Zack: Laser Wars: Are they real and who is winning them?
Dr. Thorpe: He has not one but two photographs of the Terminator on his science project. In a few years, this kid is going to be disrupting his junior college philosophy of religion class on a daily basis with questions about The Matrix.
Zack: "But isn't Plato's Cave just about us being trapped in a computer simulation that repeats over and over?"
Dr. Thorpe: "So what you're saying is that attaining total enlightenment through decades of meditation is much like taking the red pill?"
Zack: Laser tag is the sport that was invented so that anti-social dorks can feel like they're good at something. There's a similar relation between pie-eating contests and fat people.
Dr. Thorpe: It's like paintball, except when paintball dorks grow up they join the army and get shot, and when laser tag dorks grow up they start thinking about maybe playing paintball but decide it's probably going to hurt too much.
Zack: Hypothesis: Laser war is happening right now, in our streets, in our backyards and even in our homes.
Procedure: Purchase a season pass to Nexus Laser War Arena and play the crap out of laser war.
Conclusion: There is a hope for this future and it is me.
Dr. Thorpe: "Nobody will ever call me a pussy again."
Zack: He probably has a construction paper matted sheet up there with all his "kills" listed.
Zack: Joker2dope, fragged at LaserFest '04
Zack: Shannon & Anthony, cute couple, I wasted them both in the red team's bunker
Zack: Delila, a clever girl, but not clever enough to outwit my laser fury
Zack: Matt, a big punk, he covered his laser sensor with tape and then shined his gun in my eye and made me fall and rip my shirt, luckily my mom made Nexus pay for the shirt and refund us for that day's laser belt fee.
Dr. Thorpe: "Matt had won the battle... but I had won the war. The Laser War."
Dr. Thorpe: Maybe there's also an illustrative story about one of his most intense battles. "Dusk fell hard on the Nexus arena. The smoke machines, already turned off for the night, coughed their final noxious death rattles. Nexus was closing, but the lingering smell of conflict still hung in the air. My bloody business that night was not yet complete."
Zack: "I worked my way up through the foam covered wooden boxes that the scum from Red Team were using to fortify their bunker. I could see their safety bracelets glittering in the dark, glittering...like the bombs that had fallen on my homeland. I executed a flawless evasion roll across the entrance, zapping two toddlers and their mother and making them cry. They begged to go home, but I had no quarter to give the likes of red team."
Dr. Thorpe: "Surrender is not in my vocabulary, and on this night, neither was 'we're closing.' The Nexus establishment tried to squash my righteous fury with their rules and regulations, but no jackbooted teenage employee could outwit me, the Laser Fox. Slipping into the darkness of the 'employees only' section and fortifying my position behind a mini fridge, I ensured that their search and destroy mission would last long into the night."
Zack: "With the siege entering its second hour I considered it a victory. I called for an extraction and smiled at the assistant manager as the gunship lifted off. It made a stop at the Arby's down the street as part of our night-long celebration of my warrior's victory."
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
Fashion SWAT... the fashion industry is obsessed with impracticality. We know that what designers create was never meant to be worn by the grimy masses, but that doesn't somehow diminish how ridiculous many of these costumes are. Make no mistake, they are costumes, and like a Halloween prize pageant we will turn our discerning gaze on the grievous fashion misfires of Paris, Milan, and New York. We're not pulling any punches, and we're definitely not interested in making any friends. We're Joan Rivers without Melissa Rivers to temper our screeching. We're the Fashion Police in jack boots. We are Fashion SWAT.