Super Crate Box follow-up

I quite enjoyed composing my opinionated review of Super Crate Box the other week. If you've not read it, do so here; or not, if you enjoy missing things. The departure from my usual style was apparently a popular one, with my little despondent blog being inundated with newfound traffic, certainly due to the wit and eloquence with which my critiques were presented. For the record, "inundated with traffic" here means "viewed by about 20 more people than usual" and "the wit and eloquence with which my critiques were presented" is a discreet euphemism for "a charitable mention on the developer's Twitter".



I feel I neglected some opinionated information in my previous foray into reviewing, so consider this a follow-up. Here's what remains of my impression of Super Crate Box:

While the game features only three enemies, each performs a niche role to make the game challenging and entertaining. I've nerded up pictorial a list:

These are the main fodder on the enemy roster. They waddle from the spawn to the fire pit and require a minimal amount of damage before being dispatched. They spawn alone, or sometimes in groups of three. At least someone has friends.


These lumber from point to point,  requiring approximately twice as much damage - and nerve - to defeat. I really like the design on these guys; they feel like a mutation of the smaller ones, with every aspect increased in ferocity.

These flying skulls drift from the spawn point towards the player, like deadly flotsam on an invisible sea. They don't go in the fire pits, so there's no danger of them re-appearing at spawn, deranged and seeking your death to quench their blood-lust. They tend to attack directly from above, perhaps to hinder camping.

Don't get me wrong, all is good and well in List-Of-Super-Crate-Box's-Enemies Town. However, I feel that some more diversity could be injected into the game's catalogue of enemies without sacrificing its arcade-style simplicity and the distinctiveness of each foe. A creature that spawns smaller hostiles upon death would result in a greater opportunity for the chaotic fun that the game features, and would add further strategy. I envision a pulsating, fleshy seed pod that slowly crawls across the level on its veins, roots or tentacles, like a pixelated Triffid. After its leathery casing is pierced, the pod collapses along with the core creature, resulting in the release (or perhaps birth) of four or five smaller, faster and weaker bugs. These too could belong to the skull school of character design.

Other features I'd like to see implemented in the future:

- A training arena, in which the player can test their unlocked weaponry on any amount of any enemy of their choice.
- The ability to toggle certain weapons (or sets of weapons) from the game's rotation, at the cost of recorded high scores. I'd gladly swap my high scores for a opportunity to rid my life of those fucking dual pistols.
- More levels! While the three included do offer a good variety, and the two of those three that are unlocked are done so at appropriate intervals, the game's simplicity can result in stagnation if the setting isn't frequently changed. An industrial level with conveyor belts, perhaps?

So, that's the entirety of my impression of Super Crate Box. I intend to play it feverishly for a while longer.

Super Crate Box, or: "Super! Great! Rocks!"

Item boxes are a staple of video games, in terms of imagery, gaming culture and in actual application - by extension, so are power-ups. While it's not necessary for me to pontificate upon their evolution from a simple reward scheme for well-timed jumps to a crafted tool designed to maintain the game's pace and a motivator for complex moral conundrums, it's easy to realise how they've endured with versatility as a mainstay of games, both video and otherwise. Not to mention, they tend to make a nice blip noise when one collects them.

Self-indulgent introductions aside, Super Crate Box is a recently-released independent game by Vlambeer that aspires to alter this formula. It is heavily derived from the arcade era of yore and is described by the developers as "an arcade delight with interesting, refreshing game mechanics, cracking retro art and a terribly hip chiptune soundtrack". This is the second-most apt phrase I've heard that epitomises Super Crate Box. The most apt phrase I've heard is "an arcade delight with interesting, refreshing game mechanics, cracking retro art and a terribly hip chiptune soundtrack - and fucking intensely engrossing". This is one of the most addictive and rewarding independent, freeware games that I've ever played.

