That’s Entertainment? The Ugly Side of Sports Entertainment: Profesional Wrestling

Warning: What follows is the most shitty and disgusting story I’ve seen in recent years, and it didn’t even shock me. I’ll be pulling absolutely zero punches, so be warned now that sexual assault, rape, trafficking for sex, child sex abuse, and more will be in my discussion. If you think you can’t handle it, please be gentle to yourself and leave now.

If you have stayed after my warning, and you have read it, and if a tag brought you here, or if you’re curious about my continuing attack on our current state of “entertainment,” then hang on to your stomachs. We’re going on a trip to visit Vincent McMahon, who’s on his way to Hell.

I’m not getting into the long history of American (not Olympic) wrestling. Wikipedia should give adequate information to start your research for your own journey into Hell. Or beyond.

I watched it at various times. In the early 60s, on black and white television, with the likes of Cowboy Bill Watts and other oldies.

In the early 70s, I watched Chief Jay Strongbow and Andre the Giant, the Grand Wizard, a manager and a heel, and a lot of other guys I can’t remember. Then I left it alone. Back then, Vince McMahon was no more than a skinny, ugly announcer. But he was determined to convince his father that he was a worthy son to take over the family business. And he did. Or so they say.

1999-2001

My son wanted a video game for Christmas in 1999: “WCW Mayhem” for the original Playstation. I got that and a skating game for him. When he and I couldn’t talk or find common ground, gaming filled the gap between us. I soon bought my own Playstation and was bitten by the wrestling bug. When he visited, we could create ridiculous wrestlers and step into the squared circle together. We had fun. I’m grateful for those memories. Some of the happiest I have.

While alone on Mondays, I watched wrestling, switching cable channels between WCW Monday Nitro and WWF Raw. I was truly lucky, seeing both at their best. WCW was suffering from a lack of a storyline, but Tank Abbott was brought in with a real contract and maybe the promise to fight Goldberg, who, at the time, was out with injuries. Tank had to go through the roster to get to Goldberg. I swear I saw him take on Screamin’ Norman Smiley, plus the incredibly stupid “Demon”, but I can’t find a record of either one. The Demon was inspired by the incredibly stupid band KISS. One fight card indicates Abbott fought Vampiro, who might have been the Demon character I’m thinking about. Somewhere along the way, Jeff Jarrett played the fans by resurrecting the nWo and called the entire arena audience a bunch of “slapnuts” which a heel, of course, was supposed to do: rile up the fans and keep them watching. I hated him, but in fact, I think he’s a square guy, a good man.

I find it troubling: I remember Tank Abbott clearly. But not the matches he had. He also was hardly undefeated, and his famed “Knockout Punch,” his finishing move, doesn’t seem to be as effective as I recall. He also continued with WCW well past the point where I stopped watching.

The gimmick over, I began losing interest in WCW. I wasn’t alone. They weren’t even selling out matches. Terry Funk was always worth watching, and at a stable, in a hardcore match, got kicked by a horse. Before the commercial, Funk could be heard saying, “Fuck!”

While I had been aware for years that it was all a show, because I wasn’t as stupid as John Stossel, I also knew that enough of wrestling was real enough that those people in the ring really were hurting each other. Mostly by accident because they’re basically athletes and stunt performers at the same time, but oftentimes on purpose because of perceived real hits by opponents. Accidents happen in and out of the ring, and wrestlers do go off-script behind the scenes. On camera, of course, but backstage, too.

Kane, the Rock, Undertaker, and Cactus Jack were my favorites, but close behind were the Dudley Boyz, Too Cool (Grand Master Sexay and Scotty Too Hottie), and Kurt Angle.

Who was responsible for all of this soap opera wrestling goodness? Vincent McMahon. He had pooled some of the best talent in writing, stage sets, makeup, and announcers.

At the time, I wasn’t aware that there was also dirty fighting between WCW and WWF. A WCW wrestler named “Montana” wore a black Stetson and made fun of WWF announcer Jim Ross, whose former ring appearances had him “from Montana.”

Having been stricken by a form of palsy, Ross (J.R.) sometimes had speech and facial muscle problems, and it was this that Montana made fun of. The fans didn’t like it. But vindictivness was the primer of the downfall of the WCW. Vince McMahon was the hammer. His WWE bought out the floundering WCW, resulting in a surplus of talent that had to be trimmed. A trimming job for Vince would be to you and I more like something you’d see in a slaughterhouse than a butcher’s shop. You could see it in his face: anger and severe punishment were in his eyes at the same time.

I also did not know about the horrible death of Owen Hart, who had fallen approximately 75 feet from a harness as he was being lowered from the rafters. That fall onto any surface not intended for stunt use, like a deflating air bag, is hardly survivable. In this instance, he landed on the top rope, near enough to a turnbuckle as to make the rope even more unforgiving. It severed his aorta, which closed the deal on his death sentence. It happened at a live pay per view event, but no one at home saw it. Jim Ross was so shocked that he had trouble telling the viewers that Hart was in real trouble and that this was no attempt at drama.

