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If you don’t know what WarBook is, you probably have a job that’s cooler than mine. WarBook is what the members of the desk-chained working class are busy with for the nine out of ten hours they spend at the office. It’s a text-based RPG application for Facebook where you build your own kingdom, train an army, and amass more land by attacking other kingdoms, burning their villages, pillaging their farms, and raping their wimmin on church altars.

Life before Warbook: I look like I can’t even break a plate

Before WarBook came into my life, I was a naive college graduate whose “burgis twang” became an endless source of amusement to her coworkers. Genetics and real world conditions make me too nice to retaliate at those who choose to make me the butt of their jokes. If I were to be drafted into the army and placed smack dab in the middle of a battle, I’d be the fodder placed at the front of the line. If I were a civilian during times of war, I’d be the farm girl who dies in the burning barn because I fell asleep instead of watching out for enemy soldiers who want to get their gunpowder-covered hands inside my cornflower-blue dirndl. Thanks to WarBook, no longer will I be the helpless maiden with naught but a metal pail to defend herself with! No longer will I be the nearsighted new recruit whose shoulder will break at the rifle’s recoil! I am a lvl 11 Warlord of a kingdom seventeen thousand acres wide, patrolled and defended with an army 137k+ strong. AND I WILL PWN UR SOULZ.

She may not look like much, but Laurian is a ruthless warlord. Rly.

I’m probably not the best person to blog about WarBook since I know next to nothing about strategy. Over coffee, Pete (who, in the world of WarBook, is Mordo the Fat, Diplomat for the Premiere Alliance and self-proclaimed patron of Codex Zabulon) enchanted me with stories of alliance warfare and tried, bless his soul, to educate me on the math governing the right number of soldiers, knights, pikemen, and elites to take to battle with me. The whole lecture, of course, flew way over my head the way any conversation that involves numbers does. Perhaps I should have taken down notes. I am currently having difficulty breaching the defenses of enemy kingdoms around my size, but every Warlord has their moments of defeat.

You might be wondering how an utter ditz everywhere like such as myself could have possibly amassed so much land and so many troops in the span of three weeks. Well, my faithful readers and loyal subjects, hang on to your mouses for I shall reveal to you my secrets to Warbook success.

My success. Let me show you it.

The key to victory is friendship. You think I climbed all the way to the top through my own hard work and effort? Hell no! In the first place, wimmin only play games like RPGs to get guys to like them. It makes us look like we’re smart and into elves and other ghei shit guys wank off to at night when in truth, the only thing girls know about RPGs is that we want to marry Legolas someday. That being said, if you are a girl, becoming a Warbook success story such as myself is a piece of cake. It doesn’t matter if you choose to be a Wizard, General, Warlord, Visionary, or Mogul. As long as you have a vajayjay attached to your crotch, you’re a sure win!

A fine example of the friend type you’d want to invite to Warbook

The first thing you do upon adding the Warbook application to your already cluttered Facebook page is to invite your fellow Facebook friends to join the war. The invitation process requires serious thought, because you’ll want to invite the friends who spend 20 hours in front of the Internet each day. The type of friends who won’t be able to resist a juicy invitation to a simple text-based RPG on a social networking site. This alone will earn you 100,000 gold for every friend who accepts your invitation. See how easy you have it already?

In about a day, the friends you invited should be about ten levels higher than you. This will really come in handy when your fledgling kingdom gets attacked by players stronger than yourself - which will happen a lot while you’re still a n00b. Don’t be stupid and exact vengeance on these bastards yourself; you don’t want your troops to die needlessly! All you have to do is to give the names of your attackers to your stronger friends, and they’ll retaliate in your name.