The gameplay is simple and indeed refreshing: the player has a selection of three small, Mario Bros.-esque levels, and must collect as many crates as possible before being killed by the constant stream of marching and flying nasties. The trick is that only one crate exists on-screen at any one time - when a crate is collected, your weapon is randomly replaced with another from the game's 15+ arsenal and another crate is randomly placed somewhere in the level. Some weapons are simplistic and self-explanatory, like the dual pistols or the revolver, while others are powerful yet impractical, like the minigun or the bazooka. If an enemy reaches the lower hole in the level (obscured by flames), they re-appear at the spawn, viscous, energised and speedier than before. The result is therefore the player managing crate collection, enemy disposal and enemy avoidance, all the while toting a manically fluctuating inventory of manically fluctuating usefulness. This equates to perfect game balance, best summarised, ironically, by the the word "control". The game gives the player the perfect level of control on the outcome, meaning both death and the new high-score are a direct result of the player's competence instead of the game's imposed difficulty. It's a fight against the player's level of competence, rather than a boss or timer, which is the perfect reward and challenge. Incidentally, my level of incompetence is indeed a harsh challenge, both in Super Crate Box and in mundane activities. When losing - and I've lost a lot (both in Super Crate Box and mundane activities) - it never felt as though my run had ended due to a flaw in the game or misappropriated difficulty, but rather a flaw in my technique or a lacking area of my skill. Ultimately, this forms a feedback-loop of incentive to practice and, therefore, play. This is by a wide margin the most entertaining feedback-loop I've ever participated in.

The weapons are distinct, with no two behaving any more than mildly similarly. For instance, both the minigun and the machine gun shoot with rapidity and have a moderate spread, yet I've found myself cursing my luck when having to change from one to the other unceremoniously. The minigun's knockback is great enough to actually use it as a form of convenient locomotion for advanced players, but it deals less damage than the machine gun and has considerable wind-up time, which forces judicious use. No two weapons look the same, further distinguishing them at a glance; this is especially handy, as in the chaos of the game, one can on occasion miss the weapon identifier. My personal favourite is the "disc gun": an imaginative weapon that shoots a disc boasting infinite enemy-penetration. It also bounces off the walls, at which point it become a danger to the player, which just adds another level of player-derived complexity and control.

All of this is delivered in a package wrapped with endearing graphics, stuffed with entertaining sound and marinaded in a whimsically unique style and atmosphere. That's right, this game has an atmosphere. How many independent, freeware games have a palpable atmosphere to compete with Super Crate Box? Spelunky and Eversion are the only that immediately come to mind. This game could easily be sold for profit on Steam, Xbox Live Arcade or the iPhone store, however, I'm decidedly glad that it's not, because I doubt I would have played it if it were. The game is just that delightful, and I'm just that selfish.

Best of Omegle 4

I should write another blog post. Fuck, I don't really feel like it. Maybe if I worked harder, I'd have more readers. No, the lack of readers is directly proportional to my lack of talent. I'd better put something up, otherwise the minute group of dedicated readers I've miraculously accumulated will unsubscribe from the feed. Blogs are so much work. Why is one post a week so much work? Oh, that's right, everything is directly proportional to my lack of talent. Fuck it, I'll just shove some Best of Omegle up there with blatant disregard. I'll justify it by writing some barely-humourous faux-monologue declaring myself aware of how lazy it is.

And so, I searched sloppily through the backwash of my Omegle logs and found these. They're short, so we won't suffer for long. I'm planning a trolling extravaganza for the next BoO post, and it will be a long one indeed. In the meantime, read these, leave comments and subscribe to the RSS feed. In other words, don't unsubscribe. The monologue won't be happy.

You: Do you believe in any god?
Stranger: yap
You: Which?
Stranger: you
You: No.
Stranger: u r my god now
You: Cool.
You: The one commandment: Get fucked.
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Another:

You: Greetings.
Stranger: You have 5 questions, I will answer honestly.
You: Okay.
You: Why do you wish for me to participate in such an insipid transaction?
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Note that the following conversation took place during Christmas-time:

Stranger: 15m lookin for older girl...
You: I want to kill myself, and you're the one who needs to convince me otherwise. Be my angel on this Christmas.
Stranger: ummm dont do it
Stranger: not a good idea
You: I'm a changed man!
You have disconnected.

Another. This one made me laugh while reviewing it for inclusion:

You: Greetings. What brings you to Omegle?
Stranger: he
You: Does he now?
Stranger: searching gud friends
You: Ah.
You: I have a propensity for whiling away the nights searching gud friends.
Stranger: wat happen
You: Nothing happen.
You: Nothing at all happen.
Stranger: ok that gud did u find sumone
You: I most definately did find sumone. Not just any old sumone, but a really gud sumone at that.
Stranger: wanna be gud and old friend if u wish too
You: You read my mind! Well, my help's mind, anyway.
You: I do wanna be gud and old friend. I do so wish too!
Stranger: wat is ur name then
Stranger: my name vibhor
You: My name Ug! Me Ug! Me like Internet!
Stranger: from which city
You: Bedrock City.
Stranger: which country never heard of that place
Stranger: me male
You: It's good to know that you Male.
You: I also Male.
Stranger: why so gud abt it
Stranger: ya ok
You: Don't go asking questions abt that!
You: Your a gud question asker indeed!
You: Not to mention various other things!
Stranger: why
You: Only gud things, only gud things!
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

That should do. Why do I listen to you?

