Two doctors were standing over my bandaged body in a prison hospital.
"He's been in this coma for 4 years," said the doctor with goatee, "But I've managed to restore him back to health."
"Wow," said the doctor who also had a goatee, "wasn't he some sort of famous gangster that died in some sort of crazy accident."
"Yes," said Doctor Goatee the first, "He over-thugged. Gang tattoos, rap music, drug deals, bandanas- eventually his body couldn't take it any more and he exploded from being too bad-ass. And yes, he has committed horrible crimes, but I have taken it upon myself to heal him. Surely we can turn him into a productive member of society."
"It looks like he's restoring consciousness," said Doctor Duece, "Wow, four years of being out...How long do you figure it will be before he has full mental and physical functions?"
"Probably a minute, maybe a minute and a half," said Doctor Goatee, "Why don't we unravel the bandages and then leave for no reason?"
The doctors began to slowly unravel my bandages in what had to be a Twilight Zone homage. I couldn't even tell if I was a man or a woman!
ARE YOU A MAN OR A WOMAN? asked the game.
MAN, I replied
WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE? asked the game.
I'M INCREDIBLY RIPPED AND HAVE AN ENGLISH ACCENT, said I.
OF COURSE YOU ARE said the game.
The doctors eventually unwrapped the bandages, they had wound around my face for no other reason then the dramatic reveal. I was pleased to note the prison hospital had continued to dye my hair bright green during my years in the coma. And the coma stylist was top notch! I flexed my muscles and found I was indeed incredibly ripped. Atrophy can bite my well toned ass.
"Hey, I'm Carlos," said Carlos on the bed next to me, "I got shanked just so I could come talk to you."
"What if they put you in a different room?" I asked.
"They did," he answered, "four times." He lifted his shirt to reveal 5 shank wounds. "Listen you've been in a coma for 4 years after over-thugging. Without your leadership, the Saints gang has fallen apart."
"Wow, 4 years." I could hardly believe it, I had so many questions, what's life like now? Is purple still considered to be the most thuggish color? Do people still leave their keys in the ignition at all times? The thought of losing four years of my life was so dizzying and overwhelming, I decided never to mention it again for the rest of the video game.
"I'm going to break you out of prison, I have a plan," said Carlos.
"What's the plan," I asked.
"The plan is for you to break out of prison, and for me to follow you. And also you have to protect me," answered Carlos.
"That's a sucky plan," I replied, "will you at least help me fight the guards?"
"Very little," said Carlos, "But you do have to restart the mission if I die."
"I hate you Carlos," I said. "Also are you sure you can escape after being a shanked an hour ago? And how'd you know I would revive today?"
"No time for plot holes," hissed Carlos, "Doctor Goatee is here."
Doctor Goatee walked in the room. Here was the man who had taken me from the brink of death to completely recovery in only 4 years.
MISSION 1: KILL THE DOCTOR! flashed the screen.
"You bastard!" I screamed at the doctor through teeth clenched in rage, "You should have cured me in three!" I jumped out of the bed suprised to find that there were no medical instruments attached to me. Deftly I punched the air near the doctor. Then I backed up a bit and punched the wall some before looking up at the ceiling and tried to punch it. The doctor made some notes about this. Finally I punched him right in the face. I saw that Carlos had decided to get in a fighting stance, then cease moving completely. Oh Carlos. The doctor was mad, but didn't seem surprise. He punched me right back, so I punched him again. This continued for some time. All the while Carlos remained ready in his fighting stance. Suddenly the doctor died. CHECKPOINT REACHED was his epitaph. Oh god, I had murdered a video game character. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with grief. He was totally innocent, and what about his video game wife, and their video game children? What about the other sick video game people he was healing? Carlos came up to comfort me "This may be the first time you've woken up from a four year coma to start killing people, would you like to play the tutorial?"
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
The Hidden "N"
Dear Sir,
I have recently received the View newsletter for the month of October (Or as I like to call it, "Rocktober"!). As I skimmed through it a certain contest caught my eye.
"Find the hidden Nebraska 'N' for reward points," I mused aloud, "Sounds interesting!" Then I laughed a deep hearty laugh. You see my good sir, they call me 'the finder'. I look at pictures, and then I find things. "Where's waldo?" cry the commoners. "There he is!" I announce. Not to brag, but I once beat Where's Waldo: Beach Edition, in less then 2 hours. Hell, I beat Where's Waldo: Kenya Edition in like 20 minutes.
