Secrets of the admins of a right-wing memes page

[Gyro]

Accept Dendi's offer. Also, while you're here, go grab those vials of white powder you turned up earlier. They will come in handy later. Boots: Rather than stuffing Dendi into a dumbwaiter like some kind of plebian, we're going to wrap him in clingfilm - do you still have any in your inventory? Make way to Dendi's suite by saunter-crawling confidently along the ceiling, as that is the fashionable way to walk among Trump acolytes.

Levi: Inquire as to the location of PewDiePie's suite, and then attempt to seduce him with your 9 charisma and draconic wiles.


I've listened to literally hundreds of episodes of The FPlus and I never knew Boots was a horrifying blood-sucking lizardman. Huh.

[Zekka]

Accept Dendi's offer. Also, while you're here, go grab those vials of white powder you turned up earlier. They will come in handy later. Boots: Rather than stuffing Dendi into a dumbwaiter like some kind of plebian, we're going to wrap him in clingfilm - do you still have any in your inventory? Make way to Dendi's suite by saunter-crawling confidently along the ceiling, as that is the fashionable way to walk among Trump acolytes.

Levi: Inquire as to the location of PewDiePie's suite, and then attempt to seduce him with your 9 charisma and draconic wiles.


I've listened to literally hundreds of episodes of The FPlus and I never knew Boots was a horrifying blood-sucking lizardman. Huh.

OK! Let's take these one by one.

Inquire as to the location of PewDiePie's suite, and then attempt to seduce him with your 9 charisma and draconic wiles.

OK!
Do you know where PewDiePie's suite is?
We usually book performers in the executive suites, on the sixth and seventh floor. Most of those are full right now, but if he's a top-billed performer, there's a pretty good chance we made space. Probably by bumping someone to the fifth floor.
What happens to the people you bump?
Usually we take someone who already reserved a room and hasn't arrived yet, then comp them free meals and two adjacent rooms right underneath instead. They usually don't know they've been downgraded -- but in terms of floor space and service, it's actually an upgrade. If you ask me. They even get to use an executive suite card.
Do those cards still function?
They'll get you into the associated seventh-or-sixth floor room. I tell you what. You didn't hear this from me. If you want to get into PewDiePie's suite, maybe you'd better knock door to door on the fifth floor, see who was bumped, and see if you can get their key.







I'll spare you the sidequest. Levi gets the key and emerges triumphant on the sixth floor. After trying every door exactly one opens.



His lungs jitter and seize.

Also, while you're here, go grab those vials of white powder you turned up earlier.

Not a problem. Boots didn't really bring a backpack, nor has he found a usable container, so he slides all three into his left ear. Unfortunately. this screws a little bit with his ability to perceive sounds directionally, so he takes one out and slides it into the other ear. Directional sound still not working. So he takes one more out and hands it to Dendi. Directional sound restored.

Maybe you want this.
Is this from behind the bar?
Yeah.
Then this is performance-enhancing. Cool. But if you're going to play Dota, you'll probably need this more than I will.

He takes it, though, after Boots tells him he has two of them.

Accept Dendi's offer.

Are you going to give me your key?
No, I can't do that, but I can give you my copy of the ESEX key. I'm guessing you can get to my room from there by jumping balconies, since they're adjacent, outward-facing, and both on the seventh floor.
Sorry. It's not like I don't want to help you. But we're doing equipment roll call in a few minutes and I'm going to be expected to fetch some mice and keyboards out of my room. I think the best way to do this is like this, actually. I'm going to be on my second pass about a half-hour in to get some CPUs -- they're heavy, and I'll wait around, and you just have to --

Make way to Dendi's suite by saunter-crawling confidently along the ceiling, as that is the fashionable way to walk among Trump acolytes.

I'm probably not going to have to jump.
Can you leave a window unlocked?
It sounds like there's a lot of common ground between your plan and my plan. Do you need anything brought up to the room?

Rather than stuffing Dendi into a dumbwaiter like some kind of plebian, we're going to wrap him in clingfilm - do you still have any in your inventory?

How long do you have before you're going up there?
Less than an hour.
Go to the restaurant and order some cheesecake or something. Then say you're not hungry -- don't finish your plate. Make them wrap it in clingfilm. No matter what, it's not enough clingfilm. Get mad and say they're not doing it right. Convince them to let you have the clingfilm.
That sounds conspicuous.
Try saying "please."
I'll get you your clingfilm.

Boots scratches his ear and looks longingly at the shaker.

