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Changed line(s) 437,438 (click to see context) from:
->'''Problem:''' ''Yeah, it's another copotype -- the worst one. The most savage and brutal. The Art Cop. Nothing is good enough for him. Everything is *shit*. You have to employ an armada of adjectives to depict and demean the mediocrity of the works and visual institutions around you. Really *flex* that critical muscle. Until the vocabulary for PUNISHING mediocrity becomes second nature. Here we go...''
'''Solution:''' Trite, contrived, mediocre, milquetoast, amateurish, infantile, cliche-and-gonorrhea-ridden paean to conformism, eye-fucked me, affront to humanity, war crime, should *literally* be tried for war crimes, resolutely shit, lacking in imagination, uninformed reimagining of, limp-wristed, premature, ill-informed attempt at, talentless fuckfest, recidivistic shitpeddler, pedantic, listless, savagely boring, just one repulsive laugh after another.
'''Solution:''' Trite, contrived, mediocre, milquetoast, amateurish, infantile, cliche-and-gonorrhea-ridden paean to conformism, eye-fucked me, affront to humanity, war crime, should *literally* be tried for war crimes, resolutely shit, lacking in imagination, uninformed reimagining of, limp-wristed, premature, ill-informed attempt at, talentless fuckfest, recidivistic shitpeddler, pedantic, listless, savagely boring, just one repulsive laugh after another.
to:
->'''Problem:''' ''Yeah, it's another copotype -- the worst one. The most savage and brutal. The Art Cop. Nothing is good enough for him. Everything is *shit*. You have to employ an armada of adjectives to depict and demean the mediocrity of the works and visual institutions around you. Really *flex* that critical muscle. Until the vocabulary for PUNISHING mediocrity becomes second nature. Here we go...''
''\\
'''Solution:'''Trite, ''Trite, contrived, mediocre, milquetoast, amateurish, infantile, cliche-and-gonorrhea-ridden paean to conformism, eye-fucked me, affront to humanity, war crime, should *literally* be tried for war crimes, resolutely shit, lacking in imagination, uninformed reimagining of, limp-wristed, premature, ill-informed attempt at, talentless fuckfest, recidivistic shitpeddler, pedantic, listless, savagely boring, just one repulsive laugh after another.''
'''Solution:'''
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Changed line(s) 431,434 (click to see context) from:
->'''Problem:''' ''Seems like the point of this game is *victory*. The absence of defeat on all fronts. Victory in business ventures and creative undertakings. Victory in love and over other people. Political victory. Ideological victory. Hell, even sexual victory. Definitely a lot of object-based victories, too -- having things and not losing them. One problem, though: not a lot of victors in sight. Everyone's mostly losing. Why is that? And how do you *not* lose?''\\
'''Solution:''' ''How *not* to lose? It is impossible not to. The world is balanced on the edge of a knife. It's a game of frayed nerves. You're pushed on by numbers and punitive measures: pain, rejection, and unpaid bills. You can either play or you can crawl under a boat and waste away -- turn into salt or a flock of seagulls. Your enemies would *love* that. Or you can fight. The only way to load the dice is to keep on fighting.''
-->-- ''The Precarious World''
'''Solution:''' ''How *not* to lose? It is impossible not to. The world is balanced on the edge of a knife. It's a game of frayed nerves. You're pushed on by numbers and punitive measures: pain, rejection, and unpaid bills. You can either play or you can crawl under a boat and waste away -- turn into salt or a flock of seagulls. Your enemies would *love* that. Or you can fight. The only way to load the dice is to keep on fighting.''
