I’d like to address two comments which which were posted on this article I wrote a while back.
Billy, Ericka would always make fun of you behind your back and often describe to you me as ‘pathetic’ and ‘stupid.’ Not in the joking way. I’m not doing this to sow discord but rather to point out to you the irony in you coming to her aid like a knight in shining armor when she apparently holds no respect for you. Ericka lies, and she uses people to get what she wants. I doubt she’s even aware she’s doing it at this point. Ironically this is what she also accuses her mother of. I suppose the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Consider this, I was around her a lot during the course of two years. I have no interest in speaking to her or you so therefore I have nothing to gain by telling you this, not even to make her life harder. She already makes it hard enough without my help. I like how you made your e-mail address fuck@you.com. That’s pretty clever and obviously proves that what Ericka told me about your intellect to be utterly false. In case you can’t tell I’m being sarcastic. I was told you were kinda slow by you-know-who so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t miss that.
As for, who I assume to be her current boyfriend being an INTERNET TOUGH GUY going on about how I’m some sort of emo; you’re an idiot. Though now that I think about it you’re right, I guess I do have something in common with emo people. Self-inflicted wounds. When they want to harm themselves, they cut. Whereas I actually dated Ericka. The only difference one leaves physical scars and the other just leaves mental ones. First of all, to be acting tough with the word ‘gundam’ in your e-mail address? Really? You know nothing about me and you only know Ericka’s side of the story which has distorted your perception of the facts and will probably make you completely oblivious to reality much like her. I consider myself a pretty objective and fair person and I try to give everyone a chance to improve themselves or make their lives better and as long as they are trying or don’t offend me in some grievous way. I try to do right by them and reserve judgement. This courtesy only extends so far and once someone has exhausted my limits of patience or bullshit then my courtesy reserves become exhausted and I can, admittedly, be a real prick. Now I’m going to go easy on you personally because I don’t know you that well and if someone was saying things like I was about my girlfriend I might be willing to get myself into a battle of mean words on the internet to try and defend the honor of my lady.
A couple of weeks ago, my grandfather died. Which has brought not a fullsade of sorrow, tears, and grief as one would expect given the apocalyptic overtones of mortality manifesting itself in one’s life. What it has done to me, is make me think about the ramifications of his life and how it’s been like a specter lingering always over the lives of the family long before his demise. Meaning that, he’s almost always been in the background silently overseeing and moving events in the lives of my family for years. With him gone, nothing feels the same in those households, and they never will again given the unique position of the family hierarchy which was extremely dependent on him to handle everything.
He had to deal with a wife who was becoming increasingly aloof and difficult as she grew older, two adult children who’s marriages ended and forced a semi financial co-dependance on him, and four grand children. One dangerously close to an alcoholic, one with some serious anger and stress issues, one who gave him a great great grandchild, and one who did nothing but fight him tooth and nail for years over everything and anything. Guess which one I was.
All of us, at some point, needed him to get through some tough times, and in spite of the fact that it cost him his retirement to take in our family when my father ran out, he did what he could do to ensure we made it. It may not have been a perfect relationship, and we may not have agreed at times, but I never hated him. The man was selfless, and was the closest thing to a father I’ve had in my adult life. My mother would not have been able to survive taking care of four kids on her own after my father ran out on us when I was twelve, opening old wounds for me because of my adoption and the obvious subtext that implies. She was incapable of normal work due to severe arthritis, so my grandfather helped her get a place for me and my brothers.
