Bastard NS Mod from HELL - Archive

[Reploid Productions]

I'm archiving all the old "Bastard NS Mod from HELL" articles into a single thread to cut down on clutter and stuff. So without further ado, the collected Bastard NationStates Moderator from HELL!

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Author's note: A mod stuck at work is a bored mod. I was pointed to a funny series of articles about a fictional person known as Simon, the Bastard Operator From Hell. Boredom and inspiration met, shook hands, and gave me the idea to do something similiar. Only we're dealing with a fictional Nationstates, and the Bastard Moderator From Hell (assuming that in the fictional version of Nationstates, [violet] doesn't keep an eye on the mods). In short, this is what Nationstates would be if the mods abused power as much as people say we do!

The Bastard NS Moderator From HELL - Vol. 1
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

It's Monday, and I'm stuck at work when I could be doing better things with my time. Like breaking people's will to live. That's always fun, and gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside. I login to Nationstates and ignore the pile of paperwork on my desk.

Damnit.

I have a telegram. I HATE telegrams. Don't these people know it's distracting when I'm trying to find a UN Proposal to kill at random?

"Received: 2 hours ago
Dear moderator,
My UN proposal vanished! What was wrong with it? It was in all the rules, and in the right category! What happened to my Anti-Proliferation of Orbital Weapons proposal?

Thanks,
Sheleo
UN Delegate"

I bring up the Mod Centre and take a look at Sheleo's stats. Frightening economy, excellent civil rights, moderate political freedoms, quaint little flag and motto, 1.3 billion pop... I remember this guy's proposal. It was the random kill of the day two days ago. A real stickler for playing seriously, probably invested a lot of time and effort into his nation, especially with his flowery, tear-jerker proposals for the benefit of humanity against ortillery and the like.

>clicky-clicky!<

There. Booted from the UN. Now they don't need to worry about disappearing proposals anymore! I love my job! I send off a quick reply and reward myself by shuffling some paperwork on the desk to the new guy's, without anybody seeing.

"Sorry, I think your proposal got deleted in a system error. Happens quite often. I don't think you'll need to worry about the UN stuff though. There's just been an update.

~Reploid Seductions the Game Mod"

Another complaint to the mods handled, I hop onto the forums to see the latest.

Those ingrates! Here I work my ass off for THEIR game, and all they do is whine about how I abuse my power! I jot down the names of the people posting to the "Take Away Reploid Seductions Mod Powers For the love of GOD!" thread, and 'accidentally' edit all the posts to support my wonderful modding.

Ah, and my favorite part of dealing with such infidels... I load each one up in the mod centre and play havoc with their nations. A few get the modbomb, one or two end up with animal pornography as their leading industry, and a few go from a Frightening economy to Imploded, and most of them get the 'reverse' population bug.

Ah... I can hear their cries of dismay already!

~Reploid Seductions the Game Moderator... from HELL!

To Be Continued....

Quick closing note: Any nations named in the course of these stories is made up entirely by me. If I pick a name that is an actual nation, feel free to let me know so that I can change it. Any similiarities to nations that exist or have existed are ENTIRELY coincidental

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The Bastard NS Moderator From HELL - Vol. 2
By: Scolopendra - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Myriapod"

Myriapod scratched the back of his head. He had no idea how the hell he'd gotten this position; he'd only known when his friend gave him a heads-up. "Hey, you're gonna be a mod!" "What?" "Yeah!"

It's been about two months now, and earlier mods look up to him slightly for advice... which also confuses him to no end. While all the other mods catch flak from every which direction--some for being to gregarious, some for being too harsh, some for simply existing--but he almost never did. He got mean telegrams once in a while, but they were never personal--just the usual antimod spam--and it all added up to just leave him thinking.

C'mon... I'm a total fraud here. The quiet one, the respected one, and I've no idea what the bloody hell I'm doing.

He remembers his days of earlier enthusiasm, when he found a whole nest of UN multies. He went through, finding more and more connections, kicking more and more worthless dishonorable cheaters. He thrilled at the sense of power, of putting a shiny combat boot of justice in the face of do-badders everywhere.

After the dust cleared, he discovered that he had managed to IP ban all of Penn State's students. Individually.

"Oops... sorry."

No one held it against him. It was "how people learn." It got fixed, it's all better. Now, when, say, Reploid Seductions did it, people were jumping down her throat, and she seemed nice enough.

Then there was the purge of the Nazis. They had been warned, and if Cadet Myriapod believed in anything, it was rules of engagement. Deleting through the lines of offenders, he again felt the thrill of doing something right... and that got a response, sure, until everyone realized Myriapod did it, so it must be okay.

Then the Luna Azul incident, where he slipped and made an assumption, putting an entire region in fear. Another giant protest... a meek "Ooops... sorry," and it was all fixed. No one minded.

Everything he did was wrong. Every decision, hurting more than it helped. And no one cared... which was the worst part. Other people took flak for what he did; then no one was willing to give him his comeuppance. He was the "nice guy," the "trustworthy one."

"Not only am I a fraud," he muttered to himself inbetween boot shinings, "but no one thinks so. It's a double standard. I hate double standards."

That loser is me. So if something goes terribly wrong, and your blood boils with having been so harshly wronged... just wait for the meek, apologetic telegram. That'll make it all better.

Because it's just Myriapod, and no one can seem to stay mad at me, no matter how much I think they should or how much I want them to.

I don't abuse my power, I'm just clumsy with it. Inordinately so.

~Myriapod the Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard NS Moderator From HELL - Vol. 3
By: The Most Glorious Hack - Bastard Mod alter-ego "The Mighty Hatchet"

Here I sit, here I stew.

A Forum Mod. Middle Managment. Bitterness incarnate.

No Mod Centre for me, I don't even know what it looks like.

I hit the Forums, the only place my piddling power exists.

I hit Moderation first. I find a few topics of people complaining. Lock, lock, lock, lock. I add the complainers to my mental list.

I hit Technical. I post URLs that provide no help. Lock, lock, lock, lock; more names to the list.

Finally, I wade into the RP Forums. More locks, threads moved, random split thread. I quickly log on to one of my other nations and flame the hell out of RP'ers I don't like, safe in the knowledge that any complaints to Moderation will be locked, and complaints to the Centre (damn it to Hell) will be ignored.

I gloat on IRC.

Ah, General. My next victim. I find every thread that vaguely offends my exteme political views. Lock half, delete the others. I go to page 4, lock every third thread. I find threads at 60 or so pages, log on to puppets and spam them to 65 pages. Delete them all, regardless of the "General Forum Rules" that those damned GM's came up with.

I twiddle my thumbs. It's boring now. Only a few complaints in Moderation (locked). I shrug, and hop back on to IRC. I give one of those dog-sucking GM's a few names on my hit-list. Have them deleted.

I check my telegrams. Report the senders for flaming, have them deleted too.

The cycle continues.

~ The Mighty Hatchet, Bitter Forum Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard NS Moderator From HELL - Vol. 4
By: The SLAGLands - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Slaggy"

"Because I'm Slaggy. And everybody loves Slaggy."

Did he really need to type more?

Bill hovered about the forums like a curious housecat drifting in a room full of visitors. He had received the Game Mod promotion several months ago, but everyone knew all he was in reality was the most glorified Forum Mod everyone had ever seen. Rarely--if ever--did he tackle that dreaded Moderator Tasklist; after all, that would involve some sort of effort.

Instead, ol' Bill went after the forum issues. When the Rogue Nation of Notebookistan decided he was going to create fifty-nine topics about how Jetlagfreek's leader should be killed, Bill swooped down and issued the warning, being careful to attach his grinning prom sigpic to add that extra spice of Slaggy charm. Later, when Notebookistan was deleted, he wouldn't need to say much--just to pop into the Moderation forum and say, "Because I'm Slaggy. I have my reasons."

And they believed it. The crazy bastards truly believed that Bill was doing this all with the grace and wisdom of a man who LOVED moderation and who LOVED reaching fair and impartial decisions after due consideration. Slaggy was the one who thought things through, the rare voice of reason amid a bunch of fascist, evil commie mod Nazis. In his early days, he was good enough to have a reason for EVERYONE'S deletion, complete with link, copies of telegrams, PhotoShopped screen capture, and proper MLA citation.

Nowadays, though... it was just a matter of boredom.

The Rogue Nation of Notebookistan.

Deadened. Harassing Jetlagfreek.

The Most Serene Republic of Fag Burnination.

Deadened. Potentially offensive nation name.

The Republic of American Taco-Eaters.

Deadened. UN multis... uh... probably.

The United Socialist States of Djemdaiemdmaea.

Deadened. Can't pronounce his name.

The Community of Tagicupid.

Deadened. Sounds kind of like "Slag is stupid" if you read it right.

The Immortal Shogunate of Reploid Productions.

Deadened. Pure, unadulterated boredom.

Bill hesitated as the deletion screen stared him in the face. He tapped the top of his warm can of Meijer Cola and sighed, pushing his Buddy Holly specs back against his face.

"Well, shit... there goes admin."

But why would somebody delete the forum administrator? That makes absolutely no sense. Wouldn't she be stripped of power first at least? Had she been warned previously? If [violet] wanted Rep to be deleted, why did he/she/it make her forum admin in the first place? Isn't [reploidproductions] really Max Barry?

The inevitable "Why was Reploid Productions deleted?" topic appeared one minute and twenty-three seconds later... right about average. Bill rubbed his freshly growing goattee in nervous angst, trying desperately to attach a why to the deed. Then, at long last, he replied...

"Because I'm Slaggy. Everybody loves Slaggy."

~ Slaggy. Everybody loves Slaggy.

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[Reploid Productions]

The Bastard NS Moderator from HELL - Vol. 5
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

((OOC: Since this is a FICTIONAL NS, I'm assuming Slaggy meant Reploid Seductions, not Productions ))

Another day, another coworker mysteriously dead in the file room. A day that starts with a coworker driven to suicide is a good day indeed. Plop down in my comfy chair and head over to Nationstates.

Username:
>clicky-clicky-clicky<
Reploid Seductions

Password:
>clicky-clicky-clicky-clickety<

There is no nation known as "reploid_seductions". Perhaps you misspelled it?

.... What. The. F---?! I know my nation damn well exists! This smells fishy, and I for one hate fish. Did the site admin catch on to me? I head for the Mod Centre. With a sigh of relief, I find my Mod Centre username and password still work. Excellent, now to find out what happened to my nation, and exact vengence if necessary.

A few pages into the moderator log, I find the damning evidence.

--OCT 7TH 12:46:04 slaggy deleted nation "reploid_seductions"
--OCT 7TH 12:45:19 slaggy examined nation "reploid_seductions"

I smile to myself. I am going to enjoy this.

>clicky-clicky!<

I'm BACK!

>clicky-clicky<

What? You think I'd delete Slaggy back? Tsk, too basic, too simple. And he could reverse it, just like I reversed his DEATing of me. A few deft keystrokes later and he's "The Reploid Seductions Slave Colony of Slaggy", and his major industry is slave marketing and carbombings on demand. I also murder his population, civil rights, economy, and political freedoms.

Satisfied, I head over to the forums and login to my OTHER forum account.

Yes. Not only am I Reploid Seductions, the bastard moderator from hell, I am also [reploidseductions], the forum admin from hell! I open the admin panel for the forums and load Slaggy up. Ah, they're so vulnerable like that, when I gaze upon their userinfo, mine to alter or destroy at will!

>clicky-clicky!<

No longer is his title "Game Moderator", now it's "Adoring Slave". While I'm at it, I delete the forum accounts for his roleplay puppets, "The Inbred Islands" and "Freezinatonia". That ought to teach that trainee mod from hell to mess with his superiors!

While I'm in the admin panel, I also ban a few IP ranges at random. It's good to keep the users on their toes, never knowing when they'll be able to actually get into the forums. I should accidentally purge all posts over an hour old as well. Haven't done that for awhile. I scribble a note to self to do that and stick it in my dayplanner, right next to Dead UN Delegate of the Day note.

I lean back with a smile and check the clock. Excellent, time for lunch! Slaggy should be online by the time I get back (in three hours), so I'll be able to see the results of my handiwork.

It's good to be mod.

~Reploid Seductions the Game Mod... from HELL!

To Be Continued....

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The Bastard NS Moderator from Hell – Vol. 6
By: SalusaSecondus - Bastard Mod alter-ego "SalusaSuckUppus"

I sit back in my chair. A smile plays across my pale face that hasn't seen the light of day for several months. I pull a slice of week old pizza from the top box of a pile of twenty. It is a good day.

Ever since I had kissed up to [violent] and gotten this choice spot I was spending all of my waking time in NationStates. It was great, more and more power by the day, and no official responsibilities to get in my way. Hmm, what to do today? I post a few more brownnosing posts to the mods (Maybe I'll gain the powers of a game mod soon?) and post again that I don't want game mod (Too much responsibility). Hmm.

An idea strikes. I hack NationStates and introduce a loophole into the code, now, if you try to send a telegram to the nation I wanna be a mod you gain full moderator access. Now, just to write up a report of how I found this bug and how to fix it and I'll be in the good graces of [violent] once again. Now onto the real fun . . .

I browse the Tech forum, randomly locking threads, and deleting any threads with recommendation of how to improve the game (More work for me). Oh, there's one with an actual vunerability . . . DELETE! Now, I'll hide this for a while so that I don't need to do any work . . . so much nicer. Hmm, I'll have him deleted while I'm at it, I don't like other people poking around my game. “Hey, Rep Sed, I have a nation for you to delete . . .” so easy.

I'm bored again. I think that I'll start reading through all of the national settings. Hmm, so that's the e-mail of that nation, they've been bugging me, I'll send a e-mail to their ISP. Oh? That's a high-school network? I'm sure that playing games on the web is against the rules, another e-mail and another life ruined. I love messing with people who actually have girlfriends and have a life outside of the internet. So much fun. Now, let's see, I've hacked 135 players, framed 64 of them, and have personally written the scripts for Facist Spain and will soon have access to the underlying code of NS. All I could ever dream of.

Hmm, time to order another pizza.

SalusaSuckUppus – The Tech Modling from Hell

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The Bastard NS Moderator from Hell – Vol. 7
By: Tactical Grace - Bastard Mod alter-ego not yet given

So there I was, wearing the colours for the first time, looking for something to Moderate.

Hmm . . . some guy worried about his rainforests in Technical. Damn tree-hugger. No, mining just a bit of uranium won't do any harm at all. Hehe, sucker.

