as punishment for teaching that moron a lesson. Heh. Those fleas were awesome though; they had to shave the poor bastard to clean him up, and he was covered with bites. Seeing him blush in embarrassment around the welts almost makes it all worth it.

Artist's rendering of Lumpy's new look

[Day 16 of 'temple' entrance guard duty--12:45pm]
This morning I attempted to have a conversation with the mongoloids accompanying me in this waste of a guard duty cycle--big mistake. Attempting to decipher their grunts (emitted whilst spewing forth clouds of crumbs--we were eating breakfast) was a singularly frustrating task that I eventually gave up to focus on watching the dust blow about the entrance to the corridor. After a while, the dust actually starts to look like humans sneaking upon us, but I generally attribute that to boredom. After my fruitless attempt at banter with the moron twins, I had to get myself a snack from the vending machine (thank GOD they let us have that out here; otherwise we'd be forced to subsist on army rations). The fact that a candy bar costs over 2 platinum out here seems a bit excessive, but after a few weeks, it becomes more reasonable. Besides, what good is the money going to do me out here?

Ah, Kit-Kats, my only friend. I can't count the number of afternoons I've sat out here humming that song to myself for hours on end. I asked the axe twins if they remembered the song from our younger days and they presented me with looks as blank as their minds. Warriors, I've learned, don't retain information longer than the few seconds it takes their brains to reprocess what they've heard into one of two things: "Smash with axe!" or "Why no smash with axe?" After several fruitless attempts ("Gimme a break! Giiiiiimme a break. Break me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar!" No? Nothing? Screw you guys.), I turned about to enjoy my candy goodness in peace.

Image reproduced by CarlHalla staff

I managed to eat about half of it (I always save the last two bars for later) when suddenly I felt a series of overwhelming sensations; I could feel my body's vitality slowly draining and the smashy twins started roaring incoherent ramblings towards the entrance. I somehow couldn't bring myself to care about them (my spirit felt... something... not wrathful or vengeful... but something like that. It's hard to describe.), but I suddenly realized that a small group of human vermin had dared attack us! And in the middle of my break, no less! The last thing I remember was firing a series of exploding arrows towards a particularly scantily-clad female in a mask, and slowly falling to the ground. A tiny man was hurtling towards my cohorts screaming "Tankarific smash with axe!"; I guess some things are universal.


[Day 18 of 'temple' guard duty--17:57pm]
It's a peculiar feeling being the only creature alive in an entire region. My own feelings regarding my surroundings (as well as those who inhabited them) are obviously well-known and oft-lamented, but even I could never envision this. It's been two days, and still, I'm the only thing that dares move in this wretched place. On the bright side, I broke open the vending machine and took all the candy I could cram down my gullet, but even the joy that Kit-Kats once brought to my heart was eclipsed by the burning desire to track down those who were responsible for the destruction of all that I once despised. After I finish looting the corpses (and urinating on Lumps' now-smoking remains), I plan to set off on the trail of those who brought this down upon me. I may kill them--after all, it is my duty. I may thank them--because hey, I hated that guy. But one way or another, the hunt is on.

Musings on the Carl

Rejoice, my ravenous fans, for I am return-ed to these hallowed pages and I bring with me enlightenment for those legions of Carl supporters who have clamored for a deeper explanation of all things Carl. I should mention at this point that this post will not contain your usual allotment of screenshots of the Carls caught in action; instead, I plan to cover this screen with nothing more than words, most of which will be of the five-dollar variety, as I don't usually bother to carry larger denominations. Indeed, I am here today to shower you all with my own brand of understanding (as well as a substantial dose of verbiage), a process that may also answer the number one question most frequently asked of the Carls when they are discovered: How do I know if I am a Carl? (I say 'may', of course, because I haven't thought that far ahead and could care less anyway).

The roots of the Carl have been well-documented already in Shari's earlier post, and I dare not attempt to improve upon it. Any who find her explanation to be lacking in appropriate details will find my own attempts far far worse, and probably less coherent. That said, it should be understood that the Carl is far greater than this single instance; while AngelKitty's momentous (and, for Battle.net, surprisingly well-formatted) chatter spawned the current incarnation of the Carl that we all know and love, this did not, in fact, create the Carl. The Carl was there, waiting for us to discover it, and it transcends any one person, game, world, or run-on sentence. The first step one must make in their Carl understanding is simply to accept that this understanding will not--nay, cannot!--come. Only by no longer attempting to understand it can the Carl's nature even begin to be grasped.

I have never been documented claiming to understand the Carl; indeed, I have rarely been documented expressing any coherent thought at all. However, I find myself in a unique position in that that very lack of understanding is what makes this explanation possible. Perhaps this is simply because few things about the Carl make any form of logical sense, as is shown in how it manifests itself in its practitioners. In my case, the Carl obviously exhibits a disdain for all things straightforward and serious, much to Sharon's chagrin when facing the tide of red dots that I am driven to rile up. Sharon, on the other hand, displays the very opposite Carlish effect: her attention to detail balances my complete lack of attention at all. This is not to say that her Carl is weaker than my Carl (her lavishing of attention upon filthy simians aside), as it simply makes itself known in different ways. Perhaps this delicate balance should shed some light on the Carl's inner workings. Between Sharon's fastidiousness and my own lack of any -idiousness whatsoever, we guarantee that neither portion of the Carl's will is ever truly more powerful than the other. Just as I fulfill the Carl's demands by wandering off aimlessly, so too does she eventually ensure that we get where we're going, and both parties have a richer experience as a result.

