Cee-Vo

Where Do We Go From Here?

2011-01-02T10:45:00.000-08:00

Holy crap, has it been a while. I almost forgot there was a time where I'd produce drivel about video games and other nerd culture this-n-that for all the Internet to read. I guess I felt it bored people so I must've stopped? Or was I just too damn lazy to write a review of Red Dead Redemption? In any case, here's a rundown of the blank spot in 2010.

The most interesting thing to come out of it was bartending school. Now, some people are going to ask why someone with a Bachelor's degree is turning around and going back to school... for bartending. Especially someone who SWORE OFF ever doing anything school-related ever, ever again. Well, the reasons are thus: One, with the economy pretty much sucking balls, jobs are tough to find, particularly jobs in advertising in Podunk County, Oklahoma. Oh, I could move, but everywhere else sucks as bad as Oklahoma as far as I'm concerned. Even you, Dallas/Fort Worth. Two, I kind of got stuck getting my degree in what it pertained to so that when I started hating it there was no point in going back unless I enjoyed giving OSU more money. And three, well, bartending is pretty cool. So I went for it.

Blue Label is situated on Brookside, the west end of Tulsa. Brookside is basically a mile of Peoria Street that someone decided to sweep up, ridding it of the bums, crackheads, gang members and other ne'er-do-wells. Then they offered the buildings to avant-garde business opportunists and now the entire mile is full of hipsters. Anyway, it's a hell of a lot better going to school on Brookside instead of North Peoria, where OSU is. North Peoria is close to Greenwood, where the infamous Tulsa Race Riots occurred. Being white there isn't exactly frowned upon, and I'm not inherently racist, but there's a haunt of anger looming over North Peoria, like a bad moon. And now I'm wondering why I'm giving history lessons. Blue Label being on Brookside offered one unique plus - it was the perfect opportunity to sample the local cuisine. I'll just say it beat the hell out of Subway.

The school itself only lasted a couple weeks. I have to say I learned more technical material in eight days than I did in one year of college. It helped that I have a natural desire to concoct and mix things together, and now I can put it to practical use. What worried me was the final test, which involved making 12 drinks in less than seven minutes. The passing minimum score was a 90, and that allotted for only one or two mistakes. It was a nerve-wracking nightmare, but I passed it. On my tenth try.

The test was seperated into orders of three drinks, where they usually shared one or two ingredients among each other. On the final try I had done the first three sets near flawless, except I screwed up on an ingredient and there went ten points, so it had to end perfectly. My drinks were, to my knowledge, a Kir, a Bahama Mama, and a Greyhound. These drinks don't exactly share much of anything. So I scrambled. I hit into the Bahama Mama since it had the most and launched it to the bar. The Kir had me flustered because it was a wine drink we never really practiced on, so I threw a garnish in it. Then I paused. "No? That's not right. Well, it's now or never." So I took it out. Garrett, my instructor, showed a sign of panic when I put the garnish in, and relaxed when I removed it, so I was on to something. He was also counting down the seconds left - "Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen..." Then... the hell was that third drink he called for? It was a juice drink. It has vodka. Dammit. I threw in grapefruit juice and expected another loss. But Garrett smirked and held his hand out.

"Congrats, man, you did it. You passed." I nearly shit.

With a score of 90 and a time of 6:49, I became the 32nd, 33rd, or 30-something-th graduate of Blue Label. So to my instructors Garrett and Mike and fellow student Anthony, thank you for the opportunity to prove to myself I can do something and put it to use.

Since then I've been generally milling about making drinks for get-togethers. I've yet to get an actual job doing it, but who knows where my career is headed anymore.

And now of course anyone who knows me knows I've got to talk about games. But instead of busting out forty-paragraph reviews, I'll cut to the chase.

The previously mention Red Dead Redemption takes the place of GTA as my sandbox game of choice. It's a westerned-themed game with GTA properties like gunplay, riding horses this way and that, and hunting animals. I have to make a confession - I have a secret boner for westerns. Not that I've ever seen a John Wayne flick, and in fact I thought Shane was the most homosexual nonsense ever recorded, but I do find myself watching a Larry McMurtry series and gelling into a lethargic haze. Red Dead has that style of storytelling mixed with do-whatever gameplay. Also, bears are genuinely frightening. I do have the expansion game, Undead Nightmare, which is Red Dead with zombies (I do, however, have an anti-boner for zombies) that I've yet to sit and play. It has zombie bears, and that's gotta be fucking scary as hell. Zombears.

Just Cause 2 was another post-SSFIV game that I kinda fell in love with. Not because it's really that good; in fact, it's quite mundane and devoid of character. But it was a decent enough "fuck-off" game that I sorely desired to play after GTA IV proved to be too serious to provide nonsensical lack of reprimand for dicking around. And the story is only seven missions long, the rest being random side quests and near-unlimited military bases and towns to take over. After finishing I saw little reason to continue.

One series I'd been questioning was DJ Hero. After getting the game and turntable controller for the black market price of $40 at Toys-R-Us, I knew why I questioned it so... it's fun as hell. Unlike Guitar Hero, which provides teens and substance-abusers a chance to feel hip by playing "My Name Is Jonas" on a Fischer-Price guitar, DJ Hero takes two songs and mashes them together so you can scratch and turn on your Fischer-Price turntable. I sure as hell wasn't going to pay the original retail price of $129.99 (gaw-dayum), so I waited until Activision realized that nobody was going to get a mortgage to buy their damn peripheral-based games anymore and lower the price. So now I've been diddling around on that game and the appropriately-titled sequel, DJ Hero 2.

On the shelf to play are the previously-mentioned Undead Nightmare, as well as Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood. So those should keep me busy... when I'm not trying to get through my Deadwood, Full Metal Panic, Deadliest Catch, Bleach, Fullmetal Alchemist, and Married... With Children DVDs. Oy vey. Plus Marvel vs. Capcom 3 is coming out next month. I originally didn't have such a bent boner for it, but as they've revealed their lineup, I have no choice: Felicia, Deadpool, She-Hulk, X-23... yeah, gonna love it.

There's not much else to say. Hopefully I'll start using this Blogger more frequently, since it's the great outlet for my mind. Salud, friends.

-C.

Fight For Your Right To Pants Party - Super Street Fighter IV.

2010-05-02T13:44:00.000-07:00

I ambled along diligently during that morning, waiting patiently like a smoker with his cigarettes nestled deep within the confines of his own anus, dying for a smoke but not wanting to have to explain why he's pulling his pants down while shaking uncontrollably. Those cigarettes were there, but he'd have to wait. Cut to me scampering across the aisles of Target, pushing a cart filled with cat food and cat litter for my cat that requires such necessities, until we met. I locked eyes with it and the hopeful sales sticker underneath it. "Free $5 Gift Card With Purchase!" it blurted. The blood rushed from my head into parts unmentionable. I went further down the aisle and pressed the Associate Assistance button so that I could hold this beloved object in my own arms. Finally a dippy-looking employee plodded over and I requested that he allow me to purchase this beautiful treasure. As he rang up my transaction, he made meager small talk, mentioning that he played Soulcalibur IV and preferred the essence of modern, 3D fighting games. I nearly laughed in his Clearasil-coated face. As I walked away, I opened the bag it was placed in and admired it, but I also checked to make sure everything was intact. Target has had a history of selling games without having the actual game inside the case, which makes for an uneasy return for a proper purchase. I continued to titter about that poor, wayward employee.

Fuck you and your Soulcalibur, pal.

I have Super Street Fighter IV.

Super Street Fighter IV kicks ass. My review should be summed up in this one picture.

To many people, this looks, feels, and possibly tastes like last year's pants-cummingly (mine, apparently, anyway) radicatubular game, Street Fighter IV. And really, it is to some degree. But the things that Capcom added to this uber-upgrade make it more desireable; calling it a venerable sequel isn't quite justifiable, judging from past installments of SF being basic upgrades of the same old shit. I'll admit it.

The most obvious change is the roster setup, which includes ten more characters, many from previous games. I was sold when Dee Jay and T. Hawk from Super Street Fighter II were added, but throwing in palatable choices like Guy and Cody (from SF Alpha 3, but better known as the stars of Final Fight), goofy Alpha fighter Adon, and three decent choices from the SFIII series (Dudley, Ibuki, and Makoto) seemed better than reasonable. Sadly, my prayers for the addition of the major boobage that is Rainbow Mika were left unanswered, but at least Capcom politely omitted fucked-out characters like Alex and the Yun/Yang twins. If using Dudley as my favorite SFIII punching bag wasn't fun enough, he's even better actually playing AS him. Then of course, there are the two new characters, Juri and Hakan.

Juri's batshit crazy, but a solid contender for Japan's "most desired SF body pillow."

Juri was announced earlier on along with Dee Jay and T. Hawk, and caught my eye if only because she stood out better than SFIV's gang of newbie misfits. Basically, she's a Tae Kwon Do character, which is one of my preferred methods in other fighters and a first for Street Fighter. Also, the shirt thing covering her tits is shaped like a spider, and that's silly. But Capcom threw in all their chips when they showed the other noob earlier this year. Hakan is a Turkish oil wrestler who touts the joy of olive oil while squeezing the living shit out his opponents, sometimes between his legs. His methods are baffling, but surprisingly Hakan is fun and easy to play. Honestly, these two are better characters than the last game's gang, which were okay but not as memorable.

Hakan enjoys the virtues of over-lubrication THIS much.

So the game has a total of 35 fighters, so that means that an ass-load of time must be spent unlocking half of them, right? NO. Capcom dishes us a solid by giving us all of them as soon as the disc hits the tray, opposing last year's seemingly impossible task of getting them all (which I did, but I'm just that fucking awesome). SSFIV also lovingly omits the aneurysm-inducing Survival and Time Attack modes, which needed beaten in order to unlock character colors and taunts. This time around, unlocking those only involves playing as each fighter so many times. Sadly, many of us were led to believe that alternate costumes were also available in the game, but once again gamers have to buy them online (which is a hassle for me, for reasons I won't dive into). And there's not an option to watch cinemas, which is wanky. But whatever.

Most of the enjoyment derived from SSFIV revolves around multiplayer, which is a Drawn Together worthy "AH-DUUHHHHHHH." There are plenty of online modes which I haven't played or have much desire to understand, but dammit all they exist. And next month a free downloadable "Set Up Your Own Tournament" pack might be juicy enough for me to hook up my Xbox up to the Siesta Internet. Yet I think I'm still the only one who relishes on SF games nowadays, so I'll be flying solo yet again.

So Super Street Fighter IV is pretty kickass, but coming from someone who still has his childhood K-Mart tee of the four SF bosses looking menacingly Americanized, this may be glorification at its peak. But anyone who enjoyed older fighters that missed out last year will get a hoot out of it. And for $40, it's not a wallet raper, either. Gamers like Lieutenant Target Retard might not appreciate the subtlety of a 2D plane or the lack of Star Wars guest characters, but I suppose that's their loss.

For your health,

-C.

The Bioshock Deuce, Hedgehog Go-Karts and Other Assorted Treasure.

2010-04-20T17:16:00.001-07:00

It's been a grand old time since I last sought out to write about my adventures. Lately there have been too many to share. I'll spare the personal stuff to write about the things that make this blog so unreadable: video games!

If 2007's Bioshock was a smash success, consider its sequel, aptly titled Bioshock 2, a smash through the boarded-up hole caused by the first one. People clamoured and cried for silly things like multiplayer and a Big Daddy suit to climb in and a drill to turn Splicers (the enemies) into pudding. Well, they got those in here, except they're not exactly exciting. Except maybe multiplayer, as I don't play Xbox Live and have no interest anyway.

The story mimicks the first one in that you're a victim of circumstance and there's a megalomaniac playing cat-and-mouse with you, with twists and turns and plenty of hoo-hah along the way. Much like the first go-round, tykes called Little Sisters are one part of your currency, and it's your job to deal with them. Save them, and you will gain substance called ADAM and she turns into a real child. Kill them, and, well, you still get paid but you kind of feel like a dick. But before you get your hands on one, you have to kill the Big Daddy protecting her. But a new twist on the Little Sister gameplay involves having her harvest ADAM for you if you choose to let her live for a while. While she does her thing, it's your duty to protect her from Splicer attacks. Another twist is that after dealing with all the Little Sisters in an area, you must then face the Big Sister. Hoo boy.

Here's a glimpse of the Big Sister. Internet sez fap fap fap.

The developers of Bioshock 2 had a hand in the first game, and it shows with their approach at delivering this one. Most of the world of Rapture feels just as dark and twisted as it did before, which doesn't completely change the way the game is laid out, but doesn't necessarily ruin it, either. What does feel both different and better is the combat. You're now able to dual-wield weapons and Plasmids, or powers, which dramatically affects harrowing battles. Traps and hacking security have improved as well, since a good portion of gameplay derives from setting up Kevin McCallister-esque booby traps to protect your Little Sister. Most fights are derivative until about halfway through the game, when Brute Splicers and the pain-in-the-ass Alpha Daddies appear. My best approach was fully upgrading Security Command and Hypnotize, and, err... I won't spoil the delight. Let's just say the game stopped being so damn hard after that find.

There's not much else I can say about Bioshock 2 that can't be said about the first game, which was fan-fucking-tastic. Although this plays as more of a glorified downloadable expansion to part one, I loved the combat changes and otherwise unchanged scenario and atmosphere.

The other game I've been playing seems more like I've lost my mind or my balls. In any case, it's Sonic & Sega All-Stars Racing. It's basically a Sonic the Hedgehog version of Mario Kart, albeit nearly 20 years too late. Oh sure, Sonic has had racing games before, but they were running games. Now you drive a goddamn hardcore race car. Vroom vroom and shit. And yes, it has Sonic and his shitty friends taking up about half the roster. It was the other half that sold me on this game. The other half is a lineup of Dreamcast game characters from Jet Grind Radio, Samba De Amigo, Space Channel 5, Chu Chu Rocket, and Shenmue, to name some. The 360 version even has Banjo and Kazooie, which is novel in a man-baby way.

Holy piss, it's Jet Grind RadiOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

As ludicrous as it sounds, this racer is quite competent in terms of just being a dumb fun racing game. It revolves around a catch-up system that will randomly toss out an "All-Star" power up to the suckiest racer. These range from stupid (Sonic turns into Super Saiyan, er, Sonic) to LAWL insane (Ryo Hazuki rides a forklift). Regardless of what it does, it will likely put whoever used it in first place. I'm not sure how this game will fare considering it does the horrible job of whoring out yet another Sonic product, but if you have kids, love Dreamcast, or think that the Mario Karts are starting to suck like I think they do, give it a shot. It's ten bucks cheaper than any other fancy-pants game you're thinking about buying.

Speaking of buying, my list can't be completed without mentioning a few others. I'm currently meandering on Lunar: Silver Star Harmony for the PSP. It's just like the other Lunar Silver Stars, except portable... and a better version. I also bought Just Cause 2 in a fit of blind excitement. I haven't even unwrapped it yet, however, since Super Street Fighter IV (HURRRRRRRRR) comes out next week, followed by Red Dead Redemption in May, and Crackdown 2 in June. It's looking to be one hell of a summer.

I'll close with a picture of Jessica from Lunar. Happy fapping.

-C.

"My grandma said she'd beat me with a bicycle chain if I masturbated to my anime dolls." - Shawn Elliott as "Ralphie"

The Story of Chief Aggro: Showdown.

2010-02-27T14:31:00.000-08:00

As the sun strolled over the earthen crust and the mountain peaks shone brightly, a strange air permeated the Awesome Valley. The town was bustling with the usual business. The trade post clerk was sweeping the wooden slats that made up the porch. Horses were hitched to fencings around the main strip, swiping the flies away with their tails and the occasional shake of their heads. Women strode along with their baskets carrying goods as children ran past screaming and snapping their pop guns at each other. Men sat at the saloon bar with their glasses of whiskey wetting the countertop with perspiration as the pianist swaggered about his craft with a stirring rendition of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy." The sheriff sat at the end of the bar. His guns were hostlered but loomed outward to warn the patrons that their shift wasn't over for the day. A thud echoed through the room and the sheriff looked to see Bob Stallion slumped against the wall, giggling like a schoolgirl with the saloon's premiere marm, Lusty One-Eyed Pearlie. Stallion noticed the sheriff giving him a wary look.

"Sheriff." he tipped his hat as he stood up.

The sheriff nodded. "You keep your poontanging to a hush, Stallion, it's still daylight."

"Yessir." Stallion took his cyclops prostitute by the arm and hustled upstairs to negociate some land trade.

The pianist was about to emulate Montell Jordan, breaking into "This is how we doooo ehhhht...!" when the saloon doors swung open. The deputy stumbled through with sweat and dirt sticking to his shocked face. "Sheriff! Sheriff! He's here! He's in town!"

"Gulldammit fuck, Brucie, what's all this mamma jamma?" the sheriff exclaimed.

"It's HIM, sheriff," Deputy Brucie bellowed, "it's CHIEF AGGRO!" A record somewhere in town scratched to a halt.

The noise and banter froze at the mere mention of that name. One patron pulled out his pistol and shot himself in the head out of desperation, yet everyone else stared down the sheriff for an answer. He hopped off the barstool with his glass still in his hand.

"Well, I guess we better get this over with."

As the sheriff, deputy, and other patrons walked outside, they saw that hell itself made a housecall to this small community. The clouds covered up the sun to protect it from shining down on damnation, and most of the townsfolk had sought shelter in their homes or peered through the shop windows like scared rabbits. A lone tumbleweed rustled down the main road, moving along to stop at the feet of what had caused all this ruckus. Chief Aggro looked down at the spherical foliage and with one swift movement crescent moon kicked it into splinters and a fine red mist. Only Chief Aggro could make a tumbleweed bleed to death.

"Blue blazes!" Deputy Brucie choked. "D'joo see...?"

The sheriff held his hand up to silence his partner. He sat his empty glass on the porch railing and walked down onto the dirt path. His eyes met Chief Aggro's, but not wanting to let his cool down, he unlodged a cigarette from its pack and lit it. Only the sound of a muffled Stallion negociating his terms with his lady friend could be heard as the upstairs curtains shifted about. The sheriff scoffed. "What's your business here, Chief?"

Chief Aggro spat a gob of chewing tobacco onto the street. "I'm in the business of doing business, Sheriff Fuckface." He enunciated his reason by smacking his fist into his cupped palm.

The sheriff took a drag off his cigarette. "Sheriff Fuckface was my father. Now I'll only ask you one more time; what are you doing in this town? These folks have done nothing..."

