Keeton Harrington


Sunday, October 23rd, 2005

Did you ever stumble on one of your own friend’s blogs and find out that they’re way more/less interesting than you ever imagined? Here’s one of mine. Let’s send him a thousand readers so he thinks he’s cool. Better yet, let’s send him a thousand e-mails telling him. Or just check out the blog – it’s surprisingly interesting. thinks we’re cool

Monday, January 24th, 2005

I was reading through some blogs late last night and stumbled on an article on about RPGNow and how cool they are for selling their roleplaying games in downloadable .pdf version online. The article went on to call the project “brilliant” and “the smartest digital publishing venture I’ve seen so far.” Naturally, when I read about it I said to myself, “1KM1KT’s been doing that for a while now – and we do it for free!” So I sent in a submission to the popular blog and lo and behold, they think we’re cool too. Check out the full article, and be sure to leave a comment and let boingboing know you’re a 1KM1KT fan too.


Where are you from?

Tuesday, August 24th, 2004

This website gets visitors from all over the world! Presumably, they’re all interested in Roleplaying Games, Science Fiction or Fantasy, but we don’t know for sure. If you’re visiting us for the first time, or if you’re a regular, please take a moment to share your experiences about your country, RPGs, Sci-Fi and Fantasy. We’d love to hear from you!

This month we’ve had visits from Germany, Canada, The United States, France, Belgium, Sweden, Poland, Spain, Brazil, Colombia, The United Kingdom, Great Britain, Australia, Austria, Thailand, Hungary, Italy, The Netherlands, Mongolia, New Zealand, and Venezuala to name just a few!

Tell us about it in the forum!

A Political Attack

Thursday, January 1st, 2004

I met a candidate senator during the first few months of internship under Governor Windsor who described to me the way that he felt when he ran for a higher appointment. He said that no matter what was said or done, he could always look into the mirror and see staring back at him a figure of indomitable strength and confidence. He said that when he looked upon his reflection, he saw himself the way children see their fathers. Without that, he could not endure the constant politicking of the campaign trail. He’s dead now and I don’t remember his name, but the words are still important. I wish I could have asked him what he would do if that feeling ever went away. I don’t think he would have been able to give me a straight answer. I think he would have danced around the question in the dizzying way that senators do, and walked away quickly for a very important lunch date. Men like that can’t bring themselves to question their own self-confidence. Once they hold their notions up to the light of reality, they quickly become transparent and fall apart like so many before them. I don’t hate the girl as much as I used to. She changed me. She showed me where I hide and how to bring myself back. It’s a good thing now. I know that she’s sorry. Not dead, just sorry.

I imagine her name is Mellissa. I don’t think she actually said it, but she looked like a Mellissa to me. I think that might be against the rules though. The way I understand it, we aren’t supposed to give them names because it helps to think of them as less than people. That’s not important. She was pretty. Long brown hair and smooth skin. Maybe eighteen. Maybe less. Too young for me to look at for sure. When she came up to me though, that was O.K. If I don’t initiate, it’s not my fault. It’s in the handbook. I guess the red light was next to the bus stop. I have to assume. I’m not really sure. I don’t pay that close of attention when I drive. When she got in the car (I think she asked, because I said “alright”). She said, “I need to go up the street just a little ways. Are you sure you don’t mind?” and closed the door before I could answer. I know for sure that I didn’t answer. I didn’t have time. That was rude. No big deal. She told me where she was going. It was a lot farther than I expected. It’s a long street. She misrepresented herself. That was rude too. No big deal.

We made small talk. Nothing important. We talked about the weather and football. She didn’t flirt with me. I was disappointed. I asked why she stopped me for a ride. “Isn’t that a strange thing for a girl to do?”

“Yes it is, but I need the money.” She said.

That took me a minute. I couldn’t imagine that she thought she was going to rob me. She’s a little girl. Maybe 12 or 13 pounds. I’m twice that. Besides, I’ve been to the gym more than once. People vote on more than the issues nowadays. I think that that is an awful reflection on our society. I couldn’t tell if she recognized me. I’ve been on television a few times now, and people are starting to know my face. Maybe she wanted charity. She didn’t look like she needed it, and that’s not a very good way to ask.

“What do you mean?” I said to her.

“I need you to give me a hundred dollars.” She replied.

I’m not really that quick on my feet with women. She had laid down a challenge for me. It was my turn to respond in kind. I used to get in trouble for fighting at school. All the time actually. Someone spray painted FAG on my four hundred-dollar leather jacket when I was in 5th grade. I told him he was going to pay for it. He used a very powerful argument.

“Or what?” I said.

“Or I’m going to scream rape, and it will cost you a shit-load more to deal with all of these people.”

Then she stared at me. I stared back at her for a very long time. Almost a full minute. That’s pretty disconcerting from the passenger seat of a moving car. I think. There really were a lot of people. It was a busy street. She was scared. She hadn’t been scared when she started, but she was now. I could smell it. I think that if I had said something she would have been able to respond or move or scream or something. The alleyway was not nearly so busy. There were lots of them running off the main artery of traffic like little capillaries. I picked one at random. I can’t remember if she screamed and I hit her, or if I hit her and she screamed. I think it was the first. I think she started as soon as I turned. This is Texas. No one cares. That’s not entirely true. If it were New York, no one would care. In Texas, someone cares, but they’re never around to help you. Besides, I didn’t need help.

I drive an old car. It’s big and American, and it has a very hard dashboard. I think she was unconscious the first time she hit it. I had my hand splayed out across the back of her head. If it were a baby’s head, my palm would be just behind the soft spot with my fingers spidered out to their full extent and following the curve of the skull. It reminded me of my Dad’s Brainsucker. He would put his hand on my head the same way and say,

“This is a Brainsucker. Do you know what it’s doing?”

“No Dad.” I would reply.

“It’s starving.”

That was his joke and his way of bonding with me. It was funny until I was at least twelve. With my hand on her head like that, I could feel all the things in her face popping each time she impacted. It was pretty disgusting. After a while I stopped. She wasn’t dead. That was good. I didn’t want her to die. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.

I’ve never been a violent person by nature. I just don’t like to be taken advantage of. Bad things happen to those who let them. I think J. Edgar Hoover said that. My Dad would have agreed. He used to punish me when I got in fights at school. I mostly lost those fights. I didn’t understand why he did it then. I just thought he was mean. Once I grew a little older with a little more perspective, I changed my mind. You can either be the brainsucker or the brainsuckee.

When she was limp, I pushed her out of the car. Actually, I rocked her and she fell out of her own accord. She had never put on her seatbelt, so that made it easy. You should always wear your seatbelt. She slid onto the damp asphalt like a garbage bag full of meat and lay there. I was very careful not to hit her with the car when I backed out.

Then I left. I didn’t get a chance to look back. I imagine that whoever found her in that alley will assume that some psycho tried to rob her and something had gone wrong. I wish I had taken her purse. That would have made it more believable, and I would have liked to know her name.

That was the first time. There have been others.

I don’t have the same dilemma with it now that I used to. Everyone needs a release. Important people need big ones. That’s where it all comes from. Mellissa showed me how to deal with an imperfect world on its own level, and sometimes you have to get your hands dirty. That philosophy translates beautifully in the political arena.

Things are different for me now. I can look into the mirror and I like what I see. More importantly, I know how to get there. That’s a priority for a man in my position. People rely on individuals of confidence and direction to make changes in their lives. They don’t care where it comes from; they just want it to be there, shining warmly from their television sets and telling them that there world is in good hands. It’s a great responsibility, and it’s one I take very seriously.