Wednesday, 30 December 2015
70,000 tweets that disappeared overnight from a Twitter account belonging to the New York Daily News soapbox correspondent, Shaun King, have been found buried in a mass grave close to the activist's home.
Officers from the U.S. Department of Sheriffs were called to the scene following the grisly discovery by a lone Twitter user, who had been searching for Vanilla Ice lyrics in an isolated corner of the website.
Chief Sheriff, Colt Ruger, who is leading the investigation, said:
“I can confirm the discovery of a mass grave containing what appears to be a large number of deleted tweets. As of this morning, I can confirm that the tweets in question appear to be those reported missing from an account belonging to New York Daily News reporter, Shaun King, on the 7th of December, 2015.
“My prayers, and those of my department, are with the surviving friends and family members at this difficult time.
“In addition to the mass grave we have also discovered a separate cache of weaponised tweets, that make reference to the ownership of concealed firearms and hollow point bullets. These tweets could have very easily been used, by a poorly-endowed male, to convince himself that he was in possession of a penis with the veiny girth of a Coca Cola can, capable of reaching a length in excess of 10 inches while fully erect.
“We believe that the discovery of the weapons cache and the grave in such close proximity is not incidental and are treating the two discoveries as connected.”
Asked for details regarding the number of tweets that had been uncovered, Ruger responded:
“Though an exact figure is not currently available, I am informed that the number is likely to be in the tens of thousands.”
“King is not under arrest and we are keeping an open mind in regard to circumstances and possible motive.”
Tweets belonging to King - a caucasian black man, who was recently ex-communicated by members of the protest group Black Lives Matter, amidst concerns over mismanagement of funds – began to disappear from his Twitter account on the 7th December of this current year.
Concerned Twitter users were assured by King that the tweets had been adopted into good homes in over 150 countries. However, when attempts to make contact with the missing tweets failed, many began to fear the worse and the authorities were contacted.
“There is a culture of silence and fear,” said one anonymous Twitter user.
“Publicly speaking out about these mass disappearances on Twitter carries the risk of your account being suspended.”
Usually account suspensions can only be overturned by providing Twitter with a personal phone number, leaving users exposed to the prospect of being drunk-dialed by site moderators. In extreme cases, users have been asked to demonstrate their loyalty to Twitter by executing their offending tweet in cold blood.
In an attempt to muscle-in on the public appetite for long-form, true crime reportage, stirred-up by the first season of Serial, a reporter for MODE5 visited the desolate tract of online brushland where the mass grave was uncovered. They later described the area as:
“A godforsaken data swamp, where the partially decomposed lyrics of Rosta Man – a best forgotten attempt by the rapper Vanilla Ice to approximate a Jamaican accent are plainly visible, poking up from the inundated soil, and where the plaintive chorus of Canadian wigger - Snow's - solitary top 40 hit - Informer – is carried mournfully on the howling wind.
The discovery of the grave is likely to further exacerbate racial tensions between groups protesting institutionalised racism, and law enforcement, with fringe protest groups already laying the blame for the deleted tweets with the police.
Ruger said “The public may rest assured that whoever is ultimately responsible for this heinous crime will face justice. In the meantime let's not go crazy.”
Saturday, 26 December 2015
Student protesters who somehow passed the rigorous entrance examinations necessary to gain admittance to the west's finest colleges and universities, only to immediately piss away the opportunity, are demanding that the year 2016 be re-branded as 2015+.
Campus activist, Juliette Kozlow, told MODE 5:
“I spent most of 2015 as part of a baying mob, who physically and verbally intimidated teachers and college administers over some sketchy bullshit, and disrupted classes that I probably should have attended. I DEMAND that 2016 be re-branded as 2015+ so that I can still graduate in 2017 and my parents won't freak. My grandparents will have to wait an additional year to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary, but that's a small price to pay for my future.
“Since the new year will be an extension of the current one, I DEMAND that my tuition fees, along with any other costs incurred by my education over the coming 12 months, be waived, since I have already been billed for 2015. I WILL not be exploited.”
Many supporters of extending 2015, see it as a chance to get their lives back on track. Francis Lindon - an unemployed graduate of Lady Gaga Studies, said:
“The deadline for my Kickstarter passed in 2014. By that time I had raised so much money from crowd funding that I could afford long foreign holidays and a more active social life, and so never got around to manufacturing 2000 Bluetooth ponchos that email your coffee order to the cafe of your choosing.
“I am told that once a missed deadline passes the three year mark, Kickstarter sends crowd-funded bounty hunters after you, so I am keen to avoid that.”
Other rudderless twenty-somethings, with meaningless degrees, regard the delay to the start of 2016 as a means of stalling their inevitable entry into the world of perpetual minimum wage employment:
Feckless layabout, Connie Allard said:
“There is a new generation of self-entitled brats - even more thin-skinned, whiny and fixed in their opinions than I am - who are stealing focus from my Patreon, which is currently my sole source of income and is evaporating faster than a puddle in the Sahara. If things carry on like this I may end up working in a coffee shop, putting together orders that have been emailed to me from Bluetooth ponchos.”
Support for 2015+ is less prevalent among the over 30s, like Professor Albert Derby Jnr, who, earlier this year, was trapped in his car for several hours by a group of protesters, many of whom were his students. He told MODE 5:
“These bone idle fuckwits are encamped in the foothills of a treacherously steep grading curve and have no head for heights. My advice to them is: Stay crouched down below eye level. When I turn my back you may quietly leave.”
Despite resistance from older generations, 2015+ Campaign Organiser - Jonita Pennymarx - defends the proposed calender change as one that will be of long-term benefit to society:
“We simply want to ensure that, 2016, when it does arrive, is a friendlier and more inclusive year than 2015. We are not not here to take 2016 away from you. Our plan is to gradually phase-in 2016, with early entry to the new year being granted to under privileged minorities.”
Under questioning from our reporter, Pennymarx admitted that, contrary to her earlier statement that everybody would eventually be included in 2016, straight, white, cis gendered males would not be permitted to leave 2015:
“If you fall into that demographic then you've come far enough. The ride for you is over and 2015+ is the cut-off point.”
Royce Brett – a calender manufacturer and critic of the 'it's the current year' movement remains doubtful that Pennymarx and her staff can make the transition from 2015+ to 2016 within 12 months:
“The way these progressive types are with deadlines I can see it being the year 2015 for the foreseeable future,” he said.
However the move has been welcomed by big business. Ben Hackett CEO of _____________ Corp, said:
“I don't know who to thank first. I guess the parents of millennials for raising a generation of glass-jawed, cowering pushovers, whose principles can be bought for the price of an iPhone and a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi.
“I would also like to thank whoever it was who sold micro-aggressions as something worth protesting. While your student union was sombrely debating whether jazz hands should replace clapping, and the threat posed by allowing Germaine Greer to speak at your university, we were brazenly plundering public funds while paying less tax than our lowest paid worker
“For a generation who thinks that rape culture is a thing, you sure don't seem to mind our company, and others like it, dry fucking you in the arse.”
