Friday, April 13, 2007

Blood and Guts

I don’t know if my swiney colleagues here on the Blog realize it, but our little experiment in mental illness has just passed its one year anniversary. I think this event calls for a celebration of massive proportions.


Okay, that’s enough. Blimey, I’m exhausted! Back in my youth, I could party for hours or at least hold out for a couple more “wheees,” but these days it’s all I can do to tighten the strap on my party hat.

So, FooDaddy has mentioned his purchase of an Xbox 360. I’m ashamed to say I have fallen prey to this beast and played a few rounds of mindless violence, using a very nifty wireless controller. A couple weeks ago, I found myself at Foo’s apartment, playing a game called “Gears of War.” You can play cooperatively against the aliens or you can choose to kill one another. We chose the latter. Soon, I was controlling a large, hulking Army…dude and skulking around a creepy landscape in search of an obviously asthmatic alien, who was being controlled by the Foo himself.

My character had a very large gun (firearm, Pickle Weasel), but I quickly discerned that the caliber of the weapon meant nothing if one is unable to actually aim it. Once, I entered a courtyard to find Foo’s odious alien standing there waiting for me. As I jiggled the controls in an attempt to draw a bead on him, he began running toward me. This, of course, caused me to panic. To make matters worse, the creature withdrew a noisy chainsaw from his back pocket and waved it at me meaningfully. Being the perceptive type, I understood there was a distinct possibility the alien meant to actually use the device on my limbs.

And so he did. I was unable to take aim in time and was soon distributed on the ground in a rather messy fashion.

Oh, the humanity! With all the shooting, stomping, and chainsawing, I’m surprised I didn’t stop on my way home and drop-kick an elderly homeless person. Picture this: you stalk the other player and shoot him until he’s crouched on the ground, bleeding and gasping for breath. Then you walk up to his inert form and:

  • Shoot him in the head,
  • Stomp him in two, or
  • Whip out a chainsaw and finish him off in gory style.

Yes, it was fun.


Paul FooDaddy Brand said...

Could be asthma. Could be he was chuckling to hisself. Us puny humans'll never know.


Paul FooDaddy Brand said...

The picture you chose of Player One character Marcus Fenix...does he look like a world-renowned badass of the highest order?

Or is it more like, "Geez. Where'd I leave my glasses?"

Or, "Some punk's shaved off all my beard except for this little lip patch, and they'll pay as soon as I can find my car."

Jacob Nordby said...

Hey, youse guys.

Congratulations on One Year of Stupidity! I'm proud of us and can imagine a picture of the two of you, arms thrown companionably across shoulders and me trying desperately to get into the photo. Basically, I am aware that my "official" status on this Blog is due to ballsy-ness and obnoxious insistence that I be included. Thank you.

Oh, Stupey...thanks for pointing out that you were referring to a large WEAPON when you said "gun". Believe me, I wouldn't have assumed that your character would be over-endowed with man appendages.


Jack W. Regan said...

Don't be ridiculous, PW. Foo and I both embrace you (figuratively speaking, of course) and recognize you as a full-fledged member of the Blog. Mostly because we're too lazy to do anything about it, but hey. It works out in your favor.

Paul FooDaddy Brand said...

Yeah. You know. Um... Like Stupid Blogga said. Typing too much work.