As a young man you dreamed of your future wife. You always thought she’d be a beautiful, brilliant woman, capable and full of grace. You also believed she’d love you.
But like most people you mistook sex for love and shit kind of went wrong down the road. You ended up with an incredibly gorgeous girlfriend in college who studied particle physics and did ballet in her spare time. The two of you seemed to get along alright and when you were around one another you seemed to have fun and enjoy each other quite a bit.
So you did what normal people do: you waited five years then got married. You settled into a house and a pair of well-paying jobs that gave you money, although not too much money. You had problems. You had pets. You had bills. You shared pints of ice-cream and watched shitty movies and had sex three times a week, sometimes more, sometimes less.
You did all the things normal people did and something felt like it was missing. When your wife was gone you thought about her leaving you for other people. When you were away she thought the same about you. The two of you always considered the vast human sea of other possibilities, the possible “rights” that might’ve been out there had they only looked a little harder. But you both get on well enough with one another that you will never attempt to divide the love that you’ve found. Why shake your head at a good thing, after all?
You’re both suffering from the effects of being wrapped in a loveless marriage. It’s common, and many people can live with it for their entire lives with only the slightest pangs of loneliness appearing to make them feel sad about the shit they’re missing by never tasting the fruits of true love. You’re both content. But neither of you are really happy.
But today the two of you are going to be sitting, watching a romantic movie with John Cusack. There will be a moment where Cusack realizes something important about the woman he’s interested in, where he realizes she’s worth giving everything up for, and at this moment you’ll have your own realization: you could never do this.
Your heart simply isn’t big enough to abandon everything for the sake of love. So, with this realization, you’ll become spontaneously all right with your loveless marriage. Suddenly the burden of finding love will fall away from you.
Because if you found it you’d have to fight for it, and that’s really not worth it. And knowing that you don’t have what it takes to really earn love makes you feel okay about never experiencing it. Because if you never experience it you can never miss it. You can just hear people talk about it and never have it, even though it’s out there. Like ostrich meat. You’ve never eaten ostrich meat either.
Congratulations on Adjusting to Your Loveless Marriage!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Congratulations on Brewing Your Own Beer!
Brewing your own beer is a popular activity, and today we’re going to tell you how to start. Step one: get on Google and find a brewing supply store. You’re already on the internet, just go do it. We’ll wait here while you do that.
Back? Good. It’s probably just far enough away from your home to be inconvenient, but not far enough to discourage you from going there and beginning your long journey into DIY alcoholism. You should go there after you’ve familiarized yourself with our list. You might even want to write it down.
Ingredient one is going to be a large sterile container. You can get one of these at a beer store, or borrow one from one of your crazy survivalist friends if you have any of those. Once you have one of those you’ll want to get your malts, hops and any grains that you need for your particular beer.
You’ll also want an ample supply of water. This should be available in most faucets or any nearby streams, but enterprising readers without a ready source should feel free to distill their own urine for water just as the ancient Egyptians once did. This will also further personalize the beer.
You’ll also need yeast.
Once you’ve made the overlong journey to the brewing supply store, mixed these ingredients together, thrown these ingredients away and travelled back to the store to get more stuff so you can fuck up another two or three times, you’ll want to add the super secret ingredient that only Sexy Results readers can provide: a small vial of your own tears.
These tears, which will be exceptionally sad because everyone at Sexy Results is pretty pathetic and everyone who reads it is way worse, will give the beer the most delectable flavor imaginable: human sadness.
Human sadness is a key ingredient in most processed foods and, in this case, will make your beer taste like ambrosia.
Enjoy, and remember: more beer means more tears, so collect those suckers for your next batch!
Congratulations on Brewing Your Own Beer!
Back? Good. It’s probably just far enough away from your home to be inconvenient, but not far enough to discourage you from going there and beginning your long journey into DIY alcoholism. You should go there after you’ve familiarized yourself with our list. You might even want to write it down.
Ingredient one is going to be a large sterile container. You can get one of these at a beer store, or borrow one from one of your crazy survivalist friends if you have any of those. Once you have one of those you’ll want to get your malts, hops and any grains that you need for your particular beer.