It was with great confidence that I undertook your challenge. Four pages? Pshaw! That was the first time I made the pshaw noise. It felt good. I resolved to do it more often. I was condescending to a challenge that wasn't directed at me in particular and it felt good. Damn good. As any good finder knows, the first thing you do is survey the general idea of the search area. What's the theme? Are there any noticeable oddities? Is the font spooky? Yes, yes, and yes. It was a dark and spooky newsletter, sending shivers down my spine and some other places. I was afraid, but not scared. After all, hadn't I beat Where's Waldo: Saw III Edition? Yes I had. I manned up and powered through the fear.
I saw lots of 'N's. There was even one in "October Newsletter" (Or as I like to call it , "Rocktober Newsletter"!). I quickly trained my eyes to lock on to the letter in question like a magnet on like a metal statue. Or maybe a refrigerator or a robot. Let's progress from that analogy. Even now my eyes are locking onto the "N"s I type. They are still suspicious of these "N"s, no of all "N"s. Like how my grandpa still doesn't like Asians. Sadly, none of the "N"s I found were the Nebraska "N".
On day three of my search my roommates began to show concern. "You need to eat," they told me. "You need to sleep," they insisted. "You smell horrible, and you're eyes are all yellow," they said. Fools. The trouble with having a passion is that it is so frequently misunderstood as madness. But I would show them. My triumph was yet to come. My hair and fingernails grew long. I lost weight. My boss called and fired me for continually missing work. My roommates gave up on me. My girlfriend dumped me for unrelated reasons, it was more of a mutual thing really. We had different priorities.
But I knew I had to keep searching. After all, there were only so many days in October (Or as I like to call it, "Rocktober"!). Besides, I was accustom to long searches. It had taken me many moons to beat Where's Waldo: Plastic Surgery Edition. But now I am among the few who have beat that. When you search for something this long, you begin to wonder about why you are searching for it. Why indeed. Why. Indeed. Not only that but also why the University of Nebraska logo? Why indeed? See, here's the thing. Many view residents attend other schools. Some don't go to school at all. This logo as the subject of my search, my destiny (Or as I like to call it, "Rocktober"!) seems to have been chosen on purpose to create traction between two groups of people. The university students and the non university students. You're little Find-The-N game was in all actuality a diabolical plot to create hatred between two groups of people. Two groups of people who should never hate each other.
"Oh God!" My mournful cry came out with the awkwardness that is applied when you haven't spoken in weeks. A tear ran down my cheeks and navigated the forest of my stubble. These were dark times. I spent a week ruminating on the natural human instinct to hate. But then I realized something. What if you WEREN'T trying to create hurtful divide between your residents? What if you only chose the symbol satirically? Well then you would hide they controversial symbol somewhere stinky and foul to represent the negative implications of a segregated apartment complex. Of course! It was all so simple. I should have paid more attention to Where's Waldo: Satirical Allegory Edition.
Confidently I flipped the page like a mermaid flips her sun-kissed hair. Sure enough, there was the Nebraska "N", right in the zombie's armpit. It was a time for celebration. It was a time for champagne. It was a time to party. And that's why I call it Rocktober. Additionally, that's why they call me the finder.
Yours Forever,
The Finder.
Explanation:
My apartment complex has started a reward program in which residents can earn points through activities. The resident with the most points at the end of each month wins a $50 gift card and "pride". This news letter had an opportunity to earn some 5 points just by emailing the leasing director where you found the hidden Nebraska "N" in the newsletter. I found it and sent this email. And yeah, I considered putting the explanation at the start of the post, but I didn't want to punish those who were sharp enough to figure it out by themselves with this boring crap to start out.
I have recently received the View newsletter for the month of October (Or as I like to call it, "Rocktober"!). As I skimmed through it a certain contest caught my eye.
"Find the hidden Nebraska 'N' for reward points," I mused aloud, "Sounds interesting!" Then I laughed a deep hearty laugh. You see my good sir, they call me 'the finder'. I look at pictures, and then I find things. "Where's waldo?" cry the commoners. "There he is!" I announce. Not to brag, but I once beat Where's Waldo: Beach Edition, in less then 2 hours. Hell, I beat Where's Waldo: Kenya Edition in like 20 minutes.
It was with great confidence that I undertook your challenge. Four pages? Pshaw! That was the first time I made the pshaw noise. It felt good. I resolved to do it more often. I was condescending to a challenge that wasn't directed at me in particular and it felt good. Damn good. As any good finder knows, the first thing you do is survey the general idea of the search area. What's the theme? Are there any noticeable oddities? Is the font spooky? Yes, yes, and yes. It was a dark and spooky newsletter, sending shivers down my spine and some other places. I was afraid, but not scared. After all, hadn't I beat Where's Waldo: Saw III Edition? Yes I had. I manned up and powered through the fear.
