You’re one of those super sexy lady volleyballers with a ponytail, a pair of sunglasses and a chip on your shoulder to anyone who’s too big a pussasaurus to step up to you on the court. Your favorite masturbation video is that one gay scene from Top Gun and you have difficulty engaging people in a conversation unless it relates to volleyball in some way. Luckily you’re good at spinning it into conversations so you can manage to draw in topics as diverse as Haiti, the Afghan war and, as you likely guessed from our earlier reference, the film Top Gun and jet-fighter pilots as a whole.
You’re serious about volleyball. Deadly serious. So serious, in fact, that during the Big Game Which We’re Not Aware of the Name of Because We Have Social Lives Outside Volleyball you’re going to get a little bit too intense. You’re going to set a spike so perfectly that when one of your super sexy, buff, socially retarded teammates spikes your set from behind you it’ll kill one of the other super sexy ladies playing white-ball sport.
This will have two immediate repercussions. Your team will win the tournament, as per the official rules of volleyball, and you’ll be found guilty as an accessory to the crime of manslaughter. Your attorney will try to get you off but that set will be such a perfect movement, such a perfect lead for such a perfect spike into the perfect place at the perfect moment to lead to the perfect decapitation with a leather ball that his defense will fall on deaf ears.
“How could she have set such a perfect spike and not expected this to happen?!” the prosecution will scream, pointing to you as you hang your head in shame. “A creature of such grace could make no error!”
The jury will harrumph in agreement and you’ll be sentenced to eighteen months with a chance for parole in six.
The upside is that your “how’d you get in here” story will revolve around volleyball and, ergo, actually help you interact with people in the joint. The downside is that you’ll become the head of a volleyball based prison gang and, upon your release, enter into a life of ruthless crime centered around volleyball.
But at least we’ll all have months of super hot lesbian sex to look forward to!
Congratulations on Setting the Spike Perfectly!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Congratulations on Making Porn Boring!
Today you’re going to release a pornographic film which depicts a close-up shot of a penis in a vagina for forty-five minutes. They’ll both be shaven, totally normal looking human genitals, displayed on camera without context for forty-five minutes. What could’ve been an enchanting or engrossing display of erotic endurance or the hideousness of human sexuality will instead be the single most boring, de-contextualized display of genitals in the history of modern cinema.
Congratulations on Making Porn Boring!
Congratulations on Making Porn Boring!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Super Nerd Sundays Presents: At the Bottom of the Bin!
When I was a little kid my parents didn’t give me an allowance. I’m not trying to tell a hard luck story or anything, it’s not like they locked me in a basement and refused to buy me toys. I just didn’t have money of my own to spend. I had to justify my purchases, convince my parents that I somehow deserved games or comics or whatever it was I wanted. I had to convince them that the approaching holiday was the right fit for that Sega game or that straight A’s did warrant an SNES, thank you much. It helped me, in a way, because it made me justify purchases even as a kid. It made me elucidate just why I wanted the things I wanted. It kept me from making impulse buys, with a few incredibly noteworthy exceptions.
But there was a downside to it all. It kept me from the allure of the bargain bin. See one of the most tantalizing things about the computer shop I’d be dragged through once or twice a month by my dad, who needed RAM and video cards and heat sinks in the days before the internet made it painfully easy and cheap to buy computer components, was that I’d be locked in close proximity with the Bargain Bin, an assemblage of fascinating and completely un-justifiable products. Box art, text describing the nebulous concepts outlining those early games and tech specs that I could barely understand, reading like a language I half remembered, all these things paired with lower than average price tags used to captivate me. I’d spend hours pawing through the bins, searching for something I could justify buying, something I could express the remarkableness of to my parents.
This was my only connection and contact with a number of other games that have since become somewhat legendary. Populace, Terra Nova, many of the early Ultima titles, all of these classics popped up in Microcenter’s bargain bins at one time or another and made me wonder about the multitudes they contained. I didn’t play them then. In fact, many of the titles that intrigued me I’d never get a chance to play. Technical issues and a lack of availability have kept them relegated to the annals of wikis and essays for me, second-hand experiences I can at best sigh over missing. Most of the time they weren’t even worth that, but I often wish I’d had the chance to play through all of the original Thief in its heyday.
