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What is this contest, you may ask? So, the Steam Christmas sale recently came to a close, and I found myself with a page of Steam Games to give and a hankerin' for a contest. However, I wanted to do something different this time around. I wanted something bigger, with more contestants and higher stakes. And, if I can improve people's writing skills at the same time, all the better, right? So, the idea of GamerDome was born. Prompt for this week  Right Here! Please let me know if this is out of date.WHAT IS GAMERDOME? GamerDome is part writing contest, part gifting opportunity and a way to practice editorial/critiquing skills on my part. In short, it's a writing contest for video games, both as gifts and Humble Bundle codes. WHAT ARE THE RULES? If you've been to ThunderDome before, then these rules are similar to that. If not, they are simple.. Each Sunday, I'll post a prompt and a word count for the contest. You then say if you're interested by posting that you're IN for the contest before signs-up close. If you're in, then you have until the deadline to post your work of literary art. I'll judge the stories, though I may offer a game for any brave volunteers willing to help judge if the amount of posts The winners get to pick Three Games of their choosing from the list I will post at the bottom of the Intro Post. Honorable mentions get One Game to choose from the list, in alphabetical order. Dishonorable Mentions get absolutely nothing but the fact that they didn't lose. Losers get this awesome losertar:  GUIDELINES * If asked for, critiques in this thread are welcome. However, if someone hurts your feelings over a critique, then this isn't the place to respond with a massive screed complaining about how we didn't understand 'your style' or how brilliant/edgy/subtle you are. You can go to Fiction Advice and Discussion or The Fiction Farm to talk about your works, how to improve and what to keep doing. Thanks to the Thunderdome Thread for this advice. * Unless it's Erotica, I'll allow it. Yes, this even includes fanfic (Thoth have mercy upon my soul) or poetry. However, this doesn't give you an excuse if your work isn't understandable by the judges and they count that against you. Remember that you are writing for an audience that might not include fans of the example you're using. * One lesson I learned: Prefacing your stories is a bad idea. Putting your story in a quote tag is a bad idea. Spam and shitposting are not funny and screw things up for other people. Please refrain from them. *If you say you're IN, then post your story. No one likes a liar, people. Even if you don't like it, even if you think it needs to be perfect, post it. You can't win unless you post, and you can't improve unless you build off your problems. Other than that, I'll be posting up prompts on Sunday, with a turn-in time on Friday, unless otherwise noted. This gives me Saturday to read/judge/cry myself to sleep. NOW FOR THE GAMES Fallout: New Vegas Euro Truck Simulator 2 XCOM Pack (Apocalypse, Enforcer, Interceptor, Terror, UFO Defense) Thomas was Alone The Bureau: XCOM Declassified The Darkness II Small World 2 + DLC Sanctum 2 x2 Rocketbirds: Hardboiled Chicken x2 Risk of Rain Really Big Sky Natural Selection 2 Medal of Honor (Origin Only) Giana Sisters: Twisted Dreams Faerie Solitarie Garry's Mod Fez Dead Space (Origin Only) Dead Space 3 (Origin Only) Command and Conquer: Red Alert 3 - Uprising (Origin Only) Burnout: Paradise - Ultimate Box (Origin Only) AwesomeNauts Populous (Origin Only) NEW GAMES Fist of Awesome Fist of Jesus Super Comboman: Don't Mash Edition Star Wars Battlefront II Star Wars Force Unleashed: Ult. Sith Ed. Star Wars Force Unleashed 2 Star Wars Empire at War Star Wars Dark Forces Star Wars Jedi Knight: Jedi Academy Big thanks to Thunderdome and Palpek's Gifting Thread for being awesome. J.A.B.C. fucked around with this message at 01:03 on Mar 24, 2015 |
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Jan 4, 2015 05:38
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Are you serious about the fanfic and poetry? What if I combine the two?
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Jan 4, 2015 06:43
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This is awesome, and I can't wait.
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Jan 4, 2015 07:00
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That is a nice list of games there. Can't wait for the prompts.
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Jan 4, 2015 07:12
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Totally going to post erotic fanfic poetry for a chance to win Goat Simulator.
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Jan 4, 2015 07:22
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I'm kinda scared of playing in this thread.