"I want my rematch!" Chief Aggro stomped on the ground. "I want the rematch against Pancho Enchilada el Bacala! That motherfucker still owes me fifteen dollars!"

"Pacho's dead, Chief." the sheriff replied, "'Fraid your punch upset his colon a little too much. Done shit himself to death."

"FAAAHHH! HYAAHHH!" Chief Aggro sent a Siamese Diamondback Fisticuff soaring through the air, sending a waft of sand and dirt across the road. "Then send me your second greatest warrior, that man from the Africas, Mbootie Akimbo."

"'Fraid he skipped town, Chief. Right after Pancho took his last poo."

"He is scared of me?" Chief Aggro folded his arms in protest.

"Nope. Jury duty." The sheriff finished his cigarette and flipped it to the ground. "Look, you've made your point time and time again. All of our best, well, you've beaten them in one way or another. There just aren't any more challengers left in this dusty town."

"Did Manuel McKinley's head ever return to his body after I destroyed his chance at the Best of the West Championship?" Chief Aggro asked.

"We could never find it after you done socked it off. I think the buzzards stole it by now." the sheriff replied.

"Then I shall fight that buzzard!" Chief Aggro shot his fist into the air. "I shall fight any and all buzzards who lay claim as the best fighter of this, this tired, ratty village!"

"They flew away."

Chief Aggro's face contorted into disappointment. He shot a glare at the sheriff, still standing calmly with a look of pity across his weathered face. Chief Aggro pointed at him. "Then I will fight you, Officer Asshat Pissypants."

"Well, if that's how it's gotta go." The sheriff unbuttoned his shirt and removed it along with his jeans to reveal a pair of regulation UFC fighting trunks, sponsered by Subway. He walked down the main road toward Chief Aggro as a beautiful blonde woman in a bikini strutted between them holding a "Round 1" sign. Chief Aggro looked smugly at the sheriff with his arms still folded. Stallion could still be heard fucking the whore.

The two squared off in the middle of the street. Horses began to whinny and some of the onlookers circled around them, cheered and whooping. As the fight was about to commence, and Deputy Brucie was about to ring the bell, a look of concern wiped across Chief Aggro's face. He stopped and stood up from his Brazilian Tai-Jitsu Detroit City stance.

"Wait. Hey, wait." He held his hand up. "What the protocol for having the sniffles?" Another record scratched to a halt in the distance.

"What in the name of fucking shit are you babbling about?" Deputy Brucie exclaimed. "The sniffles?"

"I have a temperature now." Chief Aggro wiped his brow. "I refuse to fight with any advantage given to my opponent." The crowd gasped in dumbfounded confusion.

"What's going on?"

"Is he actually serious?"

"He's not going to fight?"

"Fuck your common cold!"

Chief Aggro shot back, "Hey, fuck your own ass." He pulled out an ocarina and played it. Over the horizon, a Tyrannosaurus Megazord lumbered across the desert toward the town. The townsfolk shrieked and ran around as the mecha lurched to a halt right behind Chief Aggro. With one mighty bound, he lept into the fictitious beast and drove off into the sunset.

The sheriff won. Or so it seemed.

"Sheriff, you won!" Deputy Brucie slapped him on the back. "He was about a pussy lip away from digging your grave, too."

The sheriff shrugged and pulled out another cigarette. "He'll be back. He always comes back."

Suddenly, a loud crash came from inside the saloon. Something heavy stumbled down the stairs and rolled out the swinging doors. It was Stallion, dazed and crumpled with a pair of pantaloons on his head. He looked up at the sheriff and his deputy, grinning ear to ear.

"Boy, but if that wasn't the second-best birthday I done ever had!" he cheered as his bowtie spun in circles.

Everybody laughed, and the sheriff and Deputy Brucie high-fived.

The Story of Chief Aggro: Beginnings.

2010-02-18T11:28:00.000-08:00

The lands to the west hold many tales yet to be told. Fierce warriors trode upon the grasslands, searching for meaning to life, or perhaps a bit of skirt that needed the taming of a man's battle-weathered hands. Such stories can be heard, if not faintly, as the wind whips across the ancient lands of the Awesome Valley. Of course, now the valley is nothing more than some plain desert fields scattered with rock and the occasional bird of prey soaring overhead. Yet years ago, it was the home of one of the continent's greatest martial arts heroes of all time. As the sun sets to the west, and the jackrabbits burrow into their nests, the wind tells stories of Chief Aggro.

Chief Aggro's origins prior to his settlement in the Awesome Valley are more myth than fact. The one thing most folk can agree on is that, one blustery autumn eve, Chief Aggro appeared as if almost out of thin air. Some at that time believed the Chief was a living spirit wandering the land to seek revenge on his fallen tribesmen, and others saw him as a being not of this world, perhaps a moon of Jupiter. Chief Aggro himself boasted that he was the embodiment of a unity between Chuck Norris and some crazy fine bitch, perhaps a night elf, but as either did not exist for centuries to come it seemed unlikely, however not impossible. It is not important to note, for Chief Aggro's legacy would be left by himself.

Chief Aggro was adorned with various piercings and tattoos, each telling a tale of their own. His back was blessed with the marking of his immortal battle cry - "Fight Me or Fuck Me" - while his chest remained bare save a patch of woollen lamb's hair shaved into a Star of David, to keep the missionaries away. He also wore a grueling scar on his left nipple, once host to a metal stud piercing, lost in a ten-round championship match against Benicio De La Vega La Muerte at the Palms Casino. Chief Aggro had his balding hair shaped into what was supposed to be a proud, standing mowhawk, shaved by a blind shaman and blessed with oils and a touch of glitter. But the Chief was far too combat-weary to style it, and it lay flat to one side like the fin of a domesticated orca. What clothing Chief Aggro did wear was testament to his impending skill - a pair of blue Russell sportswear gym shorts and hi-tops stained with the blood of his victims and a streak of bison shit. He toted a man-purse - adamantly called a brohan satchel - that housed his trophies, various phone numbers of hot girls that had boned once or twice, and a CD collection of hardcore heavy metal, including a copy of the best of Grim Reaper .

Chief Aggro bore no weapons. No obvious ones, anyway. His right hand held his fist and his left held the fighting spirit, and that was more than enough. However, Chief Aggro did carry guns, at least the guns that were his bulging biceps that twinkled with perspiration after every cage match.

It is not known where Chief Aggro learned his technique, or techniques, as he bore a range of fighting styles that traversed both time and place. One consistent rumor is that at the age of four, Chief Aggro summoned the soul of Bruce Lee to travel to the past and train him in the mountains for seventeen years. But this meant it would involve learning the four thousand styles that Chief Aggro was only witnessed to using, and as Bruce Lee is known only for his kung-fu, it seems likelier that Chief Aggro had instead swam to the bottom of the Indian Ocean and unlocked the scroll that Lee would use much later to learn the techniques bestowed to Chief Aggro first. The mighty Chief was factually connected to the origins of Shaq-Fu, a technique used centuries later by Shaquille O'Neal. However, basketball was not yet introduced to the cultures, so Chief Aggro utilized a boulder carved into a sphere with five uncovered raptor rib bones and a pirate's cutlass. Despite its weight, Chief Aggro would dribble the rock, encompassing all aspects of ancient Shaq-Fu, including the dreaded "Shaq Attack" that left his opponents beaten and generally decapitated.

As the Awesome Valley began to notice Chief Aggro's wanton lust for battle and pussy, rumors sparked of the great chief's skill. Some claimed they witnessed him split an oak tree with the skin of his ballbag, fending off the herd of black bears that lived in it with a hornet's nest that fell and stuck to his ballbag and stung them into submission. A tribe of gypsies camped on the plateaus claimed to have seen him toss Superman into the center of the earth one hallowed evening. Or perhaps it was Ulysses S. Grant. It was dark and kind of far away. But they were certain it was Chief Aggro, as his labret piercing glistened in the moonlight and Anthrax's "Antisocial" echoed throughout the valley.

Almost as notorious as his combative skills were his lover skills. Many maidens were swept from their beds in the midst of the night to be fiddled with for the Chief's desire. Some were stricken with child, and even though Chief Aggro doubled-bagged his shit, his lustful rage forced his seed to explode through two, even three latex coatings, and once through a plate glass window. Despite the fact that Chief Aggro was not just any wayward cassanova, anyone standing in a five-foot radius from him for longer than twenty minutes was telekinetically raped.

The tribes of the Awesome Valley were both fearful and at awe with Chief Aggro. As time wore on, more legends of his deeds were whispered of to warn children and fan the flames of time onward. But for now, this was only the beginning of his story.

Super Boob Fun Time Japan Yes: Bayonetta.

2010-02-11T16:51:00.000-08:00

Yeah, yeah, games, games. And yet lately I've been pretty jaded with the latest stock of stuff I've been whittling away at. Prototype lunged at being a great game and fell flat on its monster tentacle face with mediocre elements and too many bullshit freezeups that forced reloads. Brutal Legend was good in its own right but tried to do too many things and failed to be great at any of them. And I can't even muster the reasoning to turn on the PSP, even though I have a decent reason to play it with another Jak & Daxter game on my shelf. Fuck the DS.

Then Bayonetta showed up, as if to say, "play me." In a dirty way.

Bayonetta's origins derive from the Devil May Cry series from Capcom, a set of games featuring an Asian ladyboy badass with guns and a sword and no need for prisoners. It's a basic 3D hack-n-slash that you either like or loathe. Bayonetta's ties to this series are solid, as they share the same creators. But the group of developers fled to Sega, changed their name, and left little to the imagination with this one.

There's a great deal of injustice being dealt to say that Bayonetta isn't screwed up. While the game mechanics are practically copied straight from DMC, they then hike the absurdity and sexism to near-catastrophic levels. The titular character is the best example, as she struts around in skintights attached to her oddly comely beehive hairdo. This is because her wardrobe is her hair, which metamorphs into various combative formations like a stiletto boot, a demon dog, or a bizarre devil parrot thing. This is combined with gun combat, and consider that she carries four guns - one for each hand, and one strapped to each boot. She uses all four rhythmically and with wanton precision, wildly shooting in every conceivable direction as the combos build up. She also has a vaguely sexual affinity for lollipops, which act as her healing items. Top this off with her sexy, yet weird British accent, which will either entice gamers or add to the crazy sense of humor of the game.

Bayonetta has a story far too insane to try and decipher in any review, not that it ultimately matters. The game's two focal points are deep, yet interesting, combat and ridiculous cutscenes (which add up to nearly half the game's overall time spent playing). Most objectives involve Bayonetta running through linear pathways, defeating alien-looking angels and cherub-faced dragons, and collecting halos that look strikingly like rings another certain Sega character cherishes. Scattered throughout the game are bosses that blather on about world domination... until Bayonetta shoots them or finds some offensive way to shut them up. There are also a couple of driving missions inspired by old arcade racers that break up the monotony of hack-n-slash and weird cutscenes.

Perhaps Bayonetta's biggest blessing-or-curse is the oft-mentioned absurdity. Obviously, Bayonetta's acute femininity teeters between hilarious and slight offensiveness. She tends to move about like a professional pole dancer, writhing and sliding around the stage as she fights like a Las Vegas-inspired Annie Oakley. Camera shifts and crafty pauses to accentuate her... ahem... curvature further the cause. The other point to bring up is the strange, Japanese sense of humor. How characters react to Bayonetta's antics are imaginable yet still funny to watch. Dialogue doesn't ever stray away from the joke that this game is supposed to be silly, and even the fighting music (a jazzy riff of Fly Me To The Moon) jumps on the insane bandwagon.

As you can see, Bayonetta has the major bewbage going on. Nice glasses, too.

I can't in all seriousness find many faults in Bayonetta's presentation as it never really takes itself seriously. The graphics are splendid, the combat is approachable, and the wackiness spills out like D-cups out of a tube top. Some may find it too childish or stupid, but Bayonetta charms in a way that few games I've played lately do.

For your health,

-C.

Avatard.

2010-01-25T16:44:00.000-08:00

Before the people who read this (two) who loved the blockbustering film Avatar (43 gajillion) get all bent out of shape about the title of this post, I'll say up front that I liked the movie. That being said, the rest of this will be a sort of anticlimatic drivel. I can only hope it doesn't come off that way. Being that I liked it, I will come out and say that it's not the bestestest movie ever made, nor do I enjoy it for the same reasons others might. On to business.

Avatar is a movie by James Cameron. I think that was the point of it all, but in case you weren't smashed in the goddamn face for not knowing that I thought I'd let that one out. To be honest, I've only seen a handful of his movies, and the ones I've seen (Aliens and the first two Terminators) were pretty enjoyable, although they didn't exactly age well. And contrary to belief, I've made a pact to refuse to watch Titanic, starting from its introduction to the world. I didn't see it because even Barney Fife could see how it would end. Romance, a tit shot, and a sinking boat... need I go further?

My skepticism toward Avatar mimicked that of Titanic's all those years ago - everybody came so hard they exploded their zippers which, when combined with the complimentary 3D glasses, looks extra cool. And I don't follow fads well. The previews did little to excite me and everyone's description of it led me to think this was a live action Ferngully: The Last Rainforest.

After seeing Avatar, I wasn't far off. But there was more to it than that.

The movie goes down like this: a former marine-turned-wheelchair warmer gets a second lease on life when his twin brother dies and he becomes the only person to power a remote-control blue space lemur beast, or Avatar. I get it! Anyway, with the help of Sigourney Weaver and the robot dork from Grandma's Boy, the space marine uses his avatar to encroach on Na'vi (this:)

territory, learning their ways and a little furry love along the way. But a cranky old space marine gets butthurt and wants to blow up shit, and the nice space marine wants to save the planet from American justice. And fucks a space lemur with his space lemur. And rides a giant flying dinosaur thing that fight helicopters. Oh, and the bad guys want to dig up space rock called Unobtanium (LAWL!), which only gets mentioned once because they then decide to just kick the Na'vi to the curb, but the Na'vi fight back... street lemur style.

Believe me, I would do a better job describing it but OH DAMN DAWG YOU GOTTA GO SEE THIS MOVIE FO REALZZZZZ! Or something like that.

For all its lack of originality, Avatar is indeed something I would recommend people go watch. If you're one of those folks who take one look at this movie and think it's the equivalent of movie herpes, smoke a joint before you do see it because it looks fantastic. I would argue that Avatar has the gnarliest special effects of any movie I've ever seen, and that says a lot.

Would you hump one of these chicks? The Internet would.

The things I would complain about, if I felt they dented up the film, are debateable. I watched it in 3D, which was alright for what it was but something I thought wasn't necessary to enjoy it. (I flat-out refused to watch it on IMAX. I HATE the idea of trying to watch a screen so big I have to physically turn to see everything. Pass.) And while the story was derivative and followed a lengthier plot from that old commercial where the Native American picks up litter and sheds a tear, I liked it for what it was and tried not to find any hidden meaning or political tomfoolery ingrained in the concept. I got it and moved on, and felt that overall it was in a place between good and great.

So if you're one of the seemingly few people who haven't watched Avatar, I wouldn't necessarily say go out of your way to see it but keep it in mind. It's a grood movie, and boy oh boy, the pretty colors.

Fuck Titanic.

-C.

2001-2009: The Decade of Vidya Gamings.

2010-01-15T16:59:00.000-08:00

If anyone reads these blogs, they might notice that I only seem to write about video games. It is my crutch; I know enough about it to come up with some solid gold. Whereas if I wrote about, say, how marketing affects contemporary society, I'd come up diarrhea sounds and draw a picture of Ronald McDonald having sex with a bag of money with the appropriate "$" label on it. Which sounds good unless that's your semester project for college. So now writing about games seems like a safe venture. Like writing about my favorite games of the last decade.

What I think are awesome, totally kick-ass games will likely be different from everyone else's. For one, I noticed I only picked games that came out in 2001 and thereafter, omitting 2000 altogether. I blame the fear that Y2K placed us in when it came to electronics, and for months afterward we all safely played with balls and sticks and elected George W. Bush into office. There are also no Call of Duty, Halo, or World of Warcraft games on it, which could get me friend declined in certain situations. I also chose to make Spinal Tap fans fill the room with stoney laughter by making this a "Top 11 Games of the Aughts." It was accidental, and I'll explain now.

#11 - Conker's Bad Fur Day (Nintendo 64, 2001)
Conker ended up on the ass end of my list for two reasons. One, it marks the end of innocence in my world of gaming. Two, while not a particularly great game, Conker was pretty unique. See, the N64 had an influx of these cute animal platform games (think Banjo-Kazooie and its ilk), and Conker stabbed all of them with bizarre, Scary Movie-esque parody. Flowers with tits, a singing poop monster, lame rip-offs of Medal of Honor and Resident Evil, and even a Matrix parody back when that was fresh. Even the most affluent of potheads couldn't fathom up half the absurdity of this game. One level has the doe-eyed titular character tricking snooty cows into drinking prune juice so they run over to shit in a sewer drain, only to get eviscerated by an angry bull. Again, Conker wasn't the best game (it was on the N64, after all), but I felt some pathetic desire to pay homage to that nutty system.

#10 - Disgaea: Hour of Darkness (Playstation 2, 2003)
This game reeks of animu idiocracy, and back when it first hit the American shores, I was all over that kind of nerd bullshit. I didn't even know how to play tactical games, but that didn't stop me. Disgaea has a steep yet forgiving learning curve, and allows for some incredibly life-changing replayability: think reaching level 9,999. I never sought to lose that much breath over this game and its awesome sequels and PSP ports, but Disgaea led on to me playing other good tactics games like Jeanne D'Arc and Final Fantasy Tactics. My best character in the game? A fire mage I named Mr. Trippy.

#9 - Saints Row (Xbox 360, 2006)
It may seem odd to place Saints Row the first is on here over the vastly superior sequel, but I say that the second game wouldn't have came without this opening the door. After the Grand Theft Auto series set the go-anywhere, do-anything genre ablaze on the PS2/Xbox generation, the wait for the serious GTA4 was far away. Saints Row, seeing this oppotunity, hopped on the 360 without any competition in sight. This gamble paid off. Saints Row took the gangland territory seizing aspect of GTA: San Andreas, but made it fun. They also did what GTA refuses to do: allow players to create their own character. Saints answered a lot of wishes GTA fans had in general and also helped out in not being a shitty clone like so many others. The sequel is the juicier, beefier, tittier version, but Saints Row set a bar for lethargic gamers everywhere.

