Forum Roleplaying - Remember?

In the beginning there probably was some word... There were lots of words in the beginning of the Internet... then pics... I mean, no time to write PICtures anymore. We live Acronyms!

I lost so much, nearly four years of content of a forum game I ran myself.

Perhaps I didn't realize before... Perhaps we were doing art while playing? Like kids? This is only the intro to my own character back then...

The secret dialogues were more delicious... Find the rest at http://cyberpunk.co.uk

Always loved the site.

And find a little of my own making right here:

"Hey, Mister, three dollars entry fee!"
I mustered the guy behind the cheap plastic counter of the Junction Bar. He was a smallish black in his late teens, but the fact that he was backed up by a bouncer that looked as if he could easily make me eat the pavement gave me second thoughts. Flashing my badge at him was out of the question for now. I reached into my coats pocket and produced two crumpled dollar notes, then reached into the other and began to count my cents onto the counter.
"Yeah, gimme a break, mister. Go in.", he said and I thanked him and went into the bar. The bouncer stopped me and checked me for weapons, his big hands working their way down my coat, he really looked like he could strangle an ox while eating a sandwich. He looked me straight into the eyes.
"Ya go in, but ya don´t do no stress!"
"Sure, pal.",I said, "I´m here for the music. Guy named Keith Dorn playing today?"
"I dunno."
He wasn´t such a lover of the fine arts after all. And he wasn´t a good bouncer either. I passed through the bar and removed my .38 automatic from the more private parts of my trousers and back into the inner pocket of my coat. I returned to the bar´s main room. It was still early but already a crowd had gathered to listen to what was already gaining quite a following as the "Horrowitz of South Central". Listen to a skin job, damn it.
I went over to the bar and ordered a tequila gimlet.
"Gimlet? What´s that?", the barkeeper asked me.
"Shot of Rose´s lime juice in there... Crushed ice."
The barkeeper nodded and mixed me the drink. I took a sip and cringed.
"Hey, what´s your name?", I asked him.
"Toot Suite.", he answered.
"Fitting name, toots.", I said.
Then the lights dimmed. The crowd suddenly went silent and a large man entered the room, wearing a cheap black suit and white shirt. He didn´t look much like an artist and not much like much trouble either. But then again, with skin jobs, looks could be deceiving. And I hadn´t finished my drink yet. I didn´t know if I ever would. I didn´t like to retire anyone while sober. I didn´t much like this sugar syrup either. Then again it sadly harmonized with the cheap interior of the club. Fake oak bar, fake tough barkeeper... Only thing real here was the skin job.
They had nailed him with the standard Voigt-Kampff test, while he was still living in St Louis, but he had escaped.
The blade runner on the scene had been a certain Paolo Dominguez. Mr Dominguez said the replicant had attacked him. As far as I knew, he got away with a few bruises. Yes, Mr Dominguez, sharp biz we are in, very sharp, indeed. Sharp as a blade. I wondered why the replicant hadn´t killed him. Probably some programmed survival instincts.
The skin job sat down at the piano and began to play. That´s where I wanted him in the first place, at that piano, metres from the next watcher, a clear target. I had planned to shoot him right there. After I perhaps finished that drink. I had planned to make it fast and easy for both of us. I hadn´t known how lovely he would play.
The moment he started his playing I felt mesmerized. My ex-wife had always loved the true Horrowitz playing, had spent so much money on recordings. Somehow I had shared her love for that music, as we shared many things back then. How could a machine, a skin job, create such beautiful sounds? How could he touch my heart like that?
I felt anger for him doing this to me. I pushed myself forward through the crowd.
The crowd´s attention was focused on the player, the skin job. They didn´t see me, didn´t notice me grabbing for my gun.
But he saw me. He turned his head and faced me, looked me straight into the eyes and I could see he understood instantly, he knew who I was.
My first shot missed him entirely. I had expected him to jump to his feet, but after that one glance at me, he just turned back to his piano and continued to play. The crowd looked at me horrified, the spell of the music broken by the harsh sound of my gun. It was a one on one show now. The rest of the magazine struck home, right into his side. He looked at me one last time, his hands closing the piano. He was smiling, a sad smile. Just as his music had been sad. I felt sorry for him. I felt sorry for myself, I should have waited.
Someone grappled me from behind and threw me to the floor like a puppet.
"I told ya ta not make any trouble!",the bouncer said and kicked my gun away.
"Simms, Ryan. Bladerunner. 5637. Phone the police.", I said. I waved my badge at him.
He nodded. I stood up and stumbled over to my so-called gimlet. The club was empty by now. As empty as I felt.