Some of the members of the alliance Codex Zabulon

At this point, one of your friends should already have the one million pieces of gold required to start an alliance. An alliance makes the whole telling-your-friends-about-your-attackers process easier and the retaliation process more convenient for them. Make sure that the friend who initiates the alliance christens your coalition with a sinister sounding name. A name that conjures up images of villages reduced to ashes, its former occupants impaled through their anuses by the gates of the once-majestic kingdom. A name that will strike fear in the hearts of men and make them lose control of their bladders. Let me show you an example. The “We Love Dinuguan Fan Club”, as suggested by Pau, is NOT an alliance you’d like to be part of. A name such as that brings to mind a group of potbellied, middle-aged fathers feasting on pig’s blood and Beer na Beer on rickety wooden benches at the sari-sari store in the kanto. Which is pretty much how the Man Blog editors spend their weekends, but we don’t want people in Warbook to know that, do we? Luckily, Fritz (Corinthian in the world of WarBook) came up with the million gold before Pau could, and our alliance was hereafter to dubbed Codex Zabulon.

The only kind of aid your friends and allies can give you is in monetary and soldier form. WarBook is constructed in such a way that you can’t leech off other people completely. Thus, the only way for your kingdom to grow in size is to attack other kingdoms yourself and take land from them by force. Here are a few helpful tips on how to launch a successful campaign:

Don’t bother attacking kingdoms who
- have been attacked heavily recently
- have been attacked moderately recently
- have not been attacked recently
- have been sacked once or twice lately
- have been stripped off most of their resources by invaders
- have not been sacked recently

Make sure you use the Spy function before launching an attack! This way, you’ll find out how many soldiers, knights, pikemen, and elites they have versus yours. If they have more troops than you, don’t even think about it.

I rarely ever use the Survey function, but it sort of helps seeing how many mines, forts, barracks, barriers, and amplifiers the target kingdom has. Unfortunately I don’t know what to do with this information so I just kind of ignore it and attack anyways.

Players with a bunch of unclickable letters attached to their names means that they’re part of an alliance. Don’t bother attacking them unless you want your kingdom to get ass-raped by their friends.

Players who aren’t part of an alliance probably have a shitload of forts and pikemen defending their land. Don’t bother attacking them.

Do you have a Warbook success story you’d like to share? Tips, tricks, and strategies? Tell me all about it! I’d love to hear from my fellow warmongers and decorated heroes.

WE’RE HEEERE!

Well what do you know, I ended up NOT making an ass out of myself on the intarwebs after all. The wonderful Lorna (aka TheBachelorGirl) took the time to personally speak to Fritz and me so we could sort out the mess that was my unexpected marketing scheme. What a very nice lady she is! Thanks to her, we got to occupy the best seats in the house. Even the obscenely tall couple sitting in front of us could not ruin the view from where we were seated.

Unlike Fritz, who pretty much knew the soundtrack by heart even before we got our tickets, I only knew of two songs from Avenue Q: Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist and The Internet Is For Porn. (Aside: I find it odd that my friends keep cracking jokes about how I would know a lot of things about the internet being for porn. Me?! Lauren Dado? Role model for the Filipino youth? What do I know about vulgar things like Internet pornography? Srsly gais.) I felt like a douche for showing up unprepared, so I went on a mad Avenue Q OST download spree before heading out. It’s a good thing I wasn’t able to find the complete soundtrack though. You see, when it comes to watching movies or plays, I believe that Ignorance Is Bliss. I like knowing next to nothing about what I’m about to see. This makes me a more open-minded viewer and keeps me from falling into the trap of holding unrealistic expectations or from “challenging” what I’m about to watch (”Come on puppets, bring on the LOLZ!”). Also, I become more receptive to happy surprises and unexpected plot twists.

The Ignorance Is Bliss tactic brought rise to a rather unusual experience I had while watching Avenue Q: for a very brief moment during the second act of the play, I actually felt like crying.

This happened when Kate Monster sang the lines, “I wish I could go back to college. Life was so simple back then.” Fuck me if I haven’t made that same wish (almost) every day since I graduated! Actually, the opening lines of the play - “What do you do with a BA in English? What is my life going to be?” - was enough to hit me right where it hurts. I did not expect Avenue Q to address the question of Purpose or to portray the confusion and self-doubt that plagues us sheltered college kids when we step out into the Real World. The lighthearted moments were appropriate placed though, so that the heavy stuff didn’t get too heavy. Thank god for that, or I really would have burst into tears and made an idiot out of myself.