Thursday, 24 December 2015
(SATIRE) MODE 5 Christmas Day edition: A festive ceasefire between GamerGaters and SJWs is shattered by a blue turtle shell / Josh McIntosh receives the problematic gift of coal / Conservative popinjay, Milo Yiannopoulos, bemoans the institutionalised misandry that shapes Santa's naughty list.
GamerGate / SJW Christmas Day ceasefire is shattered by blue turtle shell
Christmas morning: Forces allied to GamerGate and the opposing People's Militia for Social Justice (PMSJ) temporarily ceased hostilities and abandoned their heavily fortified positions to rendezvous in no-man's land for a lively game of Mario Kart 8 on the Nintendo Wii U.
Figures from both sides loomed towards each other in the fog, on a battlefield strewn with dismembered careers, deactivated Twitter accounts, and incomplete, long over-due crowdfunded games, meeting face-to-face for the first time in the festive spirit of friendship and reconciliation. Calls of “Shitlord!” and “Crybully!” that only hours before had been spat from mouths with genuine vitriol, were re-purposed as gently mocking terms of endearment, as once bitter enemies embraced as brothers, sisters and (insert the pseudo-identity of your choice here: ________________________________________ ).
Steve Watson – a Lieutenant in the Queen's 12th Menemist Brigade, who took part in the Mario Kart tournament, said:
“The game was less triggering than I had initially thought it would be, although the racing physics are clearly skewed in favour of cis-gendered, white, heterosexual males like myself. Also I did not appreciate the joypad controls being mansplained to me.”
Away from the frenetic virtual go-karting, the mood grew philosophical as combatants on both sides ruefully took note of the common ground they shared with their enemy:
“We two are not so different...” mused Emmaline Kaufman, a student protestor from Oberlin College. “...Me – a Social Justice Shield Maiden - with my blue mohawk, my mattress shield that I carry everywhere like a Spartan warrior, my small income funded entirely from donations to my Patreon account, and my self-diagnosed, made-up neuroses which are slowly congealing into a serious mental illness that will negatively define the latter decades of my life. And you – a GamerGater - with your rational arguments, stylish and sensible clothing, stable career in one of the STEM fields, and sophisticated bearing that gives you an air of understated worldliness and confidence.”
Gamergaters were quick to apologise for behaviour that had been labelled by their battlefield opponents as violent and sexually aggressive war crimes.
Colonel Alan Cooper told SJW sniper Darla Lamb:
“Now see here, old girl. Dashed sorry and all that if it looked like I was stare raping you earlier when I was scouting out your position. Orders from the top I'm afraid.”
Lamb, who had taken to Twitter to complain at length that she had been forcibly penetrated by Cooper's male gaze, bolstered by a pair of binoculars or “rape glasses”, graciously acquiesced:
“Deep down I knew that Colonel Cooper wasn't eyeing me as anything other than an enemy soldier to be dispatched from the battlefield at the earliest opportunity. All that concerned him was the head shot. He cared nothing for my provocatively exposed breasts and vagina.”
The ceasefire ended abruptly when a blue turtle shell was hurled into the crowd by an unknown party, scattering GamerGaters and SJWs across the battlefield, and provoking a hasty retreat by both sides to their previously held positions.
In the aftermath soldiers in both camps have pointed the finger of blame at their opponents, with each claiming that, when the attack took place, they were in the lead of a decisive Mario Kart race that would have determined, once and for all, the identity of the Eternal Emperor of Christmas.
Rebeka Polin – a private in the Progressive Reserves - who was caught in the blast, said:
“I looked up and saw death bearing down upon me on ragged black wings, its protective shell a weaponised safe space, bluer than the dyed fur of Randi Harper's dog, and bristling with horns that, from a distance, resembled bone carvings of erect penises. I will be writing to the commanding officers of Gamergate demanding that the troops who perpetrated this cowardly attack are dishonourably discharged at once.”
A spokesperson for GamerGate responded: “We are the true and deserved winners of the Mario Kart 2015 festive trophy and the rightful Emperors of Christmas. If the SJWs fall back on their usual dirty tactic of writing to our employers in an attempt to get us fired, we will retaliate in the most aggressive manner available to us: By meticulously dissecting and analysing their letters of complaint, sentence by sentence, during a rambling 8-hour live stream that will be watched by 12 people.
UN observer Lars Wuenschell said:
“Those who are allied to GamerGate say that their ideological opposites cannot function in a meritocracy. Those on the progressive side accuse their opponents of being white, cis-gendered fuckboys. Both sides make valid points.
“I feel that, in this case, neither one is to blame. There is a small community of trolls living underneath a bridge close to the battlefield who I think may have been responsible for throwing the turtle shell. I have written a report on the matter and have saved it to the C drive of my computer. I will email the link to you.”
Josh McIntosh: Lump of coal in Christmas stocking for the 11th year running is problematic
Feminist Frequency svengali, Josh McIntosh, has received a lump of coal in his Christmas stocking for the 11th year running.
The fist-sized nugget of fossilised carbon, which geologists believe was extracted from the Haerwusu Coal Mine, in the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region of China, was inserted into a yellow, cross-gartered stocking, found hanging from a small hook at the foot of McIntosh's bed.
Christmas experts say that McIntosh, who is regarded as a key figure on the authoritarian left, last received a proper festive gift in December 2004, when a deputised mall Santa presented him with a tangerine and a Bratz dolls flashback set.
Although the contents of Santa Prime's naughty list are not made public, it is widely believed that McIntosh's name was added following a letter that he wrote to the red-suited Christmas patriarch early in 2005, in which he denounced the Bratz trademark as a socially regressive sexual assault on the hard won achievements of third-wave feminism.
Petra Coleman – a retired elf who now runs a wrapping paper recycling business in Pitsea – said:
“Once you get on the wrong side of Santa, you are pretty much dead to him. He won't come after you or anything like that, but let me put it this way: If you were on fire he would wait until you were dead before pissing on the flames.”
Earlier this morning an aggrieved McIntosh took to various online social media platforms to condemn the gift, but saved his harshest words for his Tumblr blog:
“I make a point of not hanging up a stocking on Christmas Eve, as I have no desire to engage with the patriarchal figure of Santa Claus, whose blotchy, corpulent body is so steeped in toxic hyper-masculinity that no amount of cinnamon and cloves can conceal the repellent odour.
“It appears that contrary to my wishes, on the night of December 24th, Santa Claus entered my home by stealth and drilled a tiny hole in my bedstead, into which he inserted a brass hook, upon which he hung one of my best stockings. As a final disrespectful act he inserted a lump of a coal, that he had previously wrapped in festive paper and tied with a ribbon bow, into the toe of the stocking for me to find on Christmas morning.”
McIntosh, who suffers from a rare condition that leaves him incapable of expressing glad tidings of comfort and joy, continued:
“It is not just the identity of the gift-giver that I find problematic. It's the nature of the gift itself: Coal mining is a male-dominated profession that has doggedly refused to accept the innovation and advice offered by Twitter feminists from the faraway comfort of the nearest coffee shop with free wi-fi.
