Halo. No angels involved.

Yes...it's time to consider Halo. And by 'consider,' I mean 'think of.'


I don't have much to say about Halo. Seen gameplay footage. Know that it's a good combat engine. Know that it's online, a leviathan from Microsoft, got an armorsuited freakshow in it ("I'm a representative of Freaktropolis." "Never heard of it." "Never heard of it?...you're looking at it."), has bells, has whistles, has a ripoff of Adon. Named, um, I forget. I think she's cool, but she won't say the things that Adon would say. Like, "Lair of the Blind Ones."

You can probably tell that I know so little about Halo that I have to fill this post up with speculative comparisons of the holographic assistant in Halo and the amazingly above-par voice-acting marvelous wonder that is Adon in Turok. Sooo FTW.


Yep, that's almost all I know about Halo. From what I hear, I'd like to play it. From what I hear, I don't expect much from it. Go on, take off my shoe and spit in my face.

The State of Hymning: 2008

Here's the current condition of our familial hymning ability:

• The losers of the family: me, my dad, my mom. And my brother...he's some unheard of form of Super Loser. You've heard the term, "Can't carry a tune in a bucket." He can't even carry words in a bucket. The poor sap.
  
• The star of the family is M.P. Echo. Who is a guitar. A piece of wood- wood which is not an animated marionette by the name of Pinocchio- is better than all three of us combined. (Actually, all three of us combined is worse than just one of us.)
  

My goal is to, somehow, some way, teach me and my family to sing. It will be a terrible journey, and I'll be working with oafish loons who will go backwards on me the entire way.

One of them has a horrible phobia of singing...

...and the other has to unlearn 15 years of formal Muppet Choir training.




I go into this knowing that I will not accomplish my goal. But I'll have tried. And in this dreary, platinic world of sentient engravings, that's all that matters.

Until then, humble fools.

Gee Golly Wow, But You're A Beautiful Hymn

When We All Get to Heaven.

I think that it is my favorite.

Cyberhymnal.com: When We All Get to Heaven. Key of C Major. A Minor.


It's a winner. Got to go. Bye.

Real Princesses Don't Seduce Protagonists

Had two minutes to post this; I wrote it several days ago:


And they don't go semi-catatonic and respond to every query with a flat "giggle-laugh", either.


Oh, I can feel the darkness approaching. Its appendage-like sinews stretching and grasping, trying to find their way into my veins to capture my motor functions and, ultimately, dreams and desires. Its mouth, if you could call it that, is like a maw in the dirt, gnawing on nothing, ceaselessly grinding its teeth of stone.

That shiny, black fiend.


Anyways, yes, real princesses never seduce protagonists, and when they do, they always turn out to be evil beings in princess garb- and therefore not princesses at all. And this is especially so when they go catatonic on you, even if their dad, the King, had just died. Because there won't always be a pirate nearby to save you.

That's the lesson of the week.


Yep.

Echo Says, "No More Hymns"

DA, DA DA-DA DA DA DAH-DAH-DAH! DAH, DAH-DAH-DAH-DADA DAH, DAH, DAH! DAH, DA-DA-DA-DA-DA DAH DAH DAH at CAL--VA--RY!


Echo says it's time to stop hymning for the day. I'm seeing that guitar become grungier and grungier, and not in the usual grungy way. It's hard to explain.

Regardless, (and regardless is a word I am beginning to love), I've been hymning a lot in the last two days. The last time I hymned like this was perhaps eight months ago. Then, eight months ago, I spent nearly seven hours creating the original The Probably Inaccurate Compilation of Guitar Hymns. It took a while, that's for sure. And that was just finding the chords; to find the hymns for which to get the chords took five to six more hours.


Half of what I did was unusable.


Anyways, onto my point. Echo says no more hymns for tonight. I know what you're thinking; guitars can't talk, Kev. Is Echo magical?

No, no humble fool, he isn't magical. Let me explain what he said through interpretive picture:



Get it? A string broke! The first string I've had break. Wanna hear the action-filled tale?

No! Because it actually happened while I was tuning. There is no action to tale about. Tale...tell...whatever. It kind of made a muffled/muted "twik" and went limp. Broke right at the tuner, where I was busily tuning it.

That's all there is to the story. I bought an extra pack of strings last time, so I get to replace them tomorrow. Joy.

After that, I'm buying a 10-pack- I'll never want for strings again!

t2-nd-d1

"...and I looked up to him, and he didn't look at me. He stared straight ahead.
"And I said, 'What?' And he said, 'Leave.' And I knew what he meant...and he meant it. My heart shattered, or melted, or whatever hearts do when they break," she said, frustrated. "And before I knew it I was five again, and my brother was leaving me to die in some Godforsaken place, and everything in the world I loved was dead." The mention of her brother started tears cascading down the sides of her face. The fire crackled. It didn't care about her. It was as cold and unfeeling as the dark, speckled expanse above them.
"And I said, like it was going to matter, 'Daddy, I don't wanna go,' and he still didn't look at me, and then I started to cry." She coughed, then lay back and propped herself up on her elbows, letting her head fall backwards to face the sky. "I've been so tired. And I've been scared. I've become...I don't want to become a jaded corpse," she whimpered. He listened intently. The fire seemed to cast more flicker on him than her. It made him look like a calculating predator, but she didn't notice. Her tears became heavier, yet her voice remained unaffected.
"And he still didn't look at me, and I started to cry, and then I looked straight ahead like he was...and I said, like I was telling him this, 'I can't stand it.' I looked up at him, and I was still five, and my brother was still leaving, and he walked away. And the worst thing is, I know I couldn't have done anything in the world to hurt him more." The tears reached and moistened her ears. Her voice gave a little as she looked into the blackness for some comfort. There was none. Only emptiness.
"And I stood there, crying like I am right now. Then I slashed my wrist and I walked away. And...and..."

