Spawn outside military base. Find sweet old timey rifle. Scale air traffic control tower. Accidentally kill an unarmed survivor who's crept up alongside you without saying anything. Shriek girlishly as his unseen friend shatters every glass pane within ten feet under a hail of bullets. Run downstairs, flee out the back door, get shot. Stumble into some thickets, fire back haphazardly even as you bleed out. Narrowly escape as your attacker repositions for cover. Bandage yourself and continue fleeing. Eventually settle down to eat, hurt and exhausted but pleased with your cunning escape from certain death.

Be teleported into the same space as 50 other players and killed by a confused gentleman with an axe.

I've been denying this for a year and a half, telling myself that I have little love to give and thus have nothing to gain from a romantic relationship, but here's the truth: I still love the man I met in Ireland. I think he's an ass, and I never want to see or hear from him again, but I still love him same as I ever did. If I can go on feeling this way for so long despite being so bitter and angry toward him at the same time, how am I to accept this notion that I'm made to be alone? My capacity for love is my purpose in life - Without it, I'm nothing. With it, I can at least fool a single man into thinking me a god for a few brief moments at a time. That's good enough for me.

Spent the entire night dreaming about laying in bed trying to sleep. I'm exhausted.

I think that's true, anyway. I read it on the back of a cereal box. The cereal didn't taste that great, but it did make me think.

That's not really what I'm looking for in a breakfast food.

kill me

They showed me my cereal (not their cereal????) and some money that made the queen sad. We talked for a bit and I learned that the British have infinite mustaches, but only if they think real hard on the names. I saw that they were famished and, being the doting mother I am, I shuttled them to the nearest sub-skeevy burger joint I could find.

We talked about things like 'mad milk' and 'bad hair mayor' and 'how do you not know who Sarah Palin is, what country are you living in' 'I can't talk about Mass Effect 3' and "Gaw, lookit. It's so big... Gaw."

I didn't want to say anything then, but I had a really good penis pun lined up. It's uh. It's gone now. Sorry.

The site closes on a crisp autumn morning to no fanfare, no prior announcement. In its place is a single line of text:


"The Aristocrats"

One of my dogs killed a baby sparrow today. It's eating at me because I'd saved another one the day prior, and it hopped right into my hand. I don't think it was the same one, but I could've saved it had I simply reacted quicker. I was just in time to feel it die in my hands. I don't hold it against my dog; it's my fault for not being stricter with him about chasing animals out of the yard.

I hate death. Loathe it. Especially when it comes too soon. Baby birds don't deserve to bleed.

fuck video games

lol @ nintendo

I'm so sick of shooters. Especially brown ones. Especially brown ones about shooting brown people. I don't care about brown people.

Wait, wait, wait, that came out wrong, let me start again.

I'm a pretty randy guy, and fairly playful besides, but I don't really like sex all that much. I guess it could be that my only experiences with it have ranged from bizarre to downright tepid, but I find that I'm very much happy to resign my sex life to doing weird kinky stuff over the internet. In truth, my libido may be the only thing that keeps me writing consistently - I'm sure I've written at least three bibles worth of lovingly detailed paw description alone.

I wonder if maybe I -shouldn't- be so content with this. For better or for worse, I'm a passionate person - I find it very difficult to maintain friendships that don't carry a certain intimate charge. When I'm getting to know a person, I want to know them inside and out, front and back, better than they even know themselves. You'd think such a personality would lend itself to a certain degree of sexual promiscuity, yet here I am very merrily winding my nights up by writing multiplayer smut in the company of friends and/or perfect strangers.

I guess it's not the act of sex that satisfies me so much as the emotional payoff of knowing I showed someone a good time. That probably sounds like the rationalization of someone who hasn't seen action in a while, but it's true: Nothing gets my rocks off harder than knowing I bowled someone over with prose alone. That nagging insecurity lingers regardless - I guess I'd like to experience that feeling in the flesh at least once, but I just don't know if I'm even wired that way.

Whatever the case, I'm happy to occupy an era in which people can partake of one another so freely. There can't be any shame in that alone.

Aught. So many wonderful ways to use it!

The wind is pushing meeeee, pushing meeeeee~

It's pushing me, you guys.

it be pushin'

Good game, great game, but Chris Metzen seriously needs to take a back seat to some of the writers who've joined Blizzard since WoW. His schlock was great in the early 90's, but the medium and the people who use it have matured since then. You can easily tell who was writing what - The flow of the main story reads like a bad Saturday morning cartoon complete with friends who exist only to be kidnapped, but the incidental situations and dialogue you run into along the way are almost uniformly charming. I can't help but notice a pattern when looking back on WoW, as its narrative suffers from a similar contrast in quality.

Having said all that, the gameplay bears the typical Blizzard polish we're all used to. If you enjoy breaking monsters open to play with the shiny new toys inside, I promise you'll enjoy this. Just do yourself a favor and skip the in-game cutscenes. Oh, and recruit Lyndon as soon as you can, you'll thank me later.

What kind of inhuman monster puts double chocolate chip muffins in a banana nut muffin box? NOW THEY TASTE LIKE BANANA NUT. FUCK

Penguins are very dapper. That's why we have to kill them all.

Let's all play Monday Night combat. I love you. Let's play it.

Why is it that I can't flick past the front page without seeing something in a damn diaper these days? Seriously, go check it right now. If there isn't at least one grown ass furry in a diaper, I guarantee you'll see one in a minute or two.

Jesus christ!

Louisville and Kentucky just played in New Orleans for a spot in the championship game last night. Kentucky won, prompting the fans to storm out into the streets and start setting fire to the city.

Kentucky's fans, not Louisville's. I don't know either.

That ending was some bullshit. I expected that I would be gaining a glimmer of hope in exchange for horrific sacrifice of some sort. Was totally prepared for a downer ending. Not... Whatever the hell that was just now. All that emotional buildup and tension for what might've been the single the single biggest anti-climax in the history of the medium.

What the fuck.