So my Guild Wars character hit 6 years old tonight, or whenever, I haven’t logged in with any regularity for some time as I wait for the painfully awesome looking Guild Wars 2 to suck the teet of my free time like a hungry mutant baby with seven mouths, exactly seven. Every year they give us a miniature ‘pet’ on your character’s birthday. Which is kind of cool, I guess, it’s one of those useless aesthetic trinkets given out, mostly I think to appease the fanboys… and I fucking need them okay? I need the little bastards because they added this update that basically transfers items and titles to you in Guild Wars 2. You get ‘points’ from doing various things in the game, and over the course of six years, bear in mind this is not from six years of CONSECUTIVE play. I have taken a few rather long breaks. I’m at forty-six of fifty points. Fifty is the maximum. I don’t know if you can ‘beat’ a game like Guild Wars per say, just because you hit fifty points doesn’t mean you’re done playing.
For me it fucking does.
I have played this game to the point where it feels almost like a chore now. Maybe it’s my fault for being OCD about completing the titles. Maybe it’s my fault for being unable to live with a unfilled meter just begging to be maxed out, but you know what? I could have lived with it if my relentless title grinding could just end. I know, I know I don’t have to grind for titles. Okay? I know, but I’m sick. I’m compelled to finish after coming so far, and god help me I can’t seem to stop till I’m at fifty points. I need eight more mini pets, which means either playing the waiting game or simply buying them from players. This may seem like a simple task, but in game like Guild Wars with no market system in place, that means standing around in town listlessly staring at pink colored text, okay ‘salmon’ colored text, scroll by while you desperately wait for someone to pick you out of the textual clusterfuck and finally release you from the tedious hell that you are trapped in.
For the sixth year characters the wizards at Arena Net decided to give us not minis, but everlasting tonics that transform you (as many times as you want, oh boy!) into a random hero/npc from the game. Which is great because you can turn forever into a lame ass hero character instead of playing as your cool-looking stylized character. Why play as Serra Demer, slayer of everything in the game, literally, when I can play as a wacky hero sidekick like Acolyte Sosuke or, in my case, a bald man in a dress Kahmu? A useless ass dervish hero that honestly I could never imagine using in a party for any reason. Ever. Seriously, I play a game for six years, bust my ass for stupid titles and get rewarded with a tonic that turns me into a cross-dressing bald retard with all the personality of a block of balsa wood.
“Oh Boy! You can look like me whenever you want now! Happy Birthday motherfucker! Ahahaha”
I swear to whatever gods will listen, if I could I would get a bottle, slap a label on it that said ’6th Year Birthday Tonic’ and put a big fat turd in it then mail it to the Arena Net corporate offices to express my fanboy angst in it’s starkest terms.
Frankly the past two years have been extremely trying on my self-esteem and my feeling of self-worth, but I powered through. I have peace and a place to work and I’ve been feeling really good about writing lately. For the first time in five years I’ve really had time and the mental strength to pour out words. It’s been so long since I felt good about myself.
I dumped Kiki.
I moved out for the 3rd and last time.
Feeling pretty good.
A word about Kiki, which I find funny. When I was dating her, near the end I was hoping that she’d find affection from someone else, some other guy would take her away from me because of her condition (being wheel-chair bound and with a crippling and infuriating desire to act like she was still a child) I actually found myself holding back my real feelings about her to spare her feelings. That was a mistake. Frankly, I get sick of being treated like a crutch, and more so, get sick of someone who insists on acting immature because they are too childish or weak willed to grow the fuck up and actually do something with their life other than sit in a chair and get fatter with the passing of each day.
Also, her hygiene went out the window halfway though the relationship, at the beginning she was cute, by the end she was at least 50 pounds overweight (which puts her in a serious health risk due to her condition) her teeth were coated in a delicious yellow slime at all times, and her nether regions smelled like a pile of dead hobos. Not even exaggerating, and when I’d confront her about this she would say “I don’t care.” Obviously. Well guess what? I did. I didn’t want to be embarrassed every time I carted a fat fucking blob in a wheelchair that smelled like shit around in public. People noticed that, everyone thought she smelled awful but that didn’t stop her. Childish, stupid, selfish, disgusting… and I was frankly a year past due dumping her on her ass. Pity only goes so far, when I cease to find the person I’m ‘dating’ attractive or enjoy not being around them at all a really pleasant reality then it’s time to bring down the hammer.
