Carl Insurrection At Hand?

The Carls reside in the Isle of the Dead because, unlike other sissy guilds, we fear nothing. Also, we're really lazy and this configuration keeps all our lackeys nearby for easy access. This allows for more time to discuss the greater issues of the day such as the current state of corn and wombat futures, and how many times a hungover warrior can barf in the pool behind the storage chest before it starts to really stink up the joint.

Trouble is brewing in Carlhalla as the Guild leader has grown drunk on her own sense of power. The Carl only approves of getting drunk on substances such as booze, huffing beetle snuff, and inhaling the noxious fumes emanating from Fancypants's pants.

Click this small preview to load a bigger, more legible incendiary message.

The trouble started when the message above flickered into view as Carls entered the guild hall. Previously, the guild leader had outlawed yak and goat porn leaving the Carls nothing with which to arouse themselves beyond the highly fetishist (and honestly, pricey) erotic dolyak material. Fancypants in particular had acquired quite a collection as he is a great fan of "XXXL" sized companions. In fact, it is recommended that the words "yak" or "dolyak" not be mentioned in his presence as he becomes "overly excited" and it is "unpleasant" for all involved. Seriously unpleasant.

The evil that infests the CARL Guild Hall and is threatening to take it over.

The excuse given for the outlawing of racy dolyak materials rings hollow and is seen as a flimsy cover-up of the guild leader's true motivations as the wombats that live in Carlhalla are a well-trained team of crack mercenaries who meticulously follow the orders of their Carlish superiors. Various Carls have their suspicions. One guess is that she is merely attempting to free up space to cram more of her collectible crap (as discussed in a previous piece) into the various storage spaces in Carlhalla. Others suspect that she may be trying to introduce some sort of new and disturbing erotica (e.g., Asura porn) in place of the Carl's preferred stimulatory literature. Most of the Carls are responding to the situation by rambling incoherently and shaking their fists at their leader (though the former is really nothing new) because of their sexual frustration.

A filthy minkey falls to the ground in a state of confused intoxication after forcibly whiffing Fancypants's pants. (file photo)

If the leader's cruel and unusual restrictions are not lifted, there may be a violent insurrection among the Carls. Well, probably not. Insurrection is too much effort. They'll probably just sneak in more goat, yak and dolyak smut and do a better job of hiding it from their leader. She'll likely give Fancypants's dresser a wide berth so they'll just cram things in there.

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.

Remains of Oversize Lizard Fascinate Carlish Archaeologists

The Carls and their hired lackeys ponder the best way to extricate their find from the Canthan platform.

During a routine expedition in Cantha, Carlish archaeologists stumbled across what appeared to be a giant petrified flying lizard (also known colloquially as a "dragon") buried partially in the warped planks of the Canthan walkways. Normally, artifacts in Cantha consist of a vast collections of soiled rags, rotting lumber, and remnants of those stupid cheap red paper lanterns that the Canthans hang all over the place. The giant dragon is a substantial find.

Confusion reigned as the Carls considered various methods of extracting the petrified creature. Tankarific Carl suggested, "Tanakarific smash with axe?" The other Carls responded to this suggestion as they usually do and ignored his drunken rambling. Fancypants Carl speculated that dropping his fancy pants and mooning the long deceased reptile might be a way of frightening it so it'd just "jump up" and out of the flooring. The Carls once more responded as they usually do to this particular comrade and backed away slowly.

With Tankarific standing by drunk, holding out his axe and looking confused, and Fancypants grinning lewdly and holding out something best not mentioned in polite company, the task of figuring out how to extract the huge artifact fell to the saner of the Carls, Healing Carl. Healing, who is known for her obsessive compulsive disorders including the need to collect every possible mini pet that ever existed and stockpiling huge quantities of useless collectible items (Hummel figurines litter the Carlhalla's nooks and crannies along with skree wings and both superb and regular Charr carvings), was the Carl who most wanted to unearth the scaled behemoth. She wanted to keep it as a "maxi pet" as she's nearly completed her collections of all other sorts of available crap and felt the need to start a new collection. Frankly, the other Carls are worried and believe she should be on medication when they are sober and sane. Thankfully, neither of those mental states are very common around the Carl guild hall so Healing remains free to indulge her particular neurotic tendencies.

Healing suggested that they simply use whatever implements were at hand to actually "dig" into the ground and "unearth" the "dragon" as that is the way archaeological "digs" are usually conducted. Despite her clear explanations and astute leadership, the remaining Carls and their hired flunkies stood around looking stumped as to what needed to be done. Though Healing Carl is thoroughly accustomed to such behavior from her inebriated and demented subordinates, she became quite testy and eventually gave up and stalked away.