Her voice relented, and so did she. Her world abruptly dropped from vision.
She slept.


(Grammatical liberties taken, excerpt, source redacted, and no one should know what I read, except to note that I love campfire scenes.)

Perfect Dark and Turok

Joanna Dark.

Perfect Dark.


A respectable female protagonist. What's not to love? I've droned on and on about Perfect Dark before, and gameplay video of Perfect Dark Zero makes me salivate (I'm almost serious- it looks just like the original Perfect Dark but faster!). I'm not sure if I've mentioned the link that Perfect Dark and Turok share, though.

In my mind of minds, there's a link between Perfect Dark and Turok: Evolution. My opinion, Turok: Evolution was a complete sham gameplay-wise. There were certainly some amazing plot elements and wonderful, memorable level designs, but there was...

Well, it's like this.

• I don't have understanding of the first Turok
• Turok 2: Seeds of Evil had amazingly creative enemies (and a lot of them), simple-yet-great level layout, and a wonderful, low framerate that somehow worked in the game's favor. The main (possibly only) flaw was the save points, not nearly enough of them
• Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion was where the trouble began. What a great legacy Turok 3 left: "Where the trouble began."

The first part of Turok 3: Shadow of Oblivion passes muster. There are terrible spider-human creatures, rabid dogs, Robocop-like guards, and I think there are zombies. (Or something to that effect.) I'd be just as happy if there were crazy dinosaurs loose in the city, but whatever.

Then it all went wrong when the character had to invade that military compound.

Humans were in the compound.

And after that, the enemies were either humans, or extremely humanlike creatures. (A few were comical, even. That's bad.) This kept up during the remainder of the pitiful five hours of gaming. Maybe I'm being too harsh, but if I want a straight-up FPS, I'll get a 007 game. Because I like 007 FPS. Shut up.


As for Turok: Evolution...it managed to make being stalked by raptors boring. And it made a tyrannosaurus attack feel insignificant. (And not because of the grandeur of the rest of the game.)

No, no, don't play it up; don't make the character run for their lives, or lead the tyrannosaurus into a camp of enemies, or sneak up on it while it's sleeping and jump on it, and definitely don't just have it waiting around a corner for you and "jump out" (which would be very frightening.) Nope, make it boring.

Great work.


Anyways, it seems I was playing Turok: Evolution for single player and me and my brother were playing Perfect Dark for multiplayer. And wam, they melded, and now I picture them in my mind together.

Well, for the most part. I don't think I'd attempt to play them at the same time. It's just that my thoughts of them tend to go hand-in-hand, like some poor fools hopelessly in love.


Uhh...now that I think about it...that's quite...creepy...I HAVE TO GO!

No Defense for Jill Valentine and Splinter Cell brings the Wii360

As you know, humble fool, I'm a gamer. A Nintendo gamer. I must be honest, I've only played a PlayStation once (it was purchased and returned in a temerarious haze, leaving me scarred for life, but that's a story for another time) and I've never even seen an Xbox in person. Yet I've always maintained that I would get an Xbox over a PlayStation.


The other day, my dad was berating a woman with the last name of "Valentine." I said, "Now, listen, Pa, there ain't nothing bad you can say about someone with the last name of Valentine." He said, "Why not?! She's the ANTICHRIST!" His words hung in the air.

"Yes, but, Jill Valentine has that name, and, well, I doubt that the Antichrist would share Ms. Valentine's name..."
"Who?"
"Jill Valentine!"
"Who the hell is she?!"
"I don't know, let me put it this way. If I was less of a craven fool, she'd turn me into a drooling fanboy without a backbone, and I'd melt into a puddle and stick in the carpet."
"Oh whatever!" he said. "She's still the Antichrist!"


The same conversation has occurred thrice since then- each time the commercial is on.


Jill Valentine is a character in the Resident Evil series of movies and games. That's almost all I know. The other bit of what I know is enough to know that she's awesome on a lot of levels, and worthy of deference and, importantly, defense.


However, now that the Age of Idols has fallen, there's not much purpose in that defense. With the passing of the Age of Idols comes the passing of gamer "buoys." I am adrift in the middle of a sea of fireroads, to quote a dove.

I'm sorry, Jill. I'm sorry that I've never had the spine to come to the knowledge of what wonder you may possess. I'm sorry that I possibly never will. I'm sorry that I've let you and, indeed, the entire franchise slip through the crack in my gamer skull. I've done this wretched thing with full awareness and knowledge. I'm sorry that what indentation on the hard disk of my brain you may have made has been baseless or, if possible, worse, skewed by the lowest wretches of humanity, Hollywood.