I tried to be nice about it too, but Mrs. Childish did the stereotypical ‘you’re dead to me we’ll never speak again!’ bullshit that all immature people do when a relationship is utterly dysfunctional. She even knew that we weren’t working out and actually asked me near the end ‘why are we even together?’ and my reply was ‘good question.’ Anyway, none of this is the funny part, just the tragic one. The funny part is that she WAS seeing someone on the side! She could have just told me so I could have dumped her guilt-free but no, she had to make me feel like a jerk for dumping a cripple with terrible self-esteem while she was out going on dates with another dude when I wasn’t around! So Kiki, if you’re reading this, you’re a child and I feel sorry for the poor dumb bastard dating you now. Get a fucking therapist you crazy bitch.
But yeah, I moved out again from the family. This is the last time I ever ask them for help in my life, what was supposed to be a three month stay (while I saved money) turned into an almost three year tenure due to them constantly knocking me up for money. I could have been gone in months and they did everything to convince me and nickle and dime me into never getting out of that house. Ridiculous.
So basically, after a long silent stint I’m feeling pretty good, motivated and ready to get back to the world of words, I’ve missed it a lot.
Apart from a few graphic novels and essentially noncanonical works of comic-related fiction (ie: films like the Dark Knight), it’s been nearly a decade and a half since I’ve bothered to invest much attention in the comic book world or its ridiculous, bloodthirsty fandom. Nevertheless, the inevitable references to established characters of the genre occasionally make their way into other hobbies of mine, and into Google query results even when I’m not looking for them. It’s precisely that concept that led me to write this article.
It’s not a big secret that I’m not so much a fan of comic books themselves as I am a keen observer of some of the interesting characters that have been introduced in their pages; with possible exception to books like The Tick, I find little value in just picking up a comic book to read if it’s part of a longer-running, convoluted storyline that I’m going to be neither interested in hunting down nor willing to part with the money for, to find out what happens next. Many of my favorite comic book moments as a kid were one shot issues with more edgy yet generally simple artwork without the superfluous inclusion of chains and shitty anatomy (hi Todd McFarlane!), because more often than not, these stories had more personality than the standard spandex wearing superzeroes could provide.
That’s why I found it both depressing and hilarious to note how the members of Comic Vine take a collective steaming wee wee on the entire roster of potentially awesome characters by reducing them to what they can do in a fight, because apparently that’s all comic book mainstays are suited for. It’s like arguing with my friends back in grade school about which video game system was better. Hence, comic book fans can be really fucking stupid. Just take a look at one of the main draws of Comic Vine – the ability to vote on randomly generated fights between superheroes, supervillains, Vegeta, and God. You know, I swear I’ve seen this before somewhere. Hmmm. Oh that’s right…
Aw geez, I always feel bad voting on one kitty over another one, they’re all so snuggly wuggly! Comic book fans of today apparently feel the same confliction when they see Superman vs. pretty much anyone. And if you thought I was joking when I said Vegeta and God, just click the Powers link at the top of the page, and prepare for incoming douchebaggery of the highest order. According to this scientific device, the Lich King’s powers of necromancy are greater than those of Alice Cooper, but not enough to best Rob Zombie. Wow.
A while back, Gamespot.com began a tier-based, vote-fueled, completely fraudulent and utterly retarded popularity contest called “All Time Greatest Game Villain” that would result in much whining and disappointment, this article included. However, as someone who grew up with nearly all of the characters involved, I feel it is a right and a duty of mine, in all the power my geeky childhood gives me to do so, to further mock what has already become a mini monument of fail. Let’s take a look at how the contest worked:
Obviously, every villain on the list appeared during week 1. The obvious losers were quickly shuffled off the stage, making way for more epic battles in week 2. Things were already looking bad, however, when threads began appearing on 4chan with suggestions on who to vote for/against, links provided. An event that, on sites like IGN for example, would have been a typical “List” that readers could either take or leave depending on whether they agreed with the handful of editors behind the project (GLaDOS was the #1 villain there, fyi), the Gamespot version was given the worst odds of a pleasant outcome by putting the voting power into the hands of members, lurkers, and trolls.