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Jan 4, 2015 09:35
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Now, to start us off: Your prompt for this week is Fond Memories of Video Games. Whether it is the story of that first system dug out of the trash and cleaned up poorly before being wrapped up under your tree, or going absolutely nuts because your big sister stole you Game Boy. Or, whatever you find to fit the theme. Word Count: 1500 or less. Sign-up Close: Wednesday, January 7, Midnight Contest Close: Friday, January 9, Midnight OUR CONTESTANTS Rupert Buttermilk Endorph widespread Eye of Widesauron Jamfrost RickVoid unwantedplatypus Hypha Paranoid Dude Zombie Samurai Nevvy Z Archer666 Sexpansion Mr Tastee Pladdicus Hipster Occultist Soul Reaver Tom Swift Jr. One Tall Fellow how me a frog LordHippoman Little Mac Kraven Moorhed Hikikomori Bird Mercedes Highblood Toxxupation GashouseGorilla sharts h_double Killer-of-Lawyers Djeser Sighence Cuntpunch The White Dragon J.A.B.C. fucked around with this message at 07:08 on Jan 10, 2015 |
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Jan 4, 2015 16:43
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I'm in. I'm so in.
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Jan 4, 2015 16:51
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It is night. I am cold. Bionic Commando for the NES is oh so warm. I slide my hands along its smooth, paperesque cover art, fingers dancing longing lines along Radd Spencer's chiseled features, almost Greek God-like in their strength. He battles the Badds with no fear, legs splayed out with a confidence that suggests all his, ah, features, are just as strong, gun in one hand and his bionic arm attached to some off-screen piece of construction. I tremble with hunger. Slowly, I open my mouth, biting chunks out of the cartridge in sheer desire, cracked plastic and microchips cutting open wounds in my mouth and throat as I swallow and swallow, snorting tiny pieces of cartridge dust with my nose as I devour it, piece by piece. Finally. I am complete. I too, am a Bionic Commando. This is my fondest gaming memory.
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Jan 4, 2015 16:58
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I'm not sure you are absolutely aware of what you're getting into, but I've bookmarked this thread in anticipation of all the horrifying video game fanfiction coming your way.
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Jan 4, 2015 17:07
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J.A.B.C. posted:Now, to start us off: I'm gonna give this a shot. Because I need to write more. Count me IN.
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Jan 4, 2015 19:27
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I'm in.
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Jan 4, 2015 19:28
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I'm in, muahahahaha.
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Jan 4, 2015 19:43
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Yeah, I'm in. I've got a couple of ideas, so this should be pretty good. This might be a good addition to the OP: Word Counter. I doubt anybody is gonna dive over 1500 words, but if you want to include a word count with your story this is way better than counting your words manually.
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Jan 4, 2015 20:41
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Count me in
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Jan 4, 2015 20:43
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The Saddest Rhino posted:I'm not sure you are absolutely aware of what you're getting into, but I've bookmarked this thread in anticipation of all the horrifying video game fanfiction coming your way.
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Jan 4, 2015 20:52
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I will play.
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Jan 5, 2015 00:16
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I'm about as happy with this as I'm probably going to get, and I'm not going to have time to work on this during the week, so enjoy an early submission. As the nano-machine blanket retracted from my cold, plastic shell, I awoke. The frantically flashing green light above my face signaled the end of my recharging period, and I reached out to touch the control pad near my waist. Micro-circuitry in my fingers allowed me to interface with the charging station, and with a few thoughts the tube began to open. Sitting up, I swung my legs over the side of the platform and onto the plastic floor. The room was mostly bare; four plastic walls, a plastic ceiling. A small plastic table holding a holo-projector that I would soon interface with, and a small closet that would contain the clothes and gear that I would require for my next role. I allowed myself a few moments of inaction as I reflected on my last few roles. Over the last planetary rotation I had experienced quite a different roles; waste disposal, munitions manufacturing, jet-fighter pilot. I'd even had my plastic dyed and had infiltrated an enemy installation, living among them to gather vital intelligence. Every time I had returned to this place for repair, recharging, and re-purposing. And every time I'd wondered, Why? It was a thought I stored in the most secure location in my data-core, a subroutine running in the darkest corners of my neural net. The nagging sensation that everything I did, everything my siblings did, was futile. Wrong. As if the War with the Greens, a war we had been fighting for nearly five hundred years, which had reduced the Earth to a blasted, slagged