“Furthermore, in an era of global warming, where coal is considered to be among the worst pollutants, and where we should be encouraging nations and individuals alike to reduce their over-reliance on our diminishing supplies of fossil fuel, one lump of coal, per naughty person, per year, adds up to millions of tons being needlessly mined at the expense of the environment.
“My colleague Anita [Anita Sarkeesian runs Feminist Frequency with McIntosh] has suggested that I send the coal to a Swedish company who will expose the nugget to pressures high enough to transform it into a cultured diamond, which I should then give to her.
“Unfortunately I have unable to the reliably establish the provenance of my lump of coal and am completely in the dark in regard to whether it was mined ethically. I could very easily be party to the transformation of a piece of blood coal into a blood diamond, which is worse because diamonds are more valuable.
“I am also uncomfortable with the tradition of men giving diamonds to women as a means of purchasing their lifelong servitude.”
“When I raised these concerns with Anita, she assured me that, on this occasion, she had absolutely no problem with any of it, and that I should give her the diamond, or its equivalent value in newly-minted, non-consecutive dollar bills at my earliest opportunity, so she can travel to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills and spend the money on helping victims of online harassment.”
Santa's list has become a popular target for criticism by commentators from across the political spectrum. Breitbart media popinjay, Milo Yiannopoulos, who, according to sources close to MODE 5, has recently been linked to a lucrative new position as Buzzfeed Social Justice Editor, cites the compilation of the naughty list as one of “the great untold scandals of our modern era:”
“In recent years, the criteria used to determine who has been naughty over the previous 12 months has noticeably shifted in favour of girls. According to figures released by Santa in early 2015, 90% of the names on the list belonged to boys, all of whom received coal, while girls were gifted ponies and Apple products.
“Santa has fallen prey to a vicious streak of institutionalised misandry that has taken root in our culture. He is guilty of holding boys to the same behaviour standards as girls, while failing to take into account the rambunctious nature of the male gender.”
Commenting on McIntosh's unwanted gift of coal, Yiannopoulos said:
“Naturally I would be delighted if Santa chose to give me something hard and black, although frankly anything that will fit comfortably into a stocking will be of little practical use. If Santa would like leave me something big and black on my bed, or, if not there, then bent over one of the soft furnishings, or perhaps waiting for me in the shower...”
At this point the journalist made his apologies and left in a hurry, remarking that there was something that he needed to urgently check on at home...”
Santa Claus claims that the problem with the naughty list is rooted in an inflated and undeserved sense of self-entitlement that has distorted public expectations of what they can reasonably expect at Christmas:
“Not so long ago the letters I received were almost exclusively from children who would typically send me over-optimistic lists of toys that they wanted. I would also get the odd saucy Polaroid from a lonely housewife, often wrapped up in a pair of knickers.
“These days I find myself overwhelmed by correspondence from the likes of Zoe Quinn and her dreadful friends, providing me with the names of people who they demand be added to the naughty list without the usual due process. These people are always demanding things, or trying to wheedle their way in through the back door; they never ask politely.
“Then there is Brianna Wu who appeared on MSNBC yesterday claiming to have fled her home in terror after she was told that I know where she lives and whether she has been naughty or nice. For the record Brianna, your conduct this year has been appalling.
“It's a tough gig being Santa. I am seriously considering following Tim Hunt to Japan.”
A MODE 5 reporter, who approached Feminist Frequency spokesperson Anita Sarkeesian for comment, caught her in the act of deleting records of a visit to SendMeSomeCoalRightNow.com from her internet browser.
“Josh is okay, in a sanctimonious older brother kind of way,” she confided.
“Sometimes it's just fun to fuck with his head.”
Tuesday, 15 December 2015
A 'famous on the internet' blogger and public speaker, allied to the cause of social justice, has confirmed that the year is 2015.
In a panel debate focusing on the issue of harassment in online gaming, Moist Cake Media staff writer, Jonah Hilde, passionately argued: “It's 2015 people!”
Hilde's statement was greeted with applause from the audience and appreciative head nodding on both sides of the panel.
Professor of Ethics, Michael Simms, who was speaking for the opposition, said:
“Hilde's logic is flawless. According to the Gregorian calendar, which is, at present, our best measure of what year it is, we can state with a high degree of confidence that the year is indeed 2015. I am in full agreement with my opponent and can proffer no reliable counter argument, beyond idle speculation that we are all under the influence of powerful mind control tailored to distort our perception of time.”
Hilde supported his initial statement with copies of newspapers purchased on the day of the debate, and with the calender on his iPhone which he showed to members of the audience, asking that they corroborate the date on their own phones and internet compatible devices.
One audience member, who approached our reporter after the debate, breathlessly commented:
“Jonah had the courage to stand up and say what we have all been thinking every time we write down the date: The year is 2015. We, as a people, are present in 2015. We are here in this moment in time, which is the year 2015, just like we were in the year 2014, when the year was 2014. Just like we will be next year, when it will be 2016.”
Frank Essen, organiser of The Battle of Five Ideas event, where the debate took place, noted that, by some freak coincidence, 2015 was the exact number of people crowded into the packed auditorium at the time Hilde put forward his decisive argument.
“Whether Hilde made a lucky guess, or is some kind of idiot savant who can count really fast in his head is open to discussion, but he was right on the money,” he said.
A spokesperson for the Ministry of Clocks, Diaries and After-School Clubs, told MODE 5:
“As of today (15th December) the year is 2015AD. According to our current forecasts it will remain 2015 for a further 18 days, at which point we will likely transition to 2016.”
At the time of going to press the year 2016 was scheduled to begin on January 1st 2016. Although the exact time of the transition has been kept a closely-guarded secret for reasons of security, government sources have told MODE 5 that it will most likely occur at around midnight on December 31st, 2015.
Friday, 11 December 2015
Moments of internet-induced mirth, known as LOLs, are being falsely reported in record numbers according to the Royal Objective Foundation for Laughter (ROFL).
In recent years the abbreviation, LOL, which is derived from an old Norse word, LULZ, meaning 'to laugh at the glorious occasion of one's impending death in battle', has re-entered the common vernacular. It is frequently used by those surfing the internet to indicate that they are laughing out loud, often at an amusing picture of a cat.
The online-based nature of these claims can make them difficult to verify. A problem confirmed in research conducted by ROFL in 2015: The study, which drew its findings from a sample of 1200 Bristol University students, divided into two groups, reported that 98% of cases where a person claimed to have LOLed were without merit, with participants reportedly engaging in a wide variety of other activities at the time they claimed to be laughing out loud.
Max Marcel – Executive Director of ROFL – says: “The cold, hard reality is that when somebody online tells you that they are LOLing hard, you are more likely to find them mired in ennui, slouched unresponsively in the listless monitor glow of a computer screen or tablet device, with one hand crammed down the front of their underwear as they half-heartedly masturbate to furry porn.”
