Drunken Debauchery

Last evening the MnkY Guild Hall was invaded yet again by the alcoholic elf Steve. Not content though to desecrate the home of the buttmonkey alone, Steve brought friends.

Steve and his twin Bob brought their drunken prom dates to the home of the MnkYs to dance the night away in a state of drunken debauchery. Firewater and Creme Brulee were consumed and debris from the party scattered all over the lovely circular center of the home of the monkeys.

There was talk of dancing nude; but, luckily, Steve was persuaded with some difficulty to keep his clothes on as no one wanted to see a portly naked elf. Most were slightly nauseous at the thought.

Bob and his date left early as complaints were made about horny teenagers. I hesitate to conjecture as to where they might have gone from there.

Also, missing from the Monkey Hall are the items the merchant normally offers for sale. Steve was heard to say he was getting all the Monkey stuff. If you have any information please contact the representatives of the MnkY Guild.

Battle.net Gods Take Revenge on the Carl

Not content to bat us around like a chew toy, Battle.net also mocks us with a very sucky torch.

Some of our uneducated readers may not realize it, but the Carl was spawned at the feet of Battle.net. If Shawn is the grandpappy and the other Carls his unwilling partners in a lunatic coupling to create the off-spring, Battle.net was the back seat of the car in which the dirty deeds were done in birthing the Carl.

The Carls don't spend much time on Battle.net these days as their fickle attention is now focused largely on Arena.net. This morning, however, the Carls returned in full force to their old playing grounds for a little romping in Uber Tristram (for what is commonly called a "Pandemonium Event"). Uber Tristram is a special place where steroid-enhanced and crazed versions of Baal, Diablo, and Mephisto hang out waiting for earnest heroes to show up and bat them around for the chance at a special drop, a Hellfire torch large charm. The best of such charms give +3 to skills for a certain class of hero and 20 to all attributes and 20 to all resists. The worst will give +3 to all skills and 10 to all attributes and 10 to all resists. What's more, some classes are more desirable than others. Only smelly loonies enjoy playing assassins, for instance, so that is the least desirable class to receive such a charm for.

Not only are they huge and comical, but they, of course, do not stack in the stash.

Making one's way to Uber Tristram is not easy. You must first rough up several bosses in hell level difficulty and shake them down for pandemonium keys. You need 3 of each key and that in and of itself can take awhile as the keys drop in about 1 in 10 or so trips to the each boss's house. Since they aren't big on unannounced visitors showing up at their tea time and asking them to empty their pockets of goodies, it's not exactly a picnic running them. They're grumpier than Sharon gets when you don't listen to her and run off and angry up a bunch of enemies and facilitate a party wipe.

Once you've laid down the smack enough times for 9 of the correct over-sized novelty pandemonium keys, you have to use them to open up 3 portals where you encounter the semi-uber bosses. The main problem for the Carls is that Lilith, who has large naked breasts and is constantly bending over and attempting to stab the heroes' eyes out with her nipples, is very terrifying to the mammaphobic types (cough, Shawn, cough). Each of the three ubers leaves behind a juicy body part (horn, brain, eyeball) which you then used to cook up a portal to Uber Tristram.

Uber Tristram, the gateway to untold misery.

Now, the road has already been long, hard, and expensive so, once you generate that portal, you don't want Battle.net to do one of its drunken hiccups, toss you out into the lobby, and throw your game with it's rare and valuable red portal into the trash can. However, Battle.net is an extremely jealous entity and it does not take kindly to deserters. In retaliation for our dalliances with the likes of Guild Wars and Arena.net (that hussy!), Battle.net smacks us up real good during our sojourn into Uber Tristram. Oh, it let us get our body parts from the semi-ubers just fine and open up our portal, but then it played a mind game with us that even the most neurotic stalker girlfriend wouldn't inflict on you.

First, it let us make the portal and go in. We had encountered Uber Mephisto after a careful lure and beaten him down to a sliver of life when the screen froze then flashed us all a "You Have Lost Your Connection to Battle.net" message and tossed us into the lobby. Panicked that the game and it's hard to generate portal were now history, we jumped back in and issued a sigh of relief that the game was still intact. Now, our well-planned and executed lure of one of the three ubers is in tatters and they are all on us so we smack the nearest one and that's now Uber Baal. Bear in mind that, the longer you take to kill the ubers, the worse the situation gets as each one is constantly summoning minions out of thin air. We get Baal down to a sliver and the screen freezes and we're tossed out again. Once more we beat a hasty path back in before the game collapses.

