Posts Tagged ‘ Humor ’

I Suck at Halo

Now not to look like a hypocrite, but even though I said I was moving everything related to gaming to Gaming the System, I thought that perhaps I need to promote the brother blog a bit more than it has. This is mostly for those who still visit my blog wondering where the Halo content went. 

“I suck!!!” has probably been said more times then I can successfully count, and with more than 10 years of experience on my belt, losing was a pathetic  event to witness. The frustration that followed was unnerving, and I couldn’t resist throwing my bedding into the air as if I was ripping the flesh off of some unfortunate individual, yelling things that would make the Chinese blush, harming myself via the controller (which has left weird, four-circle marks on my head, legs, and chest–yes, chest), and biting my pillow.

Then when I lose…
funny gifs

Yeah.

 The mystery surrounding why I suck so badly at matchmaking is trying to figure out why we have an appendix. Or why men have nipples. Honestly I began playing online about 3 months ago under the assumption that It would be similar to playing campaign and never again did I think anything like that again. I was so bad I was ready to implode from my suckage and if God willing I could create my own Fails of the Week parody in a day. Wait, let me rephrase that: *clears throat* I still suck! Every match–instead of counting kills–I count deaths; death sprees, double deaths, triple deaths, deathamonjarros, death frenzies, and basically any other medal that is part to my demise.

Don’t get me wrong, I have been given plenty of tips from good friends who want to see me get better (for their own benefit and of the team) to avoid such depression. Regardless of how much I have been taught it seems that I still remain the weakest link. I used to get 1-3 kills on a good day, but now I get 10-20 on most. (Thanks to the contributions guys. Now, here’s a cookie.) So aside from my poisonous loser aura, I found out some things that might actually get my K/D ratio higher than .03:

  1. Play on a smaller screen– Who would have thought that perhaps getting the biggest, baddest flat screen was not the best decision for matchmaking (or for your bank account?) Apparently not me.
  2. Don’t run down the middle of the flippin’ hallways– For the love of Robin Hood and the merry men, when someone is trying to snipe down the horde of enemies coming your way, photobombing the scope view isn’t the most kodak worthy moment when you get betrayed. Crouching is the way to go.
  3. Watch the radar– How much of an idiot do you have to be to forget that it actually has some importance in the game. Not paying attention to it is like wearing an Elmo costume with a sign that says “I want someone to kick my ass”.
  4. Movement is key– If you want to play sitting ducks during a firefight, you’re paying the wrong flippin’ game.
  5. Learn you’re surroundings– You don’t have to major in geology, just take time to learn the maps you play on for the best results for you, your team, and your sanity.
  6. Take a chance– If anyone knew what it takes to get your foot in the door of a possible significant other’s life, you would know that any chance could be the last; same principle can be applied at the art of killing your friends and fellow relatives in the virtual realm of Halo.
  7. Stop spamming– No spamming the trigger, no spamming grenades, no spamming armor abilities, no spamming is good. Even spam in a can is bad, so don’t spam! Think, strategies, and remember that the turtle wins the race. (Figuratively.)

Well, that’s all I have for now. Perhaps one day I will look back on this post and realize that not only did I really, really suck, but that I only needed to apply simple strategies in order to become better. So, if I may ask: what helped you?

Advertisements

The World of Wizardry

Hogwarts Coat of Arms *Wikipedia

I remember as clear as day (if lacking fog, clouds…you get the picture) being 5 years old when I took a trip to the mall with my parents. My mother who read occasionally walked into Borders with me by her side, skimming through the seemingly endless selection of books, comics, and graphic novels. Then something caught my eye; and endcap with the cardboard cutout of a small boy with glasses and a scar on his forehead, pointing a finely crafted stick toward the ceiling. It read Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone above the shelf which held only two copies. I had never heard about it untill then and my intrigue at such a young age persisted my parents to buy the $11 brick of glued-together pieces of paper.

I was never so excited walking out of a mall in my life. I flipped to the first page and read probably the most captivating story of my era. You couldn’t measure how much it sparked the imagination in me, and even to this day I still have the same feeling as I did almost 15 years ago. The Harry Potter series was a special thing, written by someone who was struggling to make it to the next day when the character popped into her head out of nowhere.

It took the world by storm and kids (such as myself) wanted to be the next Harry Potter, dressing up in memorabilia and changing our prescription glasses to a thicker, more round frame.  The magic died unfortunately only to be survived by a number of devoted fans. Now people flock to stores for Twilight, a book about a disco ball falling in love with a melodramatic girl who has the hots for an oversized dog.
(Now don’t take that in the wrong way Stephenie Meyer, I have respect for you in being an author and I enjoyed The Host.)

This is what happens every time someone says that Twilight is better than Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was filled with adventure, mystery, humor, thrills, and sometimes romance. It was a story of a boy coming of age to face a fate that was set for him before he was born. The characters felt real and relatable and if they were killed you felt like you lost a very good friend of yours. The books were nothing less than amazing and the chance that a new series that will captivate the world as much as Harry did, is against the odds.

