“Rebecca!” you’ll cry across the football pitch. She’ll shuffle from side to side in her bear suit as if she doesn’t hear you but you won’t be fooled. You’ll push through the crowd of dozens watching semi-professional soccer towards what you understand is called a “pitch.” When you get to the end of the bleachers she won’t be able to pretend anymore.
Her antics will cease and the bear’s head will be trained on you, impassive, immeasurable. You’ll wish you were inside that bear head, scent of sweat and whiskey stinging your nose, just so you could know her expression. You’ll also kind of like the idea of having your face uncomfortably close to hers inside the costume. You’re not sure how big the costume is, but your loose grasp of physics has instilled in you a belief that love can make anything spatially possible.
“I love you!” you’ll shout down at her, just blurting out whatever’s on your mind as usual. She’ll remove the costume’s head and smile up at you, tears welling in her eyes. You’ve seen enough movies to know what to do at this point.
When you drop down and start running across the field the soccer fans will start cheering wildly. Not because they want to see a white dude in his late 20s “win” the girl he’s been wooing over, but because they think they’re going to see you get decked by police. But this is American semi-pro soccer, and there’s none of that here.
Instead the players will stop playing briefly and watch as the much more interesting spectacle of your romance unfolds. They’ll watch as you clear the field with more vitesse than any of them have mustered throughout the game.
As they watch you take her massive cartoon bear hands in your own they’ll wonder if the passion you bring to your romance is something they could apply to sport. As you lean in to kiss her they’ll cheer as loud as the crowd did when they thought you were going to get brutalized. They’ll have seen a heartfelt and remarkable performance.
Underneath their cheers you’ll lean your head in close to hers.
“I’m so sorry I erased Top Model from the Tivo. It’ll never happen again.”
You’ll look up into her beaming face as she sweeps you off your feet and takes you back to the women’s locker room where you’ll be disabused of many notions you had about both women’s locker rooms and sex therein.
Congratulations on Getting In Her Pants!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Super Nerd Sundays Presents: Game Night - Love In the Borderlands Part 2!
I’ve got a bit of a love-hate relationship with the ammo shops in Borderlands. On the one hand, it’s nice to be able to conveniently buy ammo at bargain prices. On the other hand, there’s no “fill me up with this kind of ammo” option. Moreover, the cost of ammo makes purchasing it less a decision pertinent to resource management and more of an inconvenience you have to deal with every once in a while.
But what really gets my goat about ammo shops is that they demonstrate a serious problem with Borderland’s loot system – the ammo drops are erratic and all too often unhelpful. If the loot system in Borderlands functioned as one might expect there’d be no need for ammunition stores. Instead you’d receive plenty of ammo for the weapons you use. But no, the ground is littered with repeater rounds and shotgun shells, absurd heaps of them that no one has any room in their inventory for. In this post-Half Life 2 world responsive random loot systems aren’t an unreasonable expectation, especially in a game like Borderlands where you don’t want to be running back to the shops every five minutes.
Why, you might ask, would you not want to make these shop runs aside from the obvious inconvenience of moving across a huge map again and again? Because Borderlands tends to respawn its enemies fairly quickly. I suppose if it didn’t do so I’d complain about Borderlands seeming barren. After all, it is set in a desert and its inhabitants are jam packed with personality, but it can be problematic to run into hordes of screaming enemies on your way back to sell the loot from a particularly difficult fight.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. The only redeeming quality of the ammo shops is the nice feeling of fullness they give you when they’ve let you fill up your personal stores to the brim. The ammo upgrades are nice, too, but the real appeal of ammo shops is that feeling that your hunger for bullets has been sated. That’s how I felt after I’d finished stocking up mid-quest. Like I was ready for anything.
As it turns out I was mostly right. After a little bit of yammering we moved back towards Moe’s last known location. This time I’m not the first one on the scene. Instead of seeing Moe and getting a good warning, I find out from Alex.
“Found him,” he says. “Mother fucker.”
I’m about to ask what’s wrong, but before I have the chance Alex runs into view, firing as he walks backwards like some sort of militant, less talented Michael Jackson. Bounding behind him is Moe, electricity crackling from his skin as he charges and shakes his head.
