It virtually sucked. Or was this a time I could have used the word, literally?
Well, I had a dream in which there was a new game system in town – the VirtualBoy 3D!
It looked like the equipment above, except the controller was wireless, and the hard ware broke into two pieces in order to do this:
Talk about "table tennis"...
In case you don’t know what this is, and the above image falls into my category of (Not So) Artistic Representations, each half projected the image that created the 3D game play… pretty neat, eh?
What could be even better than that? How about the video game I dreamed about another day…
It was a game in which the major baddies throughout history are gathered by an evil time traveler, and your character is picked up by another guy from the future that’s already built a team composed of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Teddy Roosevelt. I was planning on making a cover for the game, which was entitled Past President Future, but the above image took too long, and now I’m bored.
Today was a great day to go back and recapture the NSFW hilarity of The Legend of Neil’s first season, since the second season has finally debuted!
The first episode contains the back story to why Neil got drunk in the first place, and masturbated to the fairy in The Legend of Zelda, all the while autoerotically asphyxiating himself with a Nintendo controller, which inevitably sucked him into Hyrule, the world of the game. Whew!
For the first season, click here. For season two’s opener, the video’s after the jump, you Wizzrobe! And make sure you pronounce Old Man correctly!
Born in 1982, Baby Pac-Man was the third game in a series that didn’t have much life left in it. Not because of the slow advancements in processing technology or because the games themselves were repetitive (well maybe that’s exactly why video games died back in the day), but just as quickly as arcades burst on the scene, the movement was deemed a fad in 1983 and they went away. (There were other reasons, too. Check ’em out here.)
SIDENOTE: That’s why Nintendo dubbed their new console an Entertainment System in 1985. “Video games” left a sour taste in many people’s mouths.
But that’s neither here nor there. This is about a dream I had, and it’s about as odd as they get. According to the Wikipedia entry, Baby Pac-Man was a he. And he was born to Pac-Man and Mrs. Pac-Man. But there is no Mrs. Pac-Man, only a Ms. So for all intents and purposes (or is it intensive purposes?), in my subconscious state, the baby’s a she. Pink bonnet anyone?
Well, basically, the dream happened to become the foundation for a feminist diatribe. Baby Pac-Man had grown into a lovely Pac-Woman, but she could not get any respect in the workplace. People kept calling her Ms. and Miss and that didn’t bother her as much as the fact they wouldn’t call her Pac-Woman rather than Pac-Man. People also thought she got the job because of who her father was and not on her own merits. Also, people kept offering her fruits and pretzels.
I don’t remember much else, but I’m sure it all ended swell. But I do wish there was something about mazes or ghosts, though…
"Why do I keep getting spam for power pellets?"
INGREDIENTS: Two different kinds of Powerade, a late night viewing of Saturday Night Live, and Little Debbie chocolate chip muffins.
When I was just a wee lad back in the day (I’m prepping for St. Paddy’s), it was awful fun for the adults give kids a sip of beer and watch their reactions. I’m the oldest boy of all the cousins on my father’s side, and for quite awhile I was the only boy (my brother broke the streak when I was nine… there were nine girls and me… ever notice how the more girls there are, the higher the octave of screeching goes?)
What I’m getting at is it wasn’t uncommon for my elders to make me the butt of the joke. Some might have thought it would encourage drinking, but I never took a sip of alcohol (not counting my relatives’ pranks) until I turned 19 and could legally do so in Canada. My other tendencies in alluded-to innocence: I was more interested in Nintendo than IN-tendo (if you catch my innuendo), smoking was a disgusting habit my parents had and I swore I would never have, and drugs… well, I’d stick only to any of the natural kind.
…parents pulling new tricks on their kids for laughs (and filming it and putting it on YouTube… “Thanks Dad… what are you, like, thirteen, or something?”)…
…or teaching their kids to be pretty good at smoking.
I guess you could always over indulge your child and baby them so they can become insulated and protected from the rest of the world (read: spoiled), that they never have to deal with R|E|A|L|I|T|Y. Heaven forbid someone take their Cloudsong…
Last night, I had the first confirmation of a theory I’ve long held to be true. It’s not quite a Theory Sheet level theory (yet), and the jury is still out on whether or not it’s repeatable, but I’ve at least found an available and consistent means to test it.
The Theory: Thinking while drinking makes you smarter.
I was going to describe how the parachutes are like beer and the running is like thinking, but the picture makes me laugh for some reason, so I'll write nothing but this.
The Test: Brain Age 2 for the Nintendo DS
Basically, two nights ago, I dug out my DS because I didn’t feel like turning on my TV and PS3 to play a video game to fall asleep. Brain Age 2 was in there and since I didn’t feel like changing that out (I was tired… and a little lazy), I gave it a go. It was a sober night, and I was rated a Brain Age of 54.
Last night, I had a good five drinks in me as I went to bed. I pulled out the ol’ DS one more time and I was rated a Brain Age of 34. That’s a substantial gain, especially when considering my average was previously 53.
The big question that remains: Do I have to stay drunk to stay smarter?
My sister, Tammie, had a good chortleguffaw chuckle when she heard me ask this one time:
Hey Chris, what does it mean when my Wii’s glowing blue?
She lost it, and upon thinking how ridiculous it sounded out of context, others joined her giggles, myself included. As it turns out, she may slowly be turning into my foil.
Let me further explain.
Last night, one of my friends stopped by with his two sons. They’re cute enough, nice enough kids, but where my friend made the mistake was to inform his children that I had toys.
What I have are not toys. They’re collectibles. Two totally different things.
Upon arriving, and not expecting them to stay long as I had mentioned plans to head to trivia, the boys whipped off their scarves and knit caps and bundled coats and proclaimed, “Where’s the toys?”
I begrudgingly lead the trio back to my DVD room (yes, they have their own room… they kinda require a room when they reach 1200+). In there, I have Indiana Jones figures, Lego playsets, Transformers, and Matt Trakker of M.A.S.K. re-released as a G.I. Joe, all in their packages. Of course, the first thing to reached for is Trakker.
“I know how to put this together,” the oldest proclaimed.
“So do I,” was my response as I put it back.
On one of the cabinets, I have some open figures on display which include mini Ninja Turtles, mini Transformers, a mini Grimlock cartoon figure that does not move, and both versions of Bumblebee from the Michael Bay movie.
They moved onto these collectibles, and within minutes, Grimlock was in pieces (I don’t think he’s supposed to come that much apart, if even at all), the rubberbands holding the weapons in the Turtles’ hands were snapped, and the ’77 Camaro Bumblebee was being stabbed by his own laser sword.
I have learned patience through all the years of working with computers, but when it comes to children—
My friend kept talking to me and I kept thinking, doesn’t he see what they’re doing? The youngest had to go #2 and took Raphael with him. Raphael! RAPHAEL?!
When they were finally getting packed up to ship out, I told my friend he could visit with them again in about 10 years.
Now back to Tammie. As I recounted the situation to her, she just laughed at me again. The definition of a foil according to Answers.com:
One that by contrast underscores or enhances the distinctive characteristics of another: “I am resolved my husband shall not be a rival, but a foil to me” (Charlotte Brontë).
She said, “You do realize you’re complaining about children playing with your toys.”
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