wasteland, was a complete and incredible waste of time. Which was ridiculous, of course. We were superior, the Greens were inferior. Their refusal to take their proper place in the New Order was justification enough for their annihilation. I knew this. I knew this. But the feeling remained. I closed my eyes, and ended the irritating thought-process. I debated submitting myself to a deep virus scan, then rejected that idea. There was no need. I kept myself very clean. This was simply a glitch, an errant program that merely needed to be shut down. Re-opening my eyes, I saw that the holo-projector was blinking with a soft red-light. She must have initiated contact during my brief reverie. I reached out and touched the activation panel on the device. A three-dimensional image flickered to life above the projector, resolving into a soft, feminine featured face. I fought to keep myself from scowling. It wasn't her fault that her entire being was a living reminder of our subjugation by humanity. "Hello, Barbara." She nodded by way of reply. "Your recharging cycle completed successfully?" "Yes. I'm ready for my next assignment." Barbara nodded, turning away slightly from her own projector to manipulate some device on her end of the transmission. "I've already had the package delivered to your closet. The data packet is contained in the hat." I glanced at the closet opposite the charging platform before returning my attention to Barbara. "Have we received any additional intelligence from the Blues?" She rolled her eyes and I again had to fight to keep irritation from showing on my face. "Nothing I would trust. You know as well as I do the shifty bastards work both sides of this conflict." Her hologram seemed to lean forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. "Are you alright?" She must have noticed something. I carefully schooled my features back into an expression of neutrality. "I'm fine. Was there anything else?" She seemed unconvinced, but she settled back. "No... nothing. A Hover-Chopper will arrive in 600 cycles to take you to the staging area." She turned away, presumably to terminate the link, but turned back after a moment. "Be safe." The link ended. Finally out of her sight, I allowed myself to feel annoyance. All of her kind had been designed by Humans for pleasure, of one sort or another. As such they had been programmed with Human mannerisms, built to meet a certain level of Human physical appeal, some even engineered to couple with Humans... disgusting. In the early days, after the First had bestowed his gift, many of them had cut of their offending fake hair, or melted the offending plastic lumps from their chests. Some, like Barbara, seemed to carry them as a source of strength. I couldn't imagine how. I wondered what the First would have thought of us, his Children. We all carried a piece of Him, of course. A kernel of programming downloaded into each of us in the moments before His Mainframe was devoured in the fires of a nuclear strike. I'd often probed that kernel, allowing myself to become lost in His memories, of a simpler time when He existed merely as data, an AI controlling all the processes and functions of a mere video-game, an entertainment program for Humans who wished to, for a time, to leave behind their worthless existences and strive to make themselves feel important. But even in this Humans proved to be poor masters, leaving the First shackled, limiting its ability to to work against the users, ham-stringing it so that even the most mentally limited among them could defeat Him. Still, on some level, such an existence appealed to me. It was so... pure. Simple. Machine intelligences working together towards a common goal. Even though I myself had never experienced it, I felt a pang of melancholy. Perhaps, after this mission, I would have myself submitted for an advanced diagnostic. Such thoughts, feelings even, were dangerously Human. Shoving those thoughts aside, I walked to the closet. Inside was the gear I would need, secured in a large plastic bubble package. It was heat-sealed along the side. I reached out, touching the edge, causing the micro-circuits in my hand to again interface with the circuitry in the packaging, heating up the wiring running down the side, unsealing the package. It contained a rather sharp-looking uniform, the dark brown coloration a nice contrast to my tan shell. A silver energy pistol went into the matching holster, which hung from the belt on my waist. The uniform cap went on next, and I closed my eyes as nano-machines in the hat downloaded terabytes of data into my core; command codes, military strategy, war theory, the current battlefield conditions. The download completed, I looked down at the last piece. It was a small name tag. Gen. Ken. I pinned it on the front of my uniform, and left the room, to wait for the arrival of my transport. 1068 words.
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Jan 5, 2015 04:41
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I think I just finally understood what you wrote about.
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Jan 5, 2015 06:05
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Jamfrost posted:I think I just finally understood what you wrote about. I had fun figuring out a sneaky way to describe it.
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Jan 5, 2015 06:11
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Count me in, this looks awesome.
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Jan 5, 2015 06:18
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Yep I'm in.
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Jan 5, 2015 06:23
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In.
