Post by Myrdraxxis on Feb 13, 2010 23:16:23 GMT -5
ANIMAL CROSSING: REVIEW
The following is a transcript of a recording that came into my possession following a series of events I am not willing to explain. But then, it was a crazy time in my life and I did a lot of things I'm not completely proud of. To cut a long story short, I had devoted that particular year of my pubescence to experimenting with my sexuality and a full account of the things I saw and did would make unpleasant reading, be thoroughly embarrassing for myself and would place me in violation of several non-disclosure agreements I signed with numerous powerful public figures.
Anyway, I received the recording from a hairy man in vinyl stockings who turned out to be a high-profile member of one of the world's big secret services. Apparently it had been circulating the spy networks as a piece of office entertainment, haunting forwarded emails on the computers of receptionists and data entry clerks from MI6 to the Pentagon. All anyone seems to know (or wants to admit) about the tape is that it is a voice recording made by some kind of covert operative on assignment to investigate the headquarters of a suspect organisation.
The transcript in full now follows.
[ begin recording ]
-is thing on? Oh, yes. Agent ####### reporting. This tape will serve as an audio account of my mission's progress. For reference purposes, I am required to repeat that the purpose of the mission is to infiltrate a gated community of what is considered a suspect organisation and investigate for possible links to international terrorism. As I make this report, I have secured a hold-out position a few hundred yards away from the organisation's camp. It's a beautiful part of the country. I mean... REALLY beautiful. Almost to the point that it kind of creeps me out. The rolling hills, the scattered trees, the deep blue colouring of the water, the perfect geometric shapes in the grass - it all kind of points to... stylisation. I don't know how else to describe it.
With my binoculars I can see some of the members of the community now, going about their daily business. The exact nature of that business is unclear. All they seem to do is spend most of the day standing rigidly in place in front of their crude hut-like dwellings. When they do move, all they do is meander aimlessly around with no apparent direction. But I'm definitely in the right place. I recognise the uniform appearance of the residents from the dossier I was given.
Right now I'm working on a theory that this is some kind of camp where small children or midgets are made to wear oversized animal costumes, such as those worn at theme parks. I'm assuming this is part of some indoctrination process or hazing ritual. Tomorrow I will begin my infiltration attempt.
[ end recording ]
[ begin recording ]
Day two. Okay, I'm pretty scared. Not that I perceive any danger, but... it's just been frightening in a way I can't quite explain. Creepy, I suppose. Yeah. A general feeling of creepiness that rises the more I investigate the town.
Even though I had endeavoured to fit in by having my legs surgically removed from the knees down and inflating my head to eight times its previous size, I was expecting a certain amount of resistance and hostility from the town's denizens. But it was spooky how welcoming they were, as if I was expected. Not only was I expected, but one of the little huts had been arranged for my arrival. No furniture was provided, however, except for a stereo and a crate, so I spent my first night shivering on the cold stone floor to the sound of jaunty synthesized music and woke with severe pain in my joints.
The strangest thing was when I was first entering the town, and I asked one of the little animal costume-wearing children/midgets what the town was called. In response, he asked me "what would you like it to be called?" After a moment's thought, I impishly said "Assfuckville". And now all the townsfolk refer to their community as Assfuckville, even ones who could not possibly have had time to be informed of the new name. I am extremely confused.
I will now conclude today's report and continue my investigations.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
I am beginning to understand the nature of this society. It seems to bear all the hallmarks of a cult. Today I was introduced to the leader, a creature in a raccoon suit, who informed me that I owed him a substantial sum of money for the house I had assumed was a gift. Not wishing to anger the locals until my position was firm, I agreed that 20,000 units of the local currency was a very reasonable sum for the wretched little hovel, and quickly left.
