Therein lies the falseful truth of neutrality

dance - (verb) to move one's feet or body, or both, rhythmically in a pattern of steps

walk - (verb with an excessively lengthy definition) proceed by move by advancing the feet alternately so that there is always one foot on the ground in bipedal locomotion and two or more feet on the ground in quadrupedal locomotion.

Since an alternating pattern is a form of 'rhythm', and both actions are qualified quadruped locomotives, we can deduce that:

Dancing is walking.



God rest ye merry gentlemen I always replace one or two words while singing a song although it doesn't change the tune's inner meaning or overall moral it's still imperfect I'm too cool for commas.

Take for example, the epitome of a good time.

Okay, here's what I hear:

I'll pile on the candy,
It's such a pretty sight!
It makes the food take dandy
but my tummy hurts all night!

I'll put in some ingredients
but keep the rest for me!
I'm not just disobient,
I'm careful, can't you see?

Chorus
It's a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake,
If the way is a hazy!
You gotta do the cookin' by the book;
You know you can't be lazy!
Never use another recipe,
The cake will end up cuh-razy!
If you do the cookin' by the book,
then we'll have a cake.
(/Chorus)

We gotta have it made,
you know that I love cake,
finally it's time to make a cake.

Making food is just like science
with tools that blend and baste,
and ev'ry fun appliance
gives the food a differnt taste!

(Chorus)

We gotta have it made,
you know that I love cake!
Finally it's time to make a cake!
We gotta have it made,
you know that I love cake!
Finally it's time to make a
-you gotta do the cookin' by the book-
CAKE!!

Now watch it again.

What they're actually saying:
(Ziggy)

Hot pile on the candy it's such a pretty sight it makes the food taste
dandy but my tummy hurts all night

(Stingy)
I'll put in some ingredients but keep the rest for me
I'm not just disobediant I'm careful can't you see

(Stephanie)

I'ts a piece of cake
to bake a pretty cake if the way is hazy
you gotta do the cooking by the book you know you can't be lazy
never use a messy recipe the cake would end up crazy
if you do it by the book then you'll have a cake
we gotta have it made you know that I love cake
finally it's time to make a cake

(Pixel)

Making food is just like science with tools that blend and baste
every fun appliance gives the food a different taste

(Stephanie)

It's a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake if the way is hazy
you gotta do the cooking by the book you know you can't be lazy
never use a messy recipe the cake will end up crazy
if you do the cooking by the book then you'll have a cake
we gotta have it made you know that I love cake
finally it's time to make a cake
we gotta have it made you know that I love cake
finally it's time to make a (you gotta do the cooking by the book) cake

Critiques (discussed sections in bold):
1. Hot pile on the candy? There's just one kid running his single pair of hands through the candy. Hot piles (which are very, very uncommonly referred to as such) require multiple people using their whole bodies.

2. Another > Messy. For one, the cake the quartet is creating is the one discribed by Steph's special instructions, meaing the use of another recipe will result in something totally foreign and unknown, or cuh-razy. Also, it's impossible to forsee the cleanup situation of a recipe by just reading it. 'Messy' may or may not be the official lyric, but it's certainly the inferior choice.

3. I don't even have to try anymore.

Sportacus knows what to do.


Plausibly too easy for sheezay,
Brett_is_sp00oooky

Bottled boxes of barnyard beakers

"omg i hate spam adz do u brett??"

No, our relationship isn't based on hate, rather it has a foundation of joyous laughter and trite awesomeness.

Internet ads are hilarious.

While questing along cyberspace, this little doozie tripped over me:


And then it changed in a sublimental flash!



Good time for a gif, eh? Too bad, sometimes the animation just isn't there for our enlightment and we'll just have to cope with the tragedy.

The ad doesn't say much, but it does give us a crimson warning, cautioning all those under 18 to sprint away, back to the comfort and tranquility of their Tiddly-Winks and 1337 handguns. Despite my non-adulthood, I fired the left click, thus unleashing its terrible contents.

Those scars will never heal.




Looks like I'm going to be an Eskimo for Halloween.

The mediocre eggplant,
Brettzkizzzle

Big bad dung beetleborgs

Who's the victor? I'm the victor.

And at the same time, I am t3h l00zr. While furbishing the post from the day with the Nerf guns and such, I was reluctant to unveil the entire 4 paragraph wonder, for the lack of an outside media reference made the whole topic confusing and less palpable. The aforelinked video not only showed how the blaster functioned, but it features Keanu Reeves's very own personal stuntman.