My more attentive readers have no doubt noticed that I have omitted the third party that makes up the trio of Carl representatives dispatched to Arena.net thus far in my explanation. Rest assured that this is not implying that she is a lesser carrier of the Carl than either Sharon or myself; on the contrary, Shari is a peculiar example of what I have tentatively termed a "Self-Balancing Carl"(TM). This rare instance of inherent Carl balance allows Shari to display the Carlish attributes of both her comrades while still avoiding the greater extremes to which the other Carls have been known to visit. As may be surmised, this allows her to get along passably well with both Sharon's driven nature as well as my own driven insanity. With her influence, Sharon and I manage to avoid a veritable clash of the Carl extremes every time we are in the same district. How does she do this? I certainly am not the right one to ask; perhaps it's due to the stabilizing influence of her rarely-mentioned fellow Carl who has thus far not been allowed onto Anet's demesne, or perhaps she's simply had years of extended Carl development that I lack the attention span for. Whatever the cause, she stands as the epitome of a Carl that has adapted to operate within the realms of sanity and normal society.

I realize that this treatise may come across as favoring one aspect of the Carl over another, but please, dear reader, believe me when I say that the Carl does not play favorites. Except with Blorf, whose name is so insanely awesome that he is now and will forever be the Carl's favorite weird gremlin thing. And yes, I know the question remains unanswered, but if you've made it this far in the article and still even care about the answer, your Carl needs a serious tune-up. A hearty regimen of reading the Carl archives is strongly recommended.

Mysterious Herbs Result in Carl Quarantine

During a recent foraging expedition to restock the larder of Carls' Kitchen, honorary Carl (and sometimes spy) Ghostly Wombat stumbled across several previously undocumented new species of roughage, which ultimately left CarlHalla designated as "unfit for visitors". This, of course, is vastly different from its usual motto of "Abandon all corn, ye who enter here". This article stands as a public announcement broadcast by the Carl guild as warning to any cooking enthusiasts, lest similar circumstances befall another guild.

Although Melonni obviously knows the fern is poisonous, she knows Carls never learn anything that they don't experience for themselves

Depicted above is the root cause of the problem. When presented with a glowing bush (or indeed, most anything that glows), the natural Carl reaction is "I could make booze out of that!" Consequently, Ghostly Wombat ignored Melonni's evident disdain for the fern and harvested a sample for the Carl distillery. It is a widely-believed fact that Tankarific will drink most anything that makes a sloshing sound when jostled, and she logically concluded that if said substance glowed whilst providing the drunken goodness that he loved so much.

Ignoring Melonni's chuckling in the background, Ghostly enlisted Gwen's help in gathering and transporting the herb back to the kitchen. However, she was soon sidetracked by yet another fascinating bit of herbiage:

Tahlkora gesticulates wildly in an attempt to prevent Ghostly from making a second mistake

Hypnotized by the leafy bush apparently growing out of a dinosaur's foot, Ghostly couldn't help but imagine the possibilities. Dinodrink? Scaly Delight? Gargantuan Grog? The possibilities were endless! Quickly harvesting a bushel of dino-leaves, she scurried back to CarlHalla in hopes of preparing a celebratory drink-fest the likes of which the filthy minkeys would envy for generations.

Despite several setbacks (including a couple small-scale explosions that had Healing Carl beating her senseless for damaging her precious wyvern painting), refreshments were produced, including a delightful salad that combined the products of both bushes. The dinner a success, Ghostly reveled in the guild's compliments. Until, that is, half an hour later, when several Carls begain experiencing minor digestive problems.

Godly Carl lets off some steam

After careful evaluation, the Carls have determined that any documentation of these events must be stricken from the record. On a related note, CarlHalla will be hosting a gathering to which all filthy minkeys are invited. Drinks will be served.

Carl or No?

Welcome, readers, to another installment of "Carl or No?"! As our longtime readers know, this series presents the viewer with an assortment of images and asks whether the figures depicted are Carls, or simply plebeians who have no place in honest society. Now, without further stalling for time, let's get started!

Contestant 1 enjoys fine dining, long walks on the Jade Sea, and clowns! Let's have a few words.

[Goth/Emo Lovechild]: "Excuse me, I think I'm lost. See, I was heading for a KISS convention and my car broke down. Could you point me to the nearest phone?"

Good stuff, good good stuff. We'll have the audience's verdict at the end of the segment. And now, let's see Contestant 2!

Fancypants?! Wait, you're not Fancypants. Clever disguise though. See me after the show; I have someone I think you should meet.

[Tattooed Man in Girdle]: "Me Carl because me freeze things with eyenipples and smash with axe! ... No have axe now, but show later!"

[Audience]: "oooOOooo!"

My my, looks like Tankarific's got an admirer! Let's hope he doesn't drink, or CarlHalla's supply chain will be overwhelmed! And speaking of supplies, our next contestant is in charge of making sure that the Carls' minipets have a ready stash of pre-sliced kibble to suit any palate!

