Big Prize Week is Coming!
As of this time and not really any other, I would like to take a moment to knock the fucking wind out of your undergarments by announcing the coming of BIG PRIZE WEEK! In what has to be the biggest thing to happen to SA since that time the ghost of John Elway paid us a surprise visit and taught us an important fable about lasers mounted on orbital space stations, Big Prize Week promises to become the greatest thing to ever happen to this site, and especially to you readers. We've dragged you through hell with our self-proclaimed "comedy," but soon we will take all that pain away with prizes of the big variety. FOR AN ENTIRE WEEK! What kind of prizes you ask? In case your ears were swollen shut from bee stings and you failed to hear me mention big prizes, we're talking BIG PRIZES!!! We're talking prizes that will make you so happy a smile will seize control of your face, killing and raping the muscles you use to frown. It's coming, just you wait.
Ray's Inferno (Part One)
Note: the following is a brilliant work of fan fiction that I created in spite of my step dad who told me I had to go get a real job and stop messing around on the Internet. Well, screw you, step dad, I'm old enough to buy alcohol and so I don't have to take your orders.
The Rise of Ray Combs
The last thing Ray Combs remembered was being swallowed whole by the gaping maw of death, and seeing a thousand faces flash before his eyes. Here was a man who, for a living, put families against each other using promises of money and prizes as a catalyst for blood feuds. This was not an inherently evil occupation, for in many ways it promoted strong family bonds and team work. Ray's family bonds were never tested in such a manner, though, and they proved to be too weak to sustain. Finding steady employment was also a question of great concern, one who's answer proved fleeting. And so then Ray, at the end of his wits, with family and security slipping away, hung himself with bed sheets in the closet of a mental ward. As the last ounces of life drained from him, there was a feeling of calm release as he watched the warp speed slide show of memories that zoomed through his brain. "This is the end," he thought as the memories faded to the most beautiful black he had ever seen. He looked to Heaven for freedom, but the survey did not agree.
Ray Combs' life is restored, but not without consequences."Rise from your grave," demanded an almost lifeless voice emanating from somewhere obscured from mortal eyes. Perhaps it was the voice of God, but it sounded more like Sinistar. Ray was too confused and delirious to understand who was talking to him, for he had just been dragged through six feet of dirt by an unknown force that definitely was not a pick-up truck driven by a cowboy. His eyes and body were saturated with tiny black particles that clung together like cobwebs and latched onto his skin like leeches. Just as he had seen when he left life behind, there was nothing but total black. The black was no longer comforting; it was twisted and made his insides feel like a piñata filled with glass and a rabid turtle. He scratched madly to get it off, almost digging into his own skin in places. The dirt made him feel violated and afraid, like one gets when a mysterious insect crawls or slithers across the skin without prior written consent. His lungs (Oh god, how long have they been without air?) were just waking up after a long and somber hiatus. The oxygen he breathed in came as a harsh shock to his system, yet still, his body was up to the challenge. His organic systems quickly began to reorient themselves to the task of living. Pulses of energy began flowing through cells, which began a rapid restoration of the damages done by decay. Ray Combs was alive once more.
That mysterious force – the one that tore him from the earthly soil – was once more upon him. He felt the need to walk forward, for some inexpiable force was preventing him from staying stationary. This is where he first noticed his surroundings. He was in a graveyard, one that was apparently doing a particularly poor job of keeping its residents occupied. He realized he was not alone. All around him the dead were roaming. Was he one of them? Was he just another lost soul with eternal insomnia? No, he felt too alive, too stricken with purpose to be a zombie. He was nervous, though. In spite of returning in such a deranged and occult manner, Ray did his best to remain calm and try to deduct as much information as possible about his situation. Hysterics would do little to aid in this situation, especially with such menacing creatures all around him. The zombies were not the only predators: a fierce, two-headed dog, the dioskilos, was stalking about. Ray moved with increasing speed, finding the muscles in his body to be stronger than he remembered. This proved to be quite the asset, because by the time he reached a large ruined temple, he was completely surrounded. A primordial voice inside his head had been telling him to seek sanctuary, and this temple was his answer to that voice. Just as he rushed up the steps he was hit with the nauseating realization that he would never make it to safety in time. The beasts were close behind him and gaining ground at a faster rate of speed. He was a high-powered magnet, and they were the kind of metal that was interested in a long-term relationship with a high-powered magnet.
The mysterious ebony space captain comes to rescue Ray from the monsters and lead him to his destiny.Although his enemies were poised to strike, divine intervention struck first, which is usually the preferred order of things. A humming noise sliced through the howls and groans of the fearsome scourges, just as it sliced through the very fabric of reality like a chainsaw through unwanted clown corpses. The air itself sparkled with light like a beautiful waterfall. Unlike most waterfalls, this cascading dance of energy took human form. Where once stood nothing now stood an ebony-skinned man wearing a strange uniform. He instantly pulled from his belt a handheld apparatus of some sort, and with it he fired swords of light that disintegrated the monsters. It went by in an instant, like the Fast Money round of Ray's old game show. The stranger had saved Ray Combs from a second death.
"My name is Captain Benjamin Sisko of the Deep Space Nine. Starfleet Command has sent me to guide you through the next stage of your journey, Ray Combs!" Sisko offered a reassuring smile, one that carries much weight given his rank. As he was a captain, a leader therefore, he was in apt position to take Ray's hand and guide him through this dark time.