You’ll also want an ample supply of water. This should be available in most faucets or any nearby streams, but enterprising readers without a ready source should feel free to distill their own urine for water just as the ancient Egyptians once did. This will also further personalize the beer.
You’ll also need yeast.
Once you’ve made the overlong journey to the brewing supply store, mixed these ingredients together, thrown these ingredients away and travelled back to the store to get more stuff so you can fuck up another two or three times, you’ll want to add the super secret ingredient that only Sexy Results readers can provide: a small vial of your own tears.
These tears, which will be exceptionally sad because everyone at Sexy Results is pretty pathetic and everyone who reads it is way worse, will give the beer the most delectable flavor imaginable: human sadness.
Human sadness is a key ingredient in most processed foods and, in this case, will make your beer taste like ambrosia.
Enjoy, and remember: more beer means more tears, so collect those suckers for your next batch!
Congratulations on Brewing Your Own Beer!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Super Nerd Sundays Presents: Replay Value!
I’m something of an aberration amongst my gaming friends. While we all love games and the experiences they present my friends seek out new experiences constantly. Without any incentive otherwise they’ll beat a game and put it down forever, their experience completed. Sometimes they’ll give it a second playthrough if it promises a unique enough experience, something like Dragon Age where the game’s shape shifts dramatically depending on the choices you make, but they’d never dream of delving into something like Metro 2033 again, where the game is more or less the same each time through and the only real choice to be had is the choice between two endings, neither of which seems to offer much satisfaction.
Because they don’t replay games. Once an experience has entered their consciousness it’s done. It’s over. Next please. And this isn’t a bad thing at all. Replaying games can be tedious. It can be tortuous. It can be pointless. But it can also be illuminating.
I replay games constantly. Part of it comes from my educational background. As someone who was forced to read and re-read books for the sake of writing papers about them I tend to approach narratives like experiments: I see them as a way to collect data, as a set of conditions that I can observe, record information on and extrapolate ideas about narrative in general from that information. So when I read an experience and I’m curious about my response to it, for better or worse, I’m immediately compelled to step back into that experience, to engage it and take it apart from the inside.
I even have this compulsion with woefully bad games. When I finished Jericho, a game that I purchased for a dollar and felt, after playing it, I’d just barely gotten a fair trade on it, I decided to delve back in. I wanted to see if I’d been correct in my assessment of the Jericho experience. I wanted to see if a higher difficulty would make the game more interesting. I wanted to see if the characters might become even somewhat endearing (aside from Cole, sweet, sweet Cole) upon a second playthrough. They didn’t, of course, but I still stuck with it. I stuck with it for a good long time and, in a sense, I’m still sticking with it. I’m just taking a break because right now it’s super frustrating and I’ve got other things to do and play.
I did the same thing with Modern Warfare 2’s single player. After I finished it I decided I’d sit down and see how it played on the hardest difficulty setting, see if the missions became more or less of a challenge, if there was some hint of the brilliance behind the first Modern Warfare game. Again, there wasn’t, but I still braved the experience all the way to that last button mashing session which ended with a knife in Lance Henrikson’s eye, because I wanted to give it a fair shake. I wanted to see how I’d respond to the narrative knowing all of its elements, how I’d process it with additional information.
These aren’t qualities that make me a better gamer. In fact, they kind of make me a crappier gamer. There are plenty of games I just don’t experience because I’m busy replaying other games and they fall off my radar. Alan Wake, for example, was buried under a sea of “meh” responses while I was replaying Fallout 3 for the third time. Right now I’m not playing Elemental because I’m busy replaying Alpha Protocol and just finished my second playthrough of Metro 2033 (which took considerably less time and effort this time around, by the by). I do expect that to change, just because of the excitement surrounding Elemental, probably even before this is posted.
My point is that, instead of seeking out a large number of experiences I delve into a set of them, both good and bad. Sometimes this shows in my writing, with my frequent references to titles like Fallout, Bioshock and Far Cry 2, games I’ve sunk hundreds of hours into and know bits and pieces of by heart. Sometimes it doesn’t make it in, as is the case with Jericho. But I reflect on these experiences by reliving them, by reconsidering the approach I took to them the first time around.
