Congratulations New Face of Meth!

Today the meth warning poster that shows those hot-ass before and after shots of meth heads when they’re reasonably attractive or kinda fat in the first picture and methed out and skinny in the second picture is going to be replaced with a newer, bigger poster with even more of those pictures than before. It’ll have more of those pictures than before because the local law enforcement agency that deals with meth related crime wants the surrounding community to know that meth is a bigger problem than before and the easiest way to do that is to show more people being affected by it.

There will also be a bigger picture than all the others, a picture of a particularly dramatically transformed meth head to illustrate the destructive power of the drug and the havoc it can wreak on a seemingly together person. This larger set of photographs will be of you.

The first one will show a picture of you in high school. You’ll look young, pretty and smiling. It will, from what you can tell, be from just after you lost your virginity and just before your parents finalize their divorce. Your smile will be genuine, but it will be from one of the rare moments between the horrible days that made up your childhood. It will make you remember not only the good times, but the bad times.

It’ll make you remember being abused by boyfriend after boyfriend and potential stepdad after potential stepdad. Installing your own deadbolt in your room so they wouldn’t be able to break in anymore. Then buying drugs, first just weed, then acid. Fucking boys you didn’t even like just to feel something while you waited for your drunk mom to bring someone new home. Then meth would come, and with meth would come a hard four years of sucking strange on the side of the street and blissing yourself out so that it would be harder to remember.

The second picture will be from your mugshot, from just before the cops put you back into the home where you started working, the place you’re now staying in between shifts at the Arby’s. You’ll still look a great deal like your portrait, though Arby’s will have provided you with a bridge to replace your missing teeth and enough money to afford makeup to cover the obvious scars left by your youth.

Looking out at the poster from the drive through window you’ll wonder if the people outside can recognize you, wonder if they’d care if they could, wonder if they even notice it the way you do, the mistakes of your life staring back at you, twenty feet tall.

Congratulations New Face of Meth!

Congratulations on Getting New Glasses!

Normally you’re a blasé little cheerleader who walks around in a miniskirt and fucks anyone who’s on the football team. That means no one actually likes you for you and you’re less attractive and more slutty, even though you’re blonde and leggy and all that shit that we’re all supposed to like. It’s your own damn fault for being born in the Midwest, where blonde girls are a dime a dozen and awkward, dark haired girls are the princesses of the poon.

But today you’re going to get an edge. Today you’re going to the doctor’s office and they’re going to prescribe you glasses.

“Oh shit,” one of the comp sci nerds will say, craning his neck as you walk by. He’ll never have noticed you before, but this morning you’ll actually be able to see him pitch a tent in his couerderoy pants as you walk by. He’ll trip over himself trying to cover his boner with his binder and as he topples to the ground he’ll call your name.

“Kristen!”

You’ll ignore him, continuing your journey down the hall, which will be filled with boys staring at you, their jaws agape. When you pass by the drama geeks they’ll mumble to themselves and shake their heads in amazement.

“I’d go straight for that,” you’ll hear one of them mutter.

You’ll smile a little, a wry little thing that makes you all the sexier as you tromp around with your newfound power. You’ll shimmy sham your sweet little illegal ass right up to the captain of the football team and look down your glasses at him as he stares back, puzzled.

“I’m off the squad,” you’ll tell him. “And I’m done giving you and your friends handies. I’m gonna go fuck honors students.”

Then you’ll saunter off, listening to the silence of the jocks behind you. The nerds ahead of you will stare in awe. It’ll be obvious that they’re scared and aroused by the entire display, and when you stop in front of one kid who is wearing a shirt that reads ‘What Part of an Uncomplicated Equation Don’t You Understand?’ you won’t be sure if he’s nodding his head at you or just jerking nervously. It won’t matter. He’ll seem alright, good enough to start with at least.

“Sup?” you’ll say, nodding at him and giving him a little smile.

Congratulations on Getting New Glasses!

Congratulations on Forgetting About the Hooker!