We don’t talk much at this point. Borderlands has taken its toll on our psyche, and we all know what we need to do. We pour ammunition into Moe’s gaping mouth. Each time he spits lightning or charges at us we briefly scatter, then reform and redouble our efforts to attack him. Before long he falls to the ground mid charge, showering me with loot. Alex and Dan rush up and we grab whatever we can. Well, I do at least.
“What the fuck Grove?” Alex interjects as I pick up a shiny new submachine gun, a vast improvement over my current one.
“What? I’m the SMG guy.”
“So you just take it?”
Alex has a good point. Loot in Borderlands varies from crucial to useless, and it depends entirely on the luck of the draw and your personal preferences. But showing each other gear and trading it is difficult. In fact the only way to do so is through the same methods the first Diablo used. You need to drop the item and then let your friend pick it up. Even if you just want to show a friend an item it has to leave your inventory.
This is the point where a nice person would apologize and then explain his case. Instead I shrugged and equipped the new gun.
“Whatever.”
“God you’re greedy.”
It’s a valid point, but greed pays in Borderlands. Why give your friends firearms if you could use them instead? After all, I’m the SMG guy. I should get the SMGs. I let him have most of the sniper rifles, except the ones I want to use or sell. I don’t get what he’s all bent out of shape about it. I decide to change the subject.
“Let’s just drop off the quest and decide what we want to do next.”
“Whatever.”
It’s hard to begrudge Dan his silence at times like this. If I’d followed his example the issue of the submachine gun would’ve fallen out of collective memory in a few seconds. What’s a single piece of loot in a game where you receive a new, potentially better, one every five minutes? But now the argument and my greed are the subject more than the gun itself. This is the power of multiplayer games – the ability to make seemingly trivial decisions about resource management into larger issues about social interactions emerging through play.
Our trip back to the bounty board, much like our trip from the ammo store to Moe, is filled with trash mobs. The snap at us and taunt us and die quickly and easily without giving us much in the way of reward. The loot we do find is largely worthless, and by now this is the fourth time we’ve passed through this area and fought these enemies. It’s unpleasant, it’s irritating, and it’s unnecessarily repetitive. The only upside is that it’s frustrating enough that it distracts Alex from my greed.
“Fuck. Why are they still here?” he asks. I hear the clink of glass as he takes another shot. I follow suit; I assume Dan already has.
“It’s the game,” I choke out through the whiskey’s burn. “It fucking hates us.”
“It’s annoying,” Dan says, putting a combat rifle round through the head of the same bandit bruiser we’ve killed three times already. If I were given a survey and asked about this I would check “strongly agree,” but we’ve become quite good at clearing out the bandit camp and the scags “hive” by this point so it doesn’t take us long to clear the last hurdle and rush back towards Fyrestone.
The return trip from the Arid Hills is much like the original trip. Dan leaps into the driver’s seat and takes us far past the entrance to Fyrestone, forcing me to leap from the moving vehicle and be launched several feet when he backs up over my legs and most of my torso. When I finally do get back to the bounty board I mash enter until there are no more green quests left on our docket.
“Let’s go into the cave next,” I suggest. Alex grumbles something that approximates a response while Dan continues to drive in circles outside town. It is decided, then.
I could describe the trip into the cave in detail, but it’s much the same as our adventure with Moe and Marley. We rush off to the diamond highlighted entrance to the cave. We enter. We kill several new enemies, and the interest they present rapidly gives way to boredom as we realize we’re going to be fighting identical copies in the same spot in five minutes when it’s time for us to leave this place. We fighting some creatures and take turns dying. I yell at Dan for failing at the simple task of resurrecting me while he’s taking fire from multiple bandits. We rescue a claptrap and get a little inventory boost. It’s a heartwarming celebration of a set of jobs very similar to the ones we just did.
By the time we’re finished I can’t disagree with Alex’s next sentiment.
“Fuck I’m sick of this game. Let’s go play Sins.”
“Let’s turn in the quests first.”
Alex sighs. “Fine.”