Holy crap, that is just rubbish.

Pure concentrated gobbledygook.


An inquiry was brought up the other day:

Who's more important to history?
a. Ralph Baer, the inventor of the home video game console
b. Condoleeza Rice, the current American Secretary of State


(clockwise from right: ralph baer, condoleeza rice)

How is this even a conflict? On one side, the father of an entire media/entertainment branch on the ever-growing tree. The other option is pioneer of black females holding the duties of Secretary of State.

The choice is yours.

And mine.

The choice is ours.

Make the scary go away,
Bretth

Creamsicles of distrust

After hitting myself in the godamn face (near the bag of the eye, to be specific) with a godamn car door (the sharp part at the top, to be specific), I found myself with the perfect photo-op accesory:

blood tears.

Yup, the razordoor missed my pupil by about 2 inches and left a small, but nevertheless open wound which, surprisingly enough, dispensed the thickly red liquid that we humans are so found of. Then gravity kicked in as the blood began trickling down my cheek, all the while I was rushingly crusing to the workplace to plea for some time off.

I looked into the rearview mirror and found a myspace photograph, one that probably
gets numerous comments for making everything greyscale except for the blood itself.


Yeah, like that one except for the boobs and whatnot.

~O negative~

i cry
a tear for a
cause once lost

but the tear is
not saline

it doesnt soothe

it scabs

unlike what the wound
on my heart

and you were the scapal

~O negative~


In weeks past, I've spent a lot of time and energy complaining about Super Smash characters and their respective unfairness, often using 'Nerf ________' for my campaign slogan. Samus was a common 'victim' due to my friend's primary use of her and:

*LONG LIST OF SAMUS ADVANTAGES*
-The best projectile attacks (Missiles and Charge Shot)
-Unattackable Up-B
-Bombs create separation
-Bombs create infinite recovery
-Stage grapple
-Long-ranged grab
-Quckest smash attacks
-Dash attack can KO at 90%
-Dair=Spike/Popup depending on angle
-Uair=Drillkick
-Fair=Flamethrower
-Bair and Nair=fucking sex kicks of massive power
-Sprints fast
-Falls slow
-Three words: boobies and vagina

The only thing she doesn't have is some sort of sabre/rapier. Relatedly, Marth and with his fellow swordsmen are seen as her counters, due to their long reach and sharp pointy metallic blades. But that's it, her only weakness is a blue-haired Japanese prince, who can pwnz0r all of you.

Then I stopped bitching and started crapping.

Any character is beatable as long as you don't suck.

But items are still and always will be cheap and distracting.

Only unconfident losers use the hammer.

Short hop to victory,
Brett (or: polysyllabic)

Rule of law need not apply

Old habits are hard to break. Examples include chewing your nails, alcoholism, and beginning a paragraph with a cliche only to move onto an entirely different subject within inches.

It's not a good day for my spelling, so this will be a fairly petite way of saying hI'!!!

If this blog was Pokemon Snap...


this is the throwable apple/food/bait.

And this is a pesterball.
Check out the comments for an doubleplusgood experience.

Caring turns into sparring,
Brett_is_watching_someone_else

Lift me from the chest

Batteries power the sun
Sun powers batteries

perpetuality

cows drink milk loser get over it
it's why they have udders in the first place

incorrectness

gators aid with the powerful jaws
and we use our powerful laws to aid nothing

obsolete

break a bottle watch it shatter
break a shuttle watch the splatter

irreversibility

Samuri Pizza Cats
who do you call if you want some pepperoni?

Right on.

creativity can develop into what
creativity strives to overshadow

perpetuality.

Happy Mole Day yesterday

Holy shit, turns out that Mole Day is only 12 hours long.

Ahem.

Happy Mole half-day yesterday and 4 hours 15 minutes ago.


Sexy Dee,
Bretthew Arthur Cosby

Broken is my spleen

"brett do u liek ninjaz or pierates??"

Cupids.


The end of Nerf season will arrive all to soon thanks to snow, wind and Jackson Frost huffing and puffing his chilling cheeks to the point of subzero. However, the lack of wars could possibly bring a shower of modding time/motivation, but then again, I'll probably spend it training Pokemon while I sit my back into submission.

