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Archive for the " your mom " Category
Better marry a doctor before caulking your wagon across Oregon this summer.
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Today Nintendo sent us what they’re calling “the ultimate contoured advancement in motion-wear.” I have no idea what that means, but we bet it would look fly on your ma dukes so we asked her to model it for us. What we found was a surprisingly fit slick-suit of ergonomic Wii fetishism (not shown is the giant B button on that fat ass of hers.) I guess if the Wii itself was a social lubricant used to lure unexpecting dates and the elderly into your den of depravity, the Wii body suit should let you do the same thing at Walmart, the beach and anywhere else where such a ridiculous outfit would be acceptable in public. The crotch-spot placement of the power button makes me never want to see the men’s version.
Nope, we can chalk this one up to the fairly typical patterns of botched genetics and bad parenting. Estranged single mother/misinformed blogger/Reba Mcentire stunt double contest winner Rosie Millard posted a lovely, perpetually bullshit rant about how purchasing one DS for her four kids to fight over actually caused her four kids to fight over one DS. Shocking! Her thoughts on the video game industry as a whole are nostalgically still grouped under the single “Nintendo” moniker, as if her leather bomber jacket, acid washed jeans and hijacking of a 15 year old Sega advertising slogan weren’t reason enough to realize she’s trapped firmly in ’90’s idealisms.
I’m no parent myself (if I am, please leave your name in the comments section so I can delete you from my phone) but she seems to be doing a few things wrong here. First, there’s the aforementioned fact that she bought one “Nintendo” for all four of her rogue symbiotes to enjoy. Triumphantly retarded. Next, she bought them a My Little Pony game. This alone would cause uprise in at least half of her wretched little hell beasts. To top things off, she then brags about how she even tricked one of them into getting a haircut by letting her bring the DS, all the while failing to suggest that it’s the least she can do for forcing her orange offspring to look like trollish little clones of herself, akin to an evil redheaded homage to Village of the Damned.
I remember when I was a junior in high school I came home one day and my mom had bought me a Nintendo 64 as a little surprise present for my last report card. Incidentally, it wasn’t like I got all A’s or anything, she just wanted to show her appreciation that she actually received my report card…rather than me taking it out of the mail like I usually did and burying it somewhere near Jimmy Hoffa before she could get her mitts on it. I found the gift ironic in a way…I mean it’s an odd gift from my mom if she actually cared how I did in school. Giving a video game console for good grades is sorta like buying a round of jager-bombs for AA members who’ve been sober for a year. The reward is essentially undermining the very thing you are trying to reward.
But my mom, like most moms, was a conniving and perpetually insidious banshee. No gift from a mom comes free and clear without some sort of benefit to her. You see, the N64 was now a bargaining chip for Mother. Here’s how a conversation usually went before I had my N64:
Mom: Sub, clean your room.
Me: No.
Now here’s the same conversation post-N64:
Mom: Sub, clean your room.
Me: No.
Mom: Clean your room or I will throw the N64 away.
Me: Where’s the vacuum?
From that day on I was always cautious of a free lunch. If it sounds too good to be true…it probably is. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go fill out this little form…apparently I can get like 13 magazine subscriptions for a buck. Score!
Read on
Look, Christopher. I’m sure your resident maternal unit is really fantastic at a lot of things, like navigating a rickety shopping cart through a post apocalyptic TJ Max clearance sale and successfully nuking two Hungry Mans at once for your drifter stepfather. But please, don’t send her to fucking Gamestop. I don’t even want to be there and I write about video games for a living. The shit in there would make her tiny fucking head implode.
You’re 5, your handwriting sucks, and your taste in gaming either also sucks or has been strategically placed outside of your dirty little hands by the powers-that-ESRB. Your snotty, grubby, wrinkled Christmas list does not serve as a suitable hall pass for ma dukes to successfully traverse these dark pits of gaming depravity like a young, misguided (but still shockingly unibrowed) Jennifer Connoly in Labyrinth. You want to dabble in the vices of the adult world? Do what we did when we were 12 and we wanted porn and booze: steal them from your friend’s dad. There won’t be a line and you won’t need any additional worthless MadCatz peripherals or an unofficial Prima strategy guide, you stupid little failure.
