Dare me to tell you what games I’d put on a Nintendo 64 Classic?

I bet you’d like to know, wouldn’t you? You’d like to just reach inside this squishy little brain of mine and pluck out that juicy listicle I’ve been forming in my brain ever since I saw the specs on that Super Nintendo mini? Ever since I saw all 21 one of those games you put up on that big HDMI-enabled TV of yours, I’ve been formulating and scheming for this little listicle about my favorite Nintendo 64 hits, and I know you wanna see them. You would, wouldn’t you?

Dare me to tell you? Dare me to open my big mouth and spill the beans about which games I’d spend hours working and straining to beat on a Nintendo 64 classic? Do you? I bet you would.

Fine. Maybe one game wouldn’t hurt you… But I’m warning you, it’s a good one.

1080° Snowboarding (1998)

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Oh, what’s that? Not the game you were expecting to come first? Didn’t think I’d drop an extreme sports game this early on the list? Bet you didn’t think Ricky Winterborn would be the first thing to come to my mind… Poor thing, you probably wanted that Italian boy, or the elf first, right? Maybe if I give you another game, you’ll be satisfied.

Oh, don’t lie to me, you’ll never be satisfied… but maybe this one will get your gears turning – Continue reading

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Dispatch from the Szechuan Sauce Mines

Boss says we’ve let ’em down… We ain’t got that much to give them, though.

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You see this? This looks like a rock, and maybe it is, but damn it, this is what we got down here in the Szechuan Sauce mines. This is where you get the shit. One of these little briquettes, if broken properly, gets you like… half of a milliliter, a drip, of sauce. Apparently it’s good sauce, but we get paid $4.13 per milliliter, so any sauce I taste is coming out of my own pocket.

Mining the sauce isn’t a great time either. If you do it wrong, you lose all of it, and there’s no perfect way to get it. If I go through ten rocks, I probably get sauce out of like three of ’em, and I end up with like maybe half of a Diet Pepsi bottle worth of sauce by the end of each work day. It’s tough work but it’s a lot of cash. But it’s not a lot of sauce, if you catch my drift.

It was all good for like 20 years, we made what we made and we shipped it wherever we shipped it, which was okay especially after we had to shut down two thirds of the mine in like 2004 or so (It’s the damned Super Size Me man’s fault, McDonald’s really overhauled after he puked in their parking lot).

Then the Rich and Mortie program came back and fucked it all up.

sauce man

This man and his hair and coat have ruined this job. The boy I am okay with but he’s on thin ice.

 

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The Case for Helping Me Get Out of This Cave

I messed up. I messed up real bad. I messed up real bad in a number of ways. I messed up real bad in a number of ways which I will now lay out in list form as new media dictates I do:

  1. I allowed a youth to steal The Blogging Pendant from me while I was not looking
  2. Said youth was able to get away from me by hopping on a BMX bike
  3. Said BMX bike riding youth enticed me to trail him to a nearby cave
  4. Said youth threw The Blogging Pendant into the cave as hard as he could
  5. I went and chased The Blogging Pendant

The Blogging Pendant is antique, and magical, and it was imperative that I found it. The Blogging Pendant’s magical powers are what force me to post on this website, and for as long as I’ve held The Pendant, I’ve been forced to write for this website. As soon as it leaves my possession, the world gets a little brighter, but I lose the ability to post on this site, and I simply cannot have that.

Anyway, I’m currently stuck in this… cave, it seems. I’m alone, and I’m afraid, and literally all that I can do is post.

Friends, family, folks of all sorts: I need help. I need to be rescued from this cave, and as new media has dictated, I need to list out every reason why that is.

1. It is Dark

I can’t see a darn thing. It’s all black. Here’s the photo that I took of my current situation

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Dear Twitter: The 280 Character Limit is a Mistake

This week, the internet microblogging site Twitter committed to pushing the famous 140 character limit per tweet to 280. This has already proven controversial, but that’s nothing new for Twitter. Everything Twitter does is controversial, from shutting down one of the two good social media platforms, to not at all pursuing the huge harassment problems on the site, to switching up the long-standing chronological timeline that made Twitter the behemoth that it became. Now, they’re shifting the bedrock of the site. Microblogging and Twitter are the exact same thing in public perception, and 140 characters was what defined it that way.

Look, Twitter, you’re barking up the wrong tree here. People don’t want more of Tweets.

The greatest possible tweet in Twitter history has already been Tweeted. How many characters is that tweet? Only 35 characters. ESPN presenter and journalism professional Stephen A Smith only needed 35 characters to write potentially the funniest thing I’ve ever read, and I don’t care if it’s intentional or not. A tweet should be like, one thought, and one thought alone. Multiple thoughts don’t belong in one tweet, that’s what lengthy threads are for, and we praise Twitter for allowing that. Continue reading

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REVIEW: Touchdown Crunch

The heathen Crunch has returned, and he has ceased his perversion of the humble doughnut and has moved forward to destroy more of what we love so dearly. Crunch is a mad man and nothing more. Crunch will burn in hell for what he hath wrought to breakfast and rightfully so.

Now Crunch has bastardized his own cereal and presented his people with a false new product, an illusion of innovation that, while perhaps superior in quality to the hedonistic so-called “innovation” of Sprinkled Donut Crunch, is equivalent in wretchedness due to the transparency of Crunch’s creative bankruptcy.

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This devil’s eyebrows transfix the laws of permanence in their protrusion above the helmet

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So, Who Really Should Be President?

One of the most ridiculous aspects – potentially the most ridiculous aspect – of American politics is the fact that every politician has to care about sports in order to appeal to the commoner. It’s one of the ways we keep them in check – politicians have the ability and zeal to vote to strip you of your right to clean water, but then we have to make them watch bad football so they can pretend to be one of us. It’s a tough road they walk, particularly if they live in a state with multiple teams, because you’ll face the fury of snarky fans if they pick the wrong one, and also face the fury of snarkier fans if they pick both.

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I have to laugh so hard at the fact that Sam Brownback somehow found a shirt celebrating both Kansas and Wichita State in order to appease voters.

But to get right to the point of the article, one of the purest forms of American sporting pomp and circumstance is baseball’s ceremonial first pitch. It’s a classic, it’s America’s pastime, a perfect, purely for-show photo opportunity which can only go wrong if you fuck it up really badly. Just about every president since the beginning of baseball – sans the current one but give him time – had to go out and show some of their athletic ability on the mound for the appeasement of the people.

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REVIEW: Sprinkled Donut Crunch

I am but a man. I have my desires and my weaknesses. I have this website, and the other website, and a Hyundai, and very little else to draw off of for solace in times of darkness. In times of darkness, I curl into a corner and I become the frightened boy that I always have suspected I am.

The Cap’n, though… The Cap’n never has to change himself. The Cap’n has only ever had to be the Cap’n. When the Cap’n reaches his lowest moment, he seeks the solace of no corner in no dark room. When the going gets tough for the Cap’n, he appears within a giant sprinkled donut and gives to the world. He only creates. I only destroy.

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