Besides the existential angst, Avenue Q also brings up other Real World issues people don’t like saying out loud simply because they aren’t very pleasant things. Things like: you aren’t as special as you thought you were, money is a real bitch to come by even with a degree, and happiness is an evasive and fleeting thing. If I had kids, I’d take my kids to see it because nobody ever tells children about the awful things that await them in the Real World. Then I’ll make sure they don’t have access to sharp objects or ropes afterwards. Also, nobody ever tells children about sex and how it happens. So parents - if you feel awkward about explaining how the boy’s peepee goes into the girl’s vajayjay to make babies, the very graphic sex scene in the play is quite instrumental explaining the reproductive process. My mom did her best with me, but for the longest time I seriously thought I could get pregnant by kissing someone.

We have pictures of the cast, just not with them. Suxxorz.

Performance-wise, the cast was excellent, particularly Aiza Seguerra, who pulled off a very believable performance as the grown-up child actor Gary Coleman, right down to the accent. Joel Trinidad was also amazing as Trekkie Monster and Nikky. Then again, I’m a little biased because I’ve had the hots for him ever since I saw him perform at Mag:Net Bonifacio High Street. Once I have more time, I intend to make Jayvee bring me to his SPIT shows so I can stalk him properly and propose marriage, or perhaps concubinage, when the opportunity arises.

I think the reviews done by bloggers more eloquent than myself already said what I want to say. Which is: go watch Avenue Q! I hear the shows are all sold out, but try to mug someone you know with tickets anyway. The jail time will be worth it, I promise.

For days after you wrote a certain blog entry about a certain Pearl Boy dating experience, a certain Pearl Boy has been trying his damned hardest to meet you over dinner or coffee. You’re surprised by this because you kind of expected him to never want to see you again after reading what you wrote. Then again, he probably wants some sort of closure with you, and you believe in being fair and nice (even when you think you’ve already used up all your niceness reserves). Ignoring your parents’ threats to chain you up in your room until your corpse is covered in cobwebs, you agree to meet him for a quick dinner and coffee on a Sunday evening. Might as well get this over with, yeah?

Because you’re sooo heartbroken, liek srsly

As the two of you make your way to the restaurant, he asks you if you notice anything about him. “Umm…you didn’t put hair wax?” you say. He shakes his head and points to his shirt, which was blue and has a cartoon drawing of a boy with glasses and the caption “NERDS GET GIRLS” right below it. You feel the urge to walk far far away from him and yell, “See this 10-foot distance between us? Can we maintain this until we get to Fazoli’s? Also, can we just sit at different tables and communicate via ESPN?” The last thing you want to be is the walking proof right next to his t-shirt. You are the one chick he is not going to get. He must have seen the WTF? expression on your face because he asks if you find his shirt funny. You pointedly tell him that it’s funny in the same way t-shirts that say “Sex Instructor for Hire” are funny ironic.

Um, no they don’t

At dinner (where he eats and you watch him eat because you feel as skinny as a ballooning condom), you wait for him to bring up the reason as to why he dragged you all the way out here on a Sunday night. You already have a vague idea of what he’s going to say, so you try to broach the subject. He says he wants to chill and have a “normal” conversation with you for now (”normal” meaning no heavy topics). Unfortunately, it was kind of hard for you to relax all throughout dinner; you’re the type who can’t have fun unless you get the heavy stuff out of the way. You also grow increasingly irritated that he sees you as some sort of venue to relax after a long week at work. What am I, you think, a geisha? Since when was it my job to provide entertainment and witty conversation? As dinner goes on you become even more annoyed because you can’t even hold his attention 100%. A girl in a scandalously short skirt and tall boots passes by and he becomes visibly distracted. You fail at entertaining guys. Or rather, nerds. Because nerds get chicks. Perhaps you should have worn shorter shorts.

If you wear this, does he will pay more attenshuns to you?