But I digress. My point is that bargain bins never really gave me any great experiences as a kid. Instead they just tantalized me, made me wonder what I was missing. They became elusive, ever shifting tidal pools, teeming with strange new bits of life I could only glance at, hold for a moment and then leave behind. And when I finally was old enough to have my own money there were other distractions (MMOs, teen angst and books, readily available and constantly distracting books) that kept me from exploring the depths of the bargain bin to test the wonders contained within. Then came college, summer jobs and heavy drinking. I became even more profoundly socially dysfunctional. The games I felt compelled to play began to outnumber the money I had to spend on them, and I could only journey to places like Best Buy and Electronics Boutique with a purpose, with limited funds.
So I didn’t start to really explore bargain bin games again until Steam came about. I’d still browse through them, sure, but when I was thinking of how to spend that sixty bucks I’d earned from hefting trash cans over my head or making sandwiches for yuppies I didn’t want to take chances. I had one shot at an experience with each purchase, I had to make sure it was a good one. But after I’d graduated from college, after I’d negotiated the shit filled mire that was the job market during Bush’s second term and started to make money I suddenly had something I’d never had before: money and time to burn. For the first time in my life I had the time, the means and the method by which to savor the bargain bin, or rather its digital successor.
See bargain bins nowadays aren’t quite as grand as they were in their halcyon days of yore. Step into a Gamestop and you’ll see a tally of overpriced shit, returned copies of four year old Madden games and un-sellable dross which has, after years collecting dust, been re-packaged and cast into the commercial mix. It’s less like examining a tidal pool and more like sifting through a garbage container. Even if you do find something it is, at best, a discard of some minor value and, far more likely, it’s going to be a piece of shit. But Steam changed all that.
Before Steam started to run incredible sales over the course of the last year, proving just how shambling and hideous traditional box retailers are when placed next to a means of distribution with more direct communication with publishers and developers, before they started to drop prices as quickly and violently as they could whenever they could, Steam was home to one of the finest bargain bins in the gaming universe.
And of late it’s only become better. Games will find their way in and out of Steam’s bargain bin with all the random aplomb that they managed in retail chains. Sales a little slow this month for Bioshock? Drop it to five dollars and all those stammering chuckle-heads who were too cowardly to pay twenty for it and watch the sales ramp up. After a weekend at five dollars buzz comes back up and interested parties will start flocking to it once more. Even people like me who bought flimsy physical copies and might want to lend them out and still play their treasured old games still will drop money just to support the effort, the idea of such a dramatic price drop.
And what’s even more shocking is how well it works for everyone. Steam releases games on sale, sales spike for a week and Steam issues more sales. It’s as if the bargain bin becomes a tool for drawing attention to an aging title instead of removing it from stock to free up space for additional copies of Super Buck Fucker IV: The Buckiest Fuck. From a marketing perspective it reflects what Valve has always shown to be their expertise: listening to their consumer base and hearing, beyond what they request, what they really want, then making just that. Valve built a means for publishers and gamers to communicate, and proved that publishers want gamers to, more than anything else, be excited about their games. They also proved that gamers, more than anything else, want to see what publishers have on offer.
Because that’s the whole appeal of the bargain bin: less of a risk for the same reward. Games I would’ve scoffed at buying that intrigued me for their horrible-ness, games like Jericho and The Ghostbusters game that were almost universally panned were must buys once they dropped under five dollars. Games I would’ve laughed out loud at the prospect of buying at full price like Supreme Commander 2 and Killing Floor have been really enjoyable experiences that I only approached because they were discounted on Steam. Hell, I bought the complete Civilization 4 for twenty bucks, STALKER for five and X-Com’s entire run for a dollar a game, all of them excellent, if flawed and sometimes unapproachable experiences.