The lastest member of the foam-firing-family:

The Magstrike is one-third of the trio of Nerf's Automatics, and many agree that it is both the most effective and efficient. Powered by air-pressure from a pump, this clip-fed distributor of competitive death blasts 10-dart waves that are nearly impossible to dodge, as demostrated by THIS VIDEO THAT YOU SHOULD WATCH SO THE NEXT PARAGRAPH MAKES SENSE. First one to find the link getz a c00ki!!

If you thought you noticed Mr. Red from the Red team shooting at helpless opponents from a pathetic 15 feet away, you're right! And so is Mr. Red! The Mag, unmodded, gets about 20-25 feet tops, which is impractical to say the least as other blasters can hit 30-40 without much problem.

I was strongly disappointed with the Mag upon using it in a war. While wielding the blaster, I was reduced to a mere empty threat, only useful for making people think a few times before shooting my teammates and myself. The only possible way to hit someone with its impressive rate of fire is to literally stand 10 feet away and sort of rain the darts down on them, like a thunderstorm of weakness. Even then they'll have a look on their face that says 'shit I could've easily avoided that by stepping backwards' and to their credit, they most certainly could've.

Thanks to screwdrivers and ForsakenAngel24, my Mag (dubbed 'Srgt. Squirtsalot) has climbed a few steps on the path to not sucking. No longer do I have to unleash all 10 shots, for I can now shoot in bursts of 2-3, each with improved range, velocity, accuary and oragnacity. Now it's plausible for Srgt Squirtsalot to produce some that at least resembles actual true-blue/red offensive manuevers.

That last sentance should not be taken a sexual comment/metaphor.

Also:


Well it seemed like a bad idea,
Brett.\\hack

Vanilla root beer makes you sad

Swiss cake rolls for breakfast?

Yup, get used to it.

In case you don't have a psychic-level memory:

Brett wants a Nintendo Wii. He had planned to camp out for the system the night before it was sold in stores. Brett then found out, after much partying, that there was Gamestop was making pre-orders available in very limited quantities on Oct. 13. He read that message on October 14, and frantically, he skipped to his nearest Gamestop (a jolly 30 minutes away) to obtain his wanted information...

There were two Gamestop employees currently on shift, a girl around 18-20 and an obvious college graduate, sporting a dress shirt and a bling-bling name tag which hung from his neck. The dude was chatting on the telephone, so the only available helper was the girl.

Me: Hi, I'd like to ask some questions about the Wii.
Girl (we'll call her Tiffany): Sure, what's up?
Me: Do you know if this store is planning on a midnight launch?
Girl: Um...I'm not quite sure.

Tiffany turned her head towards her occupied coworker to inquiry.

Girl: Are we having a midnight session for the Wii?
Guy (we'll call him Arthur): We don't know yet.

Arthur continued with his phone conversation.

Girl: We don't know yet.
Me: Huh. And I assume that you're fresh out of pre-orders, too.
Girl: Yup, we sold the last one within ten minutes.

600 seconds is all it took for 1/3 of my dreams to be mortally wounded. Disappointed, I gave her my thanks.

Me: Well, thanks for the help; I appreciate it.
Girl: No problem.

We went our separate ways. My journey was accompanied by a couple of family members so I moped to my brother in the PS2 section.

Me: They don't know yet.
Brother: What?
Me: They're unsure on whether or not they'll have a midnight launch or not.
Brother: Oh.
Me: And they sold all their reserve slots in 10 minutes.
Brother (chuckling): That sucks.
Me (likewise): Yeah, it kind of does.

After a night of Gamecube (the Wii's predecessor), we traveled home, but something didn't feel right and I knew exactly what had been alterered: my anticipation. No longer was I uberly optimistic or cheerfully upbeat, for I was now in a state of feared panic. A new plan has to be devised; a better plan. Multilayered for full-proofeness and impressively thought-out. This here ends the first chapter in the book of Wii.

And the second chapter has now begun...

Make it jerk,
Brett, with newly-improved motivation

Big Ben tells time, and time tells Big Ben

Last time, on Brett's Irrelevant Blog...

-Cake!
-Nintendo Wii!
-Email!

Now for the lackluster conclusion...

I only read emails from a few select senders, usually my close acquaintances and store chains. Just don't give me any forwarded bullshit, for you'll get a faceful of shame as a reply. 'Touching' or not, 67,459 names and a short story is not worth my nor your time; go find yourself literature instead, you'll thank me later.