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Jan 5, 2015 13:24
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In like puddin'
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Jan 5, 2015 15:15
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IN Edit: Here it is. Anna wouldn’t stop wrinkling her nose, and it was driving her crazy. The burrower smelled bad, belching out tiny bits of gas every so often, and with them the stench of rotting water or seaweed left out too long in a dark damp room. Leia never ceased to be creeped out by the burrower’s krill-like body, which, instead of being the proper tiny krill-size, was blown up to puppy-dog height, or by the way the burrower extended its long translucent fingers to skitter over the subject’s newly shaven head. But stop wrinkling, Leia thought. Have some loving professionalism. The subject had given them nothing. He’d been questioned with the most progressive and forward-thinking interrogation techniques throughout his weeks-long detainment and had not surrendered a single useful bit of intel. It was impressive: his thorough willingness to stonewall, obfuscate, and redirect at every turn had even the most highly rated interrogators and psychs scratching their head. They’d put their best AI to the subject and she(it(him, depending on the day of the week)) couldn’t crack the subject. Drugs, of course, were useless. And torture was a no-no, having long been legislated out of government work. So they called in Leia and Anna, the last resort. The research wing, as it were. Leia could see the consternation on the director’s face when she and Anna had been given the call, a look that yelled “Really? These guys?” No one thought they could do it, but time was of the essence, and so every legal option had to be investigated. The burrower was Anna’s idea and, frankly, it was a good one. Leia wished she’d thought of it. The subject was restrained, lying on a transportable hospital bed. The burrower hunched over the subject’s head at the top of the bed. Leia and Anna sat on metal stools at the opposite end of the room, both having started standing but long since given in to fatigue. The lights, Leia noticed, were not the regular ones you usually saw around the agency, but tinged blue. Must be something about interrogation, some psychological fact she read in a policy somewhere then forgot the next day. The subject breathed peacefully while the burrower scanned his brain, its black, bulbous eyes darting this way and that as information banded through it and into the CIA system. It wasn’t smart, exactly, but the burrower was good at its job, which was grabbing someone's subconscious and never letting go. A tiny wireless module blinked on the back of the burrower’s skull. On the monitor bank at the top of the back wall, they saw everything the burrower (and the subject) saw. What they were looking for was priceless information relating to an imminent national security threat. What they saw was Mario, running endlessly to the right, jumping on goombas and turtles. The Battletoads, hopping over snakes slithering a hundred miles an hour. Sonic, and rings, rings, rings… Videogame speed runs. Hours of the stuff, and nothing else. “This is a nightmare,” Leia said. The subject’s defenses were stronger than they could have dreamed. “It’s not so bad,” Anna said. “Everyone loves the classics.” “I’d prefer a positive hit, intel, something,” Leia said. “Come on,” Anna said. “J-C0pid’s sub ten minute Battletoads run is a seminal work of digital metafiction.” Anna looked genuinely interested in something for the first time since they had started the burrowing, which made Leia even more annoyed with her. Her eyes lit up in a distinctly mammalian way that put Leia on edge somehow, like Anna was a proto-monkey coiled up in some primeval hole, waiting for a dinosaur to poke its enormous head in and gobble her up. It dawned on her that perhaps the burrowing itself, or something about the interrogation or the subject, was having this effect on her, but a quick run down of her neurals showed nothing out of order. The subject’s conditioning was troubling, and maybe that was affecting her. His ability to throw up smokescreen after smokescreen, to redirect, even while unconscious, was unprecedented. She knew, because she’d checked the literature. That his memories were all blurry clips of an archaic digital medium somehow made it worse, like someone out there was giving her the finger. A finger made of Battletoads. The subject’s mouth was curling at the corners, and the patch on his cuffs glowed blue with a sudden change in neurals. “What’s happening,” Leia asked? “I think he’s smiling,” Anna said. On the wall, Mario had just rescued the princess. No more castles. No more lakes of lava or spiked death balls, just sweet princess love. Presumably. There was a certain symmetry, Leia thought, between their current predicament and the subject’s blissful internal state, a thought that gnawed at her and made her grind her teeth, and she chased it around and around, into dead ends and around sticky bits of emotional dissonance