I’d liken it to walking through Powell’s books in Portland. There’s plenty of chaff out there on the shelves, marked down and prominently displayed, that you won’t enjoy regardless. But along with that chaff, there is a wealth of experiences awaiting the savvy consumer who is willing to look past the surface and work to uncover new and interesting bargains. The time you put into finding and investigating these bargains, the impulses you follow when presented with a seven dollar book next to a thirteen dollar book, are inevitably rewarded the same way buying a game like Gratuitous Space Battles, which might not even really be a game, is rewarded through Steam.
And what’s more, this magical bargain bin is something brick and mortar stores could never do. Coordinating on a national level, getting people with GEDs to actually tag hundreds of products correctly for a limited time sale and then hold up when customers try to bullshit them into discounting other games? Retail is a brutal, bleak landscape and there is little hope for innovation therein.
So even though the bargain bin was a cruel mockery in my youth, even though it seemed to only be there to make me miserable and wish I had millions of dollars and could just play games all the time and dive into these amazing experiences, it has become crucial to my existence as a gamer as an adult. If not for the digital bargain bin I’d be forced to play only a handful of titles, the same way I did when I was unemployed. The bargain bin is where I live as a gamer now, and it’s a wonderful and inclusive place. So god bless us, every one, for that noblest and most well-established of traditions: the highly esteemed bargain bin.
But there was a downside to it all. It kept me from the allure of the bargain bin. See one of the most tantalizing things about the computer shop I’d be dragged through once or twice a month by my dad, who needed RAM and video cards and heat sinks in the days before the internet made it painfully easy and cheap to buy computer components, was that I’d be locked in close proximity with the Bargain Bin, an assemblage of fascinating and completely un-justifiable products. Box art, text describing the nebulous concepts outlining those early games and tech specs that I could barely understand, reading like a language I half remembered, all these things paired with lower than average price tags used to captivate me. I’d spend hours pawing through the bins, searching for something I could justify buying, something I could express the remarkableness of to my parents.
This was my only connection and contact with a number of other games that have since become somewhat legendary. Populace, Terra Nova, many of the early Ultima titles, all of these classics popped up in Microcenter’s bargain bins at one time or another and made me wonder about the multitudes they contained. I didn’t play them then. In fact, many of the titles that intrigued me I’d never get a chance to play. Technical issues and a lack of availability have kept them relegated to the annals of wikis and essays for me, second-hand experiences I can at best sigh over missing. Most of the time they weren’t even worth that, but I often wish I’d had the chance to play through all of the original Thief in its heyday.
But I digress. My point is that bargain bins never really gave me any great experiences as a kid. Instead they just tantalized me, made me wonder what I was missing. They became elusive, ever shifting tidal pools, teeming with strange new bits of life I could only glance at, hold for a moment and then leave behind. And when I finally was old enough to have my own money there were other distractions (MMOs, teen angst and books, readily available and constantly distracting books) that kept me from exploring the depths of the bargain bin to test the wonders contained within. Then came college, summer jobs and heavy drinking. I became even more profoundly socially dysfunctional. The games I felt compelled to play began to outnumber the money I had to spend on them, and I could only journey to places like Best Buy and Electronics Boutique with a purpose, with limited funds.
So I didn’t start to really explore bargain bin games again until Steam came about. I’d still browse through them, sure, but when I was thinking of how to spend that sixty bucks I’d earned from hefting trash cans over my head or making sandwiches for yuppies I didn’t want to take chances. I had one shot at an experience with each purchase, I had to make sure it was a good one. But after I’d graduated from college, after I’d negotiated the shit filled mire that was the job market during Bush’s second term and started to make money I suddenly had something I’d never had before: money and time to burn. For the first time in my life I had the time, the means and the method by which to savor the bargain bin, or rather its digital successor.
See bargain bins nowadays aren’t quite as grand as they were in their halcyon days of yore. Step into a Gamestop and you’ll see a tally of overpriced shit, returned copies of four year old Madden games and un-sellable dross which has, after years collecting dust, been re-packaged and cast into the commercial mix. It’s less like examining a tidal pool and more like sifting through a garbage container. Even if you do find something it is, at best, a discard of some minor value and, far more likely, it’s going to be a piece of shit. But Steam changed all that.
