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.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Atario Bros. (SMB1 Hack)
Ok, I'll fess up. This hack actually amused me. Of course, by "amused" I really mean that I wasn't stabbing myself in the hand with a fork in order to keep awake. If you're like me and you're getting old and bitter, then you probably cut your gaming teeth on one of the original systems, the Atari 2600. If you didn't, then you are unworthy to view this page of holy retro gaming. Leave now.Now that the heathens have gone, I invite you, my fellow retro gamers, to sit and bask in the warm glow of your monitors and share a moment with me. Look at those blocks, look at the complete lack of definition. Remember a day when 3d graphics were unheard of, and the entire code for a game could fit on two pieces of paper. Offer a silent prayer for those who were Atari, revered makers of ... hang on. Didn't Atari make that piece of filth ET game?Fuck. They did. I thought I remembered that goddamn fucking piece of fucking trash. Fuck them. Fuck Atari and the high horse they fucking rode in on. Those fucking fucks. I fucking spent my fucking allowance on that fucking piece of trash and all it was fucking good for was for fucking baseball practice. Fucking pricks. Yea. You remember it. You remember falling in that hole and spending 40 minutes spitting every curse your 10 year old vocabulary held. You remember the game causing you to hate that big-eyed alien freak. Yea, that's right. Fuck you too, ET. Fuck you and your Reeses Pieces. You put your face on that game, I hope you die. I hope you end up on an alien autopsy table AND I HOPE YOUR ORGANS TASTE GOOD WITH KETCHUP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Yea, that's right. Run from the FBI man. He'll get you eventually. Bug-eyed Atari bastard.
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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