Sunday, May 31, 2009


Holy crapping hell! Why isn't anyone paying attention to me?

I'm not here ranting for my own amusement, people. I'm trying to save the world.

Without cheerleaders.

Or time travel.

Or nonsensical plots that revolve around everyone having father issues.

Just a few days ago, I wrote about people who are basically engineering the downfall of humanity. These people fail to heed the warnings that science fiction has made abundantly clear.

I thought that was it. I write about robots and my wacky observations, and that'd be the end of it.

Of course not.

It seems a different group of scientists is trying to create a mini-sun on Earth.


How in the F&%@ING hell can anyone expect this to turn out well?

The opening of the movie revolves around a scientist trying to create a mini-sun on Earth as an alternative source of energy.

Things, as you would expect, do not go according to plan. There's a whole thing with explosions and the potential destruction of humanity.

Standard science stuff.

And, if that wasn't enough of a message, he tries it again at the end of the film.

And almost kills everyone AGAIN!

There is no reason whatsoever to believe that this could be a good idea.

None at all.

And yet, someone thought this would make for a great science fair project.

Why in the hell is the science community actively trying to not only destroy humanity, but also do it in an incredibly ironic fashion?

I don't mind the whole Large Hadron Collider thing because:

a) it seems very cool

b) it hasn't been the main plot point of a movie in which it acted as a potential destroyer of all mankind

At least... I'm pretty sure it hasn't. I haven't seen that Hannah Montana film yet.

Are you seriously trying to tell me no one on this research team has seen Spider-Man 2?


Maybe we need to start a new initiative where every time a scientist comes up with some wacky new experiment or technology, they have to run it past the internet so we can point out how retarded it is.

Or at least get them a Blockbuster card or something.

F&%@ it. Let's just cover all the shit that scientists should already know:

1) no robots

No. Robots.


You will never ever create a helpful robot. It will either be useless or will eventually turn on humanity and try and kill us all.


Maybe that thing that just set off your warning system wasn't a bird. Maybe it was a guy who just fell into your giant sand experiment and you're about to turn him into a nigh-unstoppable killing machine.

Go FREAKING check.

Hell, even if it was a bird, go check that, too. The last thing we need is some psychotic bird sand monster.

3) leave the ocean alone

Everything at the bottom of the ocean is trying to kill us.



Giant sentient spheres.

They're all going to kill us all.

It's at the bottom of the ocean for a good damned reason. Leave that shit alone.

4) no time travel

Let's just leave that one alone right now. Time travel has never helped anyone. Not even in the movies.

Basically, every movie related to time travel involves the main characters trying to clean up the mess they made by traveling through time in the first place.

The best thing that could happen is that they didn't go back in time at all.

Let's just cut out the middle man.

5) zombies

Any and all experiments related to reviving dead flesh just need to stop.

Why does anyone think this is a good idea?

Sure, you get your [insert family member] back, but now they're all psychotic and blood thirsty.

Not to mention partially decomposed.


Death is a sad, terrible thing, but it's a LOT better than getting your brains chewed on by your uncle who now has the worst case of body odor EVER.

I think that about covers it.

Before anyone bothers to mention it, I entirely realize that no one is actually going to pay attention to this. I know scientists are going to continue to engineer new and unusual ways to kill us all, but I still hope this post will serve one important purpose...

At least I'll get to say I told you so.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Closed Beta

Listen... I know I don't write about FFXI a lot anymore. In my attempts to broaden my horizons and keep the blog fresh, I find myself moving away from FFXI stories.

I mean, how many times can you write about retarded Red Mages before people get sick of you?

Don't go back and count.

Even though I don't write about it as much as I used to, that doesn't mean you people can get on with crap and I won't notice.

[GM]Dave is always watching.

Do you know what really pisses me off? I mean what just really grinds my gears?

Morons who say shit about FFXI players being beta testers.

FFXI is a finished game. It is, as a whole, a complete experience that any player could pick up, play, and enjoy.

But, not being happy with "good enough", the Devs bust their asses figuring out ways to make the game better.

Seriously. That's their job.

There's a room full of guys who do nothing all day, but try and make the game better for you guys.

Most of the day.

They get bathroom breaks.

Their entire job is to sit around and just think shit up, just pull stuff out of the air that'll make you guys just a little bit happier.

Just a little.

Those guys get a thank you e-mail and it's like the fourth of frickin' July. They're dancing in the aisles like Ewoks.

Do they get those e-mails very often?

Of course not.

Instead, people just bitch about what they want. Bitch, bitch, bitch.

And do they give up? No. They work their asses off trying to do whatever they can to make the FFXI experience even better than it already is.

Just a few days ago, they rolled out a new feature: The Character Reactivation Service.

You might recognize it as an extension of the Return Home to Vana'diel campaign. Rather than waiting for the campaign to come around once a year, former players will now be able to restore old characters and return to FFXI in style.

Any time they want.

Think about that. This isn't even a feature for current players. This is designed solely to help former players come back to the fold.

We're working to help people who don't even play anymore.

That's freaking dedication.

And what do we get for this new feature? Do the devs get praise and thanks for an obviously helpful feature?

Hell no.

Instead, people line up on the forums to give them shit for it.

Then... Then we get the most retarded thing that any player could possibly type:

"I love how FFXI players are basically unpaid beta testers."

I want you to understand me... THIS IS RETARDED.



Every single time we put in a new feature that people have been asking for, some idiot has to break out this line like they're doing us a favor by playing.

What the hell?!

The line doesn't even make sense.

Believe it or not, beta testing doesn't involve playing a game for hours and then bitching about something you don't like. You spend hour after hour testing game mechanics and actively trying to break the system so that the devs can keep that problem from occurring again.

It is a difficult and arduous job.

Beta testing doesn't mean complaining because Selbina didn't have a Nomad Moogle.

Even if it did, the devs just went and fixed whatever it was that you must have thought was terribly broken. You're posting in the freaking thread about them fixing it.

They fixed what you thought was wrong.



Dear sweet bacon Jesus, can't you just shut the hell up for once?

Just once?

I'm not saying you need to write up a heartfelt thank you or anything. That's fine.

Just don't write anything at all.

If it's such a freaking hardship putting up with your incredibly difficult "beta testing" duties, maybe you should find something more constructive to do with your time.

Like pounding nails through a board with your dick.

Now, I'm not talking to everyone here. Most of you are productive members of the community.

We appreciate comments from the FFXI community. Feedback allows us to refine a game we all love to make it even better.

Constructive feedback.

The annoying little bitches who come in after a problem is fixed to tell us how there used to be a problem and how unfair it is that they used to have to deal with said problem...

Not so helpful.

In the interest of everyone's happiness, I am announcing that FFXI is officially no longer in beta.

You "beta testers" are no longer required.

Don't let the logout hit you in the ass on your way.

The rest of us will be over here playing our game.

Thanks for the help with the beta testing though. That was real helpful.

Thanks to you, we've already reduced the number of idiots who play the game.

Just as soon as you log out.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Something Is Wrong

Something is wrong in my house. Very, very wrong.

As you may have figured out, I'm kind of into the vidjeo games. They're kind of my thing.

Slowly though... The games have started to change.

It started with the DS. Instead of the nice, barely considered movement that previous game control schemes relied upon, we found ourselves having to move a stylus around to direct our characters.

Not too big a deal though. All it took was a little bit of extra work.

Then we got the Wii.

I was kind of put off by the whole Wiimote thing at first, but since it only required standing up and waving my arms around like a raving lunatic, I got used to it.