My career as a blade runner in Los Angeles began when my career as an officer with the narcotics squad in the NYPD ended. And my marriage with Theresa.
I remember the day we met very clearly while I sip my gimlet and wait for the cops to clean up the mess I left behind. Happy young Theresa, so full of dreams and so happy. She always wanted to be a painter. She had no talent, but she tried and she never tired. We were complete opposites, like the two poles of a magnet. I had talent with what I did for a living. Too much of it perhaps. And while I went out and arrested drug dealers, and watched them go to jail, and arrested their suppliers and watched them walk out of the court as free men, I began to feel tired.
Though I never gave up completely. I learned the true rules of the game very fast. Planting evidence was easier than to hope for them to make a mistake. And my partner knew the rules, too, and he looked away when I roughed up witnessess.
The captain knew us for what we were, though. And when the #### hit the pan, he didn´t care for us backing each other.
"You killed that man, Simms. You shot him in the back, three times. He was unarmed."
"Unarmed, ####. He had .45 with him, captain. That what you call unarmed?"
"You planted that gun on him. We´ve got a witness, Simms."
"Witness, eh? I got a witness, too, captain!"
The captain had looked at me with disgust.
"It´s not the way we do our work here, Simms. I know I can´t prove anything, but as long as I got some sway with the NYPD, you´re out! Get out of my city, I´ll even help you to get away. You´re a piece of ####, Simms."
He got shot a year later in a bust on a gang hideout. I actually liked him.

"Hey, Simms, see you got that little #######. Good boy. Your first skin job, eh?"
Bryant padded me on the shoulder.
New city, new captain. I didn´t like him. I had thought that killing replicants would be more honest. They were only machines after all. They wouldn´t go to jail, there would be no lawyer pleading for them. No money could save them. Machines...
"Yes, sir. I retired Dorn. I want to go home now, if you don´t mind."
"Good. Don´t forget to collect your bonus, Simms. Good boy. I knew you have it in you."
I nodded and left. I had the feeling I had destroyed something beautiful. It made me feel sick and I longed for another drink.

Nation States!

Some not so little time ago there was a novel... Called: "Jennifer Government"...
By an author named Max Barry.

Said author realized that he'd need some PR to publish said novel.

So, he (with the help of some knowledgeable friends) created www.nationstates.net.

Which must be considered a hype even today!

You can create your own nation. You can even get your friends to ... get real close, virtually geographically speaking!

These days you can even plan your own disasters for all the assigned nations. And.. well... it is a helluva fun to play with a few friends. Even if only for a few days, try it. Try it longer, if you really get "the feeling" for Nationstates.

And DO buy Jennifer Government! You will appreciate any Nikes you own that much more afterwards.

And if not, you will enjoy your nation, like I do enjoy mine (third or so...):
http://www.nationstates.net/baadovia

If you searched WebHypes this second...

On Google:

You'd find my bloody blog! This is scary!

Dudes, don't kill me! Whatever mean things I said I didn't mean them!

Or did I?

Chess Online,,,

Haven't played chess for... 10 years or somewhat close. At least not for real.

I always expected to start again would be like... traumatic!

It is! I'm a babe in the woods here... Still:

A site were people are really easy going and nice can be found here.

I need loads and lots of training, but: Hey, it's fun being slaughtered there!

Just imagine... Your very own Personal Assistant!

We all know the current global trend: The US and Europe are declining in economical power for manifold reasons. Our own companies desert us.

The first thing many companies out-sourced, was production. Now, with growing education in China and India, administration and R&D more or less slowly follow. Sure for good reasons:

I mean, we fought for a few hundred years to get to certain standards in wages, environmental controls, limited work hours, a human pension age. Even job safety in case of illness! We shoved all of this down the throats of our companies. Surely they - and their shareholders - deserve better!

They found paradise in Asia: Unlimited ressources when it comes to workers. Convenient tax laws. No troubles with the trade unions. And if the odd design is copied because certain other laws aren't as established as in the US or Europe either: Hell, they still profit from globalization a big deal!

And now it's your turn to do the very same!

Work is getting more and more stressful? You don't really have the time or energy anymore to arrange your shopping, find a good christmas gift for your significant other? Surf the net for spare parts? Get a reservation for the theatre?

No trouble at all, because now you can hire your own personal assistant!

Yes, someone in India or Singapore, assigned to arrange whatever you want them to arrange, reachable 24/7. Happy to make your life easier. Four hours work by your far-away assistant each month will cost you 48 GBP. At current rate that's just 68 Euro!

Check it out for yourself here.

Anyways, I'll sure as hell get that one week trial period, too. Wouldn't know what to really do with a PA. So far I managed my life pretty well on my own.

Surely I'm doing it totally wrong!