Before Steam started to run incredible sales over the course of the last year, proving just how shambling and hideous traditional box retailers are when placed next to a means of distribution with more direct communication with publishers and developers, before they started to drop prices as quickly and violently as they could whenever they could, Steam was home to one of the finest bargain bins in the gaming universe.
And of late it’s only become better. Games will find their way in and out of Steam’s bargain bin with all the random aplomb that they managed in retail chains. Sales a little slow this month for Bioshock? Drop it to five dollars and all those stammering chuckle-heads who were too cowardly to pay twenty for it and watch the sales ramp up. After a weekend at five dollars buzz comes back up and interested parties will start flocking to it once more. Even people like me who bought flimsy physical copies and might want to lend them out and still play their treasured old games still will drop money just to support the effort, the idea of such a dramatic price drop.
And what’s even more shocking is how well it works for everyone. Steam releases games on sale, sales spike for a week and Steam issues more sales. It’s as if the bargain bin becomes a tool for drawing attention to an aging title instead of removing it from stock to free up space for additional copies of Super Buck Fucker IV: The Buckiest Fuck. From a marketing perspective it reflects what Valve has always shown to be their expertise: listening to their consumer base and hearing, beyond what they request, what they really want, then making just that. Valve built a means for publishers and gamers to communicate, and proved that publishers want gamers to, more than anything else, be excited about their games. They also proved that gamers, more than anything else, want to see what publishers have on offer.
Because that’s the whole appeal of the bargain bin: less of a risk for the same reward. Games I would’ve scoffed at buying that intrigued me for their horrible-ness, games like Jericho and The Ghostbusters game that were almost universally panned were must buys once they dropped under five dollars. Games I would’ve laughed out loud at the prospect of buying at full price like Supreme Commander 2 and Killing Floor have been really enjoyable experiences that I only approached because they were discounted on Steam. Hell, I bought the complete Civilization 4 for twenty bucks, STALKER for five and X-Com’s entire run for a dollar a game, all of them excellent, if flawed and sometimes unapproachable experiences.
I’d liken it to walking through Powell’s books in Portland. There’s plenty of chaff out there on the shelves, marked down and prominently displayed, that you won’t enjoy regardless. But along with that chaff, there is a wealth of experiences awaiting the savvy consumer who is willing to look past the surface and work to uncover new and interesting bargains. The time you put into finding and investigating these bargains, the impulses you follow when presented with a seven dollar book next to a thirteen dollar book, are inevitably rewarded the same way buying a game like Gratuitous Space Battles, which might not even really be a game, is rewarded through Steam.
And what’s more, this magical bargain bin is something brick and mortar stores could never do. Coordinating on a national level, getting people with GEDs to actually tag hundreds of products correctly for a limited time sale and then hold up when customers try to bullshit them into discounting other games? Retail is a brutal, bleak landscape and there is little hope for innovation therein.
So even though the bargain bin was a cruel mockery in my youth, even though it seemed to only be there to make me miserable and wish I had millions of dollars and could just play games all the time and dive into these amazing experiences, it has become crucial to my existence as a gamer as an adult. If not for the digital bargain bin I’d be forced to play only a handful of titles, the same way I did when I was unemployed. The bargain bin is where I live as a gamer now, and it’s a wonderful and inclusive place. So god bless us, every one, for that noblest and most well-established of traditions: the highly esteemed bargain bin.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Congratulations on Wearing That Cap In a Fashion That Makes Us All Super Uncomfortable!
There’s a website we’re sure most of you are familiar with. It’s called Lesbians That Look Like Justin Bieber, and it’s dedicated to attractive young women who have sex with other young women and happen to strongly resembling a young man. It has broad appeal for obvious reasons. It allows people to indulge their inner queer and, most importantly, it lets them do so anonymously. If anyone catches them looking at LTLLJB they can even deflect it as humorous, because it involves cases of mistaken gender which many people find amusing.