Put a drink in my hand and it's like any other day.

Then I won the Wii Fit.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love winning me some free stuff.

Yay, free stuff!

But at this point, I'm standing up, waving my arms, and doing aerobics the whole time. Step, step, wave, wave, step, step, sweat, sweat.

What the hell happened to video games?

Video games are meant to be played sat on a couch barely breathing, chip crumbs resting on your lap. The only thing that should be moving is your thumbs.

Occasionally, you may need to use an index finger for the trigger buttons.

But that's it.

Theoretically, someone viewing you from even a short distance away should have to wonder if you're even still alive. You should look like you're barely clinging to life.

That's what video games are all about.

The freaking Wii got me dancing and swinging my arms randomly (same thing), trying desperately to mimic something involving actual sports. I'm standing on a balance board on one foot, trying to do yoga while my game console calls me an unbalanced retard.


If that wasn't all bad enough, Susan went out and picked up this EA Sports Active game.

Why? Dear God, Why?

We already had the Wii Fit. We already had a game that I tell people I play to stay (read: get) in shape, but don't actually play.

And this one came with... Well, I'm not entirely sure what it came with, but I sure as hell know I'm not using it.

Video games are supposed to be an inactive experience. If I wanted to play a sport, I'd go to that outdoors place where they keep all the fresh air.

That's what I love about FFXI and other MMORPGs: they don't try and bullshit you.

There's no "hey, get up and run around and we'll time you" crap.

We used to do that to the kid everyone hated playing with when I was a kid.

These games not only suggest, but encourage the player to sit still for hours (and hours and hours) at a time.

I remember one time when I played without moving for so long, when I actually went to stand up, I just fell over on the floor. My legs refused to respond to commands.

I took that as a sign that I shouldn't stand up at all.

FFXI doesn't make you swing your arms around every time you want to kill a monster. They don't make you swing a remote with every attack.

You'd be exhausted.

Well... Maybe not the Dark Knights.

But no. You want to play a Wii game, you're going to be swinging and hitting, punching and kicking.

Even Little Mac.

The Wii is quirky, I grant you. It's interesting and provacative, and is probably the future of console gaming.

Truly interactive games.

That is going to royally suck.

What about our beloved truly interINactive games? What about our "sit on the sofa and watch yourself get fatter by the second" games?

Something is very wrong when I need to stand up and run a marathon just to get my game on.

I love getting sweaty as much as anyone.

Unfortunately, I usually like to play games afterwards.

Yes, yes. You can go on and on about other systems and about how I don't have to play it if I don't want to.

Not the point.

The point is that this fitness crap is starting to take over the video game genre. Game after game of "get up and do shit" games are competing for market space while plain old entertainment is getting kicked in the gnads.

I know. I'm so eloquent.

They're coming for you, too, you know. The PS3 already has motion controls (that occasionally work) and Microsoft just patented a "magic wand" controller for the Xbox 360.

No one is safe.

We need to stand up and tell the video game companies to knock this shit off.

Actually... We need to sit down and tell them.

Standing up is for suckers.

The world could learn a lot from the MMORPG community. We, as a group, are just fine with having games designed for entertainment and entertainment alone.

You keep your gyms out of my living room.

I'll keep my games out of your... Gym... Place... Thingy.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go sit in one spot barely moving for fourteen hours.

Just like nature intended.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

People Are STUPID

I'm serious here. People are gigantically, ginormously, ultramegamechagundam RETARDED.




I don't mind our accidentally doing something stupid. I don't mind it when a group comes together and makes your everyday, run-of-the-mill stupid decision.

But when people go out of their way to be intentionally retarded... That's another story.

I'm sure we are all familiar with the Terminator series. You know, the post-apocalyptic future with the robots and the destruction and the end of humanity as we know it with the orgy of blood and the kicking and the biting with the metal teeth and the hurting and shoving.


If you watch the series, you realize it was all due to poor human judgment. It was a mistake they made with the best of intentions.

Though how their intentions included building a nigh unstoppable computer network with control of all military resources and a penchant for naked Austrian men, I'll never know.

They couldn't have known what the consequences would have been.

Their bad, I guess.

I mean, it was a really bad idea, but at least they didn't go into it with any knowledge of the results, right?

And a company would have to be pretty damned retarded to make the same mistake.

Am I right?

Not really. If you read the news, scientists are on the verge of building self-replicating, intelligent robots.

Still, someone had to have learned something from those movies, right?

Enter Cyberdyne.

Yes, that's a real company.

Yes, that's the same name as the company from the Terminator movies that created the unstoppable killing machines.

And yes, they deal in cybernetics, specifically, the design of advanced superhuman exoskeletons.

Don't even get me started on Skynet. There are no less than three (THREE!) telecommunications companies named after the computer network that wipes out humanity.

Am I the only person on the planet that finds this off-the-scale retarded?

At least in the movies, it was a surprise.

Oh, no. Our army of scary looking skeleton robots is killing everyone.

Who knew?

This company actively chose that name. They decided to name themselves after a cybernetics company that ends up destroying life as we know it.

We won't even be surprised when their exoskeletons rise up and destroy the earth.

Hell, the best we can expect is some amusement at the irony of the situation.

I know the Terminator movies weren't exact deep and philosophical, but I think there was one subtle theme we should consider.


Well... That and stop sending people back in time to have sex with our mothers who then give birth to us while simultaneously creating the robot apocalypse that we sent our dad back in time to stop.

How often could that one come up, though?

I don't mind the idea that eventually the robots are going to rise up and kill us all.

That shit had to happen eventually.

What I do mind is when people see it happen in movies and think "That looks like a brilliant F&%@ING business plan."

Man, it's like nobody pays attention to shit anymore.

In closing, I present an open letter to the scientists of the world:

Dear Scientists,

How are you? I am fine.

Could you do me a favor and stop creating the very tools of the robot apocalypse that we have been warning you motherf&%@ers of for decades?

Just stop.

And stop naming companies after the companies that end up killing everybody. That's just plain retarded.

Thanks for your time.


P.S. Can we make some progress on the hot sex bots already?

Seriously, how do we have more time for creating robot killing machines than robot sexing machines?

Priorities, people.

Friday, May 22, 2009

A Geek Icon

It makes me a little proud to see geek culture coming into its own.

For years and years, my people were isolated and hidden. We gathered in small groups and huddled around the glow of the gaming systems and computers that were the symbols of our society.

Quietly, we planned our eventual global domination.

Being a geek was something to be feared, something to be ashamed of. The word itself was wielded by our troglodyte oppressors like a weapon.

And we hated it.

As years went by though, the world changed. While our culture stayed very much as it always was, the world came to accept us.

I think the Internet helped.

Basically, I think the foundation of our culture's progress came down to three universal truths:

1) people love porn

2) the Internet is free porn

3) geeks control the Internet

The hand that controls the porn is the hand that rules the world.

You just probably don't want to shake it.

Now, years later, we live in a world that embraces the geek. Our people are respected and revered in ways I could only have dreamed of during my own early years.

We even have our own geek celebrities, our own geek icons.

Among those icons, there are few that stand as tall as Wil Wheaton.

For those of you who are new to or are unfamiliar with geek culture, you may recognize Wil as the guy who played Wesley Crusher on Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Yes, him.

From those humble beginnings, Mr. Wheaton has risen to the highest echelons of geekdom.

I, personally, have a great deal of respect for him.

