Date Archives April 2006

We’re gonna need a bigger boat.

I’ll admit to being out of the loop when it comes to new games being released. Since I quit working at gamestop, I haven’t been keeping up with what is coming out, and when.

Imagine my surprise and delight to discover they are releasing a ‘Jaws’ game. Oh wait, they already DID release a Jaws game. For the NES. But now they’re doing it AGAIN. Only better! Just check out these stats!

* Players take control of Jaws the Great White Shark with themes and locations from the original JAWS universe.

Jaws has its own universe now? Also, to be nitpicky, I don’t believe the shark itself is named ‘Jaws’.

* More than 10 meticulously detailed, destructible environments, each with unique themes and intense action.

OMG 10? That might be too much INTENSE action for me, especially if there’s a wet & wild room. (and you know there will be.)

* Unleash real-time damage on intelligent enemies, vehicles and structures.

Since when are vehicles and structures considered to be intelligent?

* Perform a variety of stunning underwater, surface and air attacks via a user friendly combat system.

Ah, yes. I must be forgetting the part of the movie where Bruce the Shark learned to FLY.

* Dismemberment engine provides 25+ points of disconnection allowing for game characters and objects to be torn apart piece by piece.

I have no snarky remark for this. Oh, wait, I do! It must be based on the Jeffrey Dahmer Engine!

* Follow story based missions or choose to freely roam the island and its surroundings causing havoc.

‘So dig this, you guys. It’s like….it’s like GTA only you’re a SHARK, man.’

* Encounter multiple side missions/challenges including timed destruction, stealth, chase and others.

What sort of reward system would someone use for a shark?

* Face fearsome arena bosses including killer whales, powerful boats and more.

Apparently you will be facing these fearsome killer whales in a pool outside of a Hyatt somewhere. Tourists will watch in horror until your FLYING SHARK ATTACK starts dismembering them, as well!

orca eating

* See your victims before they know you’re coming and target lock on enemies from afar with Shark Vision.

Why oh why didn’t I ask for Shark Vision for my birthday? :sob:

This game is either going to be terrible or terribly awesome. I vote for multiplayer where you can tag-team giant orcas and or battle each other to the death. THAT would be awesome.

Dream a little dream…

Last night I dreamed I was in a Walgreen’s, looking for a disguise of some sort, when I looked down and saw, “The Big Sticker Book of Yaoi for Children”. I flipped it open, and boy My Little Ponies were getting it on with other boy My Little Ponies (WERE there boy My Little Ponies? I don’t think so, what with the Farrah Fawcett hairstyles…), the Disney Captain Hook was getting it on with Peter Pan, and the whole thing was sponsored by NAMBLA.

Good grief, Charlie Brown.

I’d blame something I ate last night, but it was more likely the combination of watching Glen or Glenda and part of My Little Pony Season 1 that did it. Although Glen or Glenda is less about the passionate love a man can have for little boys than the passionate love a man can have for angora sweaters.

Quoth the midget: De Pain, De Pain!

On Friday, I skipped out of work an hour early, just because. I met up with Monty  and her friend Christine at the Value Village in Redmond, where we spent some time debating between bathrobes, and which ones would be most appropriate to wear bowling that evening. I left with a hideous houndstooth-ish, tweed-y bathrobe, and plaid pants, and Monty left with a bathrobe that looked like it had been stitched together from baby seals.

After Value Village, we went to Redmond Town Center, because we’d all gotten postcards in the mail for a week of free tanning, and figured, ‘what the hell? Let’s give it a shot’. I couldn’t get over the feeling that I was in some sort of light-up coffin. 10 minutes of OMGI’MGOINGTODIE later, and I left with rosy-pink cheeks and no color anywhere else on my body. My skin was still translucent and scary to small children. We spent some time making fun of the people at the mall, and it was discovered that every time Monty dropped an F-bomb, there was ALWAYS a child in the vicinity.

