Sunday, February 28, 2010

And Then Susan Got Mad... - Vol. 3

Susan and I have been together for a very long time. Sometimes, it even seems like we've been together forever.

I mean that in the nicest way possible of course.


Over that time, we have become very comfortable with each other. We have learned to accept and live with each other's faults and shortcomings.

Except for one.

See, I'm not exactly what you might call the world's neatest person. I am more of a free spirit.

I have heard it described as being a slob, a pig in man form.

Susan, on the other hand, is an obsessive-compulsive neat freak.



Even though we've been together forever and she was well aware of my nature, she still, to this day, gets incredibly pissed off that I don't clean more.

Honestly, I feel for her. I'm sure it's probably very frustrating to live with someone who just doesn't give a shit.

And I really don't.

But, I'm going to have to play the precedent card here. I made my position on cleaning quite clear early on in our relationship. This is not a surprise or unexpected behavior. She went into this thing with full disclosure.

She may have thought she could change me.

Not freaking likely. She's more likely to train a goldfish to vacuum as get me to clean up.

I'm just not that kind of guy. Why the hell would you make the bed? You're going to get right back into it.

And wash dishes? We're just going to put food right back on there.

I'm just saving time and energy.

Well... My time and energy. Susan uses HER time and energy following behind me, cleaning up after me.

It's a beautiful symbiosis.

At least, I think so.

She... Does not.

When I started this week, I tried to think of some of the biggest things I've done to piss Susan off. There were so many (seriously) that I was having trouble narrowing it down.

So, I asked her.

This, it would turn out, was a mistake.

I expected her to list off a few times I made her angry and that she eventually got over. You know, look back and laugh at how silly it was.

Not quite.

Instead, I got to hear in tremendous detail just how much work it is to take care of a house and keep it clean.

And she was yelling.

She didn't start out yelling. Everything started out nice and calm and then slowly escalated in volume and tone until she was ranting and raving about cleaning the house.

The word "maid" was thrown about once or twice.

This was a conversation we'd had many times before, so I knew the best thing for me to do was just sit quietly and ride out the storm. Anything I said could and would be used against me in a court of law.

So, I sat quietly. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Things were just starting to wind down and I thought I might actually make it out alive. She was calming down and her volume was slowly getting closer and closer to regular talking. She paused to take a breath and closed her argument with:

Susan>> Why is it my job to clean up everything?

And I heard someone that sounded very much like me say:

[GM]Dave>> Because you're a woman?

And then Susan got mad...

Saturday, February 27, 2010

And Then Susan Got Mad... - Vol. 2

Men, oh you silly, unprepared men, I am going to try and lay down some excellent advice for you.

Know your audience.

Your girlfriend/fiance/wife wants you to know what her most intimate thoughts and feelings are. She wants you to understand her on a fundamental level.

That's not going to happen.

There's no way you can understand women. It's nothing wrong with you or with them. It's just that men and women think very, VERY differently.

What you need to do, as a man, is to try and think about what she would want to do, not what you actually want.

Think really hard.

Really hard.

And then, when you have finally figured out what to do, you're still wrong.

There's no way out of it. It's a trap that you basically have to stick your foot in. You see it sitting on the ground, sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight, and you have to stick your leg out and step right on in.

I present to you: A man's dilemma.

A few weeks before our impending wedding, Susan and I went to a store together. A store that specialized in intimate apparel.

A naughty underwear store.

To call some of the things in this store underwear is being generous. Much of their stock consisted of dental floss with the occasional bow or clip.

Yes, I was very happy.

Then, just as I thought we were going to get to the good stuff, Susan looks at me and says

Susan>> I have a fun idea.
Susan>> I'll pick something and you pick something for me.
Susan>> Then, we'll see if we match.

Warning bells started going off in my mind. No good could come from this.

Susan>> Don't worry.
Susan>> Pick something you like.

Then she walked away, leaving me to debate the situation by myself.

I said DEbate.

Now, there were two basic paths for me to take here:

1) buy something that I would like

2) buy something that I think she would like

I'm not an idiot. I immediately discounted number one. My opinion doesn't actually matter.

But what would she actually like?

Now, that had some creepy stuff in a room in the back. That shit was crossed off the list immediately.

Some of it was very scary. I think there was a hazmat suit back there.

So, I was left deciding between the romantic nightgowns and the very uncomfortable looking lingerie.

My first impulse was to go for the nightgown. That was pretty freaking obvious.

But was it too obvious?

