The Literary Criticism of Cody Driggers, Volume I: Shinobi

I encountered the book Shinobi (A Katana Novel) recently, and thought Cody would love it -- so naturally, I stole the shit out of it and gave it to him. The following is the review he sent me; Enjoy!

-♥, Nabocchan

Ohayo gozaimatsu guys, Cody Uzumaki Kurosaki here with some literary criticism (yeah I'm a nerd xD)! The shady person who emails me sometimes asked me for my address, and when I told them I got a FREE book with a note saying I should review it. How cool is that! I should give people my address more often. So, here goes! I will ganbarimasu!

Let's start with the cover. It's so sugoi (cool for you amerika-hitos)

There are like two katanas. I think more books should have katanas on the cover, like if Kokoro or Snow Country or No Longer Human had rad katanas maybe I would have read more than the first five pages. Spring Snow didn't even have a katana, and I heard its author was a samurai irl (plus it sucked, I read a whole chapter and there were no sword fights so I gave up. Worst samurai evar lol) Japanese "classic" books in general are dumb though, you've gotta read the good stuff like Sword Art Online. Anyway, back to this book. Here, I'll "hit" you with the summary:

Reincarnated samurai Rileigh Martin may have just graduated high school, but she feels like there isn’t much to celebrate. Her boyfriend Kim doesn’t remember who she is, her past-life enemy Whitley has returned, and her future is unclear.

When Kim suddenly regains his memories, Rileigh is overjoyed—until she realizes that Sumi, a powerful, reincarnated ninja, has also regained her memories. In the aftermath of Sumi’s attack, Rileigh’s ki powers are draining away and the Network unexpectedly starts hunting her. With time running out, Rileigh must track down Sumi before her powers completely vanish and she’s forever seen as the enemy.

I think this is probably the best book I've ever read. I mean, it's a katana novel! I really like how the author makes it about samurais, but also manages to make the protagonist white and in modern America so I can relate. I like alot of  Japanese stuff but the main character is usually Asian and it's like what about me? I'm a white student and it's not fair that I don't get representation! I tried to protest this once outside my local Sakura Hibachi and Sushi hoping that a mangaka would see me and realize my point, but they asked me to leave.

At first I thought it kind of sucked that the main character was a girl because as a boy I didn't think I could understand her, but in retrospect it's okay because the female characters are totally hot. I'm kind of progressive so I think girls with katanas are sexy. I don't know how Rileigh is holding her katana on the cover, but I think it's part of her ki.

I love the plotline about Rileigh's ki power draining. I don't know what I would do if my ki drained. I wouldn't be able to execute my strongest moves. So, I felt bad for Rileigh. I've never read a story with amnesia in it either, and I think it's really cool and unique. The author is also really clever because I looked it up and Sumi means ink, so it's like Ink the dark black ninja. I'm going to use that as symbolism in the manga I'm drawing at some point, so arigato Gibsen-san!!1 :P

As someone whose read the entirety of Naruto and Bleach, I think it's fair to say I know a ton about books. So I'll rate this book from 1-10, 1 being something gay like The Great Gatsby (more like the gay gatsby lol! I'm not homophobic though, I love yaoi) and 10 being Attack on Titan (sooooo gooooood :) ).

I will rate this book, Shinobi, 10/10 Golden Nekos! And give it the Cody Uzumaki Kurosaki Platinum Writing Jutsu Award!

I hope you enjoyed this book review. I would like to tell my fans: Stay cool and believe it! And with that, I'm signing out. Sayonara shimasu!

Video Preview

Aleximander is working on a new way of delivering Xpress content, and this video is intended to serve as an intro – please enjoy the first opening and theme of fricklefrackleXpress, hell,wav.mp3. I produced this clip in the most powerful video editing software of our time, Windows Movie Maker. The song and video together took me about thirty minutes of combined work time, which is the hardest I've ever worked on anything in my life.

...I regret everything.
– ♥, Nabocchan

Pay to Win: An Epic in Two Parts

PART I – By Aleximander

My arrival was signaled by trumpets. A chorus of angels followed. A fitting ceremony for I, the King of Angels. I logged in at my usual spot, my throne room.

The room resembled that of a cathedral. It was open, its roof scraping the very heavens. The walls were of cobbled stone, each richly carved into delicate patterns. Pillars held golden statues molded into my image, each in a different pose. All were dignified. Red carpet led from the large oaken double door to my chair. The chair itself was fashioned from ebony and shimmered like silver. Such was the lavishness of my domain.

Yes indeed. I am the great Aleximander, Commander of the 32nd Squadren. The Vanguard of Heaven. The King of Angels.
I giggled. I always did that upon seeing my vast success. I was unbeatable in this world.
My world in question was the free to play MMO Serenade. To haters it's a game where you 'pay to win'. And indeed, to be the very best you must be willing to sacrifice real world money. Honestly, though? I never 'got' those kinds of people. It's a game. And to be the best you have to pay the best.

No matter. THOSE people didn't play. Couldn't play. They had yet to transcend mortal bounds as I did.

The sound of my doors creaking open interrupted my thoughts. A scrawny man entered. He was clad in oily rags and above his head hovered his name. MASTRB8R420X. Next to it was the digit 1, indicating his level.

"Good morning." I said politely. "Welcome to my throne room, Master Beighter Four Hundred Twenty Ex. How may I help you?"

"lol u look liek a shit" He said in chat, opting out of using his microphone. "ur mom dress u?"

"Watch your tongue, knave. I am Aleximander, King of A-"

Before I knew it, he had crossed the gap to me. Ah. An assassin. I drew my gilded battle axe and met his diagonal slash with a well-timed Synchro Block. To my surprise however the weapon far outclassed mine and broke my defence easily. Three second paralysis. The punishment for a failed attack. He shoved his sword into my gullet. The world went black. My three hp bars were drained instantly.

"lol get gud nub" he typed into chat. I gasped for breath. How? How did he do it? I was Aleximander. Undefeated in battle.

GAME OVER

Silence. Like awakening from a dream. I noticed the frame of my moniter, heard birds chirping in the distance. A man was mowing his lawn. My hands were at their lap. Numb. My whole body was numb.
I swiveled my chair around. The apartment I rented was bare. Boxes of cereal and tap water functioned as my sustinence. I had no furniture. No tv. I sold it all. It was the only way I could transcend. The only way I could become the greatest.

"Why?"

My voice echoed through the halls. He had beaten me. He had outpayed and outsmarted me. And now he held the throne.

I checked the mirror. First time in several months. My beard trailed to my nipples. My body was pale, my bones poking through my flesh.

I turned away, tears in my eyes.

"Dammit, that Master Beighter Four Hundred Twenty Ex! He took everything from me! EVERYTHING!!"