Now, we're sensing a pattern, but we're gullible enough to try again and the same thing happens as we once more pound down an Uber to a sliver of life. We decided to jettison one of the players in hopes of placating Battle.net with a human sacrifice (bye, bye, Shawn, the large-breasted will trouble you no more). No dice. We kick another player out knowing that life is going to be very hard with only two of us in the scramble and Sharon gets sent packing. Two Carls are out and two are left (my husband is the other Carl).

Keep in mind that my husband has not been toying with that slut Arena.net as the 3D camera effects make him motion sick. He and I go back in and my ass is handed to me immediately and I exit the game and come back so I can collect my body more quickly. Meanwhile, in reward for his loyalty, Battle.net lets him wipe out Uber Meph all by himself while I scramble to pick up my carcass and jump back in through the red portal. I believe it is no mere coincidence that he alone was spared as the lone faithful boyfriend of Battle.net.

In the end, we got the torch, but the stats and hero class made it clear that Battle.net is still feeling uppity and felt mocking us was in order. We're going to have to work hard to placate this gaming service scorned. Sacrifices of Jell-o (what corn is to Arena.net, Jell-o is to Battle.net) and plush wombats will have to be offered on bended knee. If all else fails, it can have Shawn as a grubby, but passive, slave boy provided that it keeps Lilith away from him.

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.

Desperate Times Result in New Facilities for Carls

Healing Carl tries out the new "facilities".

The Carl guild hall recently saw the installation of new, state of the art and highly effective bathroom facilities in the basement. The guild leader, Healing Carl, went to great pains and expense in order to upgrade the hall's aging outhouse system after many problems associated with the facilities arose because of the guild members' atypical "typical" usage.

An example of the Carl's former (ineffective) restroom design.

The need for the upgrade occurred when it became clear that the excretions of various Carls are anything but usual as compared to most inferior non-Carlish human beings. The quantity and olfactory sensations resulting from the Carl are great and powerful compared to the average person as should be the case for something as grand and incredible as the Carl. Additionally, unlike their compatriots, the filthy minkeys (MNKY), who prefer their feces to be kept in open piles so they may be tossed about at will, the Carls prefer not to keep waste material on hand for easy access.

Carlhalla was becoming an increasingly unpleasant place to spend time in as the months went by and our intrepid guild leader was forced to find a solution. After considering a wide variety of modern toilet facilities, she decided that the lax hygiene and unique chemistry of certain members would mean that even the best conventional lavatory would be insufficient to the task.

For the Carls, only the most desperate of measures will effectively handle their fragrant excretions. Healing investigated an unconventional but highly effective "pit o' lava" model with a magical levitation "seat" technology. When one needs to relieve oneself, all one has to do is toss a little glittering dust into the pit, say a brief incantation ("poopius needius"), and hover over the boiling pit and do one's business. The foul droppings are instantly incinerated and any accompanying vaporous emissions are quickly consumed. As a side benefit, any time hard partying results in the need to copiously yak up last night's meal, one need only hang one's head over the pit and let loose with torrents of tossed cookies.

Sanitation expert, Blorf. (file photo)

This particular model of bathroom facility is courtesy of Blorf. While the Asura usually do not share their technology with outsiders, an exception was made in this case for the Carls because they acknowledge the absolute uberness of the name "Blorf."

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.

Names Awarded the Carl Seal of Approval #8

Molotov Rocktail

Happy Birthday, Shawn!

Scientists often speculate on the origin of mankind. They think we may have been born in some sort of primordial ooze and made our way from dividing cells to single-celled organisms to water-based spawn to land-based creatures. Or something like that. I wasn't actually paying that much attention in biology that day.

Unlike the origins of man, which are pretty much a series of scientific guesses, we know the origin of the Carl. The Carl was born from the energy of a variety of like-minded folks, but the grandpappy of the Carl is Shawn. Without him, there absolutely could be no Carl.

So, it is of the utmost importance that we celebrate the birth of this V.I.C. (Very Important Carl) as he embodies all that is good and right about Carlish ways. His lack of sanity, love of corn, random nature, and dubious hygiene are all stellar examples of what makes the Carl grand and both envied and admired by all and sundry.

Twenty-six years ago today, a Carl progenitor was born, and I hope he has a wonderful birthday worthy of his incredible spirit. That spirit is both a fabulous Carl, and a much loved and valued friend. May all who have had the fortune to encounter him for even the most fleeting of moments raise a glass in his honor and wish him well.

May your refrigerator be full of corn, your stomach full of cookies, and your mind sanity free, oh great wombat stuffer. I also hope you get some good loot. ;-)