It’s the End of the World

Last night was the official end of the world. It had been bumped up previously from five months earlier due to a miscalculation or a misinterpretation, but last night was the real deal. All sinners were ripped apart by ravenous zombies while the good Christians of a particular niche religion who made a sizeable enough donation were Raptured up to White People Heaven. I survived by using my wits and a baseball bat, and made it home to blog.

Every time the world is supposed to end, you hear about people giving away all their material possessions, and then getting pissed off when it turns out they still need them. I don’t know if that’s just an Urban Myth, but it happens every single time, and I’d like to know why.

Why would you give away all your stuff, even if you thought the world was ending? It’s not a good deed if the world’s about to end. It’s like saying, “Here, you can use my walkman for the next thirty minutes.” I know everyone is a fan of deathbed repenting, but God’s not going to be fooled by that shit. You’d think giving something away for free would be a no-brainer in the charity department, but the sinner could have simply taken it from you after you ascended in a golden beam of light. They’re already going to spend an eternity in Hell, so stealing leftovers from a Raptured person who’s evolved beyond their corporeal form isn’t likely going to add much to their sentence. Later, a hell beast will take all your shit by proxy after consuming the flesh and souls of the people you donated it to. It’s trickle-down economics. Technically, by giving your possessions away, you let it fall right into the hands of the Unholy Ones, making you the worst person in history. Imagine someone being torn to shreds by a demon: now imagine instead of using it’s claws, it’s now clubbing them with the stool from your breakfast nook. You made that happen. Maybe some guy who stole a candy bar from the store when he was ten is being sodomized with your flatscreen TV. He’ll curse the day he ever accepted your charity.

Then, there’s the fairly high chance you don’t get Raptured. What if everyone else but you and the guy you gave your stuff to are taken up to Heaven? You’ll need that stuff back, and getting it is going to be pretty awkward. You’ll have to do favours. MOUTH favours, and that’s not the kind of good deed that gets you Raptured.

Of course, the person blames whoever told him the world was ending if he sells his stuff and nothing happens. The real culprit is him being an idiot.

The weirdest thing about these End of Days predictions that never come true, is that people still believe even after the day has come and gone. Looking at this Camping fiasco. They already pushed back the date from May 21st. The only reason anyone found out about the new set date was because people STILL believed in these predictions even after they had already failed. It’s like how people tried to invent the airplane. Someone would fall to their deaths off a cliff, and the next person would come along and try the EXACT same thing. We’re nothing but human lemmings. Technically, lemmings aren’t even lemmings, so we’re just human humans.

Call It In

Phones have existed for well over a century. Billions are invested in their production, design, distribution, research, and infrastructure every year. The average person spends $25-$60 or more a month on phone bills. That same average person will buy a cell phone for $250-$600, then trade it in and buy a new phone for the same amount the next year. Virtually every street in the developed world and many underdeveloped countries has telephone cables hanging from poles along either side. People will comment that even the homeless in third world countries will still have cellphones. There’s satellites in space, towers in our backyards, and cables across the oceans all designed to make our phones connect.

So why the fuck don’t they work?

If you’ve ever picked up a phone and had the person on the other end of the line say, “I can barely hear you,” then you know something isn’t right. You should be able to pick up the phone and have it work. How can you check your e-mail on your phone and not be able to converse with another human being? Technology has advanced, but hasn’t improved on tying two cans to a string. Fuck the future.

#OccupyEarth

The Occupy Wall Street movement yesterday accomplished one thing: Nothing. Nothing is a thing. As Wall Street was not toppled and the poorest 99% of the population are not suddenly rolling in greenbacks and hand-jobs, I’ll assume they failed. It’s hard to fail, though, when you don’t have an objective. ithout any leadership, unified message, or proposal, all people did was show up, wave some cardboard signs and kick over trashcans. In some cases, however, those cans were chained to posts, or else rooted in the spots. Protestors tried in vain to kick them, only to leave the can slightly askew, but still useable for it’s original purpose. In other instances, no trash was spilt, making cleanup simple and easy for the underpaid city workers who make up the 99%. In some places, trashcans were set on fire and the homeless were unable to collect cans and bottles for recycling money. There was no dinner that night for the 99%.

If you’re honestly upset about how the financial situation is being handled, and if you’re calling for a redistribution of wealth (you fucking Commie), how is holding up traffic so people can’t get to work and hence paid a good idea?