Novel Transmogrification

My novel has taken a turn in the past months, becoming a full fledged book and not some exhibition of crumpled notes and doodles. For once I am satisfied with what it turned out to be, but I still believe it could be better…much better.
Anyway, I was suggested to post an excerpt for opinions and to give an idea to those who have questioned it’s literary nature. Perhaps it will go better than I think, something to distribute in exchange for monetary compensation.

 

The Rise Of the Titans

Chapter 1

A blue ball bounced up and down against a desk, disrupting the presentation that was setup for training the class of twelve aspiring racers. Heads turned toward the antagonist of the day in disgust and concern, for the trainer he approached the being and snatched the ball from the air. The young man looked up when he noticed that it never followed gravity’s pull.
“What do you think you’re doing Mr. Marnray?” The trainer said while inspecting the sphere, which seemed to be made of some treated foam.
The young man shrugged. “Bored. If it is what you people call it.”
“Aladar, I don’t appreciate your disruptions, regardless of your mental state it does not excuse taking time away from teaching others.”
“Perhaps we would get more out of learning if you actually taught us.” Aladar said hotly.
The trainer gritted his teeth and placed himself back in front of the class in restraint. The trainer was a unique being, one of Varluian origin. The extraterrestrial species lived in extreme temperatures which resembled the appearance of rocky, charred skin. Their vains glowed a crimson red, like flowing lava on the surface of obsidian. Evolutionary studies testified that they adapted to the harsh planet, but none were able to specify the time we found them, the same with all the other other-worldly nations.
A young woman raised her hand, gaining the attention of the entire class.
“Yes Jess?”
“Craytor, why don’t we take a test drive?”
The Varluian glared at Aladar, wondering what kind of rebellion he was leading. “All of you are not ready to get behind that command module without first becoming acquainted with its structure. Once we do, then I can let each of you drive that engine.”
The sounds of multiple groans fueled something inside of Aladar, a spark of determination ignited a sense of necessity to change the course of his boredom. “Can I be dismissed for a few?”
Craytor shrugged. “Can you?”
Aladar left the room and directed himself toward the garage. Different models of Hyper-Drifters were lined against the wall, ready to action. Aladar knew exactly what he was getting into when he activated one dressed in black matte paint and blue decals, but he could care less what got in the way of desire to race.

“So as I said, the tires on a Hyper Racer automatically inflate when you pull on the trigger situated on the left and right side of the steering handles, increasing sidewall rigidity. The left one will always be for the back wheels and, well you know the other. Both can be activated at the same time which will be important to know when you take those steep turns, just don’t punch the gas too early or you’ll be Hyper-Drifting yourself off into the depths of the ground below.” Craytor said while flipping through the slideshow of diagrams and scaled photos. “I’ve seen it happen and it’s not-”
Craytor paused and waited for the distant sound to re-emit. The engine of an HR roared on the track, alerting everyone in the building. “Marnray.” Craytor said through gritted teeth, then ran outside to intercept Aladar’s rebellious activity.

So Easy an Ostrich Can Do It

The one thing I seemed to forget to put on my bucket list was to go skiing in some point of my virtually insignificant life. I’ve always been scared to do it, not that I don’t think I can do it or learn how, it has to be more of a “you might die” scenario that plays in my head like the ones where you expect to be rejected by a cute girl…or guy depending on your orientation.

I’m not that into sports as it is, thanks to my terrifying experience with football in my 7th grade year. At that time I was 105 pounds, considered scanty for the team, and possibly the guy with the smallest frame in the city (for my age); thrown into the gridiron to compete against 300 pound gorillas that, if ethically acceptable, could easily crush my rib-cage with one hand in some chest-pounding ritual. I learned my place was behind a desk, writing or troubleshooting computers for poor people with head-trauma. (Related to the sport or not…)

However I don’t see myself as a statue and I enjoy the warm sun on my flesh. I participate in many activities such as volleyball, occasional soccer matches, baseball, and swimming, but anything other than that I haven’t had the chance to actually learn.
(I would be eternally grateful if Ryan Sheckler would expose the art of skateboarding to my conscientiousness.)
Among those are winter sports snowboarding and skiing. I don’t want to become the next Shawn White (Is his last name a mere coincidence?), all I want is to prove that I can do it; that I can survive the treacherous slopes of  Mt. Snowytops everywhere. It would be fun and something to do before my years can be numbered on a hand.

The Woes of Moving-Out

I’ll be living on my own.

The very sound of that terrified me. I said it, I wanted it, and now I have it, but what it took was more than having the funds of a young Tony Stark. I had…connections. (*Spoken in italian accent*)

Before then, I was contemplating the possibility of a studio apartment, since my film production company is in it’s infancy I needed all the room I could get, but time was against me. Days passed and I wasn’t sure what I was to do, apartments were denying my application due to the lack of credit history, regardless of my $25,000 a year salary. I was subjected to begin thinking about creating a comfy abode under a bridge, until my friends helped me get on my feet and find a small, two-bedroom residence in the other half of his duplex.

