Friday, February 11, 2011

Half Life 2 Episode 3

How I Loved Thee
For fellow Half Life fans out there, how long must we wait? 

I recently played through the game, along with the two episodes, for probably the 40th time in my life.  Half Life 2 is the best game ever, period.  Final Fantasy VII was the best ever, until HL came out.

I remember, going to the mall, standing outside Electronics Boutique and watching loops of FFVII with my geek friends and drooling...waiting patiently for the game to come out.

Nothing had ever been done like that before.  Nothing.  And when I finally got my hairy little palms on it I played it and played it and played it some more.  It was pure bliss..imagine a game that had different outcomes??  Remember going to the Gold Saucer and playing all the cool minigames?  Games within a game?!

Seriously, FFVII was ground-breaking and nothing came close until HL2.  Different genres, yes.  But these games transcended genre.  I was never an RPG fan, and haven't been since.  Other than a year stint playing World of Warcraft (really got sick of having to organize 40 people just to get a chance at a weapon or armor upgrade) I haven't played any since.

Portal is simply awesome.  It's simplicity is what makes it awesome...and trying to get all the achievements makes it even better.

By the way, should I buy Dead Rising 2?  I really liked the first one, but it had some all the stupid people you were supposed to rescue that would just stand there like morons.  I've heard they fixed a lot of that if you've played it, should I buy it?

So, as we wait for Episode 3 to come out, here's a few screenshots I took a while back.

Gnorman and Dog Take A Break

You're The Man Now Dog

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

I Hate You Natalie Portman

You don't understand me, you're an American.
Natalie Portman, she of the artsy-farsty French type movies because simple Americans don't understand art, is a phony.

Which kind of actress are you, Ms. Portman?  Are you an Avant-garde thespian staring in Anti-American movies (but not because you're Anti-American, but because you're some kind of "citizen of the world")?

Or are you a cash-hungry sell-out that stars in money making mindless fluff with the likes of Ashton Kutcher just to turn a quick buck because your art movies are pretentious, boring and arrogant and bring you nothing come payday?

I don't like you, in fact I hate you - along with Diane Keaton.  Of course, right there in the middle of your career you did the typical "mother daughter" movie with Susan Sarandon that all actresses of your type must do in order to then move on to movies with French names, or subtitles.  As if Susan Sarandon is some kind of gatekeeper to the stairs that lead you above the proletariat ticket buyers to your fellow posh elitists.

You're a phony, through and through.  You're hate of "fly over country" doesn't stop you from pandering to them when you "slum it" for a few flicks to afford some God awful dress to wear to some stupid award ceremony unwittingly flaunting your materialistic, shallow nature.

As a comic fan, your presence in Thor makes me want to vomit.

Nevermind the fact that Branaugh, someone I've always admired, seems to be pulling some sort of publicity stunt by casting a black actor to play a blond haired, blue eyed Norse God.

Artistic liberty?  No.  If it was someone that didn't make an approximately 5 hour, word for word adaptation of (the greatest piece of written word in history) Hamlet.  He knows what he's doing.

So stick it up yer tight, flat no-ass, Natalie.  Your movies suck.  All of them have since The Professional - and that movie was good because of Gary Oldman and Jean Reno...not you.  You've no claim to that movie other than showing your panties and looking like you smelled really badly.

Anyway.  Pick one, please.  Given my druthers, I would rather you stayed over in the art-house crap.  Am I scared of subtitles?  No, not at all...some of my favorites have subs (Life Is Beautiful etc) but your movies stink of snobbish, uppity crap that you want to be in so you can consider yourself an actor with "depth" and "range" (think all the gibberish uttered by the moronically brilliant Kirk Lazarus who knows not to go full retard - yet you do without playing the part of a disabled person).

So just stay away from the movies I like, please.  You ruin them for me.  Just your stupid face ruins it.  I see the Thor preview, then your dumb face and want to cry.  That's how sad you make me.  Did you set out to make me cry?  I'm sure French people cry during your movies that make no sense...but I cry because I know you're a phony that's slumming it to make a buck - because your other stuff can't pay for your lifestyle.