-->-- ''The Precarious World''
to:
->'''Problem:''' ''Seems like ''Business loves silence, the point second loudest sound in the world, eclipsed only by the collective screams of this game is *victory*. The absence of defeat on all fronts. Victory in business ventures and creative undertakings. Victory in love and over other people. Political victory. Ideological victory. Hell, even sexual victory. Definitely a lot of object-based victories, too -- having things and not losing them. One problem, though: not a lot of victors in sight. Everyone's mostly losing. Why is that? And how market crash victims. So let me whisper to you: do you *not* lose?''\\
feel the veil of the sun-god slipping? Are the better days gone, are we entering bankruptcy? Is the company gonna go down and leave you in the gutter with the rest of the dredges, delivering parcels for soup money? You need to crisis-manage your way out of this.''\\
'''Solution:'''''How *not* ''It's easy. You just need to lose? It move on -- like a plague of locusts. Like a fucking plague. Failure is impossible not to. The world a core tenet of liberalism. When life closes a door, it opens a window. And if the fall is balanced too steep, use the fire exit. Run to the roof -- you always have that airship on the edge of a knife. It's a game of frayed nerves. You're pushed on by numbers and punitive measures: pain, rejection, and unpaid bills. You can either play or you can crawl under a boat and waste away -- turn into salt or a flock of seagulls. Your enemies would *love* that. Or you can fight. dock. The only way to load the dice most important thing is to keep on fighting.moving. Keep dreaming. The auditors cannot get to you if you keep running -- very, very fast, from one fuck-up to the next.''
-->--''The Precarious World''
''Bankruptcy Sequence''
'''Solution:'''
-->--
Added DiffLines:
->'''Problem:''' ''Yeah, it's another copotype -- the worst one. The most savage and brutal. The Art Cop. Nothing is good enough for him. Everything is *shit*. You have to employ an armada of adjectives to depict and demean the mediocrity of the works and visual institutions around you. Really *flex* that critical muscle. Until the vocabulary for PUNISHING mediocrity becomes second nature. Here we go...''
'''Solution:''' Trite, contrived, mediocre, milquetoast, amateurish, infantile, cliche-and-gonorrhea-ridden paean to conformism, eye-fucked me, affront to humanity, war crime, should *literally* be tried for war crimes, resolutely shit, lacking in imagination, uninformed reimagining of, limp-wristed, premature, ill-informed attempt at, talentless fuckfest, recidivistic shitpeddler, pedantic, listless, savagely boring, just one repulsive laugh after another.
-->-- ''Actual Art Degree''
----
->'''Problem:''' ''Seems like the point of this game is *victory*. The absence of defeat on all fronts. Victory in business ventures and creative undertakings. Victory in love and over other people. Political victory. Ideological victory. Hell, even sexual victory. Definitely a lot of object-based victories, too -- having things and not losing them. One problem, though: not a lot of victors in sight. Everyone's mostly losing. Why is that? And how do you *not* lose?''\\
'''Solution:''' ''How *not* to lose? It is impossible not to. The world is balanced on the edge of a knife. It's a game of frayed nerves. You're pushed on by numbers and punitive measures: pain, rejection, and unpaid bills. You can either play or you can crawl under a boat and waste away -- turn into salt or a flock of seagulls. Your enemies would *love* that. Or you can fight. The only way to load the dice is to keep on fighting.''
-->-- ''The Precarious World''
----
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Changed line(s) 384 (click to see context) from:
'''Judit:'''Yes, a couple of times. After some of the more... serious benders. ''(she pauses, remembering)'' One was after the Two Drunks case, the other when we looked into that mural.\\
to:
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----
Deleted line(s) 382,387 (click to see context) :
!! Thought Cabinet
->'''Problem:''' ''People think Communism was some crazy idea that had its comeuppance 40 years ago. A fever that shook the world, never to return again. They were right. Until *he* woke up today – a spiritual corpse responsive only to the call of Commodore Red, prostitutes, and Kras Mazov. For him, Communism is still a *thing*. He will single-handedly raise the Commune of '02 from the oceanic trench where it has been resting, covered in ghosts and seaweed! He is the Big Communism Builder. Come, witness his attempt to rebuild Communism in the year '51!''\\
'''Solution:''' ''0.000% of Communism has been built. Evil child-murdering billionaires still rule the world with a shit-eating grin. All he has managed to do is make himself *sad*. He is starting to suspect Kras Mazov *fucked him over* personally with his socio-economic theory. It has, however, made him into a very, very smart boy with something like a university degree in Truth. Instead of building Communism, he now builds a precise model of this grotesque, duplicitous world.''