The petrified dragon remains safely ensconced in the platform where it is free of the mini pet droppings and kitschy knick-knacks which litter Carlhalla.

Working With Jerky

A flesh golem (left) assists Tankarific Carl and Koss in a battle with weird assassin things.

The average adventurer benefits greatly from the assistance of his companions. Such companions are often "hired guns" who go along for a share of the spoils. A few gold pieces, a spot of ale, some roasted meat and a shared bit of goat pornography are all it takes to convince the likes of Koss, Dunkoro, or Jora to go along for the ride. (Jora in particular likes her goat porn, especially it big teats are involved.)

Most adventurers choose their heroes by the types of skills they bring to the mission or quest, but when recruits are on offer with similar skills, the choice of hireling tends to become idiosyncratic and highly subjective. Many adventurers, being shallow, stupid, and, frankly speaking, mentally encumbered by the fact that they are male, will base their decision on appearance. Some go for the scantily-clad, large breasted type who is prone to doing a harem dance when there's a lull in battle. Others favor the petite, small-breasted boyish-looking women so they can feel more masculine and dominant while still catering to their hidden pederast impulses and suppressing their homosexual urges.

The unsung heroes of mission assistance are minions. These disgusting bits of reanimated flesh extracted from the corpses of fallen enemy and ally alike form a decaying barrier between party leaders and those that wish to do them harm. Their presence can often mean the difference between a successful mission and multiple dirt naps, yet their praises are rarely sung by those who fight side-by-side with them.

In order to bring to light the value of these valiant bits of smelly, flesh-jerky, this news source asked adventurers about their fondest recollections of battle with resurrected creatures. Noted barley-based beverage enthusiast Tankarific Carl said, "They spend a lot less time boasting about their abilities than Koss, and they don't steal my ale like that drunken cow, Tahlkora. They also smell better than Fancypants's pants...but that's not saying much because even a yak that's been dead for 2 weeks smells better than his bloomers."

Since hearing his pants being mentioned piqued Fancypants interest, and he wandered over to talk to this reporter, there was no choice but to also interview him (otherwise, he wouldn't go away). Said Fancypants, "I enjoy the jerky because it allows me to indulge in some of my more socially repugnant tendencies without any fear of repercussions from the local constabulary. After all, expired minions tell no tales and necrophilia with a reconstituted corpse isn't a crime, is it? Is it? Well? Hey, come back here!"

Guild founder and leader, Healing Carl had this to say about working with jerky, "I greatly prefer working with minions. For one thing, they don't take a cut of the drops so I have more money to buy new outfits with, and you know how pricey elite armors are. What's more, they may be bits of meat held together by magic and directed by the will of a conjurer obsessed with death and dead things and minions have a tendency to run off and stir up trouble, but they're still not as much of a pain in the ass to adventure with as the other Carls." No truer tribute to the value of these (until now) unsung comrades in arms has ever been spoken.

Chinese New Year Brings Cheer, Plague-infested Vermin

The running of the rats allows for the efficient spread of disease-infected fleas among the local population.

Residents of the Shing Jea Monastery and Kamadan (the Jewel of Istan) welcomed the year of the rat at the start of the Chinese New Year last weekend. This time of year is always one of great joy as the celestial mascot showers the most devoted revelers with liquor, sweets, and fireworks and locals dance about drunkenly in their underpants.

Party attendees wearing ludicrous "lion" masks.

As part of the celebration, celebrants don a stupid-looking mask which is supposed to be a lion but really looks like a stylized fish head. Frankly, the Carl doesn't know what the designers were thinking when they made up this "lion", but it's pretty sure someone was high on powdered naga horn at the time. The fringe hanging off the bottom "lip" of the headress comically swings as merrymakers dance while waiting for the appearance of the celestial being. The loonier of the Carls insists this fringe is a "beard" or "goatee", but the saner Carls know he's been huffing powdered naga horn (early and often), too.

Imperial Chef Yan offers up a griffin wing dish to lure the celestial vermin down from the heavens.

Chefs must prepare a series of delicacies in order to convince the celestial being down from the heavens. The dishes tend to highlight a repugnant body part of a rare creature and feature such items as ebon spider legs, griffin wings, and mantis pincers. Frankly, the celestial creatures seen to delight in eating all the crap the Carl spits out and leaves on the side of the plate so its more than happy to hand over whatever gristle and skeletal remains the chefs need to prepare their specialties.

