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.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
All-Pro Basketball
Jesus is coming. But he pulled out. Jokes like that are the reason God hates me so much. Which would also be why I get to unsuccessfully attempt to cope with the natural beauty of a SMB1 hack immediately followed by a sports game.I'm not a big fan of basketball to begin with. Unlike hockey, there's a complete lack of gore, and unlike football, players crashing into each other is actively discouraged. So what's left? A bunch of guys bouncing a ball around and trying to put it in a basket before the other guy. Yea. Lots of excitement there.I subscribe to a school of thought that believes that more violence should be introduced to our sports, not less. Sports players measure their salaries in the millions of dollars. Our soldiers don't get paid nearly as much. Therefore, my brain goes, as sports players are being paid that much more, there should be an added element of danger that our soldiers don't even face. For instance, randomly electrify the floor. Or the ball should occasionally explode. Or give a fan of the opposing team a revolver with six shots, place him in the rafters, and allow him to take potshots.As it is, though, one must resign themselves to the fact that as long as we have overpaid basketball stars who play with absolutely no risk of the ball they're playing with occasionally exploding, then we also have to deal with asinine games that bring that stupid, stupid game into the bedrooms of children far too lazy to go out and FUCKING PLAY IT THEMSELVES!
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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