Thursday, January 31, 2008


I work with a man called Michael. Through a series of excercises designed to foster a sense of mutual trust and respect, I have come to learn that Michael views me like this:

Michael knows and appreciates the fact that I view him like this:

It's a beautiful thing.

The Claw.

Work is getting to me a little bit.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Big in Japan.

Just click the link. You won't thank me, but hey, I don't care.

And whilst we're on the output of that peculiar country, I grabbed Rez from Xbox live arcade today. One of the notable things about it's release on PS2 (I nearly said 'original release, but my inner Dreamcast fanboy punched me in the duodenum) was that, in Japan at least, you could acquire something called a 'trance vibrator'. Yeah.

This was a small piece of black plastic that you were to put in the small of your back. It pulsed in time with certain beats in the game, and the pad would vibrate in time with others. Since Rez is sort of, kind of, a music game (amongst many other possible descriptions, many of which would require me to invent adjectives on the fly) this apparently did add something to the game, though not always as the manufacturer intended. I would say that the article linked is not safe for work, but frankly, no-one reading this really has a job. If there is any chance you might be reading at work, don't click. Just repeat the words 'logical conclusion' over a few times. It's essentially the same effect.

So now it's out on the 360, with a rather neat addition. Any spare pads you have lying around can take on the function of the trance vibrator. It's intended function, that is. It's unwieldy enough having one of those things wedged in the small of your back, I can assure you. So that's how I spent the first couple of hours of this morning. One pad jammed in my back (not completely unpleasant, but definitely not working the knots out of my aching muscles), one balanced on my feet. About an hour of wierd, trancy, shooty, fly-y, schlorpy (told you) gaming, with pulsing Xbox pads strapped to me.

It can only get less odd from here.

Oh God! Oh Jesus Christ!

Wicker Man remake. More for my sake than anyone's, I need a chronicle of this.

2.48. Rural. Cage seems pensive. His wig is not the best.

4.18. A huge truck hits a car full of creepy people. The overall effect is comical. Cage is coming to the rescue, but I sense failure is on the cards. I see it written on his stupid face.

9.45. A joke is made about a lack of plot. It sucks.

13.34. Cage charms an old man into flying him out to Summersisle. Edward Woodward could fly his own plane, and he didn't need no stinking thirteen minutes of exposition.

16.44. Bags can be mysterious and funny.

17.50. Modern-day Willow appears. She's annoying too. She appears smitten with Cage, usually a symptom of being struck about the head and neck with a large rock.

19.28. Bees!

24.08. The Wicker Man is mentioned. The Wicker Man is never mentioned in the original. Cage loses his self-help tapes.

28.43. Cage falls through some rotten wood. Overly-dramatic music fails to fuck off.

35.00. This film is profoundly boring. I think one of my kidneys just shut down.

37.15. Big fucking crows! Just. Big. Fucking. Crows.

47.56. There's a dead kid in the water! But it's just a dream! Or is it? Yes! Cage has more forehead than before. Also: The Radio is dead!

54.00. I have never felt the absence of folk music so keenly.

56.35. Bees! Anaphylaxis! Epinephrine!

1.02.35. Misuse of the word 'Celtic'. It is correctly pronounced though. This is the highest praise I can muster so far.

1.05.39. I'm starting to hallucinate. Edward Woodward and Christopher Lee are micturating upon Cage. An endless stream, yet he never quite drowns.

1.10.19. Bees. Cage is also hallucinating. Mine's funnier.

1.11.37. "How'd it get burned!? Howdiditgeburned!? HOWDAGABUAHRRNED!"

1.13.03 Bearded lady. But the beard is all made of bees! Whatever will happen next?

1.16.15. Cage is just attacking children now. I knew this day would come. Also, somebody killed the pilot. Cage's wig is giving up. He's more forehead now than man. Fuck this.

1.20.02. Really, fuck this.

1.22.04. Cage is in a bear suit. He's abducting a child. He's knocked out three women so far. Fuck this.

1.28.20. The worst acting I have ever seen from Nicolas Cage. Con Air and Face/Off included.

1.33.00. They burnt him. The film is dedicated to Johnny Ramone. I can't imagine he'd have been pleased.

Monday, January 28, 2008

The Bull.

