REQUIEM FOR A WANNABE HERO: Arjay Phoenician Says Goodbye!

Day 1,216, 22:34 • Published in Bolivia Bolivia • by Arjay Phoenician


This is Noah. He is my grandson. He’s 18 months old. He likes tools and cars and going for walks around the neighborhood with his Grandpa.



This is Russell. For all of Noah’s life, plus a couple of months, he’s been more preoccupied with pulling Arjay’s strings and making him talk about foreign concepts like honor, dignity, and chivalry, than being a real part of Noah’s life.

Russell had an epiphany on Christmas. He was sitting around with his family, his large and loving family, and he realized a few things. For one, he is very loved and needs to push himself away from eRepublik so he can be a good husband/stepfather/grandfather. For another, as Arjay shines in the e-world, Russell decays in the real world, and he has become the typical Internet junkie—obese, incoherent, over-absorbed, and underachieving. The trolls can take bets on whether Russell gets diabetes or suffers a heart attack first, but because he’s had this revelation, because he doesn’t want to be a tragedy waiting to happen, because he wants more great Christmases with his great family, Arjay’s time in eRepublik has come to an end.

In fact, it ended some time ago. This is the first article since before Christmas, when I was talking about my conversion to Dioism. I even got a reply from Dio Brando himself, and I was going to be part of his crusade to bring peace to the world, once and for all. I saw myself as a sort of St. Paul to his Jesus Christ, proselytizing on his behalf. I had big plans for 2011, from liberating Bolivia from the Argentine-based Pindonga (translating into English as prostitute) to launching a worldwide media juggernaut. While it might have been fun to try all this, Russell would have been in his chair, getting fatter and fatter, caring as much (if not more so at times) about the words on his computer screen as the people in his life. Russell has never communicated to a single one of you, he has only spoken through Arjay, a wannabe heroic figure who wanted to stand for something good in a world long since rotted away by negligent admins, soulless superalliances, and parasitic trolls. Given a choice of being a champion in an imaginary world on one hand, and having a heart attack at his desk on the other, Russell chose life. Family. God. Work. Sex.

Don’t you just hate it when someone who thinks he’s someone in this world leaves a long, dramatic goodbye article, saying goodbye to the friends he made, leaving a laundry list of complaints, maybe giving the middle finger to an enemy or two? I was just going to leave, but I did get a few notes in my email, wondering what I’m doing, apparently I do matter enough to make some sort of announcement. Should I turn this into a free-for-all, spilling my guts on every little secret I’ve been sitting on all this time? Should this be a kiss-and-tell article, revealing the discreet loves of my e-life and the pornographic details? Should this be a rant where I tear into the powers that be, as if I were a pit bull biting into the arse of Donovan Thomas or St Krems, just snarling and shaking my head to and fro?

I think I’ll end with this:



This is Lake Titicaca, high in the Andes. The border of Peru and Bolivia crosses it. This is where Arjay is laid to rest, in the Bolivian Altiplano, retaining his Bolivian citizenship for as long as this damn game world continues to exist. It will forever be Bolivia, regardless of which country holds political claim of it. No Pindonga can touch this sacred site, prostitutes are not allowed on holy ground. This is the beach where this grain of sand rests, born from the original sand of the original cosmos, set into motion by the divine Dio himself. Come, squish your toes in the muddy banks here, laugh as if the weight were lifted from your shoulders, hold your friends tightly, and let go of the monstrous amount of crap you have to deal with in playing this game.

Or, if nothing else, sing along…

Lake Titicaca, oh Lake Titicaca,
It's between Bolivia and Peru.
Lake Titicaca, oh Lake Titicaca,
With waters tranquil and blue.
Oh Lake Titicaca, yes Lake Titicaca,
Why do we sing of its fame?
Lake Titicaca, yes Lake Titicaca,
'Cause we really like saying its name!
Titicaca!



It is a game. On several occasions, I forgot it was just a game, believing the tyranny of the Pindonga was a real tyranny, or a real back was stabbed when the Japanese attacked South Korea last summer, or the political hubris of almost every American president other than Josh Frost is so much to fret over that it eclipsed the political hubris in Washington D-freaking-C. I played this game hard, even frenetically at times, but you always knew where you stood with me, I never had a hidden agenda, I didn’t mince words, and I never wavered from the belief that honor and integrity, in obvious short supply these days, will eventually triumph over PTO’s and trolls and superalliance manipulations.

Russell wants to live, and he believes it’s now to a point where Arjay has to leave to make it so.

If you feel like continuing the friendship you started with Arjay, just look around the Internet, Arjay Phoenician’s still here and there, a Google search will show you the way. If nothing else,you’ll always be able to find him and Russell at arjayphoenician@gmail.com.

The life of Arjay Phoenician was catalogued meticulously on Wiki.

And while I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings by not mentioning them here, there is one citizen I want to thank, more than anyone, for making my e-life full and wonderful. Thank you, Rainy Sunday, you’ve always been a friend to me in this game on several levels, but you’ve also been a friend to Russell. There are a couple others, they know who they are, who loved Arjay and befriended him and even got to know Russell a little, but you’re the one who knew us both best. I hope to continue to see you in my email.

With nothing else to say, I wade into the chilly waters of Lake Titicaca, wishing you well.

Arjay was here,
But now he’s gone,
But leaves his name
To carry on.
Those who knew him,
Knew him well;
Those who don’t
Can go to…