paragAt the stroke of midnight in a little house, there was a man in danger. He looked into his wife’s bright eyes, dim with exhaustion and smiled at the wee little thing resting on her bosom. The man had just been blessed with a daughter that would rock some poor unsuspecting man’s world. Sugary and sweet, but also very naughty, he named her AthenaMarie. Athena because like the goddess she wasn’t to be trifled with. And Marie because of her awe inspiring, definitely almost celestial kindness that in years to come would either start or end wars.
paragOver the years, we watched AM’s sire and mother, age sporadically. AM’s father of course turned gray overnight with her beauty that would bring all sorts of people knocking, and he rpropensity for making friends that would bring her to hanging out at all hours of the night. He went bald when AM was old enough to date. For what is not more scary than a teenage girl with the beauty and grace of a goddess, dating? Not much. Athena’s mother on the other hand was well prepared and knew what to expect, having been a young beauty herself. Adding to AM’s father’s woes was AM’s mother’s lesson in feminine wiles. Lesson number one: saying No. A lesson every girl learns and masters by the age of four, just before they go off to school.
paragAthenaMarie mastered all the things to be learned and gained from feminine wiles. Everything from saying no, to pretending to be a damsel in distress, to how to be an effective gold digger. All lessons every girl must learn to excel in if they are to survive in this strange world called real life. Fortunately for us, this story takes place predominantly in cyber space, and the application of things learned in feminine wiles do still apply, otherwise that would’ve been a waste of perfectly good skills.
paragAthenaMarie’s father didn’t have to worry much about his wonderful daughter bringing home all the wrong kinds of guys because AthenaMarie discovered video games. Combined with her expertise in saying ‘no’ AthenaMarie was a formidable woman. A woman that strove for justice in the fantasy worlds she immersed herself in. One such world being Shaiya Shoutbox.
paragShaiya ShoutBox is a magical place, a strange, random demented place where a great many of people with all kinds of personalities wander around. But like many places on Earth, there are people divided. Full out wars have been raged over the BroCode, the BraCode, and many other regulations that govern the people. In the midst of these fun filled and also epic battles, there stands but one AthenaMarie.
paragA few minutes out of every day she does some light key stroking, receives a maelstrom of hellos, love, and poor attempts at wooing from would be hubbies and wifeys. She takes it all in stride though and is sure to spread smiles at everyone. Until a spammer comes along.
Picture this. There AthenMarie goes! All eyes on her, AthenaMarie struts. Who’s the first thing she sees? Auffy. Duh. But wait, what is lurking around the corner? A degenerate of the worst degree. A spammer that was banned. “Non,” said the Frenchman. “Si, senora” says the Spaniard. “What the frak,” cries morroc.
“Pardoname por favor. Un momento of your time. We’d like to interrupt this ShoutBox broadcast with a special announcement. For every post that is not deconstructive spam, some angry pre pubescent soul is making a new account for the purposes of flooding Sb with spam. For every spammer that is banned, killa115, loses a minute of sleep. For every second of sleep lost, kikix 12 is experiencing lerv and a profile visit. Every two days of spammage, kikix12 will receive a pm addressing the issue of his business in serving up a billion plus things about his wonderful personality. For every two positive things about kikix12 (that’s half a billion or 500million), someone has been banned. Of those banned, roughly .05% will actually go through with deconstructive spam. The chances of the lead damsel of distress of this story walking in are 75%. If AM is walking in on deconstructive spam, Shoutbox will be flooded with 4 times as much estrogen. Per every dose of estrogen, 200 doses of lerv are doled out. For every time lerv is doled out, it has a 1 in 6 chance of being picked up and received to make some unsuspecting person happy. The unsuspecting persons tend to be female in nature. Speaking of female, Kiandra, perhaps the most sympathetic female ever to grace SB, will always try to alleviate a situation with kindness and proper links. Anytime Kiandra, fails at linking a url, the world is about to end. At the end of the world there are spammers being banned by the thousands and sb degenerates that refuse/can’t be helped.”