The reason it’s totally cool for everyone, though, is because it’s anonymous. They can all be aroused and no one has to know it’s because they’ve got a little bit of gay in them. Everyone can keep moving with their lives without having to worry about being outed. But what you’re doing today isn’t so anonymous. So it’s nowhere near as cool for everyone impacted.
See today when you wake up you’re going to check out your sweet new buzz-cut in the mirror and decide that you’re not entirely sure you want to share it with the world. You’re worried that everyone’s just going to assume you’re a crazy butch dike and stare at you. So you decide to obfuscate their judgment with a gender concealing chapeau, a sweet ass red-plaid-over-gray cockney cap which makes it hard to tell whether you’re a man or a woman.
This, paired with your compact frame and your gender neutral style of dress it, makes it impossible to tell if you’re male or female until you undo the top three buttons on your shirt. Then it’s perfectly apparent, from the sunrise-worthy gap between your perfectly formed breasts, that you’re a girl. But even after this revelation looking at you kind of makes people uncomfortable.
See you cocked your cap, without even thinking about it, at this playful angle that makes it look like you’re just begging everyone you meet to take you back to their apartment and explore their inner freak whichever side of the fence they’re on. So even after folks see your tits they’re still tied to the idea of you as this gorgeous, gender neutral pixie and they want to drag you back to their cave and do unspeakable things to your unmentionable parts regardless of their usual inclination towards vaginas.
The end result is that everyone who looks at you feels super, super hot under the collar. You’re kind of a walking boner patrol today. Which is totally fine and great. The world needs more boners. But the egalitarian nature of the boners you spread will make us all super uncomfortable.
Not in the “oh god, pretty girl, freeze frame” way that so many of us are used to. Instead they’ll make us question our own sexuality in a number of ways that most adults have never really had to before. It’ll force every single person who stares longingly at your firm, shapely ass to question if they really like the parts they’ve been playing with all these years or if they were just making due until they got a chance to roll in the hay with you.
So today you’re not going to get laid, despite looking incredible and not knowing it. You’re not going to be hit on in any way. You’re just going to make a lot of people go home and wonder if they’ve been doing it all wrong all these years.
Congratulations on Wearing That Cap In a Fashion That Makes Us All Super Uncomfortable!
The reason it’s totally cool for everyone, though, is because it’s anonymous. They can all be aroused and no one has to know it’s because they’ve got a little bit of gay in them. Everyone can keep moving with their lives without having to worry about being outed. But what you’re doing today isn’t so anonymous. So it’s nowhere near as cool for everyone impacted.
See today when you wake up you’re going to check out your sweet new buzz-cut in the mirror and decide that you’re not entirely sure you want to share it with the world. You’re worried that everyone’s just going to assume you’re a crazy butch dike and stare at you. So you decide to obfuscate their judgment with a gender concealing chapeau, a sweet ass red-plaid-over-gray cockney cap which makes it hard to tell whether you’re a man or a woman.
This, paired with your compact frame and your gender neutral style of dress it, makes it impossible to tell if you’re male or female until you undo the top three buttons on your shirt. Then it’s perfectly apparent, from the sunrise-worthy gap between your perfectly formed breasts, that you’re a girl. But even after this revelation looking at you kind of makes people uncomfortable.
See you cocked your cap, without even thinking about it, at this playful angle that makes it look like you’re just begging everyone you meet to take you back to their apartment and explore their inner freak whichever side of the fence they’re on. So even after folks see your tits they’re still tied to the idea of you as this gorgeous, gender neutral pixie and they want to drag you back to their cave and do unspeakable things to your unmentionable parts regardless of their usual inclination towards vaginas.
The end result is that everyone who looks at you feels super, super hot under the collar. You’re kind of a walking boner patrol today. Which is totally fine and great. The world needs more boners. But the egalitarian nature of the boners you spread will make us all super uncomfortable.
Not in the “oh god, pretty girl, freeze frame” way that so many of us are used to. Instead they’ll make us question our own sexuality in a number of ways that most adults have never really had to before. It’ll force every single person who stares longingly at your firm, shapely ass to question if they really like the parts they’ve been playing with all these years or if they were just making due until they got a chance to roll in the hay with you.