With Hart’s blood still on the ring’s mat, McMahon decided that the show was to go on. This was a clue that McMahon was a greedy and cold-hearted son of a bitch, but also, even as I heard this story, I was unaware of what took place in 1992. And that was sickening to beat all hell.

That story went that Rita, a female referee with WWF, had been raped by McMahon. She appeared on the Geraldo Rivera show, and at some point, she sued.

Then another scandal reared up, this involving a juvenile and a member of the WWF. In a 1992 interview on Larry King Live, even Bruno Sammartino, who I’d also watched as a kid, accused Vince of knowing about dirty shit and lying his ass off.

By 2022-2023, Vince and the now-WWE (the World Wildlife Federation sued to make McMahon change his organization to exclude “WWF” so it became “WWE” for World Wrestling Entertainment in 2002.) reported that the case had been settled out of court. Rita Chatterton would now shut up. Funny, how money makes ugly things vanish, huh? But Rita only settled to avoid further litigation costs, so she wasn’t exactly happy. In her first match as referee, McMahon had actually told the two women wrestlers to break her legs. Fortunately they agreed not to follow his command.

The Recent Scandals

Jake the Snake Roberts, a former wrestler, says that the latest revelations about McMahon are “disgusting” and I have to believe that he had heard at least rumors, as now, it has become public knowledge that in 2005, Christie Hemme vanished from WWE. I was no longer watching, so I never even saw her. The figure of 7.5 million has been tossed around. What was rumored was that the creative team couldn’t find anything for her to do, so she was sent for training. Triple H, Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley’s husband, would be traveling there, too. Stephanie didn’t like Christie’s enthusiasm over being around her husband. So she told Daddy (Vince McMahon), and he canceled Hemme’s contract after a week.

Although no one can confirm Stephanie’s involvement or that Triple H was even traveling anywhere at the time, one thing is very clear: Hemme is the former wrestler who got yet another taste of McMahon (literally) and refused to go any further. In fact, it isn’t clear if she ever got that far because not too long ago, she clarified the reason for her inexplicable departure. Because she said she had morals, even asking her father’s permission before appearing in Playboy, which Vince had asked her to do. But when asked to do more, she refused, knowing that the non-negotiable refusal meant that she would lose her job. She may have been cheered by being sent to train. Maybe it gave her some sense of hope. But it wasn’t to be. Vince McMahon was, as we now know, intolerant of any resistance to his commands.

In January of this year, one of many headlines:

“Leading up to the 2024 edition of the Royal Rumble, McMahon found himself involved in yet another case. An ex-company employee, Janel Grant, accused McMahon and former executives of sexual assault and filed a federal lawsuit.”

Janel Grant was in a bad place. Her parents had died. Their house would be taken from her. Someone intervened. He told McMahon about her, and Vince’s face lit up. You know why? I do. Because there’s no better target for sexual abuse, or just plain taking control of, than someone in a bad place. Eager to get work. Soft. Pliable. Someone who would be indebted to you. By this time, McMahon had it down to science. He knew what to do. He carried out each step like the piece of shit he was. Before he knew it, he got a blow job. Then more. He pimped her out, engaging in threesomes with himself, her, and certain other wrestlers. Including Brock Lesner, who is being cut out of his future projects. She was reduced to a fucking sex worker. McMahon even, in one such session, shit on her face as another piece of garbage fucked her, failing to be sickened in the slightest by the vile act.

Let’s be clear: these are sick motherfuckers. Okay? Just so we’re clear on this: more than one wrestler or other WWE employee or contractor (wrestlers, so the company doesn’t have to offer insurance) had forced sex with Ms. Grant. That’s alone, or with others. She was abused in every possible way. Every possible way.

I’m sorry for her beyond any means of or ability to describe. And that’s only the latest known victim. Grant had signed an NDE, which, in the case of violent felonies, federal crimes like sex trafficking and… defecating on one’s face is not legally binding. We know why she would settle for payment. A true victim is fucked up. They want it over. They want closure and a way out. But money can never make things right, or take away the low self-esteem a victim has because they feel guilt or end the relentless nightmares, flashbacks, and everything else that comes with PTSD. To hush her up, the NDA was made, but Vince never paid the second payment, another illustration of how absent of respect he is toward women. It’s like saying to her, “You’re nothing without me. I don’t pay ‘nothings’.”

So, as happens far too seldom, Grant became resolved. If that’s how it was going to be, fine. The NDA wasn’t even a thing anymore. She was free to tell her horror story to the world, so she did. That blew the lid off everything, and I do mean everything. Now, there were fewer wagons to circle. Vince stood virtually alone, with a few obviously guilty dickheads hanging on. In this podcast, you’ll hear why:

Ashley

Ashley was a victim in more than one way. I don’t think I ever saw her except in clips because I don’t remember her being around yet when I stopped watching. I kept playing the newest video games, but the last one, 2024, is so bad that I have to rank it as the worst wrestling game ever made. It is so sexist that every diva in the create suite has implants. Noticeably so. Wow. Now that I think about it, I’ll probably never buy another one. Besides, I know too much now, and playing it would be a problem for me. Even the classic games, which were far superior, might be hard to stomach. But I do recall Ashley being in one of the games. Maybe 2008, 2009, 2010?