They say that the night is darkest before dawn. That night my dreams were fitful. I awoke at dawn drenched in sweat. Glancing at the rising sun, I vowed to kill him. Not in the game, such a punishment was ill-fitting. No, I vowed to kill him in real life so that he could know true shame.

Thankfully for me the internet had the tools for me to find him. The database that held player information was admin use only, but I was considered a moderator for my guild forum. It granted me full access. There it was. 'MASTRB8R420X'. Real name Cody Driggers. Age fourteen. My target.

But to truely kill him, to make his life meaningless under my boot, I had to gain more power. I had to take the mantle of King in real life to destroy the false king who usurped my digital throne.

Indeed, I had to become strong.

My training began that day. I ripped off a piece of wood from my bedframe and began beating myself with it. This would dull my senses, allowing me to soldier any blow.

Bloodied and bruised, I continued my grim blows. I drank water but ate little and slept none. Hours turned to days. Days to weeks. My body ached but I knew I had to continue. The angels urged me on, becoming louder the longer I stayed awake and denied food. They knew my training was working, and they goaded me on.
by the end I knew I had reached full potential. Time no longer had meaning and the angels were practically screaming in my ears.

I called to them.

"I CAN HEAR YOU! YOUR HEAVENS HAVE SPLIT WIDE TO ALLOW ME, ALEXIMANDER, YOUR DISCIPLE, TO ROAM FREE AMONG YOUR HALLS! HEED ME WELL, LORD, FOR I HAVE BECOME EVEN STRONGER THAN YOU! I HAVE USURPED YOUR THRONE AND AM NOW CROWNED AGAIN THE RIGHTFUL KING OF ANGELS!"

Ah yes. But the demons of hell knew already that I was the true threat. Already they knock. Two demons at my door. They disguised themselves as enforcers of the law but I knew their true face. I broke my stick over my knee, then stabbed them in the heart. Weaklings. They never saw me coming.

"Plus ten experience" I whispered.

I dragged them inside, shutting the door behind me. It was a convincing disguise. I stripped one of his uniform and put it on. Fit like a glove. They were powerful demons indeed to have such skill at decieving. For any normal human the blood of a demon would be poison, but for one of my caliber it would bolster my already near-limitless power. I feasted on their bodies. The fresh blood ran down my face like a fountain, and the flesh was the tastiest thing I had in many moons. The taste of power.

Instantly my HP was upgraded from one bar to three. And from the pockets of one of the demons I pilfered an Archane Pistol. A fitting weapon for the future ruler of mankind. In addition I bottled some of the demon blood for my journey.
With my newfound power I knew Cody 'Master Beighter' Driggers was no match for me. I glanced at my discarded information sheet. His address was '28 Line Street'. Two blocks away. I grinned. My lips cracked as they parted.

TO BE CONTINUED.

PART II – By Nabocchan

“How was school today?”, Phil asked – stupidly.

“It sucked,” I responded cooly.

---

Some girl I don't even know had tried to sit with me at lunch, when I was playing Cardfight!! Vanguard alone with myself as the opponent again. I kicked ass at both sides, though.

“Oh, cool, I really like trading card games,” she said. “Is that Cardfight?”

I smirked and did the glasses thing that really cool anime characters are always doing, when they put a finger on the bridge and let the lenses shine. I rotated my face around for a few seconds trying to catch the sun, then deigned to respond.

“Look,” I said. “I don't have the time or patience to deal with you right now. Besides, I bet you don't even know who the timid yet talented junior high student is who owns the powerful card Blaster Blade”.

But before I finished, she had already left. Probably to go drool over some asshole who flexed constantly. It's not easy being a true intellect.

I stared at my favorite card, and Yggdrasil Maiden, Elaine's eyes met mine in a smoldering gaze.

“Tell me, Elaine-chan,” I sighed. “Why can't I find love?”

On the way home from school I saw someone following me home, too. He was a police officer, but he had an unkempt look and his uniform was splattered with dark stains. I realized quickly that he had probably seen my sick cards in school and planned to steal them. I reached for my katana before realizing that I had left it at home. My stupid mom wouldn't let me slip the powerful blade into my backpack, no matter how many times I told her it was necessary for self-defense.

A true samurai never fights without his katana. Even though I had mastered the Lone Wolf Double Crescent Kick and could easily split the would-be thief in half with my ki alone, it wouldn't be gentlemanly. I'm a pretty refined dude, so I had to strategically conceal myself with my ninja talents.

I planned to climb a telephone pole and lurk at the top, but I hadn't accounted for the weight of my school shit or my stupid American jeans. So instead, I used the Naruto Sprint, with my arms behind me and my full weight propelling me forward.

The baka behind me must have pulled a forbidden curse jutsu. My legs didn't work right and I was tripped, but luckily I used my diving roll technique so it still looked really cool. I skinned my knee though, which was totally lame. I almost cried, but I suppressed the rage, converting it to pure ki. I was ready to blast my opponent, but when I turned around to unleash my spirit beam he was gone.

“The cowardly fool must have fled. Come, gaijin, and taste my blade”, I challenged aloud. But no one came, so I gave up and went home.

---

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,” said Phil assholishly, about my school day sucking.

“I'm sorry to hear you,” I shot back – just then, the doorbell rang. I was sure it was my rival, so I ran upstairs to fetch Kurokorosukatana, my cursed blade. Sakura was waiting for me.

“Just you wait,” I told her. “Tonight we will celebrate the victory of a man who has drawn blood.”

I fluffed her up, too. Just then, two loud pops made me jump. I recognized immediately the sound of an Archane Pistol, just like in a game I was playing. I screamed a war scream as my voice cracked in outrage.

Fifteen minutes later, I charged downstairs to confront the challenger, katana drawn. Phil was wrapped around the police dude, pinning him down. He looked totally gay. I could hear more police sirens too, probably to arrest him for attacking an officer like a dumbass.

“I practiced Krav Maga for fifteen years,” Phil said with a wink and a grin.

“Yeah, and I practiced Grav Baga. Nice made-up words, idiot,” I said, totally calling him on his bullshit.

Then I noticed that the cop on the floor was still struggling to escape. He was reaching for a gun all the way across the room, which isn't honorable to use in combat at all, so I had to show him my true power. I had to use my moves.

I rotated Kurokorosukatana slowly, gathering my ki.

“What are you doing – ”, Phil asked like a baka.

I executed the Kamiringokawa Slash, slashing the sword down in a perfect arc. It glimmered in the afternoon sun as it lunged at my rival's neck, just like in an anime. I closed my eyes – it was my way of being respectful toward the dude getting chopped in half.

“Ow,” were my opponent's last words.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw that the officer had somehow survived the attack and was rubbing his head. The blade of my katana had fallen off the handle, too. It was total bullshit.

