Lawl
On a whim I started up a game of Pandemic 2, which I haven't played in well over a year, figuring, well... why not?
I started in Greenland, picked a bacteria, and got myself transmission by rodents and insects, and then built up the levels of resistances, and sold my symptoms so I didn't have any.
Then, well... you know the story if you've ever played it. Disease spreads, governments shut their borders, and schools, and public transport and so on and so forth... Madagascar, of course, are The Bastards.
Well, I got them, but they are still The Bastards for an entirely different reason.
YOU SEE THAT? DO YOU? EVERY OTHER FUCKING PLACE IN THE WORLD HAS GONE ON A SPREE OF
SHUT
DOWN
EVERYTHING
... EXCEPT for fucking Madagascar.
*Ringring, ringring*
President: "Hello?"
Advisors: "Mr President of Madagascar?"
President: "Yes?"
Advisors: "... Someone coughed."
President: "SHUT DOW-"
Advisors: "In our country, sir."
President: "--N what?"
Advisors: "It's already in, sir."
President: "Well shit."
Advisors: "Should we shut down everything?"
President: "Fuck no, let everybody else have it. Double our international traffic."
And as a result...
AHAHAHAHAHAHA I get to kill everyone in the world!
And for anyone wondering?
I called it Zombie Flu.
Silly spazzing about online flash games out of the way...
Sibling found Dad. I'm not clear on the reason he wanted to, but he did. He tracked down where he was working and got in touch.
The thing about Dad is that he's always been, well, a fantasising dickhead who lives beyond his means because he thinks that owning shit he can't afford will make him middle class. He's a foundryman, but he wishes really hard that he was a white collar worker, and tended to spend as though he was. But in all the wrong places.
He bought a hundred and twenty thousand pound house (quarter of a million dollars nearly ten years ago, for the Americans) he couldn't afford, so we had to keep the knackered old sofa we'd had for fifteen years, and cheap carpets, and rented a cheap television, and he kept the same, shite, car he'd had for ten years, which he'd only bought for the badge, back in the days when Mazda made shitty family cars and the MX5.
He spent fifteen thousand on a tin can in the lake district, so I've only ever been abroad twice in my life, both times on school trips, because we couldn't afford nice holidays in other countries.
And then, when the divorce started, mother was being treated for cancer and living at the edge of her means in a flat, and he was away spending hundreds a night on prostitutes. Me and the sibling saw him once a month when he went shopping at Aldi and spent thirty quid to stock up the freezer, and then left again. Except for the nights he brought the prostitutes home, anyway. Sibling stole money off me to buy pot for him and his friends, and then they'd streak through the food we had when the munchies hit.
He once dragged the sibling out into the street, in front of everyone, all his friends and all the neighbours, and tried to challenge him to a fight. He'd been a black belt kickboxer back before the sibling was born, and seemed to think he was still up to that standard fourteen years later.
And now the sibling has got back in touch with him, and apparently his life is great. He's living in a house in Moston (not far from where we used to live, and incidentally, a shithole), and has a holiday home in Chester (If you have a holiday home in Chester, WHY THE FUCK would you live in MOSTON? That's like being married to a michelin star chef and eating McDonalds every night.) He's got a Jaguar, the car he always wanted (which funnily enough, the last girlfriend we saw him with eight years ago happened to own), and he's remarried.
But he still works at that same foundry.
I'm not sure why the sibling's got in touch. Mother's bothered about it because she keeps going on about it, and fishing for reassurance. I also feel terribly comforted at having had to tell her three times now that dad battered me with a shoe once when I was nine, and she was out (having one night stands), and she sounds shocked every time, like she doesn't remember that I've already told her this. Twice now. Ditto the prostitutes and the food situation when she left, but all she can ever remember is the prostitutes.
I think he's got unresolved issues, although saying that about my brother is a bit of an understatement; he tried to get the dog to blow him, for crying out loud.
He offered me dad's phone number. I haven't taken him up on that. I'm pretty much indifferent at this point. He's been gone for eight years. My life isn't better without him, but it isn't any worse either.
I don't see the point unless there's money in it for me, and, well... there isn't. The way I feel, I'm pretty much sitting pretty, doing my knitting, in the middle of a tornado a mile wide.
