You know, a lot of people probably think that my girlish love of videogames is purely a side-effect of having lived with a gamer for three years, but truly, it goes deeper than that. Nobody reads Penny Arcade, writes reviews for Game Rankings.com and watches X-Play on G4 Tech TV for fun unless they are pretty far down the rabbit hole of gaming culture (Although, come ON, who wouldn’t find this comic funny? He had his URETHRA removed! Ha ha ha!)
My current abode is sadly without gaming joy, in that it has no consoles and my PC games are in storage, so I must rely on the kindness of others to get my fix. I have a standing invite from
Imagine my delight then, when in the space of two days I coincidentally ran into
Petar and I took care of the important things first and cracked a bottle of red. He warmed up by playing some Hitman so I could enjoy an amusing cutscene with voice acting by Alec Baldwin. I warmed up by burying my hands wrist-deep in cat belly fur (Melly, your cats really are the loveliest sluts). Then we got down to business and played a solid 18 holes of Outlaw Golf 2, which featured a haunted nighttime course, a stripper avatar wearing Daisy Dukes (my character) and a hippie chick avatar with rage issues sporting a purple unitard (Petar’s character). The commentary was extremely reminiscent of The Guy Game, my most shameful gaming pleasure, and of course I liked it even more because I conquered Petar on the links. I am the white-trash golf queen! Look upon my nine iron, ye mighty, and despair!
As the wine worked its magic and Melly arrived home, we got the munchies and ordered Chinese food. Always a poster girl for healthy vegetarian eating, Melly asked us to excavate the tender chicken bits at the heart of the deep fried doughballs she was craving, and thank goodness she did, because when I cracked one of mine open for her, there was a surprise treat of extra protein inside! A gross hard-shelled beetle of some kind had found its way into my chicken ball, wings and legs perfectly preserved by the deep fryer. Naaaasty. Petar disposed of the little fellow in his doughy grave and got rid of my polluted chopsticks, and I proceeded to continue eating anyway, clearly indicating my advanced state of drunkenness.
A great afternoon all around. I believe I also agreed to see Rocky Balboa with Petar, after he gave me the sad puppy story about how nobody else wanted to go with him – perhaps a wine-influenced decision, but I think it could be fun, especially if I get to see him cry during the highly emotional final fight scene. Also, boxing is technically a part of my family heritage thanks to Grandad Ron’s great-grandfather William Perry, The Tipton Slasher, who was the all-England bare knuckle boxing champion from 1850 until 1857, when he lost his title and his pub due to being a deluded old man who thought he could still stand in the ring… much like Mr. Balboa.
The funniest part of my day was when I got home, feeling kind of woozy, and talked about my gaming marathon to Keira, who had declined to join me and meet new folks due to not feeling terribly sociable. Apparently my earlier persuasive techniques had failed to include talking up the key facts that Petar is handsome, unattached and a lover of women. As you might imagine, I was given a pretty serious telling off (read: was yelled at) for my omission of these important details. Sorry cousin! I really thought I’d mentioned all that. And I did talk you up as pretty, skinnier than me and attractively freckled, so I get credit for that, right?
I also just heard a FANTASTIC piece of news, in that one of my favorite people is now happily engaged to be married, and although I won’t give it away in case she hasn’t had time to call everyone yet, I want to wish her every happiness and much love and I will come visit soon!
Yes, but did you get to play Megaman I-III? No, you did not. I recommend you skip the experience; it will ruin the nostalgic memories. I was sad that my enemies did not squirt realistic blood and my hands were bored from alternating between jump-shoot-jump-shoot.
Beetle Ball?
Perhaps it is the fact that you were a wee bit inebriated upon your return last night that you fail to recall the details correctly: There was no yelling of any sort! Simply an expression of disappointment that you failed to mention key details about where we would be going; or rather, to whom we would be going to. I am oh-so fond of handsomeness, unattachment and lovers of women! I am sure such terrible neglect will not be repeated. 😉
…and as a side note, I find it interesting that my freckles are one of few primary details given. I tend to forget I have them, and that they are somewhat of an anomoly. Does everyone see freckles this way? I wonder.
You know, as gross as that dung ball should seem to me given the context, when I look at it all I can see is a falafel. Which is giving me a whole new set of problems with international cuisine.
And I will preserve my cheerful Megaman memories. They will not be sullied in the same way that I ruined my recollections of Oregon Trail by trying to play it on a Pentium. The incredible new speed of the processor caused my pioneers to starve to death because the little squirrels and deer ran by at light speed: not even the semi-automatic speed of my single-shot rifles helped my hunters to shoot them for food. The little buggers were just too fast. Carmen Sandiego aged pretty well, though. I still love the henchmen.