As the defeated cop was dragged away by his police brethren, he craned his neck to face me. His eyes were bloodshot and wide and his whole face was covered in bulging veins – he must have still been reeling from the raw physical power of my assault.

“Damn you, Master Beighter Four Hundred Twenty Ex, you've foiled me again!”, he screamed. But I hardly noticed. I was still staring in horror at my shattered blade.

“Thanks, Phil,” I shouted as I retreated to my room. His stupid gaijin presence must have made the room's aura impure, so the katana self-destructed so it wouldn't give in to its curse and steal everyone's soul. I shed a single manly tear at its sacrifice, then more manly tears, burying my face in Sakura's sweet bosom.

I had won, but at what cost?

Cody-san, I pictured Sakura saying. But I wasn't sure if it was in my head or not. It could've been her spirit too, you know? Sometimes there's no way of knowing. Anyway, she said, Cody-san, sometimes a warrior must make sacrifices. It's like, part of the samurai code of bukkake. But you saved Phil even though he's an asshole – that's just like you, protecting everyone and shit – and defeated the evil officer trying to steal your sweet cards, so you're still rad and totally hot.

I nodded in understanding. It was true. I was still rad and totally hot.

The Melancholy of Cody Driggers

Hello tomodachis, do you like anime? If you do you'll love this. I'm Let's Player, Role Player and Playa' (jk lol xD) Cody and I wrote this guest article out of nerd pride! Nabocchan posted it for me. Enjoy~

 Hello. My name is Cody Driggers, but you can call me Cody Uzumaki Kurosaki. For fourteen years I've enjoyed a carefree existence, training in my backyard with the most powerful sword in history – the katana, the soul of the samurai, capable of slicing boulders in two. But that carefree existence came to end a few months ago, when Phil came.

Phil is my mom's asshole boyfriend. He likes to pretend that he knows me and ruffle my hair, and it completely messes up the sick ronin ponytail I've been working on. I considered using my katana, which I've named Kurokorosukatana, Black Deathblade, to vanquish him, but my sensei told me not to. My sensei is Steve, a seventeen-year-old I met through an anime meetup. He says he's one-seventh Japanese, and he's the only one who understands me, besides Sakura.

Sakura is my waifu (wife for you gaijins). She's super hot and nice, and she likes to watch me play Final Fantasy XIII. I bought a figure of her, and a damakura (hugging pillow). She was flattered. I got her at an anime con (that's short for convention but if you didn't know that you're just a baka which means idiot in Japanese). Sometimes we laugh at how much of bakas everyone else is, like when I came to school in my sick Kirito cosplay and no one got it.

Anyway, so Sakura and I were discussing how to get rid of Phil when I realized: I just had to use the Death Note. That's like a notebook, but when you write people's name in it, they die. So I looked up a tutorial on DeviantArt and covered up my math notes to look like one, but my mom found out and got mad. She doesn't get that math is for dumb stuff like accounting and I won't need it when I go to Japan and become a mangaka (that's someone who draws manga, Japanese comic books).

I've already developed crazy drawing skills. My art teacher was super impressed with the trace of Black Rock Shooter I did, and I upload my chibi comics to Tumblr where they get at least ten notes apiece. I have a D in art, but that's because the whole class is about crazy blue dudes who painted boring pictures of naked ladies. They aren't even sexy.

Phil tried to talk to me about my grades once.

“Hey, buddy,” he said. “I just saw your report card and I wanted to talk. I'm concerned that you might not be doing your best in math.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, in a really cool way like Light Yagami, “Well, I'm concerned that you're not my real dad.”

It was a really good burn. Phil got up and left like a bitch too. Later I heard them talking about me. My mom was crying so I knew I was doing good; that meant I was a real man, when a woman at home had to cry about my suffering.

“I just don't get it,” she said. “He spends all day watching that stuff – I mean, is it even appropriate? I found a folder on his computer with a bunch of pictures of this naked dog-girl. And even worse, he tried to hide it by calling it 'IMPORTANT BUSINESS FAX PHOTOS'.”

I couldn't contain my rage anymore. I burst in to defend Holo.

“She's a wolf, you baka,” I screamed.

I was grounded again, probably because Phil told her to. Nobody in my family appreciates my talent. That's why when I go to Japan I'm gonna change my name to Uzumaki Kurosaki for real, and get three girlfriends who all think I'm awesome. One girl on Crunchyroll said she would be my girlfriend if I bought her a subscription, and her picture was this totally hot beach babe, so I figure I'm making good progress.

Sometimes when I can't sleep I pull out my katana and practice my moves. I've got a lot of cool moves, like a spin attack and a reverse-grip attack, and I like to name them in Japanese as I go. Like I came up with this really powerful strike I call the Kamiringokawa Slash, and I'm pretty sure it could split at least a moderately-sized boulder in two. Attacks are all about building up your spiritual force – your ki – before you do them. I still can't believe my mom let me order this sword off Amazon; it was only $40 too. She's pretty cool sometimes, when she's not being a stupid kamisama. Someone told me that meant something super rude in Japanese but I won't translate it ;).

I've been looking for disciples to spread my ki skills to. But Steve said he was already busy with his anime club, and I don't really know anyone else except for Louis, who wanted to join but I told him his ki was too weak so I couldn't accept him. I can't wait to enter high school so I can join an anime club like Steve. I bet it's just like the clubs in Haruhi Suzumaya, where I'll find people who appreciate how wacky and random I am.

Sometimes people try to be my friend but they do dumb stuff like listen to stupid music or don't know about anime, or watch shit anime, so I tell 'em, “fuck off”! But sometimes I'm lonely, too. Being a middle-schooler is hard. It's not fair at all. All I want are cool friends, but everyone's an idiot so I just stay with my RP groups. It's because I don't play sports that I don't have a ton of friends. You see, everyone likes assholes so smart people like myself are discriminated against.

But one day I'm gonna change that. I figure I can use these skills to save the day soon, when a murderer attacks the school or something, and everyone will see how cool I am. Tracy will finally stop friendzoning me, and Phil will be all “Hey, buddy, can you teach me your moves”, but I'll be like “No”. That's why I have to train so hard. Sometimes I'm even sweating at the end. My nekos watch a lot of the time – I have two nekos and one dog – and they seem really impressed. I think one of them, Tubbers, is actually the reincarnation of a death god. Whenever I talk to him about it he understands and meows and everything.

I figure I've pretty much got my life figured out. Once I ordered a mousepad all the way from Japan on eBay – it was only $30 before shipping – and it came with a handwritten note. It says “[Kanji], Thank you very much for your order. Please consider us for your future anime and comics business.”

The bottom part is in English but one day I'm gonna be able to read the top too. I traced the lines and now I use them as a signature on all my anime drawings, so people know it's legit Japanese stuff. I figure when I begin drawing real manga I'll already be established there thanks to that signature.