Go away, Natalie Portman...go away.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

I Want Your Tweets

Followers...hear ye hear ye.

The proud possessor of an htc Incredible, I am doing all sorts of stuff to be better attuned to the internuts in all of you.

I follow quite a few people, I think when I signed up I simply followed whomever.  However what I know what to do is trim the fat.  Post your twitter names here, mine is @Comicsnut by the way, so that I may integrate your tweets into my Android widget...Tweetcaster.

Also, for you texters like me...the best texting app is far and away "Handsent",

Anyway, I follow far too many strangers and not enough fellow bloggers.  Join me!

The Curious Case Of Carlos The Cock

From a story that warms the cockles (see what I did there?) of my heart, springs a headline like none you've likely ever seen.

Armed Bird at Cockfight Kills Man in California.

I didn't read the story.  I don't want to.  I'm happy imagining on my own what happened.

Paco and his little brother, Paco, bring their prized bird, nicknamed El Chupacabra de Fuego, to some back alley in SoCal to the local cockfighting ring. Being a long standing family tradition, the Pacos knew they had a winning cock in their hands. With a fighting style and strategies passed down illegal generation to illegal generation from their great-great-great-Grandfather, Paco.

The size, weight and girth of their cock told the Pacos they could not lose.

Little did the Pacos know, El Chupacabra de Fuego was sick of fighting and killing his fellow flightless birds. Since the day El Chupacabra de Fuego was caught in the fields of Puerto Vallarta (then known amongst his fellow roosters simply as Carlos, The Pacifist) he waited. In the cages of the Paco family living rooms Carlos met a street smart, yet kind African-American rooster named "Blue". Blue, long since given up to his fate and simply waiting to die, was a very resourceful rooster. Blue had lots of connections "on the outside".

Every once in a while, Carlos would ask Blue to get him things. Once he asked Blue to get him a small, sharp piece of metal. Blue instantly thought Carlos would use this to cheat at a cockfight, or perhaps shank a fellow imprisoned rooster...nay. Quietly, Carlos went about his days...using the random items Blue supplied for him to build himself a complete Connect Four set - made completely from metal. Every time Carlos would use his beak to push the little slider and let all the chips fall out...Blue would sit back in his cage and a small, knowing smile would cross his lips, er beak. Ok, roosters can't Blue's beady little rooster eyes would dart back and forth a little slower, a little more calmly.

Years passed, roosters came and went, the Pacos had more anchor children with many willing white women and Carlos remained ever vigilant, with a steely icy resolve running through his rooster veins.

The day was nearly approaching, Carlos had strung together a multi-year long win streak. From Oakland to The Valley people spoke of him only in whispers, as his legend grew bigger and wider. Carlos had begun incorporating his Connect Four set into his finishing move.  Over the corpse of his fallen opponent, Carlos would backflip to his "corner", grab his Connect Four set with his legs, backflip again and in a swift, motion, empty all the pieces onto his fallen fowl foe to the roar of a wild crowd.  Bigger the legend grew, and word began to spread overseas.

Flash forward a year and it was time.  Word was, there came a rooster from Russia who had been working his way up the cock ranks.  Back in the Paco living room, the other roosters were wondering if the rumors were true...that Russian cocks are twice as big as Mexican cocks.  Was Carlos' reign as top cock over?  Was this Russian going to end the legendary cock?

Carlos and the Pacos trained and trained.  Montage music seemed to be playing constantly, out of nowhere.  Fade-ins and fade-outs of flaccid cocks lying at the feet of El Chupacabra de Fuego came one after another.  Stronger and stronger Carlos grew...and the day finally arrived.

Cocksure, the Pacos outfitted Carlos in his warrior regalia (which was usually a warbeak necklace, two spiked warrior bracelets and a belt full of pouches) and brought him to face off against the Russian rooster, imported by two old Soviet Bloc "dockworkers".