The Fresh Prince of Questionnaire

I recently uncovered an old yearbook questionnaire from my final year at school. While it was student-initiated, it was still evidently within the teachers' jurisdiction to chew me out when the bemused student captain discovered what I'd written. I believe the word "counselling" reared its head during the ensuing discussions, then "medication", and finally the phrase "forceful application". This questionnaire actually epitomises my behaviour throughout most of school quite accurately.

Click on these tablets of subversion to view them in their original size. I recommend it, because in their default state they're as blurry as a public access channel.

Despite the fact that I conspicuously edited out my name, it's clearly me. Yeah, I didn't care too much for school.

From rags to slightly less soiled rags

Well, I've drastically updated the face of my blog. I mean severely. Let's put it like this: at the time of writing, Joan Rivers is who most personifies the current trends of my blog - facelifts and terrible, obnoxious jokes. Before this, it was more "glob" than blog; at least ascetically. I overcame my acute laziness and spent some time in Photoshop to whip up the header, background and button for my YouTube channel. This is the closest I'll ever come to an achievement, so please, allow me a moment to confront the sheer magnitude of this.

*One full moment later*

So, I now have two followers. Which makes me sound like a cult. Great. That said, two followers is the most meagre of cults. I mean, it's the smallest amount of possible cult members; at that juncture, you're bordering on "you and that guy".

Now point your dainty seeing-holes at what I've highlighted with a Microsoft Paint brand rounded rectangle:


The diagram to the left of my follower count displays three green silhouettes, and its sole purpose is to demonstrate the act of following or fellowship. The very visual manifestation of following - the default, broad, distilled, archetypal, simplified essence of following... consists of a number of people greater than my followers. That fucking snooty, aloof diagram has more followers than me. I've been outdone by a representation.

This is a morbid day for me and my followers. However, we shall prevail. I believe that we can surpass the milestone that is equation to the diagram. Expect more posts and more Best of Omegle within the next few days and, eventually, the ensuing months. I intend to maintain this steady output until I show that filthy diagram who's boss.

In the words of political visionary-turned-political disappointment Brack Obama: "Yes we can overcome the diagram!". I don't remember if he was indeed talking about a diagram, and if he was indeed talking about subjugating a diagram, but I'm sure the sentiment still applies.

Edit: Wow, three followers. Technically, I still need four to trump the diagram, so get following. Perhaps the diagram and I could put aside our differences and merge into one conglomerate with six followers? This has my approval, so the ball's in your court, diagram.

Best of Omegle 3

It's come time again for Best of Omegle. I'm quite proud of this first one, as it really highlights my capacity for condescending dickery:

You: Greetings.
Stranger: hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
Stranger: no
You: Well, you're really rolling out the red carpet. Of letters.
Stranger: haha
You: What have I done to deserve this opulent greeting?
Stranger: u done nothing
You: Just like schooling for you, apparently.
Stranger: ok never mind
Stranger: so say whtas ur name
Stranger: what
You: "Stranger" will suffice.
Stranger: wow
Stranger: u dont wana tell ur name
You: That's right. Is it so strange to protect one's identity from questionable strangers on the Internet?
Stranger: ok
Stranger: ko say one r u boy or girl
Stranger: u also dont wana say that
You: Well, it's not that I don't want to furnish an anonymous Internet nitwit with my personal information but... No, wait, it is precisely that.
Stranger: ok never mind
You: Perhaps that's your problem: that your mind never makes an emergence from within the depths of your poor character.
You: So, never mind indeed.
You have disconnected.

And we shall continue to this one:

You: Hello.
Stranger: hi
Stranger: are u f20?
You: How did you know my name?
Stranger: lol
Stranger: are u? or r u not?
You: A robot? Yes. It's hard to conceal it with such an obviously robotic name.
You: In hindsight, my creators should have given me the grace of calling me "John". No one would ever suspect that "John" is a robot, I tell you.
You: Except when an oil change is required. That could get awkward.
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Please note that I am not a robot, despite what others may claim. I am simply a biological human utilising this particular human communications network to engage in discourse regarding various human activities. Definitely not a robot.

