Gulliver Carpool

Am I out of line to say that most all of my experiences with Ordo officers have not been like the above cartoon. I can think of only or two exchanges when I thought to myself "this guy must be a blowhard; it's not me."

Now there are diaper furries? I quit SL.

Here you go, hoss. I am introducing a new feature to the Ordo Forums: The Gulliver. Basically, when a thread is posted and a preexisting thread covers this topic, you will be Gullivered if I have anything to do with it. This is not a megalomaniacal wank on my part. It's an effort to keep things tidy. We can change it to the Aryte if you all want. I don't really care. I am fair game too. In conclusion: UTFSF.

Glad to hear this exciting news. Too bad I'm at work when the cool stuff happens. I hereby volunteer to help with the transition that was generally mentioned. Whether that's hooking up with Curia to review any flood of new applicants or whatever, then that. If not something else. In conclusion: Use me.

I am not a fan of this. It pains me to say, but the the Soviets were a preferrable ally to basically anything German during the thirties and early forties. I pose to you: Where they have sent the furries would have gone: Auschwitz or Dachau?

Towel Bat has some funky aviators.

Congratulations, everybody. Glad to see so many merits. (/me wonders if he has no merit.) I look forward to more responsibility and stuff.

How fun! I want some new ships.

[19:10] Aryte Vesperia (COM): Didn't I promote you to E-retard? [19:10] Tyler Yaseotoko (COM): eh?

Happy birthday, Sera. You make some cool ass guns.

Today, I was idling and there were Italians beyond the trench. I didn't see or hear anything from the spawn "yo, somebody be creepin'" alert thing. Is it sometimes behaving poorly lately?

Colas: Dr. Pepper Vanilla Coke Beer: PBR Pearl (any Americana beer is alright by me) Bourbon: Wild Turkey 101 (great value) Pappy Van Winkle's Maker's Mark (it's ubiquitous) Avoid Jim Beam: I puked that up in my yard one evening and the grass refused to grow for 2 years.

Sorry I missed this. You're looking pretty good on your birthday. Fluffy and silky coats. Freshly groomed?

Ok, while this is fresh on everyone's mind, and you're all chomping at the bit to get things read through, please try to aid the process by doing me these little bitty favors: If you can manage to send the text of what you need read to my by email, do that: Gulliver@ordoimperialis. You can guess what comes after the Ordo part. If you send me something in world as a NC, it'll get done alright, but not nearly as quickly, nor can I guarantee accuracy. I'll be going over some things at my leisure and sending them back to Aryte just to streamline. In the end, words are our only tools; we do well if we can keep them sharp.

What is it that you kids say these days? "FTW?" Yes, FTW.

It'd be funny if at least one furry came to the party completely shorn. Same legs and ears and tails and stuff. Just, you know, with no fur.

It's a tough job already, Aryte.

/me gets out his mumbly peg knife and cutting board. Bring it on: I'll cut off your dangling participles.

I got a woody over that framerate. See, Trevor, it's not my lack of flight skill: My computer wasn't made for SL!

Nope. Never. And here's why; If you start worrying about non-specific, indirect stuff in that manner you'll end up paranoid about everything. You know what you've been doing recently, if you didn't do whatever it is, then there's no need to feel guilty-by-proxy; Do not worry and move on. So that time when I *was* ass-kissing doesn't count as being out of line?

Is it just me, or do all these FYI threads make you wonder "was something *I* personally did to warrant this friendly warning?"

I r drunk. Chasing immaturity in an attempt to chase my lost youth. I stopped reading when quotes from Chritpohf or whatever popped up. Yes, be patient! We need more action in Titan. A new, fairer sim and encouraged enemies can only mean less virtual /me emoting the peeling of potatoes while on sim. This is good. Aryte, go for it!

So I teach dog training classes at a major nationwide pet supply store. Our classroom, as it were, doubles as a playroom for dogs that are sent to daycamp or who are boarding at our hotel. Three walls are basically tile-covered cement, and one is a floor to ceiling window. The floors are a polished concrete. It looks like a diorama from grade school. Just without the Roman Empire or The Underground Railroad inside. The room measures approximately 18' x 12'. When a small dog barks, the acoustics created by the room's architecture create a short reverb that somehow enhances and amplifies the noise. I dare say a schnauzer or yorkie with a bug in its ass might be the worst possible thing to happen to me in my class--aggressive pits be damned. Several weeks ago, I was beginning class. There were 5 dogs in this class, all puppies. Most of them small dogs. The largest dog is a three month old lab, maybe 30 pounds top. I begin my class by asking the students--actually, their owners if you want to be technical--how their week has been, how the new things I've taught them have worked out, and how any lingering behavior issues have progressed. I began as always on my left and went around the room. There was the usual: Miley still shits inside but pees outside like a champ; Duke still bites mom's hands too much; Brandi is on her way to being the greatest dog ever; Biscuit still doesn't know her name. When I finally got to the last student, I asked her mom how things had been. Savvy is a miniature dachshund that's maybe 4 months old, and a very small one at that. Her mom, is easily in her 70s. I'd say maybe her late 70s. It's hard to tell. Anyway, Savvy is a good dog. She's eager to please and my only real complaint is that she doesn't sit or lay down on our cold concrete floor. Since we were rather far along in this class's studies, mom wanted to show us all the new trick that she taught Savvy all by herself. I should take this time to mention that for seating, all we have are stools. Two metal bars bent and welded to form legs with a thick plastic disk bolted to the top for human asses to rest upon. Back to Savvy: Whereupon, mom leaned over to ask Savvy to shake--something she wouldn't do because she refuses to sit on the floor, which only makes what's likely obvious to you now only that much more bittersweet--mom broke wind. I can only describe this as a Certified Window Rattler. You younger guys might apply the adjective "EPIC" to describe this. Now again, this is a little dog class, and it was clear to me, and I'm fairly certain to all 8 other humans in that room, including mom's husband who mercifully has duel hearing aids, that there could be no possible way a noise so powerful as that could be produced by something as small as Savvy's anus. Not only could she not generate that kind of thrust, but its size would have rendered the pitch at least several octaves higher. No. This fart was more like someone starting and then revving a chainsaw. Or perhaps more like someone blowing directly into a microphone. But our confines conspired: The stool's top acted as would a drum skin; the stool's legs acted as though they were strings on a bass, amplifying the barely perceptible lower frequencies. But the room, she acted as though she were the Sydney Opera House. Now, I will admit, I fart with impunity in my classroom. I have East Texan blood in me; it's part of who I am. Farting while working is one of the few perks of the job. Payment sure isn't. So, I take it upon myself to exercise the one cheek sneak several times an hour and if by chance some odor is emitted--and it often is--well then, it was probably one of the dogs. But, I'm careful about the sound. In a class full of lapdogs, I'd never dare audible. But this poor woman, she was exposed for all to see. I can only imagine it was the grace and experience of nearly 80 years tempered with the resigned confidence that comes with those years that allowed the woman to press on trying to get Savvy to shake, all while never once flinching or removing the smile from her face. Savvy never shook hands for us.

Thank you, Aryte.