So today you’re not going to get laid, despite looking incredible and not knowing it. You’re not going to be hit on in any way. You’re just going to make a lot of people go home and wonder if they’ve been doing it all wrong all these years.
Congratulations on Wearing That Cap In a Fashion That Makes Us All Super Uncomfortable!
Friday, September 3, 2010
Congratulations Bond Villain!
Congratulations! Today you’re going to fulfill your career long dream by capturing and murdering James Bond!
You’ll capture him using, to no one’s surprise, an incredibly beautiful woman with an implausible name and lax morals. She’ll fall for him but, unlike most of the women he sleeps with, she’ll be a product of the American university system. As a result she’ll know the value of a dollar and realize that a man who slept with her out of a combination of boredom and a subconscious desire to spread syphilis isn’t worth risking her life for, and she’ll leave him hanging above your tank filled with vicious mutant dogfish.
Bond will taunt you while he hangs there and he’ll get your entire evil plot, more or less, out of by the time he’s done. But this time when you leave the room while he is slowly descended into the dog-fish pit (where he’ll be made to feel very uncomfortable by your mutant dogfish before dying of radiation poisoning due to the radiation you used to make them mutants) he won’t escape through a series of implausible deus ex machina.
Instead he’ll shout the name of the woman he slept with last night for five minutes, then pause for a while wondering where she is. Karen (the woman he slept with’s real name) will actually be in Seattle by then, paying for her father’s chemo bills with the money she received from you in exchange for sleeping with James Bond. When she doesn’t mystically appear James will start shouting the name of another woman he slept with.
Then another.
And so on.
He’ll finish shouting after two and a half days, just before he succumbs to radiation poisoning. You’ll occasionally check in on him, but by the end it’ll just seem kind of sad that he managed to seduce that many people and didn’t form a relationship with any of them that had even a scrap of meaning. In the end you’ll be the closest thing to a real friend he has, and as he gazes up at you from sunken eyes in his final, silent moments, too weak to speak, you’ll see that he recognizes it too.
Congratulations Bond Villain!
You’ll capture him using, to no one’s surprise, an incredibly beautiful woman with an implausible name and lax morals. She’ll fall for him but, unlike most of the women he sleeps with, she’ll be a product of the American university system. As a result she’ll know the value of a dollar and realize that a man who slept with her out of a combination of boredom and a subconscious desire to spread syphilis isn’t worth risking her life for, and she’ll leave him hanging above your tank filled with vicious mutant dogfish.
Bond will taunt you while he hangs there and he’ll get your entire evil plot, more or less, out of by the time he’s done. But this time when you leave the room while he is slowly descended into the dog-fish pit (where he’ll be made to feel very uncomfortable by your mutant dogfish before dying of radiation poisoning due to the radiation you used to make them mutants) he won’t escape through a series of implausible deus ex machina.
Instead he’ll shout the name of the woman he slept with last night for five minutes, then pause for a while wondering where she is. Karen (the woman he slept with’s real name) will actually be in Seattle by then, paying for her father’s chemo bills with the money she received from you in exchange for sleeping with James Bond. When she doesn’t mystically appear James will start shouting the name of another woman he slept with.
Then another.
And so on.
He’ll finish shouting after two and a half days, just before he succumbs to radiation poisoning. You’ll occasionally check in on him, but by the end it’ll just seem kind of sad that he managed to seduce that many people and didn’t form a relationship with any of them that had even a scrap of meaning. In the end you’ll be the closest thing to a real friend he has, and as he gazes up at you from sunken eyes in his final, silent moments, too weak to speak, you’ll see that he recognizes it too.
Congratulations Bond Villain!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Congratulations on Being Struck By a Falling Tree!
You’re one of those skateboarding teens we hear so much about through Dateline. You’re kind of a douchebag, you’re virtually unemployable and, unlike the talented countercultural skaters of yore you don’t really do anything interesting or noteworthy, you just skateboard in the same way that people skateboarded before you.