I couldn’t agree with him more, but I don’t like leaving quests half finished in this game, especially when we spend most of our time playing it as a group. Borderlands is pretty unforgiving in how it allows you to deal with the completion of scripted quests and I’d rather not take a chance.
But he’s right to be bored of the game by now, and I am too. Borderlands is repetitive. Really repetitive. It’s like Diablo with guns, plain and simple. You point your gun at enemies and fire down the sights until they go down. Sometimes you might change your tactics up but you’re going to be running into the same handful of enemy types for most of the game, again and again. There’s not a lot of variety when you come right down to it, and that can be frustrating.
So when the “host has left the game” message flashes across the screen I lose no time n leaving Borderlands behind and leaping in to Sins of a Solar Empire’s waiting arms. Because as fun and conceptually fascinating as Borderlands is, it’s taken in small doses, and we’ve certainly had enough of it for one night.
But what really gets my goat about ammo shops is that they demonstrate a serious problem with Borderland’s loot system – the ammo drops are erratic and all too often unhelpful. If the loot system in Borderlands functioned as one might expect there’d be no need for ammunition stores. Instead you’d receive plenty of ammo for the weapons you use. But no, the ground is littered with repeater rounds and shotgun shells, absurd heaps of them that no one has any room in their inventory for. In this post-Half Life 2 world responsive random loot systems aren’t an unreasonable expectation, especially in a game like Borderlands where you don’t want to be running back to the shops every five minutes.
Why, you might ask, would you not want to make these shop runs aside from the obvious inconvenience of moving across a huge map again and again? Because Borderlands tends to respawn its enemies fairly quickly. I suppose if it didn’t do so I’d complain about Borderlands seeming barren. After all, it is set in a desert and its inhabitants are jam packed with personality, but it can be problematic to run into hordes of screaming enemies on your way back to sell the loot from a particularly difficult fight.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. The only redeeming quality of the ammo shops is the nice feeling of fullness they give you when they’ve let you fill up your personal stores to the brim. The ammo upgrades are nice, too, but the real appeal of ammo shops is that feeling that your hunger for bullets has been sated. That’s how I felt after I’d finished stocking up mid-quest. Like I was ready for anything.
As it turns out I was mostly right. After a little bit of yammering we moved back towards Moe’s last known location. This time I’m not the first one on the scene. Instead of seeing Moe and getting a good warning, I find out from Alex.
“Found him,” he says. “Mother fucker.”
I’m about to ask what’s wrong, but before I have the chance Alex runs into view, firing as he walks backwards like some sort of militant, less talented Michael Jackson. Bounding behind him is Moe, electricity crackling from his skin as he charges and shakes his head.
We don’t talk much at this point. Borderlands has taken its toll on our psyche, and we all know what we need to do. We pour ammunition into Moe’s gaping mouth. Each time he spits lightning or charges at us we briefly scatter, then reform and redouble our efforts to attack him. Before long he falls to the ground mid charge, showering me with loot. Alex and Dan rush up and we grab whatever we can. Well, I do at least.
“What the fuck Grove?” Alex interjects as I pick up a shiny new submachine gun, a vast improvement over my current one.
“What? I’m the SMG guy.”
“So you just take it?”
Alex has a good point. Loot in Borderlands varies from crucial to useless, and it depends entirely on the luck of the draw and your personal preferences. But showing each other gear and trading it is difficult. In fact the only way to do so is through the same methods the first Diablo used. You need to drop the item and then let your friend pick it up. Even if you just want to show a friend an item it has to leave your inventory.
This is the point where a nice person would apologize and then explain his case. Instead I shrugged and equipped the new gun.
“Whatever.”
“God you’re greedy.”
It’s a valid point, but greed pays in Borderlands. Why give your friends firearms if you could use them instead? After all, I’m the SMG guy. I should get the SMGs. I let him have most of the sniper rifles, except the ones I want to use or sell. I don’t get what he’s all bent out of shape about it. I decide to change the subject.
“Let’s just drop off the quest and decide what we want to do next.”
“Whatever.”
