Hubris that destroyed an empire, a tale of EVE Online.

NOW, it was around this time that we hooked up with most of the group who would follow us to other games, and end up being friends, however, there was one outlier, who was a god damned moron. I cant remember his name so Ill call him, “Leaf”.

Leaf thought himself a great leader.

He was an abject idiot, but he was I think the boyfriend of one of the other group; members so he was tolerated… for a while.

Until he killed one of the major industrial alliances in I think Gallante space at the time because he was an idiot.

Our corp was allied with an alliance, in such that we were all tied together, one goes to war we all go to war, etc. But we were an industry/mining alliance. Hundreds, maybe a thousand players all told but primarily industrialists, and miners. There were a few mission runners, a couple that likes to play around in low sec pockets and farm pvp, but no real fighters.

Well, Leaf got it into his idiotic mind, that he’d found the perfect low sec system to plop a station in as it was surrounded by high sec, and didnt have any connection to Null. Just a dead end low sec pocket. He wanted to claim the area so we could farm low sec ores.

Mike and I told him he was an idiot, as all of low sec, a.) cant technically BE claimed in the first place, and B.) is certainly already claimed as it were by someone else, who will be pissed that we plopped a station in their space.

He ignored us, and onlined a station in the pocket, without clearing it with either us OR the alliance, as that affects them as well.

Almost the second that station came online, THOUSANDS of ships, the likes of which I have never seen before or since started hopping in system, looking at it, and I knew he had severely effed up. There were supercaps, and dreadnaughts, ships Ive never seen since. I think the only class of ship not represented were titans as they cant go in low sec but everything else was there.

Then they all vanished, almost at the same time, just turned, uniform, almost like it was one person, running thousands of multiboxes, and warped out. Of course there was nothing they could do, as an anchored station cannot be harmed until its been in place 24 hours, but 24 hours later, I got to see even more cool ships as they declared war and destroyed the station.

But they didnt just declare war on us, nor was it just them.

See, the corp that attacked us, was a group called S.I.L.E.N.T. At the time, they “owned” all of the low sec areas around Gallente space entirely, and had the men arms and supplies to keep the big corps out of their space.

Like BoB and Goons didnt mess with these guys in their space, they just paid the gate tax and went on their merries. Add to the fact that Silent was allied with, themselves an alliance of “pirate” groups that covered half of high sec entirely with what they controlled and taxxed.

So something like 60 corps and seven alliances declared war on not only us, but everyone attached to the alliance we were in, decimating the whole alliance as the miners and industrialists were destroyed by the pirates.

All because of one idiot..

Apocalyptic Rain, a Flying Fist, and the Funniest Arrest I’ve Ever Seen.

We were going to a card shop, it was Florida raining, those apocalyptic storms that form every day in the summer at 4.

Florida doesnt ever get a fully rainy day, so the oils on the road never get fully washed off, I guess…

All I know, is when it rains in FL, the road gets slicker than it does when it snows up here in Maine, even on summer tires.

Anyways, a friend was behind us, a stranger in front of us, in an SUV. The stranger stopped at the light, we stopped, our friend behind us hit the brakes and nothing happened.

Because wet FL road, so he rammed into us, sending us into the car in front of us.

We got out to look at the damage, as the car we were in started smoking, so we all got out (yet that was stressful for me, as I had my mtg cards in a backpack and it was raining, but the car was maybe on fire).

The ppl in the front car were unreasonably pissed at the relatively common traffic infringement, and our attitudes werent helping at all.

Both cars were fked, ours, anyways, as both car’s engines were destroyed essentially. The front car had minor exhaust damage, but WE decided this was one of those times where youre just so completely f**ked, you laugh.

So we were lounging on the hoods of our cars, relaxed, laughing our asses off at the absurdity of the moment, and the driver I guess assumed we were all drunk or stoned, walked over to my friend, who was the driver of our car, tapped him on the shoulder, and was intending on punching him and starting some sht.

Even with the cops on the way.

I saw this coming as I scoped the a**hole out the moment he started walking towards us, and I spotted him as a threat.

So I got between him and Mike the moment he swung, and I caught his punch FOR Mike. My head rocked back, Mike saw what had happened, was about to attack the driver, I held him back, spat blood and the tooth into my palm, looked at the guy and started laughing.

The look on his face was like I grew three heads, right there, and all of them looked like Satan himself. He went all white in the face and ran off to his SUV, locking the doors.