Marcel has spent the past decade studying the evolution of LOLing, which has fallen victim to the irresistible force of online one-upmanship and given rise to extreme variations, including one in which an internet user will claim to be literally rolling around on the floor laughing.
“This almost never happens outside of mid-20th century cartoons populated by anthropomorphic animals. Can you imagine if people really did this every time they found something funny?” he remarks incredulously.
Another claim commonly made by internet users is that they have been caught off-guard by a humorous image or comment, and this has caused them to involuntarily eject a mouthful of coffee, or some other beverage, such as Mountain Dew, over their computer keyboard or monitor. In extreme cases the claimant will suggest that the author of the humorous material now owes them for a replacement keyboard, their current model having been irreparably damaged in the deluge.
These claims have not gone unnoticed by hardware manufacturers, among them Intel who have recently patented a processor that can survive unharmed for 8 hours while submerged in Coca Cola.
Snailshell – an English company specialising in computer peripherals - now employs a team of 70 at its Woking-based quality control division to spit on keyboards prior to shipping.
At the time of writing, an online campaign, aimed at forcing a UK parliamentary debate on the possible inclusion of LOL insurance in the retail price of all technology, has gathered over 84,000 signatures.
The hardware market isn't the only commercial sector paying attention: Cicada Coffee Importers are said to be developing an Internet blend, infused with chemicals that will suppress the laughter response and reduce the risk of sprayed beverages damaging valuable technology.
The mass false-reporting of LOLs has not gone unnoticed by proponents of GamerGate – a consumer movement that campaigns for ethics in gaming journalism, but is already showing signs of expansion into other principle-starved areas. Supporters canvased by MODE 5 expressed an interest in tackling the issue after they “get this social justice warrior bullshit sorted out once and for all.”
One GamerGater, who did not wished to be named, told our reporter:
“I do find it disturbing that people who I trust are probably lying about those occasions when they are laughing out loud. It does lead me to question what else they might be lying about; the role of the Illuminati in 9/11, for example.
“This could easily be resolved if people who claim to have LOLed were required to provide sources, such as a time-stamped video, or a signed witness statement. Those who claim to have damaged hardware as a result of LOLing could be compelled to submit evidence of their claims, such as insurance forms.
“We also need to tackle the escalation in the details of unethical LOL claims, which are becoming increasingly far-fetched. For example, it was once commonplace and entirely believable for a person to say that their sides were aching from laughing too hard. Sadly it is now far more common for such a statement to be laced with hyperbole and assertions that their sides are now in orbit around the earth, or some other celestial body, or have even departed our solar system altogether.
“Website-based ethical LOLing policies would be require internet users to support their outlandish statements with corroborating images taken by space telescopes, and confirmation from NASA, or from other reputable space exploration agencies.”
Marcel fears that those who make frequent use of this modern shorthand for unfettered laughter may be masking their true emotions:
“A person can easily get into the habit of typing 'LOL' when what they really mean is 'MEH' – another old Norse word expressing disappointment that an opponent's axe has missed its mark, and that you will not be be dining with the gods in Valhalla tonight.'”
“You should not take anything that you are told online at face value,” says MODE 5 Mail Sorter, Peter Gungan.
“I was once informed that a wry comment I made on an online bulletin board had won me the internet. When I visited Internet Headquarters, which are apparently located in an MOT centre on an industrial estate, just outside Basildon, and asked to pick up the keys, nobody there had ever heard of me. I am currently pursuing the matter in the courts.”
Thursday, 10 December 2015
Feminist Frequency mascot, Anita Sarkeesian, failed to drop the mic while addressing the United Nations earlier this year, leaving delegates confused and doubtful as to the sincerity of her stance on issues affecting women in videogaming.
The botched conclusion to what should have been a triumphant address occurred during an assembly of the U.N. women's coalition, in September, where the “rising tide of online violence against women and girls” was discussed before the Broadband Commission Working Group on Gender.
Witnesses present at the commission claim that Sarkeesian ended her speech by reading scripted stage instructions out loud off an autocue.
Mobile phone footage has now surfaced showing the half-orc, Feminist Frequency puppet master - Josh 'my name is Jonathan' McIntosh, viewing the debate from a male quarantine area, covering his astonished face with both hands and shaking his head as his prodigy finishes her robotic address with the words:
“Peace out. Mic drop. Exit stage immediately.”
As Sarkeesian remains standing motionless on the platform, still holding the microphone and gazing at the autocue, awaiting further instructions, a ripple of confusion in the audience gives way to scattered applause.
The revelation comes as a further blow to the shop-soiled credibility of the beleaguered Sarkeesian, whose face was recently removed from the Feminist Frequency Twitter account and replaced by a Picasso painting titled – Tampons in Spring – an abstract depicting the used feminine sanitary products of the painter, Marie Laurencin.
Critics and jaded supporters alike have spoken disparagingly of Sarkeesian's tendency to read anything that is put in front of her. In June, 2014, this resulted in an incident at Oberlin College and Conservatory where an alleged software glitch saw her give a deadpan rendition of the classic Doctor Who episode - Genesis of the Daleks to a packed auditorium.
In this case, Sarkeesian's reputation was only saved by a gushing article in the Huffington Post praising her as a modern-day teller of parables, comparing the Daleks to the much-maligned GamerGate movement and their malevolent creator - the crippled genius Davros - to the 8chan administrator – Hotwheelz.
Since its invention in 69BC, by the Roman orator - Cicero, the mic drop has been a powerful weapon in the arsenal of the public speaker: Typically a lecturer will discard the mic directly after finishing their address, before affecting an unhurried exit from the stage, without acknowledging the thunderous applause from the audience. The implication is that the speaker's arguments are so powerful that there is no need for them to hold on to the means to respond to any rebuttal, since there can be no comeback.
Mic dropping is outlawed in most parliaments but is still allowed at the U.N. where attempts to outlaw the practice have been defeated by a powerful voting block headed by Russia.
When MODE 5 attempted to contact Anita Sarkeesian for comment, we were told by a Feminist Frequency spokesperson:
“Anita has gone away forever to live on a nice farm upstate, where there is plenty of space for her to run around and play.”
Monday, 7 December 2015
A shambling, catastrophe of a human being - described by one commentator as the by-product of a hypothetical coupling between an ogre from a book of fantasy art, and an orange-toned member of the perfume counter staff, in a provincial branch of Debenhams department store - has thoroughly traumatised a trio of Christmas ghosts who had been sent to help her become a better person.
The phantom life coaches were part of an intervention organised by friends of the downward-spiralling gaming journalist Leigh Alexander, with one acquaintance describing the unconventional therapy session it as “the final attempt at putting the brakes on this slow-motion train wreck that we've all been watching for years.”