It’s happened to all of us at one time or another. Today you’re going to put the finishing touches on your giant penis cake (you’re an erotic baker) and then pop it into the oven to finish. You’ll be walking away, humming while screams vaguely echo from the oven behind you, sounding vaguely like the groans of steel as it heats and cools in turn.

By the time you figure out that those sounds were the screams of a prostitute who had crawled inside the cake for sizing purposes it’ll be far, far too late. She’ll have died in her crusty tomb, and her body’s juices will have flavored the cake, making it extra delicious. Luckily she won’t have had any family or close friends, so no one’s going to come looking for her, but it was still kind of a dick move of you to murder her all the same.

Congratulations on Forgetting About the Hooker!

Congratulations Bieberfan69!

You’re a Justin Bieber fan, like so many young people of this generation. There’s just one problem: you’re a heterosexual male in your mid twenties. This means that no one, I mean no one, in your community can really relate to your feelings towards Bieber.

“He’s a fascinating pop figure with a great deal of talent,” you’ll post on a message board dedicated to the purpose of discussing the young mister Bieber.

“hez sooo hawt,” a young woman named bieberonmimind247 will respond. “i wnt 2 mrry hmi!” she’ll declare for all to see.

These aren’t the kind of conversations you want to have. You just want to be able to sit down and talk about your two loves: Justin Bieber and the mutual reception of oral sex by a pair of consenting adults of different sexes. Turns out there are painfully few straight, of age members of the Bieber community, however, and your plight will go unheeded by the vast majority of the Bieber fan population.

That is, until you discover OkayCupid.

More a social experiment than a dating site, OkayCupid is dedicated to matching up weird fucking people with other weird fucking people, whether their weird interest includes finance or fucking each other while wearing plastic masks clearly intended to be part of a children’s Halloween costume. You won’t have known about it until this morning, when a friend told you to make a profile and mention how much you like Justin Bieber and head.

By noon the profile will be up. By one PM you’ll have seven posts from various lesbians who thought you were a woman because of the long hair in your picture, soliciting you to “lick their hairy love cracks.” By four PM Ms. Right will have message you, asking if you’d like to meet up for coffee and chat about the way the online Bieber community kind of alienates you, and how it seems like way too many lesbians are in to a singer who is actual super hetero.

By October the two of you will be married. You’re welcome.

Congratulations Bieberfan69!

Super Nerd Sundays Presents: Just Cause for Just Cause 2!

When Just Cause 2 came out, I didn’t give a shit. Amidst the fully destructible environments of Red Faction: Guerilla, the previous game’s meh showing of a bunch of shit I didn’t find too interesting and a marketing campaign that highlighted nothing about what made the game special, there was just too much to play, too little money and not enough time to justify looking into a game that didn’t wow me off the bat and would still run me $50. The DLC pack, which added such incredible items as an armored ice cream truck and a parachute with a skull on it made me feel like I was totally justified in my choice.

Then people ranted about it. And raved. And it dropped down to ten dollars on Steam. So I bought Just Cause 2, basically on a lark.

Holy shit.

Many games want to ease you into their immersive environs. They have tutorials and the like, and they want to be sure you’re safe and secure before they make you take risks. The rarer game is the one that introduces you to what the game should be at the end during the first fifteen minutes. Dragon Age 2, for example, does this. God of War II did the same. Darksiders even did it, to some extent. I love this design choice. It makes me want to play, and it gives me a taste of just how tough my character will eventually become. It establishes a conflict right away where I’m encouraged to grow to this level of prowess. It’s awesome. Just Cause 2 does it better than anyone else.

Just Cause 2 introduces you to the game’s mechanics by putting you into a mission right away, a mission where you’re scooting around doing arbitrary shit while tooltips walk you through it. But the tools available, the gameplay at the heart of Just Cause 2, is the same sort of thing you can expect to see throughout the entire experience. It has a perfect introduction to what has become one of my favorite games. See, I’d originally thought Just Cause 2 was about destruction, chaos and anarchy the way that Red Faction: Guerilla was. That was, in a way, part of how it was marketed. But I was so off.

