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Archive for April, 2008
By Cooking Mama
Before casual gamers everywhere could find me in my famous kitchen serving up some great eats for the successful Cooking Mama games, I had long, hard days of arduous labor culminating to years of regret. How do you think I paid for all these cooking supplies anyhow? Legitimate maternal work? Interning for Rachel Ray? Hell naw, I hustled hard for that paper. Let’s take a little tour down the darkest roads of my life, but i’m warning, you may never view me the same again…
By Rampage Monsters
So we were just eating Cool Ranch Doritos and watching the news, and apparently we’re the biggest terrorists in the entire world according to our dickweed ratshit lunatic of a President. It seems the ever-intelligent, globe encompassing, back of a retard’s binder scribbled plan known as the “war on terror” has expanded to include pixelated monsters who starred in a shitty video game from 1986. Great! That’s exactly how we wanted to spend our retirement. It’s bad enough being dollar store knock-offs of King Kong and Godzilla and having to share an apartment with a a giant werewolf who pees the fridge, but now we can’t even even buy beer without some redneck trucker calling us “sand suckin’ space queers.”
By Niko
I have only been in American country for so long and already I see longest line since great Russia bread hunt of ‘93. Yes, I am star of famous new game Grand Theft Automobilings IV so this news attracts a happy smile to my face and large wallet attention to see gaming fan everywhere line up to make Saints Row trade-in to purchase my game. In my country we have saying, out with the old lady woman and in comes with a more tender innocent for sexual enjoyingments. Many thanking to EB Games for still accepting trading of rubbish like Saints Row, I know the only reason many made purchase was because new Rockstar masterpiece had not yet made arrival. Not to worry fans, no more knockoffs or I will break their kneecaps. Niko is here to make fix. GTA IV is like giant Serbian pop star orgy with beautiful virgins. Saints Row is like making sleeping with prostitute version of Cher!
By Metro City Citizen
Me.
So it’s a breezy Saturday afternoon and my wife decides to send me to run some errands on the other side of town. No biggie, my new car drives like a dream and I love the feel of the open road on a beautiful day. The warm sun splashes my face as I cruise along, listening to my Best of John Tesh cassette and taking in the sights. Minutes later, I realize i’m a bit lost so I stop at this seemingly trustworthy gas station and go inside to ask for directions. I recognize the attendant from my high school so we play catch-up for a few and he gets me back on the right track. Everything is Rico Suave until I step outside and find THE MAYOR I VOTED FOR shirtless in overalls holding a LEAD PIPE and standing over the demolished ruins of MY NEW CAR. YUP, he completely destroyed it. No reasoning, no remorse, just total savage violence, bestowed brutally on the frame of my chrome plated goddess of the roads. I was shocked, appalled. So I did what any man would do. I dropped to my knees, clenched my gut and folded onto the street as I proclaimed “Oh! My car!” Prick mayor Haggar stood over the scene lifeless, as if it meant nothing to him. Then he just walked away and ate a whole roast chicken off the ground.
Being car-less, I’ve since been mugged on the subway almost twice a week and hit by 3 lunatic cabs while crossing the streets of this hellhole of a city. Haggar, you son of a bitch, I am NEVER voting for you again. Neither is everyone on my fantasy baseball team. I hope your daughter gets kidnapped every day. Just wait till I get my hands on your car, you Geraldo on steroids looking Neanderthal. And hey, mark my words, you’re dead, you Double Dragon dickfaces! don’t blame your man muscle touchings on MY city, ladypants. I’m married!
By Billy And Jimmy Lee
Ah, those hot summer nights of Double Dragon. Jean jackets with the sleeves ripped off, everyone dipped in sweaty leather and getting busy with whips and chains. There’s definitely a few stories from that era that we keep from our wives. I remember when we sneaked into the garage in the beginning of the first level for some private time. We got word that the Black Warriors gang had kidnapped Billy’s girlfriend and we didn’t even care. She was just a front for our true passion, anyway. We were just so eager to get out into the streets and start tasslin’ with the shirtless brolic tough guys and latex ladies. Sure, they were probably just dudes in drag, but that didn’t stop them from scissor kicking each other all night long. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen two Abobo’s turn a suplex into a 69. Those were the good old days. Paula Abdul on the boombox, gel in our hair, and an 8-ball in the pocket. That’s like the ultimate recipe for gay, what’d you expect us to do? And you can bet your balls the guys over at Final Fight were doing the exact same thing. You go girls!