It’s hard to begrudge Dan his silence at times like this. If I’d followed his example the issue of the submachine gun would’ve fallen out of collective memory in a few seconds. What’s a single piece of loot in a game where you receive a new, potentially better, one every five minutes? But now the argument and my greed are the subject more than the gun itself. This is the power of multiplayer games – the ability to make seemingly trivial decisions about resource management into larger issues about social interactions emerging through play.
Our trip back to the bounty board, much like our trip from the ammo store to Moe, is filled with trash mobs. The snap at us and taunt us and die quickly and easily without giving us much in the way of reward. The loot we do find is largely worthless, and by now this is the fourth time we’ve passed through this area and fought these enemies. It’s unpleasant, it’s irritating, and it’s unnecessarily repetitive. The only upside is that it’s frustrating enough that it distracts Alex from my greed.
“Fuck. Why are they still here?” he asks. I hear the clink of glass as he takes another shot. I follow suit; I assume Dan already has.
“It’s the game,” I choke out through the whiskey’s burn. “It fucking hates us.”
“It’s annoying,” Dan says, putting a combat rifle round through the head of the same bandit bruiser we’ve killed three times already. If I were given a survey and asked about this I would check “strongly agree,” but we’ve become quite good at clearing out the bandit camp and the scags “hive” by this point so it doesn’t take us long to clear the last hurdle and rush back towards Fyrestone.
The return trip from the Arid Hills is much like the original trip. Dan leaps into the driver’s seat and takes us far past the entrance to Fyrestone, forcing me to leap from the moving vehicle and be launched several feet when he backs up over my legs and most of my torso. When I finally do get back to the bounty board I mash enter until there are no more green quests left on our docket.
“Let’s go into the cave next,” I suggest. Alex grumbles something that approximates a response while Dan continues to drive in circles outside town. It is decided, then.
I could describe the trip into the cave in detail, but it’s much the same as our adventure with Moe and Marley. We rush off to the diamond highlighted entrance to the cave. We enter. We kill several new enemies, and the interest they present rapidly gives way to boredom as we realize we’re going to be fighting identical copies in the same spot in five minutes when it’s time for us to leave this place. We fighting some creatures and take turns dying. I yell at Dan for failing at the simple task of resurrecting me while he’s taking fire from multiple bandits. We rescue a claptrap and get a little inventory boost. It’s a heartwarming celebration of a set of jobs very similar to the ones we just did.
By the time we’re finished I can’t disagree with Alex’s next sentiment.
“Fuck I’m sick of this game. Let’s go play Sins.”
“Let’s turn in the quests first.”
Alex sighs. “Fine.”
I couldn’t agree with him more, but I don’t like leaving quests half finished in this game, especially when we spend most of our time playing it as a group. Borderlands is pretty unforgiving in how it allows you to deal with the completion of scripted quests and I’d rather not take a chance.
But he’s right to be bored of the game by now, and I am too. Borderlands is repetitive. Really repetitive. It’s like Diablo with guns, plain and simple. You point your gun at enemies and fire down the sights until they go down. Sometimes you might change your tactics up but you’re going to be running into the same handful of enemy types for most of the game, again and again. There’s not a lot of variety when you come right down to it, and that can be frustrating.
So when the “host has left the game” message flashes across the screen I lose no time n leaving Borderlands behind and leaping in to Sins of a Solar Empire’s waiting arms. Because as fun and conceptually fascinating as Borderlands is, it’s taken in small doses, and we’ve certainly had enough of it for one night.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Congratulations on Being Elected Mayor!
The last head will come off like the first, the shovel singing through the air and finding little resistance. You’ll have gotten good at sharpening it by now.
When you realize your work is over you’ll take a swig from your flask and let loose a long sigh. It’ll have been quite the month in Tillotson Mill. You’re not sure what you hate more, the vampires or the locals, but you’ve learned a lot about both of them, and a little about yourself.
Turns out you can survive without drinking for a while, but that you’ll do almost anything for the chance to do it again. Also it turns out that you’ll kill a man to keep him from telling anyone that you sucked his dick for a fifth of bourbon. Also, you’re a violent sociopath who has no sense of the value of life.