And yet another n00b asking to be made Founder. Huh. Damn, too late, someone posted while I was typing. Never mind. Clicky clicky. There, that looks nice and efficient, doesn't it?

General Forum now . . . aww, look, there's another attention-seeking thread. Some girl's random relationship dilemma, complete with a poll, no less. Yeah, right, like you're gonna get any half-decent relationship advice from an online gaming community. Tap-tap-tap, and the admission "Yes, this is a cry for help, you satisfied?" is appended.

What else? Well, I've been playing NS World for ages, shame I can't delete any of the griefers I know. Oooh, how about jumping from one griefer region to another? That'll spook them! Leave a dark hint or two on the message boards? Hehe, I can imagine the panicked exchange of telegrams and the chaos in Moderation now . . .

And then, off to the private forum for some bitching about the day's events. Life is sweet . . .

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The Bastard NS Moderator from Hell – Vol. 8
By: Sirocco - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Sirroco"

I sit by my computer, deciding on how to flex my new found moderation skills... tum te tum, let's see what we have here... a thread moaning about how the UN should be improved by incorporating some kind of special code that... eh what the hell, sounds like Technical to me!

I swing the mouse over the brand new shiny button with an arrow on it.

Click!

...

CLICK!

What? Invalid_session?!

Damn...

Back! Move! Click!

Code: Select all

Invalid_session

I repeat this cycle for roughly five minutes.

Ah, dang 'em all to heck!

And with a confident sweep of the finger, the thread disappeared to the happy posting ground in the sky. Satisfied, I went off to see what more 'moderation' I could wreak...

--Sirroco, the Bastard NS Moderator from HELL!!--

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The Bastard NS Moderator from Hell - Vol. 9
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Another day, another DEAT. I kick back and put my feet up on my desk, watching some fansubbed anime on my computer when I ought to be working. Nobody ever catches me goofing off though- it's funny that they never have been able to fix that awful squeak in the hallway that serves as part of my alert system. Of course, most people know not to bother me when my door is shut. A couple of encounters with the lightly electrified doorknob serves well. (Nobody else knows that I rigged up wiring to collect the static generated on the carpet for my own nefarious use.)

During a boring part of the anime, I click over to Nationstates to see how my corrupt dictatorship is doing. Outlawed/Frightening/Outlawed. Beautiful.... except this tag at the bottom of the page informing me of a communication from somebody. I frown, and curiously, I click the link. Perhaps it's just the usual random "Move to x-region" spam or "support this proposal!" spam. People who send me those usually find proposals mysteriously lost in a system error and regions renamed to random strings of letters. (And if I'm in a really bad mood, nations that send those sorts of spam mysteriously go missing...)

I frown at the telegram. Somebody requesting I rename a region they don't like, even if that means abusing my powers, just because they don't like it.

>clicky-clicky!<

He's gone. Nobody can be more of a bastard (or bitch, given my gender which gets questioned on a regular basis online) than I am!

Granted, a brief check of the region, and I change its name anyway.

After that, I post ominous "Voice of Mod" messages to regions at random, promising UN-castration of entire regions allegedly full of multies. Then I just sit back and watch the panic as nations scramble to get out of the 'targeted' regions or to claim their innocence.

With a satisfied grin, I go back to my anime.

To Be Continued...

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[Reploid Productions]

The Bastard NS Moderator from Hell - Vol. 10
By: Sirocco - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Sirroco"

Well, I've been a mod for a few days now, I know the routine, first I look at the NationStates forum. Hmm... a war thread... maybe that should go in II... but this has always been a bit of a grey area anyway... *click!* alright that's one less thread to deal with! Hey! This thread has over 180 pages! That's well over the limit! Hmm... wasn't that just for General? Meh, who cares. *click!*
International Incidents next, ho hum ho hum, people are selling more and more strange things, oh look someone's selling Volkswagens! How fun! How very entrépeneur... *click!*
OK! UN forum now... what's this? Your region doesn't have a UN report? What a shame! What do I do about this now, just let me thiiiink... I know! *click!*
Ah Technical, we all know the score! Lock, lock, lock, lock, we'll keep that one, it'll annoy Salusa, lock, lock, and one deletion for good measure! Wahey!
Moderation, easy: Just type 'Report this using the Getting Help page.'. Copy, paste, copy, paste, lock, Copy, paste, lock, lock et cetera.
The private forum! OK! Let's have some fun! Dah de dah, I believe so-and-so should be deleted, and this guy IP banned. Right! On we go!
General... lock, lock, lock, move, move, move, warning given to some guy who said 'ass' to make him nervous, that should be fun.
NS2, no new posts except those seemingly endless ones coming out of Catholic Yurop as per usual... oh! The same with the JG forum...

Dah de dah, what do my telegrams say?

Code: Select all

Recieved 2 hours ago: y do u keep sending me that ishue? i think smoking is bad.

What the hell? Okay...

Code: Select all

We've been watching you for a few weeks and we believe you to be the centre of a terrorist organisation, cunningly using the forums to instigate crimes against the world. The FBI have been informed and you are going DOWN!

King Siroc

Heh heh heh, I love my job...

--Sirroco, the Bastard NS Moderator from HELL!!--

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The Bastard NS Moderator From HELL- Vol. 11
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Another day, another bloody freaking telegram. You'd think these people would realize that by messaging me, I get their nation name, and that automatically puts them on my radar. DEATing nations at random isn't all that amusing. DEATing nations that bother me... now THAT's fun!

I hop on to the NS forums while listening to hear if the new intern at the office is going to try the doorknob. I love training the newbies. It's verily amusing, and electroshock therapy works wonders!

Let's see... oppress my people some more... excellent, no response from dear old Slaggy (I guess he learned his lesson. I should be a teacher, I really should!). Mess with the nation titles of the n00b mods- that's always fun, but I must train them in the ways of bastard moderating. Don't want players to start thinking the mods are like, helpful or anything!

To my amazement, my office door opens! I spin around in surprise, only to find the new guy in my doorway, wearing a pair of rubber gloves. I narrow my eyes slightly, suddenly glad I have the forums open and not the mod centre.

"Yes?" I inquire in a sickeningly sweet voice, while plotting how to remove this new threat to my fun.

"I noticed this building has a really bad static problem." He smiles, indicating his gloves. I see it in his eyes. He's on to me. And smart enough to evade the electrified doorknob. This may call for drastic measures.

"My stapler is out, and there's no more in the supply room. Mind if I borrow your stapler?" He asks, peering at me.

"Go right on ahead." I bite out with a smile. He nods and reaches for it, glancing at my computer screen.

"Oh! You play Nationstates, too?" His face lights up. Ah-ha! Useful information.

"Yes, actually, I do." I smile wider, though he seems oblivious to the evil intent I must be radiating.

"Y'roleplay on the forums?" He asks sweetly. Oh gods, a bloody freaking roleplayer. I hate those types, all engrossed in their little play worlds with their spacedyships and ubern00ks and crap.

"Oh... a bit." I lie. "What's your nation's name?"

Will he fall for it? Will he? Oh please let him fall for it! Pretty please!

"Loud Noises." He smiles happily as he starts chattering about his nation and some roleplay about the kidnapping of some other nation's leader. I smile and nod, cheering to myself at this fool and the fact he was stupid enough to tell me his online identity.

When he asks me what my nation is, I give him the name of some other stupid RPer and shoo him out the door with the stapler, claiming I have important work to do. He prances down the hall, so happy he met a fellow NS player.

Little did he realize he had met the Bastard NS Mod from Hell!

Shutting the door, and making a note to myself to find some other way to booby trap it, lest my other coworkers start getting ideas, I load up the mod centre, punch in "Loud Noises", and smile wickedly, my cursor hovering over the "Delete Loud Noises" button. On a whim, I crack my door open a tiny bit so I can hear the goings on a bit better, and return to my seat.

>clicky-clicky!<

DEAT. Ah, I feel better already! I listen for the results. These RPer types are so addicted that I bet he plays from work, and his deletion is probably very soon to be discovered.

Moments later, I hear a loud scream of agony and a gunshot. Satisfied, I shut my door again and prop my feet on the desk. Another day, another DEAT, and another coworker dead by suicide.

To Be Continued...

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Bastard NS Moderator Vol. 12
By: The Most Glorious Hack - Bastard Mod alter-ego "The Mighty Hatchet"

They promoted me!

How in the hell did that happen? Really hard to be bitter when a promotion's dropped in your lap... but, then again, now I can do things I've longed to do. Well, I suppose I should get to work...

First things first. Let's take a look at the fabled Mod Centre (damn Aussies... always spelling things wrong...)

Wow. What a dump. Looks like a 2-year-old programmed it. I mean, I was expecting something slick and neat. Eh... who cares? Power needn't be pretty, right?

I ignore the tasklist, and immediately fire up my nation. I scroll down to the secret areas and start tweaking. I always was pissed about how my nation type changed. Well, clicky clicky, and now it's a Corporate Bordello again. Hm. Few more clicks and my IT is through the roof.

That reminds me...

That punk Sunrise was gloating in IRC a couple weeks back that his IT was higher than mine... clicky clicky. Now it's banned. Nah... clicky clicky, now it's negative. Won't he be surprized when he comes in dead last?

I suddenly remember my enemies list Well, I delete some of them, and read the telegrams of the others. Then I whack a few anti-Nazi's, just to piss people off.

Oh, hell... this is logged, isn't it? I examine a bunch of popular regions, and do some worthless UN checks. I do about five pages worth to bury my actions. And as an added bonus, I might just top the next GM report.

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Bastard NS Modling from HELL
By: SalusaSecondus - Bastard Mod alter-ego "SalusaSuckUppus"

With the sound of a small jet engine I boot up the 15 computers in my parents basement, causing the lights to dim for a minute. Hell, who needs lights? At least my fridge and coffee maker are on a UPS. Need that caffiene in the morning. So let's see what to do?

Hmm, some nation called Finite Circle is giving useful advise in the Tech forum. I could delete him, but that's too easy. I know, he's a UN multi! Well, he wasn't before, but now he is solidly linked to 150 different UN nations, all of them trying to invade the Pacific. Now that is called two birds with one stone. This way my secret slave of Facist Espana will retain power there and I weild ultimate power over many nations. About time for him to eject another 70 nations too. I'll edit the logs. Hey! What do you know? He only ejected 3 and he has telegrams to prove that they were greifing him.

What's this? An email from Maxx Barrry himself? He thinks that I might be abusing my powers? How could he even suspect that, I long ago ensured that none of my actions are logged. Well, no big deal . . . . let's see what he thinks when a UN ranking is REVERSED! That should give him an idea of how nice I can be if he questions me. (Next time maybe I'll IP ban [dead], that would be amusing).

Back the the tech forum. Hmm, here's a post by some n00b asking why they get a busy signal when they dial in to AOL . . . Oh, some days this is too easy. I turn to my excuse calander. Aha! Today it is "Irregular network timing." Too believable. I turn to rip it off, but then I have a genius idea.

Hmm, Yes. I am familiar with this issue. It sounds as if the connection is suffering from irregular network timing. Fortunately, this is an easy problem to fix. All you need to do is defibrillate the network connection. Check to see if your business has an AED (or defibrillator) for use on people with heart attacks. If they have one, place one paddle on either side of your modem (if external, your computer case if internal), and defibrillate your modem. If you don't have access to one, don't worry. Just take an extension cord, strip the end to have two bare wires and plug them into the phone jack. Then plug the other end into a wall outlet. This will defibrillate the modems on AOL's end. Either way, I promise you that you won't be getting any busy signals for a while.

Glad I could help.


SalusaSuckUppus
Tech Modling

Now I just lock it to keep anyone from correcting me and sit back to watch the fireworks.

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[Reploid Productions]

The (Cranky) Bastard NS Moderator from HELL- Vol. 13
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Grumbling, I sit down at my home computer and pop a couple of asprin with a groan. My head is pounding, and I feel like I could go to bed and sleep for a week!

Hey, even Bastard Mods from Hell have off days, and I was off so bad it's not even funny! I ended up awake all damned weekend ready to evacuate from a brushfire (and I'm not even the one responsible for it this time!), so I've been running purely on adrenaline and caffeine for the past 96 hours. My eyes are sore and puffy from all the crap in the air, my throat hurts, and I generally feel like death warmed over.

To say I'm cranky right now would be an understatement, much like calling the Pacific ocean a large puddle.

I hop onto the evil IRC lair, and run right into a debate between the active mods about some stupid game bug causing havoc in the Indian Ocean. Always the goddamned Indian Ocean. We never hear about problems from the Central Indian Ocean or anything, geez! I argue halfheartedly that we shouldn't bother doing diddly- we're bastard mods, not miracle make-people-happy people. Those idiots voted that dictator in, it's their own damned fault if they can't organize a counter invasion. Hell, if I wanted to, I could probably organize such an invasion- without even ONCE utilizing my modly powers.

So, yeah, I bow out of the debate. My head hurts, I'm tired, and I don't feel like argueing, at least not in a coherent manner. Hell, I don't even get the enjoyment I usually do out of randomly forumbanning IP ranges or DEATing people who telegram me. I'm WAY off my groove.

Eh, screw it, I think to myself, and log off for the night. I'll catch some downtime and return fully refreshed to be a bastard!

The next morning... okay, afternoon, really, since 2 pm hardly counts as 'morning', I awaken still feeling like crap, though a little better than the day prior. I just feel bleah and cranky, ready to unleash my crankiness on the first unsuspecting idiot to earn my modly wrath!

Which, upon checking the Moderation forum, doesn't take long. Honestly, there are tards out there with a net connection and some axe to grind who need to shut the eff up. I wade through threads that send my BS meter soaring through the roof and bring my headache back with a vengence.

Heck, if I'm going to suffer because of these idiots who can't figure out if they're happy that the OH SO EVIL MODS were overruled by the rare appearance of [violent], or if the ENTIRE STAFF SHOULD BE CRUCIFIED for being OH SO EVIL, I damn well intend to make them suffer from making my headache worse!

I load up the mod centre, feeling the evil within me pound in synch with my pounding headache. Oh, they will SUFFER MY WRATH!

A quick check through the list brings me many names to act against. I smile and load up the first victim. - Magma -. DEAT. FBI Misinformant. DEAT. More whiners about BOO-EFFING-HOO, when/if NS2 ever comes out, they're not paying money because of a single high-profile miscommunication among the mods and [violent]. Twits. I mess up their forum access. In any other game, the mods would be catching even more crap because they aren't permitted to just... silence... the rabblerousers. Thank goodness the bastard mods of Nationstates can greatly reduce the amount of BS we get because of tactical bastardly actions. Yup! Because our frequent removal of 'problem players', we hardly catch ANY flak.