But it's a bloody annoying tornado,
I started in Greenland, picked a bacteria, and got myself transmission by rodents and insects, and then built up the levels of resistances, and sold my symptoms so I didn't have any.
Then, well... you know the story if you've ever played it. Disease spreads, governments shut their borders, and schools, and public transport and so on and so forth... Madagascar, of course, are The Bastards.
Well, I got them, but they are still The Bastards for an entirely different reason.
YOU SEE THAT? DO YOU? EVERY OTHER FUCKING PLACE IN THE WORLD HAS GONE ON A SPREE OF
SHUT
DOWN
EVERYTHING
... EXCEPT for fucking Madagascar.
*Ringring, ringring*
President: "Hello?"
Advisors: "Mr President of Madagascar?"
President: "Yes?"
Advisors: "... Someone coughed."
President: "SHUT DOW-"
Advisors: "In our country, sir."
President: "--N what?"
Advisors: "It's already in, sir."
President: "Well shit."
Advisors: "Should we shut down everything?"
President: "Fuck no, let everybody else have it. Double our international traffic."
And as a result...
AHAHAHAHAHAHA I get to kill everyone in the world!
And for anyone wondering?
I called it Zombie Flu.
Silly spazzing about online flash games out of the way...
Sibling found Dad. I'm not clear on the reason he wanted to, but he did. He tracked down where he was working and got in touch.
The thing about Dad is that he's always been, well, a fantasising dickhead who lives beyond his means because he thinks that owning shit he can't afford will make him middle class. He's a foundryman, but he wishes really hard that he was a white collar worker, and tended to spend as though he was. But in all the wrong places.
He bought a hundred and twenty thousand pound house (quarter of a million dollars nearly ten years ago, for the Americans) he couldn't afford, so we had to keep the knackered old sofa we'd had for fifteen years, and cheap carpets, and rented a cheap television, and he kept the same, shite, car he'd had for ten years, which he'd only bought for the badge, back in the days when Mazda made shitty family cars and the MX5.
He spent fifteen thousand on a tin can in the lake district, so I've only ever been abroad twice in my life, both times on school trips, because we couldn't afford nice holidays in other countries.
And then, when the divorce started, mother was being treated for cancer and living at the edge of her means in a flat, and he was away spending hundreds a night on prostitutes. Me and the sibling saw him once a month when he went shopping at Aldi and spent thirty quid to stock up the freezer, and then left again. Except for the nights he brought the prostitutes home, anyway. Sibling stole money off me to buy pot for him and his friends, and then they'd streak through the food we had when the munchies hit.
He once dragged the sibling out into the street, in front of everyone, all his friends and all the neighbours, and tried to challenge him to a fight. He'd been a black belt kickboxer back before the sibling was born, and seemed to think he was still up to that standard fourteen years later.
And now the sibling has got back in touch with him, and apparently his life is great. He's living in a house in Moston (not far from where we used to live, and incidentally, a shithole), and has a holiday home in Chester (If you have a holiday home in Chester, WHY THE FUCK would you live in MOSTON? That's like being married to a michelin star chef and eating McDonalds every night.) He's got a Jaguar, the car he always wanted (which funnily enough, the last girlfriend we saw him with eight years ago happened to own), and he's remarried.
But he still works at that same foundry.
I'm not sure why the sibling's got in touch. Mother's bothered about it because she keeps going on about it, and fishing for reassurance. I also feel terribly comforted at having had to tell her three times now that dad battered me with a shoe once when I was nine, and she was out (having one night stands), and she sounds shocked every time, like she doesn't remember that I've already told her this. Twice now. Ditto the prostitutes and the food situation when she left, but all she can ever remember is the prostitutes.
I think he's got unresolved issues, although saying that about my brother is a bit of an understatement; he tried to get the dog to blow him, for crying out loud.
He offered me dad's phone number. I haven't taken him up on that. I'm pretty much indifferent at this point. He's been gone for eight years. My life isn't better without him, but it isn't any worse either.
I don't see the point unless there's money in it for me, and, well... there isn't. The way I feel, I'm pretty much sitting pretty, doing my knitting, in the middle of a tornado a mile wide.
But it's a bloody annoying tornado,