After what seems like an eternity, he’s finally done with dinner and the two of you head over to a coffee shop so you can get down to business. You’re a relieved that you haven’t run into anyone either of you know, but that’s about to change. After buying coffee, he spots a former college bandmate and goes over to say hi. Introductions are made, and you put your showbiz face on when the College Friend reads the Pearl Boy’s shirt out loud and gives you a knowing glance. Ground, you think, this is your cue to open up and swallow me whole! No? Kk.

Finally, you grab a seat outside a coffee shop and get to the part why he dragged you all the way out here for dinner in the first place. He tells you that he saw what you wrote in your blog about him (whoops!) he didn’t like that he came off looking like the bad guy. If you have any issues with him, now’s the time to bring it up instead of him finding out about it somewhere else. You fight the urge to laugh, because this isn’t the first time someone IRL found out that you wrote about him/her in an unfavorable light. For a moment there, you feel like a douche. But only for a moment. You almost apologize but you choose to shrug and say, “Bzuh?” In hindsight, you realize you should have said something like, “Well of course you seemed like a bad person in my blog! That’s how I perceive you, therefore that’s how I will write about you! Not that you’re a bad person, really. Just some douche who bruised the shit out of my ego. Seriously, you should feel a tiny bit flattered that I actually wrote something about you. That’s a whole lot more than the other guys I’ve dated got.” Unfortunately, your ability to deliver clever comebacks fails you at crucial moments. This is why you don’t want to become a lawyer.

You pretty much just parrot whatever it is you wrote in your blog entry, and once you’re done with your word vomit, he systematically tears your statements apart into two manageable chunks. Chunk A being your depression and his views on it, Chunk B being his response to every single time you declared, “I know you don’t like me because I’m so not your type.” Chunk A took about half an hour to discuss and by the time it’s settled, your dad starts texting you to go home NOW. I knew it, you think. I knew we wouldn’t have enough time to talk. Why didn’t you stop being a courtesan and bring up the heavy stuff over dinner again? Oh yeah, because underneath all that bravado you’re really pushover nice. Gotcha.

Misunderstandings in a car crash

The two of you talk about Chunk B during the drive back home, and this is when things turn really heavy. He tells you that every time he sees you, he feels pressured to give you some sort of an answer. Just because you were stupid enough to declare that you were in love with him during the second week, doesn’t mean he’s obligated to reciprocate. What was important to him was that he get to know you first and develop a relationship. You, however, seemed to be in such a goddamn hurry to get into a relationship. Or so he says. And that it was so sad that you had to view things this way.

As his voice rises and the tension thickens, you can feel yourself shrinking until you’re twenty sizes too small for your clothes. You want to explain that all you wanted to know from him was if this was getting somewhere! You don’t know how long it takes for the average person to realize they like the person they’re dating, but that’s not such a hard thing to figure out, is it? It’s not a multiple choice question, for fuck’s sake! You’re the type who can make up your mind about whether you like someone or not upon the first conversation. But then again, you’re kind of a weirdo so maybe you’re the only person in the planet who thinks that way.

Oh noez! Life’s unbearablez!

By the time you reach the last few blocks to your house, you are almost in tears. All those weekends you reserved for him, all those mornings you crept up to your room at 5 am only for your mother to yell at you for coming home so late, all those evenings you said no to your friends just to see him - you gave up so much of your time for a guy who can’t even decide if you’re likeable or not. Whatta pushover you are. As you climb the stairs to your room, you kick yourself in the ass with your spare limbs for yet another loss in the game called The Modern Dating World. Though oddly enough, the only loss you really feel is all that time you could’ve spent with friend or dating other guys. If you had other guys.

You contemplate slashing your wrists, or perhaps gathering your emo band together for a late-night jam session. Instead, you turn on your PC and click on the wp-admin of your blog. Then you type the words, “For days after you wrote a certain blog entry about a certain Pearl Boy dating experience, a certain Pearl Boy has been trying his damned hardest to meet you over dinner or coffee.” He’s probably going to hate you forever once he reads this, but you don’t really give a damn anymore. You feel much much better already.