A game-by-game diary of my attempt to play every Nintendo game. From 8-Eyes to Zombie Nation and everything in between. Even that strange Christian game where you convert people by hitting them with fruit. Just wait. You'll see.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
All hallows Eve (Ghosts 'n Goblins Hack)
As far as I can tell, this is how my average morning goes. I stagger out of bead somewhere around 6 am, mutter something incoherent but inevitably obscene about having to get up that early, then stagger off to get dressed and make a mug full of espresso. After something like 45 minutes of meandering through rush hour traffic the caffeine starts to hit and my eyes open. Thankfully, I never know about the string of carnage and destruction that I've left in my wake until later in the afternoon when I hear about it on the news.All Hallow's Eve is a hack of Ghosts 'n Goblins. I've never played it, but it looks like I'm going to hate it too. Anyway, from what I can gather, the game is about Sum Gie's morning commute. Except, instead of dealing with trying to figure out the coffee maker at 6 in the god-forsaken ass end of the morning, he's got to run around in a suit of armor and kill zombies. That pussy.Here he is, jumping over water pits and whining about dodging fireballs. Little bitch ain't got a clue what rush hour pain is until he sits in Atlanta traffic for 4 hours straight because some middle aged piece of shit having a midlife crisis decided to plaster his Mustang all over two lanes and spread himself over the other four. Fuck him. I hope he's dead. Grab a mop, clean him up, and let me get the fuck home. Oh. *ahem* back to the game. Yea, at some point, Sum Gie strips down to his boxers. 4 goddamn fucking hours. If I'm sitting in traffic for 4 hours, I want to damn well see bodies, blood and carnage when I finally get to drive past.
Location: Terminus (Where All Rail Service Ends, Brother), Georgia, United States
I'm 27, a self-made oil, rail and steel tycoon whose combined income makes Bill Gates cry like a little bitch. I look like Johnny Depp, Christian Slater, or Brad Pitt, depending on which chatroom I'm in. I have a 19" prehensile penis that I use to hold my coffee while I type. I know where Jimmy Hoffa lives, and I understand the language of cats. I help old ladies cross the street and translate ethnic slurs for cuban refugees in my spare time. I sleep only one hour a night. I make ice cubes with the power of my mind. I can touch MC Hammer. I know every rivet in the Russian T-34 tank. I've advised Presidents, slept with movie stars, and can organize my sock drawer in less than 23 seconds.
And I still have time to do this blog.
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