[Woman with Hair Julienne]: "What can I say? Give me a meat and I'll dice it up. In fact, it doesn't even have to technically be meat; this one time, I sliced--"

Let me just cut you off there, madame; this is a family column, and Diabolical Carl has already described your escapades with him in great detail.

[Julienne]: "Diabolical who now?"

Anyway, our next contestant claims to share a physical attribute with several of the Carls. Let's see if we can guess what it is!

So, would anyone care to take a guess? What Carl attribute is very prominently displayed by contestant 4?

[Audience]: "A face!" "The mask!" "Worms on his chest!" "A penchant for buggery!"

Well now, I'm not sure how that last one qualifies as a physical attribute, but it seems we have several ideas, and so far no winners. We'll announce the answer at the end of the column for you readers out there who can't stand to not know. And that brings us to the next contestant!

[Blue Crab]: "I pinch?" *scuttles around aimlessly*

Whoa, I think we have a dead ringer here! No voting necessary folks; he's obviously a pervert, and obviously lost/drunk/both! If that isn't Carl, I don't know what is! Let's move on.

Ho now, it seems we're in the presence of royalty! This contestant is almost as well-known as Prince Rurik himself for his tendency towards both dying as well as not-surviving! What do you have to say?

[Aggro-drawing Suicidal Masochistic Bastard who charges recklessly into battle every single time you're doing a mission in which he has to survive]: "Shiro must be stopped! Maybe if I dive from this ridiculously high platform into the midst of that deadly battle..."

[Audience]: "Heal him! Have all monks focus on him immediately and never stop!!"

Ha ha! Always the joker. And speaking of jokes, we've reached our final contestant of the day. This character is not likely to be familiar to anyone, and simply had the misfortune of being in the wrong place when our cameraman was calibrating his shot!

This walking wardrobe malfunction apparently got up on the wrong side of bed and just decided to keep facing that way! Perhaps we have a royalty competition with our previous contestant?

[Kamikaze Togo]: "A crown does not royalty make. You have to be willing to throw yourself into any fray, no matter how hopeless!" *triggers group of afflicted pop-ups*

Well said, my frined, well said. And with the main segment of the colum out of the way, let's jump straight to the conclusions. Judges tell us: which ones are Carls?!

[Judges]: "Well, contestant one is obviously out. I mean, goth *and* emo in one package? That's not Carl, that's just freaking annoying. Plus, what's with that little patch of fur on his chin? Either grow a beard or don't! It's not a complicated decision!"

[Lovechild]: "I expected nothing less; this just serves to reinforce my impression that life is a pointless sad descent--"

[Judges]: "Someone drag him out of here. Moving on to contestant 2: this was a much tougher decision. I mean, he has eyes where his freaking nipples should be! That said, after careful analysis, we've concluded that this is not Carl, it is merely a poor attempt to disguise oneself as Carl in order to infiltrate Fancypants' inner sanctum. Everyone knows his penchant for all things nipple-related."

[Eyenipples]: *Attempts to smash the podium with the axe he forgot at home* *Looks confused*.

{Judges]: "Whatever. Go hang out with that Emo guy. With those pretenders cast aside, we can dig into the real meat of the competition. Sickle woman, despite her odd choice of makeup, is definitely a Carl in hiding, attempting to blend in with those who cannot understand her inner Carlness. Hell, she even chose a weapon shaped like a C for Carl, even though this design is obviously detrimental to her doing any real damage in battle. And, of course, this demonstrates her Carlness more clearly than anything, as a Carl is always willing to sacrifice effectiveness for fashion."

[Julienne]: "I thank you for the honor you have bestowed upon me. Now if you'll excuse me, I hear a horde of hungry minipets milling about CarlHalla. Sharon must've signed online."

[Judges]: "Ever dedicated to your work. Go with Carl, fine lady. Now for the man with worms on his chest: while the point on your head speaks for itself, you just don't quite seem to have the Carl 'zest'. Perhaps you come across as too focused? Might I suggest you add some corn to your garment decor and see if it helps your chances for next time?

[PointyHead]: *Hangs pointed head in shame* "I have brought dishonor upon myself and my house. I cannot bear to keep living!" *Charges in to join Togo*

[Judges]: "Iiinteresting... with that reckless maneuver, he might just be Carl material! We'll take that discussion offline for our next show. Now, as the Blue Crab's candidacy has already been established, we move along to that idiot trying to get himself killed in order to ruin our chances at beating this mission. No Carl, end of story. You suck Togo, I hate you, and you can burn in hell with Rurik and those damned ice imps that cast maelstrom whenever I stand still for more than 2 seconds.

"And finally, our crowned candidate of not paying attention... interesting strategy. It is true that a Carl would never be caught paying attention to anything evident, and despite your bad fashion sense, I think the crown works. However! You are docked infinity million points for not facing the camera during the shoot."

Well then, it looks like that sums things up! As always, you may not agree with the judges' decisions, but if nothing else, that simply proves that they're right! And for those of you that think the judges' last comment about the crowned one was contradictory, just remember: a true Carl ALWAYS knows where the camera is!

Better Know the Carls

As longtime (and most shorttime) disciples of the Carl are well aware, the Carl is nothing if not a study in contrasts. Observers of the witty banter between the Carls and the Filthy Minkeys (TM) may note within moments a multitude of nonsensical statements, most of which conflict with each other. This seeming incongruity is due in part to the very eccentricity of the Carl; making sense has never held any place in the Carl's bylaws, and as such is not attributed the level of respect that is granted to, say, corn, or words that sound awesome.