OK, so this at the rumour stage at the moment, but Guillermo Del Toro directing The Hobbit is about the only good thing that could come out of Peter Jackson not directing The Hobbit.

In no particular order, some reasons why Guillermo Del Toro is fucking great:
  • He can work with Wesley Snipes and still come out smelling of roses.

  • He's made two of the least sucky superhero movies to date.

  • He fills his movies with gigantic clockwork howdads - for no particular reason I can discern.

  • He's obsessed with using the same pallette Goya used in his 'crazed and yelling' days.

  • His name translates as 'William The Bull'. William the fucking Bull! It's the best name ever!

Friday, January 25, 2008

Novelty Stationery Items

Clearing away the straggly remains of Christmas from my place of employ today, I found myself at the mercy of a small but insistent voice at the back of my head.

"Now you can really get a good run-up.", it said, apropos of nothing.

"I wonder what that means?" Said one of the more actively-conscious chunks of my psyche. "It couldn't be... oh. Oh, God."

It turns out my subconscious wants me to play Assassins Creed with the customers. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this novel form of digital violence (I can think of one person likely to read this who hasn't at some point sat and watched me play this, so this is for you) it essentially involves you running around, and climbing over, various ancient and allegedly holy places in an effort to find Bad Men and stab them in the throat with the pointy end of the stabby thing.

Now, whilst I couldn't do all the climbing, I can run pretty damn fast. I don't do this very often, because of various complex and intertwined factors (my size, a lack of any desire to). One of the ways in which you introduce Bad Men to Mr. Stabby is by running at them, jumping, placing a knee on their spine or stomach (dependant on angle of approach), and driving Mr. Stabby into their neck. I (on the suggestion of my apparently deeply impressionable subconscious) feel that this is an area in which I can truly excel.

They never should have given me a pen.

Are You Sitting Comfortably?

Usually I can't really stand this webcomic, but today I demand that you pay attention.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Obvious Fact of the Day.

No shit.

My morning espresso, on the other hand, has made me the adonis you see today.

Oliaginous Transportation.

On my way home from work, I saw the morbidly obese man who sits in the window of Clowns cafe cycling. It was like The Third Policeman as filmed by David Cronenberg.

In case that's not clear, I could only see about a third of the bike. Try to guess where the rest was. How it was still functioning as a mode of transport, I haven't the first idea.


I don't know what this is yet, but it's from Team Ico, so I know that whenever it's on the shelves I'll be buying it and a PS3.

Dear America...

Please do at least try to elect Barack Obama. Your only other option is to walk, collectively, over to that writhing burlap sack marked 'Other Candidates'. I can assure you, though you probably will not listen, that it is chock fucking full of rabid wolverines. Stick your hands in, grip on firmly, and pull out whatever takes your pick.

Just don't come crying to me over your wolverine injuries.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Red in Tooth and Claw.

What a rich and productive day it's been. I put the finishing touches to the Weather Machine, made vague, supercilious threats to the leaders of several developed nations, and got some washing done.

What else was there? Oh yes, - I went feral.

Nah, na-na, nah-na, na-nah...

If this doesn't make you smile, you are dead inside.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Better Than Ghost Rider, That's For Sure.

Having just finished Mass Effect (hereafter referred to as 'That Sex Game'), a few thoughts are in order.

Thought number one: Mass Effect is fucking great.

Thought number two: 2007 was a very, very good year for storytelling in games. Despite the best attempts of the scriptwriter on Assassins Creed, there has been a definite shift forward in what can be done, and what the effective minimum standards are for scripting, digital 'acting', and voiceover.

On Pornography.

So, I just played through the 'highly controversial' scenes in Mass Effect. I guess it's news to precisely no-one reading this, but the hysteria surrounding this from certain quarters is entirely bogus. Any kid who wants to sit through the seventeen hours of sci-fi tropes with the hope of seeing a pixelated nipple is going to be sorely dissapointed.