Therein lies the appeal of replaying games: it isn’t the recodification of an experience, but the reappropriation and reconsideration of it. It’s not about finding something new, but reassessing the experience you had, mulling it over, being aware of it as a whole as you experience each part of it. It’s something people don’t do often enough in life and literature, and it’s certainly not something people do often enough in games. Reflecting on these experiences is what helps us actually understand where they fit into the tapestry of art and the world in general, and when we don’t consider them.
It’s especially valuable because it doesn’t fit into the critical or communal discussion surrounding games. The people who write and converse about games are all too often less concerned with investigating an experience and far more concerned with ranking it, assessing it as something to be consumed and then moving on to the next experience. It’s the worst example of consumerism, an aggressive push away from assessing the works of art that we experience towards a rawer fire-and-forget form of consumption. Every game that we don’t replay, every game we shelf and leave behind without considering where it succeeds or fails in the greater spectrum of gaming becomes a sort of casualty to the ever plodding forces of progress.
And that’s a shame. Because even the silliest, shittiest game has a lot to teach us. Indeed, the shittier the game, perhaps, the greater the lesson it may provide. Because games are, like most narrative, an artistic experience. They edify us in some way, even if that edification is simply a movement towards enjoyment. And when we fail to consider this edification in a greater context, when we fail to treat games the way we’d treat books or films and think of them after we’ve finished and remember the experiences we’ve had when we approach new games, we’re doing the medium as a whole a disservice. So recycle your old games. Replay games you want to reassess your experience with, or games that you just can’t stop thinking about.
Take your time. Enjoy your experiences, think about them, discuss them, and never worry about being called a nerd for it. For fuck’s sake, we’re talking about video games. We wouldn’t be playing them if we weren’t nerds.
Because they don’t replay games. Once an experience has entered their consciousness it’s done. It’s over. Next please. And this isn’t a bad thing at all. Replaying games can be tedious. It can be tortuous. It can be pointless. But it can also be illuminating.
I replay games constantly. Part of it comes from my educational background. As someone who was forced to read and re-read books for the sake of writing papers about them I tend to approach narratives like experiments: I see them as a way to collect data, as a set of conditions that I can observe, record information on and extrapolate ideas about narrative in general from that information. So when I read an experience and I’m curious about my response to it, for better or worse, I’m immediately compelled to step back into that experience, to engage it and take it apart from the inside.
I even have this compulsion with woefully bad games. When I finished Jericho, a game that I purchased for a dollar and felt, after playing it, I’d just barely gotten a fair trade on it, I decided to delve back in. I wanted to see if I’d been correct in my assessment of the Jericho experience. I wanted to see if a higher difficulty would make the game more interesting. I wanted to see if the characters might become even somewhat endearing (aside from Cole, sweet, sweet Cole) upon a second playthrough. They didn’t, of course, but I still stuck with it. I stuck with it for a good long time and, in a sense, I’m still sticking with it. I’m just taking a break because right now it’s super frustrating and I’ve got other things to do and play.
I did the same thing with Modern Warfare 2’s single player. After I finished it I decided I’d sit down and see how it played on the hardest difficulty setting, see if the missions became more or less of a challenge, if there was some hint of the brilliance behind the first Modern Warfare game. Again, there wasn’t, but I still braved the experience all the way to that last button mashing session which ended with a knife in Lance Henrikson’s eye, because I wanted to give it a fair shake. I wanted to see how I’d respond to the narrative knowing all of its elements, how I’d process it with additional information.
These aren’t qualities that make me a better gamer. In fact, they kind of make me a crappier gamer. There are plenty of games I just don’t experience because I’m busy replaying other games and they fall off my radar. Alan Wake, for example, was buried under a sea of “meh” responses while I was replaying Fallout 3 for the third time. Right now I’m not playing Elemental because I’m busy replaying Alpha Protocol and just finished my second playthrough of Metro 2033 (which took considerably less time and effort this time around, by the by). I do expect that to change, just because of the excitement surrounding Elemental, probably even before this is posted.
My point is that, instead of seeking out a large number of experiences I delve into a set of them, both good and bad. Sometimes this shows in my writing, with my frequent references to titles like Fallout, Bioshock and Far Cry 2, games I’ve sunk hundreds of hours into and know bits and pieces of by heart. Sometimes it doesn’t make it in, as is the case with Jericho. But I reflect on these experiences by reliving them, by reconsidering the approach I took to them the first time around.