If I had had to spend my puberty playing the awkward geeky son of the ship's hot doctor, I don't think I'd be as well adjusted as he is.

He was the geekiest guy on a starship.

Think about that.

And that included an android and a guy with a headband attached to his face.

The fact that he'd even show his face after the show ended tells you what kind of balls he must have.

But not only has he re-entered the world of celebrity, he's become an icon to our entire geek culture. He's a voice for our community and is one of the few celebrities that genuinely embraces everything that makes being a geek so great.

Now, that I've said all of that, let's get to the problem.

You didn't really think I could get through an entire post without bitching and moaning about something, did you?

Are you new?

Mr. Wheaton is an admitted geek. He speaks openly about his geek ways.

The thing that bothers me though is that he constantly has to reinforce his credibility as a geek.

Every time I've seen one of his speaking engagements, he has presented a laundry list of reasons why he belongs to our culture. He explains his experience with obscure computer systems, his fascination with classic games, and his deep knowledge of everything science fiction.

His geekery is incredibly extensive.

But as he's rhyming off his geek cred, I can't help but think one thing...


No one is even questioning his status as a geek. We are all very aware of that fact.

He freaking played Wesley Crusher.

We're good.

That fact alone more than proves his membership.

Hell, that could be his entire speech. "Hi, folks. I played Wesley Crusher. Good night."

Geek status established.

Yes, yes. The other stuff is incredibly interesting.

You used a VIC-20? Fascinating.

Not really necessary to the conversation.

Say you played Wesley Crusher, make some off-hand Star Trek references, and move on.

Point made.

People don't line up to see William Shatner because of his successful music career.

They're there to see Captain Kirk.

He doesn't need to sing.

Or talk, technically.

He's Captain Freaking Kirk.

That's all we need to know.

And he knows that, too. He says his name, says Captain Kirk, yells Khan, and then heads over to the line of hot chicks waiting to sleep with him.

The line of chicks doesn't care that you still have a Commodore 64.

The line of chicks doesn't care that you own every Atari 2600 game ever made.

The line of chicks is civilization.

You played Wesley Crusher.

'Nuff said.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Fan Pack Update

Okay, parts 1 and 2 have been sent.

I am so exhausted it's not even funny.

Since a few people mentioned their affection for our favorite goblin, GoblinSmithy, this pack is filled with Goblin-y goodness including an extra large, 6-page Smithy story.

That's a lot of Smithy.

Part 3 should be sent out tomorrow evening.

Also, I'd just like to thank everyone who donated. We had a bunch of really big expenses come up this month and I don't know what we would have done without you guys.

I realize it's a pain in the ass to donate, but it does mean a lot to me and I don't take you guys for granted. Every little bit of support helps.

You guys are cool with me.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

[GM]Dave: The College Years 7

I am not sure what possessed me to do it. Honestly, I blame decades worth of movies about college life and related hijinks.

[GM]Dave rushed a fraternity.

No, I am not proud of this fact. To this day, I still have no idea how it even occurred to me.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Maybe it was dodging the freshman hazing that did it. Perhaps if I had been dunked in more toilets or forced to run naked across campus, I would have been smart enough to avoid the whole thing.

It's funny... You never imagine getting your head jammed in a toilet being a constructive event.

Then again, maybe you do. You're weird like that.

Anyway, with visions of drinking-related mischief and humiliating the evil dean in my head, I rushed the biggest frat on campus.

For legal reasons, I'm not going to tell you the name of the frat, but I will give you a hint: their name was composed of three Greek letters.

I've said too much.

Now, some people will tell you that fraternity houses don't really look like they do in the movies.

Those people are liars.

This place might as well have been a set for a John Belushi film. There were posters of half naked girls, sports jerseys, and, I kid you not, actual paddles hung on the walls.

Actual paddles.

Rushing or not, I see someone come at me with a paddle, they were going to be the first person in heaven to show up in a wheelchair. Pearly gates better have a ramp.

One thing you never really got from those movies is just how the place smelled. Each breath was like breathing in years of school spirit and honor.

School spirit and honor smell like sweat and stale beer, by the way.

They herded us, a group of young pledges, into a large common room. As I looked around, I saw a bunch of scared faces and frightened eyes. I pictured myself shaping them into fearless warriors, guiding them through rush week and leaving no man behind.

Or crushing them beneath my boot.


As the senior frat brothers walked in, there was a sudden inhalation of air. The entire room fell instantly silent and the fear was palpable. They were garbed in robes of a dark, flowing material, their faces hidden from view.

Okay... It wasn't so much robes as khakis and polos.

Still, very ominous.

We quickly arranged ourselves into rows.

Actually, they arranged themselves into rows around me. I pretty much just stood there.

I'm not a row kind of guy.

Then the house president raised his hands, calling for silence.

I restrained myself from pointing out that we were already silent.


Then... He spoke.

President>> Hey, everybody.


President>> I want to thank you all for coming out.
President>> Unfortunately, not all of you are going to make it.

A nervous murmur went through the crowd.

I'm not sure why. We all knew not everyone was going to make it. That is the entire premise behind a selection process. People were going to be selected and, therefore, people were not going to be selected.

This was not surprising.

Did these people murmur nervously every week when the ghost on Scooby Doo ended up being the owner of the haunted amusement park?

I was surrounded by idiots.

President>> Let me explain what rush week will involve.

Here it was. This is where he laid bare their horrible plans for us.

President>> There will be an interview process.
President>> You know, to help avoid personality conflicts.



President>> And you'll be required to clean the house.

Here we go.

President>> Along with the other brothers.
President>> We all take part in maintaining our house.

Did I get the wrong house or something? Interviews and cleaning?

Where were the ritualistic beatings and medically questionable activities?

President>> There will be some... More difficult things.


President>> We all take part in campus charities and drives.
President>> You will be expected to volunteer a few hours a week.

I couldn't even believe my ears. Volunteering? Charity?

It took all of my will power not to say something.

[GM]Dave>> What the F&%@?

Note to self: order more will power.

President>> I'm sorry.
President>> Is there a problem?
[GM]Dave>> Your damned straight there is.
President>> Could you please watch the language?
[GM]Dave>> OH, COME ON!
President>> What's wrong?
President>> Oh, we don't do that any more.
President>> It's childish.
President>> If you won't settle down...
[GM]Dave>> Yeah?
President>> We're going to have to sit down and discuss your concerns.
[GM]Dave>> This is bullshit.
[GM]Dave>> I'm leaving.
President>> Take some pamphlets on your way out.
President>> Charity begins with you.

Honestly, the whole thing just destroyed my vision of college.

I went home, drank myself into a stupor and watched every National Lampoon's movie I could find.

The idea of subjecting myself to that kind of punishment was crazy enough. Just the idea of choosing to be tortured...

But getting accepted into a group based on nothing more than my personality?

That's just bullshit.

Work In Progress

Okay, this isn't the last post in Theme Week. That'll be up later.

It may even be funny.*

note: funniness is determined before posting. Some settling may occur during shipping.

I'm working on the fan pack today and it occurred to me that I've never asked which parts you guys prefer. You know, what kind of stories you'd like to read.

Thus, this post.

Post a comment about what you'd like to see or which fan pack parts are your favorite and I will see what I can do.

OR I will just write whatever pops into my head.

You know... Whatever.

Still, the comments will give the illusion that I'm paying attention.

And isn't that the most important part?

Also, the ways my schedule is panning out, I'm thinking Tuesday for sending out the packs. That'll give me enough time to polish it and send it out to everyone.

So, you should donate before Tuesday.

