Pissup prep
If you're planning a big night out in the near future--and with Christmas coming up who isn't--drop in to my place to pick up that all important party hat accessory: a traffic cone. That's right, for those who prefer their drunken spontenaity well planned and provisioned in advance, this invaluable party favour can be picked up right now. Underpants, lampshades, park benches, gaffer tape and hamsters sold separately.
I'd offer to deliver but my car is trapped behind a wall of wet cement. A small wall, but a significant one. Yes, the kerbing in front of the driveways in my street has finally been replaced, and every house now sports its very own traffic cone and an array of trapped vehicles on the wrong side of the barriers. I wonder how many there'll be by tomorrow morning. Cones and/or vehicles.
One of the trapped vehicles is a large boat, but since I've never noticed it absent from the neighbour's front lawn, I guess an extra day of enforced nautical idleness won't bother them too much.
Sadly with the arrival of new cement the satanic message spelled out in morse code has now faded significantly. Perhaps a tricycle trip around the cul-de-sac in reverse will bring it out.
The Catmobile is trapped because Husband gave me a lift to the train station this morning post-peak hour. The idea being that I'd have a chance of lasting through the day to attend a Women in IT drinkies networking thingie this evening. No such luck. Squeezed out enough work to fuel a coworker's trip to Indonesia at the end of the week, then collapsed into a shaking shambling wreck in the early afternoon. Made it to The Cavern of Despair (that would be Perth Underground), once more failed to anticipate where the train would actually stop vis-a-vis the platform, then taxi'd home from the train station.
I'm contemplating designing an RPG based on the simple act of commuting.
Player: "And then I rolled TWO SIXES and got a double seat to myself on the 5:07pm express!"
Fellow party-goer: *flees*
Plenty of scope for revenge if you're so foolish as to piss off the SM (Station Master).
My old favourite the critical fumble table would probably feature the loss of self, friends, phones or critical documents to the rails below.
Standard fumbles would merely involve the boarding of inappropriate buses or the selection of inappropriate seat-mates. Failing to offer one's seat to fragile but well-armed or beefily-escorted old people could get you into trouble. Offering your seat to easily-offended but otherwise hale old people could get you into trouble.
SM: "OK, not only have you missed your train, but you've dropped your wallet." *rolls* "Not too bad. You manage to retrieve your wallet, but in bending over your jeans split and your sunglasses fall off the platform onto the rails. Their graceful descent is watched carefully but unhelpfully by station staff. Under their watchful and sadistic eye you have no chance to retrieve them."
Alternatively:
SM: "Ooooh, what a shame. A fellow commuter has just thrown up on your shoes and passed out on your lap, and you're on the express to Armadale. Five points san loss. Next time you give me grief I'll put you on the last train to Fremantle on a Saturday night. In a suit. Carrying a pink handbag."
Player: "Hey!"
SM: "Would you prefer to be in your underwear?"
Player: "Um. Would I have to pay for the suit?"
SM: "Oh, you'll pay. Roll a D20"
Hey, this has promise, which rather suggests it's already been done. Ring any bells, gamers?
I'd offer to deliver but my car is trapped behind a wall of wet cement. A small wall, but a significant one. Yes, the kerbing in front of the driveways in my street has finally been replaced, and every house now sports its very own traffic cone and an array of trapped vehicles on the wrong side of the barriers. I wonder how many there'll be by tomorrow morning. Cones and/or vehicles.
One of the trapped vehicles is a large boat, but since I've never noticed it absent from the neighbour's front lawn, I guess an extra day of enforced nautical idleness won't bother them too much.
Sadly with the arrival of new cement the satanic message spelled out in morse code has now faded significantly. Perhaps a tricycle trip around the cul-de-sac in reverse will bring it out.
The Catmobile is trapped because Husband gave me a lift to the train station this morning post-peak hour. The idea being that I'd have a chance of lasting through the day to attend a Women in IT drinkies networking thingie this evening. No such luck. Squeezed out enough work to fuel a coworker's trip to Indonesia at the end of the week, then collapsed into a shaking shambling wreck in the early afternoon. Made it to The Cavern of Despair (that would be Perth Underground), once more failed to anticipate where the train would actually stop vis-a-vis the platform, then taxi'd home from the train station.
I'm contemplating designing an RPG based on the simple act of commuting.
Player: "And then I rolled TWO SIXES and got a double seat to myself on the 5:07pm express!"
Fellow party-goer: *flees*
Plenty of scope for revenge if you're so foolish as to piss off the SM (Station Master).
My old favourite the critical fumble table would probably feature the loss of self, friends, phones or critical documents to the rails below.
Standard fumbles would merely involve the boarding of inappropriate buses or the selection of inappropriate seat-mates. Failing to offer one's seat to fragile but well-armed or beefily-escorted old people could get you into trouble. Offering your seat to easily-offended but otherwise hale old people could get you into trouble.
SM: "OK, not only have you missed your train, but you've dropped your wallet." *rolls* "Not too bad. You manage to retrieve your wallet, but in bending over your jeans split and your sunglasses fall off the platform onto the rails. Their graceful descent is watched carefully but unhelpfully by station staff. Under their watchful and sadistic eye you have no chance to retrieve them."
Alternatively:
SM: "Ooooh, what a shame. A fellow commuter has just thrown up on your shoes and passed out on your lap, and you're on the express to Armadale. Five points san loss. Next time you give me grief I'll put you on the last train to Fremantle on a Saturday night. In a suit. Carrying a pink handbag."
Player: "Hey!"
SM: "Would you prefer to be in your underwear?"
Player: "Um. Would I have to pay for the suit?"
SM: "Oh, you'll pay. Roll a D20"
Hey, this has promise, which rather suggests it's already been done. Ring any bells, gamers?