The game takes place in a fictional fantasy world based on Slavonic mythology. Players control Geralt of Rivia, a monster slayer for hire known as a Witcher, and search for his adopted daughter, who is on the run from the otherworldly Wild Hunt.
In the town of White Orchard, Geralt reunites with his long lost lover, Yennefer. She informs Geralt that Emperor Emhyr has summoned him to the city of Vizima. There, Emhyr tasks Geralt with finding Ciri, who has been recently spotted in various locations. Ciri is a Child of the Elder Blood, the last heir to an ancient Elven bloodline that bestows her with the power to manipulate space and time.
(lightly lifted from Wikipedia)
The Dandelion Saga
So after I’d made the decision to kill the yellow beasts in my yard, my elderly neighbor introduced me to a useful tool. Grampa’s Weeder. This thing has been around since 1913! Even grandpa hated those fucking dandelions. It looks like something from a horror movie, but, oddly enough it works in a very satisfying way. https://grampasweeder.com
She loaned it to me, and as I held the tool in my hands and looked at the backyard, I knew in my heart of hearts, there was no way this thing was going to handle the sheer masses I had. Grandpa would have given in—he would have been making grass angles with a glass of sweet lemon, tea and vodka.
That Damned Chapter
Normally I post my story chapters on Booksiesilk. It’s a great little site, recently though—they’ve been doing maintenance, and I’ve had issues uploading graphics, so I’m waiting it out till they are done. Which maybe?—Maybe has been a good thing? It’s taken me longer than normal to deal with Chapter 12. As I stated in my last post there is a lot of exposition in it. Which can be death, and I don’t mean “the little death” as the french do. I’m not a fan of it—exposition, it’s a dirty job but it must be done. I can watch a new TV show or movie and usually see it coming a mile-a-way. The trick is: you have to be smooth. You have to slide it in without it being advert. (Said none of my lovers, ever) So I’ve gone through the chapter, cutting out lines, asking myself is this necessary? Does it forward the plot? Is it interesting? But, probably like a lot of writers… I’m too damn wordy. It’s a real skill to edit yourself. Killing your darlings… or whatever they say. Everything must flow with a rhythm, even words on a page. Thank you sensei.
So as an ode to the things I’ve cut, I present:
Lost Excerpts, while my word processor gently bleeds.
The thoughts beat around his head like several monkeys rioting for bananas. He felt the timer ticking, he felt his tongue vibrating wildly with objections. This might be a trick! Fuck! The words rioted in his head. Then, one of the monkeys broke out.
“Yes, young minds at the carnival waiting to be seduced. When the world plays hooky in pursuit of Ferris wheels, cotton candy, carnival games, carnivorous sugar rushes and gluttonous extremes; of hidden things that have been rolled up behind happy facades waiting to be unfurled by a barkers tongue.” Asmodeus rasped poetically.
The devils chamber was not as you’d expect. It was more like a Victorian parlor, clean, well kept and seething in sublime. It was like a fine veneer covering the horrible particle-board of reality. The caves of death, the seven circles, the river of despair, the various continents of torture, and even the dungeon of indecency with foam castle-wall interior and waterbed rack. All far below, out of site, out of mind, under wraps from the order of the high home-office parlor; where things ran as they should, as you’d expect—smoothly, from the one in charge.
“Back in the day they had a habit of switching partners, we call it swinging.” A tapestry unfurled itself on the wall of an ancient after-hours May Day celebration. “It was actually for protection,” Beezie continued. “To further the species, to ensure during infertile times that the village would continue to grow—hence, sex-parties. It was like having your neighbors over for wine and fucking.”
