The mysterious moniker of a secretive team of Everythingites known only as Noders Who Care.

Recently, said group went on a shopping and mailing spree to several of E2's more illustrious (and psychologically unsound) users--all received a set of Personal Triumph Subliminal Audio Cassettes. Each, of course, tailored to that user's particular malady.

An index card within mine read

"Dem Bones

We only want the best for you.

-Noders Who Care"

Now...where is Juliet's copy of "How to get Glitterglam out of the carpet"?

This afternoon I decided to give my tape a listen on the porch. I rolled up a fat one and smoked it down--just slurping up the delicious, subliminal psyche-talk. To be fair, I stabbed out the jay before I'd finished it--but that is my habit.
I don't like small jays.

Think I'll have a cigarette...

Sayeth the index card:


We hope your summer improves!

And, feel free to share
with your roommate come fall.

Serenity now! Pow!"

My first thought: Yay, presents!

My second thought: Wait a minute, could this be some kind of diabolical mind-control plot involving brainwashing Everything's Best Users subliminally, with the ultimate goal of wresting power and XP from their rightful hands?!?

My third thought: Nah.

I've only given my home address to two noders, but handwriting comparison seems to rule those two out. Basic deduction seems to indicate an certain pig-tailed disc jockey as likely culprit, however...

Yay! i got mail too! that must mean i'm somebody. It was tucked under the phone bills and magazine subscription solicitations by a new housemate who has(had) yet to learn my "other" name. She knows it now!

The tape: Taming your Anger. The insert (index card, apparently S.O.P.), read:

Down, iDEATH, Down!
..because we're a little scared!
- Noders Who Care

Ooooh! when i get my talons on those little smart-alecks, they'll - well, they did send me mail. I guess i'll be nice.

I was a bit curious as to the contents of the fat package. Someone spent $1.60 on postage ensuring that it got to me, so whatever it was, it would be a humdinger, right?

(rip rip tear)

Hm. "Relief from Pain" Personal Triumph subliminal audio cassettes. My roommates, unaware of Everything's new incarnation as a group therapy forum, gave me strange looks. Surely this was some sort of joke... ah, an attached message. This should clear things up:




Unconvinced by the deadpan delivery, I held out. Perhaps this is clever packaging for a mix tape. Maybe someone has recorded a secret message for me on top of these cassettes.

If it is clever or secret, it has thus far been too clever and secret for my cunning vulpine nature to penetrate. I popped the first tape in my stereo before going to sleep the first night I recieved it, back near the creation date of this node. It seemed straightforward enough, though some of the messages ("I will only spend my time in the company of people who are happy and successful") I found more than a little creepy.

Despite expecting to wake up in the middle of the night bawling, it doesn't seem to have had any discernible effects. There remains nothing more to life than pain, not even food. Well, maybe painful food. And of course the pain of not having enough food. Still, these all fall under the category of pain. THE PAIN WHICH IS THE SOLE CONSTITUANT OF LIFE! Spinoza was right, with a spin. We are all merely modes of attributes of God's constant entropic agony.

If I can figure out what I did with it, perhaps I'll fire up tape two tonight. Thank you, NWC, whoever you are, for injecting a little mystery into an otherwise utterly predictable life 8)

You're welcome. Really, it was our pleasure.

This is not the last you'll see of NWC!

I don't know whether to thank someone or tell someone to kiss my butt.

Today, in my mailbox, there sat a rather large package. I was almost afraid to open it. It said it came from NWC, and I thought that was probably some business I deal with and had just forgotten their name.

The package contained a box of Uncle Sam Cereal. Well, that's nice. Cereal is nice. But in a huge font, right on the front of the box, underlined in red, is this:

A Natural Laxative

I appreciate the thought, but I'll have you so-called "noders who care" know that a twelve-pack of Busch beer a night keeps me quite regular. Quite regular, indeed. . . . Sheeesh.

Son of a gun, POOPFLAKES!

I got the same treat dannye got, but was considerably more charmed by the gesture. You know you're in for a taste sensation when cereal has joggers on the box.

Uncle Sam Flakes do indeed proclaim their poop-enhancing qualities right on the front of the box. It's all in the FLAX, which provides the eater (me) with 2000 mg of omega-3 fatty acids per serving. I don't know how many mgs I actually need, but this sounds impressive.

Crunchiness: Excellent. "Toasted to a crackly crunch."

Taste: Odd. Kind of . . . raw, unprocessed, like something you might yank out of a field and chew on. "Whole grain wheat flakes" sounds innocuous enough, but, simply put, these are not delicious. However I will of course be consuming said box of cereal in its entirety, out of gratitude for the gift. Plus I want to see how much more it makes me poop.

Odor: The fact that I even have to bring this up should tell you it is not pleasing.

Flax-ness: Negligible. The flax seeds "Uncle Sam" is rumored to contain have not revealed themselves, even after rooting around halfway down the bag. This probably means the bottom fourth is pure flax seeds. Will be sure to report on bowel status that day.

Cheers and thank you to the hooligans who sent this. It's sweet that you care, even if anonymously and from afar. Of course, admit your identity and I will send cookies beyond your tamest dreams. Flax-free on request.

Okay, so I never really noticed before, but the return address on this mysterious, and vaguely disturbing, package has, as its top line, NWC.

What was in the package, you ask? Why, none other than a so-called Personal Triumph Subliminal Audio Cassette, which purports to be able to improve my performance in sports, make me go faster, higher, stronger, get more out of my practice time... you name it.

So I listen to it. And indeed, for a week or two, I get more out of my practice time for Ultimate. But, along with this improvement, I get these strange urges... I would be happily sawing away at this pile of firewood when suddenly... "must node more"... "experiencing e2 withdrawal"... "send dem bones money"... yes, there were definitely voices in my head. I can draw no other conclusion than that NWC is actually a cabal of godusergroup entities looking to surreptitiously fund EDC, and their drug habits.

God help us all.

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