I feel my headache subsiding already! I dig a bit deeper, and for kicks delete any nations found to be communicating with those guys I axed. Giggling wickedly, I let the modbombs rain like the wrath of heaven! Oh man, I'm GOOD.

Feeling almost as good as new, I check the tasklist, delete a bunch of UN multies, eject a bunch of Indian Ocean UN members out of the UN, and rename The Indian Ocean Army region to "The Wanking Whiners". To make it seem less BIASED (heaven forbid!), I also rename a bunch of other regions. A region reknown for being a haven for UN multies (and currently void of any UN members thanks to my last sweep!) becomes "The Retarded Realms", a roleplaying region gets renamed to "Happy Fantasy Pleasureland".

Satisfied that I have rained terror and modly wrath upon the foolish players who made my headache worse, I log off and go back to bed.

Hey, being evil makes me feel better emotionally, but physically I still feel like sh--!

To Be Continued...

((OOC DISCLAIMER/CRANKY MODERATOR RANT: Yes, this one is absolutely OOZING with sarcasm, and to be quite frank, if I could get away with some of that stuff mentioned in that post right now, I think I would. But I won't, because I know better! I'm overtired, cranky, have a splitting headache, have had less than 10 hours of sleep out of the past 120 hours, and unlike my Bastard Moderator from Hell counterpart, I'm still worrying about that damned brushfire! Think of me what you will, but I don't give a care if a bunch of people are overreacting to what was essentially a miscommunication between the mods and [violet]. These things happen, and frag it all, it's ONLY A GAME! You guys with an axe to grind, get over yourselves and your annoying little crusade. The mods are only human, if we eff up, report us to [violet], instead of trying to deliberately provoke the mods and just piss us all off! THAT falls under that whole harassment thing, and will get you into trouble. Reporting transgressions, whether real or (more often than not) imagined, will likely earn you better results! [END RANT].))

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The Bastard NS Moderator from HELL- Vol. 14
By: Sirocco - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Sirroco"

I sit at my desk and log into my nation. Ah... the United Kingdom of Sirroco, how sweet those words sound... founder, and master of the region of La-

I squinted and looked at the screen to see if my eyes were decieving me, but no: My region had been renamed 'Wancre'. It's that Reploid Seductions, I just know it!

Right then, NO one's going to be a bigger bastard moderator than me! Maybe I'll use that little program that SilliusSuckUppus showed me... what a geek. He has more powers than me for crying out loud! Heh... he can wait...

Code: Select all

 {mji[$~~euhiw]

>
iwdi

["$^= Complicated weird code stuff]owo['s's'`]=24]

*click!*

Code: Select all

Accessing nation...

Alright... that's Reploid Seduction's password changed, her name has been changed to The Intergrated N00BLANDS of Reploid Seductions and the region deleted. Ooh, brackets! OK, that's her forum banned too...

Back to Sirroco! Now to watch for the fun! I sip fom a carton of low-grade orange juice and rock in my chair. Ah, time of my life! Wonder what's in my telegrams?

Code: Select all

Recieved three hours ago: I'd like you to support my UN propos

I don't bother to read the rest. *click!* It's gone! Small request in the evil lair and *click* nation gone! Hey hey! Next one down:

Code: Select all

y was my nation deleted. It was called 'Jewsrghey'. Please tell me y! :(

I shake my head sadly and reply:

Code: Select all

We think you stink. Stop playing NS, it's making the site look bad.

Meh, I'm sure Tactful Grease would have put it differently, but who cares!? I outrank him by five whole hours!

Submit, *click*

Bored, I logout and play minesweeper for a couple of hours.

--Sirroco, the forum moderator from Wa- HELL!--

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[Reploid Productions]

The Return of the Bastard NS Moderator from HELL!
Volume 1
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Like the phoenix of myth, I rise from my slumber to face the new day, ready to tackle the challenges and obstacles that await me, eager for the test.

Yeah, right. I drag myself out of bed and suck down some caffeine, glad that I don't have to worry about school or work for awhile. Suitably fueled for the day, I boot up my home computer while trying to ignore the last vestiges of my post-finals celebration, which, for the record involved a great deal of anime and booze. Being the lightweight that I am, I probably shouldn't've done all those Nuriko Specials, let alone my buddy's infamous "Banana Fuck"s. Those things have enough booze to drop an elephant, I swear.

Oh well. As my computer finishes going live, I hop over to Nationstates, where I have been horribly lax in raining hellfire and damnation upon the heathen lusers.

When the game moved to Jolt, I suffered a terrible, terrible blow.

No longer can I openly act as the bastard forum admin from hell! My brackets, my authority remain, but I can't personally screw with the forums like I used to. Alas.

So instead I take it out on people via the mod centre!

Username:
>>clicky clicky clickity click<<
Password:
>>clicky clicky click click clicky<<

Ah, the seat of my power, how I have neglected you! I am returned! Gaze upon Reploid Seductions the Game Moderator, foul players, and know now your doom that I bring! I rifle through the tasklist for some likely chore while I dig up my notes. DEAT UN Delegate of the Day, Random UN Proposal of the Week, Game Error of the Day... ah, how I have missed these!

"Please resurrect my nation Loud Noises."

I blink and reread the task. THAT guy?! Impossible! I know the player of that obnoxious roleplay nation killed himself! My deleting his nation was what triggered it after he was on to my tactics at work! I scroll down and read the rest of the task.

"My friend used to play a lot before he died suddenly last year. I would like to take over playing his nation. I think he would have wanted it."

Ah-hah! Good, I wasn't hallucinating about some former bastard mod victim coming back from the dead. I look up the nation that filed the request, and check the Game Error of the Day list. Today's is the "cascading corrupted telegram error". Okay, a bit of a trick to work with, but I can manage, and I telegram the guy.

"I'm sorry, but due to a corrupted telegram error, Loud Noises' telegram box is not functioning properly. Restoring this nation could cause a cascading problem, corrupting dozens of other game files and potentially crashing the entire game. You don't want that, now do you?"

There! Problem resolved. I finally log in to my actual nation, and find the familiar eyebrow twitch of annoyance at the presence of telegrams in my inbox.

An invite from some obnoxious player demanding I "face him in his region"? Followed by several vastly more insulting telegrams at my lack of reply? Oh ho, this will be pleasant. I check out his region, "mod discussion board" and laugh at the patheticness. "Chat with the mods here!" it claims. HAH! Like I, or any of my fellow bastard mods have the time or the desire to engage whiners in alleged "discussion" about our activities? I set one of my puppet nations to founder of the region, eject everyone else, and password lock it for my amusement. Then I load the whiner up and commence mutilating his nation's stats. I could just delete him, but that would be in accordance to what he's done, flaming and threatening! So instead I completely screw up his nation's stats, effectively making his nation so bugged that it won't update properly. That big-nosed game admin SalusaSuckUppus can deal with the potential game crash later.

I cruise the forums and randomly lock down threads, noting players who piss me off and flagging them for future deletion. After assembling a nice big target list, I wander back to the centre, and once again, let the modbombs fall like gentle rain from the heavens!

That is, if "gentle rain" means "nuclear barrage".

~Reploid Seductions ... the Bastard NS Game Moderator from HELL!

To Be Continued....?

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The Bastard NS Moderator From Hell Vol. 2
By: Sirocco - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Sirroco"

The name's Sir Rocko. Rocko with an ar. And four other letters. I am an issue editor. I scan the list and purge the rubbish, delete the unwanted, kapow-zasplat the god-awful... and I see a lot of god-awful. Today I looked through the list, and I must have deleted hundreds and hundreds, but not ONE interesting, original, good issue did I lay my eyes upon. It's depressing, but so is everything else on this Goddamn planet, especially Bob Monkhouse.

I ruffle my hair to indicate just how tired I am and lower my eyelids slightly to denote the extremity of my bitter cynicism and disgust with society. That done, I am ready to look through the issuelist.

Issue Title: werkjgnhqe

qerjnf[qerknl'errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I slumped in my chair and rolled my eyes at the ceiling. I don't deserve this. What depressed me most was how the author had got bored even by the random letters and just plumped for the one. I deleted the issue and then the submitter. I'm not supposed to do that of course, but who cares? The national animal was a Volkswagen. That made me so angry I headbutted the wall a few times before I hit the big red button, also known as 'Grandaddy Crimson' to those in the know.

Issue Title: SHUD PEOPLE BE ALOUD TO HAVE SEX IN PUBLIC???!!!!

OPTION 1 YES SAYS MR SMITH EVERYONE SHUD BE ABEL TO GO OUTSIDE AND BE NAKKED SO WE CAN SEE THEYRE GOODIES ESPECALLY HOT CHICKLS.
OPTION 2 I AGREE SAYS A HOT CHICK.

I wondered whether to contact the Samaritans hotline or not, but they'd probably make a trip to the nearest bridge too if I told them my story. I glared at the screen, thinking to myself how there should be a special Hell reserved for those who submit their issues in block capitals. And another one with excruciatingly painful torture for those who confuse 'allowed' with 'aloud'. It was bad stuff.

I deleted a few random nations, but it didn't make me feel better. I turned off the computer and sloped off to watch the television. It was then, that moment, when I saw Mr. Monkhouse's face, that I screamed.

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The Bastard Nationstates Moderator from HELL
Volume 3
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Another day, another DEAT, another rabble-rouser quietly consigned to obilvion. I seem to have somehow gained power at work, as I got recently promoted. Nice, now I get a nice plush new office full of computer stuff and get to harass the interns!

I kick back and login to Nationstates while listening to the heartwarming litany of curses from down the hall. See, I snuck in early today for the sole purpose of... shall we say, modifying, my old keyboard. It looks like a plain old QWERTY board, but I took the liberty of rearranging the keys underneath. That poor intern is never going to be able to get that letter typed up. Music to my ears!

I cycle through my nations while flipping through the Evil Overlord's list (any real bastard's bible!), and find myself looking at a telegram. Basically crying out that I am evil, corrupted, subject to nepotism, blah blah blah revolution, some dead nation was their martyr, blah-di-blah.

Contemplating my options, I compose my reply:

Dear Holy Republic of the Nationstates Revolution,
Thank you for your input, it has been summarily noted and filed appropriately. For the record, your "martyr" nation was deleted for griefing and flaming and spamming, and in deleting him, I was merely carrying out my Max-given duty to uphold the rules of order of this wonderful website. If you don't like that, I strongly suggest you stop bothering the moderators and go find some other online game.

I neglect to mention that said martyr was the random DEAT of the day and then came back flaming, spamming, and so on in anger. I load this new guy in the mod centre and flag him for future reference. I also take the liberty of logging his incoming telegrams. After all, these little upstart revolutions should be flushed out while they're young, before they can gather any steam. I jot down the list of nations conspiring with this guy and decide to silence them without outright deleting them.

Like a ninja, I quietly approach each target from the shadow, and slip a modly blade between the ribs of each nation. Not dead, but not living either. Bleeding to death, you could say, with the inevitable death to come in 28 days. Did I mention I like the mod centre? So many ways to destroy a nation, and sometimes the person's soul along with it. Very pleasing.

I hear a frustrated shriek down the hall and a dampened explosion. It sounds like the CPU on my old machine just burned out in a big way. Fancy that.

~Reploid Seductions... the Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard NationStates Moderator from Hell
Volume 4
By: Myrth - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Myrph"

28/01/05 - 14:20 - Merton College (of EVIL), London

Another dull and boring session in the computer labs. Having finished my Java project weeks before the other neanderthals will have something even resembling a completed program, I can afford to kick back and relax by persecuting a few forum-goers.
Just a matter of plugging in the USB pen drive and loading up FireFox to bypass the webfilter, and away I go.

First port of call, as always, is the moderator IRC channel, the very hub of our domain, the nexus of the tyrannical regime - where all our Evil Plans™ are devised. As is often the case, I arrive in the middle of a statwanking contest between the Game Mods, randomly deleting nations and ejecting UN members to look good at the next Mod Olympics. Milk0r Debrained and Mentalmacaw screwing up eachothers' nations... the usual stuff. Such trivial pursuits, I think; I have better prey in mind.
Load up the forum index in one tab and the moderator control panel in the other... who to ban first? Of course! Just copy and paste the names from the 'Last Post' column. They could do with a break from the forum anyway, always creating work for me and never showing any respect... ungrateful plebians.
I slip on my virtual BioHaz suit and prepare to wade into the stinking cesspit that is the General forum. Aaah... the sweet smell of fresh victims. Now to load up a few random threads and make with the random moderating. Move to the spam forum... delete that one... spam forum... spam forum... lock... delete... oooh! Someone daring to post nothing but a smiley in reply to a post: a most heinous crime indeed. Guess I'll toss that one into the mod lair for the GMs to savage.

Time to go check the Moderation forum to see who's complained. 3 complaint threads? Ah good. I just merge them all into one and post the standard 'Appeals can be made to the admin at this address...' line. Too bad those e-mails are deleted as soon as they reach the server. I give the names of those complaining to the DEAT-thirsty Reploid Seductions to add to her hitlist. That should teach them to question the Rule of Mod.




Uncle Joe "Myrph" Stalin
Bastard NS Moderator from Hell

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[Reploid Productions]

The Bastard Nationstates Moderator from HELL
Volume 5 - Diary of a PFY
By: Frisbeeteria - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Frisbacteria"

Week One. Forum mod, bah. Three years as Mod, Senior Mod, Super Mod, and finally Admin on another major forum, and they've got me starting off as a PFY. Frisbacteria, a Pimply-Faced-Youth? What the hell, I've been known to hold my breath longer than Myrph's been alive. I can tough out a few months until they have the wisdom to bump me straight to Senior Game Mod. Like they say, getting in the door is the tough part.

Caught me by surprise, though. I was sitting around, minding my own business over in the NSwimpy IRC channel, just me and Groutergunchia picking out Eire Shamfake pages to edit, with the usual wanna-wimpy lusers hanging on our every word. All sudden-like, SalusaSuckUppus and Myrph come charging into the channel and drag me (metaphorically speaking, of course) over to the OMG Secrit! Modworld. Threats and accusations were exchanged, just the usual banter, and I found myself a highly-respected Forum Mod. Yeah, right.