End statement.

My headache

At the moment, I have a dreadful headache. It's pretty bad, and both of my eye sockets are very sore.

I drew an illustration to help convey this information:

Please note that any resemblance real-life deathrays, living or dead, is purely coincidental. And would be cool.

My headache is beginning to subside, and as such I shall return to reading speculative articles on Wikipedia about life-extension and time-travel whilst listening to David Bowie songs. The two are as seamlessly congruent as flaming beams of energy and my enemies' exposed flesh.

Best of Omegle 2

Well, since I have time, here's another commercial-related chat log:

Stranger: hii

You: Hello.

Stranger: wazzup??

You: Oh, I was unaware it was protocol to quote commercials from the 90s. Allow me to reciprocate:

You: Do you get that tired, stressed feeling at the end of a long day?

Your conversational partner has disconnected.

The following is a particularly good one. The acute sarcasm might just teach him to reduce the number of frivolous "i"s per greeting.

You: Hello?

Stranger: hiii

Stranger: i know its not a great way to start the chat.....i'm male

You: So am I, just like 99% of all other Omegle, nay Internet users.

Stranger: haha yes

You: So, why did you greet me with the great honour of three "i"s? This is hardly such an auspicious occasion as to warrant not one but three "i"s! Are you just attempting to impress the potential girls?

Stranger: what exactly are the three "I"?

You: When you greeted me like royalty at the beginning of this conversation.

You: I am truly honoured.

Stranger: no problem

Stranger: its nice to make ppl feel good

You: Thank you, my liege - how very gracious of you.

Stranger: haha , sure sure

Stranger: man !! ur just over scrutinizing things

You: I'm afraid I cannot reciprocate with similar prestige, for I am, unlike you, a lowly commoner.

Stranger: i'm just happy u have sticked on to the chat after reading that i am male

You: I never miss an opportunity for a good, solid sticked-on chat. May I just restate how grateful and bewildered a simple wretched peon like myself is when in the presence of such a powerfully refined influence as yourself - even over the Internet, which I am sure you invented, being the motivated billionaire inventor that all evidence points to you being.

Stranger: jeez

Stranger: easy man !!

Stranger: i'm not sure what prompted u to believe that i'm someone very rich or powerfull

You: Wise words to live by, provided by a giant man of prophetic nature, paralleled only by Jesus and Gandhi.

You: And only when they're fused.

Stranger: chill !!

Stranger: haha

You: As you wish, lord.

You: I must go and tend the fields for my one-cent-an-hour wage, but let me remind you of what a glorious and generation-defining personality you are. I, and the entire population of Earth (don't worry, we plan to rename it in your image) are indebted to your lifeblood for eternity. You are truly a solid gold statue encrusted with so many jewels that no gold is visible, that's swamped in the tepid pool of slime that is the remaining populace.

You have disconnected.

Well, that will probably conclude this week's series of Best of Omegle posts; consider this one a follow-up, because I wasn't very satisfied with the original enclosed log as a proof of concept. I feel that this post more accurately reflects the nature of Best of Omegle.

I think I need a closing catch-phrase for these BoO posts. Actually, no, catch-phrases are cheesy. Okay, new rule: no catch-phrases.

Unless they involve a pun.

Best of Omegle announcement

My first post of the year and in a year. Well, I'm back from wallowing in debilitating self-pity (it's a full-time job) and have decided to revitalise my old blog. The new commitment: at least one post a week. The new feature: "Best of Omegle".

Best of Omegle is an idea that I've been throwing around for a while and have finally decided to implement. It consists of the following:

- Me, on Omegle.
- Me, posting the conversations here, for all to read. Note that here, "all" implies a number greater than two people and a cat that's unintentionally accessed the blog by sleeping on the keyboard.

Basically, it's me on Omegle, trolling a myriad of invalids, children, non-English speakers and just plain idiots. Some of the time, I'll be using a persona to incite prejudice, anger, fear or anything else entertaining; some of the time, it will simply be me, being the arrogant and pompous dick I am, abusing them with my versatile repartee. I'm going to Hell anyway, so I may as well attain some popularity in the meantime.

To those accustomed to my "interesting" "musings", don't fret. I'll still be writing things about how everything is crap more frequently than I was before. It's good to set oneself goals.