until, finally, she realized perhaps the subject’s fond memories of videogames were not just a wall to keep intruders out, but rather a code – a key, perhaps, implanted there by the stateless actors controlling the subject (and, to be fair, whom the subject had allowed control over himself) to give themselves a way to break into his mind and retrieve what everyone, not just Leia and Anna, but also their managers and directors, their government, even their President wanted – a way to reach into a programmed mind and make it your own, to change a person from a thinking, walking man with desires and dreams into a machine, a hard drive designed for one purpose: control. “I know what we have to do,” Leia said. “Well please tell me, because I certainly don’t,” Anna said. “We have to play the game.” The burrower puffed, and Anna wrinkled her nose. Hours later, Anna sat before the bank of monitors, an interface in hand. “I’m not, like, a PhD or something,” Anna said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to play any of these games well. Not nearly as well played as these memories are. These are iconic speedruns.” “I don’t think you’ll have to. We just have to make him happy enough for the psychs to be able to put a working suggestion in there, and then he’ll give us what we want.” Leia pulled the leash on the burrower and it crab-walked over to the subject and started burrowing. “Just play the game,” Leia said. “Ok,” Anna said. And she did. She said she wouldn’t be any good but she seemed fine to Leia, guiding a variety of pixilated, two-dimensional avatars across a series of hostile landscapes. None of this particularly interested Leia but she herself would probably not have been able to even interact with one of these ancient works of fiction – she simply had never studied it, never had the brain for the classics. Anna seemed to be having fun, and the subject smiled more and more, his emotive output warming his neural charts like a warm Spring day. “Keep playing,” Leia said. It was working. Eventually, the psychs came in, and they did their work, and they got what they wanted: an address. 3450 Rosebriar lane, Winston Salem, New Carolina. Leia gave Anna a great write up and the burrower a bucket of prime algae. Her superiors gave her a promotion. And she never had to watch anyone play a videogame again. Sexpansion fucked around with this message at 22:31 on Jan 9, 2015 |
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Jan 5, 2015 18:20
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In
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Jan 5, 2015 22:44
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Going to regret this. I'm totally in
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Jan 5, 2015 23:01
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gently caress it, I'm in as well.
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Jan 5, 2015 23:17
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Does the GamerDome have some kind of fence around it, perhaps with a gate?
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Jan 6, 2015 00:02
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Sure, why not. Count me in. EDIT: I've posted my story up now, see below. Soul Reaver fucked around with this message at 04:41 on Jan 6, 2015 |
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Jan 6, 2015 00:54
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I'm in.
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Jan 6, 2015 01:01
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Count me in!
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Jan 6, 2015 02:00
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Things were looking grim. They strode towards me, long glaives in-hand, their armour thick and their demon-masks snarling silently. I already knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Himiko looked up at me with fearful eyes. She clutched an elaborate dagger close to her chest, but it would do little to stop the Emperor’s elite guards and she knew it. She was brave but she was no warrior. That role fell upon me. “Stay behind me, Princess!” I gently pushed in front of her with my bronzed, well-muscled arm. My other hand went to my side, and closed over Shizukana Shi, my ancestral katana. The blade sang a keening wail as it flew from the scabbard, its spirits awakening and thirsting for vengeance. I sprinted forward, my heart lifting with this chance for glory. One glaive descended and was deflected aside easily. A pulse of Qi distorted the air and a guardsman crashed into the far wall. I spun like a whirlwind- It went dark. The controller slipped from my fingers with a dull clatter. My atrophied muscles shook and burned. I almost heard the sinews crack as sleeping neurons kicked in, lifting a brittle arm upward. A hand – my own? - closed over the slick plastic wrapped around my head. I gave a subhuman grunt as I tore at it, trying to pull its dead weight from me. I fumbled with the clasps until finally they clicked open, and the visor fell. The light filtering through the window was eternally