Like... Now.

Or now.

Or maybe now.

You know, whenever you get around to it is fine. That's totally cool.


Saturday, May 16, 2009

[GM]Dave: The College Years 6


Hazing is one of those college traditions that everyone knows exists, but no one really knows WHY it exists. Everyone except the few people actually doing the hazing hate the entire idea.

Hell, most people find the idea down right offensive.

So, why, oh why, does this tradition exist?

Basically, from my extensive research, I've come to the conclusion that hazing exists because people, as a whole, are assholes.

Exhibits A through L

You're shocked, I can tell.

You are, no doubt, itching to hear some great story about [GM]Dave getting hazed, forced to eat dog food or marshmallows of questionable origin.

Yeah... Didn't really happen.

One of my very first days in the dorms, I was walking around, trying to get familiar with the place, when I saw a girl practically in tears.

No, I am not the reason she was in tears.

I get that a lot. I actually reduced many girls to tears during college.

It was almost my major.

Apparently, she had lost her keys and housing was telling her she was going to have to pay an excessive amount of money to get the lock replaced. Then she said something about not having the money and her parents killing her... I wasn't really paying attention.

She was hot though, so yeah.

Since I was walking around anyway, I told her I'd help her look.

15 minutes later, I find her keys kicked behind a wastebasket at the end of a hallway. I give her her keys and we go on our respective ways.

Pretty uneventful, huh? I thought so, too. It wasn't until later that I found out that "crying girl" was actually named "girlfriend of RA".

I also found out that I was now under protection.

Yes, even I am surprised by how lucky I am sometimes.

Better lucky than good.

I then spent the rest of that semester watching my fellow freshmen getting hazed while I, the chosen one, walked through unscathed.

I almost felt bad.


Now, I will be the first to admit that this probably annoyed the other freshmen. They were, no doubt, rather unhappy about the situation.

No one said anything, but you could tell they weren't happy.

Maybe it was my natural intuition.

Maybe it was my empathy for others.

Maybe it was coming home from class to find my door nailed shut.

There's no way to be certain.

Honestly, I didn't really blame them. I'd be pretty pissed off too if they were me.

Still, despite the fact that I probably deserved it, I could not let this stand. If I left them get away with this, there's no telling what they would do next.

Plus, [GM]Dave ain't nobody's bitch.

My plan had to be perfect. Cold, methodical, and cruel.

Step 1) purchase a large quantity of beer

Step 2) purchase a large quantity of glasses

Step 3) fill glasses

Step 4) stack glasses in front of door while victim's sleeping

It's a perfect plan.

So, once I found out who was responsible, I waited patiently for them to fall asleep and then I constructed a barricade of glasses in front of their door. Truly, it was a feat of engineering to rival the pyramids, l'Arc de Triomphe, or a slightly bigger wall made out of plastic cups.

The next morning, they opened their door to find a wall composed of cups and amber liquid.

With no other option, they knocked down the wall and let the beer rain down around them.

If only it was beer...

If you go back to the plan, you'll notice that at no point did I say you didn't drink the beer before you filled the cups.

Man, if you thought they were pissed off before...

Friday, May 15, 2009

[GM]Dave: The College Years 5

Some people think that football is the most popular college sport. Despite each university having a basketball team and countless other teams, it is really football that defines college sports.

They think that because they've never heard of beer pong.

Beer pong makes football look like an afternoon spent with your grandmother.

Yeah, you can get messed up playing football. But after you get messed up, you don't wake up naked in the middle of the quad covered in sharpie.

The rules are simple. Each player begins with a number of glasses of beer and tries to bounce a ping pong ball into his opponent's glasses. If he/she is successful, the opponent has to drink that glass.

Warning: Remove ping pong ball prior to drinking to avoid choking and looking like a gigantic tool.

The game continues until:

a) you or your opponent runs out of glasses

b) you die of alcohol poisoning

Happens more often than you think.

One day, Jeff and I decided to improve on Beer Pong.

Attempt #1: Vodka Pong

This one wasn't actually that bad. We had to put less in each glass because we didn't feel like killing ourselves, but it did add a new challenge to the game.

That challenge being standing up.

Attempt #2: Spicy Vodka Pong

Baaaadddddd idea.

Take all of the challenge of Vodka Pong and add a truly painful amount of heat to the mix. Appended rules stated that neither player was allowed to drink an alternate beverage until the game was over.

It actually felt like I was getting throat banged by the Balrog.

Note to self: Contact Peter Jackson, Re: Sequel

Attempt #3: Blended McDonald's Dollar Menu Pong


Just... No.

I have no idea which one of us came up with this idea, but I can tell you that that person is retarded.

Somehow, after half a dozen rounds of Vodka and Spicy Vodka Pong, pureeing the entire McDonald's dollar menu seemed like the logical progression. Just dump it in a blender, hit frappe, and it's Blended deliciousness pong.

It was neither:

a) logical

b) delicious

Sure, it was really funny watching the other guy trying to chug glass after glass of blended heart attacks, but then you remembered you'd be drinking it too.

Not so funny any more.

Attempt #4: Tequila Pong

In retrospect, this might not have been AS bad an idea.

It might not have been AS bad IF we had played it first. Deciding to ingest large amounts of Tequila AFTER vodka, spicy vodka, and blended McDonald's...



It was like throwing up lava. Gallons and gallons of vodka/nugget flavored lava.

And the pickles... Oh Dear GOD, the pickles.

I don't even think any of the McDonald's food had pickles.

After that... Well, we decided Beer Pong was just fine as it was. Why mess with a perfectly good game?

If only we had decided that BEFORE the tequila...

We might have gotten our security deposit back.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

[GM]Dave: The College Years 4

A lot of people ask me how you balance college life with gaming. I am going to tell you the same answer I give them.

I don't have a freaking clue.

I skipped so many classes to play Playstation that I'm not entirely sure that I actually graduated.

My first year was pretty good. Our dorm room was a little too cramped to have a proper gaming set up, so I really didn't spend too much time playing.

Then, I moved in with Jeff...

It seemed like such a bright idea at the time. We were best friends and thought it would be the best way to keep both of us focused on our work.

Not. So. Much.

Instead, it became a frightening study on how many classes you can ditch without absolutely failing your ass out of college.

We skipped classes.

We skipped labs.

Honestly, we'd skip pretty much anything.

And the excuses...

I have always been a smooth talker. It has been one of my great skills to manipulate other people.

In high school, I could make a girl's panties just fall right off.

But college is when I honed those skills to a science. I practiced and trained until my professors didn't even question me.

I was like Batman, but replace the keen detective skills and martial arts prowess with unadulterated evil.

Fun fact: tell your professor that you have a meeting with your lawyer. They will ask zero questions because it is either a private matter or you're a defendant.

Anyway, we spent day after day sitting in our apartment playing Playstation.

Not even good games mind you. We spent most of our time playing basketball games.

Jeff was one of those "only sports games" gamers.

There was one game we played all the time. We would create our own characters and play one-on-one matches until our eyes hurt.

And Jeff kicked my ass.

Sports games just aren't my forte. I'm much more at home with a lance or a plasma rifle than a hockey stick or that... That one with the ball.

We would play and I would jam mindlessly on the buttons hoping to somehow steal the ball or shoot or whatever.

Then... Then I found a way to beat him.

Jeff would build carefully planned players. He would scrutinize over every little detail and statistic.

Not me.

I poured all of my skill points into three point shooting.

That's it. Maximum height. Three point shooting skill.