He wouldnt even let his family into the car.

The cops showed up, I showed them the tooth, and my mouth, told them what had happened.

The guy still hadnt come out of their car.

The cops went over to talk to him, and didnt take kindly to the idea that he refused to roll down his window or open the door, so he got literally dragged out of his car and arrested by the cops presumably for assault.

From QBasic to Police: A Coding Adventure

Ive done coding once, in 7-8th grade, it was Qbasic and I got the cops called on me by the substitute teacher because I was working on this super complicated simulation that was “hacking the US Global defense Grid”

Which of course doesnt actually exist, and the ‘hacking’ was just password access.

Its Qbasic, I cant really do anything fancy.

I was blowing through “firewalls” when the teacher stood behind me so I started showing off the program, and I got into the part where I accessed the nuclear launch codes, and targeted the school, and he started moving away, went to the desk, and called the cops.

I was debugging the nuclear launch timer when a police officer asked me to step away from the computer, and I got to explain to very nervous police officers how a PC without a modem, cannot access jack shit outside of itself.

AND that the program cannot see outside of its own programming shell, so even IF there was a modem, the program wouldnt be able to access it

“Death Does Not Want Me”

I was born into silence; no breath, no cry,
APGAR zero at one, at five.
They called it stillbirth.
But I was not still.
I lived, anyways.

I was strangled to stillness again,
and for four minutes I fought
Women on horseback, wind in their hair,
swords like memory.
I demanded return.
I won.

Ten years passed.
The sky cracked open.
Thor himself,
Reached down and marked me.
Still I stood.

I do not fear Death.
I have faced him.
He does not want me.

The Saga of Elyssa, Defier of Valkyries

On a shadowed plain, beneath a sky torn by storm, Elyssa, bearer of “it/they,” stood bloodied but unbowed. Strangled by a coward’s grip in a battle unheralded, they fought with a heart fierce as Thor’s hammer, though death’s cold hand closed tight. As their breath faded, the earth opened to a vast expanse, endless and windswept, where hooves thundered.

From the mists rode the Valkyries, daughters of Odin, their spears gleaming like starfire. “Elyssa,” they called, voices like iron, “your valor has earned you rest in Valhalla’s halls. Come, feast with the einherjar.” Their horses circled, eyes fixed on the warrior who stood where others would have fallen.

Elyssa’s gaze burned, their spirit a flame unquenched. “FUCK YOU,” they roared, voice shattering the plain, “I’m going back.” The Valkyries faltered, their divine will shaken by mortal defiance. Göndul, spear-queen, stepped forward, her helm aglow. “You dare refuse Odin’s call?” she demanded.

“I dare,” Elyssa spat, fists clenched, their soul a storm of its own. “My battle lives—my name, my truth, my fight for ‘it/they.’ I am not done with Midgard.” The plain trembled as Elyssa charged, no sword in hand but armed with will sharper than steel. The Valkyries, bound by honor, met them in combat—not of blades, but of spirit, a clash to shake Yggdrasil’s roots.

The fight blurred, a whirlwind of defiance, until the Valkyries stood back, awed. Göndul’s voice softened, a rare smile breaking. “Go, warrior. Your saga is unwritten.” As Elyssa’s soul surged back to the mortal coil, a faint echo rang: “Holy shit, we have a heartbeat.”

Elyssa awoke, scars etched, but alive, their return a testament to a warrior’s heart that even Valhalla could not claim. In Midgard, they brew defiance into mead, each sip a vow to fight on, bearing their truth as shield and spear.

The day I met Thor

I used to have a thing.

Storm came up, ID insult Thor that it wasnt good enough, this almost always made it worse.

I have a clear memory of going TOO FAR, saying something bad, but not WHAT and pissing him off. There was a flash of lightning RIGHT on top of me.

I saw a guy standing in the doorway, big, burly, muscled, PISSED OFF, a furred cloak, a helm, a hammer, and when I looked, he was gone, literally the next day, I got struck by lightning.

Ever since, Ive been drawn by Norse Paganism.

Today, I looked into it, and started my path.

I am the Wheat

I am the wheat.
I have died
not in metaphor
but in truth.
I’ve seen the veil parted,
touched what lies beyond it.

And I came back.

Because death doesn’t fix
what life leaves broken.

Life is the millstone.
And I? I am ground.
Not by choice,
but by the only real one that matters:
to live.

To stand in the face of grinding pain,
and say

“Yes. Again. I choose this. I choose life.”