Ahem, before I sway off-track any farther, one of the 79 messages was from Gamestop (the video game store with more) and it had a very noteworthy subject:

US Wii and Canadian Wii/PS3 Pre-Order Announcement

Its contents were of even greater importance:

"Gamestop and EB Games stores will begin accepting limited pre-orders for the Nintendo Wii console on Friday, October 13 on a first come, first serve basis. Due to extremely limited supply, we expect to reach our limit, likely in minutes. Blah blah call your store."

'YES!' I thought-sclaimed as a plan was devised somewhere in my brain. It would be easy, call my interested friends, go camp out in pleasantly crisp October weather and drive home on nice and friendly roads, compaired to Novembers inevitably troublesome icy obsticle. Things were going to work out, my smile grew.

Wait, what day is it?

The clock and calender read "Saturday Oct. 14, 2006 12:47 am" and my heart sank with Captain Hope going down with his ship. There was little chance of obtaining one of the precious reserve slots, especially when one was a whole 24 hours late.

The trip to Forks (the whereabouts of the closest Gamestop/every other major store) was a dank one and I found myself fearing the consequences of missing such an excellent opportunity. What if I never get a Wii? What if the government makes fun illegal in the next month or two, excluding all pre-arranged purchases? Will Fergie Ferg ever make a lick of sense?

The answers to these queries and more, next time on:

The title is what you want,
Brett.

"brett wut happnd 2 u?"

Well, as a no-longer-illegal adult, I can answer for myself and avoid the hassle of parent e-mail notices. It was my birthday on Friday, see, and there was some celebrating. Now it would be quite rude to dishonorly ignore my guests and fart out a few irrelevant paragraphs or maybe even analytical anecdotes, just to do a similar routine for the following days. Heck, most/all who would read it were probably attending one of the said parties.

But it wasn't a merry long-weekend of pure and untouchable joy, no, for there was an irony-saturated lesson to be learned.

My future intentions involve purchasing the Nintendo Wii and going to the bathroom every once in a while, and I share those plans with apparently 45,000 people who probably have a Blogger and play as Falco.

A few chums and I had it all set up: leave school on (date at time) and arrive at our nearest Gamestop at the appropriate time. Armed with lawnchairs and cuddly fleece blankets, we colonize the parking lot as we daydream of how awesome Twilight Princess will be and the precise building of our respective Mii's. Maybe we'd even get on TV for being so gosh-darn passionate and cool. Oh, how naviete can make life ideal.

I'm on the computer too much. Often times hours melt by as I accomplish little and tell myself "I shouldn't be doing this; I should be (verb)ing with (noun).) Rarely does the (verb)ing commense, however. Due to this, my email is consistently maintained, despite my accumulating amount of saved messages that really have no effect on life. But if somesome sends me a virtual letter of any sort: I see it.

That wasn't the case this weekend. I somehow avoided the computer for 2.31 days straight and spent quality time with friends and family that I wouldn't trade for a whole lot. However, on Saturday morning, my butt found its home on the stained charcoal office chair (lol nostalgi-ass!!) and I noticed my Hotmail, complete with 80 or so new messages, all of which were unread, by only one was worth viewing.

To be continued...


Can he do that,
Brett...

Deeply immersive yet Appalling

The "Flavor of Love" (VH1's reality show 87,539 of infinity that features Flavor Flav the apparenty enemy of the public being The Bachelor) finale is proving to be peculiarly distracting. I dunno, maybe it's because a black person is wearing viking horns and they don't seem out of place at all. Other claims:

-Black emo girls!
-Near-drowning w/ life jackets!
-Pineapples.

Flav should definitely fuse with American Hi-Fi and make a Saturday Morning Soap Opera w/ Opera signers.

Vanilla root beer is bitter piss,
Brett O_*

quickthingofsomethingreally fat no fast

Noah Webster Day

He knew way more words than you do.


Wating dowwnnn,
Brett!!

Making Idaho the place to be

Columbus Day is the only day of post office-closing power (excluding generic Sundays) that can come and go without massive and uber-marketed recognition from the general public. And rightfully so, Columbus and his respective day both suck.

In some aspects, the Italian explorer/pioneer was a crucial part of history; he technically made the first publicized trip to the Western world, although many intelligent thinkers know he wasn't the European to place his 15th-century boots on American soil. Yet thousands believe he was the hero who discovered the continent, and for that, I rant.

It's widely agreed that Chrissy-poo was oblivious to his findings and also popular to vocally distribute the fact. But there's still something unjust with his unintentional achievement: he's sorta idolized for it. If he has his own 24 hour period named in his honor, so should numerous and deserving heroes who do not have such a luxury/distinction.