Ashley was a diva. I was under the naive impression that Divas were treated well at first. Beautiful and technically very good wrestlers.

It took no time at all in late 1999 for me to see otherwise. Mud wrestling? Seriously? Bra and panties matches? Hey, I messed around with the games, sure. But real life is not a video game. Divas have, as a whole, been treated so horribly by Vince McMahon that I’m frankly concerned that he hasn’t been imprisoned by now. He’s basically kidnapped, raped, sexually abused, beaten, assaulted with bodily fluids and waste, falsely imprisoned, tortured, (and even murdered one victim-that we know of) so many men, women and juveniles that we can never know the full extent of his depravity or his crimes.

Ashley had serious issues from getting concussions. Remember that I said earlier that this might be scripted, but people really do get hurt? Here’s proof. She had endured multiple head trauma, but in her affidavit, she also said that after she posed for the cover of Playboy, Vince set it up so that she flew on the corporate jet and stayed in the same hotels with the executives. She already knew Vince to be a predator. Perhaps you’re thinking that should have made her alarm go off, but she dared to dream that in her case, she was safe. She was not.

Vince tried to seduce her. Tried and tried. He would constantly ring her room and her cell phone all night. In Kuwait, she was raped by an unidentified male, and the fucker was probably put up to it, perhaps even paid, by Vince himself. When someone refused his advances, his wrath was unquenchable, and he was unforgiving. Guilty of stalking and harassment he stepped it up even more.

Now, she was in such despair that the affidavit also said he overrode the writer’s scripts for her and made her say things that she knew would finish her career. Ashley ended her own life in 2017, a direct result of the actions and verbal abuse along with head trauma-all caused then ignored by Vince McMahon. He murdered her.

This information was not made known until after her death. The reason given by her attorney is that at the time it was filed, the bigger issue of head trauma was the most urgent thing.

My heart breaks over such a horrible situation and the death of one who fought to keep her honor.

That said, I am going to state here that I do not consider other victims, the ones he raped and pimped out, to have dishonored themselves. I’ll never do that. Hell, I’m a victim, too. Of really heinous shit, so I know how it feels. Never shame a true victim. A neighbor told me that she (Janel) was “in on it, too.” Holy shit!

I set him straight. At least I hope that I did. Because saying that is bullshit. Believing it is sexist, evil and fucking psychotic. I expected better from him.

Janel was conditioned. McMahon recognized a desperate woman. He took her into his fold and made her dependant. Once that was done, he made her a sex slave. The disgusting nature of everything he’s accused of is not entirely a surprise to me, and that means that I have no reason to doubt them.

Let’s go back to when I was watching WWE. There were a lot of controversial things going on both in the ring and outside of it. X-Pac and D-Generation X were taunting opponents and crowds with the “suck it” crotch chop, Stone Cold Steve Austin was giving the finger all over the place, Stephanie went from a joke and a brat to a pain in the ass who was definitely all heel, replacing Chyna as Triple H’s lover both in character and out.

Chyna’s entrance involved her shooting a cannon from her crotch like a huge penis ejaculating fireworks toward the rafters, a demeaning gesture meant to emphasize her square jaw and ‘roided-up body. Except for her chest, she might have appeared more masculine. The sacrifices she made to have a career… she, too, was part of the D-Generation X. At least until she found out that Triple H was also dating Stephanie McMahon. This ended very badly for Joanie Laurer, aka Chyna. A dedicated bodybuilder and the first woman to be entered in the Royal Rumble, I was quite enamored of her. I found her to be beautiful, incredibly sexy, and not the slightest bit masculine. She was what otherwise would have been an unforgettable technical brawler in the ring. But after an ugly fight with, or because of Stephanie, she had to go. She just vanished. Hunter has cited her porn flick with her next boyfriend, X-Pac, as a reason for her not being admitted to the Hall of Fame. He came to a compromise later where she would be allowed in with the D-Generation X faction. But never solo. Because WWE was a family show.

What a load of shit. During her very short career, Vince McMahon initiated the “Vince McMahon Ass Kissing Club” and he would, in the ring, actually drop trou and bend forward and make wrestlers pay for transgressions by kissing his ass. So much for being a family show. Judging her by a homemade porn film is a bit harsh when all of the stuff on the shows was far more traumatic to children than any sex tape would be for an adult who idolized someone. For Chyna, it ended tragically. Substance abuse and severe depression took a toll, and on 20 April of 2016, she was found dead (not ruled a suicide). I feel certain that she was another victim and that the WWE killed her.

Did McMahon order hits or “bounties”?

Because Vince ordered Rita Chatterton’s legs broken, we have already established that this did happen. So dickheads like Kurt Angle carried them out. Unless someone has the balls to say so or not, I believe that Vince McMahon has ordered wrestlers to injure others. He’s that controlling and that vindictive. I’ve seen injuries that should have never happened. You see something. You know what you just saw. The move was a cheap shot and not an accident. The opponent can’t get up. Then he’s out for almost a year. Vince gave one wrestler incentive to perform a dangerous move. Maybe that wrestler never can return.

