u/addictedtoketamine2

I heard everyone talk about how it was the worst level ever and an unplayable disorienting mess and I was shocked with how incorrect people were. I probably wouldn't have liked the level on its own as much as I did playing through the game, but in the context of the campaign I actually think it's a fantastic conclusion to a cruel joke.

You spend the entire previous level slowly combing into an abyss and getting spiralled deeper and deeper into the research base with increasingly dangerous and deadly flood forms. At one point you get sent down even deeper taking an elevator you thought would help you escape. You finally meet up with some marines and seem like you're about to leave this hell behind only for 343 to randomly teleport you into a hell dimension where hundreds of these things are bombarding you at once constantly with no reprieve. It's the game grinding your face even deeper into the dirt when you thought you had escaped, and it causes an amazing sense of helplessness and dread as you have to skid through this overwhelming onslaught. I had to completely adjust from the strategic step forward to just improvising as fast as I could on the fly.

Every criticism that people make of the level makes me specifically like it more.

1. "It's Too Hard!"

GOOD.

2. "It's overly-long and tedious"

I didn't find it especially lengthy, and I was on Heroic difficulty. What people felt was tedium felt like grinding my face continually against a wall and I really liked this feeling that I was just emptying everything I had into this horde and they just kept on constantly rushing to me.

3. "It's too repetitive!"

I feel like The Library gets shit for reusing a design over and over, but like, large sections of Halo: CE repeat content. It's probably the largest flaw I think it has. 90% of Assault on The Control Room is you going through one room with minor variations over and over, and then you go backwards from that for large sections of Two Betrayals. At least The Library is a unique environment that doesn't appear again.

4. "The samey corridors make me confused and lost!"

I really didn't ever get turnt around too badly, but I honestly wouldn't mind if I did because it would further assist into the feeling of descending into hell.

Honey Bucket, who had staved off exhaustion through the night due to chugging diet monster energy beforehand, was nervous and sweaty as her ride texted to pick her up. The words comforted her as they always did, the clock in the corner reading 1:09 as she bid the other strippers farewell. She walked to the Subaru Outback as the snow fell. It was June, but the state seldom went a month with some degree of snowfall, and the capital 2 hours away in Disgusta was built as a gothic castle in the style of a black metal album cover. She saw her master’s piercing eyes glowing at her from the dark before she got in the back. She was disallowed from entering the front. 

“Hello, scrote.”

The seats on the back of the subaru were lined with a matted covering to make sure that Honey didn’t accidentally bite off or scratch at the fabric. 

“Greetings, Goddess-Empress of the Cervical Realm, Her Butchiness. Thank you for picking me up late tonight. Being as much of a vile testicled moid-beast as I am, you really have no obligation to make, which only demonstrates your immense compassion as you grant even I the chance to not die of hypothermia in the freezing cold, which is far more than I deserve.”

The car played Team Dresch at a volume that was indistinct in the back even as the Goddess Empress could hear it fine.

“It’s a real shame, you know. The drummer of this band rejected her true nature as a beautiful lesbian wombyn and started calling herself a man. I assume she died immediately from the devilish poison of testosterone upon her AFAB body, but I refused to see the band live regardless as I didn’t want to provide economic reinforcement to a sex-denier, even if they were a TiF.”

“That’s so sad, Goddess Empress. Lesbianism and womanhood is a glorious gift that I shall never be able to tr-”

The Goddess-Empress grabbed a cardpaper roll with sharpened toothpicks that she kept on the passenger seat and swatted at her moid-slave.

“Silence! You are not to speak without my approval, autogynephile!”

Honey seized up and curled into a tiny ball like the skittish Rhodesian Ridgeback that Crepes’ youngest uncle had owned. Tears swept into her eyes (though a light breeze was adequate to cause that as a result of her over-sensitive tear ducts) from the shame of having used her overwhelming innate male privilege to disrespect and speak over a real lesbian.

Honey stood back up, pleading with her palms grasped together as the toothpicks lodged into her like a porcupine’s quills popped out one after one. 

“Yes madam, yes madam! Please, please do not make the whippings too harsh this time! You can do 50 lashes, no, 60 lashes! But please, please spare the blowtorch! I won’t do it again, I swear!”