#8 - Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney (Nintendo DS, 2005)

My only portable game on the list, Ace Attorney takes the idea of those Carmen Sandiego "Whodunits" and throws some strangely acceptable translation into it. In fact, Ace Attorney is a pure text puzzler wrought in some wacky Perry Mason universe. Unfortunately, I'm retarded when it comes to puzzle solving, so most of my time with this game was spent with a guide on what to do to beat the game (basically a script). But while I cheated my way through this game and the second and part of the third game, I really enjoyed the story and dialogue. It's also one of those games I'd let my grandma play if it didn't have weird Scooby Doo logic when it came to solving crimes.

#7 - Capcom vs. SNK 2: Mark of the Millennium 2001 (PS2/Xbox/GC, 2001)

This was why and how I got my PS2. I'm not going to go into meticulous detail about my love for this game. I love fighters. And while there's not much polish to it (reused Capcom character sprites are way off from the reanimated SNK characters), CVS2 marks the last hurrah of the classic 2D fighting game. Good stuff.

#6 - Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3 (PS2/Xbox/Gamecube/GBA, 2001)
Pro Skater 3 needed a home on my list for being a fond memory within my heavy PS2 usage. I dabbled to and fro in the Tony Hawk series in the early years, enjoying the arcadey gameplay and bevy of unlockables. Three was kind of the peak of this now-decaying franchise. Like Star Wars? Go play as Darth Maul. Like comic books? Wolverine's in this game. How about demon titties? Yes, go nuts, there's a firey devil babe here, too. This also marked the introduction of Bam Margera into my world, and it's never been the same since. CKY!

#5 - Kingdom Hearts (Playstation 2, 2002)
If someone told me I'd love a game where Donald Duck and Goofy hang out with the Breakfast Club that is Final Fantasy VIII, I'd tell them to fuck off. But Kingdom Hearts is just the game, and I do indeed love it. Taking action gameplay and tossing around some RPG elements, KH took two different franchises and smashed them together quite wonderfully. Some people hate it and call it sissy, but that's the cham of it. This isn't bloody or full of boobs; hell, the main weapon is a goddamn giant key. And while the sequel offered better things like playing as Jack Sparrow and no shitty Little Mermaid singalongs, this game, akin to my theory with Saints Row, bore out those grand things and therefore should be cherished.

#4 - Street Fighter IV (Xbox 360/PS3, 2009)
I've already announced my boner for this game in a previous blog, so I'll spare all that mush. I should explain why SFIV is so low on my list. It might have something to do with the fact that Super Street Fighter IV will be coming out this spring to replace it. Sadly, we'll have to wait until 2020 to see if that game will be the best game of this new decade. I think it will. If it has R. Mika then I will create a new number to surpass 1. I should also say that while I really, really love SFIV, there are a few other games that won over my love with more surprise...

#3 - Bioshock (Xbox 360/PS3, 2007-2008)
I'm not a big fan of first-person shooters, so imagine my "shock" (tee-hee!) when I decided to cash in my chips and play this game about a 1950s underwater utopia gone wrong. Whether it was the creaky submarine sounds, the strange retro decor, or a haunting Jolson tune emitting from a lone record player, this world of Rapture sucked me in. Watching a Big Daddy (think The Hills Have Eyes in a scuba suit) roam aimlessly with its Little Sister child was pure awe, as it would only attack when provoked. The sequel will be out next month and I will get it without question. But I have my doubts - Bioshock set a grand tone that'll be hard to recapture.

#2 - Jet Grind Radio (Dreamcast, 2001)

Ah, the Dreamcast. Such a waste of mirth and quirkiness. Sega's last console bore some really fucked-up, awesome games. My favorite of these being Jet Grind Radio, a game where you pick a Japanese roller blade punk and tag the city with graffiti. The story was awkward, the music was catchy, and the graphics were fucking FANTASTIC for a game coming from that time. After the eyesore games Nintendo pissed out, Jet Grind Radio was like breathing fresh oxygen after standing in the chamber of farts for five years. Sadly, the Dreamcast quickly died and hardly anyone takes the risk to make another game this wacky and Japanese anymore. It should also stand out that out of the eight Dramcast games I own, this is the only one that doesn't involve fighting. Salud.

#1 - Grand Theft Auto: Vice City (Playstation2/Xbox, 2002-2003)
Having a GTA game as my #1 game of the Aughts says something about my love of gaming in this day and age: I love fucking off. But the challenge of deciding out of sportsmanship to only pick one GTA game for this list proved tough. GTA3 was excluded, disproving my theory of letting the bearers of better seeds prosper. I never felt GTA3 was a breathtaking masterpiece, fun as it was. And GTA4 and its sub-sequels are all fine and dandy but sucked out what I loved about the series to begin with. GTA: San Andreas seemed like the surefire winner, as I've clocked in well over 100 hours just dicking around in the game's countryside. But it was Vice City, with its retro-80s chic, Scarface-meets-Miami Vice parody, and bucket of classic 80s music that won the whole thing. Vice City encapsulated everything that the GTA series wanted to be - just a dumb, fun game where you get to do all kinds of things. One of my greatest memories was when I first got the game, my friend Bryan decided to bring his copy and his PS2 over to play on my extra TV. We just sat back-to-back on my bed, playing our own copies of Vice City and having a hoot and a holler. Yeah, it didn't make any damn sense, but it didn't have to, I think. The unfortunate thing is that the game looks absolutely awful today. I guess that's why my memories serve such a purpose: to enlighten the past.

For your health,

-C.

Stereotypes Akimbo Review: Assassins Creed II.

2009-12-26T19:14:00.000-08:00

It's settled: the holiday season is near its close. X-Mas has came and went, bringing with it enough snow to rape a metaphorical fire monster (with giant titties!). Hopefully everyone lived through the peril, and those who winced and whined about it better remember that fateful season two years ago where we lost our goddamned electricity for a week or so, and subsequently our minds. And I lived to review yet another vidya game, Assassins Creed II, and I liked it a lot. That in and of itself may be proof that I lost my mind for sure.

Some people may not be so familiar with this irony. See, back when Assassins Creed I reared its head in '07, it came close to destroying the balance of video games good and bad. One could look at the wonderful care put into a game like Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, or Kingdom Hearts, and immediately tell it was made exclusively out of pixie dust and sunshine smiles. These games were set apart from trash like Shrek's Fairy Tale Racers or Barbie Fashion Adventure Pony Fun Fashion. Things were simpler, grander.

Then AC showed up, and people went daffy for it before they had the chance to play it. Then something went wrong. A rather scathing (and rad) review hit that month's Electronic Gaming Monthly and catapaulted AC into a divided group of gamers - those who favored what it had to offer, and those who played the game with its horrific, awkward control setup and shat magma from their frothing maws. My friend Shaun fell into the former group, buying the game and loving it. However, I sadly fell in the other group. I played the game no more than five minutes, and, having failed to press the proper multitude of buttons to jump on a box half my size (Pro tip: it's two buttons plus the analog stick), I basically felt the urge to "fuck this shit" and stormed off to announce my hatred to the world. Or Myspace, anyway. It led to a character being cobbled for my amateur webcomic Veronica Saga, aptly named "Assassin," who does nothing right.

Time passed. The ultimate consensus that AC was interesting potential wasted on assy design. So a sequel was in order.

Assassins Creed II takes the same elements of the first game and transplants them into 15th century Italy. As the pompadour Ezio Auditore, you turn to the life of an assassin after getting screwed over in a major way. With the aid of your bosom buddy, Leonardo Da Vinci (yeah, THAT one), you set out to kill the conspirators that ruined your life. I should also mention that there's a deeper plot involving this dude, Desmond Miles, that's living the lives of his ancestors through a Professor X mind-reading chair built by the real bad guys. Or whatever. The whole plot to Assassins Creed proper is a dastardly J. J. Abrams mind-fuck, anyway, so Ezio's story was the only one I really followed.

What sets this apart from the previous game is the atmosphere of Italy's various districts and towns. As Ezio traverses through the country, he unlocks more and more goodies to assist in his retribution. The biggest element is his own village, which can be upgraded to accomodate his needs, like offering cheaper weapons, armor sets, clothes colors, and healing items. These upgrades increase the village's value, along with Ezio's money pouch. After about eight hours in, this was the only way I really got money since it pays big. If playing Ty Pennington isn't your bag, you can steal small bits of coin from bystanders or play side missions (or story missions, which handsomely reward you for doing the most menial tasks, like walking with your mommy).

The interesting thing about the game's structure is the amount of history lessons one gets out of playing through it. Running across landmarks will instantly offer explanations on why they exist, and get this shit - they're REAL places. Not to mention that Ezio can purchase actual, existing paintings to showcase in his swank art gallery, each potrait with its own explanation. Ubisoft really outdid themselves with the amount of research put into this sucker.

However, I can't deny that ACII's biggest flaw returns. The run-about controls resurface with awkward button configurations that would lead to more casual gamers seething. The setup is so maligned that timing a jump wrong or moving in a different direction may lead to death or worse, fucking up a mission. Having lived through the scat-smeared criticism of the last game, coupled with Ubisoft's last big game Prince of Persia having Playskool-level run-and-jump controls, one would think this could've been fixed. Alas. Not that the controls are outright awful. When they work, they really work. The same could be said of combat, which starts off somewhat unfair (after all, this is pretty much a stealth game), but as Ezio acquires better weapons, armor and skills, becomes fun and practical. The problem this game does have that I can justify griping about is that it does a piss-poor job explaining how to do stuff. Reading game journalists' Twitts about them constantly failing the first run-and-jump mission because ACII doesn't tell you very well how to run and jump made me giggle, but expands my point that these controls are kinda bad. Forgivable, but bad.

Assassin's Creed II, with all its wanky controls and somewhat embarrassing stereotype of Italians, is a very good game. I can't say it'll win everyone's hearts, but it managed to win mine after having an unenjoyable debut that was my five minutes of the first game. One neat thing that I feel like gloating about is that, ironically, ACII is the first 360 game that I managed to net a complete 1000 gamerscore on. Not that I whored out my time and energy to get it, as the game is pretty generous. It just kind of happened.

On a side note, I've also dabbled in some King of Fighters XII, which was mentioned in an earlier post as being a game I wanted but not for the steep price it wasn't worth. One X-Mas gift card later, and issues were settled. Is KOFXII a good fighter? It's hard to say. It's pretty good except it has no Mai Shiranui in it, and a King of Fighters with no Mai in it is pretty much awful. So it's basically a conundrum. I definitely don't feel like dedicating a whole post to it, that's for sure.

Now it's on to Prototype, Brutal Legend, and Jak & Daxter: The Lost Frontier. Somebody blew the video game boner this season.

For your health,

-C.

The Holiday Guide to X-Mas Wishing.

2009-12-06T13:45:00.000-08:00

It should be noted that this was stripped from a post on my Myspace blog, back when it was cool to write blogs on there. Much of it is retained here out of spiteful laziness, but for the sake of decency some stuff has been edited, thrown in, or omitted completely. For instance, in the original I bitched about not having the Minghags movie. Now I have it, so wanting it again is just plain silly. Let's continue.

It's that time of year again, when the weather is just sloppy enough to seize up the minds of every motorist within a five-foot radius of me. It's almost bad enough that X-Mas has been reduced to people seeing how much shit they can stuff in their shopping carts, but I can even go into town without some senile asshole getting in my way, trying to tell the difference between a parking space and Mott's applesauce. It's the reason I've been calling Christmas the undignified "X-Mas;" it's went from being a holiday to a brand.

I'll skip ahead past Jesus, because I can't exactly rip on him without ugly rebuttals, and go straight to Santa Claus. I always got those two mixed up anyway - both have beards and wear pajamas, and they give away more gifts to impressionable people than Oprah. Anyway, has anyone noticed that Santa has all but been omitted out of X-Mas? Perhaps we as a society have wisened up to the idea of obese old man in tights gets hauled in the air by Canadian livestock carrying toys built by non-stripping midgets, delivering them through chimneys and surviving on a diabetic coma-inducing diet of milk and cookies. At least, children have, which is sad.

I can see the point, though. I pondered my own realization that Santa is mythical while sitting on the toilet the other day. The reason I stopped believing is because of, of all things, Sesame Street. Besides teaching me colors, numbers, Spanish, and puppetry, its much-beloved X-Mas special bore logic into my toddler brain. A little black boy asked Cookie Monster how Santa could bring him presents since the projects don't have fireplaces. Cookie Monster reasoned that Santa could come in through the window or ring the doorbell. The boy rebuffed, saying that the windows were locked and that people couldn't hear the doorbell if they were sleeping. Instead of coming to a sound conclusion, both child and muppet sat solemnly, then it cut to the next lesson in life. If Sesame Street didn't have an answer, then nobody fucking did.

My own childhood house was equipped with a fireplace, but it was never used as it was either too clogged with soot and potential beasties, or we were too lazy to use it. My child logic dictated that if we never used it, why would Santa? Besides that, our house sat on a faulty embankment, and our house structure was so sketchy that my grandpa, a physical replica of Claus, fell through the roof once like Homer in the Simpsons movie. So the house supporting a herd of deer was out of the question. Not to mention that my dogs would've barked by the disturbance. Lastly, I'd yet to learn how to write and yet I managed to get all the shit I asked for. By the time I started school, Santa became street code for "Mom's checkbook."

This recollection haunted me for a while. Now that I'm older and bitchier, X-Mas is no longer a magical day where I get free prizes, eat the same meal I ate for Thanksgiving, then play with my prizes in the box fort I build out of the boxes my prizes came in. To put this into perspective, for the past couple years I've been buying my own presents for my family to wrap.

To cope with all this bitterness, I've made a wish list of things I'd like to see or have. If I don't get one, I can't fret since many of them are pretty lofty. But I'll look back on the list and giggle, as if I bumped into something friendly with my dong, and if one happens to come true a glisten will escape my eye.

- I wish that whenever the weather is being bad, every motorist who decides to drive like they're being chased by rape ghosts will STAY THE FUCK HOME.

- If that doesn't stop them, I wish some evil weather would send them back home. Not wimpy things like snowdrifts and black ice. I'm talking hailing tripmines or a stampede of lava horses.

- I wish the next reality show about a spoiled rich girl was just twenty minutes of her sitting topless over a dunk tank filled with unhealthy diarrhea. Every time a shopping montage occurs, the bitch gets hit with a baseball and falls in, because there is no target.

- I wish the Octomom would have the decency to dress her children up as the Muppet Babies and have them reenact their fantastic adventures.

- I wish trailers weren't considered bonus features.

- I wish Kid Rock would catch whatever killed Kurt Cobain, so we'd actually have a reason to admire his work.

- If the next Twilight book wants to grab my attention, I wish there would be a group of zombies that smelled like strawberries when you scratched them.

- I wish the next time one of my relatives talked in tongues, a cobra would rise out of a basket.

- I wish the next goddamned Facebook group invite I get would be to something meaningful, like a fuckfest or a "Free Baby Ruth Big Size For Joining" group.

- I wish chunky chicks would stop doing FGAS in their photos. Lying doesn't get you laid.

- I wish somebody with an iPhone would accidentally drop it in the toilet after a huge dooky, then fish it out and continue using it. I mean, they probably waited four, five hours in line for it!

- I wish they would up the ante and go from attack dogs and invest the time and energy to training rape dogs.

- I wish LOL would become a racial slur so it would no longer feel cool to use it as a sole response to something.

- I wish titties were legal. Well, they are, but they'd rather show gruesome chimp attack aftermaths than fresh, healthy boob on TV, and that is no kind of example to lead.

- I wish a vampire lady would burst into my room while I'm asleep, blow me until i spoo in her mouth, and go "BLAH!" like a vampire.

- I wish the next Saw movie was just stock footage of meat processing plants cut with footage of a fat little kid eating candy bars like a sloppy fatty, with chocolate smeared on his mouth and hands, as he's watching TV. Occasionally he paws at the TV, smudging chocolate, and sputters "Tee-Bee." Also, he's watching Fox News.

- I wish Adam Lambert would go back into the closet.

- I wish that the next pop star isn't another one of those plastic owls that are hung up to scare away pests, like Taylor Swift.

- I wish I knew if mermaids existed. As if it matters, since it's going to be tough to afford a fish tank big enough to house a whole girlfriend.

- I wish that someone's farts sounded like a bicycle bell. Not mine, though, because that would drive me crazy like crazy glue.

- I wish that during the holiday shopping spree, two angry fat women would pick up empty shopping carts and swing them at each other. And when the carts clash and get stuck together and a passerby makes a shitty Spaceballs joke, they team up and beat the shit out of him.

- I wish the word "porn" had double meaning. Like it's also a fruit, or an animal or a color. Could you imagine? Porn-flavored fruit snacks. And the nutty thing is that it wouldn't taste like people having sex, but something like blue raspberry.

For your health,

-C.

My Petty Review: GTAIV: Episodes From Liberty City

2009-12-01T12:29:00.000-08:00

In April 2008, we were graced with the gift of one of the most spectacular feats in gaming history... Grand Theft Auto IV. It was by far the biggest addition to the series, sending players back to a new, unfamiliar Liberty City teeming with revamped gameplay, controls, and a somewhat-likeable foreign protagonist. Although the game was very good, it wasn't without its faults. Awkward driving controls turned roads into peculiar Slip-N-Slides, getting away from 5-0 proved to be too challenging for its own good, and incessant calls from Cousin Roman to go look at "Beeg Amereecan Teetees" became goddamned annoying. After going to the midnight launch of the game and receiving my collector's edition inside a giant-ass metal safe, it's sad to say I never beat GTAIV. It just wasn't the wacky rollercoater game that Vice City and San Andreas were, and funny enough, the Saints Row series took off and did all the silly shit GTAIV was too serious to allow.

When the first of two downloadable GTAIV supporting games came out last February, I balked. Mostly because I didn't have any clue how to access Xbox Live at the time, and by the time I could kind of, sort of figure it out I found out that it would eventually come alongside the promised second side game on a game disc. Patience is sometimes a virtue. So AWAY WE GO!

The Lost And Damned is the first game, following the adventures of Johnny Klebitz. a no-nonsense biker and vice-president of the Lost gang. Shit hits the fans when their chapter president, Billy Grey, gets released from confinement and the gang begins drug trafficking and otherwise tearing apart at mended wounds with the rival gang, the Angels of Death. Johnny doesn't want any part in this, and tries to keep things civil until Billy kicks one too many figurative babies and the gang becomes persona non grata.

