I had a new character portrait done for the character in my other blog and I think it’s cool so I’m posting it here too.
I love wrestling. I don’t know why exactly because it’s objectively bad for everyone involved. I stopped watching for a while after a lot of women started speaking out about sexual abuse and general assholery in the business. But eventually I started watching again because I guess I hate women. Then I stopped watching for a while again just because I had no way to watch because I gave up on cable and I don’t like streaming services.
But I finally broke down and got Peacock and now I’m watching wrestling again. The other day I watched Walter against Zach Sabre Jr at Progress 77 and was like “oh right, I love this”.
Which is a heartbreaking indictment of how much time I am wasting in my fleeting, ephemeral life watching grown men and women pretend to fight. I often wonder what kind of bizarre personal defect makes me a wrestling fan. What kind of a sociopath would watch this for fun? Answer: me, apparently.
The best I can come up with is that wrestling is a sad demonstration of the tribalistic bloodlust that permeates the baser elements of the human emotional spectrum.
Anyway, this is a preamble to me talking about the new extended trailer for the program Heels. There’s this guy call Stephen Amell. He was in the Green Arrow as the titular Green Arrow. Like me, he loves wrestling. He loves it so much he used all the clout that comes from being on the CW to be on wrestling shows sometimes – as a wrestler I mean, he wasn’t just hanging out like Jon Stewart. And now that Green Arrow is over, he’s used that clout to make a new show about wrestling called Heels. Also, I now think that show was maybe just called Arrow, not Green Arrow. But he played the Green Arrow as a kid or something.
Sidenote: one of my friends stood in line for hours to get Stephen Amell’s autograph for his daughter because he’s dreamy. I don’t know if he’ll ever stop being mad about that.
The Heels trailer looks pretty good but there’s one bit that really annoyed me. The show is about two wrestling brothers and they’re outside a bar and some dudes are like “wrestling is fake, we’re going to beat you up!” and so Stephen Amell and his brother are ready to throw down because you can’t let anyone call your fake sport fake. But before they can throw down, Stephen Amell’s brother’s girlfriend takes out one of the dudes in one move because she’s also a wrestler.
Nothing wrong with that conceptually, except the move she does is to jump on the guy, wrap her legs around his head, and backflip him to the ground – AKA the lady move that lady actioners do in every lady action thing ever. Because how else would a lady fight other than wrapping her legs around a guy’s head?
“But Jeremy that’s a wrestling move, it’s called a hurricanrana.”
Yes I know that. It’s one of the wrestling moves that is clearly two people working together and has nothing to do with real fighting. But that’s not really the point. It annoys me that in all action things, this is the lady action move. Flying genitals to the face.
Sidenote, does hurricanrana mean hurricane frog in Spanish?
Six blogs back, I ranted extensively about how much I hate the lady flying head scissors maneuver in movies and TV (I don’t love it in wrestling either, for the record) but I’m too lazy to go back and grab that and repost it here. Which is good news.
Remember when that lady on Heroes with the Taskmaster power to copy anything she sees does a Tiger Feint Kick to stop a robbery because she saw her son watching WrestleMania 22? Did she ever show up again? I give Lost a lot of crap for having a strong start and then seeming to be written with no plan at all, but Heroes was probably worse.
I feel like after the first couple of episodes, a writer would say “What if we had a character with this power?” and everyone would think it was cool and they’d show up for one episode and then the writers would be like “What’s the plot of this show again?” and everyone would shrug and go back to thinking up new characters.
Hey, that’s kind of like the comic book Ela blog that I’m writing. Oh no, I’ve been hoisted by my own petard!
A petard of course being a special outfit like a leotard, with a lot of fancy buckles and loops on it, that rich people would wear when they were feeling especially smug, but then poor people would tie a rope through one of the loops, and hoist them up a pole and then let them dangle there as punishment for being cocky.
One time there was a wrestler named Lita. She did the hurricanrana because she was one of the first women in the WWE that could do much of anything and they weren’t not going to have a lady throwing her stuff in people’s faces. That’s not fair actually, she was trained in Mexico and that’s just a standard move in Lucha Libre.
Anyway, one time she broke her neck and was out of action for a year and a half. I always assumed this was from wrestling, because that’s a thing that happens, but I just found out that instead, she was on that show Jessica Alba Wears Leather and Rides A Motorcycle, and she broke her neck doing that because a stunt woman dropped her on her head. Is wrestling safer than Hollywood stunts? I suppose if you count each move a wrestler does as a separate stunt, it probably is per capita. Huh.
I read a couple wrestling blogs on here and sometimes I go to leave a comment and they have the comments turned off. And I wonder why that is. Then I remember that most people that like wrestling and will go to the trouble of making a comment are going to say something mean or insulting.