What if that was the trap? What if she wants to wear the interesting stuff, but she wants to see if I'd like that?

I mean we are at a lingerie store. This isn't some sort of coincidence. It's not like we're in the Walmart pajama section or something. The entire store is designed around the concept of naughty underwear.

Plus, that stuff would probably make her feel super attractive. Wearing that stuff would make her feel sexy in a way that no stupid nightgown possibly could.

She'd probably be happy that I picked out something like that.

She'd probably thank me.

I swear to God, that's what I was actually thinking.

Women, men really are this stupid.

I went and carefully selected some very tasteful lingerie (read: four strings attached to a few of postage stamps) and headed off to find my wife.

I had my selection hidden behind my back. So did she.

She smiled. So did I.

Then we showed what we picked out.

I smiled. She didn't.

And what was she holding? That's right. A romantic nightgown.

My wife picked out a very nice, very comfortable looking silk nightgown and I had picked up something that looked like it was fresh off the set of a porn movie.

And then Susan got mad.

Apparently, "pick something you like" translates into "I hope you like hour long lectures about understanding your wife and respecting her feelings".

We didn't even buy anything. We just walked right on out.

Well, she walked right on out and I followed her while apologizing profusely.

Do you know what's fun? A half hour drive listening to your wife go on and on about how she's not your whore.

She used that word a lot.

And the word prostitute.

And Harlot.

I had to look that one up.

It means whore.

She didn't find me pointing out her unnecessary usage of synonyms funny either.

Honestly, I'm kind of surprised she even showed up at the wedding.

Friday, February 26, 2010

And Then Susan Got Mad... - Vol. 1

Oh where do I begin?

The chosen theme of this week's posts is "The Times I Made Susan Angry."

How I'm going to pick out just seven of the many, many, MANY times this has happened, I have no idea. I have enough material for a theme month.

Or year.

Since I was not given any sort of criteria by which to organize the type of angry involved, I thought we'd go with a random sampler of the logical/stupid things I've done that have ultimately made my wife angry.

Part 1: Listening To Her

Women are interesting things. While they may be from the same area you are from, raised in the same culture as you, taught the same language as you, and even have spoken to you in your own language quite fluently, they speak in an entirely different language.

It is a subtle language where meanings of words are not based on actual definitions, but by subtle undertones that you should be able to pick out. Often, these meanings will completely contradict the meaning of the words themselves.

Here's a hint: If you think you know what a woman is saying, you're wrong.

See, women have this built-in system of saying things that are not true, but are designed to test your ability to figure out what they actually mean.

"I don't care" means "I've given you the choice, but I'm going to tell you you're wrong when you make it"

This is very interesting as it is completely the opposite of how a guy's brain works. If a guy says something, it means it is immediately true. There are no subtle undertones or meanings that have to be ascertained. Just take it at face value.

"I don't care" means "I don't really give a shit either way. Whatever."

This difference in communication can often lead to problems.

This brings us to Valentine's Day last year. Money was a little tight and as the day approached, I asked Susan what kind of budget I was working under.

She said, and I quote, "Oh, you don't have to get me anything. I don't want anything."

We agreed not to get each other anything for Valentine's Day.

Something should have gone off in my head. A buzzer, a bell. Some sort of early warning system. My years of dealing with women should have told me this was a trap.


Not so much as a doubt in my mind that that is what she meant.

See, if I had said "I don't want anything", it would mean that I really don't want anything. If I wanted something I would answer "I would like [insert thing/game/sexual favor here]".

We are a simple people.

So, when she said that, I took it at face value. She didn't want anything. I wouldn't buy anything.

And then Susan got mad...

Valentine's Day rolls around and I noticed my wife was acting a little strange. You could tell she was kind of waiting for something.

I, being a loving husband, asked her what was wrong.

"So... What'd you get me for Valentine's Day?"

If a man's heart can go from resting to five hundred beats a second, then I am proof of it. I went from being in a generally pleasant mood to suddenly fearing for my life.

Kind of like a cow. I was having a perfectly nice day out in the field when the farmer walks up and says he wants to show me his new hammer.


The correct response was "Oh, I left it at the office. Let me go get it."

I know this because the incorrect response was "You told me not to get you anything."

Two guesses which one I said.

Hint: This is not Susan ALMOST Got Mad week.

I should have apologized immediately for having a proper grasp of the english language, but instead, I decided to explain to her how this was all her fault.

Basically, I was digging my own grave.