Vincent McMahon is a predator, sex offender, needing to dominate and subjugate women more than men, but to him, control is complete, and that means over everyone. There may be some past trauma that’s caused it, but I wouldn’t have any sympathy even so. He even tried to get his daughter into a storyline where he had impregnated her. What kind of father does that?

Stephanie refused, but she and her husband and her mother, Linda McMahon, are in this up to their necks, because they knew, but said nothing, and thus enabled this horrible man by covering for him. The entire family could be charged. A federal investigation is underway. And those kinds of investigations usually don’t go well for predators. TKO, the owner of WWE, says they dismissed him from the board. He says he resigned. He’s childish, always wanting the last word and lying to do it. But it hardly matters; being away now doesn’t mean that he can hide. There are other men and women who have their own stories to tell, and they’re not afraid anymore because Janel is resolved and wants to set an example. Before it’s all over, there will be more wrestling personalities who will lose your respect and mine. This rabbitt hole goes down so far that it can pass clean through hell on its way to infinity. And Vince McMahon will be along for the ride.

And Shane, Stephanie and Linda McMahon? They’re likely to save themselves and turn on the bastard if a federal grand jury is held. Maybe there’s no honor in them, but self-preservation is, after all, a powerful drive in the wild kingdom. Because, when a former wrestler compares their husband/father to Jeffrey Dahmer, Harvey Weinstein, and Jeffrey Eppstein, you know it’s time to bail.

And that you should bail.

WWE 2K23 REVIEW (with Update)

My first wrestling game was WCW Mmayhem back in 2000. Not long after, there came WWF SMACKDOWN. They were both good games, but by today’s standards, they are of course grainy and clunky. The first PS2 game improved, but looked cartoony. Then came “WWF SMACKDOWN: Shut Your Mouth.”

The Create-a-Wrestler suite was so good that I made videos of my friends at work wrestling. As a gag. They all said I was mental. They were right, but that didn’t stop me from hating them. What an asshole I was, thinking anyone would get a kick out of it. I had fun: the likenesses I created were ringers.

When I became homeless, I had to leave all of my possessions behind. Everything but a hefty bag with some of my clothes. Lost my car and my job. The job I lost was because I had no phone. I was too sick drying myself out to go out to a payphone. I was lucky that cold turkey withdrawal didn’t kill me, but I didn’t get anything worse than gut twisting cramps, the cold sweats and the shakes. Huh. Shakes? I was a writhing earthquake. I’m still sure that the geological department at College Park wondered what the hell was going on.

Years passed. By then the PS3 was out but the slim version of the PS2 was still going strong. I bought “Smackdown vs. Raw 2008” and was ecstatic. Smooth animation, a story mode, it was all there.

Finally, with the PS5 due, I could afford to get a PS4. “Smackdown 2K18”. It was so bad that I couldn’t play it. “MADDEN 2K 18” was just as bad. Garbage, unplayable garbage. I have the discs, but deleted the games from the drive.

So “WWE 2K23” is out now. I bought the base game. Reviews weren’t bad. They said that the roster was full of legendary wrestlers. Some would be in DLCs, but if I could wrestle with Goldberg against Kane, it was worth a shot, right?

Not so fast.

Let’s begin with the creation suite. It’s got some good features, but it gets a giant thumbs down from me. Women wrestlers all have giant, misshapen breasts. And you can’t change that with a slider because there are none. There’s no body morphing at all. I’m sorry, but not all women have implants, and those who do look better than this crap. Even makeup is ridiculously limited. You’re going to end up with something not unlike a Manga.

The outfits are, as usual, limited and there are articles that have to be unlocked. Fuck, didn’t I pay enough already?

Oh, it gets worse: the Season Pass can unlock some wrestlers, but the rest is all on DLC. Season Pass sets you back forty bucks, doubling the price you pay. Or you could buy the special edition for 100+ bucks.

Career mode is timed button mashing. Confusing and with a steep learning curve. You will lose again and again. And don’t win too quickly because the audience will react very poorly which counts against you. That’s if you win.

Creating an entrance, that used to be fun. This game makes it a frustrating chore because it’s impossible to time pyros at all. Most of the places you want them don’t work.

When choosing the entrance music, beware: default settings are in safe mode which prevents you from hearing any selection. In settings, just turn off safe mode. The custom music really sucks. Pick something you hate the least, and move on. And good luck getting the lights and intro movies where you want them.

On a scale of one half to ten, I rate this game at 3 and a half. I feel cheated. It may be best to get the PC version and wait until the molders have done their magic. Mods on consoles can’t really be done, and even if you find a way to download one, they boot your account for cheating. A no-win situation for WWE fans all around.

Don’t try this at home. Besides, you have one year before the next release. Then this game’s servers go dark. Better to get a refurbished slim PS2 and go old school. Those were better days.

UPDATE 20 April

I’d like to revise my score so I’m going to get the Season Pass and wait for any patches. I feel that it is premature until a month down the road and we will see. One mistake I made is that with the Season Pass, all legendary wrestlers are in fact unlocked as well as the DLCs. That’s not a bad deal after all. I’m ready to go hard-core on this game. I will revise my score when I’m satisfied that I have been absolutely fair. We’ve all done Season Pass on other games, and micros a well. In AC Valhalla toward the beginning, you pretty much need to. Since I’ve made MTs before, I’m no innocent here. One thing you will never get from me is a lie. So let’s see. I’ll give it a fair shot, and I’m sure the score will be a more fair one. I’m old school, so I sometimes forget about patches and updates. I apologize.