It's not so bad, actually. I got to playing around in the toolbox, found pretty much what I expected at first. Move Thread, Close Thread, Sticky Thread. Oh joy, rapture, this will be such a thrill. <yawn> Then I found the submenus hiding behind an iconbar. w00t! Looks like there might be something to do here after all. Let's go pick a random thread in General and try a few of these. Hmmm .... Eviscerate Topic, wonder what that does. Dayum! Three splits and what appears to be about 30 random deletions, and suddenly chaos erupts on the front page! I pop open the Decimate Page option, and true to the name, one in ten topics is soft-deleted. Too damn bad none of them were any of the Eviscerate spawn topics. What the heck. Let CatScanAndBan and TsarBane clean up the mess later. I've got some 'splorin' to do.

I pop down to Forum Seven and have a bit of a look-see. Kewl. Myriapod posted links to the Mod Centre. Let's give 'em a shot. [indent][FONT=System]You do not have permission to access this page while using Internet Exploder. Get a real browser, you moron![/FONT][/indent]I wasn't using Exploder, SalusaSuckUppus, you elitist pig! It was Operetta in emulation mode, fer Gawd's sake. Screw it. I'll move to FireFaux emulation mode. Fark. Still doesn't work. I guess they really don't want us lowly FM / PFYs in the Centre.

Exploring further, I run across a stash of technical docs from SalusaSuckUppus and [violent]. This is more like it! No password algorithms or anything, but some of the plans for the site. Looks like they're on their way to implementing RSP over TCP/IP in NationStates 2. Oh man, that's gonna rock! I've been following the industry news on Remote Strangling Protocol in the trades, and it looks like they've finally got AOHell and Comphack on board. People think those USB 2.0 slots are there on the front panel for 'convenience'. Ha! Wait 'til the extensionals come popping out when they try to post spam and pr0n. Gawddayum! Payback for all those years of tech support, built OEM into every new box. And NS 2 is gonna use it! And I'm gonna be a mod here!

Yeah, mebbe this won't be so bad. I might just like it here.



~ Frisbacteria ~ ... the Bastard PFY NationStates Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 6
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Ugh, someone shoot me now! Or not... my hitlist is still several pages long.

I mind my own business, deleting nations, messing with stats... the same ol', same old. Then I heard from CatScanandBan and Myrph about this new revolution started offsite by Rockquarry. Some sort of haven for dead nations to bitch and whine about how unfair and evil the mods are and how they could run the game better than I do. HAH!

Curious, I check the Moderators Oppress People forums out. About three posts into MOP's rickety platform, I find myself resisting the urge to be violently ill. Or just violent. So much for my BS quota for the next decade, I mean, really! Goodwill toward players? Play nice? People ought to be nice? Player review? Geez, what drugs is Rockquarry on, and where might I get some? Everyone knows you can't be nice to the lusers! They're not even human! They're... well, they're lusers! Give them an inch and they'll take a bloody astronomical unit! (Which, I can assure you, is rather vastly in excess of a mile.) You can't be nice in this world! If I was "nice", would I be sitting in this plush office right now, bossing around the interns? Would I be Reploid Seductions the Game Moderator, She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knife of Deletion?

There's a reason I'm a bastard Game Moderator from Hell! (Aside from the fact it flows better than "Bitch Game Moderator from Hell". Sigh.) A moderator cannot be NICE, cannot treat the peon lusers with intelligence! Then they get all uppity and start saying how they want elections, they want the President to take out the corrupt regime, democracy and stupidity for all! Ugh... just the thought of democracy makes me feel sick.

So, MOP. I add several of the more vocal members of the offsite forum to my hitlist, at least, the ones who aren't already banned, DOSed, or otherwise no longer on the game. Conspiring off site, the clever fools. I load Rockquarry in the Centre and peruse his stats, pondering what to do with him. I settle for adding his telegram box to the log list and fiddle with his apathy and political freedoms to reflect my own twisted ideals. He will bear watching, that one. To delete him would be too blatant. I'll have to refer him up to SalusaSuckUppus and let the decidedly sick and twisted codemonkey have his way with the luser.

A few random deletions and some random ominous threatening Voice of Mod telegrams later, I feel much better!


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 7
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Another day, another whiny fool stabbed to death upon the virtual blades of Reploid Seductions, She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion!

So Myrph or one of those lesser bastards let the tasklist backlog. I make a quick note to myself to teach whoever I feel is guilty for this lapse a lesson, and pull on the virtual hip-waders before slogging through the cesspool.

Let's see.... Task # whatever, "hey i let my county die off wud u revive it"

I look up the nation listed under the horrid crime against the English language and ponder what to do. Smiling, I revive the nation, but scramble the password. That fool can ponder the errors of his ways while he watches his old nation come to life, only to die a slow death 28 days from now. Listen well, lusers. Bastard moderators hate you all. But we reserve a special place for the ones who can't write at a high school level.

Task resolved, I move on. Task #666.6666666666667, "I think Textlandia and Gripesholm are UN multies. Could you check it out?" Oh hell, why not? I load up the nations in question and run the UN scans. Nothing, both are squeaky clean. Idiot. If you want to report UN multies, report ones that are multies, don't just pick two names from thin air and throw accusations! It wastes my time and makes me angry. Granted, I'm angry most of the time, but that's not the point. Suitably annoyed, I load Arachnial up in the Centre. I was promised UN multies to eject, and I WILL have them!

>>clicky-clicky!<<

So much for Arachnial's UN membership. Not to mention the UN memberships of his entire region. Ah, such a satisfying thing, to UN-castrate an entire region and leave it vulnerable and prone to invaders. Then when the invaders flock to it like maggots to roadkill, I sit idly by and wait for it and then.... Come on, say it with me now!

>>clicky-clicky!<<

And then their doom falls upon them. Nifty ploy, isn't it? Then when they come whining and complaining in the forums, I let CatScanandBan and Frisbacteria have some fun with them, while I continue to wreak havoc from the lofty vaults of the Mod Centre. The lowly bastard forum mods are making excellent progress in their training, while I'm on the subject of them. They're quite helpful in flushing out new targets for my hitlist. I don't know if they just want to kiss up to me that bad or if they just have that much free time, but who am I to argue? On the one hand, I get adored and admired and looked up to by my underlings. On the other, I get more nation names to fry! Win-win situation for yours truly.

I kick back in my chair, harass the interns over the intercom saying I want a cup of coffee. I listen as several sets of feet rush to the office kitchen to fulfill my desire in the futile hopes of gaining my favor (and that I might ensure that nothing... unfortunate... happens to their computers. Or anything else, for that matter.) Then while they're all fighting over who gets to bring me the caffeine, I waltz in and grab a soda instead. Ah... nothing quite like the sight of five or so young interns in the process of having their spirits broken. I'd like to think I've quite the knack for breaking in the newbies, really.

Upon my return to my office, I look back at the list. Task #i, by Psycho Boy. "More info on the griefing in the region Italian, blahblahblah" Oh god, that mess. I won't touch that with a ten foot pole, so I skip over that. Just like shuffling paperwork to the interns!

A few hours of enjoyable havoc later, and I leave off on the tasklist. Got to leave some stuff for the rest of the squad to play with. Myrph especially shows a dedication to being a bastard I haven't seen in a long time. He'll make a most useful apprentice, methinks...


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 8
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Ah, lightly sun-crisped and nursing a bruised jaw, I return to my place of power, my domain that I rule with a digital fist!

While my computer boots up from having been neglected over this past weekend, I take the time to apply generous amounts of aloe and to pop a couple of painkillers. Did I mention my bruised jaw? Lemme tell you lusers- never ever try and haul a piece of driftwood with a klutzy partner. Getting cold-cocked by a log is not my idea of fun. Oh well. He plays Nationstates, and I think I rightfully owe him one for the black and blue bruise on the side of my face! I think I owe him several, actually. Yeah.

Having been gone for the weekend, I fully expect some stupid player to have telegrammed me. I login to my nation and feel the familiar eyebrow twitch of annoyance as I see a double-digit number on my screen indicating the quantity of the contents of my telegram box. Oh hell, it's probably a whole ton of those whiny "How do U bekum a game mod?" or "(!#*$^!(#*$^#(*^$ YOU!" telegrams.

With a grumble, I head over to the Mod Centre while checking the telegrams. Feeling a bit more bloodthirsty than normal, I respond to the game mod wannabes with variations of this:

In order to become a game moderator, you must first go through the Trials of Modhood. First, you must read the FAQs. Upon completing this task, you must be diligent and prove you have what it takes, and keep up on every thread in the forums. Including General and the roleplay forums. EVERY thread!

Once you have completed these tasks, if you must learn the punishments that are handed out, by feeling them yourself! Like how policemen are sometimes made to spray eachother with pepper spray, so they can better understand its effects. To pass the Trial of Deletion, create several UN nations, and use them to spam the forums. Telegram a moderator with the names of them and explain you are going through the Trial of Deletion. That moderator will then delete your nations.

After all this, there is one final task to become a moderator! You must pledge yourself to the Internet. The way to do this is to obtain a metal object- I suggest a fork. Then carefully strip some of the insulation on your computer's power cord. In order to become a game moderator, you must establish a direct bio-electrical connection with your machine and the Internet. Once the cord is prepared, firmly grasp your metal object in both hands, and apply it to the cord to complete the connection. And there you have it!

I briefly wonder how many of the modabees will actually fall for it as I go on to the less pleasant telegrams in my box. There's one from some guy named Zooch claiming that he is keeping an eye on me, mixed in with some other random gibberish. I respond that he may have an eye on me, but I have godlike dominion over him. To emphasize this point, I load him up in the Centre and insert a clip to his nation description that Reploid Seductions agents are holding his government hostage. I also screw up his stats for added effect. After all, his government can't function if the top brass are supposedly held captive!

Personal business caught up on, I head over to the forums for some actual mod biz. A quick spin through the forums reveals that the game didn't implode while I was away, in fact, some people dared to openly celebrate my absence! The nerve of them! So I load up the mod centre and forumban the revelers and send them stern warnings for flamebaiting before I move on. Some more whining from a baiting little bigoted luser about how all these people are soooooooo mean to him because he's a little bastard. I see that Myrph and Frisbacteria are on top of that, and let the lesser bastards handle it. A bit more of the warm fuzzies from that hippie RockQuarry, eh, not worth doing anything about. He's a useful pawn for pinpointing more dangerous rabble-rousers, actually. More stuff from MOP, bor-ring.

Ah-hah! Some reports from an aspiring bastard wannabe! I've let Appendixspa France live only because he supplies me with useful information for my target list. And he's only slightly annoying compared to a lot of these suckups. I skim through his reports and happily rain my special flavor of damnation upon the ones I feel merit it. A few deletions and UN ejections later, and then my jaw starts to smart again. Have I been at it that long?

Rudely reminded of my 'friend', I load up his nation Psoriasis in the Centre, and proceed to do some extremely brutal things to his stats. Beastiality is now legal, incest is encouraged, and his leading industry is now child pornography. THAT ought to reel in all sorts of flames and harassments, plus gobs of utter humiliation! Kyahahahaha! That'll teach HIM to sucker punch the Bastard Moderator from HELL with a log!


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

[Reploid Productions]

The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 9
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

With a groan more befitting an enervated prisoner than a bastard moderator, I lumber to my computer, clad in my most comfortable bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, mug of tea in one hand, bottle of Dayquil in the other, mind threatening to fly away to some happy Lala Land of sleep deprivation and cold medicine highs.

I should have realized the signs. No mere case of allergies, but the first stirrings of a nasty head cold. Well, knowing it was coming or not, I'd still be languishing here with a headache, raspy voice, and stuffy nose, feeling sunburned, bruised, and more cranky than normal.

I click on the TV and watch the news while I login to my nation, idly noting a short clip about a bizarre string of suicides by electrocution across the country. The news claims its been attributed to some sort of weird suicide cult. (Hey, that works! Nationstates could be considered a cult after a fashion. Kyahahaha!)

A quick spin through my telegrams reveals nothing new, which makes me happy. The familiar eyebrow twitch of annoyance would probably only twinge at my headache, and I daresay I would rather avoid worsening that. A quick spin through the forums reveals mostly the usual banter, nothing that particularly strikes me as needing the attention of the Bastard Mod from Hell.

I hop over to the Centre and find the tasklist mostly caught up on aside from a couple of tasks still under review. Well, this is all peachy, but how am I supposed to be a bastard moderator without any material to work with?! Sure, there's the random DEAT of the Day, the randomly forumbanning lusers... but really, that's the instant ramen of bastard moderating. Enough to tide me over, but not what you could call fulfilling!

Another spin through the forums and a few random thread locks, I finally accept the obvious. There's nothing that requires the dire attention of the Bastard Game Moderator from Hell, or even the Bastard Forum Admin from Hell! Instead of grumbling about it, I decide to accept it as a blessing in disguise and take my cold back to bed. Maybe by morning my cold will subside and there will be something bastardly for me to do!

But for now, I think I'll let my mind go off to the aforementioned Lala Land of sleep deprivation and cold medicine highs. It's got to be better than reality at the moment!


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 10
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

There are few things I hate worse than the players I have to deal with on a routine basis. They are few, but when they invoke my wrath, it is a thing of unspeakable horror. The subject of my ire, of course, is a coworker. The office cruiser, you could say, the sort who spends most of her time gossiping rather than working. The fact she's also my direct superior does little to soothe my hatred, either.

The day starts off unremarkably enough at work, until she calls me in to discuss my work ethics and such. She proceeds to chew me out on every minor little detail that she can get me for, all to make her look better in her superior's eyes. Every filing error, time wasted.... I want to be sick. She goes in and messes up my filing job, she gossips half the day (By contrast, I can multitask, so my surfing the web doesn't count.)

Time to do something about this pain in my very cute behind. I play the smile and nod routine until she releases me to chase down the secrtary for more gabbing. I eavesdrop on the conversation, some gossip about a new client, and take my chance, slipping into her office like the ninja I claim to be online. I need to do some recon if I intend to put the Business Manager in her rightful place.

Rifling through her desk turns up nothing useful as blackmail, and she doesn't have her email open on the computer screen. I almost dismiss the entire operation as a bust when I flick open another window on her computer. Something that could prove most useful!

She plays Nationstates.

Obviously she doesn't know my identity as the Bastard NS Game Mod from Hell, or she would not be so careless! I snag a box of files and make my exit, the picture of the helpless filling lackey, earning the approval of the corporate minion that I'm working so very hard. As soon as I'm back in my office, I shut the door, activate the static doorknob trap, and fire up my workstation. A few keystrokes later, I'm in the Centre and rifling through some very interesting information. And then, reading her telegrams, I hit pay dirt. I can barely repress the maniac cackle as I copy the entire thing, as well as the messages she's sent to people, and cue it to my printer. A quick search through the forums reveal what else she does on company time.