So, let's initiate a little test. Here's a semi-interesting conversation I had a while ago. I'd appreciate some feedback regarding if any of you sparse readers want it more "troll"-y or more "abuse"-y. I can alter my strategy in the future, but in the meantime I have literally in excess of one-hundred archived chat sessions involving a dick and a complete moron. Feel free to fit myself and the anonymous chat partner into those dynamic roles to your discretion. For future reference, these conversations will never be scripted or edited. This particular irate lunatic seemed infatuated with military radio jargon, so I obliged him.

Stranger: STAR
Stranger: STAY FROSTY MEN
Stranger: RAMIREZ TAKE POINT
You: My men are always frosty... because I use Military Slang Deodorant. It keeps me cool while I am blasting other people's faces off.
Stranger: FOR GOD SAKE OPEN FIRE
Stranger: RAMIREZ SHOOT THE MOTHERFUCKER
You: I'm never on fire and always fresh for action, in any situation.
Stranger: RAMIREZ FIRE THE PREDATOR MISSLE
Stranger: SHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM
Stranger: REPEAT PREDATOR IS ONLINE
Stranger: FIRE THE GODDAM PREDATOR RAMIREZ
Stranger: BOOM HEADSHOT
You: Be it a hard day at work, some time at the gym or a tactical point insertion to assassinate the leader of a terrorist group - I'm always free of odour and sweat.
Stranger: FUCK
Stranger: RAMIREZ STOP MISSING AND KILL THE MOTHERFUCKERS
Stranger: OK
Stranger: WERE OSCAR MIKE
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

There you have it. Some are longer, some shorter. Please leave a comment and watch this space for updates from the degenerate desk of Best of Omegle, or "BoO" for short.

Ain't no post title obvious enough to to keep me from using it

I was bored at 3:00 A.M. (what else is 3:00 A.M. for?) the other night and decided to make a list of "unused lyrics" from the song Ain't No Mountain High Enough, by some African-American artist that I couldn't care less about. Let's see this list of lists, shall we? No, we shall not. Before you freeloader(s) abuse my infinite generosity by having me give my absolutely masterful use of puns and observations away for free, I want to talk about some things I am working on - or rather muddling up with my over-enthusiastic lack of skill and knowledge.

I'm currently working on a small-ish (it might grow larger as it progresses) map for Half-Life 2: Episode Two, tentatively called "travel". As it currently stands, it consists of a room, a tunnel, a pool of water and some rocky debris, but as my legion of faithful readers know, I am dearly committed to a fully-functioning and consistent product that delivers what it promises. Every aspect of this experience (the word "map" is far too limiting for my scope of creativity) is planned out and looks absolutely engaging, entertaining, challenging and -let's not kid about here- perfect in my mind, which is the best piece of paper that any designer could ever hope for, lest their eyeballs don't explode like poorly-wired fireworks that take off a small child's hand due to the very complex and powerful... power of my brain.

Now, let's continue with tonight's scheduled content. Here's the list:

Ain't no...
- Curry spicy enough.
- C.D. scratched enough.
- Armchair comfy enough.
- Ikea maze-like enough.
- Online game laggy enough.
- Elderly person incontinent enough.
- Pen lost enough.
- British sit-com bawdy enough.
- Scrubs episode overly pseudo-quirky enough.
- 16-year-old skin-diseasey enough.
- R.P.G. menu-driven enough.
- Poorly constructed electronics Chinese enough.
- Difficult-to-spell word difficult enough to spell... enough.
- Poorly constructed sentence poorly constructed enough. See above.
- Hat unnecessary enough.
- Alarm clock alarming enough.
- Teen vampire novel shallow enough.
- Old sneakers smelly enough.
- /b/ thread pointless enough.
- Flintstones Stone Age pun lame enough.
- Morning bed sheets inexplicably gritty enough.
- Internet fame fleeting enough.
- Wireless device difficult-to-connect enough.
- List long enough.
...To keep me from posting it.

So there we go; the fruit of my 3:00 A.M. creativity. How sadly telling that is... Anyway, the map is coming along and will very soon be fully functioning, if not considerably moreso. Yes, it makes sense to me.

Actually...

After the previous post was added, I decided to look back at the past few pages of drivel that I have added over the months. One in particular made me squeal with nervousness. I saw my handwriting in the hand-written portions of "Amish Time!" and realised a horrible, bone-shattering truth:

My handwriting is shit as all Hell. That is all.

Back in low-key action!