Our more perceptive readers may have noticed that I said "in part" in the lines above, while those more Carlishly inclined probably lost interest and wandered off in search of something shiny and alcoholic. Regardless, I say this because the Carl's very contrariness to all things normal is also caused in large part by its very internal diversity. See the figure below.

Rurik is obviously disgusted with Tankarific's unwillingness to make others do all his work.

You may notice several layers of contrasts in the preceding image, some evident to all, but some only to those who know where to look. For example, the most obvious difference between the figures represented (Tankarific top, Rurik bottom, Bad Puppy left) is that Tankarific is the embodiment of all things tank: he stoically survives (usually), he's clad head-to-toe in shiny plate, he smash with axe, etc. In contrast, Rurik is the exact opposite: he's whiny (both alive and dead), has obvious gaps in his protective layers, is quite obviously flaming (or at least his sword is, and that's what's important), etc. The Bad Puppy, obviously, needs no description, as his faults were adequately mentioned in a previous post.

Now some may argue that this example deals with only one Carl, and as such, cannot possible encompass all the complexities of a true Carl contradiction. While valid, this complaint assumes that my argument is complete. If that were the case, what would the remainder of this long-winded post contain? Hmm? That's what I thought! That said, see the image below:

Tankarific and Necrotic rarely see eye-to-eye, for various reasons we won't get into.

Yes, it's another Tankarific example, as he is a favorite of our more primitive readers who can empathize with his straightforward manner of dealing with obstacles. Nonetheless, upon comparing the image with the first picture in this post, the most notable difference is the complete darkness in image 2, once Necrotic Carl has entered the picture. Tankarific, the epitome of good, proper (albeit often inebriated) society, has had his light muted by the presence of a more sinister figure. Although Necrotic tries to balance things out with a smashing choice of outfits, his hideous visage (shown in half-profile to protect our more impressionable readers) blocks out any and all light brought about by Tankarific's proximity. Continued evidence of this is provided in Figure 3:

A study in ugly? I hesitate to crown a winner, but the guy on the left looks somewhat like one of the sand people.

My apologies to our readers with delicate sensibilities, but as something of a hack writer, I tend to use shock value to get my point across. The ugliness contained in the image above has not been adequately measured, but top experts have described it as being "as ugly as possible without destroying all that is holy in the world." When asked what would happen if Diabolical Carl were to enter the scene, said experts' eyes widened in alarm before their heads exploded.

Excessive analysis aside, the figure in the foreground of Figure 3 has obviously dealt with Necrotic before, as he has come prepared with a full-face industrial grade gas mask and what appears to be flaming gloves to sterilize anything he touches. Necrotic wisely keeps his distance, contenting himself with leveling a malevolent glare at the oblivious creature. It should be noted that the begasmasked character, while not a Carl, appears to know how to properly deal with them, much as the secondary character in Figure 4:

Godly Carl likes to keep himself surrounded by fine ladies, even if they're colorblind.

Ah, finally we reach another Carl whose very appearance doesn't destroy the equipment with which his image is captured. Yes, we are viewing the (in?)famous Godly Carl, a rare sighting, given his recent reclusiveness. Known for dying frequently and being better at pulling than at tanking, we can see that despite the fact that he wears a dress, he still has time to inspect the wares of the opposite sex. Obviously his good fashion sense has become offended by the lime green abomination standing beside him, but he only has eyes for the necro woman in the tattered skirt. Some men might be concerned by the fact that she is obviously required to cover her face in public, but that is evidently not the area that he's interested in anyway. ... *ahem* but I digress. Our last Carlish example lies below.

Kuunavang feigns disinterest as the ladies inspect the megapet.

We close with two of the Carl ladies, evidently fascinated by one of the rare megapets that can be found sporatically throughout the Jade Sea. Ghostly Carl has a long history of antagonizing such behemoths, but this one has apparently captured her heart and Mesmerizing Carl's mild disinterest. Although these two women are obviously distracted by gigantic adorable animals, don't let their mild exteriors deceive you; Mesmerizing is known for her sharp tongue and rapid pace and Ghostly will promptly get confused and drop an urn of some random person's ashes upon your head before she realizes what's happening.

This concludes this installment of Comparisons in Carl; future installments will include several characters that, while not Carls, have attained the honored rank of "Cheap Imitation Carl" (and no, FancyPants won't be in that one either. You know you're disappointed).

The Future Is Corn

Image clearly pilfered from Cracked. Just because they're a joke site doesn't mean they aren't right! After all, the Carls are full of wit, charm, and infectious humor, but we are also clearly correct about everything of which we speak.

Some of you have wondered about the Carlish preoccupation with corn. Since you've taken the time to worship at the altar of Carl by reading this site (don't try to deny it because that's got to be the only reason you are here - you love us and can't stay away!), I'll let you in on a hint or two as to why the Carl loves corn.

You may not realize this, but corn is everywhere you want to be, in every product you want to use and in everything you want to eat. There's a list here, but it only claims corn is in 25% of the products we buy so they're not exactly the most reliable source. Nonetheless, they give the ignorant rabble who live outside the blessed aura of Carl a clue or two about the breadth and power of corn in our lives.