Most of the missions involve bikes, which sounds scary until one realizes that Rockstar seems to have fixed a lot of the driving issues that plagued GTAIV. The game also encourages calling your biker buddies to pitch in with replacement bikes, cheaper guns and ammo, and actual participation in missions. Since most missions involves repetitious shoot-outs, it's also good to know that the shooting and cover system works a hell of a lot better than before. And while characters like Johnny are somewhat likeable, most aren't as memorable, except maybe the corrupt politician Thomas Stubbs, whose full frontal scene stirred maybe ten minutes of controversy. See for yourself, but for the sake of humanity I've replaced the polygonal cock with a picture of a fat kid eating cake.

Overall, TLAD served up a bite-sized story arc in the GTAIV universe that went over much easier than GTAIV's jump-around plot. And while missions were pretty much drive-shoot-repeat, they weren't overhauling thanks to a new mission restart feature added to the series starting here. And TLAD works a lot better as a small story anyway, as a little biker went a long way.

The Ballad of Gay Tony acts as the end-capper to the GTAIV saga. The game has you play as Latin playboy Luis Lopez, the right-hand (and strictly hetero, bro) man of Tony Prince, A.K.A. Gay Tony, the spastic owner of two of Liberty City's premier nightclubs. The game starts with the news that Gay Tony is borrowing money to help keep his clubs in his pockets, and people are coming out of the woodwork to collect. Thus begins a madcap series of events that lead to the ultimate (and awesome) conclusion. Along the way, we meet an innocently racist and rich Arab, a Russian mobster who yells "cunt" a lot, and the older, assier brother of GTAIV's loveable Brucie.

Perhaps the biggest addition to TBOGT is the parachute, which act as a catalyst for a few missions and base-jumping activities. San Andreas introduced them before, but here they show off just how fucking brilliantly big Liberty City 2.0 is. Upon reaching the top of the tallest structure in the city, I actually felt woozy. Observe.

Unlike the previous two games' basic mission structutes, TBOGT throws you into mega gauntlets, with missions involving stealing helicopters and subway cars, blowing up cranes and airplanes, and parachuting onto boats then racing them to cars and then racing those to the finish line. This style of insanity leads back to the days of San Andreas where I'd lethargically gel on the couch while dicking around with choppers. And once you beat the game, you can go back and replay them individually if that tickles your pickle. Although the game doesn't adorn you with jet-packs and multiple safe houses, TBOGT leads the charge in what GTAIV was meant to be: fucking fantastic. With more memorable characters, the epic return of Brucie, and an otherwise lighter story tone, this one takes the cake. The GAY cake! Ha Ha! Actually, the title itself is pretty misleading, as there's more straight shooting in this game, with one scene of Luis banging out some broad on the club's bathroom sink. Schwing!

In the end, Episodes From Liberty City offers a grand amount of game for a smaller chunk of price than most new games out there. Not only were they tailored better to the new GTA gameplay structure, but they were remarkably more forgiving in nature, as I never, ever had to tap in cheat codes. If a cheaper price and better gameplay aren't enough, both stories have the entire city unlocked from the get-go (a series first). And the in-game TV is greater than ever, with new episodes of History of Liberty City and Republican Space Rangers (which is FUCKING HILARIOUS), and a new show spoofing anime called Princess Robot Bubblegum (which is ALSO FUCKING HILARIOUS). The radio is pretty decent, and the disc-exclusive channel Vice City Radio (with Fernando Martinez!!! Emoticon!) is a great callback to the 80's.

One thing I should probably point out is that Episodes is only on the Xbox 360, thanks to some contractual mumbo-bullshit between Microsoft and Rockstar. So you PS3 owners are pretty much effed in the A. The only other downside I can really even think of is that I really, really should've beaten GTAIV. Which I may go do. Not now, though. I'm beat.

For your health,

-C.

Night at the Movies.

2009-11-19T06:15:00.001-08:00

A month ago, I prattled on about movies coming out on DVD. Since then, most of them have become decorations on my movie shelf. All were enjoyable in their own way, but to be fair they need some scrutinizing. That's where the blog comes in. I'd go to Facebook and write a "note," but their blog program sucks. I'd go back to Myspace where these rants gestated, but seriously, who still uses Myspace that doesn't do drugs or continues to be fictional friends with Selena Gomez? That's why I like you, Blogger; you can be placed anywhere and you kinda-sorta work to my favor. Anyway, let's talk movies. Or write.

G.I. Joe takes the best parts of what makes the Transformers flicks sell and combines it with regular people doing crazy stunts. Not to dwell too far into the plot, but most of it pertains to the plight of sexual frustration between the Joe's Dudley Doright, Duke, and pretty much half the reason to watch this, Baroness. I mentioned that it also has a Wayans brother not compromised by prosthetics or CGI, and I have to admit Marlon does a decent job playing a semi-serious role (although he spends most of his time trying to pry off Scarlett's skintights). But there are some problems, like why is Destro Irish, why does Cobra Commander act like a wacky mad scientist, and why does Snake Eyes look kinda doofy? These are never answered, and of course it's all about the bad guys and good guys fighting over an item that will destroy the world with crazy chase and fight scenes. To purists of the franchise, this could potentially kill your love for all things Joe. For newcomers or those with hazy memories (I fall into the latter), it's dumb fun.

Pixar's latest venture, Up, is neither its best nor its worst. It's the story of Carl Fredricksen, whose life is summed up in the first ten minute of the movie (ending with a huge BAWWWWW factor I didn't even see coming). Now a curmudgeon, he decides that instead of settling for living in a retirement home, he'll jerry-rig his house to fly where he promised to go and explore years ago. He accidentally obtains a buddy, a wilderness scout named Russell, who tests the old fart's patience when he befriends a bird named Kevin and the epic talking dog, Dug.

Up takes the dramatic storytelling of its previous entry, WALL-E, and kicks it up times ten. While it's still an incredible film, it detaches further from seeming like a kid's flick and more of a experiment of American animation telling a properly serious story. This could appeal to some people that got burned out on dreck like Monsters, Inc. or Cars, but I'm glad to see that Pixar will be playing it safe with its next film, Toy Story 3. And if you don't like Toy Story, well, fuck you.

Bruno (umlaut excluded because I don't know any better) is the third and final entry in Sacha Baron Cohen's trifecta of Ali G Show movies. Bruno is the eccentric, uber-gay fashion show guru that would crash said shows with insane suggestions and believeable interviews. In fact, I felt that Bruno was the tamest of the three Ali G characters because he never provoked much skepticism or hatred from his prey, at least when compared to the retarded gangster Ali G and the hopelessly foreign Borat Sagdiyev.

...boy was I in for a goddamn surprise.

Bruno does something that the previous movie, Borat, didn't - Baron Cohen smartly take the character out of the familiar territory of the TV show and does something different. In this case, it's Bruno's quest to become a world-famous celebrity. He tries to start charities, finalize world peace, adopt a foreign child, and even a stint at becoming straight, all the meanwhile patchworking a story amid the pranks. Bruno wasn't as much hilarious as it was "oh goddamn, what's going to happen when he does THIS?!" And I should probably forewarn any potential watchers: this movie is GAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. Not random naked dude in Jackass gay, or award-winning Sean Penn biopic gay, I mean helicoptering close-up dicks gay. So if you like your movies un-gay, or cannot handle crazy flaming jokes, or got really bother by the wrestling scene in Borat, this isn't for you. At all. Sure, there are some tits in the movie too, but that won't save you. The ending might, as it mocks the audience NOT intended for Bruno. I was pretty amused by it all.

For not being a Trekkie or a Trekker or a Trekbrohan, I quite enjoyed J.J. Abrams Star Trek. It's not going to make me a fan of the series, as I know better, but as a standalone film it's actually quite good. All I needed to know were the original characters, and I had that covered... thanks, Futurama! I can't say much more, as this movie acts as more of a series of winks to the true fans of Star Trek, but I could catch on to the various catchphrases tossed out by the crew of the S.S. Entreprise. It's also kinda fun to see 1/2 of Harold and Kumar as Sulu, The guy from Spaced as Scotty, and Zoe Saldana is pretty hot. Spoiler alert: Kirk humps a green chick. Bonus.

I'm going to leave the reviews at that. For your health.

-C.

Compulsory Review: Tekken 6 Is Okay.

2009-10-30T13:33:00.001-07:00

Oh great, another goddamned game review. Let's read along with Marshall Law.

Let it be known that I've done plenty of video game scrapping over the years, and the Tekken series is no unknown name within the playlist. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that Tekken is my favorite 3D fighting series. It offers the same experience that titles like Virtua Fighter throw out without the hassle of needing to be an expert at it. In layman's terms, it's a pretty barebone game. Having gotten my kick out of the series since number 3, one might say I've been there, done that.

So what makes Tekken 6 so different from its previous counterparts? Everything and nothing, if one wants to get into the nitty gritty. Essentially, it's the same game as Tekken 5, which had the largest and arguably best cast of characters to date (then-newcomers Asuka, Raven and Feng Wei are still fairly fun to play), as well as an unnecessary beat-em-up Tekken Force mode, a convoluted ranking system in Arcade mode, customizable characters, and bonus arcade versions of Tekkens 1-3. What makes 6 different is additions to the roster, no bonus games, and a really nasty surprise.

I think 6 is where the series kind of gave up on new and interesting characters. There's Miguel the Spanish playboy, Zafina the Middle Eastern lady, Bob the lardass, and Leo the androgynous lady boy. There's also Lars, a Scandinavian bastard child of old boss Heihachi Mishima (what'll they think of next...) and Alisa Boskonovitch, a Pinnochio-esque robot chick, both whom look like they were puked out of a Final Fantasy character creator, and stars of the unloveable Tekken Force game. Unlike the last few games' new characters, these guys feel less spectacular and awkwardly shoehorned into the already bizzare storyline.

I mention the Tekken Force game only because unlike its last appearances in the series, this time you'll find yourself playing it. Not because it's fun and offers a great story, but because it's the key to unlocking ALL the fighters for the game's Arena, or story mode. As Lars (or any character you happen to unlock along the way), you trudge through level after level seeking revenge or something on the Mishima Zaibatsu. Each level flows in a linear, uninspired obstacle course of generic soldiers, bodyguards, and big ass robots until you get to the boss, usually a Tekken character who is then unlocked when you whoop them. This continues on and on until the end, and even then you have to do some spectacular bullshit to unlock all the fighters. This wouldn't be so bad IF Tekken Force was playable. The controls are lanky and frustrating (particularly moving around in the vicinity of enemies), the enemy lock-on sucks large quantities of balls, and 2/3rds through the game the boss fights become vicious and just unfun. You do get some aid in the form of an AI-controlled Alisa and occasional weapons, but the fact I cannot figure out how to unlock my aim on enemies so I can run and pick up health items ultimately kills any fun. Not that Tekken Force was EVER a fun part of the series, but this time it's almost unavoidable.

Thankfully, Tekken Force is about the only thing wrong with Tekken 6, as the actual fighting game is just as hunky dorey as it's ever been. Arcade Mode returns with the same ranking system as last time. Survival and Team Attack rear their heads. Story mode is almost as good as it ever was if it weren't for... grr... Tekken Focce. What threw me off was how the graphics don't seem to be as big an upgrade from last time, and this is considering that this is the first Tekken on the new generation of consoles. But maybe it's my 360, and maybe the PS3 version is radder since Tekken has always been a Sony system loyalist. In any case, the game IS pretty and characters like Christie Montiero are just as fappable as they ever were. I guess.

I spent the extra bones (slightly regrettably, now) to pick up the collector's edition of Tekken 6. What made this stand out was it came in a huge fucking box housing the game as well as a hardcover art book and a Hori arcade joystick. After the fiasco with my Madcatz SFIV joystick earlier this year, it was a gamble I was reluctant but able to make. Fortunately, the joystick works just fine. Unfortunately, it doesn't make Tekken Force any better to play. I would only reccomend the collector's edition if one doesn't have an arcade stick for fighting games, or if you have a boner for Tekken. I fell under both.

Regardless of collector's edition, Tekken 6 is worth checking out if you've played previous versions or need a fighting game that's not nearly as serious as Virtua Fighter or Soulcalibur. I mean, it has a Wesley Snipes ninja, a boxing kangaroo, insanely hot bitches, and no less than two bears. Why not? But if you're lacking the funds or patience to pick up a $60 Tekken 6, I'd suggest sticking with Tekken 5 on the PS2 for 1/3 of the price, or even the PSP version that is actually playable and fun.

For your health,

-C.

OU vs. OSU: FUHTBAWL ROYALE.

2009-10-26T15:53:00.000-07:00

For as long as mankind has knuckle-dragged itself across the globe, rivalries have existed. Brother against brother is no strange concept on our shores, where we once made up an entire war on it. So it should come to nobody's surprise that Oklahoma has an in-state rivalry all its own. Alas, it's over college football, the jock equivalent of Horde versus Alliance. Year after year, the season begins and the fans get in an uproar, and then the season ends and the fans get in an uproar without drinking quite so much. The question is, what sect do you claim, Oklahoman? Do you go with the Oklahoma Sooners, or will you root for the Oklahoma State Cowboys? I mean, they're both Oklahoman, so what's the difference? That's where I come in.

Now, I'm not an expert on football. In fact, I don't give a fat fudge about it. I'm not going to litter my blog with sports statistics or rudimentary studies on how many rape and manslaughter convictions it takes a player to get suspended for one game. And no, I'm not going to play it safe and go with my alma mater, OSU, because that's what dirty cheaters do. I'm going to pretend that you, the reader, also know little about football. I've come up with a five-point contest based on the mascots, the fans, what the team colors remind me of, theme restaurants, and any merit the teams have. Now that I've stated that, I'll be clear in that neither team wins. Because the real winner is you, for caring about college football and being a bigger person than me.

Round 1: Mascots!

OU: Woody Wheel the Wacky Covered Wagon.

OU's biggest representative is a covered wagon, which according to history involves people who traveled to live out in the west being called "Sooners," whatever the hell that means. But the wagon stands for strength, endurance, and efficiency. If OU were founded today, there's no doubt that its mascot would be a fifth-wheel RV. Sadly, after a quick Google search I discovered that OU's actual mascot is a lame horse with no knowledge of royalty deals.

OSU: Tom Selleck.

The fact that OSU's mascot is Magnum, P.I. in a cowboy costume should surprise no one, as Oklahoma is well known for having a tapestry of history involving the wild west, the rustlers who tamed it, and the critically-acclaimed closeted homosexuality that followed. And who is tough on the job as well as he is easy on the eyes? Tom Selleck. Although disheveled and impossibly bow-legged, Selleck amasses his fans by calling them "Pokes," which they only WISH they were after a candle-lit dinner with the star of Quigley Down Under.

Winner: Whether OU fans are entertained by an antique travel trailer or the livestock that pulls it, nobody will disagree that Tom Selleck would kick its ass in a whimsical mascot fight. With style, and possibly a Ferrari.

Round 2: Fans Unite!

OU: This Guy.

It takes much dedication to be seen like this in front of thousands of people, so before you point and laugh at the man, I urge you to think for a moment. Would you push yourself away from the kitchen table during a ham and butter dinner to dip your face in paint and wear your best boots to a college football game? No, you'd fucking twitter about the game while doing over-priced body shots off a waitress named after a candle scent. But this guy did it. And he is not ashamed, either. The only thing I could call him (Gerald) out for is for forgetting to put on pants that don't match his enthusiasm.

OSU: These Jerks.

While they may not have a comically-sized man in their stands, OSU fans will steal their clothes and pull out all the punches. "Hey Kansas Jayhawks coach Mark Mangino, do these underpants belong to you? Because we found a pair that might fit your physique! LOLOLOlol!!!1!" Somebody call an OSU medical student, because I am in stitches! So yeah, while OSU fans are filled with plenty of team pride, they're pretty much dicks.

Winner: While OSU fans are capable of rousing their rivals to the point of just going and teabagging the opposing teams' cheerleaders, OU marginally beats them for simply having even less shame. Nobody walks outside of his or her bedroom looking like that for any other reason than loving football way too much for their own good.

Round 3: The Pretty Colors!

OU: Canada.

The simplicity of OU's red-and-white color scheme could be traced to the simplicity of our neighbors to the north. A carefree and hearty people, Canadians live on a rich diet of maple-flavored anything and baskets of Tim Horton's doughnuts. Although Canadians are famous for the wintertime sport "hockey," they have also been spotted playing games such as football, basketball, hopscotch, and Triominos. Some Canadians can also be French, which can be distinguished by their snarky insistence that their name is not Robert, but "Reau-bieu." Canada's chief exports are timber, oil, Golden Globe winners, and in my case, grandparents.

OSU: Halloween.

The irony is that OSU's colors, black and orange, are obvious reminders of Halloween, which is a pagan holiday that many pious Oklahomans have replaced with Harvest Day, which in turn is total bullshit. Instead of being allowed to dress up as something as innocent as a baby duckling or Carrie Underwood, children are hauled off to church to learn how to hate things that don't pertain to their belief system yet again. To be fair, some less outrageous churches have loopholed the system by inventing "Trunk-or-Treat," where families drive to the church parking lot and hand candy and bibles to each other. That's close enough, but there's something uncomfortably predatory about the idea of giving children candy out of a car. I'll stick with regular Halloween, where the sky's the limit where kids decorate yards with toilet paper and I get to poke scenesters with a plastic pitchfork until they lament their melancholy on a status update.

Winner: This proved to be a tough choice, as I enjoy bags of milk (a real Canadian delicacy) as well as bags of candy. While Canada is no slouch in a competition, Halloween's real advantage is that it only comes once a year, letting me build up my excitement and anticipation for regular sluts to look extra slutty in their crazy costumes. I imagine Canadians get burnt out on being from Canada after ten, twelve years. And so OSU wins this match.

Round 4: Yummy Food!

OU: Billy Sims Barbecue

One-time footballer Billy Sims decided that after footballing he would cut off his afro and find work as a brand name for a local barbecue restaurant. Although he shared the same dream as any other famous person looking to cash in on their own mundane success (cough cough Toby Keith cough), damn, but that's pretty good barbecue. And there's a drive-thru window if you're allergic to sports memorabilia. And if that's not enough for you lazy assholes, he'll ship his sauce to your doorstep so your slop it on your breakfast cereal because you're an OU fan WITH NO SHAME.

OSU: Eskimo Joe's.

I don't know diddly-shit about Eskimo Joe's as far as their food goes, as I have never eaten there. But they do one HELL of a business on selling T-shirts to people who don't know any better. I cannot tell you how many out-of-town relatives have wanted me to take them to the Eskimo Joe's store in the mall so they can buy as many plastic cups and shirts as humanly possible. What sets these items apart from the Wal-Mart variety is the always-grinning visage of Joe, an embodiment of racism that never gets brought up because eskimoes are known for their acute apathy. If Joe's smile could cure cancer, we'd be in good hands. However, all it can do is sell a stupid shirt for $14.95.