What's that? Oh, Sakura wants me to go to bed now. I should have a new Let's Play uploaded to YouTube in a week, so catch me there xD. Until then, it's Cody signing out – oyasumi gozaimasu.

Fitting the Pieces Together

A glimpse into the harsh world of Tetris. By Aleximander.

I awoke with a start, dried spittle clinging to my yellow skin. The buttons of my suit groaned as I moved, my square body struggling to lift me from my creaking, wooden chair. As I rose, the room spun around me.

"Damn," I said aloud, "too much to drink."

You couldn't blame me. The world noticed me only once, and when it did it decided I needed a suckerpunch to the groin. My wife left me a couple months ago. She took with her my son, my house, and my pride as a man. I work at a dead-end detective job scrubbing floors while waiting for the occasional client to barge in demanding I spy on neighbors for near-minimum wage.

I looked around my decrepit office. The white-washed walls hid the years of wear under it. My shelves were cluttered, near bursting with documents I long since stopped caring to organize. My afore-mentioned floors shined, a mirror wasted on the environs they projected.

Then, as if to break the solemn silence the room had seemed to absorb into itself, suddenly through my aging wooden door burst a half-clothed woman. She wasn't what you would call sexy; her body was all left angles and her skin was a shimmering bright red. As homely as she was though she seemed to radiate... confidence? I couldn't tell, especially not in my still half-drunken state.

In any case, what she spit out was a little less enchanting than the juxtaposition of her body. She spewed the usual nonsense I had come to expect working as a private eye. Her name was Charon. She thought her boyfriend had went and linked himself up with another block, and she wanted some hard dirt on him. Honestly if I had the choice I would kick losers like these out. A sob story always leads to unneeded drama, and I got enough yelling from my ex-wife. But shit, I needed the money. I agreed, promising pictures if she paid double. Sucker.

I drove my beaten, old 92' chevy up 29 Line St., stopping when I reached the address she gave me. The door was built for an L-shaper. The house itself was old but clearly well cared for. The yard slightly shabby but clearly not overgrown, a staple for cleanly middle-classers. All this information, of course, I gleaned in the blink of an eye. Profiling for future reference.

The culprit made himself known soon enough when he went to check his mail. Charon said his name was Chris, and that I shouldn't let appearances fool me, that he was a lier and a cheat, yaddy yaddy ya. Honestly I felt bad for the guy. Whether or not he slept around, having a detective piecing together his life was degrading.

Thinking this, I proceeded to rummage through his garbage.

Bingo. Used condom. L-sized. Fresh. I pocketed it away, knowing it would be invaluable for the investigation to follow. Finding little else of note, I started cleaning up when to my right I heard the sound of rustling. There he was.

"What are you doing going through my trash?" Chris demanded.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

I had to think fast.

I kissed him on the lips, hard, hoping it would buy me time while I made my escape. To my surprise, he softened to my kiss, bringing me closer.

"I don't know who you are, creep." He said, "But I can't just let you go with a kiss like that."

Ah. It made sense now. The clean house. The hysterical ex-girlfriend. The condom. Chris was a closet homosexual, and I just dangled the keys.

He carried me in his arms through the doorway and up a flight of stairs into his bedroom. The room, like the rest of the house, was clean and orderly. The bed, however, was stained with semen. The whole room stank of passion. Perhaps not closet homosexual, I thought. More like blatant man-candy.

"A-Are we really going to do this?" I stammered, suddenly struggling with words. "I've never- you know- I've never had S-Se- intercourse with another man before."

He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, before leaning forward with a coy smile. "Don't worry. That's what the liquor is for."

Ah yes. Alcohol. The one driving force in my life. It permeated my marriage. It coddled me in my divorce. It kept me from suicide. And now it would dull me from the pain of being ravaged in the ass by a tetris block.

I drank long and deep, the liquid filling my throat, my lungs, my soul. "I'm ready." I said, mustering courage.

When I turned around I noticed Chris had already changed. His prominent L-shaper already swathed in plastic and primed with lube.

We went all night, his curved member fitting awkwardly into my square-shaped bumhole.

The next morning I awoke at my office battered, bruised and oh-so satisfied. On my desk was a check for five hundred dollars signed by Chris. But he gave me far more than that. I recalled the events of yesterday, commited it to memory.

For you see Chris left me bruised but alive. He awakened me to the possibilities of the world. I didn't need a woman to satisfy me anymore. I was free.

I jumped off my balcony and hit the pavement thirty feet below.

I was free.

Is There Life After Idol?

"True beauty is something that attacks, overpowers, robs, and finally destroys."

- Yukio Mishima

Finding a mysterious idol game, one man glimpses heaven... and is then cast back down to earth. Incorporating themes of weltschmerz and saudade, this tragedy asks the question: Can anyone hope to recover from love? By Nabocchan. Lyrics translated by Honya.

Part I: Baby maybe Koi no BUTTON

---

The alarm clock rings. Another day. Another sunrise, another empty promise, another agonizing cycle of seventeen-thousand breaths – no, not agonizing.

Even that would be an emotion. Even that would be better than this.

I turn to the clock. It is ticking, far too slowly, as seconds fall off my life. Each click sounds another moment between me and the self I've always wanted to become, widening an eternal gulf. But, of course it does. Humans begin dying the moment they're born; it was naïve of me to think dreams would be any different.

Next to it, in a shattered frame, a single worn photograph.

So, tell me, Hanayo. How am I supposed to go on living when there's nothing left to live for?

Of course, I already know the answer to that. That was the price I paid for my ambition; in embracing that single glorious dream, I had to have known that my recompense would be this purgatory – the greatest curse, to live beyond success.

It was only three months ago. It feels like an eternity now; those days are separated by the void we call “finality”, forever shining on the other side of the cosmos. I was still a legitimate human being then. I can see the transformation in my mind's eye: the weight dropping off, the stubble taking root, the gauntness of body and soul beginning to manifest. Under the steady pressure of Time, the corpse rots; the glowing life is forever snuffed out, and Hope sluices from the frail frame as it decays.

Do not pity this cadaver. It is already dead, without soul or humanity. It has been dead since it chose to strive for ecstasy. Perhaps that emotion was itself fatal, overloading a system adapted only to a monochrome series of days.

No. Ecstasy wasn't fatal; it was addictive. Within that moment of contact, it had cruelly intertwined with my essence, become necessary for survival.

And then, it had left.