Associates close to Alexander have reported increasingly erratic behaviour from the former Editor at Large of Gamasutra, including but not limited to, episodes of megalomania, delusions, an almost total loss of self-awareness or any sense of personal accountability, and a preponderance towards large-scale acts of self-sabotage that wreak massive collateral upon anyone in her vicinity. One colleague, who asked not to be named, expressed alarm at her “diminishing coordination, wild flailing arms, and flopping, poorly-secured breasts, that leave horrified bystanders uncertain as to whether they are being attacked, or about to be sloppily embraced.”
Nigel Bifford, who took part in the intervention, rose to fame during the 1980s as the original orange ghost in the arcade classic Pac-Man. He now works as Chief Ghost of Christmas Past at Festive Apparition Solutions:
“Our three stage revelation program helps our clients to achieve perspective on their anti-social behaviour by allowing them to observe pivotal moments in their lives from the vantage point of an outsider. But only during December. The rest of the year I work the videogaming convention circuit where I sell autographed photographs of myself for $50.
“In my role as Ghost of Christmas Past, I transported Leigh back to a happier time in her life when she occupied the borderline respectable position of News Editor at Gamasutra. Prior to our journey, I explained that we would be visiting the past as spectators and would therefore be unable to impact on our surroundings. Despite this warning, upon our arrival, Leigh immediately began stomping around the Gamasutra offices, enquiring after the whereabouts of her Male Tears mug, bellowing orders for coffee and wine, boorishly issuing fatwas against people who had upset her on Twitter, and bragging about the double A+ she received in Misandry Studies while at high school.
“When I reiterated that, as observers of the past, we could not be seen, or heard, or invoke any influence upon the events that were unfolding before our eyes, Leigh issued the baffling claim that she was a megaphone who could heard throughout time and space like the voice of god. After this she became louder and more obnoxious than I thought was possible.
“Following her tenth failed attempt to pick up a bottle of Shiraz from her desk, only for her wraith-ish fingers to pass through the green glass, she broke down in tears and asked me whether I thought Mr Big would ever call her back.
“I explained that this was unlikely as Mr Big is a fictional character from Sex in the City. I suppose that she could have meant the preening rock band Mr Big, although I don't imagine they have plans to call her either.
“On the return trip to the present, Leigh made an impulsive passionate lunge at me from which I instinctively recoiled. We spent the remainder of the journey in silence while I mentally composed a report to be filed with human resources.
“After I dropped her off at her home, Leigh said that I had been disrespectful towards her and that she was going to make an example of me. The following day she posted my contact details on Twitter and instructed her followers to tear me apart. When I responded in kind I was contacted by a member of Twitter staff who informed me that I had breached the site's terms of service and who subsequently exorcised my account.”
MODE 5 meets The Ghost of Christmas Present at a branch of Café Rouge and catches him in a surly mood: “I have a brief cameo in the hotel level of Hitman: Contracts,” he tells our reporter “but I expect that you want to talk to me about Leigh Alexander...”
Despite this frosty reception the atmosphere soon thaws over a bowl of Lobster bisque, as he discusses his recent attempts at turning around the perpetually down-sizing career of the troubled gaming journalist:
“Unlike Oprah or Jeremy Kyle who are given carte blanche to break the bad news that you've been a raging dick since birth, in front of a whooping studio audience, festive ghosts are expected to present their client with evidence of their poor behaviour in the hope that this will spark a revelation and a sea change in their outlook on life.
“I began by showing Leigh scenes of staff at Offworld (the website where she occupies the position of Editor in Chief) frantically filling-in job applications during office hours. Later I showed her the same staff members, having relocated to a nearby pub, using a mobile phone app called 'Grand Piano Falls' to plan walking routes to and from work for Leigh, that would take her under the maximum number of pianos being hoisted in and out of high windows on any given day.
“I like to use symbolism in my interventions. To hammer home a point I wanted to make about Offworld's attempts at boosting traffic by piggybacking on tragedies such as mass shootings (a practice known as Quinning) I took Leigh on a weekend break to the African savannah where I showed her a flock of vultures pecking at the carcasses of an antelope and her two calves.
“I swear I looked away for five seconds. When I returned my attention to Leigh, she was making out with one of the older male lions who hadn't been quick enough to slope away with the others. Later I watched incredulously as she openly mocked a group of impoverished boys dressed in ragged clothing, who were attempting to gather water from a filthy polluted stream, referring to them loudly as “hood men.” I was mortified.”
MODE 5 was unable to interview The Ghost of Christmas 2016 due to unforeseen time zone discrepancies. In a statement that turned the hair of our young intern white, he said:
“I took Leigh into the near future, to the backwaters of the internet where her vanity website / internet quarantine chamber - Offworld - has been closed down on Christmas Eve due to a terminal decline in traffic and the site's vocal supporters apparently not caring enough to donate money for its upkeep. Seriously, the blog you kept about your cat - the one that you haven't updated since 2011, and can't even remember the password for, gets more hits.
“The only visitor present at the closure of Offworld is a yahoo webcrawler who Alexander drunkenly accuses of stealing her ludicrous earrings, apparently oblivious to the fact that she is still wearing them.”
The ghosts reported that they were unable to gauge the impact of their visitations upon Alexander due to her inebriated and incoherent condition. However, the following day she tweeted:
“Doxed and harassed by ghosts in my own home telling me I'm a bad person. Have blocked any further hauntings.”
The Ghost of Christmas Past said: “Chaperoning Leigh Alexander was like babysitting a malevolent overgrown toddler with fetal alcohol syndrome. I think I may have developed PTSD.”
When MODE 5 approached Alexander for comment, we discovered her lolling out of a second storey window, waving an almost-empty bottle Advocaat, yelling down into the street: “YOU BOY, WHAT IT DAY IS IT?.. IS... IS IT THURSDAY?
Sunday, 22 November 2015
Friday, 20 November 2015
As web traffic on the Kotaku videogaming blog mimics the unchecked descent of a mountaineer plummeting the length of the Kangshung Face, MODE 5 has uncovered evidence that the site is passing off reviews of boardgames as appraisals of the latest AAA videogame titles.
Editors for the beleaguered weblog were reportedly strong-armed by readers into an embarrassing apology after it was discovered that a Kotaku journalist had been dosed with 800mg of the psychedelic drug mescaline and instructed to review a copy of the traditional tabletop game - Snakes and Ladders - as if it was Assassin's Creed: Syndicate.
The deception, which was quickly spotted by visitors to the site, discusses at length the symbolism implied by the proximity of serpents to “human tools of ascent” and the connotations with the biblical fall. The writer later compares his brain to a 20-sided die that can be rolled by means of a somersault, and references a shadowy tormentor known as 'The Hare' who lurks just beyond the corner of his vision, like something from a shit bottle episode of Doctor Who.
Kotaku reader, Giles Lowe, who visits the site for two hours everyday as part of a mandatory three year community service order, told MODE 5:
“I have gazed into every tedious nook and cranny of the Victorian abyss that is Assassin's Creed: Syndicate and can confirm that, with the exception of a few ladders, very little mentioned in the Kotaku article is actually present in the game. Make no mistake: The Kotaku piece is a review of the board game - Snakes and Ladders, penned by someone who is higher than god's tits on synthetic peyote.”
