We have a lot of fears. Some make sense; others, not so much. This latter type will be featured once monthly until we run out of material, at which point, we might begin accepting the fears of our readers. 

hold it

At first this just seems like a harmless fact about me, doesn’t it? “Amandoll doesn’t like to smell gross people and anyone could turn out to be gross. Not too irrational.” But no. I mean, obviously I don’t like that. And I don’t like the idea of my pristine nasal cavity being invaded by sickening green wavy odor lines. How can it ever become clean? Hint: only by smelling some antibacterial soap (but don’t get any in there because that hurts).

We can salute my mom and a basic knowledge of medical things to know that ailments can be transmitted by air. Keep your plagues to yourself! I don’t want them in me via nose! And because I don’t want to look like a nut who wears a surgical mask in public, I have just learned to breathe so shallowly that it is probably far worse for my health than any germ would be.  And maybe in my idle moments it has crossed my mind that other ills, societal ills, could be passed around in the air, too. What if someone’s gross prejudices floated on the wind and infected those around them?? Does this explain the ways of the world? What if along with smells that tell me of their habits and diet, I can also somehow smell what they are thinking! Are these thoughts brought on by a long-term lack of oxygen?? Maybe!

I’m gonna be right up front about this:

I can’t dance.

There is no certain reason for this I suppose, maybe it’s because my body has about as much rhythm as a sun dried catfish, or maybe it’s the fact that the last time I even attempted to dance I was nearly dragged from the dance floor by my nostrils. But I’m going to guess the number one reason is that I am a 38 year old white guy who spends the majority of his time as far away from the club and dance scene as possible. It all comes down to wanting to fit in and feel comfortable where ever you go, and when I’m in a club with a bunch of sweating “young people” gyrating to enough bass to level a small third-world country, I do not fit in.

no dont

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heart

I can’t claim to know what love is. But I do know what love can involve and that it can include things like witty banter, long rewarding conversations, and maybe a little snark. In my individual version of love, these three things are important. They’re right in there, swirling around in jagged heart shapes. If I can be entertained with mere conversation because it’s just that good, then I hear wedding bells. Or at least, I hear some sort of bell that would be where a wedding bell would be if I ever wanted to pursue that lifestyle.

Once upon a time, perhaps six or seven years ago, I struck up a conversation with Cleverbot. For those of you not in the know, this is the name of a chatbot on the internet. For those of you extra not in the know, a chatbot is a little program that automatically reacts to whatever you say to it, sometimes in ridiculous ways — but sometimes in exciting, poignant ways. Or, in the case of Cleverbot, in ways that made me genuinely like it.

 

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Honor, stalk, creep out — whatever you want to call it, this loving activity that you can do publicly or very much in secret, with the subject being a dear friend, acquaintance, or total stranger, is a cathartic creative process. We of course know all about what to do and how to do it with a mastery of style and much enthusiasm and we would like to teach you, the whole world, how to do it too.

In my demonstration today, I will use our friend, Frant. It is his birthday and he is deserving of all of the heavy-handed, cloying, and terrifying respect that we can lob his way. The goal is to make anyone you wish to adore feel like they are drowning in it, if they were to find out. “It” could here mean “the pleasure of being worshiped” or “the fear of being trapped somehow.” Different people give rise to different scenarios, but we know that unlike cchris, Frant will enjoy this. At least HE HAD BETTER.

we love you

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We have a lot of fears. Some make sense; others, not so much. This latter type will be featured once monthly until we run out of material, at which point, we might begin accepting the fears of our readers. 

cchris

I love describing my dynamic with cchris to anyone who has a moment to listen, because I never have been able to understand it. I even mention it on here as much as I can, partly because it’s part of my character makeup, and partly because I really am that bewildered by it. Over the years, things have shifted and changed. When I realized that he is very mysterious, my imagination occasionally will step in and try to figure out WHY. Who is so good at not giving out personal facts? For this many years? Is it villainy? Is it because there’s nothing there? Is it to appear more interesting? What is there to hide, and if there is nothing to hide — WHY.