Winner: While Billy Sims encourages Sooners fans to get fatter and fatter, I can at least prove they serve food. Eskimo Joe's sells so many shirts I've began to suspect that it's not a restaurant at all. In fact, if they do serve food, how come nobody ever talks about it? How come all anybody wants from Eskimo Joe's is a fucking T-shirt? OSU is disqualified, and OU wins with some awful barbecue farts afterwards.

Final Round: Merit!

I'm not going to go out of my way to pretend to know anything about football, let alone these two teams and their fantastical abilities. I will disregard any and all statistics they possess and replace my initial score of "Let OU win or else they'll whine about losing" with "both teams win with a spectacular hug and no sudden death, and now all the fans can go home smiling and have happy dreams in their sleep." This is the benefit of me not knowing shit about football - a tie. You're welcome, America.

The "E For Extra Effort, the Extra is an Extra E!" Award in Trying: Tulsa U.
For years, the Tulsa Hurricanes have been third banana in the lineup of Oklahoma college teams that people make too big a deal out of. They always seem to be that team that the Sooners and Cowboys trick by telling them the rad beach party is at Majestic, which unbeknownst to the Hurricanes is the fabulous club for "swingers." I would've included them in my five point test if it didn't cost me an extra $10, 000 per paragraph. But I will note that their mascot, a super tornado man, looks remarkably like the poop mascot of Boon-Ga Boon-Ga, a Japanese arcade game where you stick a plastic finger in a fake ass. I am not lying. Google it. I don't give a damn.

Separated at birth?

So there you go. I can only hope that my test helps you decide what team to root for next season. Take the time to buy a jersey and come up with some good one-liners to say to the rivals, like "I'd Sooner be an OSU fan!" or "Fuck you, Cowboys!"

For your health,

-C.

Entertainment Foreshadowing...

2009-10-20T17:40:00.000-07:00

Holy balls, is it going to be a jam-packed month ahead. All the way into Christmas, it seems like something I want comes out almost every week. This week it was Transformers 2. Next week is a trifecta of Tekken 6, GTA4: Tales From Liberty City (or whatever), and some Monty Python DVD, and movies like G.I. Joe, Up, Star Trek, Harry Potter 6, The Hangover, and Bruno will be looming over the horizon after that. It's one of those realities that makes me glad that my birthday and Christmas are a month apart. So... what to expect?

Michael Bay's Transformers is something that many people bitch about yet nobody seems to notice. The long and short of any review of Transformers 2 can be summed up in one sentence: One's enjoyment of the second film can and likely will be based on the enjoyment of the first film. In simple man's words, if you thought the first one was fantastic, then this one will rattle the jizz out of your balls. Likewise, if you thought the first one sucked, this one sucks harder. Personally, I enjoy the movies. I cannot think they are fantastic, as I have my issues with them... mainly having to do with the fact I give half a fuck about the human cast. Shia LaBeouf is a decent enough, Disney-graduate actor, Megan Fox is easy on the eyes (if not unusually "greasy-looking" for my tastes, with apologies to fanboys), and John Turturro makes for alright comic relief, but you know what I think makes for a Transformers movie? Some fucking Transformers doing Transformer shit, that's what. Granted, the second movie meets us halfway by throwing out triple the number of Transformers, and twice the amount of screentime, but only a handful get decent coverage, and half of them suck. Some whiners bellyached about the twin Autobots being racist, and I just find them annoyingly tolerable, much akin to Jar Jar Binks from Star Wars. And SPOILER ALERT OMFG LOL I'd like to why Bumblebee cannot speak in part two if he could speak at the very end of part one. There are many more of these nitpicky moments in Transformers 2, but as a actiony sci-fi flick it's good enough. What tickles me is that critics all around panned the hell out of this movie and yet it's the highest-grossing film of the year. I think it's awesome because we as a society gave the middle finger to the people paid to tell us when something stinks. On the other hand, if they're right and we're wrong, we're morons. Then again, they said The Departed was a great film, and it sucked. So nobody wins.

Speaking of movies based on toys, I'm curious about G.I. Joe, which will be out next month. I skipped out on seeing it in theaters for the same reason I skip out on 90% of movies in theaters: I'm lazy and it's expensive. On one hand, I'm only familiar enough with the series that any harm they do by messing up the continuity of G.I. Joe will not faze me. On the other hand, it could be a shitty movie like the same people who said Transformers 2 sucked. On a third, magic radoactive hand, a Wayans brother is in it not playing an ugly white woman or a midget, so it could be in a category all its own.

The movie Up is next. I didn't see it either, but I usually enjoy Pixar movies (Cars was so-so and I've never seen Monsters, Inc. because I wanted to avoid that disappointment). This one would be hard to pass up getting.

I am, I repeat, I am NOT a Star Trek fan. I have never seen an entire episode of any Star Trek show, and have never seen any of the original series. I'm not a hater, per se, but I don't give a shit. I do love Patrick Stewart and know all of the actors from the original show and their characters, but that's about it. I hate space stories, and Star Trek never appealed to me. Ironically, Star Wars did in some degree, but I never trailed beyond the six movies. So why on earth am I interested in the new Star Trek? I have no idea. But I am, and although I doubt this will pump me up into loving Star Trek as a series, I get the feeling I will like this movie. We'll see.

I'm not nearly as stoked for Harry Potter and the Moneyhat of Alakazam, or whatever the hell the sixth movie's called. I'm not exactly a Harry Potter fan, but I enjoy the movies enough. My mom, on the other hand, loooooves Harry Potter (until Twilight came out of the closet and reverted her to a 12-year-old Teen Beat subscriber) and has occasionally pestered me into reading the books. I don't in case I ever write a book and then no one can say I copied them. But the sixth chapter of Harry Potter holds a special place in my heart. Some may remember that when the sixth book was coming out, it was announced that "an important character" dies. I went with my mom to the store to buy the book first day (not a midnight launch, but during business hours like regular people). Not to be fumbled with spoilers, my mom was determined to find out herself through the magic of reading. I, on the hand, didn't give a crap one way and as she continued shopping, I flipped through the cinderblock book and discovered who it was (SPOILERS IT WAS GANDALF IMEAN DUMBLEDORE LOLOLOL). Thus I began a series of taunts. "I know something you don't know! I know something you don't know!" I cheered in a sing-song voice while mother pushed her cart into me. It's safe to say she did eventually find out without my important help. So that leads me to now, where I will probably watch the sixth movie because Emma Watson is legal now.

Everyone I talk to says I need to see The Hangover. I hate peer pressure but I guess I will.

Finally, there's Bruno, the third character of Sacha Baron Cohen's beloved children's program, Da Ali G Show. Of the three (the others being the titular Ali G and Borat, which if I have to explain who THAT is then you're not even fucking reading this whole post), Bruno is my least favorite because his character is generally accepted by the people he's pranking around with, and thus bad televison. There's also a heavy chance of naked dicks in the movie, and while I'm neither offended nor aroused, it's difficult to watch the rest of the movie. I guess I'll have to find out.

I would go on a rant about Tekken 6, but I think I will save that for a review nobody will read and then bitch at me for bitching about it. But then if they didn't read it, how do they know? Leprechauns.

I'll leave you with that to ponder about. For your health.

-C.

Holy Smokes, A Post!

2009-10-02T16:57:00.000-07:00

It's been pretty lonely on this blog. I thought I'd drop in.

Life has been pretty interesting and stagnant at the same time, if that makes any sense. I've seemingly lost some friends (mostly brought on by stubborn attitudes, either on my or their part), rekindled some old friendships (yays), and met new people (how ya doin'?).

I've felt pretty trapped lately in part of my truck being a major asshole since February. I've wrote about it here and there, but this is the story as it stands now. It would go a couple months and then decide to not start up in the morning when I'd either have to go to work or get on a shuttle to Suckwater. The mystery was that anyone I sought out to remedy this would start it up no problem. After replacing a battery cable, a fuel filter, dicking with the starter, and various home remedies, I've decided the problem lies somewhere within a system I cannot discover, like a closet door in the truck that leads to a magical yet dark world filled with imagination. I've diagnosed Black Beauty (I named the truck, so what) with a form of terminal auto herpes, incurable yet non-lethal, as switching the ignition a few times will summon the beast to life. Until I can find someone who knows what the hell is wrong with it AND can fix it, I'm stuck with it. I no longer shriek in violent bursts whenever it tries to fail me, though. And this ignition issue is now just on the list of stupid shit wrong with the truck, among them being the lack of automatic lock systems or the ability to control the passenger window from the driver's side without "punching" in the somewhat-loose controls on the passenger door. Such is life.

I would also like to take a moment to note the death of my camera of six years, the Kodak EasyShare CX4230. For the past year or so I had contemplated replacing it as it had grown outdated like any other form of technology. It was a mere 2 megapixels (whatever THAT means) and required $9 batteries to run. Its age was also apparent with the replacement of the memory card. Remember back in 2003 when memory cards only went up to what, 32 MB? Last year I bought a 2 GB card, and instead of yielding me only 70-so pictures, I was awarded over 2300 pictures to take. Neat.

Anyway, a couple weekends ago I went to a friend's birthday party and managed to snag a few photos before I drunkenly dropped the damn thing on the concrete floor of her garage. I picked it up and noticed the lens was bent, and drunkenly assessed that I could push the lens back in place. I pressed it and now the lens motor refuses to work, resulting in a blur that no drunk can unscramble. Instead of being pissy about it, I decided my time to replace the camera was now, although I was a bit irked that I wasn't finished getting all my pictures I wanted to take.

I went into Best Buy almost pathetically, having never purchased a camera of my own, ever. I did have enough wherewithall to test out the quality of the display models before I finally settled on a 12 megapixel Kodak EasyShare M341. It is smaller, takes videos, runs on an AC charge, has about 3000 settings I will test at some point (snow pictures! beach pictures! possibly even a setting when you take a picture of a chimpanzee drinking its own piss stream, for highest quality piss capture!), and was the same price as the 10 megapixel version. Again, whatever that means. And they only had one left. After purchasing it along with some much-needed "dumabass-don't-drop-it" store insurance (Laugh On Lawnchairs!), I took it home and... well, that's the end of the story. I now only have 771 pictures left on it instead of the previous camera's allowance of 2236.

I wanted to promised the two readers, or three, or none, that I wouldn't prattle on about video games like a goon, but I would like to note that I shelved Red Faction for boring me half to tears. I could go beat it on a rainy day, but I'm basically spent on it. I did go get the Batman game, and on a scale of 1 to 5 it ranks as Holy Shit Awesome. I don't even care so much for Batman as a series. Mark Hammill as the Joker again sold it to me. My only regret was that I beat it in a few days, leaving little to go back to. I will argue that it is likely the best comic book game, unless Activision decides to remake Spider-Man 2 for this generation of consoles. And Spider-Man 3 doesn't count.

I would also like to take this opportunity to note that I found out Capcom will be releasing Super Street Fighter IV next spring. They revealed that T. Hawk and Dee Jay will be in it, giving us all the full roster from SSFII. I came in my fucking pants.

So while I've run out of things to say about games, it also seems that I've ran out of things to say in general. I think I've left enough stories to freshen this place up with, anyway. I just wish Blogger could tell when I split paragraphs so I don't have to re-edit this stuff forty times. Ah well. Until next time.

-C.

The Gaming Non-Review Blog II: The Review Blog.

2009-08-23T09:40:00.000-07:00

A while back, I wrote down a list of games that I had considered for my library. In the month and a half since then, I can say the following: Prototype and Ghostbusters are still on that list and will stay there until their prices go down, KOFXII got BALLS for reviews and will definitely require the price drop before purchase, Tekken 6 will be bought when it comes out, Marvel vs. Capcom 2 will likely not get bought because I'm lazy, and fuck Rock Band: Beatles. Dunno what I was thinking on that one.

That leaves Red Faction: Guerilla, which is the game I did end up getting. I'm not as into it as I would've expected, mainly because the game dumps you onto a planet where you can get points for doing stupid tasks like smashing space rocks for cash or whatnot. I will credit this game for being the first where I could get achievement points but cannot care enough to obtain them. Now, the game is fun, and the whole "busting everything up with rockets and space hammers" gameplay is delightful. It's the story that keeps me at an ass-dragging pace with the game. I don't care what happens next. Unlike Saints Row 1 & 2, which didn't have the greatest story but was somewhat interesting in its semi-whimsical approach to GTA drudgery, RFG is just a bunch of space vigilantes sticking it to the man. My take is as awesome as the actual thing. After clearing half the game, I'm still on the fence as to whether or not it's worth a $60 purchase, but it hasn't let me down considering my expectations weren't huge.

Another surprise was a fighting game called Blazblue: Calamity Trigger, which could possibly be the shittiest name for a game I've ever seen. This is the spiritual successor to the Guilty Gear series. Anyone who's ever read about my experience with Guilty Gear may know it's a series I love and hate. Anyhoo, Blazblue is somewhat lacking compared to the likes of SFIV, with only twelve fighters. But boy oh boy are the graphics purty. Like Guilty Gear, Blazblue incorporates lush 2D graphics in the game, making it appear more like a cartoon than a glitchy-assed video game. And I suppose Blazblue is the fighting game for super-awesome tournament players, as it comes with a DVD teaching the game mechanics and bizarre move sets and combos. Whenever I attempt to see how to accomplish a move on a FAQ, it reads as such: "8A6C5D4D 1+2, then A2A2A2A3D4+B1, 3+3+3." I'm not the best player of fighting games, but I've done it long enough to go ahead and ask WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? Chinese symbols make as much sense. Older moves like "down, down-forward, forward + punch" are a thing of the past I guess.

Regardless, Blazblue is good fun. It didn't last as long as I'd hoped, but hey, fightings.

I forgot to add the upcoming Batman: Arkham Asylum to the list, if only because I'm not sure if I could dig a Batman game.

-C.

The Gaming Non-Review Blog: Wish-List Subtitle.

2009-07-02T12:32:00.000-07:00

And thus I am bored. Okay, so I shouldn't be, seeing how it's summer and I should be running around outside and splashing in pools and tanning and drinking pina coladas. But as far as gaming goes, I've been in a rut. It's not that there aren't any good, new games to play - quite the opposite, really. It's that there are too many and they cost too damn much. In fact, my last 360 purchase was a mere $15 for Dark Sector - not terrible, not memorable, still need to beat it - and so adding another $45 to that for one game sounds like rubbish.

But then I started playing Pokemon. That's when I realized I need to do something.

I've come up with a list of games that present potential fun times for me. I only write it down now because I feel as though doing so will make me laugh later on when I'll likely own all these games and will probably be wrong. Let's do this.

1. Prototype.
Pros: Prototype looks as though it is a spiritual successor to the wunder-hit Crackdown, a game with no story and involves running around, leaping rooftops and throwing shit every which way. Add symbiotic powers like arm blades and shapeshifting into pedestrians and I wonder how this game could possibly go wrong.
Cons: Every review I read about this game shits on something about it, and no two reviews read the same. It's like people like this game, but can't help but poo-poo controls. Or graphics. Or story. Or difficulty. This is one of those games where I need to stop letting journalism ruin my childish awe in something that looks so cool. Especially when they cum in their pants over something like Left 4 Dead, which I found fun for about fifteen minutes. Nontheless, these reviews serve as vague warnings, like old wooden signs dictating to no one in particular "No Tresspassing." You can do it and likely get away with it, many times even, but you cannot say they didn't warn you.

2. Ghostbusters.
Pros: Bustin' makes me feel good. And from my understanding, this game is a Ghostbusters fan's wet dream, only a game. Considering that I enjoyed the (now awful) 80's cartoon and recently bought the movies and enjoyed those, it's safe to assume I will enjoy this.
Cons: I run a risk of beating this game too fast. This parallels the situation where one sweet talks the girl into going on the date, buying dinner, buying the movie tickets, sitting through the shitty movie, driving her back to her place, getting lucky, then blowing a load on her stomach before sealing the deal. What I'm trying to say is that $60 is a lot of money for six hours of enjoyment.

3. Red Faction: Guerilla.
Pros: This game fell under my radar. The same folks taking turns pissing on Prototype are circle-jerking around this game, giving it a good-grade bukkake coating. At first, I was like, "Fuck you." Then I watched a video where I found out the same developers of Saints Row 2 made this, and essentially you just run around and smash shit up on Mars. This game now employs three key ingredients for enjoyment: my love for Saints Row 2, my love for smashing, and my hatred of space.
Cons: It could suck and prove my earlier point that gaming journalists and I don't have a bone in common anymore.

4. King of Fighters XII.
Pros: Old-school 2D ass-kickery with shiny graphics. And a week to accumulate monies.
Cons: $60 for what Street Fighter IV could've been if it had stupider characters. One can only hope it isn't that costly.

5. Tekken 6.
Pros: 3D ass-kickery. And nobody can touch Eddy Gordo when he's wearing those Jamaican colors. Also, longer time to accumulate monies.
Cons: Near-guarantee that I will also have to buy a new 360 controller. The one I've had since I got my system is already wearing out, and I don't think it will survive Tekken. No controller does.

6. Rock Band: Beatles.
Pros: I will have plastic drums, and perhaps find out why everybody loves the fucking Beatles so much. I was born 30 years too late to like them.
Cons: The Beatles boner package is a whopping $250, which is right about the part of my thinking about this game where I then think that I do not want this game so much. I pretty much threw this on the list for giggles.

7. Marvel vs. Capcom 2.
Pros: I will have it on my hard drive, and I loves it so much on my Dreamcast.
Cons: Three things: the game looks assy on HD, I don't have Xbox Live, and the last boss blows so hard I had to buy a Game Shark to beat it back when.

And there you have it. I'm sure in a while, I'll have at least one of these games. Then I will write about it, because that is what I do.

-C.

Life and Death and This and That.

2009-06-26T18:37:00.000-07:00

Unless one has been sitting under a rock for the past few days, it's plainly obvious that the world has had its fair share of great folks taken away. Ed McMahon, the whimsical sidekick of Johnny Carson. Farah Fawcett, the 70's sex icon. And of course, the king of pop, Michael Jackson. Oomph. Now that a chunk of my childhood has been stripped, you'll have to excuse me.