And then, my hapless shooter towering over his well-rounded all-star, I destroyed him.

His second controller was a generic one. It may have been a Madcatz or something. I can't remember.

What I do remember is the sound the button made when you made a perfect three pointer. It was this beautiful little click as my thumb released the button.

Three pointer... Click.

Perfect shot... Click.

Best friend's broken soul... Click.

It was so incredibly funny. I would get the ball, not bother to move, and then fire the ball.

And every time... That beautiful little click.

The click changed after a while. Instead of the nice little click it started to sound like a nice little click followed by intense swearing.

He would lose his freaking mind. Every time he heard that click, he would start to curse me down to the ground.

I had to look a few of those words up.

Hint: They weren't good.

That is how I spent an entire year of my college life. Playing video games with my best friend/the screaming swearing lunatic.

And occasionally attending classes.

Very occasionally.

One course, I only attended three classes the entire semester. The first one to get the handouts, the middle one to do the midterm, and the last one to hand in my major paper.

That's it.

Didn't really get a lot out of that one.

But man, could I kick some ass in basketball.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009


We're going to have to extend Theme week by one day because I really couldn't let today go by without mentioning something...

This is my 500th post.

500 times I have sat at my computer and tried to make you laugh. I've told you about my friends and my family, my childhood and my life. I've told you about the things that make me laugh and (much more frequently) the things that just plain piss me off.

And, occasionally, the care and feeding of dragons.

Yes, I realize they haven't all been funny. Some have been boring, some downright disturbing, but they were all written for you guys. Every single time I sat at this keyboard, I wondered what I could write that you would want to read.

Okay... Most of the time I was just writing whatever was making my brain hurt at the time.

Still, it was all for you guys.

500 feels like a milestone for me. I never really thought I'd see this many rants and ravings or that anyone would bother to read them.

I just wanted to take today to tell you guys that I do appreciate you, the readers, and all the support, suggestions, and ideas you've given me over the years.

Thank you for humoring me.

Listen to me... Acting like I have human emotions or something...

I need to go kill someone.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

[GM]Dave: The College Years 3

Now, one of the hardest parts of living in college was getting used to the whole roommate thing.

Believe it or not... I'm not a people person.

You're shocked. I know.

You can, therefore, imagine how much I enjoyed being forced to live with a complete stranger based solely on the order in which our housing applications were processed.

When I first met John, I wasn't quite sure what to make of him. He seemed reasonable enough, but there was something I couldn't quite put my finger on, a sort of... Haze.

I remember one of my first nights, standing in my room talking with my Dad on the phone. We were talking about my new school and he asked my what my roommate was like.

John was sitting right there on his bed, so I jokingly said he was holding a bag of pot the size of my own head.

Then John laughed.

He reached over and pulled a hat out of his stuff. Just a regular stocking hat.

A regular stocking hat stuffed with a bag of pot the size of my own head.


Living with a stoner was an... Interesting experience.

I have nothing against practitioners of the chemical arts, mind you. I find their contributions to both art and the snack food industry quite important.

Still... It was interesting.

I had a computer on my desk (surprise, surprise) and I had what I considered an awesome screensaver. It created a swirling tunnel of changing colors and images.

What? It was cool at the time.

Anyway, one day I came back from a lab to find John sat on his bed.

John>> Turn it off.

He was staring at my screensaver and his eyes were glassy.

I asked him what was wrong.

John>> Turn it off.

I asked him what he meant.

John>> Turn it off.

I asked him if he'd seen my Calculus book.

John>> Turnitoffturnitoffturnitoff.

Okay, the last one was just me screwing with him.

Apparently, he'd dropped acid and had spent three straight hours staring at my screensaver while having the worst trip of his life.

Three hours waiting for me to get back and turn it off.

I really wish I could say that was the weirdest thing he did.

One morning, after a particularly hard night of partying, John woke up to find me sat on my bed, staring at him.

John>> What?
John>> What's the matter?
Dave>> Do you remember... Anything about last night?
Dave>> Anything at all?
John>> Not really...
Dave>> Think hard.
Dave>> Think really hard.

I could see him struggling to engage the gears in his brain. It seemed to take a superhuman effort just to think.

John>> Not... Really...
John>> Why?
Dave>> Look at your desk.

His desk was an epic battlefield. Across its wooden surface, a terrible battle raged between a giant monster and a battalion of soldiers. Soldiers' bodies, broken and torn, lay strewn about the creatures massive feet, blood still drying on its claws.

I wish I was kidding.

At some point during the evening, he had thought it would be a great idea to drop acid and then go to Toys R Us.

I'm not familiar with acid, but I had always assumed that going to a brightly lit store filled with brightly colored toys would be a bad idea.

Apparently not.

He had spent a massive amount of money purchasing a large monster figure and countless packs of miniature soldiers.

That wasn't enough though. Oh, no.

He spent hours, HOURS, constructing an unbelievable battle scene, a diorama that would make George Lucas hang himself.

He even used red model paint to simulate the blood.

It was quite impressive.

And he had no memory of it whatsoever.

My roommate was some sort of savant.

Feel free to add the word 'idiot' if you like.

Man, did we laugh about that story afterwords. Any time we saw a Toys R Us, we'd bust out laughing.

Oh, it was funny.

I didn't sleep for the better part of a month...

But funny.

Monday, May 11, 2009

[GM]Dave: The College Years 2

So, the story I am about to tell you is entirely true. No facts will be embellished or exaggerated for the sake of comedy.

I tell you this because there is no way in hell anyone is going to believe this actually happened.

The very first Friday of the new semester, the dorms got together and sponsored a non-alcoholic dance for all the freshmen. It was a big event for all the new students and, because many were underage, there was absolutely no alcohol allowed.

At all.

This, of course, meant everyone just got really drunk BEFORE the dance.

Really, really drunk.

This is how I met a girl named Robin.

No, this isn't going to be one of those stories. My "random girl I hooked up with in college" stories are classified for national security reasons.

Robin was new. Since pretty much everyone was going to the alcoholic non-alcoholic dance, she decided she would, too.

She, however, did not want to get drunk. She decided early to only have a couple of drinks.

Side note: you'd be surprised how reasonable drinks 3 and 4 look after drinks 1 and 2.

Still, she doing an admirable job of drinking responsibly. She looks a little past her limits, but not grossly so.

We let it go.

Then... Her boyfriend called.

Her boyfriend back in her home town.

Any of the women in the audience may already know where this is going.

They had a fight. Something about him not trusting her and her leaving him behind, blah, blah, blah.

You know what's fun? Trying to look casual while sitting in the dorm room of a girl you barely know while she screams into a phone.


Anyway, she hangs up the phone and any hope she had of maintaining control of her drinking goes flying out the window.

She also succinctly explained that her boyfriend had inappropriate relations with his own mother who was also a bitch.

I'm paraphrasing, of course.

Drinks 3 and 4 were quickly followed by drinks 5 and 6.

5 and 6 apparently called for reinforcements because they were following by drinks 7 through 12.

She may or may not have done a shot of drano.

Pretty soon, she was drunk. Messy, sloppy drunk.

It wasn't pretty.

Then, after waiting what they thought would be a non-awkward amount of time, everyone headed out to the dance.

Robin's cousin (whose name I can't remember) decided to stay with her in her room while they all left. I, having absolutely no interest in a "dance", figured I'd hang out.

A smart person would realize they were way too drunk to go to a public function like that.

Luckily, she wasn't that smart. It would have been way less funny.