Now I simply bide my time until she next calls me into her office. Which, of course, happens the next day when she needs a handy excuse for why she doesn't have all of her work done. I grab my new weapons and report as ordered, barely keeping the evil smile off my face. She will know fear soon enough.

"Now, Stephanie, I keep finding mistakes in the filing, and you seem to be online instead of working-"

"So tell me-" I interrupt, holding up a sheet of paper with her telegrams printed neatly on it. "What is it exactly that a woman of your .... maturity... sees in furry fetishism?"

That stops her dead. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She lies unconvincingly.

Now I let the evil smile show. "I think these prove otherwise, ma'am." I flip through and hold up another sheet, this one of R rated forum posts that had to have been made while she was at work, going by the timestamps. "Just imagine how interested the boss would be in all this smut you post during work hours."

"I... I do no such thing!" She protests, realizing the futility of the action.

"This piece of rather graphic vampire on vampire on mortal on fuzzy forest critter using kitchen utensils storyline from your telegrams is particularly entertaining." I reveal yet another paper full of incriminating evidence.

"Wh-how? What do you want?!" She finally whimpers, the rusty gears starting to turn.

"Simple enough. You stop blaming me for your not getting work done, maybe treat me to lunch at that snazzy italian joint down the street fairly often, and don't pay attention to my surfing the Net at work. In exchange, I keep these messages between you, me, and your online lovers. Fair?" I smirk, knowing that it's an offer that she, at risk of sounding cliche, can't refuse.

"Y-yes. Lunch, surfing the Net, no blaming you... got it." She stammers, a light bulb finally coming on. "Wait, if you saw my Nationstates telegrams, then that means you-!" A look of abject horror crosses her face .

"You got it." I wink evilly, waving the papers to emphasize the point.

"The Bastard NS Mod from Hell-!"

"In the office, reading your telegrams, and looking forward to a VERY expensive lunch!"


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 11
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

The Bastard Quiz
Are you bastard moderator material?

1. The moderators are:

• A. Wise, fair, unbiased volunteers who are there to resolve problems in a friendly, efficient manner
• B. A group of volunteers who keep the game running
• C. A bunch of people who deal with all the crap the players generate.
• D. A bunch of cynical people who take great pleasure in resolving problems in the most violent manner possible. After all, violence is fun!

2. You get a telegram from a player complaining about their UN proposal, "I want pie!". You:

• A. Respond and explain to the player the exact reasons for the proposal's deletion from the queue and refer them to the United Nations forum.
• B. Respond and tell the player to go look in the forum to find out how to write proposals.
• C. Ignore the telegram completely.
• D. Kick them out of the UN and respond that they won't have to worry about UN proposal problems anymore.

3. While browsing the forums, you come across what can only be a suicide-by-mod attempt. You:

• A. Slap a forum ban and a stern warning to the offender. It was his first time breaking the rules.
• B. Delete the nation. After all, he's flooding the forums with smiley spam, goatse, and tubgirl! MUST PROTECT THE SITE!
• C. A, and then you load the offender in the mod centre and scramble the password so the net effect is the same, but without giving the luser what they wanted.
• D. C, and then you look through his telegrams, find all his puppets, and deliver total and utter flaming death to the lot! And his friends for good measure.

4. Some luser sends you a telegram whining about some imagined bias in one of the daily issues and demands the issue be altered. You:

• A. Respond and explain why there is no bias, why the issues are exaggerated, and why they can't be changed after they've been put in the game.
• B. Respond with a polite sentence to the effect of "Tough cookies, cope."
• C. Ignore the telegram completely.
• D. Look through his stats and find the least little infraction to meet the two-strikes qualifier for deletion. Then carry out the sentence.

5. While looking through the Tasklist, you come across a long-winded complaint that seems to be utterly frivolous after you spend at least ten minutes looking into it. You:

• A. Telegram the complaintant and inform them their complaint is not actionable.
• B. Chuck it into the "Ignored" bin
• C. B, and then see if the guy is a UN multi or has something to be warned for.
• D. C, and then fake something more severe. Go for the deletion! DEAT DEAT DEAT!

6. Someone requests how you got to be a mod. Several times. You:

• A. Respond and helpfully explain the process, and point them to the Moderation forum to be helpful in hopes of proving their mettle.
• B. Ignore the telegram.
• C. B, and then scramble their password.
• D. You respond with a lengthy (and fictional) process one must go through to become a mod, and said process includes a computer power cord or application of a fork to an electrical socket.

7. You discover that someone you are... not terribly fond of (ex-lover, coworker, boss, dumb jock, etc) plays Nationstates. You:

• A. Strike up conversation with said person about Nationstates in hopes of fostering better communication.
• B. Ignore the fact. It's a big game, the odds the person will cross your path are slim.
• C. Find out his screenname through small talk and read his telegrams.
• D. C, only you find out the nation name via a daring commando raid on the person's home/office/laptop, log his telegrams, and use the information you find for blackmail.

8. A coworker is found dead by apparent suicide in his office. The most likely cause of this is:

• A. Stress and depression brought about by long hours of work, poor relationships, and a feeling of hopelessness.
• B. His lover dumped him. Maybe?
• C. You don't know, and don't really care. He was a waste of carbon.
• D. You deleted his roleplay nation, resulting in A.

9. You catch wind of a so-called NS reform group. While their efforts are entirely futile, they are riling the sheep up, which in turn gets on your nerves. You:

• A. Listen to their suggestions and try to implement a few of them.
• B. Listen to their suggestions and explain why they aren't practical, barely keeping from flaming them to a crisp.
• C. Flat out tell them "NO." and threaten to lock future threads on the subject.
• D. Look through the ringleaders stats in the mod centre, deleting the ones you snag rules violations for, making up violations for the ones who already have a warning, log incriminating telegrams, and scramble their passwords. All for the sake of keeping the game running smoothly!

10. A well-known invader group and a well-known defender group have been firing volley after volley of accustations at eachother regarding a recent skirmish in some no-name region. Most of the claims are entirely non-actionable, and you KNOW most of them are pure fabrication. To end the debacle, you:

• A. Establish a moderated dialogue between all parties, and spend a great deal of time sorting out who exactly did what, who actually broke the rules, and what punishments are being handed out, and why. All with a polite, sympathetic smile.
• B. You sort out who broke the rules and hand out warnings accordingly.
• C. You pass it off to another mod who you claim is more familiar with the case in question.
• D. You decimate all parties, letting the modbombs fall upon the lusers like a gentle rain! That is, if by "gentle rain" you mean "nuclear barrage". THAT should shut them all up!

Scoring
Mostly As: You're a green one, aren't you? Fresh to the game, perhaps, or just a nice person overall. Moderating is not for you. Go forth and join the sheep!
Mostly Bs: Still pretty green, but starting to get a little thorny at the edges. With a lot of effort you could make the cut as a bastard moderator. You must migrate beyond your piddly annoyance with the players though, and embrace rage!
Mostly Cs: Now we're getting somewhere! No longer blind by the naive assumptions that mods are here to help players and be nice, you have begun to properly embrace the bastard arts! You could qualify as bastard forum mod material!
Mostly Ds: Ah, now YOU'VE got that inherent evil, that bastardly quality! Willing to apply the nuclear option where a warning shot across the bow would suffice, you have no good will for the lusers, and few things give you so great a joy as cutting bloody swatches of carnage across multiple regions, breaking people's souls, all for your amusement! Are you sure you aren't already on staff?


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 12
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Freshly returned from four days of wild anime partying, followed up by two weeks of exacting revenge on the Masquerade judges, I return to my familiar computer and prepare to rain hellfire and damnation once more! (This is why you don't pick a bunch of dancing girls in sailor skirts over a Bastard Moderator's super-awesome giant robot!) Look ye all, and know despair, your dark messiah hath returned!

Well, well, what's this? I flip through the secret forum. We have a new recruit among the ranks, do we? I look up the new guy and stifle a groan. The kid's so green he could be mistaken for someone's lawn. He's being HELPFUL to the lusers! In the Almighty BOFH's name, he's even being COURTEOUS! To lusers!

This can NOT stand. The new guy needs to be trained in the bastard arts, and the sooner, the better. Before the sheep start thinking this is how the entire squad ought to behave. I quickly load up the new guy in the Centre and commence the normal newbie mod hazing ritual!

>>clicky-clicky!<<

There we go, now he's got a suitably obnoxious pretitle! "The 'Fetching Reploid Seductions a Danish' lands of Uraslave"! A few more clicks and he's got a motto to match!

... Damn, now I have a craving for a danish.

Forging ahead, I drop Uraslave a line and pull him aside in the secret chat room and deliver unto my new PFY the sweet temptation.

"Uraslave, you have much to learn of the arts of Bastard Moderating. Come to the Bastard side, and become my apprentice. I promise you that you'll become stronger, more bastardly, and better equipped to cope with the daily trials the sheep put forward to stymie you."

It's been awhile since I personally took a fledgling moderator under my dark wings, to instruct one new-come to darkness in the Bastard arts. I think I shall enjoy passing on my bitter wisdom to the new generation.


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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[Reploid Productions]

The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 13
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

I stroll into work, feeling most pleased at the prospects of having my own PFY to train in the Bastard arts, and run smack into the Business Manager- my direct superior. I stop up short for a few reasons. One being that I'm not a frail old twig- simply pushing past the woman might break something and I don't feel like having to deal with the boss and the fracas that a workman's comp claim would cause. Two being that since I put her in her place, the old woman's given me a wide berth and all but revering the ground I walk on. This seeming defiance was decidedly unusual.

"Good morning." I state flatly, testing the waters. "I feel like Italian for lunch, how 'bout you?"

Normally her immediate reply, laced with just a touch of pure terror would be "Oh, certainly! My treat!"

Instead, she straightens up just a touch. "I'm going to that new cafe down the street for lunch with a friend of mine."

Then she struts off like our "agreement" had never happened! My Bastard intuition tells me something big is up, and merits my most dire of attentions, possibly even reinforcements. Luckily, she had already given me places to start. I stealthily replace the coffee cream with my "special" blend, since I know she loves her coffee with cream in it. Once that kicks in, she'll be otherwise occupied, as I had, in true Bastard fashion (Praise be to BOFH!) removed all the toilet paper in the ladies bathrooms. That will give me sufficient time to do some recon of her office.

About a half hour later I hear pounding footsteps in the hallway, and peer out of my office just in time to see her whip around the corner in an obviously desperate quest for a restroom. Excellent! Seizing my chance, I scamper into her office and check the computer. This time she has her email open, and it doesn't take long to locate the source of her newfound confidence in the face of the Bastard Moderator from Hell. A dialogue with a friend of hers who happens to be a corporate lawyer, full of sentiments that she doesn't have to take being blackmailed at work, etc etc. That gives me a name now!

Something must be done with Mr. Coworker Abuse Scandal, so I return to my office and ring up a friend of mine.

"Hello?"

"Hey Corgi, it's me."

"Oh, hey Steph! What's up?"

"I need a key for a stubborn lock."

At this point you may be wondering what exactly is going on. Corgi is a military intelligence guy. Obligatory bad joke aside, he's quite good at his job. We've developed quite the code for exchanging information. I'm rather proud of it. "I need a key for a stubborn lock." translates to "I've got a problem and need some intel on the problem. Can you provide?"

"You sure seem to have problems with locks, don't you?" Translation: "Who's the problem?"

"Yeah, a visitor named Hamid Bin Haji locked his keys in his car, and he's got a lunch appointment." Translation: "I need info on Hamid Bin Haji, and I need it FAST."

"Sucks to be him." Translation: "Gimme a sec, I'm looking him up."

"Sure does. So, how're things for you?" Translation: "Standing by."

"Oh, not much. Was at the shooting range yesterday." Translation: "Hamid Bin Haji is a middle-aged ethnic minority."

"Oh?" Translation: "Go ahead."

"Hell yeah. Blasted the crap out of the target!" Translation: "He's from the Middle East."

"Nice!" Translation: "Excellent. What else?"

"One of the guys in my unit accidentally set a box of ammo on fire... that's what he gets for smoking around gunpowder." Translation: "File says he's already been flagged for anti-American tendancies. He's going to go to a certain Cuban resort, isn't he?"

"That'll teach him alright." Translation: "You know it. Anything else?"

"Yeah, sure as hell did! Y'know, we haven't gotten together in awhile. You wanna do lunch sometime this week?" Translation: "Nothing useful, sorry. Wanna do lunch sometime this week?"

"Sure thing, how's Thursday for you?" No translation required.

"Great!"

I hang up the phone and giggle. My earlier trick to gain access to the Business Manager's office will serve me well- she'll be occupied and doubtlessly late to her lunch meeting. I check the clock and head out for the rendevous, stopping off at the local market for a small bag of flour that I empty into my "special occasions" backpack.

Some time later, the Business Manager comes up, a baffled look on her face at all the police activity. I smile and wave her over. "Fancy meeting you here!"

She stops, like a deer in the headlights. Slowly, like a condemned prisoner walking up to the gallows, she joins me among the confused throng. "What happened?"

"You wouldn't believe it!" I gush. "I popped on over here for a quick bite and was chatting with a nice Middle Eastern man, when all of the sudden the police showed up and hauled him away! Something about an anthrax scare! I could hardly believe it!"

I neglect to mention that I had lured the guy into a conversation that could be completely misinterpreted as something sinister, nor that I had called in an anonymous tip from the pay phone at the place about a suspicious looking guy holding a bag with white powder in it.

She knows she's screwed. Her newfound courage visibly fails her as she accepts that she can't outwit the Bastard Moderator from Hell. "So what now?"

I beam. "This place is gonna be out of action the rest of the week. How about Italian?"

"I suppose. My treat?"

I clap her across the shoulder all friendly-like. "You're too kind! By the way, I've read your latest chapters. Really into your... work... aren't you?"

She pales considerably at the reminder I've seen her smutty roleplays, and nods glumly. Honestly, you'd think after the first time I caught her out, that she would stop posting that stuff, at least from the office. I guess she's just that addicted.

To Nationstates or really kinky cybersex, I don't know. I don't WANT to know.


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Moderator from HELL!
Volume 14
By: Euroslavia - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Uraslave"

I woke up from a horrible nights sleep. The neighborhood dogs were out extremely early, and their incessant barking woke me up.

One of these days, I'll make them pay.