It was starting to get late, so we headed back to Monty’s place, showered, put on our Lebowski clothes, and started to bake the cake. I bought a soccer-ball pan, figuring I could make it look like a bowling ball with very little effort. It took much longer to bake than the directions indicated, as when the timer went off, the cake was still liquid in the middle. 10 more minutes, and 10 more minutes, and 5 more minutes, and 2 more minutes and it was finally completely baked. Unfortunately, it was now 10:30, and we were supposed to be at the bowling alley at 10:45. The cake was flipped out of the pan onto a plate, and we started slapping on frosting. The cake was still so hot that the frosting started melting on contact. By the time we arrived at the bowling alley, all the frosting had slid from the top and puddled around the sides. mmmmm, appetizing!

I bowled better than I ever have that evening, actually breaking 100 on the first game. Laugh if you must, but it was quite a feat for me. I do not know if it was the shoes or the hot pink bowling ball that gave me such luck, but I may find out as the shoes *cough* came home with me. I didn’t get too many pictures of the evening, as I was sauced, and all the pictures I took made it quite evident that I was sauced. Considering very few people RSVPd, I was thrilled that so many people showed up. It was quite a party! Next year–Vegas!

I slept over at Monty’s house, crashed in their spare bedroom, and remarkably woke up the next morning with no hangover. We tooled around for a while, and then I put on my best trucker outfit for mxpwr‘s trucker party that evening. For those of you who don’t know him, he cut the workaday shackles of his IBM job and is becoming a trucker. For the first hour of his orientation class, the instructor emphasized the importance of not showing up to work drunk or high. Somehow, I have a feeling that Chad is going to rise through the ranks very quickly. My best trucker outfit consisted of a Moonlight Bunny Ranch t-shirt (that looked like a harley logo, so it was TWO classy shirts for the price of one!) a baseball cap, and stained jeans. I would’ve gotten a big temporary tattoo of a cobra on my arm, but I forgot about it until it was too late.

Around 3 o’clock, Monty and I decided to give tanning a second shot, where we promptly spent too long in the light-up coffins and burned ourselves beyond all comprehension. The burn doesn’t kick in right away, oh no. It waits until you’ve already gone on to your second engagement of the evening before you start to get the ‘burned skin’ chills. I don’t know why I get so tired or so cold when my skin is burned, but I fell asleep watching Convoy, which is potentially the most pointless movie of all time. It’s hilarious when you’re mocking it as a group effort, but probably just sad if you’re watching it by yourself. Toward the end I kept nodding off, and every time I woke up, the “We got a great big convoy, do do do do do DOOOOOOO” song was playing. CONVOOOOOOOOOOY!

Sunday morning I met up with Carrie outside Pegasus, and we drove together into Seattle to have breakfast at Pike Place Market, and spend some time making fun of hippies. We decided to have breakfast at Cutters, and when we walked in and sat at the empty bar, the bartender’s face lit up. “Oh ladies, will you be having breakfast this morning, or a liquid breakfast?” We felt no need to limit our options like that. We started off with two rounds of greyhounds, finished off breakfast with an espresso martini, and the bartender was not yet eager to let us go. “Oh dear, those espresso martinis seem to be broken! The only remedy is for you to let me make you my excellent chocolate martini!”

By that point, there was a crazy woman down at the other end of the bar, having conversations with herself. I pondered aloud about going down there and asking her to ‘cut out the crazy, because you’re starting to scare me’, but that I’d need rocket skates to escape as I was unsure as to whether or not her kind of crazy was dangerous. She eventually wandered down by us and asked to order a new iced tea as she ‘lost hers’. She then started talking down the bar at no one, saying that she didn’t trust them to transmute her back across her astral plane to a new geometry. I was getting ready to ask her to cut out the crazy, had even gotten so far as “Excuse me?” when the bartender said “Don’t do it, rocket skates!” and ran away towards the kitchen. “Eh, are you talking to me?” “No, nothing. Nevermind.” “You know, you look like my friend S-T-A-C-Y.” “…however, my name is not S-T-A-C-Y.” “Yes, yes, but you look like her. C-O-O.”