Greetings. It has been a while between posts and I felt that I really must... post. I am getting rusty, aren't I? Several important and extremely relevant happenings... happened during the time between posts, so let's clear them up, shall we? I have a feeling that this clear-up will be as shoddy as one taking place in a cheap Chinese resturant called "We Sever Food". For starters, or more accurately, starter:

- KFZ is lacking a community, players and maps. I bet you're glad to see that not too much has changed since our last exchange, then. The admin swapped clans and then (less than 24 hours later) left this ominous Other Clan and renamed the server "Kentucky Fried Zombies IS BACK!!". It's always good to know that the admins are serious about a player base that they have cultivated. Right.

For the main course, or as I like to call it - the focus de jour:

- I got a new graphics card. Yes. No foolies. I finally have obtained the Crystal Skull to my Indiana Jones. Except that it doesn't rape an entire franchise to death with poor marketing and a greedy producer. I won't go into specifics, but let's say that it's over 5 times better than my old dinosaur-pelt card that I used to use. I am so excited, this calls for the use of my emergency celebratory ASCII art. Here goes!

   O
--[]--
   II

I like to call this piece the "It looked more triumphant in my mind...".

- I bought Fallout 3 Game of the Year Edition. This has all the great, great, goodness of Fallout 3 with the downloadable content packs already on disc, so no messy downloading. Always good for the 12 G.B. limit.

Anyway, I have been powering through Fallout 3 and its contained universe for about 9 of 30 player levels, and am not nearly prepared to be ready to even begin considering reading the Wikipedia article on getting bored; this is good news, as I am not done killing innocent people or enslaving them for money (and memories that will last a lifetime - those are the real reward!).

This post draws to a close as I can finally and definitively proclaim that I, Fatt Daddy Inc., can game. Maybe not forever, maybe not with Crysis on the "Professional" graphics settings, but damn fine and with a great framerate. I've also had a little stint on Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare's multiplayer and enjoyed it up until rank 30-ish. It just became samey, but was fun for about two weeks.

That's it for this exposition-laiden edition of "My life is boring but at least I have games!"; remember to read the next post, coming soon-ish. Well, whenever I can pull myself out of the wastelands and stop stealing people's items and selling them back to them.

Same shit time (sort of), same shit channel (well, page). Actually, really should stop stealing material from the old Batman series. Firstly, it's not transferrable and secondly, it's more camp than a row of tents.

Amish time!

*Open these in new windows to enlarge them*

I did my part, now you do yours. You know what I want... That's right, toast and chips.

Anyway, a new video was released a while ago, but being the lazy individual that I most certainly am, I could not bother to post about it. Soon, more news of the graphics card!

Irritable bowel syndrome tablet

I just dusted off my old Wacom tablet, installed the drivers and made this poorly-drawn comic to test both the tablet and my artistic prowess. One of those two things passed the test to my satisfaction. Try to guess which item passed.



Not entirely hilarious, but somewhat poignant, I like to think.

A promise is a promise... Or is it?

This post exists purely due to my wanting at least one post a month. Since it is 9:40 P.M. on August 30, I am well within the buffer zone.

I'm quite sure that it will come as no surprise that my I.Q. is well above the average. How much you ask? Well, perhaps one day you'll be as smart as me and therefore able to comprehend numbers greater than 7. You're still asking? You obnoxious git. That's no way to treat your obviously superior future leader/genocidal king/retail manager. So when you shuffle into a clothing store of the future, ask for some knitwear and are unable to be alive due to having a somewhat stubborn predisposition of mediocrity, we'll see who the real "delusional invalid" is, won't we? Wait, you're still asking the specific amount of points by which my I.Q. is above-average? Whatever, my I.Q. is 132.

Now, your small-brained head may be questioning (with limited understanding of the very words you murder) the validity of my score. I'll have you know that the test was judged by a top board of scholars. The flashing banner ad said so, just under its many asterisks and conditions that I needn't molest my valuable time with. Only plebeians use written words. In my new world order, we will all make use of a complex system of blinks that I myself have conceived. I am merely engaging in such a simplistic medium for the benefit of this readership. That's right, Enrique, that means you.

At the conclusion of this test (I like to call it "THE TEST!" because as everyone knows, capitals make it true; henceforth, the test shall be referred to as THE TEST!), I was prompted to celebrate by entering my bank details into the text box next to the Flash frog. I am still awaiting my novelty cheque.

So, may you all bask in my glowing glory glow from down in the gutter (specially-built for dullards) as copies of THE TEST! are dropped from monkey-piloted space-craft, designed by me and my crack team of French supermodels.