A statement published on the Kotaku website reads:
“When a preview copy for Assassin's Creed: Syndicate was not forthcoming from Ubisoft we panicked and followed what we thought, at the time, was the only logical course of action: Shovelling hallucinogenics down the throat of one of our barely literate staffwriters, before turning his attention to the only game we haven't already pawned to pay our bandwidth costs.
“In hindsight, by fixating our review of Assassin's Creed on a game of Snakes and Ladders, experienced through the swirling, mind-bending prism of a drug-induced vision quest, we ignored the game that we intended to review but did not own.
“When we did this, we let down the stagnant gene pool of mouth-breathing basement dwellers, who we feel comprises our readership, and whom our writers and editors hold in such lowly contempt. We would like to extend a whithering, half-baked apology to these fucking arseholes.
“During his journey across the astral plane, from which he has not fully returned, our reviewer met the ghost of the former Doors front man, Jim Morrison, and jammed with ex-Toto drummer, Jeff Porcaro. He also encountered the canine spirit guide of the mysticetian anti-harrassment activist, Randi Harper, who had gone into hiding after she dyed his aura blue. He requested that we did not disclose his location, but our silence is not for sale.”
At the time of this article's publication, Kotaku's psychotropic review of Assassin's Creed remains on the website with one minor amendment: Where the original piece repeats the mantra “We are all of one consciousness” 33 times, the edited version reproduces the phrase: “We are better than our readers, who are dead to us.”
Kotaku can take some consolation in the knowledge that they have not quite sunk to the depths of the gaming site VG247, whose editors mistook a tray of roast potatoes for the ending of the upcoming Playstation title: Uncharted 4.
Nonetheless, this latest link in a chain of blunders has come at the end of a difficult year, which has seen the website's editorial staff struggling to escape what one industry insider described as “a bloody great hole of their own making, slowly filling up with piss and shit.”
In an embittered message on Twitter, Kotaku claimed to have been blacklisted by AAA games publishers Bethseda and Ubisoft. This is thought to be in response to the site leaking plot details for Fallout 4 and Assassin's Creed: Syndicate.
Staff at the blog have reported that attempts to contact these publishers and smooth things over have resulted in their calls being redirected to the sales department of the Smith and Owen Global Salt Exporting Company.
“I don't understand it at all,” said Kotaku Editor, Stephen Tortoise. “We are effectively being penalised for being too good at games journalism. It's like we're the ones who are being held accountable for loose-lipped employees from Ubisoft and Bethseda.
“If these companies invested less resources in the games themselves and spent more on security, then leaks of this kind wouldn't happen and Kotaku wouldn't be in the mess it is now.”
Tortoise accepts that re-establishing the former market position of the website is likely to be an uphill struggle. This is despite the universal public high regard for Kotaku's parent company - Gawker Media:
“At the moment it's very hard. Sam Biddle's [Gawker Media's Social Media Relations Guru] insistence that all our problems could be resolved by punching some nerds has resulted in few, if any, real-term gains in site traffic and unique users.
“For a while, earlier this year, our brand was so toxic our writers had to resort to paying teenagers to visit Game Stop and make purchases on our behalf. The store managers have got wise to that now so we can't do it anymore.”
MODE 5 can reveal that the primary source of new games for review by Kotaku is a 14 year old Silver Lake, LA, resident, named Kyle Raffel, who was befriended on the internet by staff writer Nathan Grayson.
“What's so rad about Kyle is that his parents just got divorced and his dad's a hedge fund manager, so he pretty much gets any game or console he asks for!” gushed the widely loathed videogames journalist.
In a Kotaku-sponsored gaming review session attended by MODE 5, Raffel played Fallout 4 for eight consecutive hours while Grayson perched on the edge of his host's racing car bed making notes.
“Kyle doesn't let me play any games but I am allowed to watch as long as I don't distract him with the noise of my pen,” he said.
Our reporter later witnessed Raffel spontaneously driving the protruding knuckle of his right index finger into Grayson's scalp while yelling “BALD EAGLE!”
“I'm alright, its cool,” said Grayson, dazed and blinking back tears as he retreated to the corner of the room, while avoiding the concerned gaze of our reporter.
“Later Douche Nozzle,” said Raffel.
“That's my nickname,” confided Grayson, later. “For a while it was 'Reek.' Now I'm Douche Nozzle.'”
News of Kotaku's diminished circumstances has been warmly greeted with scenes of jubilation on a scale last witnessed at the end of the digitally remastered cinema classic - Star Wars: Return of the Jedi.
Ben K Nobi – a Nigerian prince, turned internet philanthropist – said:
"I felt a great disturbance on the internet, as if millions of gamers had joined together to laugh at the deserved misfortune of Kotaku. I believe something incredible has just happened."
Meanwhile a holy monastic order has vowed to break their 700 year vow of celibacy with a “million monk fap” should Kotaku close down, with the sect's leaders pledging to donate the gallons of spilled semen to sperm banks.
Abbott Graham Foster told MODE 5:
“We will infiltrate secular society with a new generation of monks grown from our blessed seed. But only if Kotaku falls. If the site stays up then we will carry on our solitary life of ice-cold showers, fervent prayer and unrelenting turnip farming.”
Wednesday, 18 November 2015
“The game release schedule
that in Autumn rots with fail and sin
in the summer ripens with sex and win”
~ Sir Francis Bacon (Sonnet to Halo 3)
Far be it from me to disagree with anything that Sir Francis Bacon ever said or wrote, but fuck him. Seriously.
As a gamer I love the Autumn.
I love waking up to find my Xbox buried underneath a pile of freshly fallen leaves.
I like nothing more than to marvel at a dewy sheet of spider web, clinging to the thumb-sticks of my games controller, like an exotic, gauzy fabric, woven from diamonds.
Who doesn't enjoy travelling backwards in time to the Autumn of 1990 to play Conker Champion 2000 on an Atari Lynx handheld, with three of their best mates?
I love the smell of defective Xbox 360s that, around this time of year, seem to stain the air with the odour of acrid bonfire smoke.
I yearn to play the limited, polonium-infused, edition of Fallout 4, swaddled in my red woollen gloves, thick winter coat, and hand-knitted scarf, while an Ella Fitzgerald Christmas album plays quietly in the background.
I want to gaze upon the Master Chief's armour as it slowly turns from green, to flaming orange, to dull matt brown, before falling off in pieces.
Under the darkening shadows of Mordor, I long to playfully push the biggest orc I can find up against the nearest tree trunk. Then repeatedly press 'X' to passionately make out with the orc, our hot breath condensing in the cold air around our gently interlocking mouths.
I hunger for the dark evenings when the orc and I will toast marshmallows around an over-clocking PC with a broken fan.
I love watching as the fervent decay of Autumn gives way to the stillness of winter; the trees shedding the last of their summer foliage, as inevitable as Assassin's Creed: Syndicate losing its graphical textures.
