If there is one thing myspace taught you, it's not to trust things that seem "too cute." You may have lost your social security number once, but you refuse to let these little mascots have their way with you. You put your javelin up and tell Chad to get behind you. "Whatever happens, protect the urine." You say, preparing for battle. The colorful bear-things continue to bounce closer, and you realize that they are not cute mascots, but mutant beasts from the polluted outskirts of Beijing. The five creatures charge in. You stab one, leaving a blue bear-cat dead on the ground. The other four pace around you, waiting for a moment to strike. One pounces at Chad, he screams, dropping the urine. Your clean piss leaks all over the cement. Out of rage you stab the green one. It moans as you prepare for another attack, but the others seem uninterested in you. Instead the remaining three gather around the spilled urine. One after another they take sips. When the pool is dry they turn to you, expecting more. You unzip your pants and urinate in the street. The beasts seem pacified by your offering. In fact, they seem submissive. How will you use your new army?
It's true. Grimace is human. God help us, we did our best for him.
Your lair. Maybe you lure victims to it, maybe you hide in it between killings, or maybe you haunt it 24/7 because you’re tragically confined by a curse. Whatever the situation, for most of us monsters, a living/un-living space is an important part of our identities. In this column, Monstergeddon award winners share their lair tips and techniques!
The famed gonzo otaku journalist writes about the death of gaming culture in 2014.
Try not to break your console while I try not to break my cyber brain.
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.