None of this was too surprising, but being forced to confront it has made you a better person. And so when you emerge from that last basement covered in blood and ichor and the cheers of the townspeople greet you you’ll nod your affirmation instead of telling them to fuck off.
You’ll find a radio and let your captain know that the situation has been resolved and he’ll tell you you’re fired because you’ve missed all your shifts for the last month and “fighting vampires” is not a legitimate excuse for that sort of shenanigans. So you’ll be stuck in Tillotson Mill, surrounded by people you can’t stand with a massive moral burden to carry.
So when they ask you to become their new mayor, the old mayor having perished in the previous episode of Sexy Results, you’ll graciously accept and settle in to a brief economically disastrous, alcoholically blurry reign as mayor of the shittiest little burg in Vermont.
Congratulations on Being Elected Mayor!
When you realize your work is over you’ll take a swig from your flask and let loose a long sigh. It’ll have been quite the month in Tillotson Mill. You’re not sure what you hate more, the vampires or the locals, but you’ve learned a lot about both of them, and a little about yourself.
Turns out you can survive without drinking for a while, but that you’ll do almost anything for the chance to do it again. Also it turns out that you’ll kill a man to keep him from telling anyone that you sucked his dick for a fifth of bourbon. Also, you’re a violent sociopath who has no sense of the value of life.
None of this was too surprising, but being forced to confront it has made you a better person. And so when you emerge from that last basement covered in blood and ichor and the cheers of the townspeople greet you you’ll nod your affirmation instead of telling them to fuck off.
You’ll find a radio and let your captain know that the situation has been resolved and he’ll tell you you’re fired because you’ve missed all your shifts for the last month and “fighting vampires” is not a legitimate excuse for that sort of shenanigans. So you’ll be stuck in Tillotson Mill, surrounded by people you can’t stand with a massive moral burden to carry.
So when they ask you to become their new mayor, the old mayor having perished in the previous episode of Sexy Results, you’ll graciously accept and settle in to a brief economically disastrous, alcoholically blurry reign as mayor of the shittiest little burg in Vermont.
Congratulations on Being Elected Mayor!
Friday, November 27, 2009
Congratulations on Surviving the Onslaught!
On the first night only one vampire will come. You’ll dispatch him easily by shooting him in the head and destroying his brain, a feat accomplished mostly because you sleep with a loaded gun under your pillow, safety off so there’s a faint hope it might go off and end your miserable existence.
Most people would assume that’s that. Just another failed B & E involving a meth head and a cop with nothing left to lose. But you saw 30 Days of Night. You know better. You’ll head out to your cruiser and take your shotgun and the excessive amount of ammo you decided to bring with you and stockpile it in the your motel bathtub. Then you’ll assemble a small, diverse group of potential survivors using your authority as a police officer and do your best to keep them alive.
Everybody who’s anybody will be there. The mayor, the hottest co-ed in town, the sluttiest co-ed in town and several other people. One of them probably knows about computers, which probably won’t help but could be handy, so you’ll keep him around just in case.
They’ll start to get picked off one by one as they leave your motel room to respond to poorly faked cries for help and smoke cigarettes. That’s how the geology professor will go (altruism doesn’t pay) and how the hottest co-ed will go (smoking doesn’t make you cool). Then the vampires will give you a break for around an hour or so before they assault your room.
You’ll use the shotgun and various household objects to reasonable effect, but body shots won’t do anything and you’ll be low on ammo after less than an hour. Even after you turn away the first attack you’ll have lost a lot of okay people. The mayor and his dog will both be gone, along with the computer guy and the Russian bride.
Only the football coach, the crazy old man and the sluttiest co-ed will be left. But as it turns out the sluttiest co-ed will also be the smartest co-ed (she’s got a scholarship) and she’ll know enough vampire folklore to tell you how to kill every last one of those fuckers.
She’ll hand out some shovels that were just laying around the room for some reason (maybe the mayor really liked digging?) and inform all of you that a combination of blunt trauma and decapitation are your best weapons against the undead.