Meanwhile, I jumped on the computer and logged into IRCrap only to find that every channel I was in was dull, as usual. The only conversations that actually go on is a bunch of n00bs discussing their own wankings. It seemed like another boring day til Reploid Seductions, queryed me out of nowhere and told me to come to the OMG SEKRIT M0D CH4NN3L!!111. I immediately entered the channel, only to find that almost all of the moderators were there. Within a few seconds, insults flew. There was absolutely no way that I was going to let their insults continue, so I threatened to put links to ebaumsworld, referral games, goatse, and even tubgirl in all of my stickies. That was enough to calm them down and bring them to the discussion table.

At that point, CatScanandBan regretably offered me a position as a Moderator. I didn't want to sound rude, so I accepted the offer while cursing under my breath.

This means that I'll actually have to do work around here.

Almost immediately, the forums went into havoc. Posts being posted ahead of time, and threads were falling into disorder with two seperate forum links that were posting at different times. The entire staff, along with the entire encompass of players were fooled already. If only they knew the truth... The mastermind behind it all was me! I can't believe that everyone was so gullible to think that it was a Jolt problem.

This was gonna be too easy...

Once I entered the forums, I immediately went to General. Everyone knows that this place is filled with rulebreakers. I eagerly start handing out forum bans here, warnings there, threats everywhere. Soon, the entire forum would know not to mess with me. Within the hour, a few complaints were posted in the Moderation forum. While distracting the moderators over IRCrap, I deleted the threads, and forum-banned the complainers. They needed to be silenced, to prevent my advancement up to the administration position of Nationstates, next to [violent] herself.

My next mission was to go into the roleplaying forums, and mess with some of the nations that didn't like me. I immediately went into a thread created by Youthia, and changed the title from "Factbook of Youthia" to "F1ND Pr0N H3R3!!11", after which I replaced his maps with a few... interesting pictures. Let's just say you won't find him around the forums anymore.

This'll teach him to mess with Uraslave...

Under the apprenticeship of Reploid Seductions, I will begin to understand all of the ways of a true Bastard NS Moderator and will seek out the darkness from within! It had become quite obvious to most.... no, all... that Uraslave had finally become a Bastard Nationstates Moderator from Hell!

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v492/Euroslavia/deal.jpg
~Uraslave
~Evil Forum Mod of Doom and Hellfire! and cookies
~The Bastard Nationstates Moderator ...from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Moderator from HELL!
Volume 15
By: Sirocco - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Sirroco"

I rubbed my eyes wearily, and scratched myself in places men only scratch when they're sure no-one's looking. I started up NationStates and cast an idle eye over the telegrams that had amassed over night:

Dear Sir/Madam, I couldn't help but notice when looking over an issue you had edited that you neglected to mention certain fiscal policies that are quite prevalent in my area where we

I didn't bother reading the rest. It was a self-evident nutcase wanting a piece of my issue-editing glory. I deleted the telegram, then his nation, and then the nations of all those he had ever loved or cared about. Feeling a bit more pleased , I logged into the issue editing room and prepared to do another day's work. But then I noticed in the log that Reploid Seductions had deleted one of the issues I had myself submitted.

For a few moments I lost myself.

When I found myself again, I found my computer hurled to the other side of the room. The desk was overturned and the window was smashed letting in the salty air of the seaside that I lived near. There was some blood spattered on the walls which, after a brief moment of investigation, I discovered to belong to a salesperson who had knocked at the door during my... upset.

I scratched my head and picked up the computer which appeared to have miraculously survived. Curiously, I peered at the log. It seemed I had deleted Reploid Seductions' nation, whereupon she had restored it, deleted my nation, and changed my motto to "Don't ask me, I only masturbate here". I growled under my breath and decided to deal with it later. I need to take my anger out in more constructive ways.

A few brief clicks later and I pushed a new issue into the game. Anyone using this issue would find their population reduced to -5 billion and change their national animal into a 'wanking baboon'. This pleased me, but I did wonder what would happen if negative citizenry were to meet normal citizenry. They'd probably do something totally inexplicable for citizens. Stop believing in their newspapers or something.

I relaxed in my chair and stared up at the ceiling. The salesman's head was embedded there. It was dripping. Sighing, I got up. Cleaning, whether in a virtual environment or in the real world, would always be horribly messy. Especially when brains were involved.

~ Sirroco, the bastard moderator and arsehole issue editor from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Moderator from HELL!
Volume 16
By: Katganistan - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Katscanandban"

I load up the mod centre, the sweat trickling down my spine. Damned humidity. If there is anything worse than being stuck for over 6 hrs a day with sweaty, whiney, mouthbreathing fools – euphemistically referred to the world over as teenagers – then I am not aware of it. I figure no matter what, I’ve got to be going to heaven – not because I’m an Elect or any such nonsense, but because I’ve already put in my time in hell.

Oh, right, there IS something worse – signing into the forums. Yeah, being a game m0d has kept me out of the unwashed masses in General, but one look is all that’s needed to see that the natives are in need of a smackdown, Katscanandban style.

I read the first whine from some n00b. “Rottonia is making fun of me on the Regional Massage Board – make her stop!”

Easy enough. I delete Rottonia – she’s been a pain in my ass ever since I’d come to the site, and this is just the excuse I need. That done, I post to the RMB, “It’s MESSAGE. A massage is something YOU’LL never get in your pathetic little life. Oh and BTW – want some cheese to go with that whine?” I stick a warning in his file about spamming just so if the squealer makes another report, my fellow mods will do my dirty work for me and DEAT him.

Uh oh. I check – yup. Frisbacteria is checking through some very familiar tasks – trying to catch me extracting my vengeance on people I just plain don’t like and can't ban from my IRC channel because, like cowards, they won't come to be dissected. If word of that ever got back to Reploid Seductions, it would be a Very Bad Thing Indeed.

What to do, though, what to do?

I make a few phone calls. Yeah, totally unscrupulous, but I know who some of my students are on NationStates. I bribe them with visions of passing grades and have them create as much havoc as possible – griefing regions, spamming, flaming, UN multis – you name it, they’re there. As I start working through the GHP requests that have suddenly quadrupled, I know – the nations I killed for personal reasons and their complaints will be buried under a ton of complaints that all of us will have to work on just to keep things at a semblance of sanity. I quietly tag all THOSE ignored, then tackle the tasklist, heroically restoring and slaying nations, left and right. I keep that up for about eight hours – I never sleep, anyhow.

Maybe I'll get the gold in a couple categories in the mod Olympics…..

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 17
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

I quietly seethe, turning my foul attention on the telephone that has been the bane of my existance all day. Due to some strange twist of fate, the usual secretary/helldesk monkey is out sick, and I've been tagged for substitute duty. Allow me to elaborate. I have to answer the phones, take messages, be civil and polite and make annoying small talk with clients. I do not like this, for they are nothing more than regular lusers, only encountered in the flesh instead of in the digital domain where my will rules all! Luckily, the phone accidently slipped from the desk and in a phenomenal instance of chance, every seam and screw in the device shattered on impact. Truly, a shoddily made machine.

Speaking of which, every cloud has its silver lining, and today's is that I can devote all the time I'm not on the phone to surfing the Net and taking care of the lusers on Nationstates, and tending to my latest means of killing time that isn't spent in killing accounts.

"Sit!" I order into the microphone of my DS. "SIT!"

DEAT, a wonderfully adorable dark colored Siberian Husky with a spiked collar stares out of the screen at me, tail wagging. Finally, the little creature sits. "Good DEAT!" I cry, running the styles back and forth over the digital dog's head. I have a number of Nintendogs, all of which I care for like they were my own children: DEAT the Husky, Forumban the Beagle, Modbomb the Pug... you get the picture, surely?

While I take Modbomb for a walk (and modbomb a few random players), I hop onto IRC to check the status of Uraslave, my PFY.

>How are things today?
Uraslave> Okay, I guess. But is it always necessary to go so far in cowing the players?

I sigh. He's made progress, but he's still a little too green. I'll have to teach him better.

> Yes! They aren't even human! They're lusers, and lusers must be properly handled!
Uraslave> By "properly handled", you mean-?
> Cowed, humiliated, blackmailed, extorted, and then banned or deleted as the fancy takes you. They are stupid creatures, and have to be forcibly taught not to bother us!
Uraslave> They can't be /that/ stupid, can they? I mean, yeah, they're pretty dumb, but...
>They can be that stupid. They can be stupider. Take the stupidest thing you can think of, and multiply it by a factor of several fuckjillion.

I pop in to the General forum and the Moderation forum to track down some suitable tidbits to prove my point, and post several links of choice idiocy to the chat room. Then I bathe Modbomb and take Forumban out for her walk while I wait for my PFY's response.

Uraslave> Wait... "Ask a Crossdressing Liberal Conservative Jewish Nazi Lesbian in a Man's Body..."? It's just a parody, right?
> No. "Ask a Deleted Nation..." is the parody I started. I delete each nation that posts. That one is legit.
Uraslave> ... What about "Jolt hakkd my computer! Teh 4ms wont work!"?
> Definately legit. Look at that guy's post history.
Uraslave> Alright...

Forumban walked, I go and forumban a few users at random and watch what I can only assume is the stunned silence as Uraslave peruses the worst of what the unwashed sheep have to offer.

Uraslave> ARGH! They are stupid! They are beyond stupid! Who let them out of their holding cells and permitted them unsupervised use of a computer?!
>THAT'S the spirit! Feel the hatred! Let the dark rage build and burn through you! You hate the lusers! You want to abuse them! You want them to FEAR you! Not just some piddly wannabe called ph34r. You want unbridled TERROR to run before you and herald the doom you bring to the unwashed hordes!
Uraslave> RAWR!

I flick over to the forums while stroking DEAT with the stylus in a suitably evil bastardly manner. With a wicked grin, I watch Uraslave go on a rampage through the forums, locking and deleting threads and forumbanning at random.

While Uraslave has his fun, I pop onto my bastard forum admin account, [reploidseductions], and suddenly kill Ura's forum mod powers. He's got the anger, now I just need to gently reinforce how to properly apply it.

"Yes.... look at how well my PFY is developing, DEAT." I whisper to the DS microphone. DEAT barks and wags his tail while I finish hiding all the screws the I had removed from the phone before it took its tragic plunge earlier.


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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[Reploid Productions]

The Bastard Nationstates Game Administrator from HELL!
Volume 18
By: SalusaSecondus - Bastard Mod alter-ego "SalusaSuckUppus"

"You can put those tanks right over there."

The workers seem very scared to be down here in my office. Maybe they've heard rumors about me? Nah. More likely they've just heard the truth. No matter. Just as soon as this Halon system is rechanged, I can relax. I just can never settle back with the server unprotected like this. I mean, what if somewhere were to start poking around and had no way to "accidentally" set off the fire suppression system if they found my "backups."

I lean back in my chair and pretend to check my email. The mirror on my monitor carefully frames the workers. I hate to admit it, but I've been bored recently. After I accidentally crashed the server by filling it up with pirated MP3s the second time, [violent] started to get wise and has been watching me.

In fact, is that? No .... She wouldn't do that to me ...

I get up casually and wander over to the tasklist, stirring up dust as I go. I pretend to look at the tasks (I see that Reploid Seductions has been training her PFY, Uraslave, well) while out of the corner of my eye I find what I was looking for: a camera. [violent]'s been spying on me again! I thought that she would have learned after the Mounties came after her for threatening the Prime Minister. (Then again, maybe it wasn't a coincident that the next day my decoy credit card was maxed out.) I sit back down.

I can't just disable the camera, she'd notice. And I can't redirect it to displaying random General threads again, I don't want to have to clean my office (though I must admit that the redirected sewage pipe into my cappachino maker was brilliant). She's just watching me too closely. I need to figure out some way to distract her. I glance back at the tasklist (it's visible now that I blew off some of the dust). Uraslave is causing problems, but not enough. Maybe it's time for me to get my own PFY?

"Ok, sir, that's it."

I look back at the workers. Damn, I got distracted and hadn't been watching them. The halon looks like it's been installed properly, but something doesn't seem right. I scan the network. A tap?! [violent] actually tried to tap me by bribing a few workers? Now that's just not cricket.

"Looks good to me. Now you just need to disable the CO2 system."

"CO2? Why is there a CO2 system in here?"

"Well, I couldn't just leave the servers unprotected, now, could I?" I kick out the doorstop and watch the server-room seal itself. "After all, someone might come in and tamper with the network." (I live for that look of dawning realization.)

'But the controls are out there? How are we supposed to disable it?"

*smile* I hit the button discharging the CO into the server room (it's disabled now...). They start passing out. "Oh, did I say CO2? I mispoke. I just couldn't afford that extra oxygen on our tight budget, but the salesman told me that CO would work just as well."

*sigh* Another day, another body to dispose of. I really need to find a better way to spend my time. Maybe I should get my own PFY...

SalusaSuckUppus

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The Bastard Nationstates Forum Moderator from HELL!
Volume 19
By: Euroslavia - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Uraslave"

I really do need to get a more exciting job." I thought as I folded clothing at Hollister, in one of the most prestigious malls in America. "Something more ...devious." as I finished off the last pile of clothes in Girls 1, the busiest room of the store. I stood up and walked right into my boss, Nick. He started to speak as I started to roll my eyes. Probably another lame speech or something.

"We're going to need you to work as sales on Friday and Saturday next week, in the morning. We really need more people."

I paused for a few seconds. Damn it. I don't wanna actually have to deal with... customers.

My boss turned around again and pointed to one of the piles on the table.
"Fix that pile over again. The top shirt is a quarter of an inch off from what it should be."

Nick walked to the backroom, practically skipping all the way there. Part of me just wanted to put my foot out, and send him down to the floor, but alas, I needed this job. I resulted to sabotaging other peoples' efforts in folding their clothes by purposely messing up their piles while they weren't looking.

It would do, for now. I thought.

The time was 2a.m., and I was getting more tired by the minute. It seemed like the day would never end! Finally, Nick walked back out of the backroom, after having a long conversation with one of the other employees.
Typical. Other people don't have to do crap around here, and they don't get punished for it, while I'm over here making up for the work that they didn't do.

"Alright, time to go! Everyone finish up their work quickly!" as my boss spoke over the Intercom.

That voice... it's so cheerful. It makes you want to stab your ears, and hope you become permanently deaf.

I finished up another pile of clothing in someone elses' area, who happened to also be standing around, chit-chatting with another employee. Thank goodness it was time to leave. If they had been told to stay another hour, well, I'm afraid of what would have really happened. We all walked together out to our cars in the parking structure and went our seperate ways. Finally, it was time...