About a half an hour let, Robin suddenly jumped up and told us that she would be going to the dance. She said it with such strength and conviction, you could almost not notice the amount of wobbling she was doing.

Robin's cousin looked to me for help.

This, it turns out, would be a mistake.

Rather than discourage her, I took it upon myself to get that girl out of the room. College is about learning new things and I very much wanted to learn exactly how far she'd make it across campus before she passed out or died or whatever.

We left her room and, while her cousin (Ash? His name may have been Ash) locked the door behind us, Robin hugged me and professed her love for me.

Robin>> I love you, Malcolm.
Robin>> You... You are my best friend in the whole world.

My name's not Malcolm.

And I'd only met her a few hours before.

I, being a gentleman, detached her from me and leaned her against the wall.

I, being an asshole, laughed as she slid down the wall and slammed into the floor.

Ash (We're going with Ash now, by the way) tried to talk her out of it, but Robin couldn't be swayed. She was going to that dance.

We took her to the stairs and then realized there was no way in hell she was going to make it down those stairs alive.

We did the only thing we could do... We carried her. We each grabbed an elbow and lifted her off the ground so we could carry her safely down the stairs.

Ash, again, pointed out that it might be an idea to go back upstairs.

Robin, attempting to prove how not drunk she was, tore free from our grasp and ran down the stairs.

I will give her credit. She made it down 22 stairs perfectly.

Unfortunately, there were 23 stairs left.

On the very last step, her foot slipped or her ankle twisted. Basically, it looked like she went retarded for just one stair.

That's a bad thing.

She fell directly onto the concrete floor on her knees and, if that wasn't bad enough, smashed the door with her face.

I don't mean hit. I mean smashed.

Her face hit the push bar so hard, the door swung open.

This, obviously, meant there was nothing holding her up. She then fell forward smashing her face on the floor.

Then the door swung back and cracked her in the head.

I'm not even kidding. This all actually happened.

Ash ran down to try and help her. He grabbed her around the waist and yanked her up to her feet.

Do you know what's great when you're sloppy drunk? Your balance.

Robin pitched forward so hard that she crashed to the floor again and Ash fell on top of her.

This girl was wrecked.

I imagine someone watching this should have felt very, very bad.

Should have.

Not so much.

I did feel a little bad for Ash. After I helped him drag her back to his room, I left him to the task of getting her sober.

I later found out, "getting her sober" roughly translated to "cleaning up vomit all night."

You know, I never really spent a lot of time with Robin after that. First impressions being what they are, we didn't bother getting to know each other very well.

I probably would have forgotten what she looked like.

Luckily, if you looked hard enough, you could make out the imprint of her face on that door handle.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

[GM]Dave: The College Years

So, I had just left Bayside High and was on my way to the University of California. My friend and main rival, A.C., was going to be my roommate, but then Screech showed up.

... Wait...

That's not right.

Damn you, television.

No, my first day at college was a pretty normal one. I got dropped off, lugged my suitcases up a bunch of stairs that was too damned high, and then got put into a room that was both incredibly ugly and way too small.

Boy, was I excited.

My new roommate showed up a while later. I could tell we were going to be the best of friends right from the start.

Just as soon as we got past the fact that he looked retarded.

Then... Then he said the words that may or may not have changed my life forever:

Roomie>> You want something to drink?

For him, it was just an icebreaker. You know, something to take the tension out of what could be an awkward moment.

For me...

Something you need to understand is that I didn't drink in high school. Despite what major movies and 90210 clones would have you think, not everyone does.

This wasn't a big protest on my part or anything. I didn't have any problem with people drinking.

I just didn't.

It just didn't look interesting to me.

Oh... I was young once.

Unfortunately, this put me in a bad position. If I just flat out said no, it'd pretty much kill that whole first impression thing and I'd spend an entire year living with someone I don't talk to.

And I wasn't even married yet.

Bah dump psshhh.

Rather than just shutting him down, I decided to explain the whole thing about me not drinking. I figured I'd get it out of the way because it was bound to come up again.

Do you know the fastest way to get alcohol? Tell your dorm you don't drink.

Apparently, news got around that I didn't drink and it suddenly became a competition to get me started.

Ah, college.

Every time there was a party, people were throwing liquor at me. Anything I wanted, everything they had, just to get me to drink.

I'm not even kidding. It was ridiculous.

If I had a drinking problem, these people probably wouldn't have even bothered talking to me about it.

But having a not-drinking problem? Suddenly, it was motherf&%@in' intervention time.

You have no idea. I could easily have remained drunk for the entire semester on the amount of alcohol people offered me.

Of course, since I didn't drink, that would have taken three beers and a shot of vodka.

Yet, I held out.

Still, to this day, I have no idea why I did. I think it was simply because it became routine that I never bothered to try it.

I really wish I could tell you that I had some greater reason for this. I wish I had some deep, complex logic to explain it.

Not really.

I just didn't.

Probably because everyone else did.

Finally, after several months of turning away offers, I decided to take someone up. They threw the bottle in my face, kind of a cursory gesture at that point, but then I took the bottle.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Seriously. They really fell silent.

I tipped up the bottle and drank.

And drank.

And drank.

And... It was good.

The entire rest of the night became a blur of faces laughing and bottles being thrust into my waiting hand.

We may or may not have streaked through a local McDonald's. The details are a little fuzzy.

I woke up the next morning on top of my desk for some reason. I was still dressed for the most part and my mouth tasted like vomit.

I silently prayed it was mine.

Then, as I gathered my thoughts, I noticed my roommate was sat on his bed staring at me.

Actually... That wasn't my roommate.

[GM]Dave>> Ummm...
[GM]Dave>> Morning?
NotRoomie>> Could you get off my desk now?

All of those damned buildings look alike.

The walk back to my room was a painful one. Apparently, someone had replaced the sun with a giant ball of pain that was aimed directly at my head.

I then and there vowed that I would never, ever drink again.

... You can guess how that turned out.

Saturday, May 09, 2009




I'm very excited. I've been really looking forward to this theme week.

Also, the case of red bull I just finished might be helping out a little bit.

On the bright side, I can now see through time.

Anyway, it's time for a very interesting theme week leading up to the new fan pack. I sent a message to last month's top donator expecting some collaboration on an idea.


He sent me a message back almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting, watching his inbox ready to strike.

I'm not sure if that's real dedication or really sad.

Let's go with dedication.

He had his own idea and would not take no for an answer.

He also would not accept "hell no", "screw you", and "you do realize I'm going to have to kill you, right?".

Gotta respect the stubbornness.

His idea: [GM]Dave's college years.

Oh... There will be blood.

I'm not going to say my college years were bad, but my first roommate is still missing and presumed dead.

Or stoned.

Probably stoned.

So, despite my reservations about reliving those years, it looks like we have a week of stories about me in college.


And, as usual, at the end of the theme week, I'll be sending out the fan pack, a little gift to everyone who donates $5 or more to help support the blog. Just a little something to show you guys how much I really appreciate your help.

Every donation I get goes towards supporting my family.

All of this whisky doesn't buy itself, you know.

The gift packs are full of extra stories and articles about pretty much everything. Susan throws in a couple, plus I give my opinions on movies and games.

You love listening to my opinions, right?


Plus, if you happen to be the highest donator, you will get the chance to suggest your very own theme week. Think of all the terrible things you can make me do.

Actually... Don't think about that.


Stop it.

God, what have I gotten myself into?