The last thing a woman wants to hear in this situation is anything even remotely related to it being her fault. Any intelligent man would just run to the nearest store and buy her a gold anything.

Me being me, I argued that point into the freaking ground. It was like high school debate club and that bitch was going down.

Except for the fact that that bitch was my wife and, according to the laws of marriage, a wife can never lose an argument.

Instead of laying out a solid argument about why this wasn't my fault, I was apparently explaining how I did not want to have sex any time in the near future.

Apparently, we speak a different language, too.

Honestly, my wife is a pretty nice lady, but that night I was absolutely positive that she was going to freaking murder me in the face.

All up in my face.

Here's a hint for you: if a woman ever says not to buy her something, go buy it anyway. Buy two of them. Hell, buy eight of them.

You don't want that kind of trouble.

Any man who says he's not worried is either delusional or single.

I actually leave randomly wrapped presents around the house in case I forget something. Kind of like emergency presents.

It's just good planning.

Really, the only solace I have is the fact that it really WAS all her fault.

Tomorrow's Post: Susan reads this post.

F&%@ it. I'm usually in trouble anyway.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Oh Yeah...

I'm going to rock your world here. Seriously, I am about to drop a major bomb on you, the likes of which you have never seen.


[GM]Dave is not a good person.

I know, I know. It's more than you could possibly imagine.

I'll give you a minute to gather yourself.

See, a few people have been sending me e-mails wondering what ever happened to the last fan pack. Right before Christmas, I did a theme week and, at the end of the theme week, I was supposed to send out a fan pack.

That did not happen.

Why? Well, at the time, a lot of nasty shit went down and I wasn't in any place to be funny. I couldn't sit down and write even if I had wanted to.

Then things got better.

But, by then, the fan pack was so late that I felt it had to be better.

So, I rewrote it.

And hated it.

And I rewrote it.

Hated that one worse.

That's when things started to snowball. The more time I spent trying to make it funny, the less funny it really was.

Susan said I was trying too hard.

So, I put it off.

And off.

And off.

I'm pretty sure you see where this is going.

At this point, I've decided that I just have to do something. I have to get this thing finished before it drives me insane.

Also, before a small contingent of my loyal readers show up at my door and murder me.

Seriously, don't do that. I'm working, I'm working. You can take your coat off.

What I've figured out is that the problem is three-fold:

1) I am a perfectionist
2) I am an asshole
3) I am lazy

Thus, my only option is to give myself a finite, concrete deadline. I need to draw a line that I have to have this done by or it'll never get done.

To accomplish this, we're going to have another theme week. A straight week of posts as suggested by the person who donated most during this drought of fan pack goodness.

At the end of the week, I'll be sending out the fan pack.

Now, if you donated for the fanpack before Christmas or have donated since, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO DONATE AGAIN. You guys totally did your part, I just have to live up to my end.

If you want to donate, go right ahead. I'll add it to previous donations and the top donor will pick next month's theme week.

And if you've never donated before... Why the hell not? Do I come down to McDonald's and watch you make burgers, but never buy one? Huh, do I?

Some people, I tell you.

Of course, if it took two months to get a damned Big Mac, I doubt I'd pay them either.



Seriously, I'm good for it. One week.


Saturday, February 20, 2010


Alternate Title: Or Kill Me... Whatever.

You have no doubt been wondering where I have been the last few days. Every time you hit refresh and see no new post has been put up, you die a little inside and wonder how your Dave could have forsaken you.

Oh, if only it was just me being an asshole. That would be MUCH better.

No, for you see, my dear reader, I have been spending the past five days straight playing nursemaid to my wife and single parent to our daughter.

It seems at some point in the recent past, my wife's wisdom teeth decided to start some shit. Apparently, there was some political upheaval in her mouth area and a small band of teeth made the decision to leave.

A few weeks and a bunch of money later, a dentist was removing said trouble-making teeth in a procedure I cannot help but picture as yanking with pliers while he steps on my wife's face.

That shouldn't make me laugh.


Sure, I suggest she get some work done (a nip here and a tuck there, maybe some giant, monster-size, almost comical breast implants) and I'm a jerk, but she can have elective surgery to remove teeth just to relieve agonizing pain.

Some people are so selfish.

The aftermath of this procedure is that she has been in bed for the better part of a week while I'm left running shit.

I'm not good at this.

This is not my forte.

See, I'm more of a handle errands and follow directions kind of guy. I'm not a caregiver, I'm a caretaker.

Or a "I don't give a sweet f&%@"er.