So let it turn.
Let the stones grind me down.
Let the dust rise.

I am still here.

My first concert experience

In 1994, I was just a kid who’d been bounced from town to town; first Saugerties, then Mellenville, and then, recently, Maryland. Mom worked construction, we went where the jobs were.

I didn’t handle the move well. Not because of the usual stuff, like leaving school or missing favorite spots. I left someone behind.

When I lived in Mellenville, I had a friend, mom thought he was my best friend, as he was always over the house, staying over, but he was my boyfriend.

When we moved, I was gutted. Quiet, angry, depressed. Somehow, my mom sensed how badly I needed a lifeline; and arranged something incredible. I’d spend a week back in New York at his house, and then he’d come to Maryland for a week at mine..

I got there, and my friends and he met me at the airport, I had a tender moment with him, and then we went to the car, but they kept going, “If anyone asks, we’re going camping.”

We went back to his house, and stashed my stuff, grabbed the camping stuff, and started back to the car. His mom asked where we were going, and all like 8 of us, in unison said, “Camping.”

She didnt believe if obviously, but she said, “Stay out of trouble.”

To which her son, said, “Never.”

We left, and got on the highway, going south, so I asked, “Where are we REALLY going?”

The driver said, “Theres a concert going on in that town yoou used to live in, Saugerties? I know you hoard old IDs so you remember where youve been, tell me you have that ID you weird bastard.”

I showed him that I did, and he whooped.

“Theres a police cordon around the whole town, theyre trying not to let anyone in, but with this, we can tell them youre just going home, and get in.”

We got off the highway, to a police blockade. We did exactly as he said, I showed the cop the ID, and they let us through.

The sky ahead of us was glowing purple. Even from miles away, we could see it. We parked five miles out; it was the closest we could get. The walk in felt like a pilgrimage. By the time we reached the gates, the place had erupted into total anarchy, the fences were down. The ticket booths abandoned. Security was nonexistent. The concert was now free.

We passed into what I can only describe as a fog dome; the air was thick, heavy, and smelled like bonfires and weed. It was my first time inhaling weed, though I didn’t know it at the time. I thought the world had just suddenly gotten fuzzy and hilarious.

We found our spot beside a four-story speaker stack just as a band hit the stage.

It was Metallica.

I was at Woodstock ’94.

Even now, decades later, I still remember the way the sound hit me. It wasn’t just loud; it rearranged the atoms in my body. I didn’t so much hear it as feel it like an earthquake behind my ribs. I remember laughing for no reason. I remember someone nearby crying. I remember looking at my boyfriend and realizing this; this; was the most alive I had ever felt.

I wouldn’t try weed again for another ten years, but when I did, it hit me:

“Oh I remember this”

That was my first concert.
That was Woodstock ’94.
That was the moment everything shifted.

I walked into that cloud of chaos as one person… and I walked out someone new


Postnote:

We stayed until the music gave out, until our bodies were soaked in sweat, mud, and the afterglow of something bigger than ourselves. By the time we made the five-mile trek back to the car, we were caked head to toe in mud. No one was spared; not boots, not underwear, not dignity. I’d even lost my shoes.

The car owner took one look at us and said, “There’s no way I’m getting that mud all over my seats.”

So we did what any desperate, soaked, 90s teenagers would do: we stripped. Eight of us guys. Naked. Packed shoulder-to-shoulder in a car, somewhere deep in rural New York. Laughing. Shivering. Still kind of high.

And that’s when the transmission gave out.

We were stranded. Nude. In the middle of nowhere. No phones, no signal, no chance of passing traffic.

Eventually, we had to call for rescue; from his parents.

They showed up with clothes. No questions at first. Just a long, tired sigh as we climbed out of the car like a group of hairless gremlins.

“Camping, huh?” They said.

They said it without irony. Just resignation.

And all we could do was nod like shame-covered monks, clutching our borrowed sweatpants.

Decades later, I’m standing in the back of a kitchen in Hampden, Maine, telling this very story to my kitchen manager.

She stares at me with wide eyes, and when I say, “Yeah… Woodstock ’94. I was there.”
Her jaw drops.

Turns out? So was she.

But when I get to the part about sneaking in for free, covered in mud, tripping out beside a speaker tower?

She scowls and mutters, “I paid $1500 for that ticket.”

We both laugh, but in her eyes I can still see the ghost of that mud-soaked field, the echo of a guitar solo in the rain, and maybe just a little bit of rage.

