A Man Gets Lonely

A man gets lonely while he's out and about on the questing trail. Sure, there are other heroes traveling along for the ride...a bossy and impatient mesmer, a crazy necro, and a crop of hired lackeys. They're no sort of companions when a man needs a special kind of comfort.

Most of the time, a man can wear himself out smashing things with axe to dull the gnawing hunger for intimacy. When that fails, or there's nothing left to smash with axe, there's always the cold comfort of the bottle. People think a man gets falling down drunk all the time for the simple joy of inebriation. Well, they'd be right, but there are also those times when sorrows need to be drowned in dwarven ale.


Just when you think you can't take the loneliness anymore, you wander across a special someone. Tentatively, you approach, hopes high that she'll sense the chemistry as well. It's not just the sight of her, it's also the sweet musk of her scent. It's a sort of intoxication that you can't get from mere alcohol.


Of course, a really special companion doesn't give herself over easily. There is a subtle and coy exchange of looks. There has to be a recognition of a true connection between you before baser urges are acted upon.


When that magic moment comes, and that come-hither look is directed your way, you know that your loneliness is about to end. When it's all over, you need a cigarette, and to high tail it out of there before day-break when she wakes up.


After you score and make a clean getaway, you party Carl style. After all, there are plenty of yaks in the bend to comfort you the next time you get lonely.

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.

Wearing Out Our Sharon

It has come to the attention of the Carls that the filthy minkeys have been overusing our Sharon. Now, we can understand the urge to use our Sharon because she's one of the few players who knows what she's doing most of the time. In fact, one of the wags in our alliance once referred to her as "CarlWiki" because she seems to have the answers to all questions. However, we must protest this over-use of our Sharon.

The situation in which we are finding ourselves (that is, us, the glorious Carl) is that, by the time Shawn and I log in and are ready to have ourselves some Carlish fun, Sharon has already been played with for 2-3 hours. Often, she has been consorting with monkeys during long and difficult missions. By the time you are finished with her, she's in a ragged and almost spent state. Her batteries are practically drained and she's dirty and disheveled. Frankly, we're too impatient to put her in the recharger and too lazy to tidy her up so we'd just rather you stopped using her before we get a chance to do so. If you can't play gently with her and return her to us in her original state, you can't play with her before us. You can have her when we're done. She was ours first, after all.

In conclusion, I must impress on you filthy minkeys that, as Shawn stated in the preceding post, Sharon is a vital cog in the Carl machine. Without her, we are an imbalanced entity and have no idea how to complete quests or find our way around the game. In fact, you'd be surprised at how hopeless Shawn and I are at accomplishing anything without her presence. Okay, so you wouldn't be surprised. My point is that she's ours and you can't have her so stop "borrowing" her and wearing her out. It's our job to tax her patience and fatigue her and it's a responsibility we enjoy. It's pretty much the only responsibility we enjoy.

(Note: In case there are any humor-impaired minkeys out there, I'll say that my tongue is in my cheek. That may actually arouse some of you perverse monkeys, but trust me that it has to do with indicating this post is not to be taken seriously and not some disgusting monkey sex thing.)

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.

Profiles - Healing Carl

Name: Healing Carl
Height: Tiny. Very tiny.
Armor: Varies, but usually she wears the nice set the Dwarves made for her, dyed a nice pink.
Hairstyle: coiled buns.
Dependents: Many mini pets, the rest of the Carls.

Turn-ons: Cathedral of Flame runs. Where she doesn't have to do anything. Getting lost. Masters on missions.

Turn-offs: excessive chatting during missions and quests. Someone in the party dieing. Warriors who run too fast.

Usually seen in the company of: filthy Minkeys.

Notable quotes:
"Shawn, where are you going?"
"I need running shoes."
"I'm lost."
"I'm confused."

She who helms this avatar: Sharon

New Signal Signifies Need for The Carl

Where is the Carl?

In a clear indication of just how greatly the denizens of Arena.net need the Carl, a new Carl signal in a shape reminiscent of design of the Carl Guild's cape was installed this past week. When a desperate need for the Carl arises, the signal is lit and a giant Carl signal is projected into the sky. Construction of a "Carlmobile" which can travel at top speeds and shoot lethal corn kernels or expel noxious fumes (only functional when an elf is on-board) is also planned once a body in the shape of a large piece of candy corn can be acquired.

It is expected that the signal will be used in the following circumstances in which the Carl's presence would be invaluable:

• Endangered corn.
• Excess efficiency or seriousness while questing needs defusing.
• An urgent need for yak or dolyak porn.
• Nipple-dying is desired.
• Wombats need stuffing.
• Filthy minkeys need putting in their place.
• Pants need fancying.
• Mini pets need walking.
• Toes need twinkling.
• Fireworks displays are required.
• Incoherence is wished for.
• Excess sanity needs diffusing.
  
• Free booze needs removal.
• Pelvis-thrusting dance-work (whether desired or not).
  

During the first use of the signal, the Carl mobilized within seconds and struck out from Carlhalla to respond to the emergency. Several hours later, the signalers were still standing on the signal platform waiting for their saviors. CARL" doesn't stand for "Confused And Ridiculously Lost" for nothing.

Names Awarded the Carl Seal of Approval #9

Mok Waagwaag