Plus, it was called the Occupy Wall Street movement, but it went global. People flooded the streets in cities all over the world in a symbolic gesture that supports another symbolic gesture. It’s like wearing a wristband to support people who wear support ribbons. If you’re trying to get someone in Wall Street in NYC to do something, which was never defined, how does standing on the street in Vancouver do that? All you’re doing is getting in the local news, and it’s unlikely anyone in NYC gets the Vancouver Province on their doorstep. You could have had the same factual impact if you stood outside your own front door in Kitimat.

Protesting simply doesn’t work, and it doesn’t make sense.

First of all, the signs: Protests are considered successes simply based on the number of people in attendance. They can accomplish jack shit, but if there’s enough people, the organizers are thrilled. Organizers will even express extreme disappointment with their own followers if there turnout is anything less than the ridiculously large imaginary number they have in their head. There’s no way to please them. In any interview, they’ll tell the newscaster that they had been hoping for a bigger turnout, then point the finger of blame straight at you, the viewer, for not believing hard enough in their stupid shit. It like when Peter Pan and the Lost Boys all have to clap their hands to bring Tinkerbelle back to life. If it didn’t work, Peter would blame the Lost Boys for not clapping hard enough, and not on the fact that Tinkerbelle needs immediate medical attention from a doctor specializing in very tiny people. Imagine if you were dying and all you heard was applause. I don’t know how organizers determine how many people will show at their events. I assume they use facebook’s famously unreliable events planner, then quadruple that number.

Oh yeah, the signs… Right, so there’s 1,000+ people in attendance packed into a tiny area, all with signs. How likely is it that your sign makes it on the air, or in the paper? It’s like getting a “like” on one of your comments on a webpage that already has 1,000+ comments. Only one person can be the wittiest of a group, and the rest are a bunch of assholes who tried and failed. The person they take pictures of always looks like a deranged hippie, holding a piece of cardboard with some, “Free the fish,” bullshit on it. If you’re not that guy: fuck you. If' you’re that guy: fuck you. What happens when two people show up with the same sign? They share the exact same beliefs and ideals, but they instantly hate each other because they think the other person stole their idea. That’s why we’ll never have world peace. Literally: they could be at a World Peace March, and then get in a fight over their identical peace slogans.

Secondly, or now: Thirdly: It takes exactly one douche to ruin your protest. One person with a, “God hates fags!” sign will ruin your entire movement. The Tea Party movement started as an okay idea, but they were instantly labelled by the liberal media as bigoted crackpots because people showed up with signs showing Obama as an African witchdoctor. Fox News still loves them, but Fox News hates fags (according to John Stewart).

Fourth: Disorganization. Like parties, there’s no real co-ordination beyond, “We’re having a party at Steve’s house. BYOB.” After that, all’s fair game. It goes back to the douche thing where your movement can get overrun with anarchists, who’ll grab all the media attention, or the counter-movement, who’s riding in on your coattails with their own separate protest. There’s no way to organize 10,000 people unless you’re the army. If you’re the protest leader and you show up and find 10,000 people are there with you, you have no idea who they are, but you assume they’re with you. They’ll cheer and boo if prompted, but that’s the extent of your power as leader. You’re not Martin Luther King Jr.. There will never be another. If you’ve got a band lined up, they’re waiting for you to finish your speech so they can listen to some Phish. Everyone is there for their own reasons, chief among which are getting laid and scoring weed.

Fifth: There were two successful protests in all of history. There was the Civil Right Movement in the States and the Passive Resistance tact in India. Both involved people getting the shit beat out of them. The absolute SHIT. These people were masochists. Your average protester can’t take the heat, let alone the pepper spray. They’re not this guy:

Racoon City

Last night, while driving home in the rain, three things happened in rapid succession near to the street by my house. First, someone began honking frantically on their horn while I drove though a green light at the speed limit, making me look back in the mirror and wonder what the hell someone’s problem was. Two seconds later, I had to brake and slow down because four teenagers were jay-walking the five lane road while wearing dark clothes. At night. Several feet later, after accelerating back to normal speed, I immediately had to brake again as I saw a racoon dart across the road in front of me and directly under the rear wheel of the car in the lane beside me. The car kept going, likely because it never saw the racoon, but the driver probably wondered at the bump they just hit. They slowed a little, then kept going. Meanwhile, I looked out the side of my window to see a tail twitching. There was a car directly behind me, and nowhere to pull over. I kept driving, but wondered if I should stop and see how it was. Then I remembered I knew nothing about first aid for wild animals. It’s not as if I could take it to the vet, where they would immediately put it down and throw it out like last week’s leftovers, then advise me to get a series of rabies shots to my spine. Even if I were to get out and move it to the side of the road I could be hit by a car in the dark, rainy night, or be scratched and bitten by a diseased, half-dead animal. This is what I told myself as I finished the drive home to make myself feel better.