Therein lies the appeal of replaying games: it isn’t the recodification of an experience, but the reappropriation and reconsideration of it. It’s not about finding something new, but reassessing the experience you had, mulling it over, being aware of it as a whole as you experience each part of it. It’s something people don’t do often enough in life and literature, and it’s certainly not something people do often enough in games. Reflecting on these experiences is what helps us actually understand where they fit into the tapestry of art and the world in general, and when we don’t consider them.
It’s especially valuable because it doesn’t fit into the critical or communal discussion surrounding games. The people who write and converse about games are all too often less concerned with investigating an experience and far more concerned with ranking it, assessing it as something to be consumed and then moving on to the next experience. It’s the worst example of consumerism, an aggressive push away from assessing the works of art that we experience towards a rawer fire-and-forget form of consumption. Every game that we don’t replay, every game we shelf and leave behind without considering where it succeeds or fails in the greater spectrum of gaming becomes a sort of casualty to the ever plodding forces of progress.
And that’s a shame. Because even the silliest, shittiest game has a lot to teach us. Indeed, the shittier the game, perhaps, the greater the lesson it may provide. Because games are, like most narrative, an artistic experience. They edify us in some way, even if that edification is simply a movement towards enjoyment. And when we fail to consider this edification in a greater context, when we fail to treat games the way we’d treat books or films and think of them after we’ve finished and remember the experiences we’ve had when we approach new games, we’re doing the medium as a whole a disservice. So recycle your old games. Replay games you want to reassess your experience with, or games that you just can’t stop thinking about.
Take your time. Enjoy your experiences, think about them, discuss them, and never worry about being called a nerd for it. For fuck’s sake, we’re talking about video games. We wouldn’t be playing them if we weren’t nerds.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Congratulations on Surviving Seven Minutes In Heaven!
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Friday, August 27, 2010
Congratulations on Eating the Spiciest of Peppers!
The picnic table cloths will be checkered, the bowls stark white against them, perfectly showcasing their selection of peppers ranging in heat from “oooh” to “holy fuck.” On your left will sit James “Muiy Caliente” Calendar, famed pepper eating contestant and general raconteur. On your right Alfred “Nice Spice” Newman, the wealthy philanthropist turned competitive eater who turned his sights on the title of “best spicy pepper eater” only a few months earlier. He’ll have made great strides along his journey, but he’ll be among the stiffest of competitors now, between you and Calendar in the world Pepper Eating Championship Finals.
The judge will announce the rules to the crowd gathered around you, a full third of the attendees of the Minnesota state fair.
“Arrayed before our contestants are a set of peppers ranging in spiciness from one-hundred thousand to over one million Scoville Heat Units,” he’ll say with a sweeping gesture, inviting your audience to examine the carefully arranged peppers laid before you. “The contestants will eat each pepper in order of increasing spiciness until the contestants find themselves unable to eat any more peppers.” He’ll look each of you in the eyes, measuring you one by one as pepper-eating contestants. “In the event that there is no winner upon the final pepper being eaten we will enter a sudden death round, wherein contestants will devour the famed Ghost Chile one by one until one of them yields.” The announcer will hold up a Ghost Chile, which will almost seem to glow red in his hand. He’ll be wearing a welder’s glove as he holds it. He’ll turn towards you and your fellow contestants and smile cruelly.
“Do you understand?”
You’ll nod collectively.
“BEGIN!” he’ll shout in all caps.
You and your opponents will fall upon the peppers. In this case falling upon them means you’ll eat one of each kind of pepper, then politely wait for the next contestant to do the same.
At first things will go smoothly for all of you. You’ll all have trained hard for this day, and each of those peppers will be relatively tame by your standards. But just before it comes time to devour Habanero peppers as a group Newman will began sweating profusely. You and Calendar will each devour your peppers in turn, taking them in your mouths in one fluid motion and chewing them carefully before swallowing without any visual distress, but when Newman’s time comes he will pause. He’ll glance around, breathing heavily, then ram the pepper into his mouth.
When he bites down he’ll begin to weep, but he’ll continue chewing, doing his best to fight through the pain. Within seconds, however, he’ll be on the ground, rolling around on his back weeping openly, screaming out loud.