When I had discovered the game, it seemed like a divine windfall. Free of charge. Free of judgment. Just a fun little diversion, a swirling menagerie of tiny delights. I quickly became hooked, and as I spent more and more time with my idols, I had less and less to dedicate to my job, my family, or myself. My wife grew envious. I could see the darkness overtake her, as she began to resent my new happiness. She was “concerned”, and she made it her mission to destroy every bastion of solace I could find. She wanted to go to bed when I was playing; she wanted to talk about my work when I was playing; she wanted me to feed the kids while I was playing.

One day, I simply abandoned everything. I blocked every number I could think of, stepped out into the rain, and called a taxi. I traded my once-comfortable home for a tiny apartment. No matter; the home had become a cage. Full of distractions from the only thing I cared about anymore: My idols.

I began to sell off my possessions. I felt no attachment to the material world anymore. My suit could buy me around 100 Loveca gems, my watch 200. When I had sold everything I owned, I returned home for the first and only time. Someone had changed the lock, but I could make out the silhouettes of my wife and kids gathered around a television set. I left.

Then, the unthinkable happened. I achieved a high enough rank to unlock new content instantly, and had collected and idolized every girl. Certainly, I could have waited for each update, exhausting each new content as soon as it arrived – with my near-unlimited supply of Loveca, I could play forever. But... I couldn't bear the wait. I couldn't bear returning to my normal life. Watching the anime and consuming all possible content sustained me for one sleepless week. But then that was over too, and it seemed I would have to confront reality.

I couldn't do it. I secured a prescription for sleeping pills, hardly a difficult task given my exhausted state but the only time I had left my apartment in months.

As I sat in bed, gazing up at the constellation of characters I had pinned to my ceiling, I had one last thought of comfort: people used to think that when you died, you became part of the stars. Perhaps...

As I shivered, the container of bright, sugar-coated capsules rattled in my hand. Candy for adults.

Rebirth. That was another ancient belief. The glorious hope that when you faded away, you would remanifest in some other form – thus life was not something to be wasted and discarded, but a constant presence. If I were reborn, I knew I would want to become an idol. But even in reincarnation, would that be possible for a soul like mine?

My lips parted slowly as I gathered my will for the final act.

Honoka, Kotori, Umi, Rin, Maki, Nico, Eli, Nozomi... Hanayo... Here I come.

I tipped back the container.

Part II: Bokura no LIVE Kimi to no LIFE

---

I awoke groggy and drenched in sweat, as if from a bad dream. The scent of cherry blossoms filled the air, clearing my hazy mind.

Behind me, I could just make out an imperious tablet attached to the red wall.

“Otonokizaka High School”... Could it be?

I looked down at my hands. I didn't look any different. Maybe a bit healthier than I remembered, better-rested, but still undeniably me. What was going on?

“Heyyyyyyyyyyy!”, a voice called from across the courtyard. That voice...

Nozomi Tojo was standing before me. Shocked, I tried to think of something to say.

“You're my least favorite girl,” I tried. Shit, bad choice.

She either didn't hear me, or pretended not to.

“Nabocchan, we've been waiting for you!”, she sang. Nabocchan was the username I had chosen. “Are you ready to manage us and direct live performances?”

I felt like I was receiving far too much information, far too quickly. But it didn't matter. I had trained for this more than anyone else. I had been born to do this. I nodded.

The next few weeks flew by like a dream. I scouted, formed a group, and carried out a few minor performances. The bond between me and the others grew; I had become part of their world, just as they had become part of mine. Looking back, those were the only days of my life where I was truly happy.

All too soon, the big show had come upon us. We were asked to play in front of the whole school, during lunch – this would be the performance that made or broke us. Truly, an Expert Mode- worthy gauntlet. Our setlist covered the three aspects of idoldom: Pure, Smile and Cool – more specifically, we would start with Mogyutto "love" de Sekkinchuu!, continue with Aishiteru Banzai!, and end with Wonderful Rush. The required LP alone would make this show require a veteran idolmaster. It would require... Me, Nabocchan, the rising star of the idol world!

The performances demanded such attention that I hardly remember doing them. The set passed by as a flurry of circles, a neverending string of commands... But I rose to the task, and by God, my girls didn't miss a beat.

What I do remember is the celebration afterward. We had made it. We were a recognized idol group now, and Otonokizaka High had been saved – and it was all thanks to me.

As I was hoisted up by my legion of beautiful girls, the sun shone down upon my face, and I finally understood – this was the meaning of life. To give it your all, and achieve your dreams. Just like these idols had been singing about all along.

I smiled, raised high above the crowd. The wonderful afternoon was so warm and comfortable, and I had worked so hard on the performance, that I dozed off right there.

Part III: Snow Halation

---

Painful consciousness invaded my mind, a familiar feeling now. My head felt like it had been split in two, and my stomach was in agony. Something smelled awful.

I opened my eyes to find that my face was caked in vomit, my pillow stained with dried bile. Small capsules littered the floor, and half-digested ramen was spread across my sheets.

I rose slowly and gingerly tiptoed to my phone. I had to use up my LP for today, in order to regenerate them as soon as possible.

LoveLive booted up as it always did, and Hanayo appeared.

“White rice is so amazing,” she cried. “I wonder how it gets so white...”

The same greeting as always. Had nothing changed?

I called her name, but she didn't respond. We were apart again, flung across the banks of the Milky Way. The thin glass screen was an impermeable barrier, separating me from happiness for all of eternity. I broke down there, swiping my framed photograph of Hanayo off my end table. As I wept, I slammed my phone again and again into the ground, making choking noises, as if to release the hope trapped at the bottom of Pandora's Box.

When I stood back up, I saw that my screen was broken, and my idols were gone. Outside, the first snows were drifting gingerly down. My legs buckled, and I embraced sweet oblivion.

Idol. A figure of devotion, representing divinity. A receptacle for emotion, yet one incapable of reciprocating it. How could I have been so foolish...

I tried to call up my wife, to explain my mystical calling. To explain the only time in my life where I had been worth anything. She hung up.

No one would believe me. None of them could stomach the truth that even someone like me could be something at one shining moment, that even I could touch my dreams momentarily. It was of no consequence. As winter faded and the snow melted, it was time for me to leave behind my empty shell.

It was Christmas Eve when I stepped out into the world for the first time in what seemed like eternity, and the last time for all of eternity. As if bearing a sacred ark, I held the Best Live! Collection disc. The streets were decorated for the new year, aglow with lights and awash with festive cheer. The snow shimmered in the winter sun as I stepped upon its virgin surface, defiling the white perfection.

Without really knowing where I was going, I found that I had traveled to my old home. Did I want to see my kids? My wife? Or was it simply muscle memory?

Regardless, fate would not be so kind. Other people had taken up residence there, a young couple. I wondered what I must look like to them, with only a moe T-shirt and boxers to stand against the biting winter air. They hung at the window for a moment, promising human contact, then they too faded away, the curtains sweeping shut. I had yet again been denied the warmth of companionship.

