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Binky is very ill.
This morning, I found him in bed, motionless and unresponsive. His face was green, and looked wanly at me with an expression of reproachful hatred. His water cooler was empty, as were the cupboards. His dog ran up and down the stairs wildly, confused by his master’s sickness. Not even Binky’s alarm clock would rouse him.
I’m not sure what to make of Binky’s predicament. On the one hand, I feel guilty. But then, surely Binky is at least partly responsible for his own condition. Hell, last night, he scarfed down four meals in the space of an hour. Then, in a fit of frantic energy, he ran upstairs and wrote me FIVE letters, and demanded I play a game with him. Then he started playing the piano. Before I went to bed, I checked on him one last time. He was dancing wildly in the attic, listening to some ancient LPs. His cupboards were well stocked with food, and his water cooler was full.
Part of me feels guilty, but then I think of what excesses the little beggar must’ve indulged in last night. Wild solo dancing, calling his friends on the phone at all hours, video games, tromping up and down the stairs without consideration of the late hour, etc. I know what turns his crank. I watched him for two hours before I went to bed. Binky has a weirdly frenetic personality, and a distinct lack of attention. No diversion keeps his interest for more than a few minutes.
If I may quote the Pleasuremonk NPC Matthias from my Shatterzone campaign, when he came upon Caligula Jones lying unconscious in the alley behind the Flipchip Parlor on Lucifer’s Gate...
“Ah! Another soul, brought to pain through a surfeit of pleasure, made weak through merciless joy.”
I’m sorry Binky, but you brought this on yourself. I’ll refill your water cooler and send you four cans of food. You have to learn to last a single night without becoming deathly ill, my friend. If, when I return from work, you are still green-faced and scowling, I’m sending you nothing but dog food and water from now on. That’ll learn ya. Remember - Joy Through Strength, not vice versa.
In other news, I bought a CD of Commodore 64 games for the PC. So far, I’ve got the most use out of “Little Computer People,” the ancient ancestor of all modern games of electronic voyeurism, like “The Sims.” Binky lives on my desktop, puttering around his house while I type IronClaw stuff and websurf. I probably should have saved the game and turned the computer off last night before I went to bed. Ah well. Live and learn.
Tonight we’re off to celebrate thebitterguy’s 29th anniversary of his natal day. Should be fun. They don’t call me Twinkle-Toes Pyat... no, I mean it, they just don’t. Haven’t bowled in years. Last time, I think I broke 60.
This morning, I found him in bed, motionless and unresponsive. His face was green, and looked wanly at me with an expression of reproachful hatred. His water cooler was empty, as were the cupboards. His dog ran up and down the stairs wildly, confused by his master’s sickness. Not even Binky’s alarm clock would rouse him.
I’m not sure what to make of Binky’s predicament. On the one hand, I feel guilty. But then, surely Binky is at least partly responsible for his own condition. Hell, last night, he scarfed down four meals in the space of an hour. Then, in a fit of frantic energy, he ran upstairs and wrote me FIVE letters, and demanded I play a game with him. Then he started playing the piano. Before I went to bed, I checked on him one last time. He was dancing wildly in the attic, listening to some ancient LPs. His cupboards were well stocked with food, and his water cooler was full.
Part of me feels guilty, but then I think of what excesses the little beggar must’ve indulged in last night. Wild solo dancing, calling his friends on the phone at all hours, video games, tromping up and down the stairs without consideration of the late hour, etc. I know what turns his crank. I watched him for two hours before I went to bed. Binky has a weirdly frenetic personality, and a distinct lack of attention. No diversion keeps his interest for more than a few minutes.
If I may quote the Pleasuremonk NPC Matthias from my Shatterzone campaign, when he came upon Caligula Jones lying unconscious in the alley behind the Flipchip Parlor on Lucifer’s Gate...
“Ah! Another soul, brought to pain through a surfeit of pleasure, made weak through merciless joy.”
I’m sorry Binky, but you brought this on yourself. I’ll refill your water cooler and send you four cans of food. You have to learn to last a single night without becoming deathly ill, my friend. If, when I return from work, you are still green-faced and scowling, I’m sending you nothing but dog food and water from now on. That’ll learn ya. Remember - Joy Through Strength, not vice versa.
In other news, I bought a CD of Commodore 64 games for the PC. So far, I’ve got the most use out of “Little Computer People,” the ancient ancestor of all modern games of electronic voyeurism, like “The Sims.” Binky lives on my desktop, puttering around his house while I type IronClaw stuff and websurf. I probably should have saved the game and turned the computer off last night before I went to bed. Ah well. Live and learn.
Tonight we’re off to celebrate thebitterguy’s 29th anniversary of his natal day. Should be fun. They don’t call me Twinkle-Toes Pyat... no, I mean it, they just don’t. Haven’t bowled in years. Last time, I think I broke 60.
