Welcome to another edition of the, er, we’ll say bi-weekly mailbag. All questions are from spammers who send their letters via courier, whether that be in Skyrim or New Vegas.
If any humans would like to send a question, PM me here or email them to firstname.lastname@example.org. Just make sure to let me know this is for the mailbag and that you want your name public, or else I will attribute your question to spammers.
On to the mailbag:
Condoms for Elephants asks:
Tell me a parable.
A young student approached his master, wanting to know the essence of the thu’um.
The Greybeard replied, “Some say the thu’um is the language of dragons, and there is some truth in that. But I believe the true author of the voice is the sky itself. When you hear the crack of thunder, you hear the voice that gave birth to the dragon tongue. And yet for the world to prosper, the sky must learn to control her emotions. She must not let her loneliness become a blizzard, or let her tears become a flood. The true power of the voice is in learning not to speak.”
The pupil nodded his head, taking weight of the monk’s advice. Then he thought to hell with it and decided to kill a guy with his shout. That pupil’s name was Ulfric Stormcloak.
Supercilious in Seattle asks:
Sometimes I wonder if Tolfdir made a bet with Urag that he could take a nobody off the street and make him a successful wizard, meanwhile sending an established sorcerer into Skyrim and watch him/her end up a homeless skooma addict. All for one septim. It’s the only way I can make sense of my two-handed Nord bozo becoming Archmage of Winterhold.
Local runaway becomes Archmage of Winterhold does feel like the plot for a wacky 80’s movie, and Trading Places is a great one. The only question is, if you’re Eddie Murphy in this analogy, who’s Dan Aykyrod? This guy? Borvir and Rundi? Well, I’m sure whoever it is, both of you will work things out and catch Tolfdir and Urag trying to manipulate the price of mead futures.
Komm Susser Tod asks:
I don’t understand the appeal of Donald Trump. If there were any justice he would not only lose the election but be legally reclassified as livestock.
Depends on the farm, I guess. Livestock in Skyrim have it pretty good. Diplomatic immunity for chickens and all that. Either way, don’t blame me if America ends up in flames, I’m voting for Kodos.
Brown Paper Bag asks:
If you take a shit, you are literally giving a shit. That makes no sense at all.
Well, I’d say the whole grammar behind shitting is weirdly counter-intuitive. If I’m full of shit, I’m a liar. But if I try to correct the problem and lose my shit, I’m completely out of my mind. And if there’s no shit, I’m merely stating the obvious.
Pun Nintended asks:
Can you imagine a world where serious injuries caused you to shrink in half like in Super Mario Bros.? Whenever you see a little person in the street, you’d know they just suffered a near-death experience.
There would definitely be a whole culture centered around half-sized people, and cities where everything was half-sized to accommodate them. I’m not sure what the psychological impact would be, however. In essence you’re being given an extra life, so in that regard it should make you more inclined to take risks. At the same time, unlike becoming a halfling, death isn’t something most people fear. It’s not there to constantly remind you what happens when you fuck up, or what happened because you fucked up.
But one thing I do know is, it would make a lot of famous movie scenes play out really, really awkwardly.
INT. BRONX RESTAURANT – LATE EVENING
Michael Corleone takes his seat at the table after retrieving the gun from the bathroom stall. Solozzo and McCluskey give him an appraising look, but neither suspect any foul play. Michael sits down and gazes forward. Solozzo and McCluskey continue to talk, and as the ambient chatter bubbles to a violent din, Michael draws his gun and shoots Solozzo in the head.
Upon impact, Solozzo shrinks into half size while Michael shoots McCluskey. Solozzo tries to run but finds his shoes much too large for his small, miniature feet. Michael shoots him in the back and says “Take-a that!” before finishing off McCluskey with a turtle shell.
Find an Attorney asks:
There should be drinking games where you take a shot every time an NPC says something repetitive.
This would probably work better for multiplayer, since most single player games don’t really have repetitive lines outside of Fallout: New Vegas. I managed to hear six straight “Patrolling the Mojave…” lines in succession the other day. If I were playing your drinking game I’d be dead.
But the primary reason is that drinking alone kind of defeats the point, so unless you’re a Let’s Player, games where you’re competing with or against a friend are more ideal. I’m sure games like Mario Party, Mario Kart, Madden, Destiny, Smash, Splatoon, Borderlands and other multiplayer jaunts have elements that would work well for a drinking game – things that are just repetitive enough but not so common they’d result in a trip to the hospital.
Free Japan asks:
I was taking a dump on the toilet, and I needed to spit. I tried spitting in the bowl, but I hit my dick. Now I have a gross loogie on my penis and I feel like an idiot for not just spitting into a piece of toilet paper. Anyways for some reason it felt like something Rumarin would do.
What? Rumarin would never attempt something so lazy, so poorly thought out, all in the interest of saving a few seconds of time, only to have the entire thing blow up in in his face. No. Not in a million years.
Okay, maybe it sounds like something he would do. He’d also be the first to tell you about it.