She’ll be totally right, but the final wave will take its toll. The coach and the crazy old man will both die while shouting crazy shit, and you and the co-ed will survive. The two of you will have victory sex and then sleep in a little bit. But it won’t be long before the booze pangs take over and you leave the comfort of her embrace to find some more liquor and take the fight to the vampires, wherever they are within the city limits of Tillotson Mill.
Congratulations on Surviving the Onslaught!
Most people would assume that’s that. Just another failed B & E involving a meth head and a cop with nothing left to lose. But you saw 30 Days of Night. You know better. You’ll head out to your cruiser and take your shotgun and the excessive amount of ammo you decided to bring with you and stockpile it in the your motel bathtub. Then you’ll assemble a small, diverse group of potential survivors using your authority as a police officer and do your best to keep them alive.
Everybody who’s anybody will be there. The mayor, the hottest co-ed in town, the sluttiest co-ed in town and several other people. One of them probably knows about computers, which probably won’t help but could be handy, so you’ll keep him around just in case.
They’ll start to get picked off one by one as they leave your motel room to respond to poorly faked cries for help and smoke cigarettes. That’s how the geology professor will go (altruism doesn’t pay) and how the hottest co-ed will go (smoking doesn’t make you cool). Then the vampires will give you a break for around an hour or so before they assault your room.
You’ll use the shotgun and various household objects to reasonable effect, but body shots won’t do anything and you’ll be low on ammo after less than an hour. Even after you turn away the first attack you’ll have lost a lot of okay people. The mayor and his dog will both be gone, along with the computer guy and the Russian bride.
Only the football coach, the crazy old man and the sluttiest co-ed will be left. But as it turns out the sluttiest co-ed will also be the smartest co-ed (she’s got a scholarship) and she’ll know enough vampire folklore to tell you how to kill every last one of those fuckers.
She’ll hand out some shovels that were just laying around the room for some reason (maybe the mayor really liked digging?) and inform all of you that a combination of blunt trauma and decapitation are your best weapons against the undead.
She’ll be totally right, but the final wave will take its toll. The coach and the crazy old man will both die while shouting crazy shit, and you and the co-ed will survive. The two of you will have victory sex and then sleep in a little bit. But it won’t be long before the booze pangs take over and you leave the comfort of her embrace to find some more liquor and take the fight to the vampires, wherever they are within the city limits of Tillotson Mill.
Congratulations on Surviving the Onslaught!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Congratulations on Eliminating Two of the Suspects!
You’re not a very good cop. You drink a lot, dislike people and pretty much just took the job so you could have a firearm. If you were in any state other than Vermont you wouldn’t be a state trooper. You wouldn’t have a job, period, actually. But right now you’re a small Vermont town’s only hope.
Five of the five police officers in Tillotson Mill have been murder over the course of the last week, and thanks to the town’s relative unimportance you’re the only person who has been sent to solve the cime. Your superiors think that its probably a small smuggling ring, nothing that you can’t take care of with your violent type A personality, a little gumption and a total lack of oversight giving you carte blanche to kill members of Tillotson Mill’s incredibly small unsavory element.
When you come to town you’ll shoot your lead suspect in the face within seconds of apprehending him in order to both eliminate him as a potential and show the townspeople you mean business. Then you’ll set to asking questions.
Turns out some of the uneducated hicks who call Tillotson Mill have also gone missing recently. And several of the weed smugglers, upon whom the town relies for a full third of their income (the rest accounted for by a combination of surliness and beards) have been found drained of all blood.
You’ll track down the last remaining smuggler and kill him amidst the townspeople’s protests, hoping that’ll stop the murders. But after only one night in the town’s only motel you’ll be awoken by the cries of townspeople. They’ll have found Old Man McGullicutty, the town’s oldest citizen at the age of 37, murdered in his bed. The crime scene will be quite grisly, but there won’t be any clues as to “who-done-it.”
When you ask around you’ll discover that thanks in part to your efforts the entire criminal element of Tillotson Mill has been eliminated. That means you have no more suspects and nothing to do except wait for more clues to come your way, which will happen tonight when vampires attack your motel room.
Congratulations on Eliminating Two of the Suspects!