Death From Above: The New World Order

Sometime in the mid-1960s I went with my parents to a Washington D.C. airport. My father occasionally flew for business, usually on Allegheny Airlines, but that’s all I can remember.

Except one clear memory of a Greyhound bus sign. My father even bought me a miniature bus from the gift shop. These were the busses that they called something-liners, with an upper windscreen tinted green. Yes, I’m old.

What nobody knew at the time: in 1965 biological and chemical agents were used in those two locations by the U.S. military to “test” how biochemical weapons would spread if “used in aerial or ground-based attacks”.

Did it work? Did it happen at all?

It is fact.

And it didn’t happen only once.

The most infamous among these “tests” was perhaps Operation Sea Spray which seemed to have not just involved the United States, but also the United Kingdom. Elements of naval and air groups actually dispersed a bacterium of the yersenia genus, and if that name seems familiar to you, let’s add a name after it: yersenia pestis. Heard of it now? Of course I had to look it up to see why it was ringing a bell. It’s the bacterium respsible for the disease Bubonic plague in humans. There was another agent involved as well. From 20 September to 27 September 1950, in the San Francisco Bay area, these agents were released. Scientists from the US and UK both studied dispersal rates and distances, and there is no reason to believe that they hoped or believed that no one would get sick.

The suspected casualties checked into Stanford Hospital in early October, eleven total, and one died. The infections were linked to common UT infections which can happen when catheters are used, and all were “reported” to have had recent surgeries, leaving them open to post-op infections. What’s more, that bacteria is crawling all over hospital walls, and the government was never found responsible, because of this, for the man’s death.

Well, what about him? He’s just one guy, right? And his family didn’t sue until decades later. No proof. Too bad.

But there’s more. Minnesota was hit by chemicals, carcinogenic chemicals. New York City was hit an innumerable amount of times including light bulbs they dropped in the subway. Loaded light bulbs. It spread pretty far, estimated as miles. That could place in any of one or even two buroughs. It was Bacillus Subtilis Niger, an extremely hard to kill, spore producer. Current uses include testing disinfectant efficiency. It is not known whether there were casualties, but who can say by this point whether the books were cooked. But seriously, dropping light bulbs onto the tracks? That is rather covert, and damn sleazy.

Why fear other countries using biological and chemical agents against us when our own government does it?

They were tests.

But for what? Because hospitals were monitored. The dispersal was always tracked.

Given my loathing for conspiracy theories, why am I bringing this up? Seems silly that I would jump from Sherwood Schwartz TV conspiracy theories (Gilligan’s Island, The Brady Bunch) to this, right?

But I did warn you that more was coming. And this is where it all leads: the granddaddy of all conspiracy theories: depopulation, plagues, the Illuminati and the New World Order.

I have scoffed in the past about the chemtrail story. Only to look back and find, there’s some real history there. And if that’s true, I have no reason to be convinced that it is not an ongoing method of research. No matter what the government denies, do I have any way of telling whether they are being truthful?

Not exactly, no.

Now, do I trust the government?

Mostly, I do.

But I have serious doubts about serious things.

Several video game analyses follow this article. I hope that you will carefully consider what they have to offer. I have played both games mentioned and truly, they slammed me in the gut. You never see the end coming in any well-written show, film or game. But in the case of Deus Ex:The Conspiracy and Metal Gear Solid 2: The Sons of Liberty, the conclusions were bleak, disturbing and left me feeling hopelessly depressed. And that is not my expectation when gaming.

Well, not back in 2000 and 2001. Maybe now I’m a bit more of an edge-of-my-seat gamer, but only because of those two games.

They outline a future in which secret societies and artificial intelligence rob people of freedom in the name of civilization and rule humanity. That’s way too much for one sentence, and I apologize for that. The premises are that AI deems humanity incapable of avoiding self-destruction and seizes control of key military and government facilities. In each game, the AI explains to the protagonist why it is doing this. One AI is belligerent, antagonistic and insulting while the other is more sneaky, but the end results are the same: no one seems able to stop them.

Of the three possible endings in Deus Ex, one has the main character destroy the AI, causing a dark age where the world is deprived of power to the grids, communications and everything we know and count on. Canonically all three endings are partly correct, which doesn’t make me feel any better.

The Illuminati, Majestic 12, and others are used to great effect as antagonistic elements, but the main point I want to get across is that the AI in both games want to stop the flow of misinformation to the people. Fake news, slander on social media, chaos, vengeful killings over words and ideas. It must stop, and the AI is the only way.

A new world order.

Currently the world population cannot be fed or given adequate health care given limited supplies, corporate greed, government tribalism, and, of course, failed crops due to global warming and freak weather. Inflation is impossible to distinguish from price gouging, with glaring examples of some products doubling in price in one or two weeks.