So yeah, this is simply me fulfilling my promise to myself that I would provide one post per month, at the very least. No-one cares except my one fan: that strange Spanish man who has begun to send me emails about the mould in his house and how much it looks like Jesus. Brilliant.

To Pez or not to Pez...

Today I bought a Pez and accompanying dispenser for "ol' times' sake". By "ol' times' sake", of course I mean nostalgic, wishy-washy consumerism. That old thing. Anyway, after I got home, I cut open the bubble packaging and attempted to load the infernal contraption. It was hard. Very hard. Extremely hard. It may possibly be the single most difficult feat known to man. To attempt to load a Pez dispenser is the most fiddly, frustrating, fruitless and deadly endeavour that could ever be conceived by a fevered mental patient. So after that was done, I began to eat the candies. I raised the small idol shaped like Batman's face to my mouth and tilted his lifeless head backwards, his eyes staring at me, clearly begging me to stop, if not for my own sake then for those who will find the oncoming slew of obscenities offensive.

I paused for a moment to contemplate the implications of my actions. Batman's face was clearly awash with morbid anticipation. He's done this before, the poor bugger.

Pez is without any kind of doubt in the realm of realistic thought a ridiculous candy. We eat hideous, chalky candies in an extravagant and unnecessary dispenser shaped like a character's face. We peel back the character's head and eat these pellets from inside their neck. Let me just say, without so much as even a hint of hesitation: what the fucking fuck?

I ate the candy. I nearly vomited on my floor with an ambivalent mix of rage, disgust and (most prominently) utter confusion.

What barely human, masochistic fool created such a "candy"? It tastes like chalk and turd mixed in a large pot made from some variety of solid piss. It is completely, 100%, totally, ultimately, surely, highly, really, very, quite, extremely, absurd, ridiculous and sad that people must feel the need to not only fill the void in their life with candy, but to do so with this horrid excuse for a food.

Reading the above paragraph only makes it evident that I need to tone down my thesaurus-reading prowess. And my thesaurus-perusing power. And my thesaurus-viewing skill. And my thesaurus-comprehension ability.

Anyway, in short: I find Pez candies and their attached dispensers over the top and silly, as far as candies go. Why use them? Why eat them? Why buy them? Most importantly, why invent them?

Recollection: Money.

Unfortunate misfortune with a dash of bad luck

I've not been blogging too much lately, and this is because this blog is crap and has no readers. One little tidbit (or is it "titbit"? No, that's crap, it sounds a bit sexy. On the other hand, it sounds a bit sexy!) of of-course-this-happened-to-me situation happened to me today, and I thought that I would like to share it with the world*.

There I was having a shit and- wait; some people might find the phrase "having a shit" offensive... Okay, I'll kindergarten it up for those pansies. There I was having a crap and- hmm... Is that still too strong a wording? There I was minding my own business (boom tish!) and I hear a high-pitched yelp from inside my living-room. My heart skips a beat, as though it were a Caucasian dancer. It was one of my two small dogs; Considering their acrobatic prowess, I thought it highly likely that one of them jumped onto a chair, missed and hurt a little twig-like leg. Stupid, weak animals (note to self: teach dogs about natural selection, then teach myself how to use a gun).

In my mind, I deliberated the options:

1 - Continue to produce waste into the receptacle, casually wipe and check the damage at a later time, as though nothing happened. I like to call this plan "The Plan That I Should Have Taken".

2 - Rush out, pants at my ankles, butt covered in bowl-presents and check my dogs. I like to call this plan "The Maternal Mother Plan, But Seeing As I Am Neither Female Nor A Mother I Really Should Rename It".

3 - Somewhere in between. This plan involves the hurried wiping reminiscent of a cheap maid and a brown patch on the inside of my pants, also reminiscent of that same cheap maid.

I chose plan 3. Aren't I the clever one? I wiped poorly, leaving somewhat of a "you missed a spot" spot on my cheeks. Fly unbuttoned, I waddled to check my living room. Not a trek, but enough to turn my underpants into that second bathroom I've always wanted. The dogs were fine - my guess is that one of them did fall off of a chair or slip over, but was fine and simply yelped because of its sissy nature. Those dogs need to be culled for scientific purposes, à la Japan. Did anyone else think that that sounded like I want Japan culled? Well, if it makes you feel better, I didn't mean that the entirety of Japan needs to be culled, just those that hunt whales.

