Dirtbike Jumps

I've been doing lots of dirtbike jumps lately, since there ain't been a lot of clanky activity. Matthews declares them "badass" and I can't deny it. They are definitely badass dirtbike jumps. There's an art to it, and it helps with business. Like they call up an Adventurer and he comes flying into town off of a conveniently placed ramp. You have to place those ramps yourself, though, so you try not to let the clientile see you setting them up.

It's hell on the dirtbike though, I've gone through like three. Cost of business.

Not 'Blogging' for a awhile, guys

The dirtbike sped along the winding lane.
I saw the ledge and knew what must be done.
I took fierce flight but it was all in vain.
Jonesy Sawbones, zero. Gravity, one.

My leg was splintered right above the knee.
The bike burned bright, flames rising to the sky.
I was prepared to let my soul fly free
And go fight Calcs in the Great By-And-By.

But look! An ambulance! Oh, welcome sight!
I knew that I would die another day.
But doctors said I could not ride or fight
Or do anything awesome. What dismay!

Not being able to do what you love
is like a Calc hoarding a precious Glove.

-

Not gonna update because I think I'm accidentally writing poetry on account of the meds. I'll have to make sure later.

Hard Day

Hell.

I try to keep up with something -- this blog, for instance -- and I forget about it until something really shakes me up. Sometimes you just gotta say what's on your mind, you know?

So I was doing my thing in some filthy Calcoid dive, taking with me a fellow hunter who's been coming along more often lately.

While we were cleaning out a room, out of NOWHERE, this lone Calc jumped out and bit a huge chunk out of Donovan's arm. He screamed out, and I looked over, seeing a most terrible secret revealed.

Donovan's very flesh had been peeled back, and underneath, I could see the arm of a Calcoid!

He had been one of those filthy mongrels in disguise all this time!

He was probably trying to lull me into a false sense of security and planning to dispose of me once I trusted him enough to let my guard down.

The terror in that THING'S eyes as I smashed its head in with my trusty bat was almost believable.

I'll give it this, it was strong for a Calc. It took me a lot of swings to settle the matter with any real finality.

It makes me sick to think I called it friend.

I don't know how I'm going to break it to Mrs. Donovan that her husband was a Secret Calc Infiltrator.

Controversial Tactics

So I'm in the shop after a typically shitty haul, and some of the boys are having a rather loud argument.

I walk over to see what's going on, and I find out there is apparently some debate going on, about setting up "Trap Dungeons" for Calcs.

The process is pretty simple, actually: someone puts some rare items or gold in a dungeon filled with trap mechanisms, and sure enough, the Calcs rattle in like vultures to a corpse. Once the Calcs are caged, the owners of the dungeon sell the right to kill them to some sissies who are too afraid to hunt Calcs on their own.

I will be the first to say it's not sporting, but I also think its God-damned awesome.

Think about it: it's about time someone made some real money off of killing Calcs, and they don't deserve the respect we afford more noble creatures such as deer and boar.

I only wish I had the resources to start a dungeon myself.

I know who you are

That stupid son of a bitch went too far this time.

I was leaping down the stairs after I got a call from the DA who said he had Calcs in his closet, and the rest of his house.  I had The Bat strapped to my back, I hopped on my dirtbike and I was ready to go. Then I noticed my tires were flat.  Slashed, actually.  And the engine had a spray-painted Calc face on it.

Only one asshole would pull this kind of shit and it's not a fucking Calc.   Calaveras. That Calc-loving son of a bitch would do anything to slow me down.  He's all about getting the Calcs full rights and putting restrictions on killing those assholes.  Like we're gonna run out of Calcs. I swear that asshole is like one step ahead of me.  He's probably a Half-Calc, like that bitch from "Psycho."

And yeah, I just wheeled the bike to the service station, grinding the rims. It was too heavy to carry.

Hello

This is my blog, I imagine. It's been something I've been meaning to do, keep some notes about the Life because damn if the literature about Calc-hunting ain't got it all wrong.

It's been like that ever since that Michael Crichton novel where the rich industrialist manages to animate those huge prehistoric Calcs the paleontologists keep excavating. Most of us in this line of work don't even believe those Calcs are REAL. There's not any evidence at all that they hoarded gold, first of all, so you know the part in the movie where Sam Neill finds the Calc-raptor-thing's treasure vault is complete Hollywood bullshit.

I'm getting worked up. Going to go do some work, I've been meaning to scout Old Pirate's Cove for a month now. We'll see if I manage to keep up with a "blog."