By a Blob
The best kind of enablers are the ones that don’t even know they’re enabling you. Take for example, the “boy” I spent so many years adventuring with. He fed me bag after bag of what he thought were jellybeans, unbeknownst to him that they were really a cavalcade of psychotropic medicinal cocktails. Truth is, all my wacky transformation capabilities were realized long before the little punk thought he had some sort of bearing on my skills by feeding me bags of candy. Typical placebo effect on his part. The reality is, years of body bending and shape shifting left me with a laundry list of physical ailments and mental traumas. You can only morph your body weight into a umbrella so many time before your brain snaps. That’s where my pharmacist came in, allowing me to swap the jellybeans with a bag of meds. That stupid tween had no idea what he was feeding me. Throw me some tangerine (actually it’s liquid morphine,) transform me into a trampoline, and hit the jump to see what I was really poppin’…
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More: blobs, guest blogger week
By Bomberman
Was that pathetic Bob-omb sympathy story you idiots posted last week supposed to be some kind of tearjerker? He’s a bomb with legs and eyes, of course he shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near an airport. I, on the other hand, am a bomb connoisseur. A master craftsman in the art of the circular explosive. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to bring them on a f*cking airplane. You don’t see famous Parisian chefs marinating quail and sprinkling foie-gras on the shitty in flight dinner box, just like you don’t see the lead singer of Creed break out into an impromptu pro-Jesus ballad set to awful late 90’s alt-rock guitar medleys when the flight attendant asks you to buckle up. So following that logic, you won’t see Bomberman on a plane with a bag of bombs at my disposal. They judge me by my name, stare at me, harass me, search my luggage..it’s totally belittling. Maybe they’re just racist against my head gear, which is a pattern they seem to have perfected with other ethnicities.
It’s bad enough my day job only consists of constantly exploding mazes filled with hell-bent cannibalistic peers and nauseating chippy background music, but traveling to them means I have to sit on a Greyhound bus with every other flight risk and aviophobic in the country. You let Rob Schneider movies on planes but not the 12th most iconic voice deprived video game character in history? F*ck this, I’m moving back to Japan. On a rowboat. I can’t promise it won’t blow up.
By Paperboy
Hey there gamers and gamerettes! Paperboy here with some hot tips for the information age. As many of you know, my old job wasn’t the best one. I was charged with the seemingly simple task of delivering content to a neighborhood community of newspaper subscribers. Sounds like a great way to pick up a few extra bucks as a kid, right? Wrong. Motherf*cking WRONG.
By Simon Belmont
Well, that was a terrible mess as usual. Mummies stealing hot dogs, Zombies forgetting to roll up the potato chip bags and letting them get stale, and dick face Dracula ruining EVERY photo we took. Can we go ONE YEAR without monsters crashing the Belmont Family Reunion Bocce Ball BBQ Picnic? Just ONCE? Man alive, you have no idea the stress it takes to organize these things. Between the kid’s laser tag league and my wife’s limerick tutor classes on Sundays, it’s a ton of sacrifice just to get the whole Belmont gang together for some outdoor fun, only to watch vampire bats suck the air out of our tandem bike tires. For the 3rd year in a row, a lagoon monster ate my daughter. I don’t even know how they find out where we’re gonna host it! Do they send the invisible man to stalk me all year? Did I accidentally hire a succubus banshee as a nanny? My guacamole dip is ruined. I want to cry.
We’ve been live for just under two months and it’s been a great ride so far, with lots of link love from some of our favorite video game and entertainment sites out there. But running a daily, wildly original, outstandingly sexy video game blog is hard work. That’s why we here at the-minusworld.com have decided to hand over our keyboards to actual video game characters for this whole week so they can get some stuff off their chests for a change. So crack a beer and kick back with us for a week of fun. Who knows what these guys will have to say?