It was Canadian Thanksgiving, which in a way is also the same as Homeless Day. No one gives a crap about the homeless or less fortunate on any other day of the year besides Christmas. I certainly don’t. People are supposed to donate canned food for the Salvation Army, and help out at the homeless shelters. I certainly don’t do any of that. I’m barely scraping by as it is, and it’s going to get worse for me in the coming months. That’s why I’m so unsympathetic in general, because I’m lower-class already. Also, it helps if they didn’t rummage around in my garbage all day every day, for years on end.

I went out later that night to closest liquor store to buy a Pumpkin Ale the lady in the store told me they didn’t have, and wasn’t even available in Canada, despite the fact I saw it in another local store. I was too lazy to drive the extra few blocks, so I bought the cheapest beer they had. By the front door coming in was the same homeless man I had seen a day earlier while trying to park my car at the grocery store. He was walking down the middle of the lane directly towards my car, so I had to physically brake and wait for him to shuffle past just so I could keep moving forward. That was enough to piss me off, or anyone for that matter. Roads and right-away are very simple concepts. Jaywalking is one thing: walking in the direction opposite to traffic in the middle of traffic is another. He sat outside the store’s Starbucks and watched me enter and leave intently, but I kept a wide berth. He looked newish. It’s not that big of a town and you usually have an idea who the homeless people are.

In the liquor store that night, he was arguing with the counter lady about the returns he was trying to trade in. As I said, this was Thanksgiving, and he could have been visiting any shelter to get a hot, free meal, and take the day off being a bum. The lady wasn’t having any of it, and told him to speak to her manager, who wasn’t there, and wouldn’t be available until the next day, which is a roundabout way of saying, “Get the fuck out.”

We both left the store at the same time, and as I was buckling into my car, he was tapping on my car window. I waved him off, and he kept tapping. Then I told him to, “Fuck off.” He kept tapping, so I said, “Fuck off,” again. If I’m in my car, I don’t want you near me. There could have been a thousand things he could have wanted: either he wanted money, he wanted a ride, or he wanted to sell me drugs or something he stole, or all of the above. I didn’t want any of it. I drove off, angry. I didn’t feel bad, though. Sure, it’s Thanksgiving, and I’m told to care about this kind of shit by a half-assed society, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to care. That night, I wasn’t visited by the Ghosts of Thanksgiving, so I think I’m good. I have real responsibilities, and the imaginary ones I’m supposed to be engaging in as part of being a Good Samaritan don’t really solve any problems.

The Nude 52

After over a month of readership, I’m convinced that the DC reboot was a secret plot by Batman to get laid. He’s already boned Catwoman and a reporter by the name of Catherine Rivers. Considering Batman is traditionally belittled as a closeted homosexual with a penchant for lithe boys in pixie boots, this is a startling turnaround. Every sexual encounter Batman has ever indulged in has ended the same way: by standing up the bitch on the second date. Batman doesn’t necessarily fuck-em’ and chuck-em’, he just fucks and forgets. There’s a panel in nearly every Batman comic where Alfred reminds him he missed a date with a such’n’such of this’n’that. This is just the latest is a string of off-handed conquests:

Here’s a head’s up for Miss Rivers: He’s not going to show.

In Catwoman #1, audiences saw Batman check in on Catwoman to see how she was doing after a bit of bad luck as a concerned friend, and to fuck her. He definitely knew that was on the table. Catwoman is more of Batman’s fuck-buddy than ally/enemy. The comic ended with Batman being used as a horsey. There’s nothing subtle about their relationship, unlike with other women where he might apologize to and send roses for missing dates. He’ll string them along because he has a genuine interest in them beyond keeping up appearances. Dick Grayson even sent Viki Vale flowers on behalf of Bruce Wayne just so she wouldn’t connect the dots and realize he’s not avoiding her: he’s dead. That’s dedication. Still, Bruce Wayne is the worst man in comics for following up on dates. Spider-Man even makes the time to call when he’s out being Spider-Man. In the One More Day reboot he missed his wedding to M.J. after an accident that left him unconscious in an alley, but he freely fessed-up without making excuses like Batman does. He’s not going to come out and say, “I had a business meeting,” when he’s secretly out fighting bad guys.

