...as published on SEPTEMBER THE 2, 1994!
It All Starts With An Eviscerated Limb And Ends With All Limbs Eviscerated And There's A Bunch Of Shit In The Middle Before All Limbs Have Been Eviscerated Obviously
- Gordlan, Cryptriser of the Magnesiat, shortly before his death in 2002
So. you wanna be an Esteemed Wi(z)sard? Heh... be warnt this path is... Tredgerous.
I known some that got caught up in nasty buzines. Jumped, floundered, maimed, beheaded, incinerated, disemboweled... I seen DRIVE-BY CASTINGS take out even the Wisest and most Graceful Mages...
Oh Sweet Warlock In This World Your in Danger...
Yes, their may be riches, bitches, and knowledge beyond all conceivable imagining, but r you willing to risk you're body, you're mind, you're sexual vitality, and every damned thing on the mortal and unexplored cowboy horizons of magic..?
Being a Wiz(s)ard is, first and foremost, about be tender and seek to under-stand. When I was in Fargo, I met a babushka woman. She was stumbling past the gas station towards her baby pink truck and I asked her if she knew the way to the battlefield. She said something in a language I didn't understand (maybe Ukranian?). I looked at her for a moment, and then back at my platoon, and then back at her, and she opened up the passenger side door of her truck and I climbed in. We drove over an endless landscape of flatness as she sat about a solid foot beneath where she should've been to reach the wheel. For thirty minutes, she spoke in her bizarre language, saying things I didn't understand. I tried phonetically brute-forcing the words "I don't understand your language" in her language, which sounds a lot like "Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah, Ah Ah Ah Ah Buh," etc. She seemed unimpressed and, after politely listening to my babbling, began to passionately speak over me while she cracked open a beer. I had absolutely no fucking clue how to brute force the words "Hey, I think drinking and driving is illegal," so I sat there quietly as her massive truck sputtered through the landscape.
She turned left at a big dlipaidated barn, then driving down a long dirt road, lined with whacked collapsed mailboxes. Unrepaired cars, tarps lain astrew. She had stopped speaking, and only the rumble of the truck above coarse ground filled the space between us. Then, everything fell away. The dirt became grass. The road became field. She stopped before a monument. This statue - Christ, it was really something - stood at twenty feet tall. Beautiful before the North Dakota sky of purple and flylines, above the flush fall grass whistling in the wind, it was made of metal, and maybe it was a person, or maybe it was an animal, but it had an expression of longing. Its arms (paws?) seemed to curl towards the sky, and its eyes (although it seemed to have none) looked up and up and a thousand miles away. And it stood still. She shut off her engine as we stared at it for a few seconds. "Nemovlya," she whispered.
The babushka pushed open her car door (I did the same), and shuffled to the back. She pulled two lawn chairs out of the truck bed, wielding them wildly above her head, before setting them down side-by-side some thirty feet in front of the monument. She sat down in one and cracked open another beer. Exhausted still from battle, in my robes and pointed hat, I slumped down beside her. She handed me a beer from her pocket, which I fatiguedly sipped. A long while, we drank and watched it. I became aware of the nothing we were doing, and I became aware of its meaninglessness, and I grimaced at the thing. Then I felt in my hand, slumped over the side of the lawnchair, her small, wrinkled fingers begin to reach for mine. I don't know why, but I let my hand relent to her, and she held it. We sat there a while, hand-in-hand before the precipice of eternity, long before the end of my service, and watched the ugly statue. Night fell above it, the far end of the field filled with fireflies, and I felt myself drifting off into an ancient country sleep.
Ok Second Rule Now Get Ready:
Wisards dont kill them selves and they belief they belief very much. Belief in yourself and dont give up when your punished for It . Belief in the fact that all vile cockwipes could be Nice and could under some possible even minutely remote circumstance click their feet together as they jump down a cobbled road saying WOW ! WOWA ! WOW ! grinning under the Big Full Moon. Any one can go to heaven and when your casting spellz and exploring you gotta remember that. Not christian heven but the special heaven of a Full Realized World and Life and Beauty .
but dont believe me obviously because i have a job im just a shit wizsard.
Q: So whats a Wiz(s)ard
A: What you don tknow about That could fill a Forbidden Library buddy .
Q: Sorry? You didn't answer the question.
A: buh buh buh buh buh buh. Suck My Fat Milky Tits, Pal
Q: How do I get started being a wiz(s)ard?
A: Ha ha is any1 else pissed of just LISTNING to this guy? Nomore questions
Go Back Fuck Wad