I ate a bucket of krill today. I don’t know exactly what krill is, but I know that it’s what whales eat. This is where I’m at in life. And the worst part, I couldn’t even pay for it. It was a bucket of charity krill. Actually the worst part was the taste. Actually the worst part was how grateful I was to get a disgusting bucket of slime. I was shoveling it into my mouth like . . . well like something.
If you had talked to me before I came to Madripoor, I would have told you that I was a real hero for overcoming my hardscrabble upbringing on the wrong side of the tracks and making something of myself. I would have told you about how I fought my way up from the gutter. But now I know better. There’s gutters and then there’s gutters you know? Read national geographic all you want, but you can’t know what life is really like for some people out there.
I’ve been eating Blue out of house and home. Which isn’t hard because he has neither house nor home. He flops in the backroom of some crazy store that sells herbal dick hardeners and powdered tiger penis and stuff like that. The man was a fucking special forces commando and he’s barely one rung up the ladder from me – and I’m essentially homeless. I guess this is why so many super people become super villains – how else are you going to make money? Being super strong and super tough seems only to be valuable on the supply side of crime. Superman never made any money saving the world from Solomon Grundy. At least Grundy had a sewer to live in.
I’m hungry all the time, but even more than that I want a GOD DAMN CIGARETTE. I want that sweet, sweet poison in my bloodstream. I want that feeling of floating, of being lifted aloft by a pair of tarry filthy wings to be carried away by the wind. Everything’s better when you smoke. Your fears and anxieties don’t seem so bad because you got your old pal with you – inside of you! That’s closer than any stupid non-smoke friends can ever get. Well, they can get inside you a couple inches, but that’s different. Now that I’m super powered it’s probably not even bad for me! The point is – with your pal nicotine on your side you can handle anything.
But there’s no use whining about how I want a bottle of tequila and a pack of 100s and a big fat juicy triple bacon burger with fries and an entire peach pie, you just gotta push forward. Crying don’t put cigarettes in your pocket. I mean Blue is a monster and he doesn’t complain about it. Much.
When I was on my disastrous (although it resulted in me becoming friends with Canadian Wally Gator so maybe it was actually great?) path of trying to cozy up to the pirates of Madripoor (I like the sound of that, maybe I should write a musical) I learned a little about the maritime shipping trade, and I know a little from working on the docks. But I still have no idea how it all works really. There’s 88 billion ships coming and going all the time, how the hell do you organize that? I don’t really want to know because it’s super boring. I got trapped talking to (being talked at really) some crusty old British guy who went on and on about what transshipping actually means and some treaty in 1912 about how the Strait of Malacca gets used. I think his attempt to bore me to death came closer to taking me out than anything else since I got here.
Blue said that he didn’t know anything about it and I couldn’t find Elvis (I should check in with his grandma since the Shadow Lords said they were going to kill him and all) so I returned to the crappy confines of Pinetree International Exports and its owner, chief operator, and proprietor of Alcazar. He wasn’t happy to see me even though I am a pure delight and my Spanish is flawless. You really find out who your friends are when you’re marked for death by an underworld murder crew. I told him I wanted to find out everything I could about the ship that brought me to Madripoor. He asked what was in it for him. I said not getting his arms torn off by Blue. I could also tear his arms off, but for some reason people are more intimidated by a giant blue lizardman than a soulful and sexy singer with a top 40 hit. People are strange like that.
He didn’t have much information for me other than the ship is called “Empire” and it’s owned by Ulysses Tanker Corporation of Liberia. For more than that we’d have to seek out THE HARBORMASTER. Seems like an importer/exporter should know more about a ship. Blue and I were on our way to see THE HARBORMASTER when I did a double take. On the other side of the street I saw a familiar face. Not familiar in the sense that I knew the guy, but familiar in the sense that I had seen him on TV. You don’t see too many westerners outside of touristville but that’s not the only thing that made him stand out – he was also head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd. I poked Blue and pointed him out. My grandma always said that pointing is rude but sometimes it’s necessary.
“Is that Wildman Wayne Wiley?”
Blue squinted, I think his lizard eyeballs don’t see so good “The wrestler? Yeah, I think it is.”
“What the heck is he doing here?”
“Probably here for the tournament.”
I frowned “I thought that death sport you all are so proud of here was for super people.”
“I’m not from here so don’t lump me into the death sports crowd. Maybe he is a super person, didn’t he have to flee from the states because he beat a man to death in the ring?”
“Did that really happen? I assumed that was something they made up to make him seem tough, wrestling is fake you know.”
He made a lizard huffing noise that I have come to understand is a snicker “You don’t say.”
“Shut up. Maybe we should talk to him.”
“The murderer who came here to fight other men to the death for laughs? Why would we want to talk to someone like that?”
“It would be nice to hear someone speaking English for one. But more because maybe he has a private jet that can get us out of here.”
“Why would he let us on his private jet?”
“Maybe he’s a music fan. I had a top forty hit you know.”
He flicked his tongue out in a reptile equivalent of an eye-roll “No, you never mention it.”