Jackson's death was the most shocking. I mean, who the hell dies from cardiac arrest at 50? And with all of the issues he'd been facing these last few years, it wouldn't be entirely surprising if there wasn't some self-assist in the whole matter. If there's a matter. Because I have my thoughts. See, Michael Jackson was well known for his exuberant eccentricity. He lived in a theme park with a chimp and Corey Feldman, for fuck's sake. And he was also accused of bribing kids with his vast array of toys and video games and cookies in exchange for touching no-no parts. And he made the Thriller album, which I still cherish. So yes, he's pretty messed up. And all that's without a comment on his ghoulish face.

Anyway, my point is that I think, or would like to think, that Michael staged his death, Andy Kaufman style, to just escape of to some remote tropical island, so he can just live in peace. If that were really true, it would be the dick move of the century, but only Michael could pull that off. He was that crazy. But it probably isn't true, which is a shame. So say what you want about his bizzare behavior, but the guy is gone, and his music remains as a reminder of a great musician. And while I don't believe in conventional heaven, I'd like to think that at the very least that wherever Michael is now, he's black again.

I find Farrah's death tragic in the sense that the cause of her demise sounds so unflattering. Anal cancer. One would think, in our time, that we could come up with a better name for that. I dunno, intestinal cancer? Lower abdominal cancer? Something that wouldn't coax me into chuckling cruelly, anyway. And while she was quite a bit before my time, I can't deny she was pretty hot. She was especially attractive in her later years, which makes this seem even sadder.

So imagine that, less than an hour ago, I found out that my grandma's eldest brother died. But there will be no remorse for this guy, if there is any justice. Cecil Campbell, as I call it, is scum. If I sound like a prick, let me elaborate. Have you ever watched TV and there's a crime story about a child molester that gets sent to the clink for what, five years. And did you ever go, "They need to just kill that bastard." Let me say that the world is now a little bit safer. There's one less of them.

As a kid, I didn't know Cecil well. By that point in time it was pretty much established that he was fucked up. His unusual behavior went back as far as when my grandma was a kid, and children were cautiously warned not to be alone with him, although there was no real reason given. It was just an understanding to stay away from him. I remember going to his and Aunt Jean's house at least once, idly playing with Micro Machines on a space heater for a few hours until it got dark. I was, of course not out of my grandma's sight. Not long after, he went to jail for, well, yes. I don't know the circumstances exactly, but by then it had gone on for too long.

One of the only other memories of Cecil I have is somewhat jarring, if not frightening. I was probably around seven, and one evening my grandma got the occasional prison call from Cecil. Oddly, he asked to talk to me. Keep in mind I hardly knew the man, and had enough wherewithall to know he went to prison for something bad. Even stranger was my grandma obliged him. She called me to the phone, and here I was speaking to a convicted sex offender. At age seven. To be fair (right...), he wasn't lewd or suggestive. He asked short questions - how I was, how the family was, school, pets, so forth. I answered him as I would a good friend, but thought the entire time that this was the most fucked-up shit ever. After all was said, I handed the phone back to grandma and that was that.

My memory's a bit off, but I could argue that this happened more than once. And while nothing about the phone call(s?) was inappropriate in content, I look back now and wonder what the hell went through than man's head while he was talking to me. And honestly, I can't say that this makes me feel like a victim of violation. He did worse to others, making the phone call seem like bullshit on a stick.

The aftermath was that after a five-year stint, Cecil got out and moved next to his sister-in-law, in an old schoolbus he converted into a broke-ass RV. Years later he got too old and got moved into a retirement center. And now he's dead. Good riddance.

I've done some reflection these past few days with all these losses, and I feel apathetic considering the number of people I lost last year that I was close to. Small potatoes. Things go on as usual, and my direct world isn't disrupted. I can only hope that mother nature continues shedding her kindness.

Hey, lighten up! Transformers 2 is at least as good as the first movie! This is, of course, if you like the first one. Otherwise I'm not proud to give you more bad news.

-C.

Afro Suckery... Kind Of.

2009-06-03T16:27:00.000-07:00

And so last week I talked about Afro Samurai, a game that managed to cause Target to clearance it out. This reality doesn't mean that the game is likely bad. I assume they do this because Target can only carry 12 games per system, and need to make room for Call of Duty 8: Modern Vintage Warfare: Call of Duty Edition.

As I've noted, Afro is based on the "hit" anime series featuring a foul-mouthed Samuel L. Jackson that's about how violent shit gets. Basically, the titular Afro owns the Number 2 headband, and seeks vengeance from Justice, the ugly-ass Freddy Krueger (voiced by a silly Ron Perlman) that killed Afro's daddy and took the Number One headband. Legend tells that only the Number Two can challenge the Number One, whereas anyone under the sun can challange the Number Two. The game itself borrows much from this, so the story left little to surprise. Unfortunately, the story of Afro is trite and simple, and other than the semi-interesting premise, both game and anime is essentially Afro running through various gaunlets to get to Justice. These include some old taper-headed men that prattle evangelistic nonsense, a childhood chum with a robot teddy bear head, and an infinite number of generic whosits.

Afro's combat style mimics the newer Ninja Gaidens, and as one progresses through the game Afro levels up, unlocking combo chains and more resistance to damage. Holding the LT button puts Afro in "Focus Mode," where he can perform 1-hit kills called Perfect Slices. This is the general key to getting through the game, as enemies are plentiful and annoying. Ninjas will avoid these attacks by ducking, jumping, or sliding off to the side, so hitting them with a Focus attack is based on dumb luck. The only joy derived from these persistant battles is the occasional cry of "Motherfucker!" as Afro hacks them to pieces.

Boss fights are a pain in their own league, as many are combined with combat puzzles that are explained only by word and not by example. Not that I need coddling in my combat games, but it would be nice to know a move as practical as throwing or deflecting bullets with my sword. I cannot count the number of times I've had to retry boss fights because I had to take apart these fights and figure out the one thing I'm fucking up. For example, one fight had me slicing incoming rockets with a Focus attack - but it has to be a vertical slice, NOT a horizontal slice, otherwise Afro goes boom. This took about six turns to figure out. Another fight involved bullets, and those were deflected with hortizontal Focus slices, not vertical. Duh-huh.

Yet those fights, in retrospect, were simple compared to the balls-out sword battles I had with rocket launcher man and teddy bear face. Whenever faced with a straight-on combat boss fight, it's still a matter of dumb luck. The game has no hub system, so the only way to tell how much health Afro has is how red he gets and how tunneled the audio becomes. Random teddy bears littering the levels restore health, but it also appears that Afro regains health by either killing opponents or kicking ass. Again, this is never explained, but would make sense in battles like the one against teddy bear face. This is a whole level where he shows up every three minutes to fight and cry. What made this boss fight an hour-long fiasco was his constant blocking. And just when it looked bleak and I was about to die, I'd get in a combo chain and suddenly I was no longer red. So I don't know. And sometimes, I think the game doesn't either.

What hindered these fights was the god-awful camera system, which was inverted only in the left-right control, but NOT the up-down. This led to many, many fuckups because I couldn't waggle the camera in the right direction.

While the game is deep with problems, it's slightly aided by having novel aspects to it. Characters are constantly cussing, particularly the Jiminy Cricket-esque Ninja Ninja (also voiced by Jackson), who acts as narrator and nagging subconscious for our hero. There's also a section early in the game where Afro fights topless, heavily-tattooed pole dancer chicks - these interesting baddies don't show up afterward. Speaking of pretty things, the graphics aren't half bad, with an element of cartoonish shading that made the latest Prince of Persia look so damn good. And most of the music is done by RZA, so while fighting was annoying, whupping ass to bass beats and hip-hop jamborees was at the least different.

Afro is a game that, like many games today, is pretty much only worth less than half the money it's going for. I would only recommend it for those who love heavy combat games like Ninja Gaiden or Devil May Cry and tolerate the half-assed combat and camera. Or just go watch the anime - it's only 2 1/2 hours long and delivers the same thing without all the frustration.

Oh no, I just reviewed something. Damn...

-C.

Ow, I'm Getting Old...

2009-05-28T16:40:00.000-07:00

So the other day at work, I opted to prove to no one in particular that I can be a strong fellow. I loaded three tables (fixtures, if you must) onto carts and hauled them out onto the store floor for processing. These tables probably weigh a good couple hundred pounds, if not more, as they were a bitch to even get off the dock. After successfully unloading them, I felt triumphant that I pulled this off without hurting myself.

Woe be to the impractical.

Later that night, I went to bend down and felt the beginnings of what could've been severe muscle tearage in my lower back. I immediately stopped moving and only sort of fucked up my back. I managed to get some sleep, strangely waking up in near-perfect 30-minute increments. The next day my back was just sore, but after walking around for five hours my legs were close to falling off. Today, the pain has now traveled to my upper gluteus, meaning two things: this isn't a spinal injury (whew!), and it feels like someone kicked me in the ass with a bulldozer trowel.

This isn't the first time this kind of thing has happened, and it occurs at random moments. The last time it happened I was bending over and a sharp, stabbing pain hit my back so badly I had to crawl to a chair and hyperventilate. It was not fun. It also sucks because it never occurs when I'm actually straining myself, only when I'm just bending down. Fortunately, it doesn't happen often.

But enough about my boo-boo sissy fit. Not much else has gone on since my last post. It's stopped raining. I've moved on to playing Afro Samurai after unlocking enough achievements in Resident Evil 5 to shut me up. Afro is based on the anime series that Samuel L. Jackson has stuck his dick into, a combination of Samurai Champloo and Ninja Scroll that lacks any, if all, reasoning. I liked the anime, and after seeing the game's price drop $20 at Gamestop I squelched. Then I noticed that Target clearanced it out for the same price, so, hey, I bought some Afro Samurai. Thus far, it's proven to be Ninja Gaiden gameplay with Prince of Persia graphics, with hip-hop sounds laying out the entire game. This sounds likes a good thing, but after a few hours of gameplay it runs between simplicity (enemies are constantly respawning), to fucking insanely upsetting (nobody told me how to throw people, ever). It also loosely follows the same story as the anime, so there's few surprises here. But since I've yet to beat it, I can't in good conscience go on bitching.

"Blah blah Carter's reviewing shit again, blah-dee-blah."

And so I'm off to go watch some TV.

-C.

Aftershock.

2009-05-15T16:49:00.000-07:00

So it's been a solid week since my escape. And thus far, it's still effective. I passed all my classes, paid off my bursar, and walked the walk. I have no idea if OSU have any tricks up their sleeve, as they're prone to occasionally screw with me. Let us all hope not, or wrath will ensue.

I don't feel different.

And so there have been a few things going on lately.

1. I beat 50 Cent: Blood On The Sand.
This game was a reluctant purchase, as I'd heard both good and bad about it. It's the equivalent of Gears of War with 50 Cent music playing throughout the entire thing. There's also a variety of five bad guys: terrorist in red shirt, terrorist in yellow shirt, terrorist in blue shirt, vehicle, and helicopter. The concept itself is frightfully stupid, but it's fun enough to warrant a playthrough. Fun fact: I netted 225 Achievement Points in 15 minutes. So yeah, it's okay. Just not worth having its own blog post.

2. The Wolverine movie was a letdown.
And yet nobody in their right mind should be that surprised. But the one thing that totally derailed the entire thing was how they treated Deadpool. I won't spoil much, but they pretty much didn't read any Deadpool comics. He's a character that's supposed to wise-ass around and shoot things with guns, and well... yup. Not quite so in film. On the bright side, they managed not to screw up Gambit. Everything else was lukewarm, as the writers cobbled together enough Wolverine backstory to make a movie out of it. I went into this expecting the third X-Men movie, quality-wise, and it was about on par with that. Meh.

3. The Star Trek movie looks interesting.
I only say this because I am not a Star Trek fan. I know little to nothing about it, and I hate spaceship stories (like Fantastic Four, to some degree). This is sometimes fun because my friends at the comic store are Trekkies and always seem to tell me stuff about it that I don't give a shit about. However, this movie looks amusing enough because it appears to have some serious action going on with it. I dunno. I may just wait until it's on DVD.

4. I'm so goddamned sick of rain.
If I were to put a number on it, I'd say it's rained about 46 days in the past week. What sucks is that, in typical Oklahoma fashion, the weather is constantly pulling 180's and for every 6 hours of rain, there's 12 hours of sunshine. So it's never one state. I wouldn't mind so much if I knew that the rain and dreariness wasn't messing up my Internet where I have problems downloading stuff. Also, hail sucks. Fuck you, weather.

Welp.

-C.

Happy Ending.

2009-05-07T11:25:00.000-07:00

As I start this post, I'm reminded of an off-beat sketch from Robot Chicken where a guy is finishing up at an Asian massage parlor and the female masseuse offers him a "happy ending." He politely declines, and the insistence that he gets one becomes so chaotic he flees from the manic woman. The chase continues into the streets, as cries of "HAPPY ENDING?!" are belted out. The guy eventually falls down a flight of stairs, seemingly breaking his legs and trapping him in a corner. The woman reaches her prey, only to reveal the happy ending - "You get one free egg roll. Happy ending." And then the man sighs with relief, broken and battered.

This is the metaphor for my college career.

It's hard to imagine that it all started six years ago. The reasons it took an extra couple of years to get this far was A.) I changed my major within the first year, B.) I didn't have any genuine guidance throughout college (save one good advisor that lasted a year), and C.) I grew into a procrastinating, lazy shit. I'm not to say it's impossible to get a degree in less than four year's time, and good job for those that do, but I didn't really care to bust that much ass over it. After all, it's only college, right?

What's sad is that I remember little of the first three years, or as I like to call it, TCC. Unlike about every other smarty pants I knew in high school, I didn't have dreams of leaving home and moving into a university, or dreams of campus life and frats and parties and underage delinquency, or paying thousands of dollars for basic education courses. I was quite comfy to settle for community college. I set down that path and watched as the other smart kids went to OSU, OU, NSU, and so forth. Some managed to be dedicated enough to their cause to graduate, while others drifted back out because they didn't realize that in order to stay in school, they actually had to go to class after the parties.

TCC mystified me, as up until then I rarely ventured into Tulsa on my own. To make matters less appealing, the two campuses I had to attend were located in less than savory parts of town. One sat snug amid the one-way hedge mazes of Downtown, while the other settled in the northiest part of North Tulsa, or OklaWatts. I was eighteen, skinny, quiet, dorky, sober, and lost.
Within a couple weeks I managed to trap my truck between vehicles in the parking lot, start a trend of getting begged for money by transients AND attract a homosexual. These were not the bumpkin schools I knew.

At first, my goal in life was to become a zoologist, but seeing as how I have the mathmatical skills of a stop sign, I realized that was out of the picture. So I went with what I knew - art. Hey, I already knew how to draw, so how easy could this be? As it turned out, TCC only liked to teach people who didn't know how to draw, and boredom quickly set in. Twice a week I was forced to draw random inanimate objects set in odd ways - a draped blanket, a kettle, some kind of horn, a vase - or had to look out the window and draw the intricately gothic Boston Avenue Church. The monotony was so severe I began creatively twisting these pieces into false realities. Underpants gnomes dug along the objects with pickaxes, or witches would fly their brooms in circles around the church as lightning clasped in the sky. My teacher grew irritated with these fabrications, and questioned if that's really what I saw. I'd say yes, and by the end of my first year I realized my innate talent had no home at TCC. I spent most of my time playing Street Fighter III in the arcade and playing billiards by myself to improve my left-handed skills, which to this day are all but improved.

Fortuantely, I drew inspiration from an unlikely source: English class. My teacher, Ms. Benford, was a no-nonsense black woman in her late fifties who had a knack for making an otherwise boring subject useful. It was the first time I had taken an English class somewhat seriously, and her appraisal of my writing caused me to reconsider my profession. I knew being an English major wouldn't get me far with what I wanted, so I checked in to the school of Journalism & Broadcast. Hey, maybe I could write articles and editorials.

By the end of my second year at TCC, I realized that I wasn't going to be a news reporter. This was despite the fact that News Writing became one of my favorite classes. It was taught by Tulsa World reporter Jason Collington, whose method was to give us articles to read for the following week and discuss them. When I admitted that I couldn't read through the entire thing, he'd deliver his lesson - that was the point, that it was a crappy article and nobody could sit and read the whole thing anyway. Midway through the semester the class boiled down to just me and one other guy, but Jason continued teaching the class with a more leisurely pace. I DID learn something from him: awful work shouldn't be appreciated.

Fortunately, the journalism program starts off slow, giving a basic rundown of the four parts - news writing, broadcast, advertising, and public relations. I had already lost my desire to write news, I didn't want to be Ron Burgundy, and at the time I felt that PR was just figuratively giving stuff handjobs. Advertising, it seemed, afforded me the best option, as I could use my artistic talent AND my newfound desire to write creative stuff in that field. So it was decided... I was going to be an advertisement major.

Little else can be remembered about my journalism days at TCC, save a few names. My final semester gave me little option but to attend the infamous Southeast Campus, all the way across Tulsa and so close to Broken Arrow that I could smell the snobby kids. I dreaded traveling down the highway to get to it, but once I got there I was floored. It was immaculate compared to the other campuses, hanging over a man-made lake that was viewable through a well-adorned arcade, complete with Capcom vs. SNK 2, Soul Calibur, and more pool tables. Also, it was only a mile from 71st Street, which is essentially shopping central. This was also the place where I created my first comic series since high school. A huge air had been lifted over my head and I felt freedom. My travel phobia disappeared, and I was sad that I could only spend a few months there before I was awarded an Associate's Degree, or as my family calls it, not a Bachelor's. I unceremoniously walked away from TCC, happy.

With the beckoning of all those around me, I reluctantly chose to continue my "education" at OSU-Tulsa. This particular breed of OSU worked just fine with me, as it offered all the upper-level ad classes I needed to get a Bachelor's. It also meant I didn't have to go to Stillwater... yet. But it didn't take long for me to feel the backhand of OSU's system. I had to jump numerous hoops to get in, and it didn't help that my first advisor was anything but one. It also didn't help that my introduction into OSU's journalism program was met with utter failure - I couldn't pass Media Law to save my ass. What was interesting was that the ad classes were connected together with the same group of students. By my second year there, I had joined the ranks of the 2008 ad students, making good friends. Which worked since practically all my high school friends had fallen off the face of the earth, until stuff like Myspace and Facebook showed up. I was now part of a group, but that only lasted until last year, when almost all of them graduated. I was left behind, and had to settle for hanging with the public relations students. Fortunately, they turned out to be a swell bunch. As did the marketing group, as advertising and marketing were clumped together on occasion.

