Stereotypes Akimbo Review: Assassins Creed II.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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...

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.