Since the reboot, everything’s been taken back to square one with revised stories, but no one’s re-explained Damien, Batman’s very-illegitimate ten-year-old son with a terrorist, or how he’s explained to the public where his bastard child came from. Everyone in the public knows Bruce Wayne has adopted three different boys as his wards, plus he’s a playboy, so why would he be so hush-hush about a secret love child for ten years when he clearly has no shame about the subject, and who is the mother? He pulled a Michael Jackson.

It’s not just Bruce getting his dick wet, other heroes associated with him are getting a new lease on love. Commissioner Gordon lost the white locks in favour of ginger to look younger, despite being white-haired since Detective Comics #1 back in the 40’s. The Red Hood also popped his cherry with Starfire, which is quite the feat. Jason Todd was little more than a teenager when he was Robin, and died, and obviously never got any nookie. When he came back to life, he pursued his interests in Donna Troy, who wasn’t having any of it: because despite becoming a homicidal bad-ass, he was still the whiny little bitch in green booty shorts she knew back in the day with Teen Titans. He got his own female sidekick later, but she was a complete butterface, and also underage, so let’s hope nothing happened there. So Starfire was officially his first, which, considering her new sluttified personality, really wasn’t that much of a challenge.

Nightwing, on the other hand, has it the worst. His two former will-you-marry-me love interests have been rebooted. Batgirl’s got her legs back, but she’s too busy getting back in the saddle to care about him, and Starfire is fucking a second-rate replacement to himself and his former drug-addicted friend. Nightwing use to be #1 with the fire crotches, and now he’s been left out in the cold.

This is What I Think of Your Face

I unlocked Emile’s helmet in Avatar rewards last night by scoring a Killtacular in Griffball. To get a Killtacular, you have to kill five enemies in a row five seconds within one another. Since teams on most maps are between 4-8, this is a little difficult. I did it in a 4 vs. 4 match, using my fist. Griffball is a game where your run at the other team with hammer and swords, and try to dunk a bomb into a tiny hole in the ground on the other side of the map, which will then explode, scoring you one point and killing you in the process. Everyone dog-piles onto the guy with the bomb, who has a little extra health and can hit a little harder with his fist, but has no other weapons. Typically, you can only kill him with a sword hit, or hit him with the hammer twice, but he has three players hopefully backing him up.

For my streak, I killed off the bomb carried with my hammer after my teammate weakened him with his and died in the process, then scooped up the ball and made a run for it. The first guy on me came at me with a sword, and I punched him to death in his stupid helmet-head. Same for the second guy, and the third. That brought me up to four, and dunking the bomb scored me my last kill with an explosion and an avatar award. It was kind of like Roadhouse with punching and explosions in the place of kicking. I still lost, but I didn’t care after that. What made it so sweet was the apparent lag the game had. An enemy was killing me a medium range with a weapon that only works at close range. I almost thought of dropping out, but stayed on, and now I have a helmet no one can ever take away from me.

I’m George W. Bush and I Approved This Kitty

The latest yankee to invade my game in Nintendogs is former President George W. Bush. He came with his cat and the option to meet up with him at the park. He stands by idly, watching and judging you coldly as you toss your frisbee around with your dog. In the background is a “Mission Accomplished” banner, and at the end of the play date a man in a suit comes up and whispers into his ear that there’s been a terrorist attack in New York.

I don’t know how the people who release these updates choose which President goes next. It’s gone from Jimmy Carter, to Ronald Reagan, to FDR and now Dubya. Is there a ranking system involved? Is Dubya one rung above FDR? I can’t wait for Nixon and Clinton, to be honest. At least I can name their pets: Checkers and Socks. That’s how much I, as a Canadian, know about American politics: I can name Presidential pets. I’d have to struggle to tell you the name of my former Prime Minister. For some reason, I keep forgetting about Paul Martin, mainly because he was completely useless and un-influential. Canada has more interim leaders than… I don’t think there’s a proper analogy. We have the MOST interim leaders: the Gerald Fords of the North. No one voted for them and no one ever will. I can’t even name the new opposition leaders after the old ones died or quit. How am I supposed to be interested in them politically when they’re so disposable? At least with American Presidents you know they’ll be around for at least four more year unless something VERY newsworthy comes up.

