Yeah ... I’ve got a history paper due on Tuesday and need to start working on it, so here’s a reserve issue. It’s not that funny, but it’s content, dammit! And I’m lazy. Actually, the last half isn't so bad. But if you want something else, talk to Mr. Grote and get my paper deadline extended. Bon Jovi, everyone. This movie is rated Crap for coarse language and a general not-so-fresh-feeling.
I suck at videogames. This has been a lifelong affliction of mine, dating back to the days when I played Super Mario Bros. at my grandparents' house, who owned an NES at the time -- and still do for some reason -- and, instead of trying to advance through the game, simply donned the title "Jumpy Jumpy Man" and jumped a lot, therefore finding my way into many a bottomless pit or enemy equipped with the touch of death. Jumpy Jumpy Man never really made it past 1-1 -- 1-2 if the wind was right -- but I was happy with it. Because people thought it was funny.
This misinterpretation of mine that dying was funny must have contributed to my overall suckiness in the field of videogamery.
Actually ... no. No, that doesn't make any sense. But I miss the days of Jumpy Jumpy Man: the days when I didn't take pixelated death so personally. That’s death represented by a series of pixels, not death by alcohol poisoning.
I suppose the fact that I hadn't had much experience with any sort of real game until approximately one year after Super Smash Brothers had been released contributed to this lack of skill. Before that, I cannot deny that my uncle gave me a Game Boy as a gift on some occasion, though the games that accompanied it were Centipede, Millipede and Tetris BLAST. Centipede, Millipede is a single game title. I didn't have one game named Centipede and another named Millipede. Just to clarify things. Because that's entirely relevant to what's at hand. Anyway:
My brother suggested I buy another videogame to compliment this vast collection, and I therefore made the wise decision to buy the Game Boy game based on The Empire Strikes Back, a Star Wars film of some importance. I sold it for five dollars some years later without ever beating the first level. I rock! So long ... so hard! Go me!
Though I cannot deny the true, simple fact that Tetris BLAST was and is undeniably awesomely unable to be denied its awesomeness. Hooray for the graceful combination of Tetris and explosives of a combustible nature.
After Super Smash Brothers came Rush and 1080, both donated by a friend who didn’t need them anymore. For a while, that was about it. Most of my time with these games was logged in competing against my brother or trying to do cool stunts alongside him. Not much accomplishmenitude going on there. My brother took on the role of “house gamer” while I stood back and watched in palm-sweating suspense whether or not he would ... do. Something. In some amount of pre-determined time.
The only game I was ever really successful at was Pokémon: Red. I suppose this is because this Pokémon: Red of which I speak gave you time to do things, however obscure the task might be. I’m not a big fan of games where you’re obligated to do something and it absolutely must be done now or the entire world blows up. Or you’re obligated to kill something and it absolutely must be defeated immediately or you die a gruesome death, only to be confronted by your failure yet again. Pokémon was different. Its attitude seemed more along the lines of: “There’s something over there, and, um ... yeah. Just kill it sometime. Doesn’t have to be now. See ya later.” Or something.
And now to completely change what I was talking about. What prompted this topic was a round of You Don’t Know Jack that left me quite disheartened. How the fuck do you get disheartened whilst sporting at YDKJ? What the fuckin’ fuck. Well I’ll tell you what the fuckin’ fuck, fuckmeister. Fuck fuckity fuck-fuck-fuck, that’s what the fuckin’ fuck is. Fuck. I fuck yo mama on fuckin’ Fuckday. Better known as Humpday. Or Wednesday in France, the location of the classic Hemingway nine-act play whose title, translated into English, roughly means, “The Fortification of Lilo’s Stitch: Shostakovich on Banjo,” later changed to “We’re Not Name Nazis” for its Iceland release.
After one win, Jack apparently realized that I didn’t know him as well as I should, and he started screwing me over. Erm ... Cookie. Come to think of it, I don’t know who I should blame this on. Maybe I should blame ... the universe. Because if I lose at YDKJ, the entire universe is obviously conspiring against me. Or maybe I’m trapped in a static warp bubble which happens to be collapsing and everyone I know is disappearing because I thought that they might and I need to find some freaky alien on Tau-Alpha 6 or something like that because he is basically the only one who can save me in conjunction with the thoughts of my son, Wesley Crusher. Or maybe this isn’t “Star Trek: the Generation That Follows the First One.”
Well, the point is, after a while of losing, I eventually hope that I can at least get a decent dollar value when faced with the challenge. My mindset:
Okay, look for the high numbers ... big money, big money, big money, there goes $12,000, big money, big money, $10,000, big money, big money, BUZZ!
$950.
Damn.
Damn damn damn damn damn.
This happened at least ... at least 0 times. Maybe one. Or two. Or three. Or ... fifty. Me hungy. And after this happens at least 170 times, one’s morale starts to dwindle. Dwindle like there’s no mozzarella sticks on Thursday. Which basically means that it’s dwindling like a jackrabbit, or something. Maybe a cheetah. Or swift. After 320 defeats concerning the dollar value alone, I stopped caring. Why try. I need Family Guy. This is a classic example of insurance ... fraaud? Bah. Spelling mispronunciations is hard.
Lack of Hilarity supplied by Invisible, Inc.
Questionable ooterbrauten developed by Kwality Co.