-->-- ''Mazovian Socio-Economics''
->'''Problem:''' ''People think Communism was some crazy idea that had its comeuppance 40 years ago. A fever that shook the world, never to return again. They were right. Until *he* woke up today – a spiritual corpse responsive only to the call of Commodore Red, prostitutes, and Kras Mazov. For him, Communism is still a *thing*. He will single-handedly raise the Commune of '02 from the oceanic trench where it has been resting, covered in ghosts and seaweed! He is the Big Communism Builder. Come, witness his attempt to rebuild Communism in the year '51!''\\
'''Solution:''' ''0.000% of Communism has been built. Evil child-murdering billionaires still rule the world with a shit-eating grin. All he has managed to do is make himself *sad*. He is starting to suspect Kras Mazov *fucked him over* personally with his socio-economic theory. It has, however, made him into a very, very smart boy with something like a university degree in Truth. Instead of building Communism, he now builds a precise model of this grotesque, duplicitous world.''
-->-- ''Mazovian Socio-Economics''
Changed line(s) 390 (click to see context) from:
to:
->'''Judit:''' But, Detective Vicquemare. He *has* blanked out before.\\
'''You:''' I have?\\
'''Judit:'''Yes, a couple of times. After some of the more... serious benders. ''(she pauses, remembering)'' One was after the Two Drunks case, the other when we looked into that mural.\\
'''Conceptualization:''' So you don't *remember* not remembering. Beautiful.\\
'''Reaction Speed:''' The two cases... in your ledger. The Unsolvable Case and the Next World Mural. Those were recent.\\
'''Half Light:''' Those cases were hard on you...\\
'''Trant:''' Interesting. So at first he dipped his toes into it. Prepared. That's where he would have gotten the idea -- yes. Practice. And then he used alcohol to "get there", so to speak...\\
'''Jean:''' What do you mean?\\
'''Trant:''' Well -- here is my theory: What if this is an absolutely normal reaction to the world we're living in? What if this is *not* a significant anomaly at all, something to be explained, approached as a defect? Look at the sensory input here... ''(he gestures toward the scenery)'' Look at the ruins, the neon, listen to the radio, the multitudes. The people. Live here for forty years... As a police detective, he's like a magnetic reader on the world-tape -- to borrow a known metaphor. Harry's been pushed *flat against it*. Total input. Hard-wired to the free market... ''(he nods confidently)'' He just needed for it to end.\\
!! Thought Cabinet
->'''Problem:''' ''People think Communism was some crazy idea that had its comeuppance 40 years ago. A fever that shook the world, never to return again. They were right. Until *he* woke up today – a spiritual corpse responsive only to the call of Commodore Red, prostitutes, and Kras Mazov. For him, Communism is still a *thing*. He will single-handedly raise the Commune of '02 from the oceanic trench where it has been resting, covered in ghosts and seaweed! He is the Big Communism Builder. Come, witness his attempt to rebuild Communism in the year '51!''\\
'''Solution:''' ''0.000% of Communism has been built. Evil child-murdering billionaires still rule the world with a shit-eating grin. All he has managed to do is make himself *sad*. He is starting to suspect Kras Mazov *fucked him over* personally with his socio-economic theory. It has, however, made him into a very, very smart boy with something like a university degree in Truth. Instead of building Communism, he now builds a precise model of this grotesque, duplicitous world.''
-->-- ''Mazovian Socio-Economics''
----
'''You:''' I have?\\
'''Judit:'''Yes, a couple of times. After some of the more... serious benders. ''(she pauses, remembering)'' One was after the Two Drunks case, the other when we looked into that mural.\\
'''Conceptualization:''' So you don't *remember* not remembering. Beautiful.\\
'''Reaction Speed:''' The two cases... in your ledger. The Unsolvable Case and the Next World Mural. Those were recent.\\
'''Half Light:''' Those cases were hard on you...\\
'''Trant:''' Interesting. So at first he dipped his toes into it. Prepared. That's where he would have gotten the idea -- yes. Practice. And then he used alcohol to "get there", so to speak...\\
'''Jean:''' What do you mean?\\
'''Trant:''' Well -- here is my theory: What if this is an absolutely normal reaction to the world we're living in? What if this is *not* a significant anomaly at all, something to be explained, approached as a defect? Look at the sensory input here... ''(he gestures toward the scenery)'' Look at the ruins, the neon, listen to the radio, the multitudes. The people. Live here for forty years... As a police detective, he's like a magnetic reader on the world-tape -- to borrow a known metaphor. Harry's been pushed *flat against it*. Total input. Hard-wired to the free market... ''(he nods confidently)'' He just needed for it to end.\\
!! Thought Cabinet
->'''Problem:''' ''People think Communism was some crazy idea that had its comeuppance 40 years ago. A fever that shook the world, never to return again. They were right. Until *he* woke up today – a spiritual corpse responsive only to the call of Commodore Red, prostitutes, and Kras Mazov. For him, Communism is still a *thing*. He will single-handedly raise the Commune of '02 from the oceanic trench where it has been resting, covered in ghosts and seaweed! He is the Big Communism Builder. Come, witness his attempt to rebuild Communism in the year '51!''\\
'''Solution:''' ''0.000% of Communism has been built. Evil child-murdering billionaires still rule the world with a shit-eating grin. All he has managed to do is make himself *sad*. He is starting to suspect Kras Mazov *fucked him over* personally with his socio-economic theory. It has, however, made him into a very, very smart boy with something like a university degree in Truth. Instead of building Communism, he now builds a precise model of this grotesque, duplicitous world.''