Fake news makes the whole thing worse, and the blame is always leveled at the wrong people, or, if not, those people face no consequences. How many times was a truth discovered but we were not informed?

There is no way to answer that. That, by the way, makes me mistrustful of government. And for the most part, I trust our democracy when it works, when good people do good things. I don’t like conspiracy theories or the hysteria they cause. They’re chaos.

However, I can’t help wondering: given our history, what pieces of truth might lie within some of them.

The Tuskegee infections were real. A conspiracy to assassinate President Kennedy was almost certainly real. The secret bombings of Cambodia did happen. Even the ridiculous plot by the CIA to make Fidel Castro’s beard fall out was real.

What I encourage you to do, as always, is, to the extent that you are able, is to think for yourself. The truth is out there, but you are the final arbiter, and once you have found something sound, reliable, stand up for what’s right.

Because one person–you–can make a big difference. On which side of history will you stand?

Those Eerie Backrooms

“From the most innocent and mundane come the things we fear the most.”

–Michael Smith, blogger, 20 January, 2023.

I’ve often had feelings of unease and then a questioning of reality during and following innocent errands, trips to new places (most of which were hardly “new” but new to me, as in, places I’d never been before.

Most recently, and perhaps significantly as well, was a trip to an oddly generic office building in Ellicott City. I was to see an ophthalmology specialist, a plastic surgeon.

Driven there by my healthcare worker who accompanied me to the suite, I was struck immediately by the ordinary familiarity with it. I had been to the location before, I was certain of it. I knew the area well, as it contains a somewhat infamous and infuriating intersection, known for accidents, road rage and confusion among drivers because of limited vision ahead and the lack of automatic signal. There is one close by, but it only makes the problem of entering its intersection worse. You never forget such a place because traffic backs up ahead of the intersection itself by an obsolete merge area with little allowance for courtesy or patience. Yes. I’d been here before. It even has a place in my novel.

Upon entering the building, I was gripped by an uncanny feeling which had the promise of getting more serious.

Not Déjà Vu. I knew I’d been in the building so that particular sensation was not present. Of course, it had been sufficiently into the past that I could not recall which doctor or practice I had been there to see, and of course that causes people to be distracted on a somewhat semi conscious level. And this, I suppose, could contribute to what I experienced next.

My healthcare worker punched the elevator button for the second floor and the doors closed. Assuming that we were on the first floor, it took too long to reach the second floor. It was wrong, just as the tiny lobby had been wrong. I actually said to her that I didn’t like the whole building because it just felt “off”. She pretty much ignored this and that’s as it should be. But as we turned a corner to walk through one of two long hallways, it felt even more off, as if I had entered some sort of parallel universe, one I did not belong in. It felt like it wasn’t real, as if staying there would result in some nebulous but unfortunate outcome.

Once we reached the proper office suite, it should have cleared up. In different spaces, energy, temperature and pressure can have slight changes. These could explain why one suddenly forgets why they have gone to the kitchen, which happens to everyone. We stand, vacantly staring, until we either remember our reason for being there, or give up. It’s so common an experience that no one really feels fearful of it.

The reception area was generic, but small; so much so that an appropriately wallpapered support beam stood in the center of the room. This subconsciously forces one to picture the building at its barebone newest appearance before finishing carpentry crews moved in. It’s there, but you never really put much thought to it unless you’re an architect, who of course would know the entire building on sight and see its blueprint in his or her mind.

In practice, though, it adds a certain claustrophobic element, and various reactions from annoyance to terror are probably felt quite plainly by incoming clients. Around this county it is common structure. I’ve seen it before but there is always something that makes each suite different: these range from what type of practice or other business uses the space, but all have at least light touches which make them unique in some fashion. The counter at the reception window had at the right end a large silver-colored candle box, usually associated with Christmas decorations of an old-fashioned lantern vein. I’ve wanted one for years. Never seen one before except in advertising or as elements in holiday season wallpapers for computers and phones.

That’s what I think of as a grounding point. It is real.

Or is it? You’ll question everything before you leave here, old man.

There comes a moment when that voice speaks inside you, and at least a good number, no matter how much in the minority they are, believe once again that their perception proves that we are living in a simulation.

Personally, my take on “simulation reality” is that it would still prove the existence of God; a higher being, a creator, and that our souls are who and what we really are, and physical life in our sense is temporary, fleeting, but very real.

In other words, who built the machine? It’s a way for people to account for their anti-religious stances while paradoxically also proving that they can in fact believe in some higher being.

The doctor saw me, and in his examination room, a small picture hung. A depiction of a doctor and patient as if painted in Ancient Egypt. It was singularly remarkable, another grounding object.

But wait, did I really see it, or was it some trick because I’m about to replay “Assassin’s Creed Origins”, a game which takes place in Ancient Egypt?

Come on, now, this questioning of ordinary life is really getting out of hand.

That wasn’t the end of this weird excursion. Oh, no. It gets worse.

Having set the date for the optic surgery, having also been reassured that I did not have cancer, you’d think I’d feel all set. I should have; after covid-19’s initial outbreak and disruption of most healthcare concerns, I’m finally taking care of myself.