Strangely, while the raccoon creature who operates the town's all-purpose shop will only deal in currency, most of the other inhabitants use a bartering system of economics. Each of the animal-things operate small hovels like my own, and exchange wallpaper, carpets and various items of furniture for other accoutrements, although the actual value of the objects being exchanged seems to be completely arbitrary. I was invited to take a look inside the home of a chicken woman, and found the place to be full of impractical furniture that the owner had no apparent use for. There was a refrigerator and a stove, but neither could be opened, and they were not plugged into any electricity or gas supplies. There was no bed, no toilet, nothing that might indicate normal human needs. I made my excuses and immediately repaired to the town river, by which I have been fishing non-stop in order to repay my debt.
I've also never seen any of the town population eat a meal, or indeed, anything. And yet they surely must at some point.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
In a previous report I mentioned how Assfuckville appeared to be completely stylised. This was probably a poor choice of words. A better description would be 'artificial'. Everything seems so... unreal, manufactured almost, like the architects of this place took an extremely limited representation of the supposed ideal town and attempted to model their community around it. I have already touched upon the bizarre habits of the townspeople, their homes, and their want for furniture and clothes that seems to be their only motivation or desire. It's like they have a vague understanding of a human lifestyle without knowing the exact details. And then there is the museum, if you can call it that; despite its grand architecture, it has absolutely no exhibits at all. Exploring the place is a deeply disturbing experience, akin to visiting a ghost town, where the silence roars loudly in your ears.
It's not just the people or the buildings. It's everything around me. The fish in the river and the ocean will dart straight onto my hook the instant I drop it in front of them, like robots, and can remain outside water for indefinite amounts of time without suffocating. And then there are the fruit trees. On each one of them, exactly three prime examples of the fruit in question appear to have been stuck on the outside of the main clusters of leaves, unattached to any of the branches and easily shaken off. Every morning, they're there again. I am certain there must be a team of workmen coming around during the night to replace dislodged fruit and bury fossils all around in random places, for reasons unknown.
I must sign off now. One of the animal people is standing outside my house, shuffling back and forth as if desperate for the toilet. I need to close all the curtains and sit in the dark for a little while.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
Oh god, oh jesus fuck. I don't even know where to begin. They aren't costumes. I don't know what the hell they are. Some kind of godforsaken freaks is what they are. My stomach feels raw from vomiting.
Okay. Get it together. Deep breaths, like they showed me at the academy. Okay, right. I'll try to explain what I saw.
I had just deposited some more currency to pay off the house - those eager fish and clandestine fruits seem to go for a hell of a lot - when I saw what appeared to be some kind of ritual going on between two of the townsfolk - the chicken I interacted with earlier, and a pig who seems to be the only person who owns a toilet, albeit unobscured in the corner of their living room. They were shuffling around each other tunelessly whistling an improvised song composed of randomly-chosen notes sung in an unvarying rhythm. Occasionally they would pause to link hands and bow cheerfully towards each other. After which, one of several things would happen - they would continue whistling, or one of them would suddenly be wearing a copy of the other one's shirt, or they would go away suddenly offended and stomp around in exaggerated displays of fury or dismay (a misguided attempt to emulate human social interaction, perhaps?).
Anyway, while they were distracted I took the opportunity to try and get a closer look at their outfits, to see if I could find a seam or fastener. I couldn't. The more I looked, the more convinced I became that these monsters were not human beings in costume, but rather obscene parodies of nature, a twisted and misshapen representation of an anthropomorphic animal. What is this? Genetic engineering? Cloning? I feel sick. I have to get out of here. I am aborting the mission and retreating as of tomorrow.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
I can't get out.
Come to think of it, I can't quite remember how I got in in the first place, but I certainly can't get out now. The entire town is surrounded by tall cliffs, except to the north where a picket fence and a train track blocks the way.
I tried to get on board one of the trains that go through the town's only station, but I was turned away because I didn't own a memory card. It sounds insane, but it honestly seemed like a perfectly rational reason at the time. I don't even know what a memory card is. I tried building a raft to escape via the ocean, but whenever I chopped down a tree, the trunk instantly dissolved into thin air the instant it hit the ground. I'm afraid I may be going mad.
