Congratulations Spent Uranium Rod!

This is a bit of an odd one, because today you're sitting in a public dump in New Jersey underneath a massive heap of industrial waste, including several pressure press devices and a few Electroluxes.  You'll be doing what you do, which is most irradiating things in the immediate area around you.  It'll be a pretty normal day for you, as you wait for the fate that all spent uranium rods are promised (to be unified with the one true atom at the center of the universe upon the final day of your radiological decay).

Meanwhile, in a hospital a few thousand miles away, in Branson, Missouri, a man, a very bright, very angry man, will be cursing his fate as he slowly dies of cancer.  This man will have handled you when you were young and he was young and the two of you worked together in a nuclear power plant somewhere in the middle of the country.  This was long before the man began dreaming of fantastic acts of violence committed on a scale heretofore inconceivable, this was long before the man began constructing a series of apparatuses that would permit him to realize this violence.  This was long before that young man became just a man and, in so becoming, was diagnosed with various kith and kin of cancer throughout his body, but your hand in events, all the same, occurred on some day, long ago, when the two of you met in passing at work

Today that angry man is going to die alone in a hospital in Branson, Missouri.  With him will die all his dreams of violence on a massive scale.  With him will die his fantasy of mass extinction carried out with a wave of his hand, of a new world order, lead by reigns clutched in his iron fist, a world order where peace would reign, a peace of death, of misery, of hatred.  This tiny rage filled world of his imagining, this burned out fantasy husk, will come to rest within his mind.  Instead, a blankness will present itself where the thought of this world used to be: that massive, effervescent hate will be gone, erased by your tender radiance.

Nice work, spent uranium rod.  You did alright.  Today, give expelling harmful radiation a rest and just have some quality "you" time with that other industrial waste!

Congratulations Spent Uranium Rod!

Congratulations on Beating Battletoads!

With the success of charities like Desert Bus for Hope and the multitude of marathon gaming sessions that occur during a given year to raise money to treat sick kids, your idea won’t actually be the dumbest thing ever.  Your website lays out your concept quite soundly.

“I am a twenty year old girl.  My mother has stage 3 breast cancer.  In order to raise money for her lumpectomy and chemotherapy treatments, I’ve been forced to do a lot of crazy shit, but today I’m announcing my craziest plan ever.

I will sit in my pajamas and play, from start to finish, Battletoads, arguably the most punishing video game ever created.

I hope that this appeals to both kind human beings who just want to help a cancer patient receive proper treatment, and pervs who want to see a pretty young woman in her intimates play a really difficult video game.

I’ve never beaten Battletoads before, but I plan to do it in one sitting, without breaking any controllers, though I do expect to break a sweat.

That last bit was for the pervs.

Link to PayPal below.”

You’ll begin your trial today, on the first weekend you’ve had off in nearly two months.  You’ll wake up, turn on your webcam, sit in your big comfy chair and turn on your Sega.  Then you’ll settle in with a cup of coffee and a bottle of water and get your toads on.

For hours you’ll sit there, playing sections of Battletoads, replaying them.  The motorbike scene will be a horrorshow of trial and error, and as you play through it again and again you’ll begin to take notes: each time you fail you’ll map out the obstacles so that you can respond to them before they’re happening.  When you finally do finish the race section, you’ll have lost track of your Paypal account.  You won’t be thinking of your mother, of your sister, of the bills that are piling up.  You’ll just be thinking of the Battletoads, of the hum of the Sega and the feel of the controller in your hand.  When that incoherent end cutscene finally flashes, disconnected flashes of narrative framed by a lackluster final boss fight, you’ll scratch your head, remove your headset and turn to the camera.

“Well, there it was,” you’ll announce to your viewers.  But before turning off your feed you’ll look at your PayPal account and notice that your goal has been absolutely annihilated.  Judging by the comments on your feed, most of it will have come from perverts.  You’ll smile, grab your tit and blow them a kiss.

“Thanks for saving my mom,” you’ll announce, before shutting off your cam and going to the shower, to wash off the stink of Battletoads and masturbate standing up to the thought of thousands of strangers jacking it to the sight of you playing video games.  It’ll be a pretty weird morning, all things considered.

Congratulations on Beating Battletoads!