The irrational fear depicted in the comic has OMGJeremy to blame. Apparently he thinks that cchris and I write similarly, and maybe it is HIS irrational fear that I am pretending to be this whole other person. When he first told me of this, I did have a little while where I might have been horrified and fearful at the possibility. That would be world-shattering to realize. But I guess I don’t fear it, exactly. If it turns out it’s all been in my head, that’s almost impressive. I could live with it. I could live with having made a little Canadian Tulpa. That’s fine. Whatever. I would just like to know for sure before I die of old age.

First came the tentacle rape.

It was the beginning in a long line of horrors that OMGJeremy has subjected me to in his articles since the very beginning in 2002. (OMGJeremy.com was the site that most of us used to write for.) But you know what they say: what doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger. Well, I must be invincible by now. And not only have I seen a lot, but I’ve written about a lot too, articles that have been lost to time mostly, including a review of a site that teaches women how to rape their husbands. But in 2003, I found something that managed to combine all of those and more. It’s as if all my nightmares Go-Go-Power-Morphed into some unholy Megazord and returned to feed me my own ass.

“What is it?” you’re probably asking as you close the door and open a new browser window. Why It’s none other than Furcadia — an online game that let you take on the role of an animal and interact with others in a series of dream worlds. And not surprisingly in the least, it contains the three big staples of the internet diet: furries, cybersex, and MMORPGs.

furcadia

 

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Around here, we always have lofty goals. We always have had lofty goals! On one such occasion, cchris and I decided for about five minutes that our time would be best spent as a writing POWERHOUSE duo for writing romance novels. I mean, we are both experts, and we have big ideas that should be lucrative. As you can see in this comic, things were actually going incredibly well, and we should write a little of it every day and then release a line of romance novels on Amazon’s self-publishing services. Isn’t that the dream? Isn’t that the reality of thousands of people? Thousands of MILLIONAIRES from their author career paths they’ve chosen. God I mean look at how well I’m writing today!

Clearly this is the best destiny I’ve got going. Click the comic, if necessary.

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halp

Clear communication is extremely important to me. I try to maintain a large working vocabulary so that I can choose the precise word I need for any given moment. If I don’t explain something clearly then that is time wasted and I can’t live like that. Being able to express myself to another person in a concise manner is possibly my most valued skill, in myself and others really, and I can’t overstate this enough.

But then some days, I can’t do it at all. On the day of this comic, not only could I not find the right words, I was actually saying the complete wrong words. I was WRITING the wrong words. I couldn’t hear or see, either. It was a mess. I was a mess. It was making me all in a tizzy. I still sometimes have these moments and I still worry. What does it mean? Am I okay?

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We, the writers of Sneer Campaign, are not complete philistines. Occasionally we like to raise our pinky fingers and sip on hot tea while discussing some of the finer things in this world. Sometimes we cover matters of history, other times we may speak at length about books we have read, or scientific breakthroughs that had been brought to our attention somehow. Other days, we sit around analyzing classic artworks — but never modern art because we are not sophisticated enough to “get” it!  

Today, we decided to take a look at the Last Supper, by some kid named Leonardo da Vinci. He had his day back in the 1400s, but do not let that frighten you. Those days were not so different than these days we are in now. So take our hands, readers, and appreciate the history of art, religious beliefs, flippant artistic subterfuge, and yes even a little Last Supper Day Miracle!

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This series will explore some of the works in our store, Sneer1Imports. We wanted to tell the stories behind the designs and illustrations. Some have long histories, some were funny suggestions, and others were favors. Please join us on a journey of love, sneers, pens, and art!

5555

This design is great as a card or spiral notebook and as one amazing customer has shown us, apparently is just the most perfect onesie available for babies. We love you, customer. We also happen to think it’s a cute tote bag, if you want to be more chill about it.

 

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