A biodegradable corn kitchen organizer. It looks like plastic, but has all of the power of corn. If you're starving to death, you can eat your organizers to survive until the next corn harvest.

In fact, if I were an investing sort, I'd be sinking my money into corn right now as it is certain that the future is going to be flying corn cars and high speed corn computers with high fructose processors. Mark my words.

Perverted Gremlin Propositions Carls

During a recent foray into gremlin territory to help the filthy creatures remove certain undesirable elements from their region (most notably involving creatures thought to be extinct for several hundred million years), Ghostly Wombat (exercising a Carl day-pass to team up with the guild) encountered a local with an apparent appetite for more "earthy" pleasures.

The oddly-named Blimm proposes that Ghostly inspect his "goods"

The demented creature apparently lures unsuspecting travelers to his vicinity by having an inexplicably awesome name. However, once they approach, he becomes increasingly agitated, eager to depart the town and visit a more convenient (and secluded) location.

His confidence up, Blimm is eager to get to his "guest house"

It should be noted that although she was foolish enough to approach, Ghostly Wombat managed to drop an urn of Kuurong's ashes on his head and escaped unscathed. Other locals who are familiar with Blimm's penchant for the forbidden fruits were heard remarking the suitability of the gremlin being foiled by the ashes of someone once best known for "grasping".

It is suspected that Blimm is still at large, and at this point, is probably very desperate. He may now be armed with the ashes of one who once had similar appetites, and consequently should be avoided at all costs. Strangely, Fancypants Carl has volunteered to bring this perverted creature to justice, so any and all information about Blimm's current whereabouts should be forwarded to Fancypants for further research. (Informants are discouraged from sending personal photos unless they also happen to be yaks, involve yaks, or are related to yaks in any way).

***UPDATE***

The suspect known as "Blimm" may have already met someone with a less forgiving nature than that of Ghostly Wombat. During their recent forays into the same area, the Carls stumbled across the item depicted below:

The "staff"; apparently Blimm also had a penchant for hyperbole

Due to these findings, Fancypants has apparently lost interest in the case, although he has retained the evidence for "archival purposes". However, in a somewhat disturbing development, Diabolical Carl has determined to continue to pursue the case until Blimm's (hopefully unharmed) corpse is discovered. "I can't rest until I have his cold dead corpse in my hands," the frightening monster claimed. When questioned as to why he was so intent on solving this particular crime, he replied "Crime? What did he do?"

Diabolical Carl pondering the sanity of his cohorts (and rightfully so). (File photo)

(Editor's note from the High Queen of Carl (Shari): I added Diabolical's picture here for reference).

Regardless of his motives, it may be only fitting that Blimm's body be claimed by a creature nearly half as ugly as he himself once was.

Mystery Disease Strikes the Carl

Smiting Carl looks on as Ghostly Wombat, who likely contracted the disease after sneaking into the Carl guild hall (Carlhalla), goes into a fit of jerky spasms. As a smiter, he is helpless to apply any healing techniques to her in her hour of need so he stands by and applauds her entertaining disorder.

A mystery disease is striking certain members of the Carl clan. The symptoms include spastic and/or clumsy movements, a tendency to drool more frequently than usual for a Carl, and a loss of desire for corn. The slobber in particular is actually an alarming amount considering the impressive amount of spittle of which the average Carl is capable. Great pools of this oozing is collecting on the floor of Carlhalla so visitors are encouraged to watch their step or risk a sock-soaking of possibly infectious Carl juices.

Tanktastic does her impression of someone with an I.Q. lower than 80. Since she has an I.Q. of 68, it's hard to say if this is a symptom of the unknown disease or if she's just playing with her pet Rurik on an average day. Nonetheless, it is a disturbing sight. (file photo)

Adopting a vacant and dumb look on one's face while clumsily stomping on the ground with one foot is another possible symptom, but it's hard to know for sure as Carls are prone to doing this pretty much all the time anyway.

Virtuous Carl consults with a doctor who could tear himself away from the sensory delights of the guild hall long enough to offer a theory about the cause of the mystery disease. This particular doctor theorized that certain Carls may be in the advanced stages of a mutant yak-based venereal disease.

Doctors claim to be working around the clock in an attempt to deal with this disease. However, this news source noticed that most of the doctors seemed to be spending their time riffling through the collection of yak porn hidden behind the Festival Hat maker and scarfing down the excess stores of corn. However, between trips to the "spanking pond" and mouthfuls of corn, one doctor said he believes that the disease is likely psychosomatic in nature. The doctor believes that the nature of Carl is to constantly behave in confusing and unpredictable ways and frequent socialization between Carls forces them to act more and more bizarre in order to differentiate themselves from the other Carls. In essence, the unpredictable and odd becomes predictable and mundane so new, dark and increasingly disturbing levels of Carlishness must be plumbed.

When asked for a comment on this theory, Virtuous Carl responded with, "what?" and adopted a confused and dumb-founded look proving that he, too, may have been infected. Clearly, the Carls are not overly troubled by this new development, but others may be well-advised to stay clear of them for the time being, particularly if you aren't a fan of drooling and seizure-like dancing moves.

A Tour of CarlHalla - Part 1

The following article is part one of a multi-part series covering the detailed inner workings of the Carls' Guild Hall (aka CarlHalla). Our undercover operative, Ghostly Wombat (pictured to the left), is obviously not of the Carl clan. However, at great risk to herself and her various pets (most notably her wombats), she infiltrated this heavily-guarded fortress to reveal to the world exactly what goes on when the doors of CarlHalla are closed. This [dramatic pause] is her story.

