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~*calypso feverdreams*~

thick air, damp. 33 degrees.

i am ruminating on the acerbic nature of a pineapple from a hammock. it appears we are alike in spirit. the piercing aftertaste; stringy, imperceptible fibres. yet a beacon of surprise and celebration.

who doesn't love a surprise – it is afterall the best emotion.

sweet & sour, a mouthwash of paradox; gargled lovingly by an absurdist gullet just thankful to be nourished at all. imagine a pineappple trying to blend in amongst apples and oranges. what is the point? be a pineapple. let your prickles fester, your wild hair bloom, and offer fully the delicious nectar to those who persist with your fickle exterior.

meanwhile, i blink absentmindedly at another display of latent scum ineptitude. do they even try any more? their buzzwords and mealy-mouth imitations of transparency. you cannot fake this any more. this isn't 2008.

a sip from a hollowed out coconut. god, these are unreal. divine nectar. the fruit of a thousand uses as some locals say.

"another one barkeep!"

too scummy to be scum?: pffft what does even mean. you lazy reader! grow a spine and make a real call!

several ISO's, and wagon combinatoric assessments i transcribe to the data base.



a bulbous coco-concoction, tropical umbrella, and lord knows how much rum is placed nearby. the waiter can sense i am hot on the trail of a mischievous scumbag in the virtual towns i bravely protect. confused, he asks me about WIFOM.

i give him a real life simulation using two coconuts. i tell him to close his his eyes, and i spit in one. now, open! one of these coconuts is yours. one is mine. i have spat in one, and now we must drink. am i the sort of person to place the tarnished coconut directly in front of you, assuming you'd switch or vice-versa.

he seems bemused by this game, and wanders off to wipe down tables. no matter. I spat in neither in any case, but am annoyed at another refusal to take on the challenge. i happily accept the extra coconut now in my possession. oh sweet, nectar!

today's coco-use; nourishment fuelling a deep-dive of data-collection. Shortburst-Multiposting and How Frequently Players Deviate From Their Baseline as Scum. an algorithm must be built to collect a useful enough sample size. timing tells essentially. lets back up the intuition with numbers, though.


"another piña colada, barkeep! – on the double!"

a warm afternoon breeze attempts to communicate to me in a mysterious tongue. it is damp and playful. i attempt to absorb the message via osmisis. no dice! my mind drifts back to pineapples;

a banquet of tropicana-themed allusions. then suddenly, a catchphrase; “highly specific, you'll find i'm terrific”, catches in the thistles straddling the conscious from the subconscious. so often, i harvest my insights from this strategically laid spiderweb. perhaps things too deep cannot be caught, and things too shallow aren't worth catching. these nets i have are fine, i surmise. they serve me well.


a deadline posting blitz; i hammer scum, sun kissed, in a rum-humbled haze.

town wins again.