I'm afraid... I think... I think I'm going to go and do some more fishing now.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
There are about fifteen of the monsters in total. However, there only seem to be around six unique personalities between them. Groups of two or three will say, verbatim, the exact same things as each other. I'm working on a theory that this is some kind of opposite of a 'gestalt' entity. Rather than there being several individuals making up a single entity, we're looking at a single entity spread out over several individuals. Or maybe this is just another tactic to drive me insane.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
Today I finished paying off my debt. The little part of me that still feels hope thought, for one glorious instant, that perhaps this would be it. Perhaps the architects of this nightmare would let me leave, now that I had met my responsibilities. But that wasn't the end. Not by a long shot. By the time I got home from paying the deposit, that fucking raccoon had already built an extension on my house and left behind a bill for eight times my previous debt.
The weird thing is, I wasn't as shattered as I should have been. It was almost... pleasing. I know that I am a prisoner of some ineffable horror, but when I thought I would be able to leave, there was a feeling... I can only describe it as 'regret'. It's what they want, I know, and I should resist it, but all I want to do now is go fishing.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
I don't have much tape left. I'd better make this count.
When I was ten years old, my little sister had a huge collection of beanie babies. She had the cow, the cat, the gorilla, the panda, yes, even the chicken and the pig. She loved them so much. She gave them all trite little names, made all sorts of homes and accessories for them.
I was ten years old. I didn't know much. But I knew two things. I knew I wanted the Space Lazar Ultratron 8000 Action Figure. And I knew that beanie baby collections could go for a large amount of money at the time.
So I stole her beanie babies, that she loved so much. And I sold them. God help me, I sold them on eBay to some middle-aged guy in child-molester glasses. I took his money and I used it to buy a Space Lazar Ultratron 8000 Action Figure. And I hated it. It sat there in my room and stared at me all day, a reminder of my guilt.
My sister ran away after that. My parents were hysterical. They went into such a decline that I had to identify the body when they scraped my sister up from the middle of the interstate.
I've never told anyone that. But I know where I am now. I am in purgatory. But it's not just any purgatory. It's my own personal purgatory. Oh god, oh god, oh god, I should have realised. We've lost so many good people to that damn place and I just blundered right in. And now I can never leave.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
i got a new end table today
it will go nicely with my carpet
[end recording]
The following is a transcript of a recording that came into my possession following a series of events I am not willing to explain. But then, it was a crazy time in my life and I did a lot of things I'm not completely proud of. To cut a long story short, I had devoted that particular year of my pubescence to experimenting with my sexuality and a full account of the things I saw and did would make unpleasant reading, be thoroughly embarrassing for myself and would place me in violation of several non-disclosure agreements I signed with numerous powerful public figures.
Anyway, I received the recording from a hairy man in vinyl stockings who turned out to be a high-profile member of one of the world's big secret services. Apparently it had been circulating the spy networks as a piece of office entertainment, haunting forwarded emails on the computers of receptionists and data entry clerks from MI6 to the Pentagon. All anyone seems to know (or wants to admit) about the tape is that it is a voice recording made by some kind of covert operative on assignment to investigate the headquarters of a suspect organisation.
The transcript in full now follows.
[ begin recording ]
-is thing on? Oh, yes. Agent ####### reporting. This tape will serve as an audio account of my mission's progress. For reference purposes, I am required to repeat that the purpose of the mission is to infiltrate a gated community of what is considered a suspect organisation and investigate for possible links to international terrorism. As I make this report, I have secured a hold-out position a few hundred yards away from the organisation's camp. It's a beautiful part of the country. I mean... REALLY beautiful. Almost to the point that it kind of creeps me out. The rolling hills, the scattered trees, the deep blue colouring of the water, the perfect geometric shapes in the grass - it all kind of points to... stylisation. I don't know how else to describe it.
With my binoculars I can see some of the members of the community now, going about their daily business. The exact nature of that business is unclear. All they seem to do is spend most of the day standing rigidly in place in front of their crude hut-like dwellings. When they do move, all they do is meander aimlessly around with no apparent direction. But I'm definitely in the right place. I recognise the uniform appearance of the residents from the dossier I was given.