I don’t know the name of the current Presidential dog, but I do know that Obama basically didn’t want one and caved in to his two daughters after making an off-hand promise he didn’t think he’d really have to follow up on. He basically told them that if they ever got to move into the white house they could have a dog, and they did, so they got one. Now he’s probably sitting at his desk fretting over a bill, and he’ll look up and there’ll be a dog there for whom he has no love, and he doesn’t know what to do with. It’s just there.

I honestly think Americans wouldn’t vote for a candidate if they didn’t have a pet. In their minds, if a person can’t take care of a dog, how can they take care of a country? It’s the SAME thing.

Reach Reaction

There’s a Beta playlist in Halo:Reach for early October. and I played briefly only to have my ass completely handed to me. My opponents had reached the upper-most limits of what a human being can do in the game. Each was nearly, or at 100% completion in terms of their armoury, condemnations and rank. In a day, I might get all four Daily Challenges, and my experience meter barely fills, so the amount of time they’ve played is bordering on the insane. I had virtually no chance. These players were able to score one-hit headshots with handguns from around corners. I tried thinking about what they’re doing on their end. From the moment they round a corner, it takes them a split-second to locate my character on screen, and then they have to aim their sites at me. In that same timeframe, I’ve seen them, and I’m side-shifting to pull away from their target area and aim my own gun. Before I can even move my joystick, they’ve already capped me. Every time. The human-reaction to controller-input ratio should mean that I should still have half-a-chance to dodge at the very least, but it’s impossible. A bullet goes through my skull every time. Even if they’re cheating it shouldn’t be possible.

Frustrated, I moved on to another map and game-type, Big Team Battles, where I can jump in vehicles and play my own way. I was still finding myself completely dominated. Those on my team of eight who hadn’t dropped out were being completely pinned down. There was no way to escape the carnage even after spawning. Every enemy was either too-far afield or in a vehicle. Meaning for every twelve shots I would need to kill them, the players in vehicles could one-shot kill me with no effort. If I tried to run from the swarm of vehicles, a sniper in the distance would pick me off, even if I was camouflaged. I encountered the same enemy team twice while in that playlist. The second time, I was determined to get the upper-hand by manning my own tank. As I ran towards it shortly after spawning, my own teammate got in a secondary vehicle and shot the tank, bringing it down to nearly-no health. I still tried using it, and second later exploded. Everything was downhill from there. I tried using actual strategies, and nothing worked. Vehicles would run towards me, intent on mowing me down, so I’d throw up my shields in the hopes they’d crash into me like a brick wall. They would stop dead in that instant before impact, wait patiently, and then blast me as my shields fell.

My point is: Reach is over a year old now, and the only ones still left playing are typically the die-hard fans, who do nothing but play the game all day every day, and have become impossible opponents. New games like GoW 3 and the Battlefield demo have likely drawn off much of the crowd, along with regular schoolwork. This happens with every competitive FPS ever. These opponents are fine in small amounts, and they’re always around, but once the regular players are gone, and they’re the only ones left, it becomes a game-killing nightmare. If you’re playing with other entry level players, you’re somewhat safer because they’re there as human shields you can use to draw fire off yourself and counter. Plus you can score kills on the lesser opponents of the other team. If you’re on a team with only newbs, and your opponents are all hardcore, you might as well drop out and take the hit.

Alpha-Beta Max

While playing the Battlefield 3 Open Beta the other day, I realized that any player could receive a review from any other player in the game, be it positive or negative with their Xbox Live Account. Honestly, you don’t even have to play a game with someone, or know who they are to submit a review. All you need is to be able to look up their profile, and then file away. In the case of the Beta, you can receive a negative review for exploiting any number of glitches in the game. Yet, Betas are designed to weed out bugs and glitches, so by using them you’re improving the final experience. The more people who screw up the game, the more likely the publishing company is to address the issue through patches. So xXxWeedyMcSmokesPotxXx is a hero in his own right. It like if more people bring shoe bombs onto a plane, the more likely you will have to take your shoes off at the security checkpoint. These people shouldn’t be punished: they should be reward for their douchebaggery.

There was an article, though, about how all the players in the Beta are ungrateful asshole for pointing out how much the game sucks:

http://www.gamebandits.com/news/battlefield-3-ungrateful-fans-get-an-earful-from-dice-16816/

The response was: If it’s free, don’t knock it. Lots of things are free in the world of gaming. Look at facebook. All those games are free, and they all suck. Why wouldn’t you knock it? The Beta they’ve released is more of a Demo than anything else. The article itself tells you they’ve already made changes to the game that address certain issues that players have, without even consulting the ongoing results of the Beta. They’re ignoring their audience. And why shouldn’t they? As long as they reach their quotas, why should they care?