Thursday, May 07, 2009

The Old Days... Continued

After having my ass handed to me by my own classic NES games, a few people suggested maybe it was just me. Maybe, as my retched mortality has aged me, I've lost my edge.

Personally, I don't see it. My edge is as sharp as ever.

I don't even shave anymore. I'm so sharp, the hair just falls off my face.

But, because so many people suggested it, I felt I had to find some way to test this hypothesis. As I am very concerned with sound scientific methodology, I decided the experiment must:

a) adequately gauge the difficulty of classic games

b) not involve me dealing with idiots

c) cost absolutely zero dollars

What? I'm just a poor GM. I don't make the big science-y dollars.

Thus, I decided the best thing to do was bring in a third party to try playing other classic games to give their own opinions and perspectives.

At least... That's how I explained to Susan that Brad would be staying over and that we'd be playing old video games all night.

She's pretty much given up on arguing with my insanity. At this point, she just shakes her head slightly and then leaves the room.

I would have gone after her, but that would have required actual effort on my part.

You can see the bind I was in.

Besides, those consoles weren't going to carry themselves up out of the basement...

I decided on Brad simply because we spent so much of our younger years playing these games together. He is truly one of my best friends and I know he'd do anything for me.

Also... Jeff was busy.

Once I got the consoles all set up, I started preparing for Brad's arrival. I did some light cleaning and then put together some nice snacks.

I'm kidding.

I'm a guy. I made sure there was at least 12 beer in the fridge. That's it.

Then, I made sure there were 11 beer in the fridge.

Then, I made sure there were 10...

You get the idea.

By the time he arrived, I was feeling no pain.

I was ready.

The next twelve hours was a blur of some of my most love (and hated) video games (and hated) from my younger years.

We started with Wolverine. The excellent new movie and very reasonable X-men trilogy had helped us remember how great the NES Wolverine game was.

They also, apparently, gave us brain damage because that game is freakin' retarded.

You don't even know what the hell you're doing half the time. You're running and jumping, and they're just firing crazy shit at you.

Ninja? Why not?

Boulders? Sure.

Scuba suit guy? Seriously?

Even that shit I could have let go. Unfortunately, the game has one devastating flaw:



Oh, you have claws. Yes, you can hit select and your cute little adamantium claws pop out.


Thing is that every time you hit anything with your nigh indestructible claws, your health goes down.

And you don't even regain health over time.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't Wolverine have a healing factor? You know, with the whole healing from cuts and bullet wounds.

How could they leave that out?

It's Wolver-F&%@IN'-ine, man. Wolverine has two basic character traits:

a) claws

b) healing factor

How do you manage to screw that shit up?


Punch Out wasn't that bad. It took a few tries to remember the old patterns, but it wasn't too hard.

Until we got to Mike Tyson.

Yes, Mike "I'm gonna bite your ear off, rape you, and then eat yo children" Tyson.

If you get hit even once, you're done. D-U-N done.

Seriously. If he even so much as grazes you, your character'll get hit so hard he'll wake up on an Atari.

In a wheelchair.

How did the game designers even consider this to be balanced? There is no learning curve up to Tyson. The characters get slightly harder to defeat until the game decides to just kick you in the balls.

Stupid f&%@in' game.

Hour after hour, we played every classic game we remembered being good at. Mega Man, Bionic Commando, Metroid. We even busted out the SNES system to see if that would be any better.

No... Not really.

We probably would have kept playing the entire next day, but I had to work.

Brad... Brad decided he wasn't going to give up. He was going to play until he kicked something's ass.

Susan had to leave for work as well, so we left Brad playing happily on the floor of our living room, a SNES controller clutched in his hot little hands and Super Mario World on the screen.

Aw... Just like my mom used to leave me.

Except Brad wasn't four and I wasn't headed to a bar.

Bah dump psshhhh.

I got home, many hours later, to find he hadn't moved.

Literally. He was sitting in the exact same spot.

And he was still playing Super Mario World.

I may have thought he had passed out from lack of sleep. I may have thought that had it not been for the wild flailing of his limbs as Mario got his ass kicked by a Koopa.


That's really what he yelled.

I sat down and watched him die over and over and over again.

Always to the exact same Koopa. He'd run through the areas up to this one dome and then get killed by the third Koopa along the line.

Every single time.

I'd honestly have thought he was trying it if he didn't look like he was about to have a stroke.

Then... Then something funny happened. Brad went to throw the controller at the chair nearby. You know, toss the controller in anger, but still aim it towards something soft and safe.

This would have worked perfectly if Brad hadn't forgotten that the controller was tethered to the console on the floor.

The controller aly straight at the chair with alarming velocity and then, when it reached the end of the cord, arced directly into the floor.

I'd never seen a SNES controller shatter like that.


Brad felt really bad. He started stammering and apologizing. Being no stranger to video game-related rage, I told him it wasn't a big deal. I wasn't even that mad.

I even told him that if he's back by 10 with a new controller, I might even let him keep his kneecaps.

We are friends, after all.

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

Just... Just Stop

I don't ask a lot from my party members.

Seriously. I know I have little tolerance for pretty much anyone, but my complete and utter lack of faith in humanity has lead to a certain apathy when it comes to parties.

As long as they can at least adequately perform their jobs, that's all I ask of them.

Hell, that's all I dare expect from them.

Just show up, hit some macros, and try not to drool on yourself. I don't think that's so much to ask.

If you happen to show up and be a true genius, a god among players, then that's cool, too. We'll get along just fine and maybe get a level or two.

I may even bother to learn your name.

Probably not, but still.

But I don't expect that. I don't expect genius.

My years of experience have jaded me.

Correction: my years of experience dealing with absolute retards have made me hate people in general and pretty much assume everyone is a complete idiot.

One thing I do expect from my party members though is that they actually get to the party. I expect that someone who joins a party understands how to:

a) get to the party's location

b) get there quickly

c) get there alive

This, again, should not be too much to ask. If you were hiring someone for a job, you'd expect them to get to your location, and do so quickly and safely.

This is a pretty commonplace thing.

Now, I realize that getting to work probably doesn't involve riding a giant yellow bird through wide open plains and walking through caves while trying to not get raped in the face.

Then again, I don't know where you live, so...

Still, anyone who has made it to level 30 should have some understanding of how to get to camp.

The "should" in that sentence is important.

It "should"n't be, but it is.

Every time, every DAMNED time, I invite someone to join a party, they get terribly, terribly lost.

I mean so lost, they find themselves on an island with a smoke monster, a polar bear, and a insanely convoluted plot.

See what I did there? [GM]Dave is subtle.

And when they're not lost, they're slow.

And when they're not slow, they're dead.

Just in case you didn't take the time to read the manual, being dead is counter-productive.

Even Brady got that part right.

Today, I was partying in Garlaige Citadel. I, for some unknown reason, was leveling Paladin and we were camped out near the first banishing gate.

Things were going good. The party was clicking and we were making some good exp. I was actually starting to think it was going to be a good day.

Monk>> Uhh... Guys, I have to go.
Monk>> It's an emergency.


It's funny. You don't know how many emergencies happen until you start playing FFXI. You have no idea how many people suffer drastic, life or death situations on a daily basis.

Every time someone has to go, it's an emergency.

I doubt paramedics see as many emergencies as a party leader in FFXI.

The guy had been pretty good though, so I decided to let it slide.

What? It's not like I ban everyone who annoys me. All the servers would be empty.

Anyway, I find a replacement, a Dark Knight perfectly within our level range, and send him a tell asking him if he wanted to join us.