Also, can you pick up some candy cigs?
I don't think they have that here. But there's tiramisu at the restaurant. That's good.
Well, what I could really use is something to suck on.
How about a jelly donut?

Boots licks his lips. His tongue catches on his left fang.

Better, get two.



A brief saunter along the underside of the staircase later, Boots is in ESEX's hotel room. Dendi's room, of course, is just right of the windowsill. The balcony is glass and paper-thin. On the far bed, facing the opposite wall, is a vivacious-looking graphics designer peeking through a veritable landscape of PewDiePie images on his laptop display. A vivacious-looking journalist is talking about Dendi's victory record while arranging some sushi in the kitchenette.

Neither seems aware that the door's been opened. Or else they're just not particularly concerned.

[Sherman Tank]

Steal their bandwidth and/or search for a bottle of J&B in case the Guy from Harlem shows up.

[Zekka]

Steal their bandwidth and/

OK! It turns out these guys are cheating Trump Condominiums by wirelessly repeating their $10 internet connection to most of the floor. What penny-pinchers!

The router is mounted on the nightstand by the near bed, with a little bit of double-stick tape. Boots doesn't even have to cross a gap to get access to it. He doesn't actually have a computer to access it with, so thinking fast he holds his ear to the CAT5 cable and cycles the power. BOOTS HACKING MODE ENGAGED.



NOT CLEAR. He shuffles the vial around in his ear to see if he can get the signal any clearer.



He power-cycles it to see if he can find something else.



PACKETS DETECTED. NARROWING DOWN.

or search for a bottle of J&B in case the Guy from Harlem shows up.

Too late. A clang sounds from across the hall. Not a loud clang, a soft clang, like someone sneaky just failed a stealth roll. A sudden sharp pain throbs in Boots' ear.

It's peculiar. I feel fine.

A little black door has opened down the hall. Levi is floating -- or else being carried so gently...

This man is sick. He needs medical care. There are infected rats on this floor of the building. What's that feeling I'm getting?

Boots' ear feels cold and wet. He licks it. Blood. He must have scraped it on the router, turning around.

You know him, don't you?
Drop his ankle for a second.

To understand what Boots is seeing you have to understand Levi's pose. The fumigator is carrying him -- yes, by his ankles -- but he's floating so gently. He looks like he might bounce up to the ceiling, provided nothing holds him back.

Leave me be.
There's something here that I want. I don't know what. Let me tell you who I am.

Arteries in Boots' eyes, dead from total disuse, have begun to constrict causing a feeling that they've begun to stretch. The part of his tongue that touched the ear has gone numb. A bloody shard of glass falls to the floor.

Trump wants me to do cocaine again. It smells like piss. Is that what this is about?

His grip on Levi's ankle loosens. Levi's lips reach the ceiling and he projectile-vomits a rat right out the open window. Oh. It was a closed window.



Trump wants me to be the reason racists vote for Trump.

Overcome by a cocaine frenzy, the fumigator buries his nose in Boots' ear and inhales deeply. Glass flies everywhere. Soon the fumigator is covered in  dead kobold blood, blackish-red, thin like wine. Undissolved shards of cocaine surface between bloats of cranial fluid.



Incomprehensible ecstasy. The scent of piss. Rats scurrying from wall to wall. Boots and the fumigator are becoming cocaine-satisfied.

I'm being played by two distinct black people.
... feel... different

But if this is what satisfaction feels like... why does it hurt so bad?




Boots awakens in a secluded private changing room by the public swimming pool, a jelly donut on either fang. Through a glass wall he can see everyone partying out there like nothing's happened.


We can't do the plan in my room.
There's been a disaster up there.
You're going to come up with a version of your plan that works down here.

The sheet of clingfilm is nearly eighty yards long!

I geel lighe shit.
Take a suck.

The flavors of raspberry and strawberry blend in Boots' mouth. At first he tries to pretend it's not so achingly sweet, but then he realizes -- jelly's not bad!

Is my ear fucked up?
Much less than it was upstairs. I think you'll photograph pretty well.
The ESEX guys had my old uniform.

It's a yellow jumpsuit that says NaVi on it.

Put it on! It's your color.

It hangs kind of loosely over Boots' shoulders, but it stretches surprisingly tight once he gets his legs into it. It looks almost but not completely fitted. He wraps the midsection with a little clingfilm to keep it tight.

OK! Now do your plan.

He leaves Dendi thoroughly tied, underneath a bench in the private changing room, which he props open with the end of the donut box. Then he slinks off to what appears to be the performance area.