-->-- ''Mazovian Socio-Economics''
----
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Changed line(s) 415,416 (click to see context) from:
->'''Problem:''' Your face looks like it's 58 and your body feels like it's 60. Your mind feels like it's lived for one day or a hundred. Both longer than they ought to be, the day and the century.... But for how long, then, has this thing attached to your sentience walked the planet’s crust? Time to start racking those brains of yours, Elder One. When and where were you born?\\
'''Solution:''' You were born in the year '07, in the last year of the Commune of Revachol, right before it fell. In the Old Military Hospital, on the ground floor where people usually came to die, during a snowstorm. The Revolution had about one year left to go and the fires were still burning bright. There were explosions in the blizzard. This was 44 years ago. You are 44 years old. The bloating might never leave your face, but beneath it -- you still have some years. You still have some hope.
'''Solution:''' You were born in the year '07, in the last year of the Commune of Revachol, right before it fell. In the Old Military Hospital, on the ground floor where people usually came to die, during a snowstorm. The Revolution had about one year left to go and the fires were still burning bright. There were explosions in the blizzard. This was 44 years ago. You are 44 years old. The bloating might never leave your face, but beneath it -- you still have some years. You still have some hope.
to:
->'''Problem:''' Your ''Your face looks like it's 58 and your body feels like it's 60. Your mind feels like it's lived for one day or a hundred. Both longer than they ought to be, the day and the century.... century... But for how long, then, has this thing attached to your sentience walked the planet’s planet's crust? Time to start racking those brains of yours, Elder One. When and where were you born?\\
born?''\\
'''Solution:'''You ''You were born in the year '07, in the last year of the Commune of Revachol, right before it fell. In the Old Military Hospital, on the ground floor where people usually came to die, during a snowstorm. The Revolution had about one year left to go and the fires were still burning bright. There were explosions in the blizzard. This was 44 years ago. You are 44 years old. The bloating might never leave your face, but beneath it -- you still have some years. You still have some hope.''
'''Solution:'''
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Changed line(s) 415 (click to see context) from:
->'''Problem:'''Your face looks like it's 58 and your body feels like it's 60. Your mind feels like it's lived for one day or a hundred. Both longer than they ought to be, the day and the century.... But for how long, then, has this thing attached to your sentience walked the planet’s crust? Time to start racking those brains of yours, Elder One. When and where were you born?\\
to:
Changed line(s) 417,418 (click to see context) from:
-->-- ''Date of Birth Generator
to:
-->-- ''Date of Birth Generator
Generator''
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Added DiffLines:
->'''Problem:'''Your face looks like it's 58 and your body feels like it's 60. Your mind feels like it's lived for one day or a hundred. Both longer than they ought to be, the day and the century.... But for how long, then, has this thing attached to your sentience walked the planet’s crust? Time to start racking those brains of yours, Elder One. When and where were you born?\\
'''Solution:''' You were born in the year '07, in the last year of the Commune of Revachol, right before it fell. In the Old Military Hospital, on the ground floor where people usually came to die, during a snowstorm. The Revolution had about one year left to go and the fires were still burning bright. There were explosions in the blizzard. This was 44 years ago. You are 44 years old. The bloating might never leave your face, but beneath it -- you still have some years. You still have some hope.