(Ghostly Wombat gesticulates wildly, most likely at something large and fearsome.)

I'll cut right to the chase: the splendor of CarlHalla is unmatched anywhere in the Guild Isles, from NUDE's eyesore (apparently designed by a color-blind three-year-old) to the former WoS haven with its splendiferous waterfall. CarlHalla not only meets these (admittedly low) standards, it surpasses them, then mocks them for their abundant inadequacies.

A holy light seems to ooze from CarlHalla's pores, pouring forth onto residents and visitors alike.

The wonders of CarlHalla are evident as soon as one enters its hallowed halls. The gaping entryway that funnels members and their sponsored "guests" alike into the main chambers guides them directly to the feet of their giant of a Guild Lord. His intent glare down at you is nearly enough to distract you from the amazing carving that appears to have taken residence beneath his feet.

Our reporter braves the Guild Lord's glare for this groundbreaking footage of a compass. Carved in the floor.

Despite the evident beauty of the compass, the Guild Lord's incessant throat-clearing and muttering about "kids on [his] artwork" drives any curious travelers away within a few moments. However, they soon realize that the scenery is just beginning...

Grenth is evidently held in high regard by the Carl

The gargantuan stained-glass window pictured above is the centerpiece to carlHalla's shrine to Grenth, the almighty ruler of the underworld and Dwayna's mortal enemy. Although the window has a staircase leading up to it, the stairs appear to stem from a bottomless reflecting pool, perhaps implying that the Carl worships no one, but certainly can appreciate fine art at discount prices (there was a chip in the glass that evidently reduced its list price).

The reflecting pool appears to be fed by a series of large gargoyle statues steadily drooling into it. While this reporter is uncertain as to where the spittle ends up, she decided not to let any splash onto her sandals; gargoyle saliva is notoriously hard to get out from between your toes. The pool also appeared to double as Tankarific Carl's commode/vomit repository when he was too lazy to wander over to the actual facilities.

After backing away from the spit receptacle, visitors may note the remarkable lighting conditions provided by CarlHalla's benevolent residents. The main hall is lit entirely by candlelight, outside of what little natural light seeps through Grenth's stern visage. Candles are scattered about the floor and lined up in wall sconces, providing lovely backlighting for those wandering about the main floor.

Lighting options abound in CarlHalla

My more perceptive readers will note that I managed to smuggle my pet thorn wolf into CarlHalla as well; I won't say how, and it wasn't pleasant. Judging by the prevalence of minipet waste products scattered throughout the floor and smushed into wall cracks, the home of the Carls is very much pet-friendly, and appears to host a wide variety of creatures. Oddly enough, I didn't notice any water djinn waste, but perhaps they just clean up after their elementals.

The massive stone pillars that support the high-reaching ceiling of the hall must have been built by giants (perhaps relatives of their Guild Lord), and judging by the levels of mossy growth on them, it must've been a long time ago. This leads me to believe that the Carls have a long and storied past, or at least are ardent horticulturalists.

Judging by the claw marks etched randomly on each pillar, I suspect that some of the guild residents have been attempting to subsist at least partially on this substance. That said, it didn't appear appetizing, and actually seemed to burn slightly when its leaves were broken. As I studied the markings more closely (they appeared to be made by a spear, and had glitter of some sort lodged in them...), I suddenly noticed what must be the centerpiece of the Carl art collection:

Stupid wyvern... doesn't even know we're watching it...

This house-sized painting "dorfs" most any viewer, as can be noted by your intrepid reporter standing dead-center (along with some yokels gawking at the camera crew). It's most unfortunate that the depicted wyvern appears to have gotten itself into such an entanglement; they're usually rather graceful creatures, which makes one suspect that this particular animal had been previously domesticated--possibly by Tankarific, during one of his drunken adoption drives. Sadly, most domesticated lizards die fairly quickly after being re-introduced to the wild, and this one was most likely no exception.

The run-down shrine is a testament to either Carl's practicality or, more likely, laziness. Either way, my thorn wolf was unimpressed.

Moving on past the painting, visitors arrive at a shrine that has apparently seen better days, perhaps because it has been superseded by Grenth's main-hall residence. One of the previously mentioned giants must have stomped in the middle, causing cracks to develop radiating out from the center of the pedestal and knocking down most of the main arches (that now appear to be broken pillars). How depressing that any guild could let one of their holiest landmarks become so run-down...

Having grown weary of broken stonework and depressing art, I decided to explore CarlHalla's exterior in hopes of finding artifacts that survived the test of time in better condition. I was not disappointed; immediately upon exiting, I discovered a bridge that, while not entirely functional (it took my camera crew and I hours to get the above shot without slipping through to the waters below), was certainly fascinating to look upon. The Carls seem to have a penchant for metalwork, as evinced by the aforementioned candleabras. I would later discover that this theme does indeed pervade the entirety of the residence.