“Newman has been eliminated!” the announcer will crow to the crowd’s thunderous applause. You and Calendar will share a look and a nod, grinning at one another grimly as the announcer produces a bowl of the famed Ghost Chiles, still wearing his welding gloves.
You’ll take the pepper first, gingerly picking it up between your thumb and forefinger and depositing it on your tongue with a dainty gesture. Then you’ll flip it inside your mouth and begin chewing with determination. Your eyes will tear, your nose will run, but you won’t cry out, you won’t move from your chair. You’ll just sit and chew and smile when you’re done, looking at Calendar, who will now have an expression of horror on his face.
Calendar will pick up his Ghost Chile with apprehension, placing it in his mouth unsteadily, ramming it in there as if he hopes to simply swallow it instead of chewing it. But his integrity will get the better of him and he’ll bite down, spilling the most volatile pepper juice in the known world into his mouth in the process.
His shriek will pierce the air as he stands up in agony, rushing towards the pitcher complementary milk located a short distance away from the contest table. He’ll pour the milk around his mouth more than into it, making inhuman sounds of pain as he tries to assuage the heat inside his mouth.
Normally a crowd this size would mock him in his pain, laugh at his agonized throes as he attempts to manage the horror that has become his life now that he has tasted the Ghost Chile. But this crowd will be silent in awe of you as you slowly stand up, placing another Ghost Chile in your mouth and chewing with apparent ecstasy. You’ll smile and shake the announcer’s hand, still encased in a welding glove while he stares at you with an incredulous look on his face.
Then you’ll go to Calendar, who will by now be on the ground writhing in pain, and help him to his feet, carrying him to the medical tent the way a true pepper-eating champion would, with his tear-streaming eyes held high.
Congratulations on Eating the Spiciest of Peppers!
The judge will announce the rules to the crowd gathered around you, a full third of the attendees of the Minnesota state fair.
“Arrayed before our contestants are a set of peppers ranging in spiciness from one-hundred thousand to over one million Scoville Heat Units,” he’ll say with a sweeping gesture, inviting your audience to examine the carefully arranged peppers laid before you. “The contestants will eat each pepper in order of increasing spiciness until the contestants find themselves unable to eat any more peppers.” He’ll look each of you in the eyes, measuring you one by one as pepper-eating contestants. “In the event that there is no winner upon the final pepper being eaten we will enter a sudden death round, wherein contestants will devour the famed Ghost Chile one by one until one of them yields.” The announcer will hold up a Ghost Chile, which will almost seem to glow red in his hand. He’ll be wearing a welder’s glove as he holds it. He’ll turn towards you and your fellow contestants and smile cruelly.
“Do you understand?”
You’ll nod collectively.
“BEGIN!” he’ll shout in all caps.
You and your opponents will fall upon the peppers. In this case falling upon them means you’ll eat one of each kind of pepper, then politely wait for the next contestant to do the same.
At first things will go smoothly for all of you. You’ll all have trained hard for this day, and each of those peppers will be relatively tame by your standards. But just before it comes time to devour Habanero peppers as a group Newman will began sweating profusely. You and Calendar will each devour your peppers in turn, taking them in your mouths in one fluid motion and chewing them carefully before swallowing without any visual distress, but when Newman’s time comes he will pause. He’ll glance around, breathing heavily, then ram the pepper into his mouth.
When he bites down he’ll begin to weep, but he’ll continue chewing, doing his best to fight through the pain. Within seconds, however, he’ll be on the ground, rolling around on his back weeping openly, screaming out loud.
“Newman has been eliminated!” the announcer will crow to the crowd’s thunderous applause. You and Calendar will share a look and a nod, grinning at one another grimly as the announcer produces a bowl of the famed Ghost Chiles, still wearing his welding gloves.
You’ll take the pepper first, gingerly picking it up between your thumb and forefinger and depositing it on your tongue with a dainty gesture. Then you’ll flip it inside your mouth and begin chewing with determination. Your eyes will tear, your nose will run, but you won’t cry out, you won’t move from your chair. You’ll just sit and chew and smile when you’re done, looking at Calendar, who will now have an expression of horror on his face.