-->-- ''Date of Birth Generator
----
'''Solution:''' You were born in the year '07, in the last year of the Commune of Revachol, right before it fell. In the Old Military Hospital, on the ground floor where people usually came to die, during a snowstorm. The Revolution had about one year left to go and the fires were still burning bright. There were explosions in the blizzard. This was 44 years ago. You are 44 years old. The bloating might never leave your face, but beneath it -- you still have some years. You still have some hope.
-->-- ''Date of Birth Generator
----
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Changed line(s) 268 (click to see context) from:
->'''Logic:''' Sorry. You're not coming up with anything. Again, the pieces are there: she could have done it, somehow, something else, wala-wala-bing-bang — it's just not coming together.\\
to:
->'''Logic:''' Sorry. You're not coming up with anything. Again, the pieces are there: she could have done it, somehow, something else, wala-wala-bing-bang — -- it's just not coming together.\\
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Changed line(s) 264,265 (click to see context) from:
-->--'''Volition'''
to:
Added DiffLines:
->'''Logic:''' Sorry. You're not coming up with anything. Again, the pieces are there: she could have done it, somehow, something else, wala-wala-bing-bang — it's just not coming together.\\
'''You:''' Walla-walla-bing-bang?\\
'''Logic:''' I don't know what it means, but it felt like the most appropriate thing to say. That's what the *Witch Doctor* would say, at least.
----
'''You:''' Walla-walla-bing-bang?\\
'''Logic:''' I don't know what it means, but it felt like the most appropriate thing to say. That's what the *Witch Doctor* would say, at least.
----
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Changed line(s) 244 (click to see context) from:
'''You:''' What do you mean, *you are the city?*\\
to:
'''You:''' What do you mean, *you you are the city?*\\city?\\
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Changed line(s) 244 (click to see context) from:
'''You:''' What do you mean, you are the city?\\
to:
'''You:''' What do you mean, you *you are the city?\\city?*\\
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A Date With Rosie Palms is now a redirect to an index
Changed line(s) 189 (click to see context) from:
->'''Electrochemistry''' Look at her thighs, *between* her thighs and... What are you waiting for, man?! [[ADateWithRosiePalms PARTY]] WITH [[PageThreeStunna MISS PAGE-THREE]] ALL THE WAY TO DISCO ZERO!\\
to:
->'''Electrochemistry''' Look at her thighs, *between* her thighs and... What are you waiting for, man?! [[ADateWithRosiePalms PARTY]] PARTY WITH [[PageThreeStunna MISS PAGE-THREE]] ALL THE WAY TO DISCO ZERO!\\
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Deleted line(s) 98,103 (click to see context) :
->'''You:''' What's a "contact microphone"?\\
'''Acele:''' A contact mic records sounds from inside things. Like this ice.\\
'''Encyclopedia:''' Your mangled brain would like you to know that there is a boxer called Contact Mike.\\
'''You:''' Yeah? Any news on my wife's name? How about my mother?\\
'''Encyclopedia:''' [[BluntNo Nope.]] You're welcome.
'''Acele:''' A contact mic records sounds from inside things. Like this ice.\\
'''Encyclopedia:''' Your mangled brain would like you to know that there is a boxer called Contact Mike.\\
'''You:''' Yeah? Any news on my wife's name? How about my mother?\\
'''Encyclopedia:''' [[BluntNo Nope.]] You're welcome.
Changed line(s) 106,112 (click to see context) from:
->'''Inland Empire:''' What if *you* only appear as a large singular body, but are actually a congregation of tiny organisms working in unison?\\
'''Physical Instrument:''' Get out of here, dreamer! Don't you think we'd know about it?\\
'''Volition:''' If it were true those organisms would *not* be working *in unison*.\\
'''Endurance:''' That's because some of them just don't have the best interests of the colony in mind.\\
'''Electrochemistry:''' Hey, maybe if the rest of you took a chill-pill every now and then, they'd be more motivated?\\
'''Perception:''' Shut up, we can't hear what he's saying!
'''Physical Instrument:''' Get out of here, dreamer! Don't you think we'd know about it?\\
'''Volition:''' If it were true those organisms would *not* be working *in unison*.\\
'''Endurance:''' That's because some of them just don't have the best interests of the colony in mind.\\
'''Electrochemistry:''' Hey, maybe if the rest of you took a chill-pill every now and then, they'd be more motivated?\\
'''Perception:''' Shut up, we can't hear what he's saying!
to:
'''Physical Instrument:''' Get out of here, dreamer! Don't you think we'd know about it?\\
'''Volition:''' If it were true those organisms would *not* be working *in unison*.\\
'''Endurance:''' That's because some of them just don't have the best interests of the colony in mind.\\
'''Electrochemistry:''' Hey, maybe if the rest of you took a chill-pill every now and then, they'd be more motivated?\\
'''Perception:''' Shut up, we can't hear what he's saying!
