October 4, 2012
Posted by Mike aka Mightily Oats
Howdy y’all, and welcome to another episode of Cooking with Oats.
Having children has taught me a few things over the years. One thing I have learned is that I have slowly become a jaded, unfeeling husk of a human; all of my lust for life has been leeched from my being by these tiny, squalling succubae. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children but I know that they are slowly killing me. I’m not sure when I became numb to human suffering, but it had to have happened recently.
I vividly remember the first time that my wife left me alone with my 6 month old daughters. They were both sound asleep on the couch and I had to pee so bad that my back teeth were floating. I thought that this was my chance to run to the bathroom and prevent my bladder from rupturing.
Standing in the bathroom, caught in mid-stream ecstasy and thanking God for minor miracles, I heard what sounded like someone dropping a whole raw chicken on a slab of concrete. My heart and bladder seized and my mind raced as all of the horrifying possibilities were frog-marched in front of my mind’s eye by my over-active imagination. My ears picked up the tiny gasp that had come to be the herald of a Category 5 baby shriek.
My legs, not waiting for administrative approval from my brain, propelled me a million miles an hour out of the bathroom, through the hallway and toward my living room. Too late, I realized that I had forgotten to properly secure my pants in their upright-and-locked position. Those treacherous breeches, ever vigilant for an opportunity to kill their cruel master, seized upon this momentary lapse in security to throw themselves down around my ankles. The flight through the last few yards of my trip were turbulence free, but the landing was a little rough.
Using my face as a brake, I slid up to my fallen daughter. Her face was beet red with rage and she was screaming one of those screams that are pushed out with such force that the first few moments of it are only detectable by bats and dogs. Scooping her up into my arms, I frantically checked her body for gaping lacerations, compound fractures, laser blast wounds and latent decapitation all while chanting the mantra “Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!” and swearing that, from this day forth, I will never pee again.
Twenty minutes later, my wife walked into the house and saw what she dismissively calls “A cute little scene.” Every stick of furniture had been hurled onto the front lawn, the floor was entirely covered in pillows, every sharp corner of the walls had five inches of foam rubber nailed around them and my dogs were lying helplessly on the floor with mittens taped on their feet. I was sitting in the middle of the our living room, villainous trousers tangled around my feet, both of my daughters held tightly in my arms wrapped head to toe in the thickest blankets I could find, rocking back and forth while sobbing “I’m a good daddy, I’m a good daddy!” to the universe at large.
Looking up at my wife with red, puffy eyes I wailed, “I’m a horrible person!”
“Welcome to my world, dude. Pull up your pants and help me with the groceries.”
I now know, two years later, why my wife is as cold and hard as a Mafia hitman. Every drop of empathy has been wrung from my haggard frame by these devil-children that I am legally obligated to care for and legally prohibited from strangling. Now when my daughters fall from spectacular heights, I watch them with the critical eye of a Russian judge at an Olympic gymnastics competition, reserving my highest scores for only their most dazzling performances.
My total lack of emotion has crept into every aspect of my life, including my love life. A week ago Mrs. Oats and I had tricked her parents into letting our children destroy their house for an entire evening. After a rather spirited lover’s romp I was leaning back shackled to my favorite rack, sighing the sigh of the truly contented. Mrs. Oats sat on our bed idly picking bits of my flesh out of her barbed whip, humming tunelessly to herself.
“The neighbors called the cops again” she informed me.
“Not surprised, you were in rare form” I replied.
“I’m going to head over to the bar and meet my girlfriends for drinks and bragging. You want me to unchain you?”
“I think I’m just gonna hang here for a while and let these wounds scab over. You have fun.”
Hanging there in the calm peace of an empty house with nothing but a gas mask and my thoughts my mind wandered to my favorite subject; Commander. I felt that my love for the game has waned over the last few months. It would be great if I could spice up my game in the same way that I have my love life, but who could hold a candle to the sadism that my wife brings to the table? Darien, King of Kjeldor, that’s who.
Darien loves nothing more than to see my ass take a beating, spurting out white soldier tokens every time it happens. The question is, how can I take the beating that he needs in a measured and controlled way without relying on the over-eager hands of my opponents? As the old saying goes “Sticks and stone may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me.”
Whips and Chains
These delightful little trinkets will allow me to take a nice measured beating without killing me outright. Symmetrical pain sticks like Ankh of Mishra, Armageddon Clock and Copper Tablet will pop everyone at the table while keeping Darien happy. Jade Monolith, Blood of the Martyr and Sivvi’s Valor will let me save my creatures from unfavorable combat while filling up my ranks with soldiers. Certain pain lands can be really useful as well since I can choose when they are going to hurt me, especially Nomad Stadium, which does double duty as a hurter and a healer.
I have no intention of inflicting all of this pain on myself all willy-nilly without some soothing balm to help heal those wounds.
For vanilla flavored life gain you can’t do much better than Beacon of Immortality and Rhox Faithmender is awesome life gain support, but there are a ton of great utility spells with life gain attached as an afterthought. Faith’s Fetters, Recumbent Bliss and Spirit Link are all good creature control. Divine Offering, Serene Offering, Paraselene, Solemn Offering and Terashi’s Grasp are all decently costed enchantment and artifact hate. Honor the Fallen is our graveyard hate and Narrow Escape is a fun combat trick that can set up some sweet CIP effects. Speaking of combat, Loxodon Warhammer, Noble Purpose and True Conviction will make my swarm of soldiers little life gaining machines.
Darien is going to be squirting out a steady stream of little white soldiers, but we need to take it from the pathetic dribble that it is and ramp it up so that even Peter North would be impressed. It’s time for the Money Shot.
I want all of my enemies to have soldier tokens just dripping off of their faces and Benalish Commander, Captain of the Watch, Cloudgoat Ranger, Hero of Bladehold and Knight-Captain of Eos certainly deliver the goods. Mobilization, Kjeldoran Outpost and Elspeth Tirel help prime the pump. The ever powerful Coat of Arms is joined by Crovax, Ascendant Hero, Daru Warchief, Field Marshal and Rhox Pikemaster along with Crescendo of War to pump up the waves of new recruits. Loxodon Gatekeeper is an ivory tusked ball-gag that you can strap on all of your opponents and Gideon’s Avenger is an ivory colored strap-on with balls your opponent can gag on. Big swinging spells like Decree of Justice and Conqueror’s Pledge round out the regiment.
The whole scene is tied together with the perfect garb. Leather belts, straps and cod pieces all studded with spikey bits of metal and Latex bed sheets for easy cleaning.
Leather is durable and reusable, offering style and strength without the chaffing of steel and iron. Erratic Portal, Kor Skyfisher, Stonecloaker, Stormfront Riders and Whitemane Lion give more opportunities to reuse guys like Captain of the Watch and Cloudgoat Ranger. Durability comes in the form of Mark of Asylum and Kor Haven. For easy post-coitus cleaning Latex is king, just hose it off and start fresh. Harsh Mercy and Martial Coup perform marvelously.
Oh yes, my suffering will be legendary.
Perhaps Darien will be able sate my lust for suffering. Perhaps my supplication at the altar of self-flagellation will bring me the pleasure that has been lacking lately. Perhaps I need another hobby.