Just Cause 2 is all about freedom. The game opens with a fairly limited world readily available to you, and you’re encouraged to stick to that area. You likely won’t have learned how to traverse the vast distance of the world of Just Cause 2 yet, after all. But, outside of scripted missions, nothing is ever closed off to you. You can go anywhere, do anything you’d reasonably expect to be able to do in a game and a few things you’d never expect a game to let you do, such as hijacking a jet and riding it into the ocean like a wild bronco. You get points for that shit, too, by the way. It’s not just something you can do, it’s a gameplay mechanic.

It gates this freedom by presenting its various tutorials in missions. You can learn skills accidentally along the way, the way I learned to drag myself along the ground while using the parachute to traverse vast distances with relatively little effort, but odds are that, buried somewhere amidst the various faction missions you have to engage to get anywhere, you’ll find a tutorial training you to do what you keep failing to do. Planes were like that for me. I had no idea what the hell I was doing until the Roaches made me hijack one. After that, I learned everything I needed to know: they were very fast, hard to maneuver and impossible to land. As a side effect of the intended lesson I also learned that planes make an awesome projectile in their own right if you bail out of them at the right moment. Although that can be a little bit pricey, it’s a great way to open up an attack on a military base. Or an oil rig, an object I only learned to attack thanks to the training of one very special mission. I’d seen them for a long time, but I’d never figured out how to take down those monoliths of the ocean until a mission made me do it. Now it’s easily one of my favorite parts of the game: turn the rig into a smouldering heap of scrap and then grab the collectible goodies they’re all loaded with.

This freeform tutorial system, paired with a complete lack of actual game play gating, is really what Just Cause 2 has going on. The destruction system is meh at best, a bunch of scripted items, color coded to boot, that go boom when you shoot them with the right kind of bullets isn’t really anything to write home about. But the freedom surrounding this blasé system of destruction is impressive. There are very few games, even open world games, that are willing to let you literally climb mountains. And the island setting, much as it did in Morrowwind, makes for an ideal means of establishing boundaries for play. I’m not sure how far you can wander from the island, much as I was never entirely sure in Morrowwind, because I really don’t care when there’s so much cool shit to do on the island itself. The developers of Just Cause 2 have done a commendable job not just in building a playground filled with interesting things to do which, I must begrudgingly admit, they’ve done commendably. They’ve also given you unprecedented access to this playground.

This is something open world games need to take notes on. Games such as GTA IV and Red Faction: Guerilla, for all the good ideas they have, gate their world off like nobody’s business. They limit the parts of the world you can explore and the manner in which you can explore them with some pretty draconian specifications. Rockstar’s games always feel particularly bad about this to me, with their ostensibly open worlds always on prominent display during advertising for their games it seems that much more offensive when they place artificial barrier after artificial barrier between you and the big bad world that they promised you would never be withheld from you.

It could be that this stems from some sort of fear of what total freedom would bring, and perhaps that’s justified. Just Cause 2 has held my attention for far less time than either of the aforementioned games, perhaps because I feel no need to invest myself in everything available to me or risk losing the game I paid for. I’ve spent around 20 hours in it so far, and I seem to be close to the end already. I might come back to play it again some time, but I can’t see myself investing the ninety or so hours I dropped in GTA IV into Just Cause 2 despite the latter being a far superior game. And some of this might come from the fact that the game doesn’t gate any of its content and, as a result, there’s no incentive for me to slog through shit I don’t normally like. Why bother with silly little racing games when I’ve got the whole world to play around with? If I win one of those racing games will a helicopter with an amazing new gun and incredible speed become available to me? If not, why should I give a shit?

So in a way Just Cause II has spoiled me. With its sickeningly abundant freedom, I no longer feel inclined to toil through environs I find unpleasant. Whenever I return to Kane and Lynch I find myself wondering, even more so than previously, why I’m playing this game with its painfully scripted fights and gated bits of gameplay. Even Dragon Age II feels kind of meh, with all its walking through city dungeons and dungeon dungeons, most of which re-use the same basic tilesets.