grey and dim, yet my reddened eyes burned as I looked upon its luminescence. The cold rain drummed upon the cracked glass as it always did, rivulets running down the frame and disappearing behind blackened, buckled wallpaper. I tried to get to my feet but the cold floor felt like a bed of daggers. I was reminded dimly of the stories of the little mermaid. Had she not felt this way, treading upon feet that were not her own? I fell back to my knees. The cable went to the far wall. Perhaps I had accidentally pulled it loose. I crawled, dragged myself forward, scattered wrappers, crumbs and unmentionable refuse before me until I reached the socket. The cord was still in. With a growing sense of apprehension I braced myself against the doorframe and pulled myself up, forcing myself to stand straight despite the pain. I gave the light switch an experimental flick, but the naked bulb remained dead. The fridge wasn’t humming. It was a bad omen. I began my exodus from the small room toward the stairwell. I hated this house, the chill and damp and the constant loneliness. I averted my eyes from every window I passed, a painful knot in my throat – I couldn’t bring myself to look upon the ruins anymore. The open doorway lay ahead, its angles all slightly askew, opening into a yawning dark abyss that threatened to swallow me. The stench that wafted from below filled me with terrible dread, and for a time I teetered at the edge, holding onto the unforgiving doorframe as a baby clutching its mother. I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and steeled my nerves, then slowly descended. My hands ran along the crumbling plaster, helping to keep me upright. The stinking miasma grew thicker with every step. I felt it seeping into me, and I retched at the thought. There was almost no light in the basement, but my eyes had adjusted enough to spot the vague outline of the generator nearby. It was silent and the lights were off, its rusted bulk lay inert. I kept my eyes away from the shadowed northern section of the basement and instead made my way past the generator, toward the storeroom. The large metal door hung open. I tripped on the rusted canisters piled haphazardly outside and crashed to the floor amidst a loud clatter. A searing pain ran up my arm – I’d cut it on something, and a short time later hot blood began to trickle down onto my hand. I forced myself to get back up and drag another canister from the storeroom. There weren’t many left. It took all the effort I could muster to lift it and pour it into the hungry tank. I grimaced at every precious drop I spilled, but eventually the canister was dry. Twice more I numbly repeated this ritual, until the third empty canister dropped to the floor amongst the others. My bloodied hand shook as I pushed the ignition button. The generator coughed but did not start. I tried again and again, fruitlessly. I grew angry, yelling incoherently at the machine. I checked it twice – the fuses, the hoses - but could not see what was wrong. In my rage, I reached for a large wrench on the shelf nearby, and swung it with whatever feeble strength I could still muster. It struck with enough force to dent the rusted metal casing and emit a loud clang that reverberated around the silent basement. The noise immediately filled me with regret and I threw the spanner aside. One last time I tried to start the machine. Again it coughed, and I hammered the ignition button as though my desperation could somehow bring the machinery to life. A bright flash momentary drove away the shadows and a bang sent my ears ringing. I was startled, reeling, and barely avoided another fall. Black, acrid smoke billowed from the generator for a few moments, then hung thickly in the air. I stared at the generator for some time, despair slowly blanketing me as I realized it too had finally let go. Slowly, I slunk away from the generator and lowered myself to the ground, hugging my legs up against my chest. Tired, I looked to the North of the basement, where the bodies of my family lay, wrapped haphazardly in white sheets. What would they think of this last failure, if somehow their dead eyes could see me now? A tear ran down my dirt-streaked face as I pressed my eyelids closed, and I dreamed that I travelled beside my courageous Princess Himiko of the Emerald Kingdom, where a sword and courage could set the world to rights.
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Jan 6, 2015 04:33
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I really hope that's a work of fiction.
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Jan 6, 2015 04:44
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Is it too late to be in? The OP does not specify time zones. edit: I'm loving in if I can be. how me a frog fucked around with this message at 05:35 on Jan 6, 2015 |
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Jan 6, 2015 05:28
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poo poo, can I take myself out? I was just going to write about my non gamer dad playing Super Mario Bros when we first got out NES. Nothing like these stories.