It is November and, regardless of what Sir Francis Bacon might say, there is no better time to be a gamer.
Friday, 6 November 2015
(SATIRE) Two days after a leading supporter of GamerGate is attacked by a spider in his own home, MODE 5 asks: Is any gamer safe?
|When a software update switches your Xbox One to 'Giant Spider Mode'|
A lost generation of radicalised spiders, schooled in the tenets of social justice theory, may have just declared war on GamerGate.
MODE 5 has received information indicating that spiders harbouring extremist social justice ideologies, that previously had been confined to university campuses, are now leaving these academic safe spaces and infiltrating wider society.
The news comes in the wake of an apparent assassination attempt by a spider on the life of the vocal GamerGate supporter and Breitbart gadfly, Milo Yiannopoulos.
In the aftermath of the attack, Yiannopoulos took to YouTube, showing off his swollen, spider-bitten arm and boasting that he would “never die.” In a dignified three-hour speech, during which he declined hospital treatment, he called upon gamers to take up arms against spiders, performed a delirious A cappella medley of Mariah Carey songs, which included the “underrated” Triumphant (Get 'Em), and issued a tearful apology to someone called Ethel.
Yiannopoulos also confirmed that there were spiders “literally coming out of the walls and swarming all over my face,” although these were not visible in the webcam footage.
MODE 5 Deputy Intern, 'Kevin', who stayed up all night watching the live-stream said:
“It has not yet been established whether the spider who attacked Milo Yiannopoulos was working independently, or was part of a coordinated operation. Police have, so far, not confirmed whether a telephone warning was given prior to the attack.”
In response to an enquiry from MODE 5, Breitbart reported that all of its staff who had worked on GamerGate-related articles had been moved to safe houses while the threat to their lives is being assessed.
The spokesperson for the news website added:
“This is a place of serious business. Who are you and why do you keeping contacting us?”
Self-taught Security Expert - Nigel 'the Nige' Badstoke, who sells nunchucks, and other martial arts weaponry, out of a sports holdall, in a variety of rough, south London pubs, says that the attack raises some disturbing home truths:
“The spider managed to enter a gated community and bypass Yiannopoulos's own security measures. It injected a lethal dose of venom into its target and then escaped undetected. That alone should send a chill down the spine of any gamer.
“As far as home defence is concerned, the heyday of print media provided ample material that could be rolled-up at a moment's notice and deployed as an improvised spider deterrent.
“In the grey age of digital clickbait there are less and less objects lying around the home that can be used against spiders. Those who fall victim to spider attacks are often unwilling to risk damaging expensive technology by using smartphones, E readers, and tablet PCs as makeshift cudgels. I would advise any gamer who is concerned for their personal safety to contact me at The Queens Head off Morden Common and quote 'gamergate' for a 5% discount.”
Brigadier Colin Newbolt is employed in an advisory role by the European Spider Crimes Task Force. He says that he is not surprised by the attack:
“We are on the brink of a sea-change in gamer/spider relations.
“Until recently spiders were content to focus their attentions on wandering hobbits, or have forest goblins ride around on their backs, but generally distanced themselves from human affairs.
“We are now seeing the rise of a radicalised spider who regards human beings as problematic and doesn't give a fuck about anything.
“While GamerGate could conceivably win a ground war against the arachnids, the casualties on both sides would be enormous, on a scale comparable with the Second World War.”
With the threat of further hostilities overshadowing the videogaming community, global markets have reported a massive surge in sales of replica weapons from popular sci-fi and fantasy films and television, as gamers ready to defend themselves the only way they know how. A replica energy sword, claimed by its manufacturer to have originated from a Halo/Star Wars crossover universe, has become an international best seller after it was re-marketed as a first line of defence against spider attacks.
Other gamers remain sceptical that such weapons act as a true deterrent:
“My Longclaw replica - the sword Jon Snow uses in Game of Thrones - is absolutely covered in cobwebs. It's like the spiders are laughing at me,” says Jeremy Squire. “Last year I took it to a blacksmith to confirm that it had been forged from genuine Valyrian steel. He looked at me like I was an idiot.”
Internet traffic analysts have also identified an increase in online scams offering magical protection from spiders and spider-repelling penis ointments.
“I heard that if you press the buttons on your PS4 game controller in a certain order, it will unlock a cheat code that neutralises spider venom,” says Sheila Meynell. “I am 89% sure that it's just an urban myth, or a ploy by Sony to sell more PS4s.”
Fears that spiders fighting for social justice might have allied themselves with human sympathisers (described by many as a nightmare scenario) have been quashed by a comment made on an online forum by a former Feminist Frequency employee:
“The last time Jon McIntosh saw a spider he stood on a chair shrieking until Anita gathered it up in her talon and returned it to one of her larval sacs.”
With no further attacks having been reported since the thwarted attempt upon the life of Milo Yiannopoulos, an uneasy calm has settled over the gamer community.
John Zoffany - owner of the independent video and tabletop games store - Game Dungeon – said:
“When I see a spider in my shop I am happy that they are an active participant in the great hobby that is gaming. If they bite a customer, or ask me where they can find Battletoads, they will have to leave.”
Saturday, 31 October 2015
The wilful daughter of landed aristocracy, Anita Sarkeesian was fated to endure boundless emotional torment, rained down upon her trim, corseted figure by her authoritarian stepfather.
The stern patriarch had grown tired of his rebellious ward's censorious condemnation of the card game 'whist'. Of particular irritation was her observation that the under-represented female characters in the game had all been predictably cast in the stereotypical role of Queen. He was furthermore greatly vexed by her insistence that there was no earthly reason why cards such as the Five of Diamonds, or (more scandalously) the Nine of Clubs couldn't also be female.
Hoping to put an end to the young girl's dangerous socially progressive leanings, the elder Sarkeesian commanded that she publicly debate her wayward opinions with Nigel Shirlicker – the ruggedly handsome swain of the Norfolk Shirlickers - who held strong opposing views upon this very matter.
When Anita heard that her sentiments were to be challenged as part of structured discussion she felt both devastated and harassed. To avoid the dreadful fate that awaited her the tearful maiden cut off her own head with a pair of garden shears.
Her apparition is said to roam the fens of Lower Glossop, judgmentally bleeding from her neck stump over anything that she finds problematic. Those who have encountered the shade, and survived with their sanity, claim that she can be temporarily banished by stuffing her spurting carotid arteries with money.
A local prophecy states that he (the prophecy is unfortunately rather sexist) who is able to toss a pair of gold hoop earrings over 'Skullkeesian's neck will dispel her from the earthly plane forever.
“I have no idea why people refer to her Skullkeesian,” said leading Ghostologist Donald Holmes, when asked by a MODE 5 reporter. “She has no head. It makes absolutely no fucking sense.”
Gazing disconsolately into the contents of a milk churn, while contemplating one's lot as a simple dairy farmer, one might, perchance, spy a curdled face trapped beneath the surface staring back, its fixed expression one of unfocused terror, as if perpetually startled by its own improbable existence.