I came home and gave my puppy a bite to eat, as well as a new bone to chew. This was all part of the routine in having her grow up as her own little troublemaker, especially to the mailman, but that's a whole different story.

Walking down to the basement with a plate of chicken nuggets in my hand, I turned on the computer and signed online.

Awesome, Reploid Seductions is online. Hopefully she can show me a few more things, after all, being a 'bastard moderator' is my dream.

A conversation ensued between us as we discussed specific threads and posters in General and in Moderation. My patience for being nice was wearing thin, and Reploid knew it. All she needed to do was bring out the rage in Uraslave, which she succeeded at. I decidedly go on a rampage on the forums, splitting roleplays and adding them into completely different ones to throw everything off, as well as forum banning those who were short of friendly with the regime in Uraslave.

Serves 'em right. I thought, while finishing up those tasty chicken nuggets.

I continued to delete random threads, such as the ongoing Dutch language thread. I got annoyed when people talked in different languages that I didn't know; it made me paranoid. After deleting the thread, I proceded to forumban certain Dutch users, until I realized that my moddy powers had disappeared. I was outraged. There was still much more frustration I needed to take out. Looking back in IRC, it was Reploid Seductions who had done it. It seems that I needed to learn a few more skills before I can become a true bastard moderator.

Til then, I wait in the shadows, ready to pounce the unwilling souls of those who cross my path in ... seven days, when I receive my moderating powers back...

Seven days.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v492/Euroslavia/deal.jpg
~Uraslave
~Evil Forum Mod of Doom and Hellfire!
~The Bastard Nationstates Forum Moderator ...from HELL!

*Side Note: I didn't really lose my moddy powers. It's a representation of a pure evil post I'm going to prepare to post in 7 days.

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Volume 20
In which the Bastard Mod visits the Twilight Zone and quotes ancient modly prophecy...
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

I look around, somewhat dazed and wondering where precisely I am. I seem to be standing in a hallway not entirely unlike the main hallway of my place of employment, but something feels wrong. I wouldn't be a bastard moderator if I didn't know when my bastard intuition was trying to warn me of something, and there is something wrong here, something fundamentally, horribly wrong.

I stroll through the hallway, seeing the business manager walking toward me. "Hi, Stephanie!" She burbles, with no trace of the abject terror she ought to be radiating. "I need you to check the deposits from last week as soon as possible, okay?"

I watch her merrily make her way past me, confusion most assuredly plastered on my face in a rare display of befuddlement. I tag along to gather more information about this apparent Twilight Zone version of reality. "So, you post any new 'stories' on the forums?" I inquire warily, testing the waters.

"Stories? Forums?" The business manager replies as she begins to sort through the mound of paperwork on her desk. "You mean on the Internet?"

"You know... on Nationstates?" I prompt, wondering if the woman had suddenly gone senile.

"Nationstates?" She parrots, looking about as confused as I feel.

I mumble something and excuse myself, retreating to the relative safety of my office to muse on this. I find the doorknob to be perfectly benign, which is unusual, and immediately take stock of the interior.

No nice executive plush leather chair, no nice tricked out PC for playing anime and video games on... Instead, the drab room has the look of a largely disused secondary office, with a tiny mini-tower PC that sounds like it has a cooling fan about to die and take the entire crappy machine with it, and a broken but servicable desk chair. A blue Nintendo DS sits open on the desk, and I hear the sounds of Nintendogs issueing from it.

Distasteful though the machine is, I sit in the creaky chair and flip through the browser windows sitting open. It appears to be Nationstates, but something doesn't feel right... I flip to the mod centre and punch in my username and password, only to be greeted by an access denied screen.

I quickly skim through the window open to the forums and start to unravel what's going on when I see the name of the nation displayed in the corner.

Reploid Productions.

A quick skim through the forums reveals that this is not the Nationstates I know. [violent] is not listed, and neither are SalusaSuckUppus, Hatchet, KatScanandBan, Frisbacteria, or even my PFY Uraslave! Instead it seems power rests with [violet], SalusaSecondus, The Most Glorious Hack, Katganistan, Euroslavia, and a host of other names that are similiar to those I know, yet alien.

I sit and study the monitor, trying to digest this. Failing that, I browse the forums to see how this alternate-reality moderation staff keeps the lusers in line. A quick spin through Moderation and the secret forum reveals horrors untold!

These people are nice! They are JUST! They are fair! To lusers! They're polite and considerate! They put up with crap that would earn a gentle rain of nuclear modbombs were I the one in charge! Disgusted, I look through my alternate-reality counterpart's forum posts. Oh god, she's a roleplayer?! A dirty make-pretender?! I feel like I need a shower just skimming some of these posts! Further delving reveals a blog and a deviantart gallery.... for the love of the Almighty BOFH, doesn't this Reploid Productions person have a life at all?!

Just before I can wreck absolute havoc with her forum account, the door opens, and I come face to face with my alternate-twin.

"You-!" She gasps. "It's true! The bastard exists!"
"You!" I point the Finger of Accusation, pausing as her words sink in. "Wait, wha-"

With a shout I snap awake at my desk, a loud thud from the other side of the closed office door likely having been what woke me from slumber. The new intern probably grabbed the electrified doorknob. I quickly check the mod centre and sigh with relief upon finding my name and password working, and a brief flip through the forums reveals the names of my fellow bastards, and not those do-goodie nice types from my nightmare. I delete a few random whiners while I sit and reflect on my nightmare.

Could it be? Long left undisturbed in the tomes of bastard lore is a legend... almost a prophesy. I hop onto IRC.

> Uraslave, are you awake?
Uraslave> RAWR! KILL THEM ALL!

Well, at least my PFY's taking his training to heart.

> Ura! Snap out of it! This could be serious!
* Reploid_Seductions slaps Uraslave around a bit with a large trout
Uraslave> GRR- what? What's going on?
> I don't suppose you've heard the story of the end times, have you?
Uraslave> What? The one with the four horsemen and the antichrist and all that?
> Not those end times! The bastard end times!
Uraslave> The what?

I rub the bridge of my nose and frag a few whiny anti-moderator people to ease my nerves before I respond.

> The bastard end times. It's some of the oldest lore of bastardom! You know the concept of evil twins, right?
Uraslave> Of course! But I thought we were supposed to be the evil twins-?
> Exactly!
Uraslave> So what's this lore?

I lean back in my plush chair for a moment, composing my thoughts.

> According to lore, there is a world parallel to ours. Basic multi-universe theory there. In it are the evil twins... or in our case, the good twins. The exact quote goes like this: "The world of dark shall touch the world of light. When the two shall meet, the forces of the bastards shall wage the final battle against the forces of the do-gooder huggy-feelie types. And one shall triumph, banishing the other and taking both."
Uraslave> Did you hit the Pocky a little too hard last night?
> Do you want to be powerless for an extra seven days?

My PFY is swiftly subdued by that thought as I go on to explain my nightmare.

Uraslave> So, let me get this straight. You think your nightmare about this Reploid Productions thing is a herald of the bastard end times, and that we'll really meet these goodie alternates?
> In a blast of pure reality-breaking mayhem.
Uraslave> The lore doesn't say who wins though.

For once, my PFY has given me pause with a surprisingly keen insight. I had studied the lore like any good bastard (or bitch, really), and nowhere does it say that the do-goodies destroy the bastards. Which means....

> The bastards could win and rule everything!

I smile slowly, savoring the thought. If I hadn't awakened from the nightmare when I did, I would have delighted in pounding my counterpart's face in, seizing her realm and deleting the lusers she seems to so genuinely care for. It could be no more than a Pocky-induced hallucination (as I had hit the otaku drug rather hard last night along with a great big marathon of Excel Saga, followed up by FuriKuri, and topped off with Photon... rather a bad combination now that I think about it), but hell, it's an eventuallity a good bastard should be ready for!

> Rally the troops, Uraslave! We have a battle plan to lay out! And I'm turning your powers back on!
Uraslave> !

And besides, I'm at work and horribly bored, so it's something to keep me entertained!


~Reploid Seductions
~She Who is Feared, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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[Reploid Productions]

The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Year 3 - Volume 1
Don't say we didn't warn you.
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

*tak tak tak*

Dear Dark Guy Faja,
The nations that you claimed were wrongfully deleted have been restored after an exhaustive investigation. Sorry for the inconvience.

~Reploid Seductions
~Nationstates Moderator

No, Hell did NOT freeze over. No, the do-goodie huggy-feely types haven't appeared and won the day from the bastards. No, Maxx Berry hasn't come down from on high to see what [violent] and the moderators have really been doing.

So what's with the decidedly unbastardly behavior, you ask? If you need to ask, you are obviously no bastard of any variety. It's a New Year! People start off thinking they have a clean slate! And who am I to ruin such delusions?

Yet.

I figure, I play it meek and nice for as long as I can stand it, take out the resultant rage on the business manager and a few office peons, and lull the lusers into a false sense of security. Soften the meat up before the kill, so to speak. See, after a year of abuse, even brain-dead sheep start to develop a healthy sense of cynicism, which makes it all of no fun to abuse them. The ones that managed to survive 2005 all know to fear and grovel profusely, and expect nothing but death for their trespass. But if they fear and grovel and get something other than what they expect- that is, a seemingly tame bastard mod- it throws their pea-brains into confusion. They still fear, but they start to feel... entitlement. When they feel that slight unfamiliar twinge of entitlement, of being owed something, they begin to hope, to forget the harsh lessons of yesteryear.

Which softens them right up for a fresh year of torment and domination at the hands of your friendly neighborhood bastard moderators. So I wade through the cesspool that is the Getting Help page and resolve a few tasks nicely, gritting my teeth at the sheer un-bastardness of the act. A few nation resurrections, a few complaints about spam and flaming... I take brief refuge in UN-castrating a region that is full of legitimate UN multies. (Or maybe SalusaSuckUppus is screwing with the lusers already, who knows?)

But here we are halfway through January, and my patience is wearing thin. Not to mention the business manager has been out all week due to a tragic spinal injury from falling down the two-story elevator shaft, so I can't use her to vent my frustration at the lusers. And three interns are in the hospital from a freak copy machine accident, and that one annoying guy down the hall is out with pneumonia after his office was chilled to sub-zero temperatures by a short circuit in the surprisingly powerful climate control system. Then there was the other guy whose gas pedal got stuck and plunged his Hummer through that loud attorney's office downstairs...

I survey the unusually quiet office before I reach a decision. I figure I've been nice long enough once about half the office staff are out recovering from injuries. Time to ring in the bastard new year. And what better way than to dash the hopes of a recent recipient of my kindness?

I load up Dark Guy Faja's recently-restored nations and quickly consign them once again to oblivion after hijacking the nations and posting all sorts of obscene posts under his names to make the DEAT "legitimate". A quick warning telegram to Faja's newest puppet for flaming sets the stage nicely for an angry rant and further deletions.

It doesn't take long before I get a load of angry telegrams by Faja, not asking meekly for, but loudly DEMANDING his nations be restored, and to be quick and apologetic about it! Or else!

"Or else what, little luser?" I chuckle wickedly to myself, responding that his deleted nations had broken site rules and been dealt with accordingly. A few moments later and I get a response, very heated. I can practically see the steam coming out his ears through the caps-heavy text. Restore the nations or else he'll report me to [violent]! Oh, I'm just quaking in my comfy new sheepskin boots. No, not the two-legged sheep I abuse here, in case you got confused.

Warming up to my bastard ways, I ignore the threat and scramble Faja's password before screwing with his flag and motto. Moments later, I have several angry telegrams from his newly-created puppets, spamming merrily away and trying to cause a ruckus. Silly luser, such pathetic attempts are nothing more than something to polish the Knives of Deletion upon! I delete the new nations fast as he creates them, then slap one of Salusa's special codemonkey tricks on the guy to lock him out of the nation-creation screen.

Warm-up completed, I turn my malignant gaze to the forums....

New year, same old bastard.


~Reploid Seductions
~The Dark Messiah, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Year 3 - Volume 2 - I AM the Law.
By: Frisbeeteria - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Frisbacteria"

Judge Dredd was just a British comic book character before Stallone mangled him in that awful movie. Try to get that Stallone sneer out of your mind when you hear that shoulder-pad-wearing, motorbike-riding, massive-gun-toting lawman drop his signature tagline into the conversation before he blows the perp away. "I AM the Law." Deep bass voice, backed up by massive firepower. Yeah.

He and I have that in common. Here, at least.

Frisbacteria, Bastard NationStates Game Moderator from Hell.

The Law.

One and the same.

I was digging through the secret archives looking for ways to tie old rulebreakers to current nations that irritate me when I stumbled across an old, dusty post. [violent]'s "Ten Commandments of Moderator Behavior." Damn. Never knew anyone had bothered. Certainly couldn't tell by looking at the extremely low view numbers. Let's add one to the view count.

1. Thou shalt worship Thy Lord Maxx above all things.
   Yeah, sure, if the coot ever showed his ugly mug around Modspace, I'd pay obeisance. Once of twice a year, he shows up for a Maxchat. I can suck up for an hour, twice a year. Fine.
   
2. Thou shalt be courteous and objective, restraining thy anger even against those who surely deserve it.
   Hmmm. Nothing here about 'glee' from DEATing randomly annoying players. That's not anger. We're good.
   
3. Thou shalt retain thy sense of humour.
   Oh yeah. "Laugh at the lusers" might as well be the password to the S3CR1T mod hangout. Endlessly amusing.
   
4. Thou shalt warn but once.
   Slight variant on this one, boss. "None" is a number, isn't it? (I wonder if "nonce" can be used in this context. Probably not. People would think I was one of those Ren Faire wannabe fake nobles. Not going there.) It's just a single letter added to the rules. Everyone knows rules evolve over time. I'm sure it's fine.
   
5. Thou shalt not assume that all players are idiots or griefers, even if this sometimes seems to be the case.
   Nope. Sometimes they're idiots AND griefers.
   
6. Thou shalt make thy points clearly and but once.
   Hard to respond when your thread is locked, your nation is DEAT, and your IP is banned, eh, Jimbo?
   
7. Thou shalt be helpful.
   Helping someone to find more productive ways to spend their time than endlessly creating new nations to protest wrongful deletion is 'helpful', right? I'm keeping 'em off the streets. Gotta count for something.
   
8. Thou shalt not insult.
   Publicly. Got it.
   
9. Thou shalt not carry grudges.
   Here I'm in total agreement with Admin. Carrying grudges is far too much work. I have 'em stuffed and mounted and displayed on a shelf above my monitor.
   