IN SHORT, THE THEME OF THE WEEK IS:

(fill in the blank) day.

Let's begin.

George Crum Day

*note: this may or may not be, in fact, a picture of George Crum. But hey! He's like 250 years old and he has a hat! A hat, for crissakes.*

Waaaaaaaaaeighy back in the time of Napoelon III and pre-Seattle Washington state, there was a cook who prepared food in a restaurant. But this wasn't just any cook in any restaruant, it was a man by the name of George Crum, the head chef for Moon's Lake House in Sarogota Springs, NY.

George was a good food maker. Seafood, Italian, weasel delicacies, you name it: he'll bake it and you'll take it all the while at Moon Lake. Look, a tit.

*image cencored because I can't legally see boobies yet*

But dispite his mastery, he still had his fair share of shitty customers. One special day, a businessman moseyed into the restaraunt and ordered something, with a side of fried potato slices. George prepared them with his typical finesse and apron, nothing to abnormal for him. After eating a few of the spud selections, the nameless customer viciously complained that George sliced them too thick and that they were saturated with grease. George adapted to his criticism and served up another plate. The customer was once again angered, claiming the same thing: too fat and too wet.

Even after another batch, the picky prick wasn't satisfied. His obnoxious tantrum was apparently the straw that broke George's possibly hairy backy-back-back. In a furious rage of fury, the chef cut the potatoes impossibly thin and overcooked them to a light crisp. He then dumped an excessive amount of sodium chloride on his creation. That otta show the cheesy whiner, the potatoes would break if punctured by a sharp utensil such as a fork!

The customer, however, used his hands to eat the slices instead, an unforseen action on his part. He enjoyed the crispy slices so much, he ordered like 67 platesworths and became the first person ever to be unable to stop once began to pop.

Shocked, George collected himself and realized what he had accidentally done. These potato turds...er...dropping piles...um...chips! Yes, these potato chips would lead him to massive amounts of gold/money and who knows - He might even get to be on Rosie O'Donnell!


Cooking for other people is hardly ever fun, especially when the said other people are hard-to-please douchebags and agressively finicky. George got fed up with a particular and snapped, like so many have and will. He got lucky, yes, but this goes to show you:

If someone is frustratingly selective, make a fool of them.

Kick a book,
Brett and the tator tots NAPOLEAN LAWLS!

Get to the Middle of the center

Trifecta of Tangents:

1. One's personality cannot be completely relayed through photographs.

2. Good photographs should not be fully understood after a banal explanation of the following mold: "This is me and ________ at ____________."

3. nerf t3h s0rd



Press 'R' to instantly kill your opponent in any situation! Remember: 'no skill' can easily be jumbled and remixed to create 'no kills', which is exactly how many your enemies will get!!


This must be a red burial ground,
Brett, putting the 'head' in 'shead'.

Your question is addressed

Brett is not one of Dr. Pepper's 23 conjoined flavors.

Are you?


Oops sleepy,
Brett.

Jingle Skulls, Jingle Skulls

I'm diggin' the whole 'post per day keeps the boredom away' deal; it makes create more often and with less pressure compared to the scarce and lengthy days of yesteryear. Hopefully this all continues.

/knock_on_wud

Suddenly, it's October. Time for pumpkins, pigskin, plaid-clad Scarecrows and of course, Christmas. All the cool department stores are officially Yuletide with elaborate displays of lawn ornaments decorated with red/green tinsil and enough fake snow to cancel fake school for a few feeks. Meanwhile, the shoppers don't really care yet. They find it absurd that the holiday season is being shoved into their unwinterized faces and perpend the logic behind the premature promotion.

And it should've been worse. Corporate (the powers at be, upper upper management, Discount Gods) wanted our own little Pamida shoppe to have 100% of the Christmas inventory to be on public display by mid-September, a task that raised the eyebrow of the staff. We all decided that holding off until the 10th month would work out better for everyone, which was a good call.

In short: Merry Fucking Christmas! Get in Gear for St. Nick because AMERICA is going to jump over Halloween AND Thanksgiving so GET WITH THE TIMES.


On the topic of topics, a surprisingly heated debate broke out the SmashBoards a few sunsets ago. People were arguing over the terms 'buff' and 'un-nerf' and which one is teh lame/teh r0xx. For the record:

buff - (v) to make better; increase quality
unnerf - (v) to repeal the affects of a nerf; to restore stats and powers that a nerf had taken away

For the record, 'unnerf' was the correct choice as they were talking about (get this!!!1) Kirby, who was indeed nerfed.