Five of the five police officers in Tillotson Mill have been murder over the course of the last week, and thanks to the town’s relative unimportance you’re the only person who has been sent to solve the cime. Your superiors think that its probably a small smuggling ring, nothing that you can’t take care of with your violent type A personality, a little gumption and a total lack of oversight giving you carte blanche to kill members of Tillotson Mill’s incredibly small unsavory element.
When you come to town you’ll shoot your lead suspect in the face within seconds of apprehending him in order to both eliminate him as a potential and show the townspeople you mean business. Then you’ll set to asking questions.
Turns out some of the uneducated hicks who call Tillotson Mill have also gone missing recently. And several of the weed smugglers, upon whom the town relies for a full third of their income (the rest accounted for by a combination of surliness and beards) have been found drained of all blood.
You’ll track down the last remaining smuggler and kill him amidst the townspeople’s protests, hoping that’ll stop the murders. But after only one night in the town’s only motel you’ll be awoken by the cries of townspeople. They’ll have found Old Man McGullicutty, the town’s oldest citizen at the age of 37, murdered in his bed. The crime scene will be quite grisly, but there won’t be any clues as to “who-done-it.”
When you ask around you’ll discover that thanks in part to your efforts the entire criminal element of Tillotson Mill has been eliminated. That means you have no more suspects and nothing to do except wait for more clues to come your way, which will happen tonight when vampires attack your motel room.
Congratulations on Eliminating Two of the Suspects!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Congratulations on Attending an Anime Convention!
You lack any serious social disorders. You read books. You watch mass released, domestically produced films. You even date real people who exist in a medium other than celluloid or, more recently, digital video. As such it’s no surprise that you’ve never attended an anime con.
Anime cons are cultural exchanges where people without social skills come together in order to further alienate themselves for society at large. There’s no reason for you to actually visit one on your own, but lately you’ve been dating an adorable girl with blue hair who grew up on Japanese animation and Japanese culture and you’ve been convinced to attend one of these conferences as a caveat to her. We’d tell you not to but she’s astoundingly hot. You’d be a fool not to meet her halfway on this one.
The moment the two of you show up you’ll be mobbed by asocial fucktardss who have dreamed of one day seeing a girl like her in the real world and have never heard of the city of Portland. You’ll suddenly realize just why she wanted to bring you here: to make sure you knew just how lucky you were to have her and how fast she could dump you for any number of men who have no idea of how to satisfy her.
She’ll also be basking in the attention, which is nice to see because it means you’ll get a little time away from her needy ass.
You’ll wander around the convention hall, taking in the various be-costumed freaks attending the show. Every once in a while you’ll see a girl, much like your girlfriend, with heavily dyed hair and an outfit which seems just a little bit off, but suggestive enough that no one would complain about it being inappropriate, but for the most part it’ll be dudes with skin problems shuffling around, some in costumes, some in t-shirts, staring at said women.
After around forty minutes of this shit you’ll stumble outside, desperate for interaction with a human being who can talk about something other than “Naruto” and you’ll find a small collection of similar looking men to yourself who are gathered in a circle, smoking and complaining that their girlfriends dragged them here.
You’ll shuffle up to them and immediately be offered a light by a man with graying hair.
“First time?” he’ll ask. You’ll nod.
“Get used to it,” he’ll say, snapping his Zippo closed after lighting your cigarette. It will be engraved with a strange looking wolf-boy with a shock of white hair. You’ll know where he got it right away.
“How long have you been here?” you’ll ask after taking a deep, cleansing breath of nicotine and toxins, killing off whatever foulness dwelled within your lungs from the air in that place.
“Too long,” he’ll say, holding up a wedding ring. Several other men in the circle will nod to one another, harumphing, but a few will just stand silent, fearing the fate that has come upon these men. You’ll be curious, though.
“Have you ever asked if it’s alright for you to stay at home during these little outings?” The man will look shocked.
“Are you kidding? My wife would probably leave me in a heartbeat for one of those losers inside.” Most of the rest of the crowd will nod and harumph some more in agreement, but one young man will step forward and speak.
“What if we’re the real losers here? We lose a weekend a month doing something we hate because we don’t trust our astoundingly hot girlfriends around some of the most non-threatening men in the world. What does that say about us?”