The main issue I had with the content was that it included several characters that, for all intents and purposes, earned their fame.. or infamy as the case may be, well outside of the video game industry. The Joker. Darth Vader. Even Dracula, though the latter starred in an original game series for over 20 years and not just the bi-products of major franchises wanking into a hat to keep interest in their characters alive.
This would not have been a problem, save for the fact that there are a lot of Darth Vader fanboys out there who for reasons of insanity or possible head trauma, refuse to believe that the Sith lord could be battered senseless by an enemy as simple as Ganondorf because hey, he’s in Star Wars and the bigger your death star, the more fanfictions you win by default. Any character that had the wherewithal to rip Vader’s clunky-ass suit from his charred old man body would sooner pity him than stomp on his face. I draw the line at the Pac Man ghosts though; persistent, yes, but overwhelming psychic power to rival the Force is not their strong suit.
Likewise with the Joker, even moreso in fact… I mean, just think about the Joker meeting the Lich King or Bowser in a dark alley. For all his craftiness against the coppers, the only reason he’s even alive is because Batman refuses to kill him. Bowser weighs about ten thousand pounds and breathes fire and oh yeah, he’s a fucking fire breathing monster. Did I mention that? Because he is. I’d like to see a witty quip get you out of the burn unit.
So as super duper cool as Vader and the Joker happen to be, they didn’t belong on the list, because obviously they would go on to dominate it unfairly, and are not game specific characters, despite the sum total of games they’ve actually been in. Anyone who disagrees is a fuckhead. Moving on…
You know, if someone had told me, long long ago, that there were quite so many shitty video games in the world, I might not have bothered collecitng them. Nonetheless, I still have a small hoard of 8 and 16 bit cartridges lying around from when I was younger, taking up space and, from a purely entertainment viewpoint, not aging all that well. Case in point, the fresher generation of angsty consumers has to wonder what the fuck we were thinking to spend money on garbage that can now be reproduced and improved upon by a teenager armed with a copy of Flash and a case of Red Bull and no life to speak of. As I play more NES roms, I realize how stupidly simple his task is. Most of these game developers had no clue how to create an enjoyable product. Oh, but you know the drill by this point. Now comes the part where I shed light on the evidence to support my previous claim. Yay! All aboard the 80′s Fail Train. Fasten your cartoon headgear.
(And Sir or madam, if you grew up with some of these games, I have little trouble believing that you now wear a crash helmet)
If any of you were into the anime craze of the late 80′s/early 90′s, you may have sought out some ‘classics’ of the genre, including some of the more “serious” films like Akira, Ninja Scroll and Fist of the North Star. Not to say that these films were intellectual fair or anything; people just swore a whole lot and half the cast or more ended up dying violently, and death is pretty serious, or so I’ve heard. Fist of the North Star, or FotNS, upped the ante by making the deaths ridiculously gory and sometimes just plain stupid. Ken Shiro, the protagonist, was a post-apocalyptic hybrid of Bruce Lee and Mad Max (no joke, that’s precisely what the original graphic novel creator was going for), who had somehow mastered a deadly form of martial art that caused the human body’s physiology to alter itself radically and well, long story short, his victims contorted, swelled, and exploded in torrents of blood and guts. Sometimes all he had to do was touch them just right to begin a typical sequence of nigh-comical hyper violence. Obviously, this was a good idea for a Nintendo game, because if we’ve been taught anything, it’s that 8 bit graphics realistically convey splatterhouse carnage and other organic special effects without looking like pixelated horse crap.
