It’s weird that people have fuck buddies, but not any other buddy derived from one single part of a relationship. No one has a talk-about-finances buddy. There are no share-the-housework-load friends. Friends with just listening benefits are unheard of. I think the reason is because fuck buddies are a much easier sell.
The TV show “Dinosaurs” aired on ABC from 1991 to 1994. Grotesque Muppetry aside, last night, while discussing the show for a podcast I’m on, I came to an amazing realization. The first season of the show takes place in the year 65,000,003 BC. On the show’s finale, three years later, the Dinosaurs exploit the environment, plunging the world into an ice age. This causes the Dinosaurs’ extinction. All that aside, there is a strange piece of genius there. Dinosaurs are generally believed to have been wiped out 65 million years ago. By beginning the show at 65,000,003 BC, the extinction finale lines up with the generally accepted extinction time of the actual dinosaurs.
Not to get incredibly personal here, but I’ve been unemployed for nine months and I’d really like this holiday season to not suck. If you’d like to help out, check out the games I’m selling below, which range from modern stuff to notable rarities. Just e-mail me if you’d like to claim…
Help a brutha out.
Wrestling super star and star of “The Marine” John Cena has no place selling me Fruity Pebbles. Fruity Pebbles and its chocolatey cousin Cocoa Pebbles should only feature Flintstones in their commercials. It’s the last relevant thing the Flintstones are doing. Barney Rubble must fool Fred Flintstone in some way in order to score some Pebbles. Then, as he prepares to celebrate his victory by enjoying a bowl of Pebbles, the scheme falls apart and Barney’s identity or true intentions are made nakedly clear to Fred. Fred then hollers “Barney! My Pebbles!” and chases him away.
John Cena seems like a nice enough guy, but he lacks the draw of your The Rocks or Hulk Hogans. And as someone whose livelihood depends on making conscious, deliberate health choices, I have to imagine his consumption of Fruity Pebbles is much lower than a Barney Rubble’s would be. Barney, as a cartoon character, is capable of eating bowl after bowl with zero negative consequences.
The following is the perfect example of a Fruity Pebbles commercial. Notice the complete lack of wrestling champions.
Anonymous said: Fuck ICP and fuck your GTA character. I'll kick your ass up and down Los Santos
I am so scared I am pooping all over the place.
I really like GTA Online. Mostly for the violence, but also for the role-play. The first guy I rolled looked hella molestory. Like the guy on The Wire who became mayor, the Littlefinger in Game of Thrones, but with tight curls. I changed the appearance of my guy when given the (one and only) chance. After that, I decided to scrub him the fuck up.
My GTA Online character has the most beat-tattoos available in the game. A crusty-ass dagger on the forearm, a neck tattoo, and another I can’t recall at this moment. Then cornrows, a bandanna, and facepaint. Throw on a sports jersey and guess what, mother fuckers? Straight up juggalo.
When I cruise the streets of Los Santos, I do it in my custom Futo Karin, a boxy-as-fuck looking 1980s-ass compact. You know I roll with the hot-pink color scheme on all my rides. When I leave my garage I smash it into some walls for that authentic, busted-but-still-trying look.
This has led to me getting smashed into A LOT, but fuck the haters. Family for life. Woop woop.
Twice now I’ve gone to PAX East on media passes. The first time was when I went for 1up to be on the Retronauts panel, which was awesome. The second time was for woot, and I did a couple of stupid clowny videos that hopefully made some people laugh.
In the press room, there are a bunch of chairs and tables, and outlets, for press people to write their press things. And there is a secret, special wi-fi for media people to upload media stuff. But the best part are the repurposed dog cages that serve as lockers. Grab a key from the nice PAX enforcer, and stow your shit all fucking day. How rad is that?
Answer: super rad.
In the press room are people from all over the damn place. IGN, Destructoid, and about a bazillion small blogs you’ve never heard of. People grinding away, getting their word out there, building their site and just living the paying-dues lifestyle.
Wait, except for that last part, about paying dues. It’s actually the opposite of that. It is my observation, strictly mine, that the folks who work for the big time outlets, guys and gals with recognizable names and faces, are like spooky ghosts in the press room. They keep their voices down, they work diligently and without fanfare, and in some cases they don’t even go there at all.
But I noticed something about a lot of people in the smaller blogs. They act like their press pass is a license to be annoying. Seriously, the enforcers aren’t impressed by you. So what gives you the right to be so obnoxious?
I saw a shocking amount of entitled, man-babyish behavior. People being so loud for no reason. Complaining about not getting onto the floor through some secret, velvet-lined press tunnel. Leaving trash fucking everywhere.
Look, I’m just like you. A dude who is keeping the dream alive, a guy who likes to write about video games and cannot believe that fortune has smiled upon me not once, but twice. I know that writing about video games is a horrible bitch goddess, and any sort of gain that brings you closer to living the dream is in so many ways incredible. But a press pass does not give you license to be a super dick. Yeah, you can jump a couple lines, but even that feels kind of skeezy.
No one cares who you write for. That’s why your name and affiliated media outlet are written so damn tiny on the pass. PAX is not really a press event. It’s an event for nerds and rape-apologists to get together and just wallow in their (and our) subcultures. Don’t, for a minute, think you’re a prima donna because your site gets “x” number of pageviews. You no different than the tens of thousands of other nerds wandering the floor, except they’re appreciating the weekend rather than complaining about it.
Deal with it.
Love you all.