Being in charge of not one, but two lives is more than I can handle. I should not be left with this kind of responsibility.

Or any responsibility.


I had a goldfish once.

It died.

Apparently, they do not enjoy going for walks as much as other pets.


The problem is that I am not built for this kind of work. I am a man and, as a man, I have developed the understanding that my role is just to keep myself alive.

Let me explain this in terms of FFXI.

I have asked someone to translate this into WoW terms for the FFXI-impaired.

When I first logged in, I decided to play as MAN. It seemed like a good class for my personality. Low maintenance with great meleeing ability.

(When I created my character, I decided to roll a ShaMAN. It seemed like a good class for my personality. Low maintenance with good all around healing or dps skills)

Once I'd leveled past 20, I decided to level a new job and use MAN as my sub. MAN seemed to be the preferred sub for BFD (Boyfriend), so I went with that. BFD/MAN. I learned to handle new job abilities, while maintaining the traits of MAN.

(Once I leveled past 20, I decided on the BOYFRIEND spec. BOYFRIEND seemed to be the preferred spec for ShaMANs, so I went with that. BOYFRIEND spec ShaMAN. I spent my talent points in the BOYFRIEND talent tree, learning new skills, while maintaining my role as ShaMAN)

Side note: I never realize what a strange word BOYFRIEND was until I actually wrote it out and looked at it. The word no longer makes sense to me.

(Wait... Am I supposed to translate the side note, too? You never explained that part when you sent me the e-mail. Could you clarify so I can fix it? I don't want to look like an idiot.)

After a while spent leveling as BFD/MAN, I did the quest to unlock the advanced job HUB (Husband). It wasn't a particularly hard quest. All you have to do is spend all your gil on a Rare ring and then trade it to another player.

(After a while spent leveling a BOYFRIEND spec ShaMAN, I did the class quest to unlock the HUSBAND ability. It wasn't a particular hard quest. All you have to do is spend all of your gold on a Bind on Equip ring and trade it to another player)

I should have really put more thought into this analogy before I started.

(Yeah, probably)

Eventually, I found this GREAT quest to unlock a new advanced job, DAD. I'll spare you the details, but it involves taking a special polearm to a cave. Yes, the quest is repeatable. The best part is that it's a pet job, so you get a new pet out of the deal.

(Eventually, I found this GREAT quest to unlock a new... Are you seriously comparing your daughter to a pet? We're doing this now? ... Okay, whatever. I spent some talent point to get the FATHER ability. The best part is that it came with a companion pet, so you get a new pet out of the deal)

Generally speaking, you usually wouldn't use an advanced job as a sub, but DAD/HUB is a much better and much more practical combo than DAD/MAN. Yeah, you can play DAD/MAN quite well, but DAD/HUB is generally more acceptable.

(This doesn't really translate well into WoW. Uh... Generally speaking, you wouldn't spend your talent points in a different skill tree... Yeah, I've got nothing)

I have never wanted to unlock the MOM job. Nothing about the job is appealing to me. Sure, some people find it to be an amazing, fulfilling job, but frankly, it looks like a lot of damned work. Constantly with the healing and refreshing all of your party members. Not my style.

(I have never wanted to spend any points in the MOTHER talent tree. None of the talents in that tree appeal to me. Sure, some people find it to be a great spec, but frankly, it looks like a lot of damned work. Constantly with the healing and buffing all of your party members. Not my style)

Unfortunately, due to recent events, I was forced to unlock the MOM job and sub it to my DAD. DAD/MOM is not a combo I really feel comfortable playing. The two abilities of both classes don't work well together. The MOM class's buffing and maintenance abilities don't really help out with my DAD role of lying around and playing video games.

(Unfortunately, due to recent events, I was forced to spend some talent points in the MOTHER talent tree. I don't really feel comfortable with these new abilities because they don't really work well with my spec. The MOTHER abilities for buffing and healing don't really help out with my ShaMAN DPS.)

So, I have spent the past week basically playing MOM, a job I never signed up for, while Susan sits in bed all day doing nothing.

(Are you really sure you want to say that? What if Susan reads it? She's going to kill you)

I suppose it could have been a worse week. At least I wasn't suck playing some stupid game where you get exp for just finding towers and shit out in the middle of nowhere. Wow, you found a big rock. Here's some exp for you. Boom, you're level 80.

(That's not funny)

I'm really hoping Susan feels better soon. VERY soon. I don't know how much more of this I can take.

In closing, WoW sucks.