My healthcare worker had left after checking in. I had to go downstairs and call her. I left the office, and right outside of the door, there was this old man. Really old, and he was bent as he walked, concealing his face. Immediately he struck me as sinister, and after asking him which direction the elevator was in (a generic hallway, exit signs at both ends, and the lack of anything to regain one’s bearings especially if vision impaired is unsettling), I got the idea that I’d just asked the devil which way to go.

I followed him at a lagging pace. I had severe misgivings, however hilarious they seem now, about getting on an elevator with him and going the opposite direction of up.

I passed a door marked “women” and decided I’d use the men’s room. But I couldn’t find it. I really did need to go; I’d had a glass of water with my meds before leaving. I said to the old man, who was now insisting that I get on the elevator, where the Men’s room was. He pointed but paused, so I told him to go ahead. He did, but didn’t he seem disappointed?

Entering the latrine was completely disequilibrating: it, too, was all wrong. The urinal was too small in proportion to the room and in comparison to every other pisser I’d ever seen!

The same generic wallpaper was there, yellowish-beige, a very unsettling color if ever I saw one. The only way it could have been worse was if they were blood-red or all black.

I went to wash my hands and found the hottest water I had felt since slipping while making pasta and plunging my left hand into boiling water. Had the old man really been the devil, and was he now punishing me for not going down on the elevator with him?

Back at the elevator, I noticed a door to a suite adorned with enormous silver laurel leaves: who does that, I wondered. It is bizarre and out of place and gave me the flying shits. I had to get out of this unholy place!

Pushed the button for the first floor. Exited the elevator only to find myself looking through a huge window onto the parking lot below. I stepped back into the elevator and found a button marked “LL” — Lower Level. I hesitated. I knew it was the floor we had entered the building on, but why mark it such when it should be the first floor? I wondered if the old man would be waiting, if the elevator would take me below ground. Far below ground. All of this seems silly now, because at no time did I feel panic. It was all disorienting and creepy, but not frightening. Except for the old man, who in reality must have been acting out of kindness. Still, the whole setting contributed to my perception, and in future, more consideration must be given to ensure that the layout and aesthetics of buildings comfort rather than the opposite. Because once outside, I felt better, less oppressed in the rain and cold air.

LIMINAL

There’s creepy pasta all over the internet, so much that there’s always more to catch up on. One of them involves “liminal spaces”. The first story and accompanying photograph involved something called “noclipping” a sort of transport into another reality, almost always accidentally. One ends up in a liminal space, like an office floor with yellow walls and absolutely no people or even furnishings. There is nothing but miles of connecting offices and one can actually become trapped there. Coming from 4chan initially, this concept has of course migrated to reddit, where it has been added to. Now long hallways exist in which you can walk until you die and never find a way out. Noclipping is a new concept for me, (I’ve encountered it in video games) but I take it to mean an accident during normal travel which deposits one into an alternate, in-between reality.

I have encountered the feeling before. Once, a very long time ago, in the 1980s when mega-malls were the next great part of the American Dream, I had to deliver a carpet to a shop called T-shirts Plus in the White Marsh Mall. The mall was unfinished, and that’s not an experience I’ve ever wanted to repeat. I walked through the mall with a heavy roll of Burlington Industries carpet slung over my shoulder (I was so much younger then) and the only comfort was a few construction workers above me.

While it was fascinating to see the mall in incomplete condition, it was also unnerving and uncomfortable. With the failure of malls to survive Reaganomics, and finally strip malls and online shopping, urban exploration has become popular, as have the recorded proof, both visual and auditory, of such risky endeavors. Trespassing is one thing; risking one’s life and limb quite another.

Liminal spaces are a real fear, although unquantified and little known, that I believe has been with us for a very long time. Whether psychologists want to examine the phenomenon, I can’t say, but it certainly does seem to qualify for scrutiny. It appeals to a fear of being lost and never found, a fear of being watched or menaced by an unseen force or being, a fear of being trapped, closed-in, and even of open spaces.

And while I believe these fears to be ancient in origin, I believe it all comes from one fear more than any others: the loss of control over one’s own life.

Since I have never been in control and believe that the concept of it is delusion and unreal, I have nothing to fear.

But yesterday, I came very close.

The old man was no devil. But in heightened awareness, when one suffers from various maladies, the wrong surroundings can make one believe almost anything.

Perhaps no one can explain the phenomenon more concisely than the Why Files personalities A.J. and Hecklefish. Here is the episode that gives us the skinny on liminal spaces and how they have entered pop culture.

And if you should find yourself somewhere strange, a featureless, empty space which evokes a feeling of the uncanny, of being menaced, trapped or lost, don’t worry.

You aren’t really alone.

Chrono Cross PS1 and the Remastered PS4 Version (Out Now!)

Last month, I was under the impression that Chrono Cross was to be released on the Nintendo Switch. Nostalgic but bitter, I bought a PS1 and Chrono Cross and managed to play one full time, about 60 hours total, before the disc drive failed. No hope of getting a refund, I was understandably miffed. I’d looked forward to revisiting all my original Playstation classics along with a few I had never played but wanted to.

But by then, I had learned to my shock that the game was being released on PS4, PC, and Xbox One as well, and that it was not a mere port; it was remastered!