This spring, I repeated history by traveling to a far, distant land to finish up my degree. Unlike Southeast Campus, which was surrounded by fun, I went to Stillwater, which is surrounded by a different fun. A fun I was too damn old for, like wearing OSU T-shirts and joining every conceivable group imaginable. It was as if high school had mutated into a self-sufficient city. Now, I'm 24, and I felt like a cranky old man trudging along the campus - "Why is everything so far? Quit writing on the sidewalks! Stop setting up booths, you'll ruin the grass! Why do I have to pay two bucks for a Dr. Pepper? This sucks." Even the arcade sucked. At least the PR class I took there was enjoyable. As were the bus rides, which let me sleep and catch up on my podcasts. But unlike Southeast, I won't miss Stillwater.

And thus, here I is. I even pulled off the impossible and passed Media Law (thanks in part to the law lady teacher, who was easy on both curriculum and looks... giggle).

For the past few months, I've been consistently asked if I'm excited to be done. Excited being the only word they use. But to be honest, I don't feel excited. I feel exhausted, relieved, and ready for a goddamned nap. I feel like a marathon runner who got talked into it by his buddies, someone who knows how to run but isn't in the exact shape for it. And after running thirty miles in one day, they reach the finish line. Everyone's there, cheering and congratulating him, and he can't do or say anything because he's too tired. Then someone out of the crowd comes up and acknowledges him. "Happy ending?" they ask.

The guy smiles, and lazily lifts his arm and flashes everyone a thumbs-up. "Yeah, dude." Then he gets drove home to rest.

I cannot say I won't miss this. I have been in some kind of school system since I was five, so the change will be pretty deep in a few months when I'll realize I'm never going to have to do this shit ever, ever again. What's amazing to me is the amount of stuff I got out of it all - a love and talent for writing, semi-social skills (I'm still a homebody at heart), a love for driving around and doing whatever, some vague concept of the Japanese language (which I took my first year at TCC), enjoyment of playing pool, being able to drive in the ghetto and not get scared, good friends, and well, probably more that will set in over time.

But I am soooooo glad it's over.

-C.

Resident Evil Fiver.

2009-04-19T13:23:00.000-07:00

I'm not the biggest shooter fan. Halo 3 was fun for an hour, Gears of War 2 and Army of Two were only fun on co-op, I disliked Half-Life 2 (whuh-oh!), and those like Bioshock, The Darkness and Portal were only interesting and loved by me because they showed off incredible elements that warranted at least a play-through. But even the better shooters can only do that much for me, and $60 a pop is pretty steep for 10-12 hours of aiming at stuff.

Resident Evil, as a series, never interested me. I hate being spooked, and shooting zombies in a haunted house isn't appealing to me. Even the pants-enoculating RE4, which practically every single gaming journalist wanked off on, hardly budged me into buying into it. And now it's on almost every damn system. And then Capcom announced RE5. And the initial screens and video erupted a shitstorm of speculation and controversy.

This is a typical scene in the first half of the game. This was but one of many examples of what RE5 was going to be. In Africa, in broad daylight, in the community of such-and-such town that has been infected with zombie disease.

It goes to say this wasn't the typical theme in Resident Evil. Daylight, I mean. Most RE games are set at night or in corridors limiting one's movement and tactics. This is coming from someone who's never touched the previous RE games, so take that for what you will. But what struck me as odd was the jittery response to the enemies. Most are African, black males, with some scattered lighter-toned, possibly Arabic folk. It's a popular RE theme that anything in a 20-mile radius of the setting of the game is a zombie. Dogs, lizards, spiders, alligators, and yes, even Africans in Africa. I am not surprised. But the gaming community buzzed about with fingers pointing and loud whispers of "racism" uttered. Everywhere. On podcasts, in editorials, in schlock gaming news and elsewhere.

According to many game publications, this was standard gameplay in Resident Evil 5. Note the embargo on main character Chris Redfield's bunny outfit was broken. Like our hearts.

This blather went on before the game could even be played, and even then the demo, which was one of the first levels, didn't help much. People were more concerned with the racial implications than the game itself. Nobody worried about graphics, controls, gameplay, difficulty, nothing. If anything, some said "Oh, it's Resident Evil 4. But listen to us bitch about the setting and how this could be interpreted...!" and so on.

Here's what I think. I think I'll play through the game and decide that for myself.

So I did.

In the first hour RE5 gives you every idea you need to have to play the game. You're given a traditional AI partner, in this case Sheva Alomar.

Protip: If you can't stop staring at Sheva's ass, the zombie monsters will get you.

What surprised me is how much I didn't have to babysit Sheva throughout most of the game. I mainly designated her as the medic, dumping off healing items on her while I could concentrate on dispatching enemies in more elaborate ways. The AI buddy will usually pot-shot around and hold their own against most enemies anyway. Also, I never had to do what I feared this game would force upon me: escort her around like Helen Keller through a Nickelodeon gameshow obstacle course.

I suppose Sheva's AI self-sufficiency spoiled me, because when I went to play split-screen co-op, my friend Cooper was all but useless. It mostly had to do with my generosity in offering him weapons I upgraded so he wouldn't start so weakly. He whined about starting from scratch. RE5 doesn't offer do-overs, so I had to load another profile so he'd shut the hell up. Then he would swindle all the ammo, leaving me in the dust. RE5's co-op only works if you and your friend can get along. And since the game graciously doesn't offer co-op specific achievements, that won't be a problem. For me.

To counter the speculation that RE5 isn't racist, the game jumps into more traditional fare about 2/3rds into the game. Not to spoil much, but you do get out of the villages and swamps, and you do fight more than transformed citizens. It does get a bit ridiculous when some enemies wield spears and decorative masks, but it's no more questionable than Indiana Jones. Frankly, I would be more upset if Capcom pussed out and made all the enemies white, or if the enemies had cartoon thought bubbles depicting KFC and watermelons floating over their heads as they chased you down. So yeah, it does change gears later on in the game, and it isn't intentionally racist. It's only a matter of playing the game and seeing it for oneself. And game journalists should just stick to telling us if it's good or not.

Is RE5 good? Yes. The graphics are epically grand, despite the monotone greens, yellows, and browns coloring the landscape. Controls are a bit weird at first, but become used to after a while. What people will likely (and have) bitch about the inability to run and shoot at the same time. Fortunately, this isn't really an issue as the pace is equally stop-n-go. My only gripe control-wise is the Simon Says button smashing sequences littering the cutscenes can be a pain and distract from the action. The inventory system is slightly jacked, but is less a concern if one can learn to shoot and conserve ammo.

One interesting point is the exploitation of the money system in the game. Some sites have videos showcasing various tips on earning cash to upgrading weapons, which when maxed out can become gifted with infinite ammo, which eases the game further. I have my tricks, which postponed my beating the game but eased my potty mouth.

If RE5 is indeed just a transposition of RE4, I must be missing out on something. Because RE5 is good. The pacing is steady and linear, the exploits useful, the AI hottie also useful, and the story ridiculously silly. I would, as usual, say that this game is even more purchaseable if it were cheaper. And hopefully now that the game has been out for a while, anyone talking about it would stop pulling the race card out.

-C.

Well, Yes, It's Another Update.

2009-03-31T13:08:00.001-07:00

I guess I'm going for some kind of procrastination record, as I've gotten too lazy to even write about stuff or *gasp* review stuff. Such is life. I almost considered throwing my truck in the trash until it was fixed proper for the problem it had. I think my inability to travel in my own comfy vehicle has somehow screwed up my sense of time and place. Hence, putting stuff off.

I beat Banjo-Kazooie: Nuts & Bolts to the point where it said I had beaten it, but I know better. One can reach the final challenges with 75 puzzle pieces, but there are 131 in total. My enjoyment of the game began to wane around 60, so going after twice as many wasn't going to win me over. Mind you, I like the game, but some of the missions became more frustrating than necessary for a non-Japanese game. I don't expect my balls coddled by games in general anyway. However, the idea of repeating a simple "race to the finish line" challenge ten or so times when it's as blatant as "drive in a circle really fast" gets old.

But right now I'm kind of pissed of at Xbox 360s. Cooper got Xbox Live, my ticket into getting some well-needed updates. My first trip included my console, where I successfully downloaded Super Street Fighter II Turbo HD Remix. Oh boy, it's awesome. Until I bring it home and realize I forgot my only controller. So yesterday I traveled back armed with only my hard drive, believing this was the only necessity for getting assorted things off of Live. with my remaining points I purchased a costume pack for SFIV and some Samurai Shodown gamerpics. When I got home last night, apparently my downloadable content save on SFIV is "corrupted." In other words, no costumes in SFIV when I play on my own system. I've yet to test whether I A.) need access to Live to get this stuff (implausible), or B.) actually have to download the shit with my own console instead of from another's. I'd read somewhere that one needs to use their own console for keeping content, but it seemed insane. I'm not so much pissed off as I am irritated - pissed off would be if I couldn't access my $15 game. But it looks like I'm out the Microsoft equivalent of around five bucks, and that's pretty dumb. I've also yet to test my other games that received free downloads, like Guitar Hero III and Prince of Persia, but I don't expect any better results.

Still, I got SSF2THDR. Again, sweeeeeet.

On the PSP side, I bought Prinny: Can I Really Be The Hero? It's essentially a Mario-esque platformer starring the explosive penguins from the Disgaea series. For me, not a tough sell, especially when they pack it with an otaku soundtrack disc. Much to my dismay, Prinny is a hit-or-miss game. It takes a tried system of gameplay and basically botches it with floaty controls (good luck with jumping) and a difficulty system influenced by an in-game clock. I wasn't aware of this and became so frustrated with the mechanics I caused a overly churchy co-worker to gasp in amazement after uttering "fuck" during a break. Followed by "shit." She threatened that I'd have to put money in a cuss jar, but I informed her that it wouldn't be necessary as I was not ten years old. Hey, I don't enjoy getting pissed off at games either, lady, but as Lewis Black would relate, what AM I supposed to say? Pussyfeathers? Sassafrass? Grow up into the 21st century. There are Youtube videos where cats meow "fuck" readily available. Or if not, there should be.

I'm off-topic. Prinny would be good if NIS America continued making turn-based strategy games instead of experimenting with wanky platformers. enough said.

The weather has become more erratic the last few days. It snowed over the weekend, then melted and the sun shone for a good day, then mild hail and thunderstorms last night. As of today, it's a decent 55 degrees and sunny. I'm expecting frogs to fall out of the sky before the week's over.

So enjoy yourselves, sip something alcoholic, go download some Adam Carolla podcast, and have a wonderful whatever until I get back on here. That is, if anyone actually reads this damn thing.

-C.

What To Do...

2009-03-14T17:40:00.000-07:00

I'm halfway into my final semester ever in college. It's daunting and manic. I'm just wanting to be done with it all, much like I was that first week at TCC, over six years ago when I thought I could breeze through with an art degree. Right. So the question I'm asking myself now is, what am I going to do over spring break?

I went through my bouts in both SF4 and MK vs. DC. From my last blog, it's obvious which one got the most love. But all fighting games suffer from having little replay value once all unlockables have been retrieved. Oh, I could try and get some more achievements in MK, if only it didn't require such lengthy runs through the arcade more. Or I could beat my ass into submission by trying to be uber-awesome at SF4, but I'd rather pull toenails out than attempt to get a 10-pointer for doing those awful challenge mode objectives. No thanks.

So then I bought Banjo-Kazooie: Nuts & Bolts. For $40, it's a solid game, and I'd never owned a Banjo game before. (Long ago, I had played the first one at Cooper's house, briefly, as he was too goddamned stingy to let either Roller or me play it for long. The greedy prick now makes fun of me for having a game that he would've loved all those years ago.) What strikes me as odd is how frustrating some of the challenges are, considering the demographic it's aiming for. Gears of War this is not. And I can only stomach a couple hours at a time before I get tired of collecting puzzle pieces and otherwise fucking around trying to get the (all-too-easy) achievements. It's a good game, but somewhat derivative of the platform formula, no matter how many vehicle-based objectives it has.

I have other games I could mettle with, particularly DS games. I still haven't finished the Sonic RPG, and I bought Izuna 2 thinking that I somehow needed it. Methinks they'll get the summer treatment, especially if I go on trips.

That leaves me with the question: What next? I had heard generally mixed response to Resident Evil 5, which is almost scary as it's the first RE I've had any real interest in playing. Previous entries seemed too "peek-n-poke" for my tastes, and I'm really not into frightening shit as it is. But the enviroment of the game (Africa!) lends itself to promise more than just zombies in a spookhouse. I'd also heard remarkable praise for the new 50 Cent game, which became more of "it's not great but playable enough that you'll like how ridiculous it is." These are the kind of attitudes that led me to buy Banjo, but I'm sick of paying $60 for brand-new games so it may wait. Natually, Cooper heartily objected to my 50 Cent purchase proposal, but his reasonings were racist so I pretty much ignored him. Who knows which one will make the cut as next game. Seeing as how I'm currently counting my cash feverishly, it will likely be a while.

The next question will be whether or not I trek to Kansas for a few days. My truck is on suicide watch as it has refused to start up on two seperate occasions, both on mornings that I need to be somewhere quickly. As of now, it's in "fixed" mode, but the poor thing has certainly seen better days. But I feel after the onslaught of bad luck I've been stepping in lately, I could use the trip.

Despite the bad luck, good fortune seems to set in at random times. Imagine my shock when a fresh copy of Minghags showed up yesterday at my house. This was a movie I had waited a year for, thinking it was merely a fluke to kill my boner. And now I have the sequel to my favorite movie, Haggard. So, is it worth it? Yes. Is it as good as Haggard? Well, yes and no. As it is, Minghags is about as ridiculous as Haggard with a bigger budget. The only thing I can solemnly gripe about is that they had intended to make it PG-13 at one point, and it sometimes shows. I could've stood to hear more swearing and scatalogical humor, and the absence of Raab Himself shows. I find this unfair since I've set Haggard on such a high bar to surpass. The greatness certainly outweighs the meh, though, as people like Mark the Bagger and Lord Bottaro make welcome additions to the main cast of Bam's flick. But with the recent turns that Bam, Dunn, and Dico have made with their lives, I doubt we'll ever see another movie like Minghags or Haggard. And Where The #$&% Is Santa? doesn't exactly count since it's more of a glorified, 90-minute Viva La Bam episode than a film. Not that it's bad, but it's not the same.

So enjoy yourselves and have a fun, safe spring break. Go look online for Adam Carolla's podcast, because that's the best thing to hit the 'Net in a while. And don't shit the bed.

-C.

Them's Fighting Words.

2009-02-23T17:19:00.000-08:00

I'm going to come out and say last week, despite some of it being really awesome (Street Fighter Awesome), pretty much sucked. I won't go into the speel of what happen, but little things kept stepping on my good fortune, building up to my firm belief that I have some really backwards luck. I mean it. I think someone's out to get me or something. It made me want to curl up and sleep for a few days, so when I'd wake up it was like nothing had happened, and hey, free sleep.

But that's neither here nor there. I'm going to write about Street Fighter IV. Oh yeah.

I was kind of pissed that it came out a day later than I anticipated, but it seems me pre-ordering it has some quaint advantages. As in I got the special edition no problem. I also got in my joystick controller, which did fine until the joystick stopped registering the left direction altogether. After reading some of the more disparaging things being said about this controller and how Madcatz can't do anything right on the 'Net, I was disheartened. As it turns out, though, I'm actually much better at the game with an Xbox 360 controller. Yup. Bite on that. The downside is that I have to send the broken joystick back. I was hoping for some magic, but as I learned last week with the other crappy stuff that happened, I can't win them all.

The Street Fighter IV "movie," The Ties That Bind, is a 65-minute festival of somebody trying to tell a SF story and pretty much failing to make any sense. And boy, if you thought any of the SF storylines to date were crummy, well, don't expect a jump away from that. Apparently some new shmuck called Seth is running around trying to take over the world and needs fighter DNA to do it, and Ryu is the perfect candidate. But Ryu has pals, and they don't take any crap off this guy. And Crimson Viper is a double agent? What? I'm not going to go deep into it because, sadly, it's just not that good and Capcom doesn't even seem to care at this point about stories. The animation is especially painful, because it looks like they just used key animation and felt no need to lip-synch the dubbing at all. That "ultamate" picture I posted last time looks better. This is a shame because I know Capcom knows better. After the spectacular Animated Movie they did, what, 15 years ago (gratuitous Chun-Li shower scene aside), and a 13-year wait for a proper sequel, and here we have this. And to salt the scrapings, I can only play this on my 360. Bleah.

The animation carries over to the prologue/epilogue scenes in the game, where it's even more obvious they assigned different animators to covers certain characters. All I can say is thank goodness this doesn't have anything to do with the game itself.

Fortunately, the 3D in-game animation is spectacular. I was a bit goosey about the transition, considering how great SFIII's 2D looked, but I am impressed. And it favors the 2D game plane so well I hardly notice it's really 3D. This is where I fell in love with the game, to the point where it still pisses me off like any other SF game.

Seth carries his stupid annoyance over to the game, where he's the obligatory space alien boss or whatever. "Let's give some character a 10-year-old Japanese boy drew on his Trapper Keeper various moves from other characters, but make them a hundred times cheaper. Also, unavoidable Ultra Combo." Yup. Seth is a BITCH, unless you know how to properly beat his ass. As in use a good character. Because I don't remember how many times I had to retry as Guile, but I continued my tradition of inventing curse phrases the whole time. "Fucking Medicine Ball Shitfag" was one.

The new stuff thrown in to the move mix work almost TOO well in this game. The biggest change is the Focus Attack (MP+MK), which can act as a parry, a means of avoiding attacks, a way to just screw with your opponent, or all three. I exploited how silly this was, but I'll admit it's much easier to pull off than the Parry system from SFIII. The Super Meter and Revenge Meter are also derived from standby meters of old, but take on a whole new meaning of strategy. Do I risk getting hit enough to do an Ultra Combo, or just beat his ass?

A lot of whimpering on the 'Net is how lame it is to have to unlock characters in this day and age. I agree with that, but I cannot find any reason to say unlocking all the fighters was a serious pain. It was lengthy, but I liked that I was at least unlocking the crappy movies during the whole thing. Getting Akuma was too easy (Thanks, Sagat!), and getting Gouken required little skill as well (Thanks, Dhalsim!). While I'm tickled they put in the original 12 from SFII in here, my biggest complaint about the roster are some of the choices for the unlockable characters. I'm so sick of seeing these Ryu/Ken wannabes cluttering up my Street Fighter games. Yeah, Sakura and Dan are silly and kind of fun to mess around with, but when they put in Fei Long and Cammy from Super SFII and leave out Dee Jay and T. Hawk, I point the finger at those two and ask "why?" Rose is cool because she's useable in the game, and Gen sucks but he doesn't shoot Hadoukens all over the place. Hell, even Akuma and Gouken are kind of different. At least they didn't rape character select space with some of the trash from SFIII. Yet. If they ever decide to give us downloadable fighters, I'll have to figure out a way to get Xbox Live.