For every person not helped, ninjachua has just seriously owned a piece of heavy machinery with his two paws of fluff, more formidable than Jecca’s ban hammer. The only time we will ever see Jecca’s ban hammer is when GM Falcon (pronounced Failcon) is on the premises. For every time GM Falcon is on the premises, Merlin will post something sensible. For every sensible post by Merlin, Dajess will create a mind blowing thread full of knowledge. Per every two threads created by Dajess, there are at least four gametes (two eggs that should have never been fertilized by two sperm) that should have never made it. For every three of the four gametes that did make it, someone will post something completely blasphemous or unfounded. For every one of such posts, Avyn’s troll status grows by six. Behind the scenes watching all this madness is the lone audience member associated with AGE that has requested this specific skit. A lurker. A shadow in a wave of darkness. The thing at the edge of the horizon hovering between light and dark. The most epic of all heroes who we will never see coming. Shade. The man who leaves no foot prints, just is. Thank you for a moment of your time, now will the writer who lacks all creativity, humor, and a life please move the freak out of my frigging way!?! “I got chu on camera,” she coos between a clenched smile. Somewhere a gold digger was just created.
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Shade, the eraser, has seen AthenaMarie. Some argue he saw AM before she saw SB. The world will never know.
“AM,” he smiles brightly, stepping away from the small walls of the Shoutbox.
“Shade,” our would be damsel cries for joy, jumping and landing on one foot with more grace than a crane.
“Auffy,” the left out but ever lovable regular, Auflaker, hollers.
paragAmidst this chaos of salutations there is someone behind the scenes, pulling strings, laughing, and refraining from commenting. Its name is Render. A robot. An insensitive, only existing robot. But not just any kind of robot. A manbot. One with feelings. A need for coffee. A manbot of routine and consistency. With green iron clad circuits. And hair plugs. Yes hair plugs, so his iron clad scalp does shine so brightly. He wakes up every morning. Grabs a shot of caffeine. Goes to work. Reads a ticket. Responds to a ticket.Drinks some coffee. Reads a ticket he doesn’t know how to answer. Pours whiskey into his coffee. Drinks. Reads the ticket again. Attempts to type something. Grabs a bottle of whiskey, pours a cap of coffee into it. Reads the ticket. Grabs a fresh bottle of rum and drinks. Reads the ticket. Screams. Looks at the time stamp on the ticket. This guy has another 22 hours left. Tosses ticket back into the ever ending pile of tickets. Chugs that bottle of rum.
paragHe’s much too far gone to answer another ticket. But live entertainment he can handle. If by live entertainment you mean watching the madness of Shout Box. He dons a coat, tips his hair covered head to his comrades, and lazily ambles off. And this isn’t just any ambling. This is full blown, Stetson cowboy walking. To match the full blown greased slick black cowboy styled hair plugs. Oh he’s a smooth operator that one. (Careful ladies if the hair doesn’t make you swoon, the Stetson walk will. This walk, favored by Cowboys and wranglers, is so macho, it exudes testosterone. This walk is so seductive, it makes other men stop and do a double take. They look once. They look twice. They laugh their arses off. Just ignore the other guys. They’re only jealous they can’t do the walk.)
paragRender, the ticket reading, rum wrangling, robot leaves his little cubicle, Stetsons his way to a lounge area. Sits down cowboy style, pulls a laptop out of a secret compartment in his chest and opens it. He slides into a very comfy position; feet covered in rum, bad circuits, the scent of happy tickets, and scorched black with the screams of all those poor souls that were banned. He wears his plain ordinary cowboy boots with pride. Everyone in the building knows what he does. He doesn’t care what they think. Not even Minerva, the fourth floor receptionist everyone thinks is a psychic witch. He stares her down, watches her discomfort rise until finally her smile turns into a frown. Behind her little desk, it appears he reaches into what looks to be a small purse. Much too small for anything too dangerous to be contained. She holds the tiny clutch up high, grabs hold of something and start to pull. Slowly, ever so slowly she has pulled out what appears to be a sawed off shot gun. Legs spread, her stance sturdy, she holds the gun high up at her shoulders and takes aim. At what appears to be Render’s chest. She moves the nozzle a little west. Fires into the pretty vase of purple irises she stole from an archer in Karis Castle.