She glanced at last to face the moid-beast on a stoplight. Her sharp yet smooth features were caught in the glimmering red light of the sign, the bangs of her wolf cut tossed delicately over her beautiful green eyes. She pouted her deep red lips slightly as if in a moment of judgement before speaking her next words. 

“Mmm…perhaps, but spare your tongue for your wretched insolence. Remember, tomorrow we’ll be reading a selection from Pope Janice The Wise’s book of divine knowledge “The Transsexual Empire”.

Now, I trust you memorized our lesson last night. We know of course that you are a spiritual rapist of the biological xx female wombyn by attempting to possess our bodies to the fullest possible degree by assuming our identity for a narcissistic fetish, therefore rendering you more degenerate than a necrophile.”

“Yes, yes! I remember all too well! I am scum, lower than scum! I apologize for soiling myself with your presence! 

I shall not use the “d-word”, a word reserved exclusively for homosexual cervix-possessing divine AFAB wombyn such as yourself, whether to refer to myself or you, even as an honorific.”

“Good, good The SCUM Manifesto will be our next scheduled reading, remember to write the entirety of it with Sharpie onto your skin if you want to be spared the femur breaker.”

The Goddess Empress smirked as she put her foot back on the gas pedal, the frown being interrupted when Sleater-Kinney began playing through the shuffle feature on Apple Music. 

“Ughh, I thought I had removed this damned band of breeders ages ago.”

The Goddess Empress had bought vinyl LPs of all of the band’s albums but had broken them into shards when she learned that the members were bisexual. She had tossed the broken shards at Honey, who held onto them as an extra source of subsistence after Goddess Empress had reduced her daily rations from 3 cups of rice to 2. 

“We’re home.”

The outside of The Goddess Empress’ home was lit with a bright neon sign reading “AFAB ONLY HOUSING UNIT” in flashing letters. She had gotten visual noise complaints from her neighbors, so she had planted trees around the area by going into the nearby forest and picking them up root and all with her bare hands and then placing them down into the soil. 

She grabbed the ball and chain and attached it to Honey’s calves, dragging her along with her muscular arms straining against her sleeveless shirt. She dragged the scrote through the fallen snow to behind the cellar entrance, throwing her down the damp moss-encrusted steps into the dungeon. 

Honey had felt a repulsive urge of physical attraction to the woman, sexually objectifying her. She ran over to cut herself on the loose wires of her cockroach-infested mattress, using toilet paper and rubbing alcohol to rub over the wound before going back to the locked door and falling to her knees praying.

“Thank you, thank you Divine Empress for mercifully granting me another day of undeserved life. I am forever in your debt, and my gratitude cannot be overstated.”

The other side of the Dungeon was currently taken up by a guest, “Daisy”, as Honey knew him, a 19-year old trans man that The Goddess Empress had started a relationship with by pretending to be straight in an effort to subtly lead onto detransitioning. When he had discovered her pain-stakingly crafted voodoo dolls of Contrapoints, Hunter Schafer, Ethel Cain and Laverne Cox with holes stuck into them, he had attempted to flee, but was caught and thrown into the dungeon, though The Goddess Empress had taken pains to construct a wall between him and Honey to avoid the latter from spiritually corrupting his “Divine AFAB baby butch spirit”. 

Honey laid down on the creaking mattress, dreaming of a world where she had a wombynly vagina and uterus and therefore deserved to not be turned into involuntary breeding cattle who ate Soylent Green made from the remains of other moids.

/uj This is an excerpt from my new work-in-progress novel The American Death-Ride Manifesto, which I intend to be this generation's great american novel

I’ve been stuck in this housing arrangement where I’m boarded with 5 other people for a while. The others usually don’t bother me too badly and I can keep them in check, but there’s this one that really f$@&!$& annoys me. As you’d expect, they’re a cringy transtrender with like 23 different color dyes and some nonsensical name probably chosen just to confuse people. Anyways, I try to engage with them as little as possible, but our landlord does this thing where he forces us to do excursions every couple of days as a “bonding” exercise and I’m forced to leave my room and interact with them.

