How To Be Your Best Friend

Yes, I thought all my worries were over.

See, now that Anson is spending more time in AC1, he’s been letting me use his DAoC account. You know what this means? Yeah, I thought ‘buff-bot’ at first, too.

But now, after a harrowing, gut-wrenching experience, I see I am a wiser man. I now know that if I attempt to trust myself to do something, I will invariably destroy myself. I think it all stems from some really deep-seated self-hatred. Ever since I realized I will NEVER be able to be like Mike, well, my life’s been in shambles. And this self-hatred now has an outlet.

For those of you that don’t know, the way buff-bots work is this: usually they’re a class that has some sort of buffing ability – in this instance, I chose a cleric, as he’d be able to keep me healed in a fight. As he’s my level, we would then split the xp, and everyone would go home, happy and levelled. Since DAoC allows you to have a number of ‘hot-keys’ that you can map to such useful commands as ‘follow’ and ‘heal’ and the like, it seems like simplicity itself to run a bot. And if there’s anyone simpler than me, I’ve yet to meet them.

See, that’s what I thought. In reality, though, this was just another way for my subconcious to express it’s extreme hatred for me. Here’s the scene: I have my newb infiltrator logged in on my machine. On Kwipette’s machine, right next to mine, I have my cleric (a newb of comparable level) logged in. All that is required to do on this machine is for me to reach over – I don’t even have to look! – and hit the ‘1’ key. That’s it. No complicated moves, no tricky shifting focus from one computer to the other. Just reach over, hit the 1, and my infiltrator can continue ninja-ing, secure in his health boost.

That’s the theory. In actual practice, it goes something like this:

Some people think I exaggerate, but I assure you: if -I- go down, then by hell and highwater, my subconcious goes down with me! None of this ‘let him live so he can rez me’ crap! That’s for the weak!

Somehow, my subconcious manages to re-map the location in my brain of where Kwipette’s ‘1’ button is on her keyboard to where the button for sit down is, the button for quit, the button for run around like an idiot screaming at the top of your lungs… It’s either that, or there is a very small, very precise wormhole right over the ‘1’ key on her keyboard. And apparently it only appears when I’m having my ass rocked.


Of course, my subconcious hatred of myself WOULD explain all those dreams I’ve been having lately where I go to eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the only thing in the freezer is a pint of non-fat yogurt. VANILLA yogurt.


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