Nobody had seemed to know about it. As I searched, there were speculative articles: the soundtrack had been modified and distressed the gamers who had played the original, released 22 years ago this August, in the US.

Ah, the month of August, 2000. Living in Sparrows Point, confined to my bedroom which was the only room equipped with an air conditioning window unit: it was fine by me. The kitchen was 98 degrees. I’d cook crab cakes and sweat profusely, take the meal to my room, shut the door and get lost in the tale of two worlds. Parallel Earths, one dying, one salvageable. Which was the one our hero belonged in?

I ended up getting all 11 endings, the whole month and part of September in gaming ecstasy.

Now, having once again played through the original, I have the remastered PS4 version.

The soundtrack has been modified, but so far, it is not something anyone but a hardcore Chrono fan would notice, and then only if you played the original recently. Also, most PS4 users have headphones, which enhance the new dynamic track and those make small changes seem more noticeable. It’s no big deal, but beautiful beyond compare to the original and, I must add, that is some feat.

The visuals include crisp and amazing models of the characters, and that’s unexpected. I imagined sharper images, but nothing like I’ve seen. The one problem is the backgrounds. Some are awesome while some look as if they were painted by brush using oils and watercolors. This is a little thing that hasn’t detracted from an immersive masterpiece.

This, you must understand, was a labor of love. The original game no longer existed as a complete code. The development team had to play it to reconstruct it. I suspect that if any original music does exist, that’s where I’ll find it, but since it’s done by the same composer, he will have kept to the basic areal themes. After all, Chrono Cross has never been forgotten as one of the finest game soundtracks ever made.

Gameplay

The story begins with a scene where three people (Serge, Kid and a random character) are fighting through ruins to activate a central transportation platform. At high levels and HP, we know there’s a catch. All games begin as level one protagonists, right? So there’s something wrong here, but the music lends an urgency to get through the area. We also don’t know that Serge, a teen, has fallen in love with Kid, another teen who’s pretty, but tomboyish and battle-hardened. She’s tough. The transport leads to an airborne structure above the ruins, where Serge hesitates. He’s bothered by something, but Kid urges him on. This leads to a cut scene which is, to understate, disturbing.

Now we find out why the characters were so leveled up: it was a nightmare suffered by Serge, who wakes up in his bed, called to by his mother. He was supposed to meet Leena, his girlfriend to go get some kommodo dragon scales for her to make a necklace. It’s critical that the player wanders the entire village first, finding certain items that will help him get started. The last thing any player should do is have Serge go alone; one character is immediately available to recruit, and it’s a good one: Poshul, Leena’s talking dog. Find a heckran bone hidden in someone’s house, and give it to the dog. She immediately joins your party.

Your party may consist of any three members, and they will have different abilities and resistance to magic and physical attacks. These can be overwhelming once the action gets hairy, so rotating members in and out, developing them and equipping them is challenging. Also, each will have different types of weapons and base element colors. Everyone comes with an element grid and using them effectively depends on who you’re about to fight, although indoors it becomes impossible to switch them.

Serge’s innate color is white, so he’s weaker against black innate characters; Kid’s is red, so you won’t use her in a boss fight when that boss has blue innate color. Zoah is yellow, so against green heavyweights, pull him in favor or a character who’s innate color is green.

That said, enemies of whatever color usually aren’t a problem once you gain about 15 stars. Not the basic enemies anyway; by then you’ll have upgraded armor and weapons along with accessories that can improve accuracy or protect a character. Exploring every region in any territory and winning battles yield cool things like rare Revive elements, hidden technical attacks, even armor.

As you play on, you realize that because it’s a classic turn-based JRPG, it is not a sandbox and therefore there’s no grinding. After a certain point, fighting will cease to yield points or spoils. This version offers a setting to turn off such battles. The classic game did have too much repetition, and it did get tiresome. There’s even an option for computer-controlled battles, but I’m just not able to go that route. Strategy is a big part of this game, and it is in every part, down to what you will do at each turn. Do you have Zoah do a Toss and Spike or cure a weaker member so they don’t need to have a revive used on them before you’ve felled even one of up to four enemies? These decisions are what makes the game great.

The cut scenes were magnificent the first time around; it is no different here. In 2000, I knew about the new PS2, but I was in awe of this game’s graphics and speed. No sweat loading or saving, and it pushed the original Playstation to its very limits. Squaresoft knew its stuff.

Also, in 2000, I had never played an RPG. What sold me was a demo disc that used to come with every Playstation (not PSM) Magazine which, I believe, was a sister publication of EGM. It went defunct a few years later. It should still be around. This, from the demo, is the in-game beginning, and what made me buy it without hesitation.

That’s all it took. Most demos were playable. I didn’t care, I wanted this game. Here’s that same sequence remastered with a look at the incredible precision of the actual game character models!

The Radical Dreamers is a separate game, a playable graphic novel that came between Chrono Trigger and Chrono Cross. I’ll have to wait. Right now I’m living a dream come true, and it is a joy to see and play this unexpected masterpiece! I’m glad that a new generation gets to experience such an extraordinary game.