“You’re just a jealous blue lizard. Okay, forget the wildman let’s just find his jet and I’ll flash my boobs at the pilot and he’ll fly us to Zanzibar.”
He gave me a side-eye “You have a pretty healthy opinion about your boobs.”
“Can you blame me? They’ve gotten me out of plenty of jams.”
“And into just as many more I bet. How about we just stick with the harbormaster plan? Stealing the jet of a killing machine doesn’t seem like a great idea to me.”
“You didn’t even like that plan to begin with!”
“I know, but you just keep coming up with worse ones.”
“Well I don’t hear any big amount of ideas coming from you! Aren’t you supposed to be a tactician or a strategist or something? Strategy us a way out of this! Don’t just complain about my plans. What did you learn to do in the Canadian military anyway!”
His mouth hung open on the sides, a lizard-grin “Make maple syrup mostly. I’m so glad I met you, I really value our friendship.”
Whenever I do a non-story post (except for the map posts which are the best) I feel like I’m cheating. Then I remember that I only have one reader so it’s fine.
I read a lot of D&D blogs because I am very cool and have a rich full life. Many of these blogs talk about problems during games and many of those problems, in my opinion, stem from people taking the game too seriously. However I would say I prefer too serious to not serious enough.
Roleplaying is by its nature kind of silly, but unbearable silliness is a quick turn off for me in a game. Passing no judgements of course, but I don’t like being in a game where someone says they want to play an Elvis Presley impersonator that fell through wormhole and is now in D&D and has magic blue suede shoes. Let’s take our silliness a little seriously can we?
I like wrestling, which is very silly, and everyone knows that I like it so sometimes they try to inject it into our games when I’m a player. They’ll introduce a magic lucha mask or a +1 Folding Chair into the game. I hate it. Quit getting your chocolate on your peanut butter.
I admit that sometimes I am the culprit of too much silliness. Especially when I first started playing Shadowrun. I’m going to blame other people for that though. The other people in the game were all DEEPLY versed in Shadowrun lore and knew everything about everything. I knew nothing. So I often had no clue what was going on. Plus they characters were often involved in super-secret shit that only they and the GM got to know about so even when I knew what was going on I didn’t know what was going on. So my character mostly did stuff that made no sense. But it was a cry for help.
I’ve been accused, rightfully so, of not being good at bringing along new players – but they were just as bad. Come on guys in 1994, give me a break, tell me something about the campaign and how it works. I play with a dude now who’s really skilled at nurturing new players, I find it fascinating and grotesque both.
One time the Coen Brothers made a movie called A Serious Man. It’s the kind of movie where after it ends you go “whoa, I’m going to have to think about that for a while” but instead you immediately forget that you ever saw it. The internet can probably tell me what the opening scene of that movie was about but I’ll never remember to look it up.
I take this blog way too seriously, but not too too seriously. Such as, it annoys me that there’s a blog that has 20,000 followers that literally does nothing but post how many followers it has but I’m not going to lose sleep over it. Not much sleep anyway.
Stumbling on that blog was a fun reminder that if you do something genuine it’s tough to get attention because if you’re serious about something you have to be really good at it. If you do something stupid people can get on board to matter what.
It reminds me of the early days of the internet (I’m old) when a friend I played Warhammer 40k with all the time used to often complain that there was a website that just showed live video of meat rotting. He couldn’t understand why anyone would go to that website – that he went to all the time to see how many people went to it. You see kids in those days websites had little counters on the bottom that showed how many people visited it. It was a primitive time.
I hope in the future when they talk about the internet as we use it they actually do think it was a series of tubes delivering packages. I think historians get most things 33% right at best.
Once I stopped playing tabletop wargames I fell out of touch with that dude because we didn’t have much else in common. That bothers me occasionally, but such is life. If you’re reading this dude, which seems insanely unlikely, how’s it going?
This sturdy ironwood walking stick is free of any markings or adornments.
In the hands of a wielder with a home of any kind the Vagabond’s Staff functions as a masterwork club. When used by someone without a fixed residence or landholdings it becomes a +3 Impact Leveraging Greatclub that grants the wielder a +1 luck bonus to skill checks and saving throws. This enhanced form can be planted into the ground and transformed into a guardian as per the Liveoak spell. Once this ability has been used it cannot be used again until a new owner has traveled at least 100 miles with the staff in their possession.
These rugged and solid wyvernskin boots are unremarkable and plain despite their exotic material. They are incredibly light and comfortable, with thin soles reinforced by strips of tough hide that provide an unexpected amount of support and protection to the foot.
Wearing these boots grants a +4 bonus on the Constitution checks made to continue running and to avoid nonlethal damage from a forced march. These boots also protect the wearer’s feet as if they had hardness 10. This hardness applies only against effects that directly affect the target’s feet, such as caltrops, spike growth, spike stones, or stepping into lava.