That kid is probably entirely imaginary. Still, he must be protected from all the dreaful things that are out there.

Espresso count: 10. I will soon find a religion, or found one. Whatever suits. Either way, know this: you are all fucking heathens.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

A Spotters Guide.

A brief, and by no means complete, list of the types of people who shop in bookstores after the hours of darkness.
  • Public Masturbators. The proud sort, not the furtive sort. The sort that believe a lifestyle magazine for public masturbators is just around the corner.

  • The Mentally Unsound. It's as if someone drives a care in the community ambulance up to the front door, tips out the shrieking, urine-soaked contents, and drives off.

  • The Savagely Foreign. Like the charming lady who tried to watch a DVD in one of our computers this evening.

  • The Genuinely Lonely. For some reason, there are always two people who come in every evening, who are completely unconnected to one another. They sit, doing very little, until the time comes to leave. They do so, quietly and without a fuss. But I'm sure the thought must be nagging at the back of their minds: "Maybe I should just say hi. We could get a coffee."

  • Thieves. Obvious really, but can't be ignored.

  • Cottagers. One became a regular for a while, to the extent that he would always say hello if he saw one of our staff, even though we had to throw him out because he was going to be violently sodomised by a middle-aged man in our toilets.

  • Normal People. Simply shopping for quality, intelligent books.

So, have I missed any really obvious ones?

Practical Advice.

When typing a URL, endeavour to use all of the required letters, and do so in the correct order. This will save you from a quarter of an hour as fruitless as the one I just spent.

Monday, January 14, 2008

And again, and again, and again...

I'm getting a bit of a theme today.

Just for the record, this is not what Mass Effect is about. This is a spectacularly idiotic right-wing knee-jerk response to the very idea that a form of legitimate media has (whisper it) sex in it.

Sadly, people will listen to this sort of nonsense. Oh sure, they'll forget the specifics, but they'll be left with some vague notion that games are bad, an' stuff.

My Knee Is Twitching.

Apparently the way we are to deal with violent crime in our society is to stop characters in games carrying knives.

I'm about old enough to remember the banning of the word 'ninja' from any media. This strikes me as just as well thought-out and practical.

Japan? This is Dave...

...and I'd like a word. specifically, I'd like to know why you did this:

As if the pun wasn't bad enough, here are the contents:

It contains, apart from the obvious, something called a 'Rotor'. I can only assume that this is a small outboard motor, and not... Oh no, wait, I got it.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Must Try Harder.

It has been a long day. You might even call it challenging, if you were prone to melodrama. The last few days have seen the customers in the store give off such an unnerving and constant buzz of inadequacy that this sort of thing comes as little surprise.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Monday, January 07, 2008


Watching The Omega Man. It's a pretty dreadful film, and I would like you to know this:

Big Chuck Heston's bingo wings will destroy us all.

The Future of Warfare.

I need a lot of money, quickly, in order to set up a restaurant. After much deliberation, I've decided the best way to set about this is to establish a Privatised Military Company (PMC) with the others who may be in this deal.

As with malicious blogging, I assume anonymity is crucial in this sort of venture. Therefore, my name will not be involved at all with the proceedings. Instead, the company will be known as Shitheel McGee and His Travelling Banditos (PLC).

In order to deliniate ourselves from other PMCs, other than in the fact that we do not know how to fight, and have never, in fact, held guns, we will offer ourselves as the environmentally friendly mercenary corporation you can trust. We will be the 'green' solution for all your 'black ops' needs.

This basically shakes out as us only ever travelling by ferry. We can actually only afford to travel by ferry.

Basically, if you've got a foreign government to overthrow, and you don't need it done with any particular haste or competence, look us up. We will be very cheap indeed.

Friday, January 04, 2008


Back now. Exceptionally tired, having been in and out of airports all day on three hours sleep.

Give me a moment or two to snooze, and I will once again be available on the usual channels - phone, email, cryptic trail on facebook, and a good, old-fashioned smack in the chops.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Saints and Scholars (I am Neither).

I'm off to Ireland, and so will be incommunicado for a few days.