One time they dragged me out of my room for one of these things when I was perfectly fine on my own while yelling “Stop, please, god what are you doing you idiot” At me like they were trying to deride me for my cis male privilege like they know better than me. They yell “Please, I’m trying to help you!” And give those whole condescending talk-down speech afterwards and I just feel like they think they have some moral obligation to lecture me about their woke bulls@$?.

Like, I went to the beach once and they started making these passes on me like they thought they knew something I didn’t by glaring at me when I owned their stupid transtrender !#& and doing !@$& like going “Is there something you want to talk about?”

Like Jesus just because a man has some pastel in his room and listens to Mitski and keeps a couple of the images of boys from one of his roommate’s stupid anime’s kissing each other doesn’t mean he wants to be one of you degenerates. I’m literally the pinnacle of masculinity, I just didn’t want to change into some stupid bathing suit. Then they claim I’m talking in my sleep about how the only way I can make up is by making myself not be a burden on anyone else and re-uniting with “them” (some people I didn’t care about who used to board here and moved out). They even say I start crying happily while saying I’m finally a woman and saying I’m “Lilly” (gay name). They’re making this @$!& up and ruining my image but they won’t stop.

My best attempt at getting them to back off is to try to prove how their dumb identity is literally scientifically impossible but they go back with these pithy cop-out remarks like “We don’t have internal organs anymore” or “I could literally replace every single limb on my body with a penis if I felt like doing so” which are just evading the question, so I usually just resort to contorting their fujoshi girlfriend’s body into a ball and throwing it at them until they get annoyed or the fujoshi says it hurts too much and they both leave.

Like, the only person here I can tolerate is some short chick who isn’t constantly up in her britches whining about @$!&, and even then says she “believes I care about her” and I actually enjoy being around her. I mean like, I’m not just a misunderstood little chicken fetus in an egg that needs to be cracked open! I. Am. Not! I don’t care about her or anyone else in the slightest. End of story. They are my playthings, and I get joy out of making them suffer! I’m the one who causes pain for FUN! If I led them on, it was just to make this part hurt them more. @$#@! &$#@! There’s nothing more to me, so they should just stop looking.

Anyways I’m going to 282762-7-88.8.&&€/7.78:828191018:77;74$2929jdhfie82-88/9.00:9:@.@.@.@/7/2627198736:6,6,6.6.((:)$39;8573jsuiiejeo9:9;838i8-8*&3$$*$haiai8i&:&/8*

————;;;;;;;;;;::::::;;;;;;////////;;;;;;;;;;:;::——-;;:::;::;;:;;:/;:;;::;

/uj >!i have spent the better part of a week crying about this evil purple rabbit from a show for 8th graders!<

“Bill and Ted Rock” is a term coined by Todd on his Trainwreckords episode on Van Halen III to refer to rock bands from 1987-1991 that became popular while people were sort of tired of Glam Metal but Nirvana hadn’t become a big hit yet so they were sort of a weird middle-ground and tried to bring in something that sounded unique that would still be widely popular. These bands added in influences from other genres like Funk, Hip-Hop or actual real metal bands in order to make them stand out from Glam Metal bands, and often still carried the same machismotic bravado but downplayed into a fashion that made them seem more “real” and down-to-earth. Now, Todd set out an initial canon of some of these bands on the episode itself, but this is my list so far with his original listed bands:

- Living Colour
- Jane’s Addiction
- Alice In Chains on their first album from 1990, Facelift (my suggestion)
- Faith No More
- Extreme
- Red Hot Chili Peppers (the biggest band in the scene)
- Primus (my addition)
- Mother Love Bone (my addition)
- Fishbone (my addition)

Comment additions:
- 24-7 Spyz

- Infectious Grooves

- The Cult (Sonic Temple Era)

- Early Soundgarden

- King's X

- Guns N' Roses

- Ugly Kid Joe

- Suicidal Tendencies

- Danzig

- Talisman

- Saigon Kick

- Tesla

- Dangerous Toys

- NIN (Pretty Hate Machine era)

- The Black Crowes

- Mr. Big

- Electric Boys

- Love/Hate

I look forward to collaborating to create a broader spectrum of this canon here.