You do, however, make sure that you do it in public places where you interfere with the lives of as many people as possible. Most of them try their hardest to ignore you, even though you’re a skateboarding girl and, according to the rules of the late 1980s and early to mid 1990s we’re supposed to find you very attractive and go out of our way to make sure your life is more or less honky dory. So people generally genially smile at you and wave and have sex with you and put up with all your myriad bullshit while you nosegrab to 750 flipkicks or whatever the shit it is you do and profoundly piss our reptile brains (which aren’t fooled by your wooden plank) into next week.
It’s all frustrating and really annoying and today it is finally going to stop. It’s going to stop when a municipal employee who is removing a tree asks you to please stop skateboarding in his work area. He’ll politely tell you that there are some great rails on the other end of the park, far from chainsaws, smiling at you while you scowl at him. You’ll proceed to ignore him and, since he has a job to do, he’ll just do his best to cut down the tree and not murder you in the process.
But your remarkable propensity for retardation will finally catch up with you today when a branch comes loose from the toppling tree and knocks you off your piece of wood. You’ll go tumbling to the ground with a sickening crunch and find yourself completely unable to move. You’ll also be puzzled at the physical pain assaulting you and be somewhat amazed that you finally have a reason to scowl.
Since you’re a good American who conforms to a set of social standards you’ll completely ignore the fact that you were at fault in your accident and do your all to get the municipal worker fired. The best you’ll be able to manage will be an embarrassingly large settlement from the city and a verbal apology from the worker, who really does feel terrible about you being struck by a tree even if you were being a little bitch at the time.
So you’ll keep on not working and we’ll finally stop having to deal with you skateboarding around like it’s 1994 and you think you’re cool. It’s really a win-win today.
Congratulations on Being Struck By a Falling Tree!
You do, however, make sure that you do it in public places where you interfere with the lives of as many people as possible. Most of them try their hardest to ignore you, even though you’re a skateboarding girl and, according to the rules of the late 1980s and early to mid 1990s we’re supposed to find you very attractive and go out of our way to make sure your life is more or less honky dory. So people generally genially smile at you and wave and have sex with you and put up with all your myriad bullshit while you nosegrab to 750 flipkicks or whatever the shit it is you do and profoundly piss our reptile brains (which aren’t fooled by your wooden plank) into next week.
It’s all frustrating and really annoying and today it is finally going to stop. It’s going to stop when a municipal employee who is removing a tree asks you to please stop skateboarding in his work area. He’ll politely tell you that there are some great rails on the other end of the park, far from chainsaws, smiling at you while you scowl at him. You’ll proceed to ignore him and, since he has a job to do, he’ll just do his best to cut down the tree and not murder you in the process.
But your remarkable propensity for retardation will finally catch up with you today when a branch comes loose from the toppling tree and knocks you off your piece of wood. You’ll go tumbling to the ground with a sickening crunch and find yourself completely unable to move. You’ll also be puzzled at the physical pain assaulting you and be somewhat amazed that you finally have a reason to scowl.
Since you’re a good American who conforms to a set of social standards you’ll completely ignore the fact that you were at fault in your accident and do your all to get the municipal worker fired. The best you’ll be able to manage will be an embarrassingly large settlement from the city and a verbal apology from the worker, who really does feel terrible about you being struck by a tree even if you were being a little bitch at the time.
So you’ll keep on not working and we’ll finally stop having to deal with you skateboarding around like it’s 1994 and you think you’re cool. It’s really a win-win today.
Congratulations on Being Struck By a Falling Tree!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Congratulations on Moving Into a Glass House!
Contrary to what people say all the time glass houses are more or less stone proof. Well, stone resistant at least. Otherwise you’d constantly be losing windows every time a strong wind came up or some stones were kicked up by a passing car. What you’re really going to have to look out for are ex-girlfriends and strangers who want to see you naked. We suggest either working out a lot or getting more curtains. Also, you might want to masturbate a little bit less. We don’t want you to stop altogether, it just might make people a little uncomfortable if they knew how often you fapped it.
Congratulations on Moving Into a Glass House!
Congratulations on Moving Into a Glass House!
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