(In closing, screw you, Dave)

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Just A Thought

My wife has caught full-on Olympic fever.

I'm serious about that. She has actually caught Olympic fever. Every freaking time I reach for the remote, she snarls at me like a zombie from Resident Evil.

I keep a shotgun nearby just in case.

Anyway, we were watching some of the events today when a thought struck me.

No, this is not about the luge. Even I'm not that bad.

We were watching the biathlon (which does not involve the sexually confused young women I had expected) in which competitors have to cross country ski and then shoot at targets. They get ten bullets and have to hit ten targets.

How in the hell could you lose this event?

Let's imagine that you're in second place. You're getting close to the finish line and it looks like you don't have time to catch up. All is lost, right?

Oh, wait... You've got a gun.

I'd just shoot the guy ahead of me. Pop, pop, and I'm the winner.

Now, I'm not suggesting I'd kill the guy. That's just plain crazy.

But hit him in the back of the knee or spine or whatever and that gold medal is all yours.

Unless the guy behind you has a bullet left.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Let's Get This Straight

He's not a pirate.

Seriously. He's not.

Not at all.

See, just before Christmas, a little game was released called New Super Mario Bros Wii. This was, without a doubt, the biggest Nintendo game of the year.

Second place went to Not Zelda and third was given to whatever the hell those crap games are in the bargain bin at Walmart.

Anyway, Australia is all like WTF, mate? Why don't we get games early like all of those other countries that aren't former prison settlements?

Nintendo in their ever wise thinking decided to release the game there early.

And then, to turn the entire thing into one big moot point, the game broke street date and was out even sooner. People could go out weeks before the game was to be released and just pick one up off the shelf.

Now, a pirate (either software pirate or actual pirate) would be smart enough that, if a copy should come into their possession, they wouldn't spread that shit around. Keep that shit on the down low at least until it's officially released.

They CERTAINLY would not make this knowledge publicly known.

That's what this one guy did.

See, he ran home, his new Mario game clutched in his sweaty little hands, and immediately went on the internet to brag about having a copy.

To his "friends".

Here's where we start seeing differences between this person and an actual pirate. An actual pirate would have taken his treasure and kept it a secret, devising complicated and convoluted systems to keep anyone from find it.

They did not post its location on the internet.

They certainly did not take pictures of the treasure along with a receipt showing exactly where the treasure came from.

They absolutely wouldn't take a picture of themselves holding the treasure.


Okay... Things are still okay, though. I mean he hadn't done anything stupid up to this point.

Up to this point.

All he had to do was wait for the initial excitement die down and no one would have given him a second thought.

Instead, they goaded him into uploading a copy of the game to the internet.

Again, not how a pirate would handle the situation. A pirate would find the person trying to goad them and then stab them in the stomach. They would not make copies of the treasure available on a large global network.

Nintendo's crack team of investigators (read: one guy who googled "New Super Mario Bros Wii iso") managed to track down the master criminal and sued him to the tune of $1.5 million dollars.

Remember when Nintendo was the cute little company that made game consoles? Now, those guys will F&%@ you up.

My problem is with the terminology. Everyone is saying he's paying $1.5 million for his piracy.

No, no.

As I've established, he's not a pirate. Not at all.

He does not sail the high seas with a group men severely lacking in hygiene and vitamin C.

He's not a pirate.

He's a moron.

If you think about it that way, he's being charged $1.5 million dollars for stupidity.

That's a system I can get behind.

Sunday, February 07, 2010

/Em Is Sick


That is exactly how I feel at this moment. My entire physical being can be measured and summed up by those three little letters.


There is nothing that I would want to do less when I'm sick than go into work. Just the thought of having to deal with a never ending flood of retarded people while my body falls apart makes me want to shoot myself.

Do you know how expensive bullets are?

Spoiler: Really expensive.

Even if I could afford bullets, I definitely couldn't afford a gun.

And I seriously doubt throwing the bullets at my temple would have the desired effect.

So, since I need to maintain my employment until such time as I can afford an actual firearm and the requisite ammunition, I am stuck working while I am sick.

Don't feel bad for me. I just called and told them I would be working from home for today.

They usually don't allow that, but my supervisor doesn't seem to mind when I do it.

I pretended not to hear the relief in his voice.

Since it was Susan's day off, she decided to try and make me feel better. She asked me if there was anything she could do to help. Did I need food or a beverage?

She didn't have a gun either.


Know what she did have?


No, no. I don't mean it like that, you pervert.