Carlos' opponent, Nicholas II, had gone undefeated and was nearly as renowned in his own country. Twice the size of El Chupacabra de Fuego, Nicholas II was walked through a hushed crowd, held high above the heads of his handlers, Vladislav and Vsevolod like the Stanley Trophy.  When "The V's", as they were known in cock circles, placed Nicholas II in the ring and the crowd, noting his size, began placing bets in a furious cacophony of Spanish and Spanglish...Carlos knew his days of being undefeated were over.

Carlos had been planning for this day, however.  Not this particular opponent, but that one opponent that would easily finish him off.

Remember that Connect Four set he had meticulously built?  As his handlers and the crowd were busy placing bets and Nicholas II was emptying his bowels, Carlos began his famous El Cock de Fuego ritual.  It involved strutting around the ring, while he removed all of his belts, necklaces and other things the Pacos placed on him.  As he removed his belt, he placed it down on the ground, turned around to face the little wall that separated the animals from the other animals.  As was his habit, Carlos would kneel at his belt and say a prayer to Saint Francis of Assisi.

The crowd, still furiously and raucously placing bets, picking each others pockets and smoking marijuana didn't notice that he wasn't praying this time.  This time, Carlos was pulling pieces of his Connect Four set from all of the various pouches.  Nervously, his cock eyes remained locked onto his objective...his belt - he was was time.

A cherry bomb was tossed into the cock ring signaling the start of the fight.  Nicholas II charged fiercely and Carlos had not even gotten up from one knee yet.  Carlos closed his eyes and jumped into the air!  "Que?" exclaimed the Pacos as they exchanged confused looks.

Nicholas II, in full cock rage was thrusting towards Carlos with his head down, this was his famous move...The Crazy Ivan.  Nicholas II was unaware that his opponent was now in mid air...and he rammed into the wall, knocking himself a bit off kilter...he dangled to the left a bit.

In the air, the Pacos locked eyes with Carlos.  Carlos, not hearing a thing, knowing only peace and the quiet of being in flight, though not natural flight, crossed his armwings as if he were drawing duel pistols and instead, drew two lone ninja stars...fashioned from two black circles that were once Connect Four pieces.

He let them fly towards his intended targets...the Pacos.  In slow motion, as echoey, ambient, tranquil music played and random shots of aghast faces in the crowd flashed - the famous cock's payloads made their way to their intended targets like laser guided missles, or Peter North.

Both stars, hitting the very middle of each Paco's forehead at the same time made a small. yet hefty thunk sound.  Nicholas II still staggering from the force of the blow against his head, wobbles around unaware of the goings-on.

The Paco's, look again at each other and see what has happened.  They had raised a killer, and that killer had turned on them...what have they done?  Dios mia...they fall to their knees and slump over the cock ring, face down.  Carlos flaps his wings once, to slow his fall...and for a moment, he was flying.

He landed softly, one wing touching the ground and he raises his head and scans the stunned crowd.  Everyone was quiet...mouths agape (per usual) and he pulled two more throwing stars from under his wings.

"be-GAW!", he be-GAWed.  Looking back and forth while he backed towards the opening of the cock ring.  Again, "be-GAW!"...and he saw in their eyes they meant him no further harm.  This proud, proud Mexican tradition had just been the stage upon which the impossible had become the possible.

The crowd parted, creating a path through which Carlos walked.  Where was he going to go?  That didn't matter, he was free.  As he walked, he dropped his throwing stars to the ground...and looked around at the faces...oh a seed...peck...all looking at him with awe, respect and above all else, fear.

What of Nicholas II and the Russians?  Nicholas II was not going to fight, or push the issue.  The magnitude of what he'd just witnessed was enough for one cock to handle.  He looked to the sky, smiled and began to walk over to his handlers.

The Russians were gone.  Disappeared.  Prepared for such things, because they've seen this everyone knows: in mother Russia, the cock eats you.