Calendar will pick up his Ghost Chile with apprehension, placing it in his mouth unsteadily, ramming it in there as if he hopes to simply swallow it instead of chewing it. But his integrity will get the better of him and he’ll bite down, spilling the most volatile pepper juice in the known world into his mouth in the process.
His shriek will pierce the air as he stands up in agony, rushing towards the pitcher complementary milk located a short distance away from the contest table. He’ll pour the milk around his mouth more than into it, making inhuman sounds of pain as he tries to assuage the heat inside his mouth.
Normally a crowd this size would mock him in his pain, laugh at his agonized throes as he attempts to manage the horror that has become his life now that he has tasted the Ghost Chile. But this crowd will be silent in awe of you as you slowly stand up, placing another Ghost Chile in your mouth and chewing with apparent ecstasy. You’ll smile and shake the announcer’s hand, still encased in a welding glove while he stares at you with an incredulous look on his face.
Then you’ll go to Calendar, who will by now be on the ground writhing in pain, and help him to his feet, carrying him to the medical tent the way a true pepper-eating champion would, with his tear-streaming eyes held high.
Congratulations on Eating the Spiciest of Peppers!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Congratulations on Shutting Down All the Trash Compactors on the Detention Level!
Turns out screaming is a perfectly acceptable way to solve some problems, especially when those problems involve communicating with a somewhat retarded young man obsessed with Star Wars.
Barry will be having trouble shutting down the compactor slowly cubing the car you’re trapped in, despite being right next to the fucking lever that turns it off. Barry has always been a little special, but he’s trustworthy and reliable which is why you picked him for this operation. But he’s kind of slow, and he panics easily, which is why it’s not a good thing that he’s trapped in a control room alone, surrounded by corpses, while you shout at him.
“Fucking shut it down, Barry!” you’ll yell. Michelle will be hyperventilating next to you. From the smell she’ll have already pissed herself, which you’d give her shit about later if you, too, weren’t almost positive that you were going to die horribly in a few seconds.
“How!” he’ll yell back, staring at the giant lever that controls the walls slowly forcing metal towards your bodies.
“The fucking lever!” you’ll shout at him, which will just make him more confused since he thinks of the lever as more of a switch. He’ll shrug at you, looking confused.
Michelle will grab your hand, her breath slowing down for a moment. “Star,” she’ll wheeze. “Wars.” Your eyes will light up with recognition and you’ll turn towards Barry, smiling.
“Threepee-oh!” you’ll yell. Barry will immediately stiffen and arrange his hands like he’s doing The Robot. He’ll look at you attentively, awaiting orders. “Shut down all the trash compactors on the detention level!”
Barry will nod at you, then turn and stiffly pull the lever down, stalling out the motor on the compactor and moving the slowly closing metal walls back out away from you. You and Michelle will begin hooting and howling, pushing the ceiling of the car and laughing uncontrollably. Barry will just stand there in the control room, watching the two you and smiling at himself, satisfied that he saved the day.
You’ll kiss Michelle, so happy that the piss smell won’t even register for you. Pulling your knife out from your pocket, shifting your weight so that you can get it free, you’ll begin the awkward process of cutting your way out of the seatbelts that had previously bound you into the car. Laughing and still trembling with adrenaline you’ll mutter at Michelle without looking at her.
“God I am so glad his stepfather used to burn him until he acted like a robot.”
Congratulations on Shutting Down All the Trash Compactors on the Detention Level!
Barry will be having trouble shutting down the compactor slowly cubing the car you’re trapped in, despite being right next to the fucking lever that turns it off. Barry has always been a little special, but he’s trustworthy and reliable which is why you picked him for this operation. But he’s kind of slow, and he panics easily, which is why it’s not a good thing that he’s trapped in a control room alone, surrounded by corpses, while you shout at him.
“Fucking shut it down, Barry!” you’ll yell. Michelle will be hyperventilating next to you. From the smell she’ll have already pissed herself, which you’d give her shit about later if you, too, weren’t almost positive that you were going to die horribly in a few seconds.
“How!” he’ll yell back, staring at the giant lever that controls the walls slowly forcing metal towards your bodies.
“The fucking lever!” you’ll shout at him, which will just make him more confused since he thinks of the lever as more of a switch. He’ll shrug at you, looking confused.