It was excited to say at the least. I wouldn’t have to do chores everyday, I could live like I was my own boss without rules or the prosecution of laziness, I would be able to play Halo in 15 hour stretches and not get my butt lit on fire.

Until I actually got it.

I realized time was getting shorter and less available to fit in recreational  activities. Not only that but the process of getting furniture was the equivalent of catching Legendary Pokemon. I was calling in multiple days at a time to get situated (like I minded), my Evernote account was on grocery-list overdrive, and my mind was overwhelmed on how much it would take to even live comfortably. My days consisted of:

I need soap.
Why did I forget soap?
Dang, towels too.
No toilet paper? Wish I had a towel.
Guess I could use my hand–wait, no soap.
Beans for breakfast…okay.
Beans for lunch…
Beans and veggies for dinner…
No can opener?
Just beans then.
I would get ice-cream, but no ramen.
No microwave, gotta’ put that on the list.
Cleaning utensils! Can’t forget that…
I wish I had a sofa…
I could use my bed…
I FORGOT BEDDING!
Where the heck am I going to put all this trash?
My place smells like old man. Fabreeze would be handy…
I need a bath.
Right…no soap.
At least I have a toothbrush.
…Where’s the toothpaste?

I don’t know what I would’ve done without Evernote and Google Docs. The whole experience taught me a valuable lesson: even though you’re living on your own, doesn’t exactly mean you’ll be living any easier. It takes work and maturity to effectively manage everything from bills to preventing starvation.   And not to forget soap.

How to Pick Your Nose in Public

Nose Picker

You wake up in the morning from a comfortable night’s rest and after a yawn your nose starts to itch. You take one of your digits and shove it in the nasal cavity without second thought, retract it back, and flick the green substance in the air like a tiny cannonball.

We pick our noses (defined by “the insertion of a finger (or other object) into the nose with the intention of removing dried nasal secretions” from our good friend Wikipedia), it’s only a natural habit that was adopted at birth and largely taboo. As much as we hate to admit it we do it whenever and wherever we find the need to, regardless of how gross, disgusting, or pleasantly entertaining it is. Due to harsh criticism by pompous aristocrats, society frowns upon the infamous activity, restricting us from acquiring clean nostrils in public.

So how can we successfully pick our schnoz in around others without compromising our reputations?
There are many ways and among them are:

  • The Sleeper– You fake a few eye drifters and adjust yourself in a more comfortable position. Moments later you lay your head down on top of your arms and slide one of your hands underneath, giving you a discrete, effective way of extracting the dried mucus.
  • The Ninja– You’re touring your favorite department store and all of a sudden your sniffer begins to twitch. People are more present than 12-o’-clock at McDonald’s and the goal is mandatory; without hesitation you walk to the clothing department and cautiously slip into one of the racks, where everything can be achieved in one go. Beware of cameras.
  • The Chronic Cougher– Better practiced with a hoodie or jacket, when duty calls begin with a quiet little cough, followed by a more profound hack with a few chest beatings. Then start the heavy coughing and hide your head behind jacket/hoodie, continuing the cough while loosening the abominable boogers.
  • The Cover-Upper- Hospitals or doctor offices are as busy as subways most of the time and nose-picking witnesses with a possible staph infection are prone to puking, initiating a chain reaction of undigested lunches being spilled. Prevent this by taking a magazine, immersing yourself in its pages, and tickling your olfactory nerves judiciously.
  •  The Rocketeer- This technique has an increased chance of nosebleeds (therefore definitely not recommended for those who have long fingernails) which involves attentively scanning the area for individuals looking in your immediate direction–when the coast is clear–quickly shove your finger or thumb up your nose, perform a twisting scoop, then remove it and drive it into your pocket before they anyone could blink.
  • The Aristocrat- The most uncommon of ways involve expending patience as you wait for the opportunity to enter a private room and use a tissue to blow the slime out without sacrificing the cleanliness of your hand. Something to consider if you plan on shaking hands.

Weither you flick-it or wipe-it, these techniques will save lots of blushing, ridicule, disgusted looks, eyebrow raises, and shame. As a relation to the content of this post, remember…

“You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose”.

Hold On To Your Trousers, NaNoWriMo is Coming

I am a Writer. Saying that is no longer followed by uncertainty or doubt, It’s who I am and I cannot deny it. I am the guy at work that always has a pen on him even though the utencil is restricted in the work atmosphere, it becomes a part of your body the longer you use it and each time it runs out of ink it feels as if you’re going through an organ transplant.

NaNoWriMo Logo

To increase my skill in the craft I have joined NaNoWriMo, a site that hosts an annual writing contest in which you are projected to create a 50,000 word novel (or novella) within the entire month of November.
Now as an avid gamer, who plays Halo like it’s being banned, I would either have to sacrifice some of my Xbox time (What time?) to write as much as I humanly can, or start early. (Would that be cheating?)

 I look forward to completing this mundane task, triumphantly raising my pen in the air–proudly shouting “Hoo-rah”–with a story that would make my father proud…maybe.

*Logo owned by NaNoWriMo.com

Advertisements