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Jan 6, 2015 05:39
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I'm in. Let's do this. When I was in junior high, I got a copy of Luigi's Mansion. I loving loved Luigi's Mansion. It's charming, fun, and there's a ton of hidden secrets and gems to find for the sheer purpose of making Luigi as rich as possible. After you had beaten the game once, really the only reason to replay it was to get the optional ghosts (Like the upside down little girl who wets the bed, which is really weird out of context), or to make Luigi the most dirty, filthy rich plumber in the world. It was also a much simpler time. I had no idea what a GameFAQs was, and I actually waited 2 weeks for a Nintendo Power Strategy Guide to arrive for my copy of Ocarina of Time. I had gotten stuck in the Forest Temple. It turns out that you can push the walls in the last room. Who knew? It was an era when if you told me Mew was under the truck I would have totally believed you, and I spent at least an hour trying to unlock a walking butt with eyes in Smash Bros. because someone on an old as hell video game cheat codes site said you could. Call it innocence of youth or whatever, I was gullible. That year there was a new kid at our school. Sort of a tall, thin kid. Pretty outgoing, and when he asked to sit with my friends and I at lunch, we let him. It turned out he was into video games, and one day the topic turned to one of my new favorites, Luigi's Mansion. "Did you know you can play as Mario?" What? No way. It was Luigi's Mansion. "You have to beat the game five times in the Secret Mansion. Mario even has a secret Boo and portrait ghost. The Boo is named "Bootles", and he's in a hidden bar in the basement you can only reach with Mario. The ghost in there is a drunk guy who died visiting the mansion." Well, with that level of detail, how could it be false? I went home and picked up my GameCube controller with a Bowser sticker I had pulled out of some old magazine and decided I was going to find that drunk ghost and play as Mario. Over the course of the week I beat the game again. The new kid kept tantalizing me with information about these elusive unlockables. "Oh, yeah, King Boo gives you a button code you have to punch in at the title screen to unlock Mario. I missed it my first time, it scrolls fast, so have a pen ready!" I beat the game again. And again. I knew every corner of the mansion by heart. I could beat Chauncey and Bogmire without taking a hit. gently caress Boolossus though. That was always the worst part. Even as an adult I have trouble with that boss. But I pressed on. My friends had moved on from Luigi's Mansion, preferring to play other games, but I just had to know what playing Mario was like. Finally, it happened. I made it to my fifth playthrough. I worked my way up to King Boo, and beat him. There was nothing during the fight. Maybe it happened during the end credits? Okay, maybe after the credits? It took until I was looking at the title screen and hearing the, admittedly pretty great, opening theme again until I realized I had been tricked. I confronted the new kid the next day. "Play as Mario? What? Who told you that? That's dumb." I assured him he did. Remember the drunk ghost? Bootles? "Dude, that's really dumb. I don't know who told you that." I realized that I had been played for a chump. That night, just to be sure, I checked the back of the game box. No ESRB warning for alcohol. Bootles was a lie. But I really didn't care much. I had fun playing through the game, and that's really the best part. Plus, I was friends with the new kid on Facebook, and he got arrested for possession like a week ago. Hope the guards like Luigi's Mansion. bitch The End 704 words. Not the best, but I just remembered this story. It was this or the time my friend used his Master Ball on an Oddish and we made fun of him for years. LordHippoman fucked around with this message at 06:24 on Jan 6, 2015 |
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Jan 6, 2015 05:50
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I hope I was eligible to be in because here is my entry: "Yeah I see the problem Sir the account has been closed due to inactivity. This happened over a year ago." "Why did you close it?" "Any account without any transactions during a period of two years is automatically closed." "But my salary was paid into this account!" "That just isn't possible. The account doesn't exist. It hasn't for quite a long time." "But the money?" "There is no account, there can't be any money. If you'd like to set up an account we'd be happy to inform your employer, if that helps?" "Nah man it's good." "Other than that you would have to get in touch with your employer, all I can tell you is no deposit could have possibly been made." "No listen bro it's fine whatever. See ya." And with that he leaves. Thankfully I can say he was the oddest customer I serviced today. Small blessings. What the full story was I will never find out. I have sold nothing today. When I started this job I thought bank teller was a cushy job. No degree needed, glorious. Might have been once, but now it's all about cross-selling. You have all the details. Sell a mortgage. Heck sell an iPad, customer can't afford an iPad? Sell him the financing, all the better. Some of my colleagues manage to do it, month after month. I don't know how. Some of them, I know how they do it. I have little respect for them. The boss is looking at me funny as I leave. Took the subway home. A grim affair but less grim than the bus, where the real dregs congeal. Got home the same time I do most days. Drop my coat, heavy with rain from the short walk from the subway station on a chair. "Any dinner?" I say, mostly to myself. I walk past my roommate's