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 21, 2006
American Dream
When I think of the American dream, I think of long suburban streets in 1950's America, 2 cars int he driveway, 2.5 children playing in the backyard, a bottle of valium in the medicine cabinet, and daddy polishing mommy's leather dominatrix outfit.Apparently, however, the Japanese don't share this idyllic vision of the American Dream. Their vision of the American Dream apparently involves killer slot machinesand massage therapists that want to rip out your liver and feed it to the killer casino monster. I don't like this vision of the American Dream. I like the one with Johnny making sure that the house is clean and the bills are paid before he goes to work at the postal office with an AK-47 and decides to make headline news. Not killer slot machines and homicidal massage therapists.
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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