MoodyRPG wrote:

So, this is the best work from Larto

Meg & Dia for existing

Jacob wrote:

Sigh, 8.3 stars.

It's sAd that whenever people see a map like this, they're like "OMG THIS ISN'T TOUHOU OR HATSUNE MIKU OR 240 BPM SPEECORE BOO IT SUCKS."

Blue Dragon wrote:

Jacob wrote:

Sigh, 8.3 stars.

It's sAd that whenever people see a map like this, they're like "OMG THIS ISN'T TOUHOU OR HATSUNE MIKU OR 240 BPM SPEECORE BOO IT SUCKS."

actually, they're like "omg it's larto i fucking hate everything he does because he used to talk in #modhelp and that makes all his maps shitty!!!!"

NotShinta wrote:

this one time. I beg you. We're proud to announce it's halftime in NotShinta, and also it's half time in Meg & Sia.

Where there's a reason, there's a purpose. As is the case here. And where there is a purpose, there is good, but there is also bad. As has been.

But there are different kinds of good and bad. There's hurting stable feelings. There's giving muffins to somebody that deserves them. There's being there for someone who isn't always quite there. And there's deciding to not pollute water and give everybody who drinks it cholera. In the long run, it might matter, or it might not. In fact, nothing really matters. It culminates in nothing, nothing. And everyone knows the ends justify the means.

Or do they?

That's what the point is not. On rateyourmusic.com, on which people rate music that belongs to other people, misleadingly, Here, Here and Here has a total 5-star rating of 3.16. From 40 ratings. "An Avril Lavigne upgrade and two of them. Meg and Dia write some precious lyrics and unabashedly youthful but very enjoyable and almost poetic (I use that word loosely because they use some oddly hilarious rhymes)." states the first, 3 and a half star, review.

You can argue with that. To some extent, you can't. In fact, some would say you can't at all. I mean, "You write me letters like you've transformed into Charles Dickens overnight or something (OH I'M SORRY)". That's not a rhyme but it's unforgivable. Dickens may have captured London in the year mumblemumble in a very accurate manner and generally was very influential in history and in writing, but he wrote letters!

Nobody should really care. Peter wouldn't. Take yo' pick. Jackson, Frampton, Gabriel. Wait, Frampton? Who is this imposter? I don't blame him. I don't blame anyone. Not least The Artist, or His Art. Such a wild heart. Such a wild youth.

Earth to Larto. On Insane, on this map, I like the way the HP Bar takes a while to recover after a short but noticeable draining section. It's not much, and it's not too intense, but it's all we've got. Yeah, it's all we've got.

Let me tell you a story. Once, I was walking home from school. I found I had a fiver in my pocket, and I was walking past the supermarket, so I decided to go in. Not sure why; I didn't need any groceries or anything in any case and there's not much else you can buy there that isn't overpriced. Maybe I hoped to come out with a can of Coke or something.

But I was walking past the condiment aisle, just loitering. I saw my baby then. A Jar. Of pickles, to be precise, but it was not the Jar itself I fell in love with. I caught the eye of a single pickle. "I must take this home", I decided, and avoided the eye contact of The Man as I bought this small jar of pickles, and took it home.

When I got home, I didn't even turn on my TV, nor the computer. I didn't even fix myself a snack, like usual. I just waltzed right up the stairs, and finally reached the bathroom. The best room. The room with the least secrets and lies, with these people. Retelling it to you, it sounds silly, but I tell you, what I felt then was love. The real love, the kind that makes everything seem alright, not the kind that decides that I have to spend all my money on Gary Numan albums. I had even forgotten I wasn't getting much love in my life, but there it was, as if it had never left. With only a pickle. All of a sudden, anger had no place in my life. And it never had. But it had now learnt its lesson.

It was time to eat. I put the pickle aside and put some fish in the oven, and promptly in half an hour, it was ready to eat, right in front of the TV. I was tired, but certainly not sleepy. I read a book inside my bed, with the pickle providing all the light I needed through that long night.

When I woke up, my lover had melted. He was nowhere to be found. I thought about him all through school, fiver in hand. The Man did not greet me as I ran back into the supermarket. And neither did any of the pickles. Mostly cucumbers, really, with some garlic and pickling spices.

They were just pickles. But I still know that was most definitely love.

That was not my story. It was the Song "Reading Time with Pickle". As I've probably revealed by now. But that's what the point is not. It's fixing up a projector again, but it's actually quite true to situation gone down during Here, Here and Here's mapping production. Except I didn't realise how sexual it all was. I wish I had never paid attention to the bathroom verse. In fact, the truth is, the situation is a bit sexual, but nothing exceeding past the normal.

That's the last I'll say. It's all I ever needed to say. On my desktop, there's celibate desperation. No, that's all I needed to say.

I'm sorry, all of you. All he takes from this is courage. I've no regrets.



Oh, by the way, we're bubbling in Canada next month. Like biased rats. But let it pass, just

SPOILER