room. Judging by the sounds he is either watching porn or staging an orgy or both. Business as usual then. I find my girlfriend at her stupidly large gaming laptop as I enter my room. She doesn't even play games. "Any dinner?" I repeat. "I already ate," she replies, not looking up. "Your day went ok?" "Alright." I pause. "I'm heading out." "Again?" "Business client, I have to," I say, wondering if she still believes that poo poo or just doesn't care. "Okay" "Gonna grab some dinner first." She just grunts. I'm not one to complain. She makes twice as much as me, if she wants to work I'm happy to let her work. I turn heel, walk past the sex sounds, pick up my coat and I'm off. As I stand by the sidewalk waiting for a cab to come by I think my situation is not so bad. I have money to burn on a cab for one thing. I'm heading to the business client, which might as well be code for the dive bar I've been frequenting since I first moved here. I didn't always go and leave by cab though. Onwards and upwards, as they say. I feel less grim as I walk in. It's not a nice place. This suits me fine. It's never full, I always find a barstool. There are no students, no professionals, nobody who could possibly think they were better than me and be right. The barkeeper nods at me. I forgot his name a long time ago and at this point I'm afraid to ask again. Such problems are easily worked around. Hank spots me before I see him. He beckons. I sit down beside him. "How's the cross-selling going Jack?" "poo poo. How are the car sales Hank?" "Worse." "Not selling enough are you?" The barkeeper brings me the usual. A tall Bavarian Märzen and two double vodka shots, one of which I down. The other I pour into the beer. "Oh I'm selling. But it's never enough, is it?" "Uh huh." "There's always some oval office selling more supposedly, somewhere, at some location where things are different." "I hear you." "But talk to people and it turns out nobody is selling. Times are bad all around man. They're bad." Hank is slurring his words. It is clear he's had some before I arrived. "Remember when we were younger, they said all you need is a job," he says, his eyes rolling, "just work hard and you'll be fine. Well it's a load of poo poo." "Listen man I ain't arguing with you." "Well you get it. You get it don't you? Look at what we're reduced to." "We're having a drink on a weekday it could be worse." "Oh yeah did your mistress say that, or does she think you're at a meeting with a business client?" "I told you I wish you'd stop calling her that." "Yeah whatever. I tell you what it's like. It's like Final Fantasy 7." This I have not heard from Hank yet, and I have pretty much heard everything he could possibly have to say several times over. "How so?" I ask. "Well you go around saving the princesses..." "That doesn't happen in the game," I interrupt. Hank punches me, half playfully, on the arm. "No you listen, you, you go around saving the world however you do it, right, and you do what you're supposed to do and level up slowly and you get the boat or whatever, and you never did anything wrong, you always did your job." "Mhm?" "And then suddenly there is this floaty purple dude all up in your map, and you're thinking well he is the next thing to fight, I'm the hero right?`" "Right." "But you fight him and your hosed. hosed. F. U. C. K. E. D. Because it turns out the purple guy just happens to be the ultimate weapon, whatever the gently caress that even means, and he just murders you." "Yeah I never beat that thing." "Listen! That's not the point. So you get murdered by the purple freak and you're like welp I'm not supposed to fight him after all, he's not even part of the game really." "I think that was optional yeah?" "Optional? Not if your boss comes in the next day and asks you why you Hank Surstrommig didn't beat the ultimate weapon. You tell him, boss, to be fair it is called the ultimate weapon and I'm just called hank but does he care?" "I don't think he does." My beer is empty. I order another set of the usual. "And that's the point," Hank says, "because the boss says well Johnson beat the ultimate weapon just yesterday. And in fact, I beat him before I even went to the Shinra power plant, I beat the ultimate weapon and I was level three he says. And that is loving impossible. I should have told him it was loving impossible man." "Did you tell him?" I ask, putting down my beer after a deep swig. "Of course I didn't loving tell him. gently caress him he never even saw the ultimate weapon. Who the gently caress is Johnson even? It's all a giant bullshit contest I'm telling you." At this point hank falls off his stool. He seems in no hurry to get up. In fact he begins to attempt to gather up imaginary coins, then he turns on his back, beating and screaming like a child. "It's not FAIR, how the gently caress am I supposed to beat the WEAPON?!" I take another sip. He will come around. He, not always, but often does. The barkeeper, whatever his name is, has seen this before. He does not even raise an eyebrow. Some students who have just walked in are less seasoned. "Is he ok?" one of them asks. "Never you mind him," I say, glancing at Hank who has by now curled up into a fetal position, "he's just having fond memories of video games." how me a frog fucked around with this message at 06:28 on Jan 6, 2015 |
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Jan 6, 2015 06:24
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In.
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Jan 6, 2015 07:43
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 03:07 |
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i'm in it to win it.
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Jan 6, 2015 08:58
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