The new characters themselves are meh at best. They stand out with impossibly tragic designs, and have some interesting move sets, but they don't bear any sense of memorability. And after characters like Dudley, Twelve, Necro, and Urien rearing their heads in the last game, I'm not that shocked when a fat man with a ponytail or a lucha libre fighter stumbles on the scene. And speaking of lucha libre, when did those become the necessary character to have in fighting games? I'm shocked Soulcalibur doesn't have one. This is like when they had to have a Bruce Lee in every fighter a decade ago. That said, Fei Long is cool. El Fuerte, notsomuch.

In the end, SFIV is as good if not better than I expected. The game part is traditional Street Fighter goodness, and despite looking like ass the cutscenes are practical since I don't have to read monotone jabberwatsis that earlier games needed because of tech limits. The Challenge Mode will give me some added content until I get pissed at it. And hey, the soundtrack disc isn't half bad, either. This game is goodness cubed.

Bent on homicidal rage, I continued my fighting game addiction when I found out Target was selling Mortal Kombat vs. DC Universe for $40. A hearty deal, as I refused to pay full price for an MK game. Unfortunately, I was unaware of Target's ability to sell me an opened box with no game disc inside. This was a bit troublesome to explain to the return service clerk, but all was fixed because all I wanted was to have the game. I'd write in length about MK vs. DC, but sadly it's just not as good as SFIV. It's good in the sense that MK games usually suck balls by today's standards and this one plays well, but c'mon. SFIV beats it hands down. Except that MK vs. DC pretty much hands out achievement points, whereas SFIV runs with the old standby: Japanese games want to crush your spirit with impossible tasks. There's no goddamn way I can beat the game on Hardest with every character. Nuh-uh. I'm not even that good on Medium. I'd be lucky to get even 200 points out of that game. Oh well.

Keep on fighting.

-C.

So It's Come To This: A Street Fighter Clipshow.

2009-02-14T17:06:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had one of those times in your life where you tell yourself that you're not going to get worked up over something that has pretty much stayed with you for most of your life if it changes? Or have you been addicted to something passively and when the newest version of that drug hits the market you run around screaming and evacuate assorted things into your pants (or whatever's in front of you if you happen to be pantsless)? Well, that's Street Fighter IV and me in a nutshell.

Some people, even my close friends, act like I've truly lost it with my excitement for this game. But truth be told, the last real Street Fighter game released was way back in 1996, practically when my transition from Sapulpa to Collinville occurred. Of course, what started all of this?

A long time ago, in second grade, my friends Shee Yin and Matt began to rant a great deal about this new video game. I hadn't a clue about what they were talking about, and honestly back then my gaming skills and knowledge were beyond pitiful. I sucked so bad at Super Mario Bros. 3 my mom had to beat it for me. Yeah. So they went on and on about how it was a fighting game and there was a green monster and a fat guy and some chick and these guys that shot fireballs. I wanted to be a part of this magic, but lacked the monetary funds to get a game.

Fortunately, soon afterward I came across this gem at the Reasor's at SW Boulevard:

Gamepro Presents Super Constipated Fighter II Strategy Guide.

Looking back, I cannot imagine what possessed me to like this. Look at that awful Gamepro artwork. Every character has to take a major dump. Anyway, convincing my grandma to buy a book was a better bet than, say, a game. Plus, I could take this to school. Which I did. And the three of us, with the new addition of Nathan, read the hell out of it. All it had were some random combo strategies and, as the cover prominently promises, the 2000 game screens. Along with some really, really bad art.

Wow. Utterly American.

Regardless of the heinous pictures and questionable redeeming value, you couldn't tell a seven-year-old it sucked.

Not long thereafter, I actually managed to own the game. Specifically, Street Fighter II Turbo. Touted as "faster" and giving the world an extra color pallette for each fighter, I said "YAY!" until I realized the cold, hard truth that I sucked balls at this game. On one star difficulty. The now-infamous reviewer in me blamed the SNES controller, but I sucked at most every game I owned in 1993. But that didn't deter me from loving it even more. So much I made it a point to capture it in the form of drawings.

When people ask me how I learned to draw, I tell them I don't know. This picture backs up that amnesiatic answer. I couldn't even spell "ultimate," for shit's sake.

For the next couple years, Street Fighter II and its iterations very well consumed my way of being. Instead of writing meaningful passages in my class-appointed journal, I'd write some half-assed strategy for E. Honda to beat Sagat, or just write down the characters' names over and over again until I had filled my page. I bought the awful GI Joe toys (I learned the odd way how baby-making worked with the Blanka and Ryu figures and my aunt's old Barbie dolls... yep), and some really weird Japanese manga that didn't translate well, some keychains, a purple T-shirt with the bosses on it, and the crappy Jean-Claude Van Damme movie. Perhaps the most bizarre Street Fighter item I got during this phase was awarded to me on my 10th birthday for winning enough tickets at Mr. Gatti's, the cool kids Chuck E. Cheese.

Nathan, Carter, Shee Yin and Matt celebrating prizes and a knockoff Chun-Li doll. I HAD to have that damn thing and I fought hard to get the proper number of tickets.

Sadly, that marked my last hurrah at Sapulpa, and for the most part those guys have disappeared. My love for Street Fighter didn't quite have the same meaning in Collinsville. In eighth grade I got a PS1, and other than Street Fighter Alpha 3 and my ultimate acceptance of Street Fighter III, little was made of my fandom publicly. Fighting game nuts like Cooper couldn't (and still cannot) comprehend 2D fighting mechanics and would sooner fap to good, yet not as memorable games like the Soul Calibur series. For years Street Fighter retained more personal meaning, and because the series hadn't done much it didn't see much light in my public gaming life.

When Street Fighter IV was announced, I nearly came myself. When I caught a glimpse of the screenshots, I was quickly drawn back. 3D graphics? Heresy. But as I saw the game little by little show off its mechanics, still 2D, I began to accept it, "ultamately" loving the idea. That's when it struck me: SFIV is like those old friends coming back from a long journey, saying "Sup?" and then we go on and on about the days of youth. I've quickly returned to my SF whoring, including this: Yes, I bought a damn Street Fighter faceplate AND side decals for my 360. You can say that's stupid. Just don't tell Trigun Kitty. He likes looking at the boobies.

So needless to say, Tuesday can't get here any faster. Which is ironic since that's a rare week where school and work team up to royally screw up my free time. Oh well.

What else do I have to say about Street Fighter, since this the obligatory Street Fighter reminiscence blog? Just some random memories I can't place in a particular timeline.

I did get to play the original Street Fighter arcade game at a mini-golf course when I went to my sister's wedding in Eureka Springs. Turns out it's a pretty bad game.
I royally hated the idea of going to college, at TCC, until I saw they had a Street Fighter III: Third Strike arcade at the metro campus. Elena and Makoto FTW.
I hated M. Bison in SFA3. I'd get mad to the point of spewing obscenities when he'd throw that cheap-ass Psycho Crusher that'd take off about 3/4ths of my health. I didn't beat that game with many people. T. Hawk was one, though, and I don't know why.
I went to school with Brad Studie, the nephew of Wes Studi, who played Sagat in the Street Fighter movie. Though this is mere allegation.
Speaking of SFA3, I own pretty much every North American version of the game. Even the GBA one, which honestly isn't terrible. But that's coming from me.
My first encounter with SFIII was the first version at some run-down outlet mall in Branson. It was in some arcade nestled amongst a Bonanza buffet, an indoor mini-golf course, and some really bad 3D movie room where we had to literally sit on the floor. When I returned to Branson last year, that same mall was still there, flourishing. the restaurant, arcade, and mini-golf remained, but the shitty movie room and, sadly, SFIII did not. I reminisced over a game of mini-golf.
The first time I played any arcade version of Street Fighter was SFII: Champion Edition at the Sand Springs Cinema 8. This above almost all is my fondest memory of Street Fighter.

I'm not sure if this is something a lot of people will read (especially after my transition to Blogger from Myspace), but I thought I'd write about it before I get SFIV. It seems... appropriate.

-C.

And Then We Will Eat Cake.

2009-02-03T13:32:00.000-08:00

A follow-up on the ice storm - it was nothing like the previous, spooky one, and on top of icing up the roads I was granted freedom from half my classes. I hate having wasted my pre-paid shuttle fare, but them's the breaks. By Friday the ice was all but melted away, leaving a feeling of contentment and vehicles needing a good washing.

I'd been on the fence about purchasing games until my precious Street Fighter IV is released (two more weeks! Eee!), but I caved in. Two 360 games caught my attention for odd reasons. I'll go with the one I've pretty much "beat" first.

Scene It: Box Office Smash is... okay, I think I've already lost your attention now. That's alright. I'm not exactly thrilled with myself for buying it. Or getting over 800 achievement points in it in the course of two days. Scene It appeals to the most base of entertainment senses - the game comes with controllers with big, shiny buttons and there are pictures of movies on the box. Some would argue that I might as well buy a Wii, given I can find one, but I hate the Wii so no. And my most viable excuse for purchasing this was that I would like to have at least one four-player game that won't cause everyone to get pissed off at each other. Sort of. Maybe.

The end result of the multiplayer test was mixed at best. I seemed to have broke the game by having played it too damn much by the time my friends played it, but it was somewhat enjoyed by all. If anyone needs some easy (ie: no gaming skills required) achievement points, this isn't a terrible game. You'll just have an uphill battle convincing your friends that this is good.

And thus last night my self-control broke again, and I picked up Skate 2. Mind you, I have never touched the Skate series, but having weaned on the older, better Tony Hawk games, I have some idea how to muddle in skateboarding games. I also have yet to open the shrink wrap on the game because I have had lots of school crap to do to catch up for last week's sabbatical. But I figured what the hell, the last skateboarding game I dabbled in was Tony Hawk Underground 2, and that wasn't exactly the most memorable experience. And I get the idea that this is not one of those games I'm A.) going to get wrapped in and takes over my life, and B.) not Street Fighter IV, so it's a safe purchase. Having looked at the reviews, and wasted my money on wankier games (goddamn Nintendo DS), I could do much worse.

-C.

I Hate Ice Storms.

2009-01-26T11:23:00.000-08:00

But I'm not going to wet my pants over it. It appears that a blanket of some kind of awful weather is covering the entire state of Oklahoma and here it's trying to start something. It's drizzling and attempting to freeze, except it doesn't feel that cold out. But water freezes, so it's not looking terribly promising.

Just so long as it doesn't repeat last year's fiasco.

Two Decembers ago I was able to identify with any victim of terrible weather when my house was without power for a week. A week in cold, wanky weather. With clear streets, unless they were covered in trees. I can't say it was the worst case scenario - we had the comfort of having a gas water heater (hot showers are awesome) and a fireplace. I also kept vigil with my PSP, charging it in my truck and catching up on podcasts. But there was a stagnant feeling of suck around the house. It also had the perfect timing of occuring during finals week, and the mostly clear streets meant that any excuse out of them was ignored by the many. I can't say I sucked, but I certainly didn't feel like accomplishing anything. I even stopped shaving until I got power back, on some kind of strike that only I understood.

But with that, I learned to survive. I learned that no matter how gross McDonald's breakfast is, it isn't half bad when you can't cook food. I learned that a stock of firelogs is always a good thing. I learned how to read. I learned how to hit the toilet bowl in the dark. I grew.

So this impending weather isn't as much of a worry on my mind, so long as I have power or the streets are clear. That, and Oklahoma goes from 20 degrees to 60 degrees every three days, so I imagine this will clear up in a couple days. I have firewood (retrieved from the fallen trees in my yard from the ice storm), food, a generator, and a bunch of blankets. If the roads ice up, I'm not going to school. I'm more upbeat about it because I've already been to hell.

Bring it on.

-C.

Prince of Persia.

2009-01-23T20:01:00.000-08:00

It's with games like Prince of Persia that make me realize that I'm getting too frustrated with "hardcore" gaming. Case in point: I couldn't play more than three hours of Fallout 3 without yawning, setting the controller down, and deciding that time could be better spent elsewhere. Fortunately, I was able to test that game out at a friend's house so I didn't make the mistake of purchasing it. I opted for Prince of Persia based on the myriad of things I'd heard/read/seen on various sites.

The biggest draw-in for me was the graphical style. It's a bit coarse and choppy, but the atmosphere in the game is pretty spectacular. It sure beat the hell out of the previous Persia games; those were riddled with generic brooding darkness that only a frequent Hot Topic shopper could relate to. The colors are bright, the music is mellow... it's just a great world to muck in.

The story is "meh" at best. The Prince (nameless throughout for no reason) stumbles across a damsel in distress while looking for his donkey. However, Elika the damsel isn't as distressed, as she's also a magic-spouting princess that follows the Prince around not unlike a walking insurance policy. She allows the Prince to double-jump across chasms, assists him in battle, and, most noticably, she's constantly saving him whenever he makes the inevitable plummet. And he will do that. A lot. And that's a good thing too, because her daddy cuts down a magic tree and all hell breaks loose.

Most of the story unravels with dialogue provoked by pressing a button over and over in certain calm spots. Elika and Prince banter on about the world and what's happened and what it used to be like before the baddies came to town. The dialogue is all well and good, but I could've stood to see more interaction with the world via legitimate cutscenes. But the Prince and Elika tend to have a good connection as they go on their journey, playingly flirting and saving each other (one of my favorite scenes has Elika catching a sheepish glance at the guy's ass. That prince is gonna get some...).

Villiany comes in two forms: Boss and soldier. The soldiers appear in rare, random spots in the world and can see easily dropped Sparta-style off a cliffside. Bosses are different in that they show up as "goalposts" in each section (level). Some bosses will hotfoot and lead you on a merry, frustrating chase, while others prefer to just stomp your ass in haste. As you progress further, they become trickier and trigger different defensive barriers and invoke frustrating quicktime "God of War" events. I've read that combat is a hoot by various sources, and... I don't quite follow that. Granted, it's fun in spots, but the quicktime sections are a hare too quick, leading to some unecessary frustration whenever a boss kicks my ass and regains health and then continues to block every other attack. The two-on-one aspect (with Elika acting as sideline support) is nice, but by the last handful of sections I had to clear battles became more burdensome than fun.

Some reviewers argue that the biggest enemy in the game is the world itself. But I don't get that relation either. I see the world as a glorified obstacle course. Not that that's a bad thing, as this is where the game becomes awesome. Wall jumping, vine climbing, pole shimmying, and slipper-sliding through the world, wench in tow, is a hoot. Add the 1001 orbs (light seeds, per story) that litter the landscape for intricate collecting, and oh boy, it's a Rare game... I mean, fun. Yes. And to make matters more irritating to those who hate collecting useless crap, you have to collect a certain number of orbs to get powers to progress in the game. Oh, wait, I didn't mention powers, but those aren't good enough to go on about. Fortunately only little over half of them are needed to beat the game, but you know I got all 1001 of those damned things. Somebody had to.

The ease of the game can either draw gamers in or run them off. The lack of the ability to die is where the challenge pretty muchs keels over. Scoff about it if that's a problem, but the same could be said of Bioshock and its regen chambers, and we all came ourselves over that game. I personally wasn't deterred by this because frankly, had there been a life system or I had to start over every time I fell, this disc would've ended up in the trash. And then there are the achievement points. You cannot cut a fart in the game without unlocking two or three of them. I'll admit a portion or them need some effort to get, but most are so simple to obtain I went ahead and got all but four. It help me beat 10k in nerd points, what can I say?

I won't spoil the exact end, but Ubisoft has a sequel in mind as the story stands. Nuff said.

Prince of Persia isn't for everyone, and that's fine with me. I'll admit that while I had a blast, it didn't last a 60+ hour session of nonstop crazy, like the Saints Row games or Crackdown. It's a good transition for casual gamers wanting a solid platform adventure that'll kill ten or so hours. And I'm to understand that the price for this game dropped to about $40, so I'd definitely recommend it. Do it. Now. Watch as every time Elika heals the land, she gets on her hands and knees. That should lead to some interesting fanart.

-C.

Howdee.

2009-01-21T19:09:00.000-08:00

It would appear that I've succumbed to doing this. Not writing. That's just a given; I've been spouting nonsense for years - xanga, myspace, and to the degree it will let me, facebook. I mean an actual blog, with a fancy title, URL and all the trimmings. Yum.

If you are reading this, you're likely asking yourself or anyone in the vicinity why the hell I would do this. The honest truth is, I don't really know yet. Maybe it's a way for me to "mature" as a writer of random, stupid things put in a tight-knit, non-stupid fashion so that whenever I escape into the real world with careers and fast cars and somebody asks, "Hey, didn't you write something on the Internet today?" I can then respond, "Why, yes. Yes I did." This might be followed by a handshake or a small dance of sort.

I don't exactly know if my writings are noticed by anyone outside the one friend I have that reads all my stuff either out of sheer boredom or something to preoccupy him while his porn is downloading on Limewire. But I figured I'd give it a shot here, if anything else.

On record, I'm known... okay, notorious for reviews. Not so much the "LOL, this suxxx, Z3R0 out of F1V3 STARRRRRRZ" crap any forum poster can manage to stamp on their keyboard with hammy fists. But I've been noted to be a bit harsh on some stuff. I somehow found that I can write a scathing review of a game like Assassin's Creed after fumbling with the awful controls for only fifteen minutes. But now it seems that my buddies have made my pessimism and knack for criticism a running gag, to the point where they prompt me to review meaningless crap like how someone dropped their keys while unlocking a door or how a dog sits on the couch.

To sum it up short, don't expect simple reviews. Expect experiences.

But I won't waste time pondering on just games here. Anything that sprouts from my mind may show up. And this blog will also test my ability to refrain from another notorious trait: the ever-present potty mouth. Not that I won't curse outright, or I'm trying to get to a better place if I croak. I realize that I'm a grown-up (and use that justification abusively), but I just feel that I do enough of that in person. To paraphrase Lewis Black in some way, this blog will have a "five fuck" limit. Or something like that. We'll see how that works.

The only other thing I can think to write is that I don't have any other things to write. At least not now, not in this post. I just wanted to say hi (HAI) and spend some time figuring out this damn template and get all the kinks fixed so it's all snappy up in this bitch.

See, there's cussings. It's like we're home.