This once-lovely fountain appears to have been partially consumed by a landslide, probably caused by some of those accursed wurms that seem to prowl around these lands. My thorn wolf was most disappointed, as he was growing thirsty and couldn't abide by drinking out of the fetid reflecting pool in the main hall. Unfortunately, this fountain appeared to be long out-of-service, judging by the dirt-filled interior and the grass growing in the basin. I sent the thorn wolf off to seek out some refreshment while I continued to explore. I soon discovered one of the strangest artifacts of all...

Simply an ugly flag. Who picked this out, Diabolical Carl?

While the flag shown above appears to provide more evidence that the Carl has a fixation for decorative iron, I found myself puzzled by the presence of the relatively new flag hanging from it. After all, the Carl's official guild cape (of which I expertly made a counterfeit, as shown above) is black and white, so as to make it absolutely smashing with any ensemble (even shiny purple nipples, as unfortunately demonstrated by one of the hall's more ... peculiar residents). This flag, however, was unadorned red--a very unCarlish color, and seemingly out of place with their well-documented eccentric tastes. I decided to make a note of the item, but had to press on, lest my invasion be discovered.

Upon reaching CarlHalla's back door, I realized that I could have saved myself a great deal of trouble by simply sneaking in this entrance, as it never appears to be locked. Even heaving upon the so-called "Gate Lock" seemed to have no effect--the gates were determined to remain open for all to frequent. This made my adroit infiltration plan--hiding in an empty barrel labeled "BOOZE" in one of Tankarific's daily shipments and hoping he didn't open mine before passing out in a drunken stupor--seem rather pointless. However, I must warn readers that by the time this article is published, the Carls will no doubt have rectified the situation and have posted monkeys (governed by wombat overlords) at the gates to ensure that no non-believers gain entrance.

This marks the end of my first day at CarlHalla; I decided to hide behind the obviously-unused Gate Lock mechanism until the following morning, as I could hear someone yelling at her teammates (overlaid by the tones of drunken singing), and knew that if the Carls discovered me, my thorn wolf and I would have much larger problems than Tankarific's anger at discovering one of his booze barrels empty. I resolved to continue exploring the exterior of CarlHalla tomorrow, once everyone had drank and danced themselves stupid. I expected to have plenty of time to explore, for if there's one certainty in the world, it's that Carls cannot remain in one place for long, and wherever they go next, they're very much likely to wind up lost.

Playing with Wurms

Editor's note: The following is an excerpt taken from the journal of Godly Carl, who has not been spotted in Elona since these events took place. While he is certainly still alive, the Carl guild would appreciate any and all information pertaining to his whereabouts. If you think you have spotted Godly Carl, do not attempt to approach him; instead, back away slowly and contact your nearest Carl representative.

***
20 January 2008
How did it come to this? What kind of day begins with an ankle-high version of Varesh's unpleasant visage glaring you right in the eyes?

As I slowly emerged from my bedroll, I could tell she was hungry. Hell, so was I, but that didn't make food any easier to come by in this god-forsaken place [ed: Obviously excluding Godly Carl himself]. We'd been wandering in the wastes for what seemed to be months now, but according to Nature Carl had only been a few hours. That being the case, I'm no longer certain how I wound up in my bedroll, so either she's lying or Tankarific slipped me some of that drain cleaner he calls ale again. Short bastard; must have a hollow leg.

As I stretched up and looked about, I started to recall why I had been sleeping: the Waste sucked. Elona had spoiled me, what with the bikini-clad elementalists flowing through the streets with not a care in the world... and then there was the Waste, with no company aside from a she-ranger that always seemed to have somewhere to be, a nancy boy with defective (and vastly insufficient) pants, and a horde of wurms.

Oh yes, the wurms. How could I forget the next step in our journey?

Godly Carl looks down upon the wurms, circling some mysterious unidentified object

I had been told that we "knew where we [were] going" and that it was time to get moving. I pulled myself away from the hypnotic dance of the wurm and speculated as to what it could be circling so intently. Whatever it was, it appeared Nature was headed straight for it, which meant I had no choice but to find out for myself. Somehow, I was less than excited, and in fact had a vague sense of foreboding about the days to come...

The Carls inspect the mysterious object

"Seriously? Wurm poo? That's what we came to find?" I whined to whoever would listen. Unfortunately, it seemed the adventure was just beginning.

"We're not seeking this, but it's certainly necessary for the next step of our quest!" Nature exclaimed with far more enthusiasm than I thought was called for. Without missing a beat, she grabbed up a good handful of the stuff and waved it around in the air while making an odd crooning noise. Disgusted, I turned away and started to trudge back to the town, reflecting upon how my life had reached this point, when suddenly the ground trembled beneath the party.

"A trap!" I squealed, pumping my legs faster in hopes that the other Carls would provide sufficient distraction for me to make my escape. But indeed, it wasn't a trap, or at least not a deadly one. As I fainted, I could feel the wurm's jaws closing around my limp form.

The wurms, enraged at the desecration of their sacred spoor, consume the Carls as Xandra's spirit observes impassively

I awoke from my stupor in a rather dark and slimy place. "How did I get back to the guild hall?" I wondered silently as I inspected my surroundings. I seemed to be suffering from an odd double-vision effect--I could see a vision of tall ribs, noxious goo, and what appeared to be a pair of half-digested boots superimposed over an image of wurms burrowing through the desert sands. It slowly dawned on me that I had in fact not been warped back to the revered home of the Carl but was instead reclining in the gut of one of those accursed worms. As if to reinforce my insight, one of my compatriots burst forth with a monstrous belch, in an attempt to ward off further intrusions to its domain.