Appliances that talk to each other
I’ve heard about this. A friend told me they have a washer and dryer that talk to each other, Example: If the dryer is finishing faster than the washer (this sounds like an sex analogy) apparently the dryer will talk to the washer and tell it to hurry up, and visa-versa. Do we need this? Maybe. I did some research. I was reminded of the fridge that has Alexa inside it. The fridge decides your dinner based on the contents of your fridge (which it sees) and tells you to pile it out, over to the stove. Personally, if it tells me eat something with radishes, I’m boycotting. I hate radishes, nasty fucking pungent things. You can even control your dishwasher via voice command. Frankly I wish someone would invent a connection between the shower and the toilet. Too many older houses… one flush, scalded privies. Or maybe between the can-opener and the stove, or even the front door… and a Roomba-vacuum that follows your guest around to suck up any mother nature they may have brought in. That wouldn’t be annoying, at all. (Yes… I’m ahead of my time)
In all of these unique, time saving modern technology, there seams to be something missing. The middle man. The machine that puts the ingredients together and cooks it up on the stove. The machine that transfers your laundry from the washer to the dryer and then folds it neatly sticking it in your drawers and hanging it up in your closets. The Middle Man. The machine that puts the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Sigh… will they ever replace the middle man?
Although, I did find this snappy little gal on EBAY for $33,000, and! Free shipping! Perhaps beer assist is getting closer? Anybody watched that West World series on HBO? Dear god… it’s coming.
Note: They do not have these fancy appliances in The Witcher 3, they used magic. Thank you. Example: If you’re going to take down a mighty Rot-fiend, or a Leshen, you’re going to get dirty. Mud, sweat, other peoples blood, pollen, etc. But yet his clothes always returned clean. Now that’s some fucking powerful magic.
The Dandelion Saga Continues
So I found myself at Lowes, pouring over the directions on every package… every bottle, sack, spray of weed killer I could find. When I was a child I’d never imagined anyone doing something so boring as this as a grown-up. Sorry little Mr. Wicke, adulthood can be harsh. Instructions after instructions, “OK for pets after it dries.” “Don’t spray in dirt.” “Don’t mow your lawn 24 hours before use.” “Water your lawn before use, within 24 hours.” “Irrigate your lawn 24 hours after use.” “Mulch your yard 48 hours after use.” “Mulch your lawn three consecutive times.” “Use 6.5 ounces per 1000 sq!”
So I gave in, waited for a sunny weekend… waited till I was home alone and stationed the dog inside the house. I screwed the bottle of Spectracide onto my garden hose and I let those bastards have it. (OK! I know the bees like the flowers! I know we need the bees! I’ll be planting wild flowers to make up for it)
48 hours later most of them had become a mass of dead withered twisted corpses with corroded stems and blackened petals. I smiled. I smiled with a song in my heart. I am a bastard.
About 4 days after general extinction. I noticed something peculiar. The dying flowers were still turning to blow balls! What?! They were spouting their seeds! How is this possible? Well… it was only a few… probably a few I missed with the spray. A day or so after that… more of it was happening! Till it seemed that almost every dead dandelion was still producing those horrible white seeds! Damn’t!!!!
The next thing I know I’m out in the back yard with Grandpa’s Weeder desperately trying to pull every one of those damn peckers out by hand. At 6 o’clock at night, mind you, when I would rather be doing wicked things. Where were all those Grandpas from ages past? Couldn’t they all magically appear with the antique weed puller in hand, and help? An army of suspenders and tan high-waters, holding a glass of tea and methodically staking the jagged green bombs right in the heart? No. Wait! There must be a talking appliance! All this smart tech! Surely this must exist… maybe a sexy lawn Roomba that will automatically pull weeds when an electronic garden gnome detects growth?
Clearly, I was tired. Clearly, I was giving up for the night.
8pm. Exhausted, I sat on the back patio, Corona in hand. I looked around the yard, and there was more. Still… More! I was beginning to feel like a character in an Edgar Allan Poe story.
“Will you ever die!?” I shrieked at the lawn.
Said the dandelions, “Nevermore.”
Fuck this. I went inside and played some Witcher. I smiled again to myself. This was fun. Kicking back on the bed wearing a comfy tank top and my boxer briefs… I began a new quest. Heading through a lush forest on my trusty horse, over the bridge and into the medieval city of Novigrad. Look! Some derelicts are causing trouble! I shall show them my sword, and perhaps some Igni. “Take that! You hooligans!” and just like that… they were dead. You’re welcome Novigrad.
Now I will stop in at the Rosemary and Thyme; a pub, and have a drink.
And then it happened. Right there in my face… as if I was being mocked.
I went to bed.
Peace, Love and Dandelions. Until next time.