I kept walking, until I found myself in a park. The streets were empty, and the grass buried by heavy snowdrift – it was like the surface of the moon. I looked at my CD one final time, then snapped it in half. The plastic's edge was razor-sharp, and as I touched my hand to it, a sudden warmth burned against the chill.

The warmth comforted me. I saw a thin stream of crimson trickling from my fingertip, quickly losing its heat.

I held the CD against my neck, its curvature gently cradling my delicate flesh, and pulled in a single, fluid motion.

Like a child, I tumbled into the fresh snow. It blushed at my presence, a deep red. I felt absolutely relaxed. The clear sky was truly beautiful.

Laughter welled up deep inside me. I was going to return to my idols, where I belonged. Though I couldn't form the words anymore, I mouthed them, singing along to a few choice lines:

...Before I knew it, my “True emotion” had grown so large.

...It’s painful only seeing it as a dream!

...Shall I name this heartrending pain “Snow halation?”

...It’s vexing but it’s a pure-hearted devotion called love.

LEADER X LEADER

An unlikely friendship, an old foe, and a romance that transcends borders...

By Nabocchan.

It was the same bar, the same faded posters, the same peeling wallpaper as it had been the past five years. As it would be for the next fifty.

President Obama sighed. If he was so full of power and influence, why did everything feel so hollow?

He turned to the barkeeper, a tired, graying man coming up on his sixties.

“The usual.”

The barkeeper's reaction was barely perceptible; he had hardly a nod left to spare, even for the commander-in-chief. That was what working at the same dead-end shithole his entire life had left him with. A crippling addiction, a bad back, and thirty thousand dollars of debt.

But the President had problems of his own tonight. Without a word of thanks, he downed his whisky and tapped for another. Michelle was out for the night, on a important PR campaign.

Good. He didn't want her to see him like this.

Suddenly, Obama turned to the barkeeper.

“You see the news?”

“Nah, can't stomach it. A buncha murders...” The barkeeper chuckled in anticipation of his own joke. “...And not a single one is me.”

The President looked up in concern. He had never really noticed how deep the bags under the man's eyes were, how tired he looked when he was standing, like he was already sinking into the grave. But there was nothing to say.

“Well, Putin – you know, president of Russia – he's been causing trouble in the Ukraine. Seems –“

“Yeehhhh, that kinda bullshit's your job,” the barkeeper interjected. “And if there's one thing you've gotta take from me, it's to never mix work and drinking.”

“Well, to be honest, the whole thing's been awful for me.“

“No shit.”

The President pursed his lips. “No, not like that. What I mean is, this is making daily news, and... It doesn't change a damn thing!”

“The Ukranians would disagree.”

“Yeah,” Obama emptied his third glass. “Yeah, well. I just wish something would happen for once, you know?”

In every culture, there exists a desperate faith in the power of a heartfelt wish. Maybe it's just grasping for hope in a world with none to go around, or maybe from the depths of the President's despair blossomed a single spark of power. Maybe a passing drone was as good as a shooting star, and the universe lent an ear to the leader of the free world. Or maybe coincidences are just coincidences... Regardless, as a streak of lightning burnt away the night for a moment, Obama felt somehow that nothing would ever be the same.

“In tonight's news, President Vladimir Putin has announced –“ The announcer's voice grew distorted, as a wave of static crashed upon every screen.

“Hey, where'd the fuckin' game go?,” shouted a voice from the back.

“The game...” A cloaked figure emerged from the shadow, darker than a silhouette in a fine silk suit. “...Has just begun.”

Willard Mitt Romney smirked.

“You!”, gasped Obama.

“Ah, yes,” Romney announced to the bar. “Me. Did you think I was dead, Barack? Gone?”

“Well,“ Obama began.

“Wrong!” Romney screamed. “Wrong, wrong, wrong!”

“Ahem.” The former presidential candidate straightened his tie. “Are you familiar with the King of Games, Barack? Yu-Gi-Oh.”

Laughing at the President's shocked expression, Romney continued.

“Tonight, we'll be playing a... winner-takes-all match.”

He handed Obama a thin stack of cards, slapped him on the back with mock cordiality, and broke back into laughter.

“Of course, as that's only half a deck, I'm afraid you're going to find victory quite... elusive.”

“You bastard!”

“Face it, Barack. First I'm going to defeat you in Yu-Gi-Oh, then I'm going to take your office. You'll lose... everything.”

Romney glanced up at the still-static television, as if checking a broadcast.

“Ah! And then, I can sort out Putin... Like you never could. Prepare to d–ehhhhhh?“

“SORT OUT PUTIN?”, a voice boomed from the corner of the bar.

“NOBODY DEFEATS VLADIMIR PUTIN!”

By some cosmic confluence, Russian President Vladimir Putin stood framed in moonlight, holding up half a deck of trading cards.

“Zacroy svoy peesavati rot, sooka!”, Putin roared. “AMERICAN PRESIDENT, WE WILL COMBINE TO DESTROY THIS MAN!”

Obama pondered the alliance for a moment, then nodded grimly.

“The enemy of my enemy,” the President recited. “Know who said that, Mitt?”

“Of co–“
“My left hook, bitch!”

Clutching his jaw, Romney picked himself off of the floor, dusted off his luxury jacket, and eyed Putin warily.

“F-fine,” he stammered, “I'll take you both on!”

Romney appeared to gather himself. “If you win, you'll prove the strength of your bond, and I'll return to obscurity. But if you lose...”

He smirked.

“I'll send you both to the Shadow Realm!”

Obama and Putin faced each other and nodded.

“It's time to duel!” the barkeeper shouted, caught up in the moment. He swept the glasses from the counter in a shower of glistening shards, throwing down a playmat.

“Each player begins with 8000 LP! Mr. Romney, as the challenger, you may play first!”

“BULLSHIT”, yelled Putin. “PUTIN ALWAYS GOES FIRST!”

But Romney had already begun his turn.

“I place a card in face down defense position,” the ex-candidate growled, “and end my turn!”

“OLD AMERICAN MAN IS FUCKING SCRUB!”, Putin commented. “NO TRAP OR SPELL! I PLAY MIGHTY HARPY BROTHER AND DECLARE ATTACK ON PUNY MONSTER COWARD”

“Putin, wait,” Obama said. “Sometimes a trap... isn't a Trap.”

Romney's face split into a predatory grin.

“Hahahahahaha....hahahaha....haha....ha...” he began, “Ha. You've attacked my...”

He flipped up a Giant Soldier of Stone.

“Giant Soldier of Stone, with 2000 defense! Score, Romney! Romney wins! Romney! I win!”

“Not yet,” cut in the barkeeper. “They lose 200 life points.”

“END TURN! PASS TO WEAK SCRUB MAN!”