Did she just spell ‘coo’ at me? Coo as in the lazy speaker’s version of ‘cool’ or cooing like a pigeon? Is that sort of crazy dangerous? Is it contagious? Was it terrible, terrible foreshadowing of the horror which was to come?

We didn’t want to find out. The bill was paid, and we stumbled out into the bright afternoon sunshine, and started wandering the market. We watched buskers, and tried beer jelly, and checked out the brightly colored wares on display everywhere. Carrie stopped to check out some silver bracelets with ‘inspirational’ quotes hammered into them, and while the hippies tried to convince her that they were worth the money, I felt a rather unusual sensation. Sort of like someone had tossed something at my hair. With trepidation building, I tried to get Carrie’s attention. “Carrie? …Carrie? Did a bird just poop in my hair?”

I turned so she could see, and Carrie burst out laughing. I took this as not a good sign. Yes, indeed, a bird had used me as a toilet. I may need to declare a jihad against birds. Carrie was absolutely howling with laughter as she tried to help me clean it out of my hair, and the hippies surrounding us tried to convince us that “It’s ok, it’s like…good for your hair. Cause it’s like…full of proteins and stuff. Like egg whites!”

Whatever, hippy. I don’t see YOU covered in bird poop. Now, of course, I can admit that it was (and is) very funny, but at the time I was only MORE horrified when Carrie managed to get out (between gasps of laughter, that is) “I don’t think I’ve ever seen GREEN poop before.” “OH MY GOD, IT’S GREEN!?!”

We hightailed it back to the Cutter’s bathroom, where I frantically scrubbed at my head, still laughing hysterically. As we left Cutters, still drunk (at least I was) and lightheaded from laughing so hard, I managed to catch my shoe on a crack in the sidewalk, do an awkward, flailing drunken stumble, and while catching my balance, managed to twist my ankle. Because I’m awesome. While limping down the sidewalk, I proclaimed, “My shoe just tried to kill me, OMG, it’s like…a…SHOE MUTINY.”

I ended up passing out in front of the TV at 7pm, liver pickled, skin burned, muscles aching…but with clean hair. All in all an entertaining weekend!

PSA: Clowns are Evil.

Before I write about an assortment of other things, first a public service announcement:

WARNING! CLOWN LURER in the Laurelhurst area!

What child in his or her right mind would follow a CLOWN anywhere? ESPECIALLY if there’s no candy involved? Everyone knows that in order to get children into a van, you need to lure them with candy. Creepy bastards.

Also, who came up with the title ‘clown lurer’? It sounds more like someone who lures clowns away than a clown who is planning to abduct children.

Lastly, I do children’s parties and whatnot. Do you want my card? I’ve got it over here in my warm van. You can take it home and color it, it’s got a picture of a robot pirate on it.

Robo-origins revealed!

I decided that today would be an opportune day to tell all of you how the robot came to be. As I’ve said before, the very first robot (may it rest in peace) was made by derrickito, here in Seattle. Derrick is int0rwebnet famous for his shenanigans in addition to the robot–dressing up as a ninja (with Scotty) and terrorizing neighborhood bars and grocery stores, biking in drag, and his most famous experiment: Homeless Week, also with Scotty.

The premise is that they went homeless for a week to make an ‘internet documentary’ of sorts to raise awareness of the homeless situation in Seattle. For this, they were ripped apart by multiple newspapers.

But back to the robots: Derrick built the first one, and had been using it to wander around town. How and where did I gain possession of it? It all started in Chicago.

Everyone mentioned in this post are members of a web forum for graphic designers, where we spend copious amounts of time talking about dead hookers and gas masks (with the exception of the editorial writer, with his delicate sensibilities, he’d be offended and driven out within minutes).

In April of 2003, the year I turned 21, many of us decided to converge upon Chicago and spend a weekend of boozification. Derrick packed up his robot costume, and he, Scotty, Dana, and Tim all flew from Seattle. Ian came from Toronto. Jeff and Michelle came from Madison. Mitch, Amye, and Jeremy came from Ohio. Audrey and Mr. Audrey came from Detroit. Chelle came from Baltimore. Dustin and Sheri came from Milwaukee. I came from California. And, God help him, Felix hosted all of us at his place.