Actually, she said no to that.


I then amended my idea to her using those hands to do my work for me. I could give her directions and she could do all the typing.

Yes, I am that pathetic when I'm sick.

My beautiful wife took my weak hand in hers, looked deep into my eyes, and told me to go F&%@ myself.

Thank you, Florence Nightengale.

It actually took about an hour of me hacking and coughing, sighing and looking pathetic for her to give in.


We spent the rest of the day with her at my keyboard and me laid back on the couch giving her directions on what to do. She'd tell me the problem and I'd give her the simple solution.

Gil farmer. Feed to Jormy.

Fish botter. Feed to Jormy.

Stuck behind a table. Feed to Jormy.

I know that last one didn't really deserve it, but we were kind of on a roll. Also, my Nyquil was running out and I was starting to get cranky.

Cranky [GM]Dave = Banned players.

All in all, I think it was a pretty productive day. We got through my entire shift without killing each other and I didn't die.


Yes, there were a few difficulties. Apparently, some of my "flare" is lost in translation.

Here is what I told my wife:

[GM]Dave>> Okay, that's good.
[GM]Dave>> Now, make a comment about his intelligence.
[GM]Dave>> Something brutal.

Here is what I later found in the log:

[GM]Dave>> You're so stupid, you thought a quarterback was a refund.
[GM]Dave>> BURN!



Burn, indeed.

I need to get better quickly.

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

We Need To Shut Up Already

I get that the entire point of the internet is to complain about mundane shit.

Well... That and hardcore pornography.

Seriously. I understand that. I've built myself a nice little hobby out of it.

The complaining... Not the porn.

But there's a line that our gaming community has been passing a little too easily lately: Complaining for no good freaking reason.

If you don't want to buy a game, don't buy it. It's that simple. You don't have to look for stupid shit to complain about.

It's even worse if the game has any sort of hype behind it. Then people are going to just make shit up as they go so they can sound cool enough to hate what everyone else loves.

Call of Duty? Too much shooting.

Seriously? Seriously?!

We as gamers should hold ourselves to higher standards. We're not Ma and Pa Gribble getting on this new fangled interweb thang and trying to post message on our Facewall.

We're refined.

We're sophisticated.

We're at least intelligent enough to not act like a bunch of whiny little bastards over every little thing.

Case in point: Mass Effect 2.

If you have not heard of this game, welcome to our planet. Mind the wildlife and enjoy your stay.

Mass Effect 2 is a big game. A game so large, in fact, that it requires multiple discs.

That's right. Multiple DVDs.


Now, back in my day, that was the sign of a good game. Back in my day, a good game had to have 2 or 3 or even 4 discs.

Lord help you if you got a PC game way back. You opened a box to find 29 floppies that had to be installed.

In order.

But that shit was a sign of quality. The game was just so damned good that it required extra discs to contain all the awesomeness.

Ask any Final Fantasy gamer their favorite part of the Playstation titles and they will not list a scene or a sequence. No, they'll say disc 3.

That's just how it was.

Mass Effect 2 comes out and suddenly, people don't understand that anymore. Reviewers are saying shit like "Don't get comfortable."

What the hell?!

Don't get comfortable? The game requires you to change a disc probably once every twenty hours.

What the F&%@ does it take for you to get comfortable?

Jesus. I've only been sat here for the better part of a day. Now, I've got to change a disc? F&%@ THAT!

And what's the big freaking deal anyway? Is your console in some other country, a land so distant that travel is arduous and consuming?

It's right there.


You can probably see it from where you're sitting.

Get the F&%@ over it.

Now, you might think I'm just bitching about stupid people.

I tend to do that.

This time, though... This time, I've got a point.

Remember a few years ago, when Devil May Cry came out? Remember the freaking clusterF&%@ circus about how long it took to install the game? People lost their freaking minds because they had to wait for the game to do a mandatory install.

People hated that.

So, what did the Mass Effect guys say?

Hey, let's put that shit on multiple discs so that they won't have to install the game.

Yay! Everyone's happy!

Oh, wait... No they're not. Now, they're complaining about having to switch discs.

Basically, we're looking at developers and telling them that we want extremely long games with amazing graphics and sound that require absolutely no install while somehow being contained on a single disc.

Yeah... It's no wonder they don't take us more seriously.

Hey, every copy should include a free unicorn. They can find them wherever in the hell we think they're going to get this magical super-disc technology.

I've figured out the perfect solution to everyone's problems: stop bitching.

See? The world is a better place already.