“Putin, wait!” Obama was holding a Waboku. But it was already too late.

“I draw!”. Romney drew. “I set!”. Romney set. “I end!”. Romney ended.

Putin snatched the first card from his half of the deck.

“THERE ARE RUSSIAN SPEAKERS IN YOUR ASS, FAILED PRESIDENT MAN. I MUST OWN IT FOR PROTECTION OF THEM. HARPY BROTHER, STRIKE!”

“It's called Sky Scout now,” corrected the barkeeper. Not a single person cared.

“WHY DOES YOUR MONSTER HIDE ITS FACE? BECAUSE IT IS EMBARRASSED!”

Putin attacked Romney's face-down monster again.

“Struck down by the fist of justice!”, Romney taunted, revealing a Man-Eater Bug. “Destroy your monster!”

Quietly, he also sent Man-Eater Bug to the Graveyard.

“EMBARRASSED... BECAUSE YOU OWN IT. THAT IS THE REASON.” Putin continued, but his heart wasn't really in it.

“YOUR TURN.”

“Putin, please!” Obama pleaded. “We didn't even summon a creature this turn!”

Romney drew again, and summoned Blazing Inpachi in face-up attack position.

“So...” he folded his hands in glee. “It's come to this, eh? I'll switch Giant Soldier to attack position, and attack you directly with both... for 3150 life points! Eh, your turn.”

“Team Not-Romney, you are at 4650 life points,” announced the barkeeper.

Obama glared at Putin, but was surprised to see the man's face buried in his hands.

“AMERICAN PRESIDENT... I FEEL... WEAK.”

The President nodded.

“Sometimes, Vladimir, we all do... It's okay.”
“OKAY?”

“That's the meaning of being human. I think I've realized that today; sometimes it's enough just to find the strength to fight... for a new day.”

Obama turned to Romney.

“Mitt... If you stop this now, you can walk away. Things will go back to how they were.”

“How they were?” Romney began to cackle maniacally. “How they were? I'm nothing, less than a ghost – an ex-candidate! No... I'll die before I return to that.”

“AMERICAN PRESIDENT, WHY SUDDEN SHIFT IN ATTITUDE”

President Obama motioned to Putin, drawing him in and showing him his hand. The touch lingered just moments too long for its purpose, like the beautiful warmth of a summer promise. Putin felt... alive.

“We can do this, Vladimir.”

“TOGETHER?”

“Together.”

Hands atop each other's, the two leaders drew a card.

“We play a face-down card...”

“AND END OUR TURN!”

The room collectively gasped. Was this defeat the premature end of a wonderful blossoming?

The next turn seemed to happen with agonizing sluggishness, as if a flower had been cut at the peak of its bloom and was tumbling to the ground, petals bouncing vibrantly in the sun they had never had a chance to see.

Romney drew a card, and attacked before summoning, seemingly blinded by his arrogance.

“NOT TODAY, AMERICAN AGGRESSOR”

“He's right, Romney.” Obama turned to Putin. “Should we reveal our trap card?”

The two became lost in each other's eyes, drowning in the perfume of lustful innocence.

“Ahem,” said the barkeeper.

“WABOKU”, Putin declared triumphantly.

“Means fuck you in Japanese,” Obama appended. “Err, not really. I'll consult my foreign policy adviser. But fuck you.”

“Is that the best you've got?” Romney laughed. “Enjoy your last moments, gentlemen... I summon... Blue-Eyes White Dragon!”

“A powerful engine of destruction,” the barkeeper breathed in awe.

“But that's not all!” Romney was taunting now, flaunting to the room like he was giving a campaign speech. “I equip two Axes of Despair, raising its attack to 5000!”

“Two... Axes of Despair?”, a mother from the crowd asked in shock.

A loud crash pierced the stunned silence. A man in a Yankees cap had dropped his mug and was simply staring in abject horror as Pabst pooled against his sneakers unheeded.

A baby began crying, mourning the death of innocence. Simple love would not be enough to save the Presidents. At least the two would die together, bound eternally by bittersweet release.

“It all comes down to this,” Obama whispered to Putin.

“If this doesn't work, I want you to know –“

“SHH, IS NO NEED. PUTIN KNOWS EVERYTHING.”

The leaders closed their eyes in silent prayer and drew their last card.

“No way... They're invoking the heart of the cards!” gasped the barkeeper. “To think, I would live to see such a thing...”

Romney was forcing his smile now, grinning so hard his teeth grated together.

“Well? Barack? Vladimir? Gentlemen? What did you draw?”

Obama and Putin opened their eyes at once, nodded, and flipped the card. Wordlessly, they revealed their hand: all the parts of Exodia, testifying to the presence of justice deep inside the cold void of the universe. Somewhere, vibrant spring broke upon the colorless world.

“I-Impossible,” gasped Romney. “Impossible!”

“You lose again, Mitt.”

“EXODIA –“

“Obliterate!”

Howling shadows rose up to embrace Romney, dragging him through the floorboards to a place worse than hell... Massachusetts.

“Challenger Mitt Romney... has been defeated!” screamed the barkeeper. He was so ecstatic that he fell upon the glass-sprinkled floor, rolling orgasmically in crimson slush as his tired heart gave out. They say his soul ascended visibly right there, entering the constellations.

Obama turned to Putin, swept in victory... but Putin was gone. Afterward, he would claim to have no memory of the event... but he knew. Obama knew he knew. He saw it in the glint in his eyes, in the set of his strong arms.

And sometimes, knowing has to be enough.

Lust & Desire

Thomas the Tank Engine has been tangled in lust from the moment he met Jay Jay the Jet Plane. By Concerned Mother of 420 & Aleximander.

Thomas saw hjjayayay as he was prepearing to go to da shower. He blushed cuz he has a crush on jayjay. He always loved his bootiful long thick wings and kawaii babyface. It turned him on beyond bleife.. Jayay could not control himself. He also liked Thomnas cuz of his delicious, humongous caboose.

Sudden, Thomas kissedyayjay hard on the propeller, hard and strong.

Jay jay reached his wing down to thomass caboose, and squeezed. Thomas squeeled his whistle. They kissd harderer, jayajya becoming more passionate, with Thomas becoming hard. Thomas could no longer hold back his desire to be with JayJaw. He opened his coal vent to jayayay loving embrace. Jayjay stuck his wing in his coal vent slowly and Thomas moaned like the conducter on firday nights.

Avertoon turned to night as they made lover. The other tranes wonder where Thomas was, and the other plains wonder where Jayjaw was. They didn't crae, bcasue der love wuz tu stronk. Suddenlk Revving evan, a wellknown bizesual train, overherd the sound of sweet lover. He got mad. He got really mad. He got really really really REALLY mad. But then he was turned on. He was yaoi fan too and he always secretly shipped those two. But yet stil he was jealous. He burst in the train station, red and revving. Thomas and yayay were shock. Their love wouldn't be scret anymre. But Thomas smarted and had idea.