Remember that, k!!


Up-B is for your own well-being,
Brett, the Friendly Friend of Muskrats

Well, this should've been forseen

Brett shouldn't have to post: he's sleepy.

Nobody likes a sleepy writer, so in his place:

A new comic.

K<3

Recycled carbon,
University of Brett

Caffine-free basketcase, no wickers!

"Brett wuts a nerf?/!"

A 'nerf' could be one of several things, most commonly a reference to foam dart artillery, or Nerf Guns. Some use the term for the dart blasters, while some use it for the projectiles themselves. Heck, people also make in verb form, specifically "hitting another with a foam dart, usually during competitive 'wars'."

EXAMPLE
(Billy and Joey are in the midst of an intensely sweating Nerf War; Billy has fired his blaster and hits Joey with a dart)
Billy: Got you!
Joey: No you didn't!
Bill: Uh huh! I nerfed you in the back!
Joey: Nuh uh! Your nerf missed!
Bill: Look, my nerf's pretty accurate and the shot is stuck on your forhead.
(Joey looks up and is subsequently denuciated)

So, for tomorrow's session, I want you all to draw a picture of your favorite silverwear and portray it as a vehicle or something. Now get to bed!

"no brett i meaned the vidoe game form!"

Oh, that's even simpler: a nerf is a restraint on a pre-existing factor (character, race, ability, sexual organ) that serves as a check to its extreme and sometimes unfair power/ease/pleasure. This always enrages a section of the gaming universe, primarily/always users of the aforementioned factor, although it is sometimes necessary for a balanced gameplay experience.

**NOTE**
Nerf, as a video-game term, is derived from the toy brand. A Nerf ball is made of foam which makes the toy less dangerous and less effective in dodgeball than its rubber counterpart. A nerfed character has also been altered to be less dangerous and less effective in dodgeball, thus the term 'nerfed'.

EXAMPLE
Kirby (the Pink Puffball of Pathetic Portions) is a playable character in both Super Smash Bros for the Nintendo 64 and its sequel, Super Smash Brothers Melee for the Nintendo Lame/Gamecube (whichever you perfer). In the 64 version of the unique fighter, Kirby is difficult to beat:

Advantages
-Quick moves with good knockback
-Powerful throws that can damage several opponents
-The best 'Buttbomb/Anvil' attack in the game
-Multiple Jumps (Kirby can float 5 times in the air)
Disadvantages
-Lightweight, althought his 5 jumps often cover that
-Short Reach

Hal (the developers of Smash Bros.) too notice to this, and nerfed Kirby in SSBM:

Advantages
-Multiple Jumps
-He's not that slow I guess
Disadvantages
Almost everything else.

While it's still very possible to win with Kirby, it's not an easy task. Only the 1337est of the 1337 can find consistent success while using the PPPP against a skilled advesary.

This is an perfect example of over-nerfing, but that can wait for a later date with a some bate, a'ite?

Apostrophes are letters,
Br'tt

Let's make it a sweep! I've been doing math all night, the trend will remain unbroken.

Spaghetti + Basketball = Failure

Photograph / Scissors = Regret

Grape Nuts - Nuts = get it famly guylol i like do u. its randum

Playstation 3 + Oblivion = Panic at Microsoft


Latest eBay sucess story: 1080 Snowboarding
This Nintendo 64-exclusive was bought to pay back a friend for letting me temporarily steal (with permission, sort of) his corresponding console, an act that left my conscience and thumbs blistered.

Ten-Eighty was the premier extreme winter sports title back in the day, with its complex trick system and variety of gameplay modes that included Match Race, Trick Attack and Training. Come on, any game that allows you to practice will remain a classic for generations.

The straw that paid via PayPal was the immersive Character Select Screen. Imagine yourself at a totally hip and cool ski clubhouse/cabin/chapel with 5 chill thrashers of varying cultures/hair-dos/poses, each more perpetual than the next. In the background, you can distinctly hear the invigorating rhythms of 'Work the body, work the bod-eh. Work the body, work the bod-eh' over, and over, and over.



Oh, if it were only 1997 again...

Seriously, I spent the first 20 minutes just getting reminded about how awesome it is to make a Japanese girl subtly squeal 'Shit.' in a high pitched voice.

And for the record, nerf Dion Blaster. Black British dudes don't wear hockey jerseys, nor do they have blonded highlights.

Shaq spots hash,
Brent jp itz Brett