The circle will sit quiet for a moment as you all smoke your cigarettes. Then, one by one, they’ll each crush their smokes out and head back inside to find their significant others and make sure they haven’t been gangbanged by Love Hina fans yet.
Congratulations on Attending an Anime Convention!
Anime cons are cultural exchanges where people without social skills come together in order to further alienate themselves for society at large. There’s no reason for you to actually visit one on your own, but lately you’ve been dating an adorable girl with blue hair who grew up on Japanese animation and Japanese culture and you’ve been convinced to attend one of these conferences as a caveat to her. We’d tell you not to but she’s astoundingly hot. You’d be a fool not to meet her halfway on this one.
The moment the two of you show up you’ll be mobbed by asocial fucktardss who have dreamed of one day seeing a girl like her in the real world and have never heard of the city of Portland. You’ll suddenly realize just why she wanted to bring you here: to make sure you knew just how lucky you were to have her and how fast she could dump you for any number of men who have no idea of how to satisfy her.
She’ll also be basking in the attention, which is nice to see because it means you’ll get a little time away from her needy ass.
You’ll wander around the convention hall, taking in the various be-costumed freaks attending the show. Every once in a while you’ll see a girl, much like your girlfriend, with heavily dyed hair and an outfit which seems just a little bit off, but suggestive enough that no one would complain about it being inappropriate, but for the most part it’ll be dudes with skin problems shuffling around, some in costumes, some in t-shirts, staring at said women.
After around forty minutes of this shit you’ll stumble outside, desperate for interaction with a human being who can talk about something other than “Naruto” and you’ll find a small collection of similar looking men to yourself who are gathered in a circle, smoking and complaining that their girlfriends dragged them here.
You’ll shuffle up to them and immediately be offered a light by a man with graying hair.
“First time?” he’ll ask. You’ll nod.
“Get used to it,” he’ll say, snapping his Zippo closed after lighting your cigarette. It will be engraved with a strange looking wolf-boy with a shock of white hair. You’ll know where he got it right away.
“How long have you been here?” you’ll ask after taking a deep, cleansing breath of nicotine and toxins, killing off whatever foulness dwelled within your lungs from the air in that place.
“Too long,” he’ll say, holding up a wedding ring. Several other men in the circle will nod to one another, harumphing, but a few will just stand silent, fearing the fate that has come upon these men. You’ll be curious, though.
“Have you ever asked if it’s alright for you to stay at home during these little outings?” The man will look shocked.
“Are you kidding? My wife would probably leave me in a heartbeat for one of those losers inside.” Most of the rest of the crowd will nod and harumph some more in agreement, but one young man will step forward and speak.
“What if we’re the real losers here? We lose a weekend a month doing something we hate because we don’t trust our astoundingly hot girlfriends around some of the most non-threatening men in the world. What does that say about us?”
The circle will sit quiet for a moment as you all smoke your cigarettes. Then, one by one, they’ll each crush their smokes out and head back inside to find their significant others and make sure they haven’t been gangbanged by Love Hina fans yet.
Congratulations on Attending an Anime Convention!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Congratulations on Looking Fine!
You’re going to roll out of bed this morning looking way better than usual. It’s going to be pretty clear to you when your wife, who you haven’t slept with in months, jumps on you and pins you and your dick to the bed, barely pausing to ram a phone into your hand to call in late to work. She won’t even stifle her grunts of passion while you’re talking to your supervisor.
When she finally lets you out of the house, after she’s rendered herself incapable of movement for a while, it’ll be like one of those Axe body spray commercials. Heterosexual women and gay men will mob you like mad. Watch out, though. Homosexual women and straight men will want to punch you right in the jaw. Exceptions may exist for str8 men.
Congratulations on Looking Fine!
When she finally lets you out of the house, after she’s rendered herself incapable of movement for a while, it’ll be like one of those Axe body spray commercials. Heterosexual women and gay men will mob you like mad. Watch out, though. Homosexual women and straight men will want to punch you right in the jaw. Exceptions may exist for str8 men.
Congratulations on Looking Fine!
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