Scotty, Ian, and I at the first bar of the evening, already showing boozy-pink cheeks.

Derrick brought out the costume at Club Foot. He’d checked it as baggage, and consequently, he marked the box as being ‘fragile’, as boxes covered in duct tape often are just that.


Derrick peeks out of the costume.

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And then proceeds to make suggestive hand gestures toward the package, lest we forget that robots can love. You know, fully functional and anatomically correct?

After a while, Derrick tired of the costume and started passing it around. First Felix tried it on, as is well and proper for our host.

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Look how he mesmerizes and hypnotizes in that sheath of duct tape!


After that, Felix passed the head onto me–I couldn’t wear the body if I still wanted to sit in the booth, and with as much as I’d been drinking, I *definitely* wanted to sit right then. Also, if you’ll notice: Throwing up the horns the first time you put on the costume is instinctual. Because it ROCKS SO HARD, you can’t do otherwise.


Once I had the costume on completely, I was UNSTOPPABLE. Also, more horns.


I believe Ian was trying to mind-meld with me. That, or simply make eye-contact, which is remarkably difficult to do while wearing that costume!


Ian, teaching all of us to dance.


The robot can’t take a bad picture!

So at about this point, Ian spied a bike chained up on the street, and attempted to free it, the better to ride around. Note the robot peeking out behind the crowd.

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Mitch wasn’t going to take any sass from a CANADIAN, so he preceded to show Ian what happens when you try to steal bikes in ‘merica. Scotty points out the action. We were all incredibly drunk at this point, if you couldn’t already tell.


This picture was taken in the second-to-last bar. The place was packed, yet people seemed remarkably nonplussed that brought a robot into the place.


Look to the far left of the picture. That guy whose face you can half-see? Yeah, he was hitting on me. IN THE ROBOT COSTUME. I’m as shocked as you are.

I did start it, though. Drunk and confident, I walked up to him and said “Would you care to buy a strange robot a drink?” I’ve since discovered that line ALWAYS works. It should be used sparingly, as with great power comes alcoholic blindness and irreparable liver damage, yadda yadda.


Now you know the picture my icon came from. At this point, it was getting HOT inside that costume. Not only from the booze–cardboard is a far better insulator than I ever would have guessed. I stood out on the street to get some air, and found myself heckling passersby, asking them if they thought they were TOO GOOD to wave to a robot when they walked right by me. It’s really amazing no one kicked my ass that night.

With the exception of Dustin. He felt that things were ‘too boring’ in the bar, so he started a fight with me to liven things up. Clash of the titans! He broke the antenna off of the head, and stabbed it into one of the eyes. In a matter of minutes, both eyes were missing, and the antenna was hucked across the bar. For some reason, after that point, the costume still stayed on.

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Around this time, Scotty and Rob got into some sort of SPANKING CONTEST. These guys were absolutely wailing on each other, full force, roundhouse blows. I’m not quite sure what this was supposed to prove…




All I knew was that I wanted in. Rob explained to me that I was not allowed to hold back, that I simply must hit Scotty as hard as possible. Ok, I think I can do that!





It’s much harder than you might think to spank someone around a cardboard box. After that, everyone started getting in on the action. I’m still not sure what it was supposed to prove.

The robot was dead at this point. We brought it into the fourth and final bar, but the bartender flipped out and wouldn’t allow us to stay if we kept the costume. It was abandoned outside in an alleyway, and we stumbled back to Felix’s place in search of aspirin, water, and Chicago style hot-dogs.

From that day forward, I carried on the robo-torch, bringing love and cardboard together with copious amounts of duct tape and booze.

I uploaded a crapton more pictures from that weekend (186 altogether, to be specific), so if you’re interested in some more of the crazy things that went on (Derrick almost going home with a transvestite, trashcan diving, pole dancing, Felix taking potentially deadly dares for $2, and our afterhours trip through IBM), check out the gallery.