In that vein, I am unrepenting that I destroyed that DVD.



Now, humble fool, I am sorry toward you that I will not be able to get to the second part of the title of this post. That will be revealed in due time through a cunning process. It should be entertaining.

With the passing of the Age of Idols, every action, lacking a purpose- unguided by buoys, if you will- has to be based upon some strange system I've yet to fully grasp. The main problematic element being that there is no longer a moral compass.

There's no line I cannot cross.


If I may:

Judges 17:6 KJV In those days there was no king in Israel, but every man did that which was right in his own eyes.

Flue on The Election, Part 1, "Obama HUSSEIN and the Poppy-Peanut Crop"

Flue says that Obama (Hussein Obama) may have the ears of an elephant, but if you rearrange the name 'Hussein' you can spell 'stupid.' (Flue can't read, if you're not able to tell, and he can't follow a thought process through to the end half of the time.)

He also says that Bill Ayers is just the tip of the Obamaburg, and that Ayers is just cover for Obama's more sinister allies, such as the Osama Al Panthers, which distribute poisoned circus peanuts that are tasty "beyond reproach" yet oh-so-poisonous to the trunk.

And Obama's a Muslim, too, due to his name 'Barack.' Flue says that if you don't believe that Obama's a Muslim, just rearrange the letters in the name 'Barry.' If you move one of the Rs, you will have the word 'Muslim.' "Pretty freaky, huh?" he asks enthusiastically. "Yeah...that's just scary," I reply flatly.


"And that's not all," Flue continues, certain that he's wooing his audience proficiently. "Obama actually founded Al Qaeda, but then turned it over to his young apprentice, Joe Biden, who turned it over to his apprentice, Osama Bin Laden. Ever wonder why Obama picked Biden? That's why!" he declares proudly.

"Then he set his sights on the presidency- not the presidency of the United States, but of Vietnam. The main stream media won't tell you this," he says conspiratorially, "But that's why the Vietnam war occurred. We were in there trying to hunt down Osama - I mean O- Obama because he caused..." (McCain appeared on the television for a second and broke his train of thought.)



(After McCain was over, he continued:)

"You might have heard a lot about the oil fields burning in Iraq," he said, eyes still on the screen, "but you never heard about the decimated peanut crops in Afghanistan. Obama- who has had previous names such as Cain, Judas, The Masher, Hitler- decimated all the peanut farms by sowing a poppy crop that mixed with the peanuts, creating a hybrid poppy-peanut crop, which caused a hallucinagenic daze when eaten.

"I ate my way through a quarter acre of those wonderful delights before I realized I was eating poppy-peanuts. By then it was too late, and I was hooked. Even Dr. Phil couldn't snap me out of my hallucinations, and Benny Hinn prayed the prayer over me to halt the cravings, but I couldn't stop.

"After those failed attempts, as I was living up my lifestyle with reckless abandon by 'poppy-peanut surfing,' I was abducted by baby Afghani tribesmen and forced into a newspaper cocoon.


"As I thrashed my way out of the newspaper cocoon- they added more layers daily to keep me confined- I began to lose hope, and the poppy-peanut cravings nearly drove me mad. The only comfort I received came in the form of villagers reading the newspapers that formed my cocoon. Through this I learned that I am the Republican Elephant, and once this set into my mind, I was a Pachyderm with Purpose. This gave me the strength..."


Then he grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels, utilizing his trunk with great skill. He can't count, so he has to just keep flipping channels until he gets to Fox. He wanted to go vote with us so badly today, you could have swore he was having a poppy-peanut episode. He stopped chasing the van after about 300 yards.

More as the day progresses...

Flue, the Republican Elephant McCain Lover

Claw machines are usually fun things.


But sometimes they aren't. Ever since we got this guy, the house has been filled with what could be described as "elephant calls" every time someone political shows up on the television. His name is Flue:

Yep. A pink and silver, McCain-loving, stuffed elephant. He's suffering through a non-McCain moment in the picture. He only watches Fox News, but he'll sometimes switch over to CNN (the Clinton News Network, he comments) or MSNBC (Monotonous & Stuporous National Barack Channel) to hopefully catch a glimpse of McCain or Palin.



Flue (flu): A pipe, tube, or channel for conveying hot air, gas, steam, or smoke, as from a furnace or fireplace to a chimney.



And that's just what the little guy does. With his elephant trunk. Anytime he sees a democrat (especially Biden) he freaks out, shrieking all manner of ostracism and usually accompanying that with some "off with their head"-flavored banter. And he only speaks in caps.


Now, when he sees McCain, he goes elephape. (He prefers that over 'ape'.) I never knew that elephants could howl like wolves. Especially talking elephants. I thought there was a tradeoff between the ability to howl and the ability to talk...



Here's the fun part: We are going to burn him to death at a stake if McCain loses. If he wins...I guess he will live until the next election. So vote for McCain, save an elephant named Flue. Do the right thing. He is depending on you.


He just doesn't know it.