I saw lots of 'N's. There was even one in "October Newsletter" (Or as I like to call it , "Rocktober Newsletter"!). I quickly trained my eyes to lock on to the letter in question like a magnet on like a metal statue. Or maybe a refrigerator or a robot. Let's progress from that analogy. Even now my eyes are locking onto the "N"s I type. They are still suspicious of these "N"s, no of all "N"s. Like how my grandpa still doesn't like Asians. Sadly, none of the "N"s I found were the Nebraska "N".
On day three of my search my roommates began to show concern. "You need to eat," they told me. "You need to sleep," they insisted. "You smell horrible, and you're eyes are all yellow," they said. Fools. The trouble with having a passion is that it is so frequently misunderstood as madness. But I would show them. My triumph was yet to come. My hair and fingernails grew long. I lost weight. My boss called and fired me for continually missing work. My roommates gave up on me. My girlfriend dumped me for unrelated reasons, it was more of a mutual thing really. We had different priorities.
But I knew I had to keep searching. After all, there were only so many days in October (Or as I like to call it, "Rocktober"!). Besides, I was accustom to long searches. It had taken me many moons to beat Where's Waldo: Plastic Surgery Edition. But now I am among the few who have beat that. When you search for something this long, you begin to wonder about why you are searching for it. Why indeed. Why. Indeed. Not only that but also why the University of Nebraska logo? Why indeed? See, here's the thing. Many view residents attend other schools. Some don't go to school at all. This logo as the subject of my search, my destiny (Or as I like to call it, "Rocktober"!) seems to have been chosen on purpose to create traction between two groups of people. The university students and the non university students. You're little Find-The-N game was in all actuality a diabolical plot to create hatred between two groups of people. Two groups of people who should never hate each other.
"Oh God!" My mournful cry came out with the awkwardness that is applied when you haven't spoken in weeks. A tear ran down my cheeks and navigated the forest of my stubble. These were dark times. I spent a week ruminating on the natural human instinct to hate. But then I realized something. What if you WEREN'T trying to create hurtful divide between your residents? What if you only chose the symbol satirically? Well then you would hide they controversial symbol somewhere stinky and foul to represent the negative implications of a segregated apartment complex. Of course! It was all so simple. I should have paid more attention to Where's Waldo: Satirical Allegory Edition.
Confidently I flipped the page like a mermaid flips her sun-kissed hair. Sure enough, there was the Nebraska "N", right in the zombie's armpit. It was a time for celebration. It was a time for champagne. It was a time to party. And that's why I call it Rocktober. Additionally, that's why they call me the finder.
Yours Forever,
The Finder.
Explanation:
My apartment complex has started a reward program in which residents can earn points through activities. The resident with the most points at the end of each month wins a $50 gift card and "pride". This news letter had an opportunity to earn some 5 points just by emailing the leasing director where you found the hidden Nebraska "N" in the newsletter. I found it and sent this email. And yeah, I considered putting the explanation at the start of the post, but I didn't want to punish those who were sharp enough to figure it out by themselves with this boring crap to start out.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Birthday
For my birthday all my friends got me this gigantic cake. I was like "Whoa, that's way too much cake!" But then all of the sudden a stripper burst out of the cake and was like "Oh my god a stripper!" But then her head started splitting, and it cracked right down the middle and a regular sized birthday cake came out and I was like "Hey, that seems like an appropriate amount of cake for this party."
Later a scantily clad gerbil came out of the regular size cake, but my friends told me that wasn't part of the plan. The little fella was probably just hungry.
Later a scantily clad gerbil came out of the regular size cake, but my friends told me that wasn't part of the plan. The little fella was probably just hungry.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Murder Sex!
The Sims is a game where you play god for a small family. You tell your Sims where to sleep, where to pee, what to pee on, et cetera. Everyone who has ever played the Sims eventually focuses on either getting the Sims to have sex, or murdering them depending on whether you’re sexually frustrated or just frustrated. This allows players to feel a connection to their own god, who seems pretty obsessed with sex and murder himself.
Basically any simulation game will come down to sex and murder. Many games are designed by Puritans, so they allow for murder, but not sex. Players are not easily deterred though. They create large penis shaped structures in their zoos and theme parks. They glitch NPC’s to hump statues. Where there is a will, there is a way.
The ideal simulation game would be strictly sex and murder. Combat simulations come close. You can murder someone and teabag their corpse fairly efficiently. But in order for the game to sell really well, you need to give your players options. To really cash in, try to create a game where people just run around killing and/or having sex with everyone they see, but make sure to make it different enough from Grand Theft Auto that you don’t get sued.
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