Right now I'm working on a theory that this is some kind of camp where small children or midgets are made to wear oversized animal costumes, such as those worn at theme parks. I'm assuming this is part of some indoctrination process or hazing ritual. Tomorrow I will begin my infiltration attempt.
[ end recording ]
[ begin recording ]
Day two. Okay, I'm pretty scared. Not that I perceive any danger, but... it's just been frightening in a way I can't quite explain. Creepy, I suppose. Yeah. A general feeling of creepiness that rises the more I investigate the town.
Even though I had endeavoured to fit in by having my legs surgically removed from the knees down and inflating my head to eight times its previous size, I was expecting a certain amount of resistance and hostility from the town's denizens. But it was spooky how welcoming they were, as if I was expected. Not only was I expected, but one of the little huts had been arranged for my arrival. No furniture was provided, however, except for a stereo and a crate, so I spent my first night shivering on the cold stone floor to the sound of jaunty synthesized music and woke with severe pain in my joints.
The strangest thing was when I was first entering the town, and I asked one of the little animal costume-wearing children/midgets what the town was called. In response, he asked me "what would you like it to be called?" After a moment's thought, I impishly said "Assfuckville". And now all the townsfolk refer to their community as Assfuckville, even ones who could not possibly have had time to be informed of the new name. I am extremely confused.
I will now conclude today's report and continue my investigations.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
I am beginning to understand the nature of this society. It seems to bear all the hallmarks of a cult. Today I was introduced to the leader, a creature in a raccoon suit, who informed me that I owed him a substantial sum of money for the house I had assumed was a gift. Not wishing to anger the locals until my position was firm, I agreed that 20,000 units of the local currency was a very reasonable sum for the wretched little hovel, and quickly left.Strangely, while the raccoon creature who operates the town's all-purpose shop will only deal in currency, most of the other inhabitants use a bartering system of economics. Each of the animal-things operate small hovels like my own, and exchange wallpaper, carpets and various items of furniture for other accoutrements, although the actual value of the objects being exchanged seems to be completely arbitrary. I was invited to take a look inside the home of a chicken woman, and found the place to be full of impractical furniture that the owner had no apparent use for. There was a refrigerator and a stove, but neither could be opened, and they were not plugged into any electricity or gas supplies. There was no bed, no toilet, nothing that might indicate normal human needs. I made my excuses and immediately repaired to the town river, by which I have been fishing non-stop in order to repay my debt.
I've also never seen any of the town population eat a meal, or indeed, anything. And yet they surely must at some point.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
In a previous report I mentioned how Assfuckville appeared to be completely stylised. This was probably a poor choice of words. A better description would be 'artificial'. Everything seems so... unreal, manufactured almost, like the architects of this place took an extremely limited representation of the supposed ideal town and attempted to model their community around it. I have already touched upon the bizarre habits of the townspeople, their homes, and their want for furniture and clothes that seems to be their only motivation or desire. It's like they have a vague understanding of a human lifestyle without knowing the exact details. And then there is the museum, if you can call it that; despite its grand architecture, it has absolutely no exhibits at all. Exploring the place is a deeply disturbing experience, akin to visiting a ghost town, where the silence roars loudly in your ears.
It's not just the people or the buildings. It's everything around me. The fish in the river and the ocean will dart straight onto my hook the instant I drop it in front of them, like robots, and can remain outside water for indefinite amounts of time without suffocating. And then there are the fruit trees. On each one of them, exactly three prime examples of the fruit in question appear to have been stuck on the outside of the main clusters of leaves, unattached to any of the branches and easily shaken off. Every morning, they're there again. I am certain there must be a team of workmen coming around during the night to replace dislodged fruit and bury fossils all around in random places, for reasons unknown.
I must sign off now. One of the animal people is standing outside my house, shuffling back and forth as if desperate for the toilet. I need to close all the curtains and sit in the dark for a little while.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
Oh god, oh jesus fuck. I don't even know where to begin. They aren't costumes. I don't know what the hell they are. Some kind of godforsaken freaks is what they are. My stomach feels raw from vomiting.
Okay. Get it together. Deep breaths, like they showed me at the academy. Okay, right. I'll try to explain what I saw.
