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.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Attack Mario (SMB1 Hack)
It's normally not in my nature to like a SMB1 hack, but I actually enjoyed this. And by "enjoyed" I obviously mean in the same fashion that I "enjoy" having my penis slammed in a car door. Which happens somewhat embarrassingly more often than I'd like to admit, due to the massive nature of my manhood. There are balance problems involved. This mighty masculinity has also granted me mad gaming skillz that }reese{ does not possess, as he has obviously not been gifted below the belt as I have. In fact, in a study conducted by a bunch of coked-up supermodels, my genitalia were preferred in 9 out of 10 taste tests. And lo, I give to you - the rest of Attack Mario. Reese is a false prophet, had he the skillz, he would have found this incredibly disappointing and second rate screen just a few pixels away. Apparently, you have to run under the turtle thingies and hump your white-clothed clone. On one level, this sucks hairy monkey ass. On a deeper level, however, it can be viewed as a conflict between you, the common man, and a vast right wing conspiracy to prevent you (the smelly toilet pipe cleaner and common man) from reaping the benefits of science (your clone in white, clearly referencing lab coats) as the government (hammer throwing cold-blooded reptiles) tries to keep you from it.
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.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home