Celebrators attempt to flee from giant rats and plague-infected Frenchers.

When the celestial rodent appeared, he brought along a coterie of giant rats to run amuck about the monastery grounds with him. The rats dispersed fleas the size of strawberries which proceeded to celebrate the new year in their own unique way by sucking the blood out of party participants and infecting them with celestial plague. Diseased party animals felt that their boil-covered bodies were a blessing from the Great Celestial and attempted to convey that blessing on other participants with tonsil-tickling French kisses.

The Carl fled from the festivities at this point, but can only guess that the resulting carnage was more disturbing (and nauseating) than the contents of Fancypants's pants. Frankly, the Carl is glad that next year is the year of the Ox when the worst that can happen is party goers will be crushed in a celestial stampede or gored to death by celestial horns.

Inebriated Journalist Libels The Carl

"Shing Jea Sherman" slanders Tankarific Carl during a recent foray to Tarnished Haven.

A drunken "journalist" from the Monastery Gazette stood in the town of Tarnished Haven and loudly insulted passersby. The so-called news reporter goes by the sobriquet "Shing Jea Sherman", and seemed to have nothing better to do with his time than to stand around making loud, slurred, and often derogatory proclamations about those who had the misfortune to walk in his general vicinity.

Sherman remarks on what he mistakenly concludes is Tankarific's obsession with displying and mounting preserved heads.

In addition to remarking on the addictions, questionable parentage, and body odors of those who unknowingly wandered into his field of view, Sherman accused the Carl of having a fetish for displaying the heads of decapitated foes. While the Carl possesses a great many fetishes such as those for smocks, wombats, corn, fancy pants, and nipple-dying, it possesses no taxidermic proclivity which could technically be considered a fetish. It's actually more of a hobby.

State secrets spill from the mouth of an idiot.

Though Sherman's random slanderous commentary was a nuisance, it paled in comparison to his troubling public announcements regarding top secret Carl behavior. In addition to talking about Tankarific's status as an Ebon Vanguard secret agent in a non-secure fashion, Sherman also rambled on about the secrets of corn, Koss's amazing Afro power and how it can be employed to scour even the most stubborn dried-on, burnt-on food in roasting pans, and, most devastatingly, where the Carl purchases its vast collection of sequined underpants.

Said Tankarific Carl, "we have ways of dealing with the likes of Sherman, though I'm currently too drunk to remember what they are."

He of the Fanciest Pants

The striking figure shown on the left is the long-heralded FancyPants Carl. Most known for his affinity for all things fancy (most particularly those pants-related), you can see that he has impeccable fashion sense. Note the bleached-blond and styled hair; the carefully crafted three-o-clock shadow that somehow seems to stay the same length year-round; the deftly painted purple man-nipples proudly displayed on his breastplate; and, of course, the striking pants (if so they may be called), adorned with enough spangles for a Vegas dancer and a convenient crotch-flap for plumbing-related emergencies. Yes, FancyPants represents a pinnacle of fanciness that most can scarcely dream of, let alone create. And don't be fooled; despite the fact that someone (obviously) created him, he cannot be controlled. Indeed, he is a force unto himself, fancying things up wherever he travels.

As promised, more details regarding he who bears the fancy pants are forthcoming; reported sightings are documented from regions throughout the Guild Wars universe. If you are particularly blessed (or happen to be carrying rhinestones), one day you too could have the chance to meet FancyPants in all his splendor. If this is the case, please try to refrain from staring lest your eyes be roasted like fine kernels of corn from the light reflecting off his splendid vestments.

Now, just as a teaser for things to come, I leave you with a brief glance at the wonder that is known only as "The Dance of the FancyPants":

Separated at Birth 2: FancyPants Edition

Shown above: A man with fancy pants (not pictured) and a bad razor alongside a Guild Wars character. More details to follow.

The More Things Change...

"The more they stay the same," or so the common sentiment goes. Public conversations in online games certainly seem to hold it true. For evidence, see Exhibit A:

As the largely indecipherable blob of what passes for English above displays, online chat is, has always been, and will apparently always be at least 1/2 typos, 3/4 curses, and 1/1 gibberish. In order to make this post more palatable to those with sensitive vocabularies, please note that I've included Fancypants Carl showing off his moves in the background. There appears to be some sort of lava demon checking out his mad skillz. The full range of Fancypants' gyrations will be documented more completely in a later post. The dance is simply too Carl to be described in this post.