Video Games and Space Loaf

Time-wasters, I have a...thing...to confess. I've been doing a lot of caving in to peer pressure lately. Signed up for MyFace and Spacebook. Sent a text message from my cellular telephone. Joined a motorcycle gang. Snorted Windex.

I'm a little ashamed.

This latest lapse in judgment put a sizable dent in my checking account, and has left me feeling exhilarated and stumbly. It's also shown me how old I am.

I went out and bought an Xbox 360 video game console. I was going to get one of them fancy Xbox 460s, but those were sold out.

Holy space gerbils, I'm witty.

So here I was, at the local giant electronics retailer, doing what all men do, especially ones with social anxiety disorders: I pretended to know exactly what I wanted and where to find it. This kinda fell apart on me when I had to ask the salesbeing if they had any "Xbox Elites, er, Pro. I mean Pro. Do you guys have any pretzels in the back? In your back? Geez, I mean, Xbacks?"

Fortunately, he was able to decipher the message, which was that I wanted him to check The Back (a magical place where everything is always in stock) for any Xbox 360 Pro packages that might be lurking there. The Pro version of the console comes with a higher pricetag and the stuff the "Core" system does not. The hard drive. The hot-air popcorn popper. The built-in electric bumscratcher. You know; the really cool things.

Checkout. They ask me if I want to sign up for their Customer Gold Special SuperSavings® ShortBus Rewards card. No thanks.

"It'll save you fifteen dollars on this purchase alone, sir!"
"I'm not interested in saving money because I'm stupid."
"Oh, that's so sad. Credit or debit?"
"Paper, please."

Once I was done being incompetent there, it was off to the used video game store to get a game and another controller. As it turns out, in this particular establishment, you're not allowed to take controllers and other peripheral devices off the hooks yourself. This confused me at first, because the first peg I went to was pretty normal: you could remove the product, stare at it, chew on the corner, and then slide it back on the peg when you decide not to buy it.

Nope. Some little kid took pity on me after watching me struggle to remove a controller from another peg, and told me the secret: you actually have to shuffle up to one of the salesnerds and sheepishly ask them if they can come twist one off the peg for you. There are special tools involved here, so you need them. I pointed out to the gamewench that unlocked my controller, Excalibur style, that there was a broken peg that allowed me to be self-sufficient.

They never laugh.

Checkout. Would you like to sign up for our GamerGold SPF-50 Honky PaleCard? No. Don't like savings. Savings give me gas. Ha ha. You sure? Yes. I never plan on visiting your fleabag establishment again. Gonna eBay the stuff.

Whew! Home at last. Now that I've got the coolest console in the world (and if you think I'm going to defend that stance to the nerdlord fanboys, you're nuts), I can bring polygonal death to my enemies and talk on my little telemarketer headset to my brothers and their friends. Anything coming out of the headset sounds like diseased gnomes fighting in a wading pool, which makes it amusing. But the point is, I'm cool now.

As for the title of this post, the "Space Loaf" in particular, I put that up there to make the post more eye-catchy. I'll explain it in the next post. This is known as "being a jerk" and it's supposed to foster traffic-generating suspense. All us professionals utilize it from time to time.