Those who choose to linger upon this gloomy vision will perhaps witness an arm rising from the liquid and a clingy hand, cold like the grave, fastening itself around living flesh, as the tremoring mouth of the wretched, whey-faced entity forms the following the words:
“How terrified I am of you.”
Ghostologist, Donald Holmes, explains:
“Once the etheric parasite that is Brianna WooOOOOO! has escaped from its milk churn it will latch onto a set of victims, usually a family, and attempt to position itself at the centre of any drama, most of which will be of her own creation.
“Frequently she will boast of writing a damning condemnation of her hosts scrawled in blood on a post-it note, which she plans to transfer, on a larger scale, to one of the walls in the master bedroom. Householders shouldn't be too alarmed as this will almost certainly never happen.
Dairy farmer, Andrew Hartley, and his family have been haunted by Brianna WooOOOOO! For three years:
“This morning over breakfast Brianna informed me that every female living under my roof was terrified of me.
“Having consulted with my wife and my two teenage daughters it would appear that, far from being terrified, they regard me as a source of easy money and feel that I present very little threat to them.”
“When Brianna gets too overbearing I toss her some loose change, at which point she retreats into a corner and sulkily counts it into small piles.”
“The chilling reality is that Brianna WooOOOOO! may not even be the final form of this milk-obsessed, pan-dimensional parasite,” says Holmes. “I think it wants to be Batman or Samus Aran from the Metroid saga.”
When a fistful of coke-dusted sequins, scattered from the sunroof of a pink limousine by a Liza Minnelli impersonator, wrapped themselves around the dying wish of Elton John's most preening, flamboyant toucan, Undead Milo was born.
Undead Milo is a self-haunting apparition who wears sunglasses indoors, allegedly to shield his eyes from the glare of his own fabulousness.
Graham Knotts of the Pitsea-based recycling firm – Sunflower – said:
“I can confirm that Undead Milo manifested at our after-works drinks one evening, holding court for an hour, while ordering a succession of suggestively-named cocktails, before disappearing into the night with my Nigerian line manager"
Folk tales whispered by nannies to children of the landed gentry speak of the Bokhari – a unerring polite, but mischievous spirit.
According to legend, the Bokhari will arrive at the door of your stately home slightly later than expected, but well-spoken and impeccably turned out. Having been granted entry it will resolve a long-standing technical issue you have been having with one of your ethernet ports. After you have retired to bed it will shave the Triforce symbol from the Legend of Zelda saga into your croquet lawn before quietly departing.
The following morning you will receive a letter from the Bokhari penned in green ink, graciously thanking you for your hospitality. The letter will conclude with the disjointed sentences seguing, somewhat convolutedly, into the lyrics to the theme from the hit American sitcom - The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.
Famed online as the woman who doxed Cthulhu, Harpy moved in with the monstrous cosmic entity in 2013.
“She brought some nice cushions that contrasted well with the non-euclidean geometry of the underwater city of R'lyeh, where I have slumbered for millennia,” said the squid-headed harbinger of the apocalypse.
“One morning I was rudely awakened by police officers who informed me they were answering a report of domestic violence at this address. I was later evicted from my home by court order. The sunken city of R'lyeh occupies a desirable rent-controlled area of the South Pacific. I believe that it was always Harpy's intent to oust me from it, so that she could have the place for herself.
“Everything that she touches is sullied by her compulsion to impose herself upon it. I once walked in on her greedily devouring a whole unicorn. Frankly it's a bit too much, even for me.”
Leading Ghostolglist, Donald Holmes, has studied Harpy through a powerful underwater telescope:
“Apparently Harpy is CEO of an organisation called the Online Abuse Prevention Initiative (OAPI). As you can imagine I deal with some fairly outlandish assertions on a daily basis yet, while I occasionally find evidence of ghostlike entities, even I find claims of the existence of OAPI to be far-fetched.”
She who literally cannot be named
Regrettably MODE 5 cannot invoke the true name of this shambling horror, whose faded tones bear the colours of the rainbows from which she derives her sustenance, without subjecting ourselves to aggressive legal action from her legal team.
Suffice to say that this malevolent entity seeks to bring about the subjugation of all living things, while expending the minimum amount of effort.
Occult student Anil Tarleton said: “She who literally cannot be named has achieved very little under her own limited powers.
“It would appear that she owes her ascension into the pantheon of Outer Gods to a succession of friendships and torrid romantic entanglements with various Great Old Ones and other cosmic horrors, dispensing with their services as soon as they are no longer of any further use to her.”
Tarleton's claims are substantiated by one of She who literally cannot be named's former boyfriends – the Outer God Yog Sothoth, who was once known as “the gate, the key and guardian of the gate” but who recently described himself as “the guardian of not much of anything these days.”
When MODE 5 approached the cult of Yog Sothoth for additional information on the couple's relationship, we were told:
This Scottish troll, slathered in the soiled plaid of his former clan, conceals himself beneath the beds of children, emerging after dark to ransack their closets for problematic toys and games, and replacing them with Noam Chomsky action figures.
Another contemporary folk devil who allegedly preys upon the joy of small children.
An urban legend speaks of parents receiving a phone call from the Nyberg, who regales them with salacious commentary on the underwear choices of a prepubescent female cousin.
When the police finally trace the call, the couple are horrified to discover that it is coming from inside the bedroom of their eight year old daughter!
The story generally ends in pathos, with the handcuffed Nyberg claiming Edgelord status, which grants it immunity from prosecution, and the traumatised family being given an informative leaflet on how to make their home more secure from burglars and other predators.
At the tail-end of any zombie mass-migration you are likely to find its root cause:
Banshee Alexander was pickled in brandy for three days before rising from the dead. A former hot mess, now downgraded to 'just a mess' she is commonly witnessed dressed in loose-fitting clothing that barely contains her flopping breasts, drunkenly cavorting among predominately male zombie gatherings, flinging her arms around the swaying, mouldering corpses and announcing that they “should all go to Vegas together”.
Zombie Studies Student, Jim Robinson, says:
“Banshee Alexander demonstrates significantly less coordination and control over her flailing limbs and bodily functions than the majority of her undead counterparts.
“You can tell that the zombies are really uncomfortable being around her by the manner in which they constantly shuffle away every time she breaks into a raucous chorus of Nickelback's Rockstar.
“I've even seen her lift wallets out of the pockets of zombies and remove all the cash before replacing them. It's obvious from their body language and facial expressions that the zombies don't want to pay for another round of vodka shots, but they lack the vocal chords to say 'No'”
Yes, this means you.
You are in fact dead.
I am sorry to be the one to break the bad news. We were hoping that M Night Shyamalan might oblige, but even he found the eventual twist too insultingly obvious.
I can prove using the internet that, as a gamer, you have died on many occasions over the course of the previous year.
Yet no matter how many times your demise is reported in the media, you rise once more from the dead.
As long as you keep getting up, the people who fear you can have no power over you, and they cannot harm you.
Now go forth into the night my terrors. Go forth I say!