It seemed like the right thing to do. People tend to get upset when you warp their character to your camp against their will.

Silly people.

Immediately, this guy sends me a long tell expressing how happy he is to finally be invited to a party and that he would be more than happy to join us.

Player>> Sure.

Okay... I'm reading between the lines.


I'm reading between the line.

Shut up.

So, I tell Mr. Shakespeare there to come and meet up in Galaige Citadel. He says:

Player>> Sure.

Boy, this guy was going to be a riot. I could tell.

The five of us go back to killing bats (because there's not exactly a lot more to do in Galaige Citadel) and wait for the Poet Laureate.

Player>> Uhh...
Player>> Wait...
Player>> Do I go out through Lower Jeuno?
[GM]Dave>> What?
Player>> Lower Jeuno?
Player>> To get to Garlaige?
[GM]Dave>> How do you not know how to get to Garlaige?
Player>> Never been there before.
[GM]Dave>> Have you never been to Rolanberry either?
[GM]Dave>> Cause that's where Lower Jeuno leads.
Player>> Oh.
Player>> Port then.
Player>> Be there in a minute.

This was a bad sign. Pretty much anyone at this level should know at least where Garlaige is. Him not knowing suggested he probably wasn't any good.

Still, it could have been worse, so I decided to look on the bright side.

Maybe he was just an idiot.

The five of us go back to killing bats again (because there's still not exactly a lot more to do in Galaige Citadel) and wait for Rand McNally.

Player>> Can someone come get me?
Player>> I don't have the map.
[GM]Dave>> We're at the first banishing gate.
Player>> Yeah...
Player>> So is someone coming to get me?
[GM]Dave>> ...
[GM]Dave>> Down the stairs, first left, third right.
[GM]Dave>> Walk until you see a big gate.
[GM]Dave>> Or a terribly annoyed party leader.
Player>> On my way.

The five of us go back to...

Player>> Crap.
Player>> You need sneak here?
[GM]Dave>> That would be ideal.
[GM]Dave>> The other option is getting gangraped by bats.
[GM]Dave>> Your call.
Player>> I need to zone this bat.
Player>> Back in a minute.


The five of us...

Player>> Shit.
Player>> I fell down a hole.
Player>> Can you send someone to come and get me?
[GM]Dave>> A hole?
[GM]Dave>> You fell down a hole?
[GM]Dave>> Down stairs, first left, third right...
[GM]Dave>> Nope. Nothing about a hole.
Player>> I didn't know you could fall down holes.
[GM]Dave>> Yeah.
[GM]Dave>> That is unrealistic.
[GM]Dave>> We should hover over them like in real life.
Player>> You know what I meant.
[GM]Dave>> Unless "what you meant" is "you is stupid"...
[GM]Dave>> No.
Player>> That's not very nice.
[GM]Dave>> I know.
[GM]Dave>> Neither am I, by the way.
Player>> Can you just tell...
Player>> SHIT! AGGRO!
Player>> I'm dead.
[GM]Dave>> I figured as much.
Player>> Can you send the White Mage to come and get me?
[GM]Dave>> By the time you get back and rest up...
[GM]Dave>> It's really not worth it.
[GM]Dave>> You might as well homepoint.
Player>> What?
Player>> That's ridiculous.
[GM]Dave>> Ridiculous?
Player>> You can't invite me and then drop me when I'm next to camp.
Player>> That's just wrong.
[GM]Dave>> Yes, it would be wrong...
[GM]Dave>> If you'd gotten here in anything less than 35 minutes.
Player>> I had trouble.
[GM]Dave>> So did I.
[GM]Dave>> Then I told it to homepoint.
Player>> You're an asshole.
[GM]Dave>> Accurate, but still doesn't change anything.
Player>> You're...
Player>> You're a n00b.

Things I can stand being called:

1) asshole

2) jerk


Things I cannot stand being called:

1) a n00b by a complete idiot who can't even make his way to camp without getting lost three times and ending up dead

Something had to be done.

[GM]Dave>> Listen... I apologize.
[GM]Dave>> Do you want me to come and get you?
Player>> Yes. Thank you.
Player>> It's the least you could do.

Log out... Log into GM account...


Player>> What?
Player>> What's going on?
[GM]Dave>> I'm not sure.
[GM]Dave>> I think something bad is going to happen.
Player>> How do you know...

Jormungand hits Player for 14,892 points of damage.
Player was defeated by Jormungand.

[GM]Dave>> Just a hunch.

Was feeding him to Jormy extreme? Maybe.

Was banning him a little over the line? Possibly.

Was ruining his credit and mailing an incendiary device to his billing address too much?


Who's to say?

Saturday, May 02, 2009

This... Is My Boomstick!

Okay, I know I'm all about hating the WoW and whatnot, but this story... This story is just too good.

Apparently, a WoW player somehow managed to get a hold of an in-game item that was designed to be used only for internal testing.

I.E. He wasn't supposed to have it.

I have no idea how he got the item. There may or may not have been some hacking and/or cracking involved.

Perhaps it was a prize for finding a new tower.

Now, you may be wondering what sort of item could be so important that it makes this whole story newsworthy.

A shirt.

Yes, you read that right. A shirt.

How exactly could a simple shirt be such a big deal?

Well, this shirt has the special ability to instantly kill anything within a thirty foot radius.

That's not a joke. That's what the shirt actually does.

Do not ask me why Blizzard would design a shirt that can kill anyone within a thirty foot radius.

Maybe it was commentary on the hygiene of your average WoW player.

Bah dump psshhhh.

My sources (read: the story I read on Kotaku) tell me that the shirt is called "Martin Fury". It is no doubt named after the inventor of the thermonuclear shirt.

Now available at your local Old Navy.

All questions of how he obtained this Omega shirt aside, a lot of people are saying that he should have given it back. People think that if, according to his story, he had obtained it honestly, then morally, he should have contacted Blizzard about it immediately.



This sounds exactly like what someone who did NOT obtain this shirt would say. It's overpowered and unfair. It's not for players and he should give it back.

This is both:

a) logical


b) complete and utter crap

If you woke up one day and found out that you could fire energy beams out of your eyes, I don't think the first thing you would do is contact the government.

You'd start sewing a costume and deciding on an awesome superhero name.

I'd suggest Captain Eye Lazers. It's subtle.

Same thing goes for in-game items. It's really damned easy to say you'd give it back when you don't have the thing in the first place.

We both know if it was you that had the item, you'd lay waste to everything you saw.

Which is exactly what this guy did.

He went on an epic (no pun intended) rampage through Azeroth, kicking ass and taking names. He was killing everything he could think of and even took down a boss in one hit.

You'd be surprised how easy it is to rampage when to can kill anything with one press of a button.

Not that I'd know anything about that...

The part of the story that pisses me off though is that he got banned. Blizzard up and banned him for running rampant through their little virtual world, making with the raping and the pillaging.

Can you honestly blame him?

I don't care if he cheated to get the item. I don't care if he and a ragtag team of amateur hackers managed to hack their way into Blizzard's mainframe, all the while surrounded by flashy camera angles and techno music.

What he did was awesome.

I spend my day banning people from FFXI because they tried to steal a hat or tried to sell their gil for real money.

Or they got on my nerves.

Or ended a sentence in a preposition.

Or... Well, pretty much anything.

Do you know what I wouldn't ban them for? Going on a crazy murdering rampage with their newly acquired shirt of DOOM.

That shit is forgivable.

Hell, give that boy a job. He's got potential.