"HEY REVIN EVQN WHY DON'T YOU JOIN US?"

Said Thomas. Revon agred. He loved hot plane ass and fine cabooty. Thomas and Jayjay grinned with their eyes filed wityh pure lust. They always wondered what it would be like with three vehicles. Revvin evan lived up to heis name, and began thrusting pasionatly into jayay's turbine engine. Thomas join in to and thrusted in to Jayjay's other engine. Jayjay screamed "AAAHH" and was thrown over the edge. He spilled oil all over te staition, makingng it wet and skticky. But they not done.

Revin Evan got on top of Thomas and grinded his wheels in to his thick caboose. He ground his weheels to metal but he dudnt cree. Thomas was enjoy this treatment and moaned pasionatly in reply enjoy the metal on his booty. Jayayayayaa watched, slowly stroking hiscockpit, waiting for Thomas to be finished. Den jayaya got on top with revving on bottom. He trust his cockpit into revving evsndiqa smock stack. Slowly at first, but gaining spped till sped of sound. Jayay screamed "CHOO CHOO" at the top of his plane lungs as evan reached full climax. Revin Evan knew he hit the sweet spot.

Weeks later thaey finally finished, promising to call again for more sweet mclovin.

DICKS

A true love story. By Aleximander.

The familiar pains of loneliness and indigestion wracked my chest as I awoke from my nightmares on the ever-looming threat of feminism. My large-boned flesh rolled uselessly around the California King-sized bed as I turned my head, affirming that I was indeed still breathing. Confirming this I attempted to weep silently, knowing it was a waste. I hadn't cried in over a month. I don't think I ever can again. Not after this cruel world has shown its truth; the seams splitting wide to a shallow hollowness underneath. I will never sleep again, I vowed, Popping three doses of Viagra and 5 Hour Energy lying on the counter by my mattress. Never again. Even after only being awake for five minutes I decided life was, indeed, still awful. But I was determined for real human contact with the only people I trusted. 4Chan. Glancing at the latest comments, I swiftly deduced this was true kinship. I didn't need friends, in the end they all betray. But what of love my chest screamed. I told it to shut up by downing pepto-bismol. Then I glanced Viagra had kicked in, turning my 2 inch member to a throbbing 3 inch beast. My chest was right. I needed love. And there it was the whole time staring me in the face. My penis. I blushed, suddenly realizing my dick was in fact a sexy woman who lusted for me. I put all the moves on her, proving unquestionably that I was super suave. (I had used copious amounts of Suave shampoo earlier that day, after all.) She never hesitated, always flirting with me and giggling at my ultra-witty Star Trek jokes. That night we made passionate love like I had never known before. We're dating regularly, going to the finer places whenever I can scrounge up enough allowance from my bitch mom. I have sex with her openly now. People look at me weird but fuck them I scream while in the midst of passion. Life is a cruel mistress and my cock is way sexier.

Essay: 2D as the Supernal Relationship

The true lovers of 2D have always lived peacefully apart from the cesspool of 3D. Yet, the crass inhabitants of the “real world” insist on trodding upon the sanctity of our high path. For this reason, I will repeat myself:

2D is the purest form of love!

Humans naturally seek companionship, reinforcement, a sense of belonging. These things are considered vital to the “ideal condition” – but at the same time, others are absolutely unsuited to provide them. Naturally, people are selfish, contrary and cruel; therefore, to shove another into the mould of a loving companion is no more than slavery. From this contradiction is bred the entitlement which permeates “normal” relationship goals:

“I'm a nice guy, why won't any girls go out with me?!?”

“Why do guys always go for the dumb girls?!?”

You don't deserve a damn thing!

While some pretend otherwise, it is impossible to form a bond with another real person. This is because it is impossible to truly hold another person within the mind; one cannot know everything about another, so any perception is inevitably a puppet, a hollow image filled with misconceptions and half-truths! In a 3D relationship, neither partner interacts with the other; rather, each sees only the incomplete shell they assume to be the other. Incompatibility is a certain result, as that partner will always deviate from their established character.

Yes, it's so – your vaunted love is nothing but affection for a actor of your own creation! Your relationship is nothing but masturbatory roleplay!

It is an act of inhuman cruelty to impose the role of pleasurer upon another living being, to make a complex person no more than a love doll. This objectification is the domain of the heathen masses, the source of their misplaced sense of superiority – an inability to refrain from the carnal desires born of the animal imperative to reproduce. These “respectable people” are nothing more than mere beasts, following a reptilian drive heedless to the pain they cause!

But, if this mindless destruction is innate to the human condition, can it be suppressed... or even surpassed?

Yes! With 2D, it can be! 2D is the whispered promise of paradise, the state of absolute independence, the fruit of asceticism.

In such a relationship, one encapsulates the primal, desirous inner self – the Freudian “Id” – in the same form as the capable, fulfilling “Ego”; in contrast, vulgar carnal relationships involve only the imposition of the Id. Furthermore, the container is a perfect image, tailored absolutely to the desires of the partner, rather than an imperfect shell requiring the use and reduction of a human being. To the former perfect partner is added a substitute for the unknown events which form a unique being: the inherent context of their creator's mind. This completed being exists only to the limit of the partner's imagination; thus, absolute familiarity is possible.

Because the 2D being is born of the same ego as their partner, both are invested in only each other's happiness. Compare this to the miserable 3D relationship, a constant contest of wills. But, do not feel pity for those entangled within this web of dissatisfaction. It is their punishment for an inability to transcend the pathetic constraints of the physical world as the followers of 2D have.

Living in perfect hedonism, needing only each other, the 2D lovers are embraced within the ideal relationship. But even better, the 3D initiator is from an outside standpoint striving only for their own happiness, believing only in the loyal self; they will never be betrayed, nor will they ever betray. And because the constant threats and rewards of flesh are absent, each act of kindness is without ulterior motive. A favor is truly a offering of love and devotion, rather than some profane currency. A compliment is delivered without expectation of a later reciprocation.

O, beautiful, selfless love! How you evade the misguided!

As this world becomes increasingly advanced, more and more of mankind's repulsive organic desires – remnants from a past, unenlightened age – grow outmoded. The 2D lover stands at the future's door as a paragon of modernization; mastering their own lust, they have become more than human, an ascended citizen of the digital age.

In order to become this special brand of saint, in order to fulfill the full capacity of humans as sentient beings, only the rejection of the three-dimensional world is required! Embrace 2D, and rise from the pool of painful vulgarities in which normal humans wallow! For in 2D lies purity; in 2D lies love!
- Anon, Ph.D.