The wurm attempts to relieve some abdominal pressure

Thankfully, Nature had tired of tormenting us and decided to lead off to our destination. I had not yet learned the complex inner workings of the wurm's navigational system, which led to some unfortunate side trips involving margonites and various expletives unjustly hurled my way from my fearless leader. My attempts to explain my difficulty in maneuvering my monstrous transport resulted in scoffs and spluttered imprecations about leaving me out to die.

Having vented to her heart's content (upon your faithful and much put-upon narrator, of course), Nature eventually determined that we had reached our destination and somehow ordered the wurms to set us free. This was unfortunately executed using a technique that is somewhat unpleasant for all parties involved.

The wurms vomit the intrepid party onto safe ground. Not pictured: dignity, wet-naps

Having "safely" extracted myself from the wurm's maw, I felt I had some right to an explanation as to why we had decided to wander off into the wastes with no clear objective. Virtuous Carl (whose "virtue" is dubious at best, considering his choice of apparel) made remarks about some "arrow" guiding us, to which I snorted and turned to someone who knew what they were doing.

"Do you have the right quest selected?" Nature demanded, glaring at me as though the wurm snot on her boots was my fault. "We're doing " *fzzzzt*.... ... "Are you listening?!"

As I used the last of my napkins to wipe myself clean, I glared up at my tyrannical leader. "Of course I don't have it selected! You never told us what it was!" I glanced around in vain, seeking another means of wiping the last remnants of what could only be described as "wurm-goo" from my tunic. I eventually settled on Varesh's cape, much to her dismay.

Varesh's protests aside, I was about to launch forth with a bitch-fest of epic proportions when Xandra suddenly spoke up with her own explanation of our current status:

Xandra's expansive rationale for my cape being covered in wurm excrement

"Your mother?!" I exclaimed in disbelief. "Poor Gwen over there is knee-deep in wurm crap still and your reason for dragging us out here is a 'rumor' being spread about some woman you've never met?!"

"Be that as it may, we must proceed," Xandra explained calmly. "Don't we, Nature Carl?"

"Of course," our leader replied. "We have our own reasons for seeking out the source of that rumor; don't let his whining bother you. Just ignore him or else he'll just get worse."

I snorted in righteous indignation as they stalked away, pursuing some mandragors sighted off in the distance. Muttering imprecations under my breath, I had no choice but to follow, for I hadn't paid attention to where we had come from, and wasn't about to attempt to brave the wurms again.

The Carls trudge along, admiring the Waste's greenery and natural splendor

2 February 2008
Dear diary,

I don't know why I'm so drawn to Nature; perhaps it's that sweet ass and her gorgeous pants! One of these days I'm going to grab he---"Damn it nancy boy! I told you to stop writing in my journal!"

"You mean your diary?!" Virtuous replied in a mocking tone.

"My journal!" I exclaimed, glaring over the entry he inscribed--in pen, no less!--in the future bestseller of Tyria's literary world. I trust my editors will recognize this particular altercation as something to be removed, or at the very least, saved for the special edition DVD bonus features [ed: hee hee!].

As I grumpily stood and gazed about our campsite, I couldn't help but notice the lovely flora that surrounded us.

I admire the local foilage (note: it's pronounced fo-lee-age) of the lovely Waste

"How much longer is this trip going to take?" I whined to the ever-cheerful Nature girl. "My feet are sore and I could even go for some more of Tankarific's grog, the drunken bastard."

"Actually, we've arrived," she said, already thinking on which quest to do next. "Observe the splendor that is the ancient ruins!"

Our "destination": a pile of rubble, which apparently harbors Xandra's offending rumor

"That's it?! How exactly can this place be spawning any unfounded rumors about Xandra's dubious parentage?" I politely asked whilst attempting to wrap my hands about Nature's neck. "You will take us back now!"

"Indeed I will," she calmly replied, dodging the half-digested boots I had thrown at her (which I had inexplicably found in my pack), "for you see, we're filled with resignation since the quest is over. I suspect we will soon find ourselves--" she stopped and fell over, apparently dead, alongside Virtuous boy, who had done the same.

As I watched Varesh loot the corpses for any valuables (nothing but a huge pile of junk collectibles from Nature), I determined that this time, I would decide where the next step was, and it certainly wasn't following blindly to wherever I was told.

Upon returning to our sacred home, I softly packed a few bags, along with the note I had found in my pocket days earlier:

Godly Carl: If you ever feel so inclined, come out to Cantha for a vacation on the shores of the Jade Sea. It's lovely this time of year, and it'd certainly be a nice change of pace from harvesting corn with that blade you call a scythe all day!
--Otassin

I glanced back at my teammates as they haggled over the value of a rune found in those half-digested boots I had recovered. They'd never have to know. No one would. I could just sneak off and never return to that horrible land. I could make my fortune selling jade; there's sure to be a market for it there!

My scheme in place, I silently mapped away, leaving the nancy boy and his slave driver to play with wurms to their hearts' content.
***

As mentioned at the start of this article, any information leading to the captur--er, rediscovery of Godly Carl should be forwarded to your local Carl representative. And always remember: NEVER feed a Carl in the wild. That's how corn-related mishaps are triggered, and no one deserves that horrible fate.