Hey guys,
my nickname is skinny penis, I'm also known as Megaf$gg0t for the dank memers out there.
I've been dotafree for abt 11 days.
I believe that Dota has been the source or if not, a fuel, of my personal psychological problems. By getting away from Dota and spending my free time with recreational hobbies, such as skating, lifting and playing more creative videogames, I've actually become a better and happier person. My life isn't determined by a virtual number anymore, but by very real numbers which represent my strength.
I'd like to share a story: Last weekend I was skating to a gym, as I do 3 times a week, to pursue one of my hobbies. In the gym I was preparing one of the barbells for my over head press, by taking off weights of the rack and putting it onto the fixed barbell. A lady in the gym was doing the same as I, but had some trouble looking for a piece of equipment to fix the weights for safety regulations.
So, I, having a keen eye, spotted the piece she was looking for next to the smith machine, alas obscured from her point of view.
Trying to change myself, and being more open towards the outer world, I've decided to take the extra steps to pick up that clamp and hand it to the lady.
She greeted and thanked me with a smile, I smiled back, as it is a common gesture away from the keyboard. I told her that it's my pleasure and that there is no need to thank, and I went swiftly back to my own weights to do a set of deadlifts.
I was already scooting away when I noticed, that my upper back has not been exposed to a proper regiment.
Also I did my deadlifts with sub-par weight, so besides the squats that day of training was completely nullified.
nah man, i'm just practising writing. i want to actually do a track and I have to write a few thousand words for my graduation work over the next few weeks. also I have fun writing nonsense, I actually have a unfinished novel collecting dust somewhere on my computer.
10 days? Why are you saying it as it is some form of an achievement? Is it so hard to get away from dota, I mean I can stop playing it for months/years/forever and be totally fine.
The Flying Chicken
A flurry of little heads and feathers crowd a small area of muddy soil, lazily topped off with a sickening mixture of eatery leftovers. Several, pale-yellow beaks plow through the ground like pneumatic drills, picking off bits of food and some soil. A tall figure, of 5 feet 6 in height, towered over the bundle of feathers that huddled around his feet to devour the contents of his red biscuit tumbler that he is pouring on the ground, indiscriminately spilling some of the acidic sludge on the backs of some of these creatures. They didn’t mind if it made the feathers on their backs fall, or if it caused sores to erupt everywhere on their bodies anyway.
But one of them was not in that bundle of feathers, getting bathed in the shower of the filthy concoction. He was not crowding with that rowdy group, greedily pecking each other’s legs and heads, competing for… err… food. He didn’t mind if he’d miss the messy morning meal, care of the old, fragile farmer. For all things that a chicken in a bamboo fenced farm should care, this especially peculiar chicken, going by the name Jokjok, was preoccupied with one thing that the most primitive of their forefathers were capable of back then: flight.
He was simply not on the ground. He is perched on the highest branch of the highest mango tree growing in the farm. The mangos were ripe at those times, and one mango was hanging most temptingly at his head’s turn, but he didn’t care, because that was not of his concern. He is most especially focused on flying, flying across the vast blue sky, soaring with the strong winds, going anywhere his little birdie heart desires to go. He wanted to fly in circles above the farm, taking small glances below of his jealous, ant-sized brothers and sisters. Jokjok was already imagining their envious faces as they sit on the ground, and feel like the flightless chicken that they are.
Enough of the fantasizing, Jokjok snapped into focus. He breathed in… he breathed out… he breathed in… he breathed out… he breathed in… till he was peacefully calmed. He directed all of his attention to his looming attempt on flight. He concentrated on setting his mind that he can, and will, fly.
He steadily contracted his legs, pulling his body closer to the branch. He moved his head slightly forward. He extended his wings slowly but surely, trying to feel the beat of the wind with it. Like an airplane pilot finally checking the last item from his lengthy checklist, he was ready.
He rapidly leaped forward, away from the branch, into mid air. He extended his legs as far behind as the joints of his limbs would allow. He threw his head frontward, hoping that it would add up to his momentum. He distended his wings port and starboard, angling them slightly to guide the air through them to produce lift. He could feel his heart racing, at the exhilarating sight of the ground far below him. Jokjok nearly forgot to flap.
As muscularly as possible, he flapped, pushing the air below him, lifting his whole slender body as much as he could. He could see the horizon of the plains slightly drop from his line of sight. He could feel his whole weight suddenly going nowhere. The tips of his wings almost touched each other below his body. He pulled his wing back up, recovering them for the next flap.
He lifts his wings, priming them for the next flap. This whole cycle went on perfectly just like as he practiced on the ground, mock flying like an angry duck. He could feel that he could finally get it this time, after all of his failed, futile attempts. He knew at his heart he could really fly, contrary to what his brothers and sisters said.
His heart was wrong.
He was too excited to know that it was too early to call it ‘flying’.
He was only able to flap his wings ten times.
Like an immunizing needle through his lungs, he could feel the stabbing pain race through his torso. He choked. He could feel the airways in his neck suddenly thicken. He finds himself agonizingly gasping for air. He could feel his chest as if being gutted from the inside out.
It only gets worse. His wings began to stiffen. His wing muscles felt like getting torn into two. He thought that his muscles were going to snap from the joints. From the bones, he could feel little thorns shooting from the marrow to his outer skin.
He was fainting. And he was barely gliding to the ground.
With a loud thud, he hit the little stack of sacks filled with rice husk, nearly knocking it down.
To the shock of the bundle of feathers and to the fragile, old farmer, they were surprised to see a chicken falling out of the sky, yet again, since the past month.
The whole flightless flock chorused a cackle, a loud and annoying cackle that seemingly teased and mocked yet another epic fall of Jokjok.
To be uncontinued...
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Hi guys,
my nickname is Dos Catos, I'm also known as Kittyminati, for the oldschool people here.
And I've been Dotafree for 10 days now.