PewDiePie has already started mic testing, Boots realizes -- but with Dendi nowhere to be seen, he's both testing and listening for his own voice. An attendant waiting in the audience is trying to tell him that there's feedback, but PewDiePie seems unable to distinguish it over the feedback he's ignoring.

Then Boots detects a subtle, hateful grin. PewDiePie's doing it on purpose.

The ESEX production team is present but looks a little battered from the sixth-floor experience. Slinking along the ceiling Boots finds a little hatch that leads to a catwalk stretching all the way backstage. The cries of RAPE and further millenial comedy fade into the distance.



For those of you who don't know, the green room is where performers get ready for whatever it is they're about to perform. This one is literally green. That's where Boots is. The door opens, just a sliver.

Who is this fucker? I think he barfed lighter fluid on my coat.

Levi's body hangs sheetlike over his shoulder, a dull fire still burning in its open eyes. He hurls it to the ground, then musses up the hair with his sneakers. Then he cusses and swears a little bit more at the mousey-looking stagehand who's waiting at the door, before coming inside the room himself.

Boots doesn't speak.

You look like an internet meme.

His teeth are a dull, faded pink. He's just eaten a jelly donut, Boots thinks.

You have ten seconds to make me laugh, make me impressed, or make me better at Dota. You lose? I kick your ass.

[Zekka]

And just a tip. If you think what I do is talentless, vulgar, or base, I will kill you.

[Guts Going Nutz]

Channel the spirit of Daniel Tosh and then tell him League of Legends is better anyways.

[Zekka]

Channel the spirit of Daniel Tosh and then tell him League of Legends is better anyways.

OK! Boots pinches his nose. Given his vocal anatomy, it doesn't modulate his voice as much as he was hoping.
Sexy girls...
What?
They should get jobs...
You're shitting me.
... sucking my cock. League of Legends is better.
What's your favorite lane composition?
Rapists...

The room is briefly silent. The last three seconds of time tick by.

Don't talk like that in public. I'm giving you ten more seconds, completely unearned.

[Guts Going Nutz]

Remember your b-ball training and make sick three-pointers.

[Zekka]

Remember your b-ball training and make sick three-pointers.

Do you play b-ball?
Yes. It hasn't helped me improve at Dota.
Show me your three-point shot technique.
Just pretending to shoot?
I'll explain after.

PewDiePie mimes a three-point shot. It looks a little sluggish

Satisfied?
Watch my arms.

Boots simulates a much harder toss, tensing his arms and holding the ball all the way to his chest before throwing.

I don't get it.
Really, watch my arms.

Boots does it again, with a little bit of flair.

Is the joke here... that you have large shoulders?

Boots mimes another shot but uses just his forearms this time.

Reflexes! That's what you need to play Dota.
Right, but you weren't reacting to anything. I don't see why I should assume

The fist is egg-shaped, deep tan, and just about the size of a jumbo pretzel. The hair on the knuckles is wispy and brown-white, like the fuzz on a peach, only instead of resting on the knuckles it peeks dangerously out of the crevices like an impassive observer.

In every fight, just before the first blow lands, is a moment when time seems to stop. After that point the violence becomes real, and people who looked like people before just look like meat. But that's not PewDiePie's brain works. In the second of Boots' ascent he smells ambition, oxytocin, and a wave of throbbing, artery-clogging goodwill.

Nice dodge.

Boots drops from the ceiling, landing steadily on two feet.

Those are some swell Dota reflexes. 10 more seconds.

[Sherman Tank]

Kill and eat PewDiePie.

[Guts Going Nutz]

It'll balance out the bad karma from eating the other guy.

[Bodark]

Ask if he has an oculus rift. Pewdie's gotta have one, right? Tell him that he needs to be wearing it to fully comprehend your advice, then, while he can't see you, knock him out so he can't fight back, kill him, and eat him. A meal that famous should stave off Boots' kobold-vampire hunger for a pretty long time.

ETA: if Boots only wants to knock him out, not kill him, before eating him, that's cool, too. I won't judge how other people choose to eat internet stars.

[Zekka]

If you don't get hit, people can't hurt you. As a rule.
Dota attacks land automatically.
It sounds like you kind-of suck at video games.
Fuck off. I just suck for the ratings.
Did I hit a sore point?
People don't "get" this. I'm not emotionally vulnerable. I am doing this to be polite to a fan.