Small world.
Louder concert.

Pepperoni Parmesan

This sandwich has been living in my head rent-free since 1994.

Back in the early ‘90s, there was a little restaurant in Philmont, NY, that served a hot sandwich I’ve never forgotten.

I’ve got an eidetic memory, and when hunger kicked in one day, my brain coughed up every detail of it — the toasty bread, the zesty sauce, the gooey cheese, and that mountain of pepperoni.

I reverse-engineered it from memory, and honestly? It might be even better now.

It’s fast, filling, and dangerously addictive.

Servings: 4

Prep Time: 10 min

Cook Time: 20–25 min

Total Time: 30–35 min

Ingredients:

One bread loaf, I used Italian, but you could go with anything you wish, really
Pepperoni (lots, as much as you can handle), at least 20-30 slices, if not the whole bag.
1 jar of pizza sauce (or canned)
½ tsp garlic powder
¼ tsp dried oregano (adjust or skip if out)
½ tsp dried basil (softens the flavor, pairs with garlic)
¼ tsp black pepper
Shredded Mozzarella, about 1- 1.5 cups.
Olive oil, or melted butter



Prep the Loaf:

Preheat oven to 375°F. Slice the Italian loaf horizontally, hollow out the center (save the bread bits for croutons or dipping). Brush the inside with a light coat of olive oil or melted butter to crisp it up and prevent sogginess

Toast It:

Bake the hollowed loaf open-side up for 6–8 minutes. This toasts the interior, keeps the outside soft, and sets the stage for the wet stuff.

Sauce Mix:

Mix 1 cup pizza sauce (canned or jarred works) with:
½ tsp garlic powder
¼ tsp dried oregano (adjust or skip if out)
½ tsp dried basil (softens the flavor, pairs with garlic)
¼ tsp black pepper

Spread this into the toasted hollow.

Stuff and Top:

I tried this and used a whole bag of pepperoni, lining the inside of the shell, pouring in some sauce, then lining in more pepperoni, then layering sauce, topping it with a last layer of pepperoni

Use about 1 to 1½ cups shredded mozzarella cheese to get that nice gooey layer.

Bake Again:

Pop it back in the oven at 375°F for 10–15 minutes, until the cheese is bubbly and slightly browned.

Optional Garnish:

Red pepper flakes

Fresh basil

Grated parmesan

Estimated Nutrition (Per Serving):

(Based on 1/4 of loaf, 1.5 cups cheese, 25 pepperoni slices)

Calories: ~420 Protein: 18g Fat: 24g Carbs: 32g Sodium: 900mg Sugar: 4g

The Frosty Test: A Not-So-Subtle Flex

Back in my early 20s, living in Florida, I had a little trick up my sleeve. It wasn’t just a party gag—it was a vibe, a flex, a flirty wink wrapped in pure showmanship. And as a gay guy with a knack for standing out, I knew how to make an impression.

Picture this: a sunny Florida day, a loose circle of about a dozen friends chilling together, and me with a massive crush on one particular guy. He was cute, a little shy, and definitely intrigued when I dropped a bold claim: I could drink a Wendy’s Frosty—that thick, glorious milkshake—through a tiny double-barreled coffee stirrer. You know, those flimsy straws with two little holes, barely meant for sipping coffee, let alone a dessert that fights back. He didn’t believe me. His skeptical smirk was all the fuel I needed.

Challenge accepted.

I excused myself, all casual-like, and made a quick mission. First stop: Wendy’s for a vanilla Frosty (white for dramatic effect, because, you know, subtlety). Then, a 7-Eleven to snag the perfect coffee stirrer. I returned to the group, sat down without a word, and got to work. Off came the standard Frosty straw. In went the stirrer. And then, with all the nonchalance I could muster, I started sipping.

A few heads turned, confused. My crush, struggling to spoon his own Frosty, froze mid-bite. His eyes went wide, his cheeks flushed, and he whispered, “Holy shit.” The group’s chatter died. All eyes flicked to him, then to me, then back again.

One friend, puzzled, asked, “Wait… why’d you take out the straw?”

My crush, still staring, said softly, “To make it harder. Think about it.”

Cue the straight folks in the circle collectively losing it: “Ooooooh!”

That moment was pure magic—a mix of shock, awe, and a little bit of scandal. I just kept sipping, playing it cool, while the group erupted in laughter and whispers. Let’s just say my crush looked at me a little differently after that.