There was a time in my life, when I had a near-death experience. Though there was no tunnel of light, and the ghosts of my loved ones to greet me or anything quite as dramatic as that. Since I did not actually achieve cardiac arrest, thankfully due to the fact that fortune smiled upon me. For once.
Several years ago, I used to work for a small-time computer wholesaler, and one of my co-workers was this Russian guy named Dmitri. Dmitri’s family was originally from Moscow, they fled the soviet bloc in the 90s due to the political changes taking place and the sudden dramatic rise in the crime rate and corruption, as well as the higher cost of living. That’s all I really knew of his family’s situation. Dmitri himself seemed to wax nostalgic about the good-ole days growing up in Russia. He said ‘it wasn’t that bad.’ He was semi-built, but shorter than me by about seven or eight inches, had brown hair center-part and almost shoulder-length, to give you an idea what he looked like.
Dmitri and I actually had no reason to get along, he was my opposite in terms of what he did for fun and what his hobbies were. He tended to like really heavy rock and metal, either screaming lyrics or dumb shit like Saliva. You know, the guys responsible for that obnoxious ‘click-click boom’ song. He was also a car enthusiast, and would often tell me about his car, which was a Mazda RX-7. One time giving me a ride in his, he managed to achieve a speed of about ninety five miles per hour on the highway adjacent to our building. A ballsy move considering the speed limit was only forty five. Often these fairly one-sided conversations were about the supposed superiority of rotary engines to the standard, and he would often download engine sounds and play them at me, explaining the differences in great detail. To me all I heard was a bunch of obnoxious and loud noise, but his eyes seemed to light up with excitement every time, which I never understood why. In addition he had a tendency to really like clubs, and drinking. Especially drinking.
What we had in common was twofold. First we hated the working conditions we had to put up with at our place of employment. The wages were low for the technicians, even though not everyone could do what we did, but the sales people made about a thousand a week. We were barely making three hundred. We were working for Chinese Jews though, so perhaps some stereotypes can be true on occasion? To give you an idea, the owner was this old Chinese lady, who sat in an office filled with gold and jade statues and wall-hangings, behind a massive mahogany desk that had to at least have cost a small fortune because the top was surfaced with a jade slab. She would pull us in this office and tell us how they could not give us raises whenever we asked for better pay. I myself, worked there for almost four years without even a slight pay increase. They probably still wonder why I stopped showing up on time.
This is the new hit single from Nonpersons record’s latest album by Dj McLicious. Be sure to look for the album titled ‘Gurt Lava Beach Party’ at no record store… ever.
Inspired from listening to the magic of the Wiggles – Point Your Finger.
Newsflash: In an interesting turn of events, humanity discovered on April 17th of this year that we shouldn’t stab people because it can kill them! While perusing the headlines this morning, this story caught my eye.
A man has appeared in court to deny the manslaughter of his teenage friend who was knifed while trying on a stab-proof vest.
As befits my generous nature, I would like to offer a minor correction to the British news journal. The man’s teenage friend was trying on what he thought to be a stab-proof vest. As evidence shows that the blade passed through the vest, it was not, in fact, stab-proof. Secondly, it was not idiot-proof. Case in point, I have my doubts about the intelligence of anyone over the age of 30 who believes the idea presented to them by a teenager, and involving sharp objects no less, to be a good one.
I have to imagine that the guilt in a case like this is only made more unbearable by the aforementioned age difference. Think about it. You’re 31 years old. An 18 year old kid asks you to stab them to try out their new vest. You do it. Then you take your medication and go back to the corner to solve the intricacies of letter blocks while eating paste and rocking back and forth repeating the mantra “Hope I dun get in twubble, derp”, because you’re obviously a grade A fucking moron.
I’m going to assume that since Christopher is not currently available to accept his Darwin award, that his friend will find a place for it on his mantle until they meet again following the latter’s eventual, deadly encounter with a knife-proof toaster.