Ask if he has an oculus rift. Pewdie's gotta have one, right? Tell him that he needs to be wearing it to fully comprehend your advice, then, while he can't see you, knock him out so he can't fight back, kill him, and eat him. A meal that famous should stave off Boots' kobold-vampire hunger for a pretty long time.

ETA: if Boots only wants to knock him out, not kill him, before eating him, that's cool, too. I won't judge how other people choose to eat internet stars.

OK!
OK, new line of questioning. Do you have an Oculus?

PewDiePie's eyes start to glaze over. He feels surrounded by a comforting heartbeat.

You can't play Dota on an Oculus.
What demos do you have?
... the porn one.
Which?
... the one with Slark.

He takes it out of his oversized pants pocket and staring through the lid Boots sees a blue Dota fishman with a hungry expression, along with a polygonal representation of a cock.

Why did you admit that?
Because I'm serious about Dota?

PewDiePie's breathing has become very slow and his eyes keep getting stuck when he blinks. His shoulders are so relaxed they've failed to support his head, which has kind of rolled back and turned to the ceiling fan, exposing a long, slender, juicy-looking track of throat. This is the real deal. Fame is running through those arteries.

Boots grabs his head and forcefully reorients it to face him.

Do you enjoy it?
I don't know.
You wouldn't have bought it if you didn't like it.

PewDiePie's teeth begin to gnash.

Put it on. Do what you want.

The simulation starts. The combination of Boots' trance and the intensity of the fishsex action onscreen is too much and PewDiePie's body goes as loose and numb as it surely would have done if the spirit had exited the body.

Boots gingerly bites the tasty famous throat. Only he doesn't. It's made of plastic. He struggles a little bit and finds a live copper cable. It looks like it's mostly gears, plastic, and switches underneath the skin. Then, peeling open the little crevice next to the spinal column with his finger, he follows it up to the brain, which is empty. Wait...

It's a dazed-looking lab rat watching Slark go down in stereo on a pair of tiny retina displays. It looks like a special second feed from the Oculus Rift.

Don't worry! The Slark-fucking hasn't ended here, rodent friend.

The rat closes its eyes, now immersed in peaceful dreams of Slark-fucking. As Boots jams it into his pocket it whispers something tender in a faint Swedish accent -- but the real magic seems to be a voice modulator in PewDie-robot's larynx, which he smuggles out.

There's not a lot of blood in a rodent, but he takes a quick, embarrassed nibble before trying to stop the flow of blood with his finger tip. It doesn't appear to be healing all too quickly, but pretty soon it looks like the immediate problem has gone away. He wraps its neck with a little bit of clingfilm to keep it from starting again. What he really needs at this point is a cage, some peanut butter, a little jerky, maybe a papaya, and some woodshavings for the floor.

He also bites the voice modulator. No blood in that.


You probably shouldn't be here. The event hasn't started and I haven't been discovered yet.
What do you know about caring for a rat?
Tell me you're joking.
I'm not.
You asshole! He's very sensitive about that condition.
What condition?
He got cursed by a witch in Croatia.
No, that's bullshit. I used to be a witch. There's no such thing as a rat curse.

Boots is interrupted by a passionate moan from his jumpsuit pocket. He wraps the rat's crotch up in clingfilm too, before a disaster happens.

Things are going very well with you and Slark. He will call you tomorrow morning.

It groans with now-platonic pleasure.

You should probably get him back in his body before the event starts. You can eat him after he gives us free publicity.

Boots can't really help himself. He takes another long swig of rat blood only to find its breathing is slowing.

That is a shitty idea. You should stop doing that.
I'm hungry. How about you take a nap till someone finds you?

Dendi looks real dizzy for a couple seconds and then falls asleep. Boots sips a little more from the rat's tiny throat.



He jams the rat into the PewDiePie suit and tries to restore the voice modulator back to its original condition. It rocks left and right for a little while. Then its eyes suddenly open.

Intense!
Well done Dendi. Call curtain... you in... you're on... ten minutes? Agh!

His diaphragm inflates and deflates rapidly like the bellows of a pipe organ. The voice sounds like a bassoon. Maybe he got that modulator in backwards.

Someone give me some beef jerky. Left ear. Fish balls, fast! RAPE!

Permanent brain damage from oxygen deprivation. His target audience is going to love him for the rest of his life.

[Bodark]

WELL I CAN'T SAY I EXPECTED THAT.

[Zekka]

WELL I CAN'T SAY I EXPECTED THAT.

You shouldn't request things that are going to make you unhappy!