-->-- '''Drama'''
Changed line(s) 115,124 (click to see context) from:
->'''You:''' ''(smell the ledger)''\\
'''Damaged Ledger:''' The acidic stench of rotting food has rubbed off on the cellulose. It now forms the *base* of the experience. This base surrounded by a faint air of spoiled meat -- the stuff of death itself! -- and then sprinkled liberally with the citrus zest of toilet cleaner.\\
'''Perception:''' You know -- like the bits they put into public piss bowls; probably called *Fermi-Discrete* or *Axel* or something. At some point in its journey the ledger has seen the inside of a public toilet.\\
'''You:''' I know, I know. Sylvie already told me I dunked it in the toilet.\\
'''Perception:''' If you knew it was dunked in the toilet before getting chucked into the trash, why're you sniffing it?\\
'''You:''' Maybe, uh-- Maybe it's my fetish? Maybe? Ever think of that, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Garbage-toilet stink is not your fetish and you know it. Your nose does *not* fucking like this.\\
'''You:''' Are you angry with me, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Yeah, turns out your nose doesn't like self-indulgent literal-shit huffing. *Quelle fuckin' surprise*. Come on, no more -- the ledger is going back down, away from your nose now.
'''Damaged Ledger:''' The acidic stench of rotting food has rubbed off on the cellulose. It now forms the *base* of the experience. This base surrounded by a faint air of spoiled meat -- the stuff of death itself! -- and then sprinkled liberally with the citrus zest of toilet cleaner.\\
'''Perception:''' You know -- like the bits they put into public piss bowls; probably called *Fermi-Discrete* or *Axel* or something. At some point in its journey the ledger has seen the inside of a public toilet.\\
'''You:''' I know, I know. Sylvie already told me I dunked it in the toilet.\\
'''Perception:''' If you knew it was dunked in the toilet before getting chucked into the trash, why're you sniffing it?\\
'''You:''' Maybe, uh-- Maybe it's my fetish? Maybe? Ever think of that, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Garbage-toilet stink is not your fetish and you know it. Your nose does *not* fucking like this.\\
'''You:''' Are you angry with me, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Yeah, turns out your nose doesn't like self-indulgent literal-shit huffing. *Quelle fuckin' surprise*. Come on, no more -- the ledger is going back down, away from your nose now.
to:
->'''You:''' ''(smell the ledger)''\\
'''Damaged Ledger:''' The acidic stench of rotting food has rubbed off on the cellulose. It now forms the *base* of the experience. This base surrounded byWhat's a faint air of spoiled meat -- the stuff of death itself! -- and then sprinkled liberally with the citrus zest of toilet cleaner."contact microphone"?\\
'''Acele:''' A contact mic records sounds from inside things. Like this ice.\\
'''Perception:''' You '''Encyclopedia:''' Your mangled brain would like you to know -- like the bits they put into public piss bowls; probably that there is a boxer called *Fermi-Discrete* or *Axel* or something. At some point in its journey the ledger has seen the inside of a public toilet.Contact Mike.\\
'''You:'''I know, I know. Sylvie already told me I dunked it in the toilet.\\
'''Perception:''' If you knew it was dunked in the toilet before getting chucked into the trash, why're you sniffing it?\\
'''You:''' Maybe, uh-- Maybe it'sYeah? Any news on my fetish? Maybe? Ever think of that, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Garbage-toilet stink is not your fetish and you know it. Your nose does *not* fucking like this.\\
'''You:''' Are you angry with me, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Yeah, turns out your nose doesn't like self-indulgent literal-shit huffing. *Quelle fuckin' surprise*. Come on, no more -- the ledger is going back down, away from your nose now.
wife's name? How about my mother?\\
'''Encyclopedia:''' [[BluntNo Nope.]] You're welcome.