Ray almost trembled, overjoyed that he was no longer alone. But still, questions and confusion lingered in his achy bones like a magazine subscription that proved entirely regrettable. "I am not sure what has happened. Am I dead?"
"In a manner of speaking, Ray, you are. You left your world as no man should, and for that you will need to find your way. Starfleet Command has given me this mission, but the balk of this burden rests on your shoulders." Ray sighed, realizing for the first time that his attempts to escape pain were fruitless. The suicide tree is never truly ripe, and its roots are poison to all who walk near it. Although, it is not like he had any other time to realize this, seeing as how he was dead and all.
Continuing with the change in mood, Sisko approached Ray, placing his hands on Ray's dirty shoulders. "You have to be strong, Ray! Where we are going few men survive. I promise you that if you make it, that if you are strong enough, the rewards will carry you through eternity." His voice had become grave and serious, yet his words wavered a little under the emotional strain.
"But why me? All I wanted was to get away from the pain!"
"Maybe so, but running is only a temporary solution. Sooner or later you have to fight."
Ray paused, though he was sure of his task, he was unsure of his abilities and inner resolve. His companion was not one to procrastinate, however, and quickly signaled that it was time for Ray to begin his trial.
"Where do we go from here, Captain?"
"We pass through an unstable wormhole. Mr. O'Brien will transport us to our vessel." Sisko himself paused, but only for a brief moment, as if contemplating the horrors that wait and relishing just one more second free of them. "Mr. O'Brien, we are ready. Two to beam up."
With those words, Combs and Sisko became as dancing light, shimming until there was nothing left but air and a desolate graveyard.
Sisko and Combs rematerialized on board a small ship cast out in an infinite black sea. Ray was reminded of death, and then the disorienting rise from the ground. But this black did not torment him like the dirt. Instead it seemed almost peaceful, almost comfortable. He was reminded of all the space related questions he used to ask at his old job, and the families who would answer them. He always felt a little joy when a player would answer correctly. "Survey Says!" could bring doom just as often as it could bring salvation, after all. He was probably a billion miles from the set of Family Feud, if it even still existed. Little did Ray know that his old job had been handed to Louie Anderson. If he had known this, he probably would have hung himself again.
The small craft they sailed through space in ventured into the mighty wormhole, which blossomed like a flower and swallowed them like the maw of death. They did not die; they merely traveled through a tunnel of light. Space was a constant conflict between light and dark, Ray observed, yet there was peace in the balance. Ray wondered if there was enough peace for him, or if he had damned himself forever with his selfish actions. He wanted to survey a hundred people and find out the answers, but there was only one person around, and he seemed more of the impartial guide and observer type than the sounding board type.
Before long, Ray lost track of their travels. He was exhausted, and took solace in a short nap. This nap proved quite satisfying, brief as it was. When he awoke, Sisko said it was time to go. The duo beamed to an endless pasture speckled with mountains and rocky ledges, full of those who were like lemmings. They marched endlessly with no purpose, falling off cliffs and splattering into pools of bloody pulp.
Sisko and Combs enter the den of the Lemmings, who live eternally as slaves to pointless routine.Sisko commented, "Theirs is an existence most sad. They move from task to task without ever striving for a higher goal other than the immediate task. But the tasks never end."
"Why don't you get involved?"
"Starfleet Prime Directive forbids it."
"Oh, dear," said Ray Combs as he watched a lemming fall from a cliff, saved only by the expert deployment of a parasol.
"We must go. There are still errors for you to see and reflect on."
They journeyed into a cave that had been created by lemmings exploding themselves. It was a horrid march through dark, suffocating rock that seemed to sweat even more than them. The passage was getting hot and becoming more and more like the inner thighs of Richard Simmons.
As they neared the end of the passage, Ray inquired of his guide, "What's next?"
Sisko remained silent, not wanting to spoil the forthcoming events like some shitty Internet writer, and continued on into the darkness. Ray's question was answered only be dripping water and the eerie breathing of the cavern. In the distances he could hear moaning and wailing.
READ THE EXCITING NEXT CHAPTER OF THIS NON-NERDY SAGA NEXT WEEK!!! DON'T PUSH ME STEP DAD THIS IS MY ART!!!
Role Dise To Go
Howdy y'all, Taylor "the guy who writes all that stuff about games" Bell here with a riveting followup article. My last article was a review (sort of) of a terrible MMORPG called Ragnarok Online. It appears that things haven't been running too smoothly for the incompetent gang of high-school programming class dropouts known as Gravity Interactive, and they haven't been running smoothly for me either. You see, several people did not seem to appreciate my original review-type-thing, so without hesitation they fired up their email clients and blasted me with a merciless salvo of electronic death.
i am not a fan of ragnarok
i have not played it
but your information on koreans, by that i mean south
koreans, is very fucking misleading
first of all, i think you were talking about south
korea because north korea is a communist-side and they
don't freaking make any kind of entertainment
especially anything like a pc-game
secondly you are a dickcunt-sucking shitlick
although one of my friends is a korean
i don't know what koreans really do and don't really
care but i have a problem with stereotyped
motherfucker like you
just fucking review the game, don't involve anything
to degrade the people
He certainly raises an interesting point! Check out the full documentary, you dumbshitlick!
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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