In fact, the most exciting game I’ve played since starting Just Cause 2 has been the indie darling VVVVVVVVVVVVV (add additional Vs to taste), a game that’s all about tossing you into the mix without any training or knowledge and letting you sort it out as you go along. It brings open world ideals to 8-bit play, and it does some wonderful things with it. So maybe what I’m really saying here, aside from the fact that Just Cause 2 is an excellent investment for your time and money, is that the open world revolution has started, and that no one has noticed yet. Since I’m sure it’ll take over soon and we’ll all be crushed beneath its fashionable jackboot ere long I’ll be the first one to just say it. Long live the open world. Goodnight.

Congratulations on Finding Out What Her Asshole Tastes Like!

Today you’re going to eat the ass of that girl you always had a crush on in high school. Granted it’ll be ten years after you’ve graduated and she’ll have gained a bunch of weight and shit out two kids, but it’ll still be her and you’ll still be filled with trepidation as you pull her soft cotton underthings over the curve of her ass, stroking the cellulite which has come to cover her body. You’ll breathe deeply and cough at the overpowering scent of perfume, covering up the fact that she’d just spent the last twelve hours on flights getting here.

You’ll suffer through it and set to work, lapping and nipping obediently, fervently, as if you were worshipping her genitals. Your tongue will carve a wide swath along her nether regions, moving rapidly, intently, violently and gently in turn. Before long you’ll have her writhing, positioning herself awkward above you with one leg over your shoulder.

She’ll have gained quite a bit of weight, which isn’t something you begrudge her. No one stays the way she did forever. But it’ll make manhandling her unwieldy, and when she slips a little bit she’ll end up splaying herself across your face in such a way that it’s just as easy to lap at her asshole as it was to linger on her vagina.

So you’ll go for it. You’re a game kind of person, up for anything. And when you work your tongue at her anus you’ll hear her let out a moan. It’ll be clear that this is what she wanted, what she’s wanted for years but been horrified to ask for, even from her husband. She’ll convulse with each probe, clutching at your hair, her fingers threatening to wrench your very follicles from your scalp.

It would be perfect, if only her asshole didn’t taste distinctly of shit. You knew it was a possibility going into this, but you had no idea just how hard it would be to deal with. It’ll be overpowering, distracting, distressing. It will taste like she hasn’t wiped properly in weeks, like fetid food has been leaking out of her body for hours and hours.

You’ll know it’s just sweat pooling and the stress of travelling, and you won’t complain. But as you feverishly work at her anus with your tongue, taking grim satisfaction in her ululations above you, you’ll be thinking in the back of your head that her anus would probably have always tasted like this, and that all those years you spent thinking she was some kind of goddess, you were just acting the fool.

Congratulations on Finding Out What Her Asshole Tastes Like!

Congratulations Happy Gimp!

Most gimps are sad. Or if they’re not sad they seem sad all the time. It’s a by-product of the fact that they’re always wearing those masks, which give them neutral facial expression that could potentially be interpreted as frowns under the best of circumstances. And the fact that they’re almost exclusively employed so that they can be fucked up the ass.

But every once in a while the sun comes out in Seattle, and every once in a great while a basement bound ass-toy clad in leather is taken for a walk during that day. And today is going to be that day for you.

As you tromp around town in your black leather cat-suit you’ll feel the heat work into your bones. You’ll feel the sun energize you, energize the world around you. It’ll feel like a rebirth, a second chance at life. It’ll feel divine.

As you’re lead around on your leash you’ll feel at peace for the first time in months. Sure, things will be bad sometimes, like when people forget to give you food and water or when your anus is improperly treated after a particularly vigorous customer stops by. But today life will be good, and you’ll be able to revel in just being out and about before you’re taken by to your basement where you’re going to be viciously and repeatedly sodomized by anyone with enough money to afford it.

Congratulations Happy Gimp!