Michelle will grab your hand, her breath slowing down for a moment. “Star,” she’ll wheeze. “Wars.” Your eyes will light up with recognition and you’ll turn towards Barry, smiling.
“Threepee-oh!” you’ll yell. Barry will immediately stiffen and arrange his hands like he’s doing The Robot. He’ll look at you attentively, awaiting orders. “Shut down all the trash compactors on the detention level!”
Barry will nod at you, then turn and stiffly pull the lever down, stalling out the motor on the compactor and moving the slowly closing metal walls back out away from you. You and Michelle will begin hooting and howling, pushing the ceiling of the car and laughing uncontrollably. Barry will just stand there in the control room, watching the two you and smiling at himself, satisfied that he saved the day.
You’ll kiss Michelle, so happy that the piss smell won’t even register for you. Pulling your knife out from your pocket, shifting your weight so that you can get it free, you’ll begin the awkward process of cutting your way out of the seatbelts that had previously bound you into the car. Laughing and still trembling with adrenaline you’ll mutter at Michelle without looking at her.
“God I am so glad his stepfather used to burn him until he acted like a robot.”
Congratulations on Shutting Down All the Trash Compactors on the Detention Level!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Congratulations on Learning the True Meaning of Hanukkah!
The two of you will steal into the control center, a hail of bullets finding nothing but the steel of the blast door closing behind you. Johnson will hold the door shut while you up-end a filing cabinet to block it off just in time, a thunderous pounding erupting just as you slam the cabinet down. You’ll both stare at the door for a few minutes while the pounding intensifies, guns at the ready. After a few minutes you’ll hear a Yiddish curse and the pounding of feet running away, seeking another entrance.
Johnson won’t lose a single moment. He’ll run over to the Supercomputer and start hacking away, dropping all kinds of firewalls and viruses and emails and shit, slicing through ICE and some other weird clichés until his jaw drops, sending his lit cigarette tumbling to the ground.
Ever the safety nut, you’ll stomp it out before you grab his shoulder and ask.
“What?”
He’ll point at the screen, which will be displaying a three paragraph Microsoft Word file. The file will be titled “the REAL meaning of hanukkah” (capitalization theirs) and will detail the various ways in which hanukkah is actually a giant Jewish conspiracy intended to give Jews control over Hollywood and a few extra days off during the winter so they can play in the snow and occasionally nap to get the sad out.
“Those bastards,” you’ll say. Then you’ll remove a 3.5 inch floppy from your combat webbing and hand it to Johnson, who will give you a steely nod in response. He’ll slip the floppy into the computer and start typing away, spellchecking the files while he has the chance before saving them to the disk.
Then, his work completed, he’ll hand the disk back to you. You’ll slip it back into your webbing and the two of you will start looking for a way out of the Jewish command center, your mission half complete, the secret so many men have died for in your hands and ready to be shared with the world.
Congratulations on Learning the True Meaning of Hanukkah!
Johnson won’t lose a single moment. He’ll run over to the Supercomputer and start hacking away, dropping all kinds of firewalls and viruses and emails and shit, slicing through ICE and some other weird clichés until his jaw drops, sending his lit cigarette tumbling to the ground.
Ever the safety nut, you’ll stomp it out before you grab his shoulder and ask.
“What?”
He’ll point at the screen, which will be displaying a three paragraph Microsoft Word file. The file will be titled “the REAL meaning of hanukkah” (capitalization theirs) and will detail the various ways in which hanukkah is actually a giant Jewish conspiracy intended to give Jews control over Hollywood and a few extra days off during the winter so they can play in the snow and occasionally nap to get the sad out.
“Those bastards,” you’ll say. Then you’ll remove a 3.5 inch floppy from your combat webbing and hand it to Johnson, who will give you a steely nod in response. He’ll slip the floppy into the computer and start typing away, spellchecking the files while he has the chance before saving them to the disk.
Then, his work completed, he’ll hand the disk back to you. You’ll slip it back into your webbing and the two of you will start looking for a way out of the Jewish command center, your mission half complete, the secret so many men have died for in your hands and ready to be shared with the world.
Congratulations on Learning the True Meaning of Hanukkah!
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