'''Damaged Ledger:''' The acidic stench of rotting food has rubbed off on the cellulose. It now forms the *base* of the experience. This base surrounded by
'''Acele:''' A contact mic records sounds from inside things. Like this ice.\\
'''You:'''
'''Perception:''' If you knew it was dunked in the toilet before getting chucked into the trash, why're you sniffing it?\\
'''You:''' Maybe, uh-- Maybe it's
'''Perception:''' Garbage-toilet stink is not your fetish and you know it. Your nose does *not* fucking like this.\\
'''You:''' Are you angry with me, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Yeah, turns out your nose doesn't like self-indulgent literal-shit huffing. *Quelle fuckin' surprise*. Come on, no more -- the ledger is going back down, away from your nose now.
'''Encyclopedia:''' [[BluntNo Nope.]] You're welcome.
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->'''Inland Empire:''' What if *you* only appear as a large singular body, but are actually a congregation of tiny organisms working in unison?\\
'''Physical Instrument:''' Get out of here, dreamer! Don't you think we'd know about it?\\
'''Volition:''' If it were true those organisms would *not* be working *in unison*.\\
'''Endurance:''' That's because some of them just don't have the best interests of the colony in mind.\\
'''Electrochemistry:''' Hey, maybe if the rest of you took a chill-pill every now and then, they'd be more motivated?\\
'''Perception:''' Shut up, we can't hear what he's saying!
----
->'''You:''' ''(smell the ledger)''\\
'''Damaged Ledger:''' The acidic stench of rotting food has rubbed off on the cellulose. It now forms the *base* of the experience. This base surrounded by a faint air of spoiled meat -- the stuff of death itself! -- and then sprinkled liberally with the citrus zest of toilet cleaner.\\
'''Perception:''' You know -- like the bits they put into public piss bowls; probably called *Fermi-Discrete* or *Axel* or something. At some point in its journey the ledger has seen the inside of a public toilet.\\
'''You:''' I know, I know. Sylvie already told me I dunked it in the toilet.\\
'''Perception:''' If you knew it was dunked in the toilet before getting chucked into the trash, why're you sniffing it?\\
'''You:''' Maybe, uh-- Maybe it's my fetish? Maybe? Ever think of that, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Garbage-toilet stink is not your fetish and you know it. Your nose does *not* fucking like this.\\
'''You:''' Are you angry with me, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Yeah, turns out your nose doesn't like self-indulgent literal-shit huffing. *Quelle fuckin' surprise*. Come on, no more -- the ledger is going back down, away from your nose now.
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'''Physical Instrument:''' Get out of here, dreamer! Don't you think we'd know about it?\\
'''Volition:''' If it were true those organisms would *not* be working *in unison*.\\
'''Endurance:''' That's because some of them just don't have the best interests of the colony in mind.\\
'''Electrochemistry:''' Hey, maybe if the rest of you took a chill-pill every now and then, they'd be more motivated?\\
'''Perception:''' Shut up, we can't hear what he's saying!
----
->'''You:''' ''(smell the ledger)''\\
'''Damaged Ledger:''' The acidic stench of rotting food has rubbed off on the cellulose. It now forms the *base* of the experience. This base surrounded by a faint air of spoiled meat -- the stuff of death itself! -- and then sprinkled liberally with the citrus zest of toilet cleaner.\\
'''Perception:''' You know -- like the bits they put into public piss bowls; probably called *Fermi-Discrete* or *Axel* or something. At some point in its journey the ledger has seen the inside of a public toilet.\\
'''You:''' I know, I know. Sylvie already told me I dunked it in the toilet.\\
'''Perception:''' If you knew it was dunked in the toilet before getting chucked into the trash, why're you sniffing it?\\
'''You:''' Maybe, uh-- Maybe it's my fetish? Maybe? Ever think of that, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Garbage-toilet stink is not your fetish and you know it. Your nose does *not* fucking like this.\\
'''You:''' Are you angry with me, nose?\\
'''Perception:''' Yeah, turns out your nose doesn't like self-indulgent literal-shit huffing. *Quelle fuckin' surprise*. Come on, no more -- the ledger is going back down, away from your nose now.
----
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Don't want to fill the quote page with every thought cabinet from the game, but there's enough love for The Precarious World solution that its presence seems merited.
Changed line(s) 406 (click to see context) from:
to:
-->-- ''The Precarious World''