I had just deposited some more currency to pay off the house - those eager fish and clandestine fruits seem to go for a hell of a lot - when I saw what appeared to be some kind of ritual going on between two of the townsfolk - the chicken I interacted with earlier, and a pig who seems to be the only person who owns a toilet, albeit unobscured in the corner of their living room. They were shuffling around each other tunelessly whistling an improvised song composed of randomly-chosen notes sung in an unvarying rhythm. Occasionally they would pause to link hands and bow cheerfully towards each other. After which, one of several things would happen - they would continue whistling, or one of them would suddenly be wearing a copy of the other one's shirt, or they would go away suddenly offended and stomp around in exaggerated displays of fury or dismay (a misguided attempt to emulate human social interaction, perhaps?).
Anyway, while they were distracted I took the opportunity to try and get a closer look at their outfits, to see if I could find a seam or fastener. I couldn't. The more I looked, the more convinced I became that these monsters were not human beings in costume, but rather obscene parodies of nature, a twisted and misshapen representation of an anthropomorphic animal. What is this? Genetic engineering? Cloning? I feel sick. I have to get out of here. I am aborting the mission and retreating as of tomorrow.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
I can't get out.
Come to think of it, I can't quite remember how I got in in the first place, but I certainly can't get out now. The entire town is surrounded by tall cliffs, except to the north where a picket fence and a train track blocks the way.
I tried to get on board one of the trains that go through the town's only station, but I was turned away because I didn't own a memory card. It sounds insane, but it honestly seemed like a perfectly rational reason at the time. I don't even know what a memory card is. I tried building a raft to escape via the ocean, but whenever I chopped down a tree, the trunk instantly dissolved into thin air the instant it hit the ground. I'm afraid I may be going mad.
I'm afraid... I think... I think I'm going to go and do some more fishing now.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
There are about fifteen of the monsters in total. However, there only seem to be around six unique personalities between them. Groups of two or three will say, verbatim, the exact same things as each other. I'm working on a theory that this is some kind of opposite of a 'gestalt' entity. Rather than there being several individuals making up a single entity, we're looking at a single entity spread out over several individuals. Or maybe this is just another tactic to drive me insane.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
Today I finished paying off my debt. The little part of me that still feels hope thought, for one glorious instant, that perhaps this would be it. Perhaps the architects of this nightmare would let me leave, now that I had met my responsibilities. But that wasn't the end. Not by a long shot. By the time I got home from paying the deposit, that fucking raccoon had already built an extension on my house and left behind a bill for eight times my previous debt.
The weird thing is, I wasn't as shattered as I should have been. It was almost... pleasing. I know that I am a prisoner of some ineffable horror, but when I thought I would be able to leave, there was a feeling... I can only describe it as 'regret'. It's what they want, I know, and I should resist it, but all I want to do now is go fishing.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
I don't have much tape left. I'd better make this count.
When I was ten years old, my little sister had a huge collection of beanie babies. She had the cow, the cat, the gorilla, the panda, yes, even the chicken and the pig. She loved them so much. She gave them all trite little names, made all sorts of homes and accessories for them.
I was ten years old. I didn't know much. But I knew two things. I knew I wanted the Space Lazar Ultratron 8000 Action Figure. And I knew that beanie baby collections could go for a large amount of money at the time.
So I stole her beanie babies, that she loved so much. And I sold them. God help me, I sold them on eBay to some middle-aged guy in child-molester glasses. I took his money and I used it to buy a Space Lazar Ultratron 8000 Action Figure. And I hated it. It sat there in my room and stared at me all day, a reminder of my guilt.
My sister ran away after that. My parents were hysterical. They went into such a decline that I had to identify the body when they scraped my sister up from the middle of the interstate.
I've never told anyone that. But I know where I am now. I am in purgatory. But it's not just any purgatory. It's my own personal purgatory. Oh god, oh god, oh god, I should have realised. We've lost so many good people to that damn place and I just blundered right in. And now I can never leave.
[end recording]
[begin recording]
i got a new end table today
it will go nicely with my carpet
[end recording]