10. Thou shalt not spit on the floor of the Mod Cave.
    Oops. Saw a mop somewhere around here the other day. I'll get to it eventually.

Not too shabby. Nine for ten. I can live with that. But there's one law he neglected to post, one that would have made a huge difference had our 'members' ever bothered to rent a conscience. You know Jick's Law? Some of you might have to stretch your imaginations a bit for this one, it's a sort of analogy thingie. [indent]"In the real world, it's possible to randomly punch strangers in the stomach. What stops us from doing this? The fact that we're not assholes, that's what."[/indent]If our people learned that one, there wouldn't be a need for moderators. Which would prevent the formation of Bastard Moderators. Which would be a bad thing. Better keep that one under my hat.

I AM The Law. Don't you lusers forget that.



~ Frisbacteria ~
~ PWNer of the Tasklist, Master of pr0n nation elimination, Guardian of the S3CR1T Mod Tools ~
~ The Bastard NationStates Game Moderator... from HELL! ~

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Year 3 - Volume 3 - The State of the Art.
By: Tsaraine - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Bane the Mod"

Le sigh. Another day at the art mines, arguing with tutors who simply will not understand that typography is a dead art. Le roi est mort; vive l'Ordinateur! O my muse, why hast thou forsaken moi?

There are things one can do to gain inspiration, of course - although largely I prefer not to. I have been trying to cultivate that ennui which is so important to the artisté these days; those who accuse me of laziness have simply no understanding of the methods of a true artisan! (This of course is no suprise; talentless hacks, the lot of them)

So; I press the power button on my computer, and am duly greeted by the Apple logo. Those same talentless hacks who call me lazy deride my loyalty to this operating system on occasion; they say the revolution is dead. Fools! The revolution shall never die! The Soviet flag on my wall is testament enough to that.

As I explained, I seldom have to do this. It is not a matter of pitying the poor fools under my power; these are simply tools for my art (and oh, what art it is! Just to do it leaves me breathless inside).

I load NationStates, and head directly to the forums. General, of course, is where one starts in such a process; it's not like the Jennifer Government forum has spammers in it, after all. General, a seething cesspool of spammers, cultureless degenerates, and subhuman filth recently graduated from AOL - General has plenty of rulebreakers of all kinds. It helps only a little that the rules consist of "Whatever I say".

Sure enough, I'm soon rewarded - some mindless, mainstream slime is praising The Da Vinci Code! Not on my forums he doesn't - Dan Brown is a talentless hack, and nobody should have to tolerate people harping on about it. "Nobody" in this case being moi.

Unfortunately this "Mahatma Einstein" fellow or whoever he is doesn't seem to be flaming at all. I could fix that fairly easily, but there are more amusing ways to do so. A random other poster - "Icenberg" will do, he's posted in Moderation before, so it stands to reason he must be guilty of something.

It's the work of a moment to log into his nation - oh yes, we can do that if we want to - and post a long, flaming rant on this thread. It's not even very difficult to write; Dan Brown is a talentless hack, after all, so my talent lends itself easily to ridiculing him by proxy.

Then back to my main nation, to lock the thread and forumban Icenberg. I'm very polite in my closing post, of course; it makes the players think I'm nice at heart, that my heart bleeds for their travails - no, I'm very sorry, if there was any other way I wouldn't do this, but unfortunately the rules state you're forumbanned for a week. Such a pity, please do come back.

Of course there's an "Icenberg2" in the Moderation forum within the hour - someone hacked my nation, it wasn't me! and so forth - but the stock replies are so well-used I could practically copy-and-paste my response. If your nation was hacked it's your own fault for not keeping your password secure, there's no way we can verify, the post is right there, et cetera. Oh and by the way ... you're breaking forumban. I really am sorry, but we'll have to delete all your nations now.

The Game Moderators are ravening beasts; Reploid Seductions leaps upon the chance to satiate her bloodlust. One-two, one-two, and through and through! The vorpal sword went snicker-snack. Icenberg, Icenberg2, and anyone barely connected to him suddenly find themselves sans nation.

And mon Dieu but it feels good. I can imagine Icenberg's face, hands framing an open mouth ... something like Munch's The Scream, cast in the screen glare of his monitor. Yes! I shall paint it, as eternal testament to my power and my art.

It shall be called Ode to Misery.

~ Bane the Mod
Tsar of all the Forums
Heir and Scion of H. R. Giger and Pablo Picasso
Bastard NationStates Forum Moderator ... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Year 3 - Volume 4
A most sinister plot!
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

I can't help myself, really. In the privacy of my own home, I throw my head back and cackle most maniacally. After months of intensive discussion in the secret bastard lair, the sheep are getting one mother of a wakeup call! Or perhaps more a slap upside their collective heads with an F-16. This is truly the bastard plot to end all bastard plots!

Invaders will hate us. Defenders will hate us. It is truly the invasion Apocalypse! BWAHAHA-

Oh, wow. That really DOES feel good.

But I digress. SuckUppus and [violent] have conspired the single greatest change in the history of the game since.... Hrm. Since regional control was invented, I suppose. The invasion game has been KILLED! It died of over 42 stab wounds to the face. It will take forever to clean the gore from the Knives of Deletion.

I don't know how they did it precisely, but those codemonkeys have done it, working out some new coding that will bring invasions to a standstill! No more whining about groups invading regions, no more lusers whining about unfair tactics and ejections. It's ALL gone.

I turn my gaze to the forums, a cruel smile playing across my face as I partake heartily of the suffering! Like the cries of the damned, they wail at the loss, no longer able to swarm a region and seize it. It's as if a giant tumor has been removed from the game, and I am right there, in the operating room, taking delight in the bloodshed.

And laughing evilly. Can't forget that.


~Reploid Seductions
~The Dark Messiah, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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[Reploid Productions]

The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Year 3 - Volume 5
The cries of the damned- it's good for treating headcolds!
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

Another day, another DEAT, and in my case, another box of tissue. I will have to extract most thorough revenge on the office workaholic for bringing his disease in and sharing it with everyone. He's allergic to shrimp, perhaps that will be my angle of revenge, a tiny bit of the juice in his coffee. I will have to think on this.

But at least I can enjoy a delightful chorus of whining on the game. Do these groups think we care about what they do in reaction? Since when have we ever shown care or concern for mindless lusers? Is it my fault that when faced with the unknown, a veritable field of opportunities, they fall short and panic like the little sheep they are? They could have reached for glory, for power and victory! But no, they amusingly freak out and run their herd off a cliff. You'll have to pardon my lack of sympathy.

I relax in the chat room, listening to some particularly loud nations prophesying the end of the world. Seriously. I bet these guys spend their non-Nationstates time standing on street corners with big signs that read "THE END IS COMING! REPENT!" and all that, they're doing it so well online. That's not talent, that's practice. What's particularly amusing is that they think that their whining will make anything change. The codemonkeys have spent weeks, even months locked in their computing cages. Do these lusers honestly think the bastards who write code are going to be all "Okay, sorry, we'll change things back now."?

Yeah, right! What part of "bastard moderator (or admin) from hell" don't they understand? I bet [violent] and SuckUppus are off getting smashed to celebrate the carnage right now! And if I didn't have a sinus headache, sore throat, and all that good stuff, I would happily be partaking in sweet liquor to toast the single greatest bastard plot in the history of the game!

In the meantime though, take two whiners and a flamethrower, call the doctor in the morning.


~Reploid Seductions
~The Dark Messiah, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
By: Katganistan - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Katscanandban"

Katscanandban sighed as her laptop bleeped loudly right in the middle of class. Checking the Getting Help Page was far more entertaining than impressing on some brown-nosing little knucklehead that Hemingway was a hack -- and a third rate one, at that. She cut off the student mid-sentence, further destroying what little ego and individuality he still possessed after four and half months of her emasculating commentary, and snapped, "Ok, so the rest of you write a three hundred word essay on how crappy Hemingway's style is, and how pretentious any loser who likes it is."

She had the pleasure of seeing the student sputter to a stop and sit down, his eyes suspiciously glassy. Well, boo-freakin'-hoo.

Settling in behind her desk, she quickly pulled up the sekrit mods site.

Ah. Another satisfied customer.

"...wh3n 50m3 5700p1d m0d wh0 d0n'7 3v3n r34d my r4n71n65 BLAH BLAH BLAH...

"...y0u 4r3 h0n3571y 7h3 m057 57uck-up, b16-n053d, 571ff-n3ck3d m0r0n 70 b3 c0n51d3r3d f0r 7h3 p051710n 0f m0d...BLAH BLAH BLAH

"...1m 51ck 0f h34r1n6 fr0m u 4b07 7h1n65 u h4v3 n0 4u7h0r17y 70 c0n7r0|. 1 c4n p057 4ny7h1n6 1 |1k3!!!!"

Abuse. Why did it always have to be abuse?

Arrogant. And founder. Katscanandban toasted the nation, knowing the region would collapse into chaos. In fact, to hasten the destruction, she texted one of her most rabid supporters... who just happened, she knew, to be one of her students.

He hadn't a blessed clue that his teacher's whims were the only thing keeping his nation alive -- all the rest of his friends' nations were but memories. If only he knew the sadistic hand that kept his grades on the borderline of passing was the same one urging him, through puppets, to invade "this cool region I just saw lose its founder OMGLOLWTF"

Ahhh. Life was good.

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The Bastard Nationstates Forum Moderator from HELL!
Year 3 - Volume 7
Disclaimer: Ingest with salted puppet.
By: HotRodia - Bastard Mod alter-ego "KarModia"

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peacably." Those are the words of Benedick, in Much Ado About Nothing, one of those Shakespeare plays folks are always going on about. It reminds me of Moderating, in a way. Truth is, I'm too wise to Moderate peacably, even if I thought the lusers deserved it, and I certainly don't, given their immature spam, ignorant discussions that draw disgust from my bastard soul (what's left of it), and their distinct lack of coolness.

I will eat the spam that issues from their virtual, whining maws, eliminate the flames that leap forth from the tiny fires of their intellects, and destroy their reprehensible presence on the forums if they oppose me. They shall be forced to become greater than they are in order to survive...

~KarModia
~He Who's Karma has Run Over your Dogma, and Backed Up...
~The Bastard Nationstates Forum Moderator... from HELL!

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The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator from HELL!
Year 3-going-on-4 - Volume 8
Making up for lost time
By: Reploid Productions - Bastard Mod alter-ego "Reploid Seductions"

With a yawn I drag myself in to the office at 9 in the morning, ingesting some direly needed caffeine and going over my resolutions for 2007. I knew I had been shamefully lax in my obligations but then 2006 had been a busy year, and I've had bigger fish to fry than just the lusers.

First, my previously subdued nemesis, the business manager. I discovered prior to the holidays that she had managed to kick her Nationstates habit, including all the pornographic roleplays she was posting from the company computer. I DOUBT it's legit, just that she's playing under a new name. A shame I'm not with Systems and Networks, I would likely be able to quickly pin down her new account that way.

So I have to do things the hard way and get that nation name if I want to keep my free lunches coming. She's been lording it over me all week that she could leak my blackmail and other... illicit... actitivies now that I no longer have current proof that she's breaking policy now. Stupid office rule about previous violations being actionable only for 6 months. I need something current!

"Good morning." I say meekly as I walk into her office, a cup of coffee in hand.

"Good morning, Stephanie!" She beams at me, wary. That's the problem with sheep. Burn them once, and they tend to get all paranoid for no good reason. "Is there something you need from me?"

I keep my twitching eyebrow well-hidden. If there's one thing that gets on my nerves, it's an arrogant luser. Moreso when it's a luser who is so feeble-minded that it's a miracle she can find her way to the office kitchen in the morning without turn-by-turn directions and maps from Mapquest.

"Oh, no, nothing!" I burble, hoping to make her lower her guard, just enough seeming uncertainty. "I just... um... well, I know we've had... problems, and... I'd..."

She watches me, wary but smug. Perfect, she's thinking she has the bastard Nationstates game moderator on the run. All the better for me. "Yes, we have."

"And... well..." I pick up the pace, as though my next statement is difficult to say. "... Lunch today, my treat?"

My seeming contriteness coupled with the promise of free food sways her. Too easy.

"Well, isn't that a pleasant reversal?" She oozes. "I'd love to. The... steakhouse... hm?"

I cringe, the expression entirely honest. That place is freaking expensive. I soothe myself with thoughts of my vengence as I agree and wander out, having swapped my coffee cup for hers. Before I return to my office, I take a pleasant walk through the building, making sure all the stall doors are locked or that toilet seats are conspicuously absent. Ah, a classic!

Only then do I return to my office, the door propped open so I will be immediately alerted when my special coffee blend takes effect. Within a half hour, I hear the distinctive sound of low-heeled shoes thunking down the hallway, the pace indicating a rush to get somewhere. Perfect.

I quickly duck into the business manager's office and begin rifling through her computer. No Nationstates windows open. Drat. I direct her browser to the site, figuring her auto-login will bring me her nation's name.

"Frag it all!" I growl, finding no auto-login. It's not possible, she could NOT have quit the game completely. This will require more drastic measures. I snag her email address from a printout sitting on the desk- the woman was smart enough not to have her email open on the screen.

I retreat back to my office, contemplating my next course of action. At least I won't have to treat her to a steak lunch, since she'll likely be busy on the porcelin throne, provided she even finds a functional one before her intestinal fortitude fails.

I sit down at my computer, pointing the browser to her email provider, where I put in her user name. This is my last, best hope. Otherwise... well, it may be time for the old woman to have a tragic workplace accident.

In fact, I run back to her office and slide an old year-end business planner behind the bookshelf to destabilize it, then run back to my computer.

I try the usual password options- birthday, pet's name, and still no good. So her password isn't something she's babbled in one of her hour-long rambles about her life. What else could it- of course.

I put in the name of her other nation as the password. And presto, I'm in! I flip through her email... and wouldn't you know, she forgot her nation login and still has a brand new forgotten password email in her inbox. I smile and take this information to the Mod Centre. And wouldn't you know it, she's still posting smut from the office computer. I smile and save the telegram and forum logs, looking forward to a free steak lunch.

I hear footsteps walk past in the hallway, and get ready to share my news with my erstwhile nemesis.

>>CRASH!<<

... Whoops. Well, scratch that. Either way, she's no longer a problem.


~Reploid Seductions
~The Dark Messiah, She Who Wields the Oversized Butcher Knives of Deletion
~The Bastard Nationstates Game Moderator... from HELL!

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