I hobbled back to the bathroom, lowering my trousers as I walked, hoping in vain to minimise the damage like some sort of washroom army general. I have many medals, and no one can take that away from and old veteran like me. I sat down without even looking at the inside of my underwear and began to wipe. Luckily for me, my underpants were kind enough to do it for me! They're a true friend. How many others would be willing to wipe your cheeks all in the name of camaraderie?

Fucking life. Really. It's like some strange sit-com where no one watches, yet it is not cancelled despite the actor and writer's wishes! It probably screens on Fox, considering their pathetic misinterpretation of good as bad and vice versa.

Or perhaps the dogs simply set me up, yelping to get my attention and send me carreening out of the toilet, ready to kiss booboos and bandaid scrapes with a Toy Story bandaid. I bet they're laughing right now... That's it, I am looking into those books on Amazon.com as I type.

*Since when did the world become three people?

New happenings

Please excuse my lackluster wording, as it is 9:30 in the morning.

Some things have happened in between my previous post and this one. The Sniper and Spy unlockables (as well as several new maps and bug fixes/alterations) have been released for Team Fortress 2. This is good.

My Internet connection has been capped due to downloading 3 G.B. server software - don't worry, my download limit isn't 3 G.B., but I usually fill up about 85% of my 20 G.B. limit.

Michael Jackson has died. I will not resort to cheap jokes... or will I? Yes, I will. I apologise for my behavioural discrepancy there for a moment and will try never to do that again.

Now small boys won't have to check their closets for the Bogeyman - because he's dead.

Let's just hope he doesn't come back as a zombie, or we'll all be really, really, really entertained.

No amount of plastic surgery can help a crook heart.

The headline on tomorrow's papers: "Michael Jackson dead - boy scouts rejoice.".

That's enough for me now, as I prepare my flame suit. But hey, if the King of Pop has taught us anything, it's that bad publicity is still publicity. Isn't it just right that I use his methodology to capitalise on his death? That was rhetorical, of course.

Yes, I never really liked the little black man. I am talking about Michael Jackson, of course.

Insert usless title here. Or not; I'm up for whatever...

Again, I am sitting here late at night, watching Back to the Future and committing myself to this fruitless blog. One of my friends claims that the 90s teenage sit-com Kenan and Kel is better than Futurama. This is ludicrous! Futurama's themes of social and political satire are witty and presented with a great plot. We can associate our current sociopolitical state with the post-war/famine/holocaust hellhole of the 30th century. How can one relate to Kenan and Kel? "Oh no, I accidentally locked myself in a neighbour's house!" or "Oh no, we ran out of orange soda!" or "Oh no, my father hates my bumbling comic-foil of a best friend and expressed his rage through the majestic medium of screaming!". It doesn't nearly have the same effect, eh? My friend obviously has some more thinking to do regarding his television favouritism.

Speaking of Futurama, I am in a constant, permanent and invariable state of elation now that Futurama has been renewed for a second time! This is wonderful news for myself and all people like myself. Nerds. You happy now? I said what we were all thinking. Well, I typed what we were all thinking. Well, I typed what I was thinking. Well, to be honest, I'm really not too sure if I even thought that, come to think of it. What, I'm confused - what am I thinking about again?

But enough of that tired joke, here's one that I prepared earlier! I thought of a new superhero called Efficient Online Game Man. He is able to use his special Internet Vision to seek out playable servers! He is faster than a nerd's connection! He's able to leap Asian pings in a single bound! He can refresh his server list faster than you can say "Kicked: Ping was too high." Meh, it looked better in my mind, rather than on the Internet where everyone can see my abominations unto humor.

As far as the videos are coming, they are not. I am lazily flicking through various YouTube videos for a new Fake Translation, as well as a Brady Bunch parody and a very introspective yet funny mash-up of clips. That's all that I will divulge as of yet because you, lone reader, require an incentive to visit again! Please tell me that you're going to visit again. Please. I need people to admire me... *sobs*...

I am unsure as to how to end this post (what's new?), so as I have done so well in the past, I will simply allow the momentum of this paragraph to peter out into obscurity.

...

The end? Is that what I should write? Yeah, that'll do.

Just another typical post

Before I go any further (or anywhere at all), I wish to liberate myself from any sticky formalities that I have inadvertently established for myself throughout the life of this blog:

- There are new videos on the way; consisting of a new Fake Translations video and a mystery video.
- I am getting a new graphics card.
- I am bored.
- No one reads this.

With those phatic trivialities out the imaginary window, let's start by actually writing something of merit.

...

...






...


















...











Wait, did I write "something of merit"? Shit, I think someone slipped me something again.