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RF's FAREWELL

Howdy y'all! Robert F Williams here. This is my swan song. Sort of.


So.

I was walking meditatively through the snow-dusted woods the other day. As I do. Near my hut on the Isle of Misfit Boys, located in the diaphonous mists which hover indistinctly just off-shore from Marconi Beach. When a strange sight startled me.

Emerging in a wispy frozen mist out of the woods, an old, old man rode an enormous bear.





I wasn't sure who. He seemed very familiar. I knew we'd met before. In a previous life maybe.

Oddly, I recognized the bear too. Those battle scars. That far-away knowing look that had seen more battles than most would ever know. Wasn't it Commandantedavid's old mount, Kodiak, returning to ride into battle once again? Yes. I was certain. It was our old ursuline comrade. See: The Men Who Ride On Bears, Day 711



The rider? Could it be... PQ? Had he returned again? For realz? Riding a bear?



Faithful readers of Radio Free Dixie and PQ's Prison Notebooks may recall that the ghost of Phoenix Quinn has made a few appearances in eRepublik since his disappearance four-plus years ago. As a note for those who may be new to PQ-ology, my introductory works in eRep, the collected Prison Notebooks of Phoenix Quinn, #6 reviewed -- among other PQ-related phenomena -- the circumstances regarding The Strange Disappearance of Phoenix Quinn.


Remember how the spirit of PQ had dropped in not too long ago to raise some righteous hell? Along with the daimons of Chutley, Sam Wystan, and Jack Flufferton. Right? To weigh in on the Trial of Poot. LOL. You can relive the hilarity in RFD #41, OMG! What's that Smell?. In that case, PQ's hant took the form of his original appearance in eRep -- as it first appeared way back in 2009 -- a somewhat exicitable and fast-talking socialist ostrich.


The old vamp had showed up again more recently. For an interview with me at the offices of Radio Free Dixie on Day 4922. To experience that excitement all over again, kindly refer to RFD #45, One Flew Over the Puppy Mill. For that visit he'd taken on a somewhat foppish, marginally gender-bending and somewhat wizardly humanistic form, like maybe he'd been watching a lot of Eddie Izzard performances.


I'd first had a long and interesting conversation with PQ's ghost on Samhain Eve, about a year ago. My memory of that encounter is a bit fuzzy. It'd been shortly after our local "medicinal" cannabis dispensary had opened here on the Isle. Luckily that encounter is recorded for posterity in RFD #28, An Interview with a Campfire.


This time, it looked like he meant business. Like he was getting ready for a tussle.





By the way, PQ's not the only legendary old-timey SFPer who's shade's paid me a visit since I crash landed into eRepublik.




PQ's old boyfried Bill Galaxia popped into our space-time continuum a few times too, typically just as I was starting to eat. He'd mentioned once or twice that PQ'd sent his kind regards from the other side.




On Day 4776 the ghost of Civil Anarchy had paid a visit. See RFD #34, which is very cleverly titled A Visit from Civil Anarchy.




To top it off. I was on the SFP Discord just a few days ago. And dang if the Ghost of Tom Joad, a/k/a Jimmy Cincinnati, didn't pop in, chatting away just like a real person!








As the snow fell, I stood still as a rock, gazing at the man on the bear. After a long moment, a smile emerged on his stony countenance and he asked, "Are you familiar with Žižek's Jokes?".

I nodded.

"Here's one that didn't make it in the collection."

"OK", I said, wondering where this act could possibly be going.


PQ looked right at me and said,

"It was at a meeting of the Supreme Soviet during the Khrushev era. There'd been the secret speech condemning Stalin. A whole new kind of non-revolutionary 'competition' with the West was underway. Some were beginning to whisper that capitalism was being restored. Others argued it wasn't so, that Khrushev was only finding a pragmatic 'Russian way' to socialism.

"The Summer Olympics were a year away. Khrushev had been arguing that the best way to 'defeat' the West, and hence, global capital, would be to humiliate them on the athletic field. That day, news had surfaced that the Americans were developing a sprinter who could run a mile in under three minutes. The Supreme Soviet was in a panic. All sorts of crazy proposals were being shouted out.

"Then an old Bolshevik at the back of the hall rose up. He hadn't spoken once since the secret speech. He shouted out, 'Let's rehabilitate Stalin and all you mother-f***kers will run under a three minute mile!'"



PQ laughed and laughed. Kodiak roared. The trees shook. The wind began to howl. I could feel myself being lifted up as my corporeal form began to dissipate.

As I saw the Isle of Misfit Boys pass beneath me, I yelled into the whirlwind, "You're here to reclaim this avatar, aren't you?"

As I entered into the e-bardo, in a flash of instant karma, the insubstantial nature of my time in eRepublik became apparent to me. I looked around at my pleasant new surroundings. Waved at Commander Cody. He looked to be working on a new tune along with Michael Nesmith.

"Guys!," I enthused, "Hey. Guess what?! I've been learning guitar!" They waved me over to join them. My memory of eRep was fading fast...








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