Butterfield

I played the new Battlefield 3 Open Beta multiplayer online last night on my 360. This game is supposed to be a game-changer that wants to tear the FPS dominance away from COD while showcasing what the next gen might looks like in terms of graphics. It’s really coming up short on those fronts. To be fair, it’s just an unfinished beta of one level, but it looks and plays like every other Battlefield. From what I was hearing, it was suppose to showcase movie quality graphics. My worries was that I was playing on an old res TV, since we moved the HD into the bedroom, and I wouldn’t be getting the full experience. Still, it shouldn’t look so shoddy. It actually hurts my eyes to play it. I was wondering why I kept seeing red blurs across the screen, until I realized they were laser-site being aimed directly at my cornea, which is an obvious flaw right there. With the frequency I saw this, my head should have been left a piece of Swiss cheese. I died a lot, often immediately after spawning, but if I can see their laser, that means I should be dead. Like I said, I really couldn’t see for crap. I couldn’t even tell who was on my team and who was the enemy, if not for the site turning red when I aimed at them. I could have scored a lot more kills if I hadn’t hesitated for fear of team-killing. As it were, I sucked. I found about 100 glitches in maybe an hour of playing too. Every time I tried to crouch or crawl, I fell through the ground into that bizarre framework below. When I was shown the enemy’s kill cam after dying, it displayed the same under-layer background on white, grey and red geometric blobs. It was kind of sad to note too that over 3/4 of the people playing were level 18 or higher, after the beta had been out for all of two days. I’ve encountered their type before. If you’ve ever played an MMO, you’ve seen them. I’ve purchased the first WoW expansion the day it came out, and that same day after I came home from work and booted up, I encountered players who had already put in weeks worth of experience in a twelve hour, no pee break period.

The beta is free and I’m not sure if I even want to keep playing it. The only thing it’s really got going for it is the ability to crawl through bushes. That’s honestly the most major improvement in there to other shooters. If you’ve ever run around in any shooter map, you’ll see objects or scenery you could easily use as cover, but can’t because the game won’t let you. In B3, (assuming that’s the popular nickname it gets) I crawled from one end of the map to the other through bushes, and shot one enemy in his camp, before being shot by his partner. That’s the only new experience I had.

I also noticed yesterday that I received another complaint in my profile. I’m still at a 5-Star rating, but not 62% of people who reviewed me chose to avoid me. Since the last time I checked, I don’t recall anything I did that would have pissed off another player, but then again there’s people out there who will stab you in real life for playing a game the way it’s intended to be played. I did have a couple of experiences in Halo: Reach where I was playing Invasion, where you spawn next to your partner. My partner was AFK, and getting spawn camped. So every time I died, I would end up right next to him, and I would have to deal with his campers. Only, his campers were spawning as a team. So if I killed one in the split-second of opportunity I got after coming back to life, his partner would be right behind me with a gun. This went on for about five minutes of my time. Just when it looked like I’d be able to move past the area, I was booted from the game by my partner, who hadn’t been at his controller for more than twelve minutes. Earlier, I had spawned behind him seconds before a victory, and noticed him AFK. I decided, for fun to assassinate him from behind on the way out the door. That’s really the only way without a mike to tell someone to fucking get back in the game. Does it make me a poor sportsman? If you’re playing double in tennis and your partner has lapsed in a coma, isn’t it polite to bitch-slap him back to consciousness with a racket? I think so.

In another game, I was doing remarkably well, considering I suck, and especially since half the team had dropped out of the match and Halo doesn’t let new players hop on board. You’re expected to fight off up to eight enemy players solo for fifteen minutes and guard your base at the same time in some cases. In this case, I was mowing down everyone in my warthog and having a great time. I didn’t notice any real weirdness except for when some guy stopped dead in the middle of the map. I shot him from about half-the-map away. Afterwards, in the scoring, the other team went apeshit and accused our side of using a lag switch, or some shit, which would explain why I was doing so well. I don’t know if that’s even possible anymore. I always hear about bots and glitches and cheats people use, but I don’t even follow that shit anymore. Every game has it glitches, and I play too many to look into every possible exploit. There was one in SOCOM II where the enemy player could become invincible/invisible, which sucked donkey balls. Nowadays, people will fucking call the President if someone so much as shoots through a seemingly solid wall. Why do people still do this? Bragging rights pretty much go out the window when people find out you cheated.